The Haven: A Novel (17 page)

All reports need to be made to school officials.

Do not try to stop any uprising on your own, as this could be dangerous.

I carry my prepared suitcase.

We walk out the back door.

Across the lawn. I could turn around and run back to Abigail. Run to safety. To our room.

Keys out. Jangling. My mouth full of fear.

Two people ahead.

They don’t speak.

I see the table. There’s a woman and an older man and Dr. King. He’s dressed like a surgeon.

“Don’t struggle.” He puts the mask over my face.

But I fight. I slap at his hands, scratch at a Nurse. Kick the tray of surgical instruments.

“Count back from a hundred, Shiloh,” he says, and holds my head still. His grip is tight. Someone straps my feet and hands down.

And there is a voice.

That voice.

I try to look at her.

The one on the table. It’s
me
on the table.

“I’ve changed my mind. She looks too much like my daughter.”

“You paid for it.”

“I know, but…”

A man’s voice now. “For Victoria, Ann. We’re doing it for Victoria.”

“Yes, I know. But it may not work.”

“Breathe, Shiloh.”

“We have to keep Victoria alive.”

“Just this once.”

“Promise me, never again.”

“I promise.”

“Count back from a hundred.”

“It isn’t human,” Dr. King says. “It’s made by me, not created by you.”

I don’t breathe until I have to.

20

Eyes in jars watched me. A rush of cold poured through my bones. When my feet hit the carpeted floor, I awoke.

“What is it, Shiloh?” Abigail asked.

Outside, the sky turned the color of early morning.

“Sorry,” I said. “Sorry.” I climbed back into bed.

“Dreaming?”

“I don’t think so.” I shook my head.

“You screamed.”

“It was real, I think. A memory. Not a dream.” I still felt the mask on my face, the straps that had held me down.

Abigail went silent. She cleared her throat. When she spoke, her voice wavered a bit. “The Tonic keeps the truth of our operations away. I remember bits of mine, too. Like—” Again she cleared her throat. “—like how Dr. King said my arm wasn’t mine. That the arm could be used for the Recipient who’d been crushed in an accident. How he told someone that the surgery wouldn’t leave even a bit of a scar. Not one at all.”

Neither of us spoke. And then, “I’m scared,” I whispered. “I’m scared, Abigail. Last night was too real.”

“Me, too,” she said. I saw her swallow, like the pause might give her a bit of strength. “That’s why we fight. So we can get out of here. Be free. And we don’t have to be afraid anymore.”

*   *   *

Without the Tonic, school became exciting. I loved classes (though I was sometimes tired), loved learning. I fell into gathering facts. Not even bad dreams—or awful memories—or body parts—could take away the joy of stuffing information into my brain.

English was my favorite time. I wanted to memorize every quote, and with the Tonic gone it felt like my brain worked smoother, remembered more. Ms. Iverson had the walls decorated with posters telling us to
READ!
There were pictures of famous authors—some who are Terminals like us. Just looking at all those writers made my heart quiet down, made me almost forget Dr. King, the refrigerators in the back building, the older Gideon. I felt wide-eyed as I waited for Ms. Iverson to speak about literature each day.

“John Steinbeck,” Ms. Iverson said, “was a Terminal himself.” His photo in the book didn’t show he looked different. But Terminals could lose any body part, not just something above the shoulders.

Ms. Iverson pressed the paperback to her chest like this book meant something to her. Could that be? Could we care for more than each other? Even for books? “He writes of Terminals in
Of Mice and Men.
So far, we’ve met several. Who are they?”

“Candy,” Matthew said. “He’s missing the hand.” Matthew held up both his arms that ended in pinkish stubs right above the elbows. “Plus he’s old and weathered.”

I’d seen Matthew almost every day of our lives, and of course since this operation, but today, when he held his arms up, I gasped.

“Good,” Ms. Iverson said. “Who else?”

What was left of Matthew’s arms looked so raw, a powerful sensation flooded through me, one I didn’t recognize, and I thought I’d have to stand, walk out, maybe even get to the bathroom.

“Curley. He’s a Terminal in ways that aren’t the same as what happens to us.” This was Jeremiah speaking. I’d never realized just how dark and shiny his hair was. “You know, his handicap is in his head—in his meanness.”

“I’m proud of you for keeping up with your Braille, Jeremiah. I know this is new to you. But you’re doing terrific.” Ms. Iverson nodded and stepped away from her desk.

“And what about Lennie?” she asked. “Tell me more about him.”

Matthew spoke again. “Lennie represents the world. We may be Terminal, but all of us here are smart. We have big goals.”

“Like Gideon said the other day,” I said, “maybe one of us will change our futures.”

Ms. Iverson glanced at me.

“You remember that, Shiloh?” she asked. “You remember Gideon talking about those things?”

“Umm.” I parted my lips. Nodded.

“Have you told anyone what Gideon said?”

“No.”

In the front of the classroom, Daniel scowled. Gideon seemed not to care. I could see his profile. His face didn’t change at all.

“It’s best
not
to say anything,” Ms. Iverson said. “It’s best for everyone.”

“Yes. All right.”

“Other comments,” Ms. Iverson said.

Daniel spoke. “The world doesn’t think. The Whole are like Lennie.”

I could almost hear him say,
If we want cures, we’re going to have to come up with them ourselves.
Like he did when the four of us met together.

“Interesting idea, Daniel. Let’s keep reading.”

Before, I was jumpy and afraid when the doors to the dining room opened in their slow way and Principal Harrison and Dr. King walked in carrying someone’s files. Or if Terminals came too close. Or if I didn’t eat everything on my plate. Or if I remembered something I shouldn’t, or dreamed what I wasn’t allowed to dream.

The fear changed. Became controllable. Like being almost caught by Ms. Iverson for remembering. Heart-pounding for the moment and then gone. The anxiety didn’t linger. The strange thing was I hadn’t known I was afraid until the fear was gone. I was used to one thing, so used to it, I didn’t know a difference until the burden was removed.

Sitting there in class, only a few Terminals
knowing,
I thought of Principal Harrison and Dr. King. I saw them in a different way. Before, I thought they protected me. Now, they were the enemy. It was like
I
had been the Recipient of some new body part. They didn’t care about us here. Not one of the Whole did.

How much money did they make off us? What were Daniel’s legs worth? How much had Abigail’s arm gotten them? What had my lung cost? I squeezed my pencil until it snapped in half.

Ms. Iverson set the book on her desk. “So what I want is an essay today. Just two hundred and fifty words. I want it on how you are different from Lennie. I want this essay on what Daniel said—how you listen to each other.”

A nod here or there.

“Do you need another pencil, Shiloh?” Ms. Iverson asked.

I clasped my hands together until they hurt. Shook my head no. Then I pulled out paper and, using the nub of the pencil, started an essay that proved I knew nothing when really I was starting to discover everything.

*   *   *

That night, essay done and waiting in my folder, I changed into the clothes we would sneak around the buildings in. In her corner of the room, Abigail did, too.

“I hope we learn something tonight,” I said. My whisper seemed loud in the room, not at all cottony like I hoped for. As the Tonic left us our hearing got better. I wasn’t used to this yet.

“Shhh!” Abigail said.

From outside our room, I heard a sound. Someone?

Yes! A gruff voice.

“Bed,” Abigail said.

I slowed long enough to kick my just-put-on shoes into the closet and then I climbed into bed, pulling the covers to my neck and turning my back to the door.

There was the low murmur of voices. Ms. Iverson. She sounded upset. What was she doing awake at this hour? And who was with her? Mr. Tremmel again? Gosh, I hoped not.

But these weren’t happy voices. This sounded like an argument.

Abigail settled in bed as our door swung open.

A flashlight beam moved across the room. I saw it reflect off the window. Saw the shadow of two people in the doorway, mirrored in the glass. I heard Ms. Iverson say, “They’re asleep, I tell you.”

Dr. King’s voice—what was he doing here?—followed the light. Blood pounded through my veins. In my ears, low and deep. Act normal, I thought. Fake I was asleep. That I had taken the Tonic. That I wasn’t changed. Regular, deep breaths.

What would I do if he came to my bed, pulled back the covers, and saw me in my street clothes? I gasped in a small bit of air.

“I told you,” he said, “I thought I should check this room and I always go with my instincts.”

“And I told you,” Ms. Iverson said, “they’re asleep. Look at them.”

Dr. King stood at the foot of Elizabeth’s empty bed. I could see him in the window, could tell from his voice where he was. “We’ll have a new Terminal for this bed soon,” he said.

What?

Oh, Elizabeth.

Elizabeth wasn’t coming back.

I fought myself to breathe in a regular pattern. Now he stood at Mary’s bed. He moved to Abigail’s. What was she doing? Where was my nightgown? Had I folded it? It wasn’t under my pillow. Was it on the floor?

How long would I be in Isolation for this?

It was then that Mary screamed, a bloodcurdling scream, that caused the hair on the back of my neck to stand up. It went on forever, so loud that the whole of Haven Hospital & Halls should have awakened. Except Terminals who were so drugged, they slept through anything.

Ms. Iverson ran to her. Dr. King swung the flashlight around the room like the cry had startled him, too.

“Mary, Mary. Shhh.”

“The light,” Mary said. She thrashed in bed. “The light.”

“Turn it off,” Ms. Iverson said.

Part of me wanted to sit up, but I didn’t move. I would have slept through Mary’s nightmare like she always slept through mine.

“I told you we would bother them,” Ms. Iverson said. She sounded angry.

Dr. King sighed. “You’re right.”

The flashlight died.

Ms. Iverson made soothing noises. It took only a moment to quiet Mary.

Every muscle in my body was rigid. Would they never leave?
Just concentrate,
I thought.
Think yourself to sleep.

Then next to my ear came Dr. King’s voice.

“I’m watching you all,” he said.

21

Even after they were gone, and had been gone for a while, neither Abigail nor I said anything. I heard the clock dong two more times before I slipped out of bed.

“What are you doing?” Abigail asked.

I pulled my shirt off. “I’m going to sleep. Really this time. That was too close.” My whole body felt like it tried to tremble free of my skin.

Abigail crept over to me, crawling.

“We have plans for tonight,” she said. “And the males need to know what’s happened.”

The light that came from the hall was shadowed by my bed and where we crouched near the floor.

“There’s always a price for freedom,” Abigail said.

“They’ll make us pay,” I said.

“Everyone pays. They always have. We’ve seen it on the computer. Looking through the Histories. Abraham Lincoln, Martin Luther King, Gandhi, Joan of Arc, even John Steinbeck.”

“I don’t want to be punished.” My voice cracked. “I don’t want to die.”

Abigail didn’t say anything for what seemed a forever. When she opened her mouth I thought sure she’d say,
I don’t either.
But she didn’t. “You’re going to die, Shiloh. You stay here, you die. Part by part, piece by piece. Only we can save us. Only we can be our heroes.”

With the wax of the Tonic removed, I felt what maybe the Whole felt. Fear, yes. But, there was a bit of a promise, too. Not just the empty words I had thought about hope before. More than that. The chance
we
had to make a difference.

“I’m scared,” I said.

“Me, too,” Abigail said. “Me, too, Shiloh.”

*   *   *

It took us longer than usual in the halls. Every sound, every crack or creak, made us hesitate. When we got to the main corridor, it was as huge and open as it had been that first night I’d left. But tonight, with Dr. King’s voice in my ear, it seemed more dangerous. I gripped Abigail’s hand in mine.

“We do this,” she said, “for all the Terminals.”

For us,
I thought.

We
had
to succeed now. They knew something about what we were doing.

We jogged all the way to the basement. Quiet as spirits. We flung open the door to the closet of a room we met in.

“What took so long?” Daniel said. “You’re more than an hour late.”

I didn’t even blink before saying, “He knows.”

“What?”

“Who?”

Daniel and Gideon spoke at once, Daniel grasping the wheels to his chair, Gideon rising to his feet.

“Dr. King.”

The door clicked shut behind us.

“Tell us,” Daniel said.

Even at this horrible time, I couldn’t keep my mind on track. Not with Gideon here. I thought of holding his hand. Him touching my face.

“He came to our room tonight,” Abigail said. The walls seemed to meet each other at the ceiling. “We had just changed our clothes to come here. We were moments from leaving. If we had been any faster, he would have caught us in the corridor or gone from our beds.”