The Haven: A Novel (11 page)

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” I asked.

Abigail touched my elbow with a fingertip. “I didn’t know how. And I haven’t known that long. It’s been over a month since I walked in on Daniel and Gideon.”

There was no sound here in the basement except the pad of our feet on the stone floor.

“We always explore together,” I said. “It’s like you fooled me.”

“No, Shiloh, it wasn’t that at all.” Abigail stopped.

I waited, arms folded.

“I couldn’t sleep. I tried to wake you and you wouldn’t budge. You’d been taking the Tonic a lot, for dreams and maybe so you would forget about the male coming for you. You wouldn’t wake up. So, I left on my own.”

I rested against the wall. I felt too tired to go on.

“That night I saw Daniel going down the hallway and I followed. At first, I thought maybe he was a spirit or something.”

I understood that.

“So I followed him, but I didn’t bother them. You and I sneak around. I figured it was the same thing.”

I waited.

“I got up again. I had a vague memory of the wheelchair and I wanted to see if I could find Daniel on my own.”

“Okay.”

“You were sound asleep that night, too. In fact, you’d not gotten out of bed for days, you slept like you were…” She paused.

I knew. “Like I was dead.”

Abigail let out a long sigh. “I knew you were alive. I put my finger under your nose to see if you were breathing.” Her hand went to her stomach like the remembering caused her discomfort.

“That time I saw Gideon. He came in from outside and he had snow on his jacket. He told me about the resistance, about the Cause, and here I am.” She raised her palm up. “Isaac had just been taken away.”

“But that happened last week.”

She shook her head. “The Tonic messes up time. Slows it down. Speeds it up.”

We started again toward our room. My insides trembled, like my muscles might fall from the bone.

“Daniel and Gideon told me everything, including the break-in by the male.”

We were in the hall outside our room. Over the fireplace I could see the clock and the time. It was almost two in the morning. We’d only been gone two hours? How could that be? It felt like weeks had passed since I’d dreamed of ripping off Gideon’s arm.

“And then,” Abigail said, “Isaac didn’t come back.”

We hurried to our beds, past Mary and Elizabeth, who both slept without moving.

I stepped out of my clothes and folded them, placing the pants in the bottom drawer and the T-shirt in with the other old work clothing. I pulled pajamas out from under my pillow and slipped them on. Then I climbed into bed, turned over—back to the window—and closed my eyes.

From across the room came Abigail’s voice. “They let me join, Shiloh, because I know you. You are our hope.”

I didn’t answer.

Do you have your suitcase?

It’s there. By the dresser.

You won’t be gone long.

I don’t want her to come.

She’s part of the plan. To see what will happen.

No.

Get your things, please.

I nod. Start the walk. It’s so far. The corridor is dark as a hole. Cold as the snow. There are voices. And a screen with blue lights.

Then I am on the bed. Something cries out. Once more.

The voice echoes. Comes into my mind over and over.

We’ll get rid of the Disease. Send this heart where it belongs. Stop them from taking over the world. Put things back to normal.

Brightness stabs at my eyes. It’s in the back of my head, sharp. The light shines on faces. One I don’t recognize.

No! she says.

I’ve changed my mind, she says. I don’t care what I’ve signed.

There’s the knife, slicing down my breastbone, opening me up, like chicken in the kitchen.

I’m the only one who survived this crash.

Hands reach, pull out the blackness that fills me. Tug it away. It aches, tears. I feel the tendons separating from the bone. The blackness turns to blood.

Look at my legs.

They have my heart. Steam rises. I smell something awful.

I’m in the hall.

No heart, one lung, Daniel in his wheelchair. Abigail motions for me to follow her. There’s Gideon.

We’ll take more than your heart, he says, smiling.

They sew me up.

But the bleeding will not stop.

From the corner of the room, I see her.

The female who shakes her head, and she leaves.

HAVEN

HOSPITAL&HALLS

Where You Matter

Established 2020

Note to all Staff

Please be aware and report all murmurings and unusual behavior as we discussed in Faculty Meetings: facial changes, thoughtful discussion, being too alert.

Report these and any other worries to school officials.

We must keep all Terminals, and you, safe from the outside world.

13

“Abigail?” I said into the dark room. “Abigail?”

There was no answer. So she slept fine if she stayed up late enough, even without the Tonic.

The female in the commercial. Her voice in my dreams. She’d had me made for her, right? For her daughter?

I thought of Claudia. All that blond hair. Her blue eyes. Skin clear as porcelain. Used-up pageant girl.

If I had been a little older, I would have been in Claudia’s class. I might have shared a room with her. I might have known her better.

All these Terminals. All of us waiting to be harvested. Like the greenhouse vegetables here. Waiting to be used. To save someone else’s life by giving our own.

It’s not true.

But I had seen it myself.

I pulled the covers over my head.

No more dreams. I didn’t want to feel uneasy. Didn’t want to be here anymore.

But what could I do? I remembered Abigail crying. Not just the sounds a Terminal makes when they’re hurt, but that water on her face.

Fight.

I’d rather fight.

I’d rather get away.

Save the Terminals, like Gideon said. Like Abigail and Daniel said.

Save myself.

Have a bit of the promise.

There were no promises here except that our lives would end.

I rolled over. It was still dark outside.

Right before I fell asleep, I remembered Gideon saying he wanted me to go with them, too.

I tried to make my face smile at the memory, but it just wouldn’t.

*   *   *

It wasn’t so easy to not drink the Tonic. Even though no one looked to see if we did. They trusted we would. And we did. I mean, we always had.
I
always had. Why check on something that is so secure already?

We were, all of us, creatures of habit.

Trained.

Still I felt I
must
drink that Tonic. Go to bed at night. Down the Tonic. Get up in the morning, drink the Tonic. Take in a breath, let it out. Stand when you are called from lunch. Walk down the hall with the others. Sleep when Brahms begins. Awake with Mozart. Give your arm. Give your lung. Give something that might keep
you
alive.

The next morning, I reached for that little cup sitting on my nightstand. Not even sitting up all the way, I readied to swallow the drink. My body told me to. My hand reached out on its own.

Wait!

I swung my legs over the side of the bed. Everyone got ready. Morning called. Time to begin the day.

I will be free. Will fight to be free.

My hand shook as I set the cup aside. Abigail raised her cup to me then turned her back. When she looked at me again, I saw a bit of the red juice on her lips, the color of Amy Steed’s dress.

Fine—I could do it, too. I tossed the drink in my mouth, then hurried to the bathroom. The insides of my cheeks stung.

Go, go, go.

I pushed through into the bathroom, walked into a stall, locked the door behind me, and spit everything in the toilet, washing the bright red liquid away with a flush.

A few sips of that drink. A couple of ounces? Who would think it could control me?

When I stood, my head banged. A headache. A splitter of a headache. Even my ears hurt.

“You okay, Shiloh?” Abigail. I saw her feet on the tiles outside where I crouched.

“My head hurts,” I said. I opened the door, went to the sink, splashed water on my face. The overhead light stabbed at my eyes. The pain under my skull was so intense, it pounded through my skin.

“Listen,” Abigail said as Elizabeth hurried in to dress. Our roommate nodded to our reflections in the mirror and we nodded back. Elizabeth went into the stall I had been in.

“Oh, this is bad,” Elizabeth said. “Someone didn’t flush and I don’t know what’s in the toilet.”

She came out of the stall, her clothes folded in her arms. The skin on her face was red and puckered, cut close to the bone.

Abigail flushed the toilet again. “I’ve seen that happen,” she said to Elizabeth. “The water is red. A couple of tries and it goes away. Don’t give it another thought. I took care of it.”

“I won’t,” Elizabeth said.

Okay, so down the toilet didn’t work. Then where? My head throbbed. I wet a washcloth in cool water and buried my face in it. I heard Elizabeth go into a different stall.

“The pain starts right away, if you’re a few hours late taking the Tonic,” Abigail said in a hushed tone, turning the faucet on full blast. Sounds stabbed at my ears. “Whatever you do, act normal. This won’t last long but you have to be sure you don’t let anyone know. Terminals don’t notice. The staff might. You complain of anything, they’ll give you a double dose and force you to take it. There’s supposed to be a cure, but we haven’t found it yet.”

I nodded.

“You’re addicted and you’re coming off the stuff, whatever it is. Remember, they control you. I promise it doesn’t last long.”

I’d heard of addictions. Terminals left Haven Hospital & Halls because they needed help from the outside to make them better—relieve them of the addictions they somehow got here. When they returned, those Terminals looked so spent, so worn out, I couldn’t even begin to wonder what it was that had been done to them.

“Okay,” I said.

In class, it felt like someone had hit me in the back of the head with a tree trunk. I went through the motions almost unable to see, my head hurt so.

Ms. Iverson quieted us clapping—just as she does every day—and the sound was like someone banging on a pot lid inside my skull. I felt the vibrations in my cheeks.

“Are you okay, Shiloh?” she asked. She had opened a book, waiting for the rest of us to follow her. Daniel sort of looked over at me. Abigail didn’t even make a sound. “Are you ill?”

“Oh, I’m fine, Ms. Iverson,” I said. A lie popped into my head. “I stayed up too late reading for class.” I held the book
Lord of the Flies
aloft. “I know I shouldn’t have, but now I’m tired.”

I blinked. I had never,
never
lied before because I had to. My nerves jangled.

“No more late nights, Shiloh,” Ms. Iverson said. “They’re not good for you.” She sat on her desk. “Still, I’m glad you like this bit of nonfiction. We can learn a lot about sacrifice and good-doing from the death of Piggy.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

In his seat in front of me, Gideon shifted. He seemed to have not heard a thing I said. Could anyone hear the banging in my head? How had this happened to the three of them and I not noticed?

*   *   *

“Listen,” Abigail said at lunch. My face felt fat with the pain. Swollen. “You keep right on pretending you are who you
were
. Watch what everyone else does and you do it. A few more days and we’re out of here.”

Abigail stood beside me, encouraging me to put more and more and more food on the plate.

“Keep going,” Abigail said. “You have to keep up with your previous intake of nutrition. The staff notices these kinds of things. It’s their job.” She nodded at me. “And anyway, the more in your system, the faster the Tonic clears out.”

I picked up my fork, seeing it tremble in my hand. It took a great effort to eat. My plate was full. Piled high. How did I consume so much before?

And then those side doors opened.

Even with my headache, I jerked my head up. The movement caused pain to shoot down my shoulders and into my palms. I dropped the fork and it spun a couple of times before it fell to the floor. When I leaned over, my skull threatened to explode off the top of my body.

Those doors. So tall. So slow. It was a torture to watch. There was that bit of a squeak, and the whole room went quiet.

I couldn’t move. No one moved.

Not any of us.

We waited.

Count!
the voice in my head said.
Protect yourself. Protect Abigail. And Gideon. And Daniel and the rest of the Terminals. Count!

Ms. Iverson didn’t look up from her plate. Mr. MacGee settled his napkin in his lap.

“Hello, Terminals,” Dr. King said. His voice boomed in my ears, turned my brain to jelly. A boiling emotion came up inside me, one that had never before filled me about Dr. King.

He
was the reason we were all here.
He
was responsible. I had to look away or I might scream.

He waved, stepping through the sun that fell to the floor in a golden puddle. The sun seemed a lie, too.

Principal Harrison took huge steps, following behind Dr. King, like he needed to catch up. He fingered his ponytail. To the stage they went. Up the stairs while someone ran for the mic.

Dr. King waved again and Principal Harrison held out his hands. There wasn’t a sound in the room.

Abigail reached for me, and I let her touch me. My stomach didn’t swirl as much, but it felt like a band played in my forehead using my eyeballs as the cymbals.

One …