The System #2 (18 page)

“Yeah. I get it,” Grant replied, following Scott’s lead out of the lab room and into a larger room, with microscopes and other scientific equipment that he didn’t recognize. “Like when they give death row inmates a nice big meal before,” he drew his hand across his throat and made a scratching noise. He was probably being too irreverent, because Lucy’s dad turned around and shot him a disapproving look. There was something satisfying in making him squirm though, even if that wasn’t Grant’s intention.

They reached the far end of the room and Scott opened a door marked “Supply Closet”. Grant made a face.

He had genuinely hoped for a
room
, not just some glorified temporary shelter, but he supposed it was better than the alternative. Besides, he’d spent enough time in supply rooms to last him a lifetime.

The door opened and Grant peered around Scott.

To his surprise, the closet was huge. Fluorescent lights beamed down from the ceiling, illuminating shelves with various odds and ends. Surprisingly, Scott had been hard at work making the space habitable. He had set up an army cot against one of the walls and then Grant smiled. Stuck to one of the walls with long pieces of masking tape, was the iconic poster for George Romero’s
Night of the Living Dead
.

“How did you—” Grant trailed off then he looked at Scott, a bit bewildered and confused. Also, touched. Which made the reality of his situation take hold in his chest and suddenly feel oppressive; he wished he hadn’t made light of dying earlier—he was stuck between not wanting to care and believing that he cared too much.

“I know a guy who knows a guy…who knows a guy…who brought some old posters with him here. You were in luck, purely coincidental. It was either that or Farrah Fawcett’s red swimsuit poster.”

“Who’s Farrah Fawcett?” Grant asked.

Scott clapped him on the back. “Yeah, believe it or not, I was just a
kid
when she was popular.” His eyes landed on the poster and he stared at the iconic image. “Forever ago.”

“
Three weeks
was forever ago,” Grant said and Scott muttered agreement.

“At any rate,” Scott continued, “this will be locked. But look…” He pointed to an old-school TV/VCR set and a stack of videos. “Entertainment. A bed. I can try to get you books?”

“Sure,” Grant answered. He sat down on the cot and bounced on it a bit; Scott King’s own California King size bed had been his most comfortable night’s sleep since the Release of the virus, but he refrained from mentioning it, worried about how it would sound. “Why are you doing this for me?” Turning to his captor, Grant tried to search Scott’s face for any sign of what was to come.

“Because,” Scott looked down, “I’d want someone to do this for my son…”

“Do what?”

“Treat him well. Treat him…like he mattered.”

“Do I?” Grant asked in a whisper. “How can you say I matter?”

Scott took a long time before he looked up at Grant. “You
do
matter. You matter very much…it’s just—”

“I matter more as a science experiment than a person?” Grant crossed his arms over his chest. “I get it, Mr. King. I do.”

“I wasn’t going to say that,” Scott said after a moment. “You matter as both. You need to know that I can’t save you. It won’t matter what happens, what you say, how much I think you deserve to live. There is a greater good, a bigger picture. And—”

“Okay,” Grant interrupted and he put up his hand. Nothing had changed from before; the writing on the wall was bright red and clear.

“But I don’t know how long you’ll be here…”

“I already said okay.”

Scott looked like he didn’t want to leave. His eyes scanned the room and he pointed out the blankets, he asked if Grant was hungry, he was stalling, and Grant didn’t know why.

“Mr. King,” Grant said after there was an awkward break. “I’m going to be okay. You can go if you want.”

“Yeah, well, I’ll be back. Running the blood work. Here, I need a swab too.” Scott uncapped a long cotton-tipped stick and instructed Grant to swipe the underside of his cheek with the tip. Then he capped it back and put it in his coat. “Thank you.” He hesitated and then left; there was a distinct clicking and locking, and then the sound of retreating footsteps on tile.
 

Once Grant thought he was alone, he went over to the door and turned the knob, but it didn’t budge. Then he turned and rested his back and took a look around. He couldn’t help but grin: from one closet to another. Except this time he was alone. And there was no chance of clandestine mobility. And he hadn’t asked Lucy’s dad about going to the bathroom.

While sharing a small space with two girls had been occasionally annoying, he also enjoyed Lucy and Salem’s company during their time in the Pacific Lake storage room. He knew that this would be different.

Grant took a step forward and stared at the procured poster. An odd offering, to say the least. Yet, he was comforted by the small act of kindness. Scott King told him that it wouldn’t change his future, and perhaps that was true, but it did give him a strange sort of hope.

Hope wasn’t bad. Hope could sustain him.

That, and the thought of Lucy somewhere in the EUS Two: enjoying time with her family, eating a hot meal, maybe playing a game with her brothers, reading a book to her sister. He closed his eyes and pictured her enjoying a bath. A real bath.

“Father God,” Grant prayed out loud, unsurprised by his own voice in the small space, “let her just forget I’m here. Just for tonight. Please? If she wants to take up a ‘Free Grant’ cause tomorrow, then I’m all for it. And you know that I’m asking because she deserves just some time…to adjust to her family. I, of all people, can understand that. Just protect her. And have her forget about me. I want her to feel normal again. I don’t want her to hurt anymore. Amen.” Even as the request left his mouth, he knew that he was asking God for a miracle.
 

CHAPTER TEN

The den was comfortable. Light poured in during the day. A fire flooded the room with an amber glow in the nighttime. Sometimes Ethan asked Darla or Ainsley to crank the Victrola and he’d listen to the scratchy records over and over—there was a surreal quality to his life, and the lack of electricity and the old-fashioned music helped transport him to a different time completely. His pain hadn’t subsided, but his general disposition moved into a more melancholy state, with brief periods of acceptance. When Ethan felt sad about his leg or angry that he wasn’t whole, he let himself daydream about Nebraska.

His family would come for him. And then, when they did, maybe he would be in a place where a prosthetic was a possibility. Dreams of the future sustained him.

“And crabwalk to the bookcase with a beanbag on your head!” Teddy giggled and Ethan smirked as Darla sighed and then set a blue beanbag atop her head and shifted into the crabwalk position.

Darla’s parental resourcefulness crafted a game that kept Teddy busy and amused for long periods of time. The rules were fluid and the activities ever-changing, but the basic idea was the same: they would spread out 52 playing cards out along the carpet of the den. Seven of them were marked with a black X. The rest were marked with symbols that stood for Story, Activity or Task. While the activities varied, the person who drew the seventh X was the loser and the other remaining opponent the victor.

Bemoaning introducing Teddy to the idea of the crabwalk, Darla shifted her body backward. “Mom is getting too old for this,” she huffed and then collapsed, sloughing the beanbag to the floor. Ethan smiled; it was a rote parental complaint—Darla was lithe and in shape, and her continual exploration of the surrounding neighborhoods was a daily activity.

Teddy crawled over and gave his mother an impromptu kiss.

“What was that for, Buddy?” Darla asked, smoothing his hair across his forehead.

The child wrapped himself up into Darla’s lap, silent, and contemplative. Then he looked at her with watery eyes. “I miss Mama,” Teddy said. “I want to go to heaven too.”

“Don’t say that!” Darla snapped at her son and Teddy recoiled, his eyes wide. She then self-corrected and spun Teddy to face her, and she cupped his chin in her hands. “Mommy needs you here, with her. Mommy misses Mama too.” She rocked him and kissed him. “Mommy misses Mama every day. But Mommy needs you, Teddy. We are a team now, okay?”

Darla hadn’t talked about the death of her wife—a moment that Ethan had been present for at the Portland airport, amidst the chaos and pain of Release day. For either Teddy’s benefit or her own, she didn’t continually dredge up the loss. Ethan was impressed by her strength and resilience and he envied her.

Ethan glanced away from the mother and son, to give the duo a bit of privacy, and his eyes locked with Ainsley who was standing in the doorway, shifting uncomfortably as if waiting for an invitation to come in. He motioned for her and she hesitated and then entered, shuffling her feet as she walked over to his dad’s desk—she palmed a baseball on a stand, a souvenir from a Giants’ game down in San Francisco. Scott King had caught a foul ball. The scientist juggled and almost dropped the trophy, but emerged victorious. In the eyes of his young sons, Scott was the hero of the day—saving the bored Kings from the doldrums of their own vacation.

Whenever the family wasn’t sure if a day could improve, Scott would say, a smile on his face, “You have to wait. It’ll get better. I haven’t caught the ball yet.”

Out of loyalty and deference to the memory, Ethan wanted Ainsley to stop touching that prized possession. It belonged to his dad; it meant something. It wasn’t just a trinket for everyone to play with.

“Hey,” Darla said, looking up to Ethan, and tears stained her cheeks. “Ted-bear and I are gonna go have some time together. You mind?”

“Why would I mind?” Ethan asked and he shifted on the couch. The stump of his leg was exposed; he’d grown tired of the blankets.

Darla sniffed and stood up—like an octopus, Teddy wrapped his arms and legs around his mother’s body as she walked out. The two were melded together, like one person. And once they were out of sight, Ethan turned to Ainsley and tried to smile.

“Hey, Ainsley,” he started in that familiar tone that indicated he wanted her attention. “I’m sorry…for the other day.”

The girl shrugged and deposited the baseball back on its stand. He relaxed as he watched her hand release it.
 

“No,” Ethan continued, determined. “I had no right to kick you out. You were just doing what you had been asked to do. It was stupid. I was wallowing.”

“Of course you were,” Ainsley said matter-of-factly, and she walked out from behind the desk and took a step toward Ethan. One arm hung at her side and she grabbed it with her other arm, scratching her fingernails into the flesh around her shoulder. “I know I’m not…” she paused and gnawed on the inside of her cheek, “always the best communicator.”

“Well—” Ethan tried to think of something kind to say, but Ainsley was right.

“No, I take a long time to warm up to people in general. It’s not you.” She tried to smile, but it was forced and looked more like a grimace. “I’m just bad at…life.”

“I wouldn’t say that.” Ethan pointed to the couch. “You don’t have to just stand there. You can sit.”

She shook her head violently. Then she shifted on her feet.
 

“I don’t bite, Jeez.” Ethan tried to laugh.

“I’m just awkwardly swaying like a crazy person, huh? Look, this is going to sound insane…but I’m better in large groups. One on one, I get batty. Like there’s this magnifying glass on me. If there’s some God out there, he or she has some sick sense of humor. Hey, Ainsley Krause can’t function in small clusters of people…let’s force her to live in a small cluster of strangers for the rest of her life.”

Ethan’s mouth dropped open and then he smiled. “That was a whole paragraph. You just put like whole sentences together…”

“Yes, this is perfect. Let’s keep doing this. I’ll warm up to you much faster if it’s just nothing but witty repartee.”

“That sounds exhausting.”

“Indeed, my entire modus operandi of any relationship is just to exhaust you until you don’t have any will power left to tell me to get lost.”

“Does that work?”

Ainsley took a step toward the couch and then a step away; then she took four quick steps and plopped herself down at the far end. She waved. And Ethan waved back, amused.

“I just want to start over. I want to go back to the place where I’m not the crazy doctor’s kid who gave you a sponge bath,” she said.

“I don’t remember a sponge bath,” Ethan replied. “Baby wipe bath?”

“It sounded really wrong in my head to say it accurately,” Ainsley said with a shrug. “But as you wish. The crazy girl who cleaned you off with baby wipes.”

“You are right. Much worse.” He laughed and then stuck his hand out across his body, trying with everything inside of him not to grimace or show that it pained him to reach toward his leg. “I’m Ethan.”

“Ainsley.”

Their hands met. His was warm and clammy. Hers was cold and dry.

“I’m an amputee. By way of a car accident caused by the apocalypse. And the oldest of six.”

Ainsley sniffed. “The Northwest’s
only
nurse. Premiere yo-yo enthusiast. And the youngest of three.” Then she sighed. “Although now…I guess I’m an only child.”

“I don’t know what to think about you, Ainsley,” Ethan replied and he crossed his arms over his chest. “Everything about this is weird. But this must be even worse for you?”

The question gave Ainsley pause and she lowered her eyes and looked around at the items littering the side of the couch. “I don’t know,” she finally answered. “I’m in shock. This isn’t real life. I don’t care how many weeks pass. Sometimes I wish Spencer had just let me die.”

“What?” Ethan paused and looked at her. He remembered Darla saying something vague about the Krause’s being forced to help him, but no one had ever told him the whole story.

“Spencer stuck me with the needle…to vaccinate me…to force my mother to also take the vaccine. I think he was afraid that Darla would kill him if he didn’t deliver the product, but that’s how he saw us. Commodity.” Ainsley tried to run her fingers through her hair, but she didn’t get very far. She gave up and flopped her hands into her lap. “My mom and dad discussed it and said, no thank you. We will not divide our family. And then he took that choice away. He used me, to get to her.”