Authors: Nancy Kress
Rafe
, so smart and sweet—
Kaylie, her sister—
Amy raised the tiny gun and fired. At this distance, not even the mousegun could miss.
Rafe let out a shrill, inhuman scream. Then he collapsed on top of Kaylie. She shoved him off while Violet shouted, “Are you bit? Are you bit?” The whole world went red for Amy, saturated in a fine scarlet mist, and then black. The ground rose to slam into her. For the first and only time in her life, she fainted.
But only for a moment. She was staggering back onto her feet when a second, louder gun fired beyond the door and something heavy hit the floor. Then the door burst open and there were men in uniform shoving through the door, and a woman with EMT on her shoulder patch was turning over Rafe’s still body to see if he breathed, if he lived, if Amy had done the terrible thing she’d always feared most: irresponsible harm to someone she loved.
Thirty-six
W
EDNESDAY
AMY AND KAYLIE
sat on hard plastic chairs in the corridor outside Rafe’s hospital room. It was midnight but the corridor was as busy as if it were noon. Doctors went in and out, men in suits made notes, nurses carried out vials of blood. “Rafe won’t have any blood left,” Kaylie said.
“It’s for the CDC,” Amy said.
“What’s that, again?”
“The Centers for Disease Control. They need to see what’s going on in Rafe’s body because of the virus and the antidote.”
“I thought the brain scans did that.”
“Those too,” Amy said.
A nurse approached. “I’m sorry, but visiting hours are long over. You’ll have to leave.”
“No,” Amy said simply.
The nurse frowned and turned to call security. Kaylie said pleasantly, “You just came on shift, right? We’ve been through this with all the other nurses. We’re not going and if you make us go, we’ll make the biggest stink you ever saw because we were with Rafe on that island where he got infected. I mean, you can’t even imagine how much fuss I’m capable of making. So the other nurses said we can stay, and if you check their notes or tablet or whatever the hell you guys do, I’m sure you’ll see that we’re allowed here.”
The nurse blinked, looked uncertain, frowned again. She hurried to the nurses’ station at the other end of the hall.
Kaylie called after her, “Have a good night!”
Amy pulled at the skin on her face. She was tired beyond belief. She and Kaylie still wore their clothes from the island, ripped and dirty. She had told her story at least six times, to six different people. But it was a version of the story that left out Violet’s pretending to be bit, and she made Kaylie also leave that part out. They said only that they were all actors on the TV show
Who Knows People, Baby—You?
, filming a scene on the island. A squirrel had bitten Rafe and he had started to act strangely. Amy, Kaylie, and Violet had helped him back to the film crew helicopter. The medical people all accepted this; they weren’t interested in a TV show, only in the virus, its rodent carrier, and the use of the antidote.
During a bathroom trip Kaylie had demanded fiercely, “Why are you protecting Myra?”
“I’m not,” Amy had said. “Oh, I’m not, believe me. I’m not even protecting Violet. I—”
“Yes, you are!”
Amy had had time to think over Violet’s story. “Kaylie, Violet didn’t know about the infected animals. I believe that part. Violet didn’t know anybody would be hurt, only scared. That infected squirrel, at least, was Myra’s doing. Has to be. It’s just too coincidental otherwise.”
“So what are you going to do about Myra?”
“I don’t know yet! Stop itching at me! Right now I just want Rafe to be all right!”
Kaylie’s face changed. She stopped rubbing her hands under the automatic blow-dryer and put still-damp fingers on Amy’s arm. “I know. You’re in love with him.”
“I didn’t say that!”
“But you are. Even though he looks like a skinny toad.”
“He does not!”
Kaylie had smiled. “See how you defend him?”
Now Amy waited on a puke-yellow plastic chair—why were hospital chairs always such awful colors?—and thought about Rafe, about Violet, about Myra. About Gran, who had died looking joyous and with her beloved daughter’s name on her lips. Gran had really liked Rafe, and—
A doctor came out of Rafe’s room, older than the rest of the medical staff, with kind eyes. “Ms. Kent? You can go in now for a few minutes.”
Amy’s weariness vanished. She dashed into the room. Rafe, propped on pillows, smiled at her. Emotion almost swamped Amy, so much emotion that she couldn’t speak.
“Hey, Amy, Kaylie,” Rafe said.
Kaylie said, “You’re you again.”
“Yeah. Being Julius Caesar was getting wearing.”
“But they let you keep the toga.”
Rafe laughed. His eyes were clear, although the skin beneath them sagged with exhaustion. Amy still couldn’t speak. He said, “Amy?”
Her eyes filled with tears.
Kaylie said elaborately, “Excuse me, but I need to use the ladies’ room.” She left on exaggerated tiptoe.
Amy finally choked out, “You’re completely OK?”
“Yep. Brain working and everything.”
“Rafe—” Then she was by his bedside, stooping to kiss him.
He yanked his head to the side to avoid her kiss.
Hurt, Amy straightened. Of course he didn’t want her to kiss him, not after the things she’d said, not after he knew she’d preferred Cai—Cai! How stupid had that been, she hadn’t known what Rafe was like, what Cai was like, what she herself was like, stupid to think Rafe would still—
“Amy, my saliva,” Rafe said. “I can’t kiss you yet, but oh God I wish I could, Amy—”
She knelt by his bed and put her arms around him and hoped Kaylie would not come back for a long time. Into Amy’s mind leapt a phantom:
a gold coin, solid gold, like pirates used to bury, covered with seaweed and dirt but still shining on the palm of a bruised and sunburned hand.
* * *
When the night shift did eventually throw Amy and Kaylie out of the hospital, Kaylie decided to go peacefully. Rafe was all right. Besides, TLN had sent a limo for them, and Kaylie loved limos. It was Amy who made a fuss, refusing to go back to the Carillon Hotel. So some poor TLN flunky was awakened in the middle of the night to book them into a different hotel a block from the hospital.
The next morning she slept until nine. Leaving Kaylie asleep, Amy went to the row of shops that were part of the hotel and bought a sexy sundress, sweater, underwear, and makeup. Then—
the hell with it, let TLN pay
—she added a lot more clothes and a rolling suitcase, charging everything to her room. She showered, dressed, and walked to the hospital, pulling along her new wardrobe in her new suitcase. The day turned warm, sweet with the scent of fresh-cut grass, and she took off the sweater.
“Wow,” Rafe said, sitting up in his hospital bed with a lunch tray in front of him. “You look terrific.”
“Can I kiss you yet?”
“No. But you can—Mark!”
Amy turned. Mark Meyer stood in the doorway, dressed in his iconic leather jacket, despite the heat. He came close to the hospital bed and studied Rafe. “You OK?”
“I’m fine. Just your normal bout of mutating, brain-attacking, personality-altering virus.”
Mark said somberly, “I didn’t know about the infected mammals.”
Amy heard his faint emphasis on his first word. “Mark—are you saying that somebody did know?”
“Stop.” Mark took a device from his jacket pocket, pressed a button, and began to move it around the room. Amy, fascinated, watched in silence. Finally Mark said, “No bugs. Talk.”
Amy said, “Did Myra deliberately bring an infected squirrel to the island, to the tree with the cameras where Violet was told to go, so that the show would get footage of someone—”
“I can’t prove anything.”
“But do you think—”
“Look, if you can’t prove anything, it’s like it never happened. In law, anyway. Do you understand, Amy? You fling accusations around Myra without any proof and it’s you that will go down. She has an entire legal team behind her. She also has a TV station. But the squirrel isn’t why I came here. I have something else for you.”
Mark pulled on a pair of latex gloves. Then he fished something from another pocket—maybe all those pockets were the reason for the leather jacket. This item at least Amy recognized: a tiny tape player. Mark set it on Rafe’s bed, turned it on, and adjusted the sound so that both Rafe and Amy had to lean close to hear.
“Violet!”
Myra’s voice said.
“Call Amy now. Ask where she is. She’ll say in a stairwell. If she asks about Room 654 being safe, tell her that it’s not anymore. Tell her the militants took the room and there was a firefight that killed someone and nobody is there now.”
Violet’s voice:
“Did protesters take the room?”
“Just do it!”
“No. Not if you’re just sending Amy into more danger for your fucking show!”
“I’m not, I promise you. She has a clear, safe passage out. Just do as you’re told or else it’s you who will be in danger and you know what I mean!”
Click.
Amy couldn’t speak.
Finally Rafe said, “Play it again.”
Mark did. In Amy’s mind rose clear images, like a movie, of the night of the hotel fire. She and Waverly in the stairwell, carrying Gran on the room-service cart. Amy’s call to 911, who told her about the “safer” room on the sixth floor. Then Violet’s call, full of concern for her, telling her to not go to Room 654. Where in actuality it
was
safe. Where she and Waverly and Rafe could have holed up with off-duty cops until the SWAT team took the building back. That was what Violet had prevented. Violet, her friend.
Rafe watched her closely. He said nothing.
Amy said to Mark, “How did you get this?”
He waved his hand, as if even asking the question was dumb. “It’s an illegal recording, of course. I monitor Myra’s cell. I don’t trust her.”
Rafe said, “What are you going to do with it?”
“I’m going to give it to you.” He pulled off his latex gloves. “But if you tell anyone where you got it, I’ll deny it. My fingerprints are not on it. It’s not traceable to me.”
Rafe said levelly, “And you’re willing to work for this person?”
For the first time, emotion appeared on Mark’s face, gone in a moment. “I like my job. Most of the time, anyway. I want Myra gone, but I’m not deluding myself that you kids can accomplish that. This recording is illegal, you’d never get it admitted in any court. You could take it to James Taunton, but he backs Myra as long as he can stay in official ignorance of how she gets her ratings. No, that’s not fair—he
is
in ignorance, but only because he chooses not to ask questions. I work on other shows for TLN, better shows, and I want to go on doing that. The work suits me. I’m giving you this tape so
you
will quit.”
Amy said hotly, “But she’ll just put others in the same danger!”
Mark shrugged. “I can’t control the world. But I like you two. You’re both honest and smart, although not smart enough to take on Myra Townsend. You don’t have the resources or the experience or the ruthlessness. I just wanted to show you why you should get out of TLN while you can.”
Mark strode out of the room, leaving the miniature tape recorder on Rafe’s bed tray beside the orange juice. Amy looked at it as if it were a bomb.
“Amy—” Rafe said.
“I need to see Violet. Now. Do you have a cell?”
“No. They took everything electronic off the island, remember?”
“OK, wait here. I’ll be right back.” Amy stood, looked down at Rafe, hesitated, and then bent and swiftly kissed the top of his head. Before he could react, she was out of the room and on her way to the nurses’ station. “May I make a phone call, please?”
“Pay phone in the lobby,” said a cold-eyed nurse behind the desk. Probably she had heard about Kaylie’s threats of the night before. No help here.
In the lobby she stopped three people before an elderly woman would consent to listen to her. The woman wore a fur cape despite the heat. She was accompanied by a man in uniform, who held one arm as she made her way slowly toward the front door. Her spine curved painfully forward.
Amy said, “Please, ma’am, could I have fifty cents to make a phone call? I lost my purse and I’m just desperate!” She tried to sound young and near tears.
The uniformed man said, “No soliciting in the hospital, miss. Move along!”
“Wait,” the old woman said. She fumbled for her purse.
It took a long time for her to find her change purse inside her purse, to bring out a few quarters, to hand them to Amy. Amy gushed her thanks, ignored the man’s hard scowl, and sprinted for the pay phone, praying it would work. No one used pay phones anymore.
It did work. There was even a phone book.
“Good morning, Carillon Hotel. How may I direct your call?”
“I’d like to be connected to the room of a guest, please. Violet Sanderson. No, wait—”
Myra had had them all register under fake names, to discourage the hate-mail crowd. What had Violet used? What? Amy couldn’t remember. She couldn’t remember any of their aliases except her own and, bizarrely, Tommy’s. “I mean, please connect me to Insect Man’s room.”
“Just a moment, please.”
The phone rang.
Please let Tommy be there
—
“Hello?”
“Tommy, it’s Amy.”
“Hi, Amy.” And then, “Are you mad at me?”
“No, Tommy, I’m not mad at you. But can I talk to Violet? It’s really important. Please go to her room and knock on the door and tell her to come to your room to talk to me on the phone. OK?”
“OK. I’m glad you’re not mad at me. Cai said you are because him and me left the island without you. He said that Kaylie—”
“I’m not mad at you! Just get Violet, OK?”
“OK.”