The Well's End (21 page)

“She's good, she's going to be fine,” Veronica answers for me. Jimmy sits down next to Odessa on the floor and takes her hand. “Time for you all to get some rest.”

“What are you, our RA?” Rob asks, taking off his boots and claiming a bed, so I don't think he's really arguing.

“And what about the virus?” Jo adds. “What's going on outside?”

“Hey, now,” Dad says. “Nothing outside of these walls will hurt you, not in here.”

“But we don't have—”

“It doesn't matter,” Dad interrupts. “I know you're worried, that you've been chased by a lunatic. But with the back entrance blocked, there's no way he can get in here. He'd need a nuke to break down our doors.” The others watch him like he's their own father. Jimmy closes his eyes and keeps listening, nodding all the while. “It's been a long day, you've just had a really trying experience. Why don't you take a shower and go to sleep, and we'll talk about this first thing tomorrow morning.”

Rob's face is covered in grime, and I can see him eyeing the shower.

Just then, Brayden spots my foot and sucks in air. “I forgot about your toes!”

Dad's there in a heartbeat, lifting my leg. I have to balance by putting my hand on his shoulder as he crouches.

“What happened?” he asks, squeezing the skin lightly. It's tight, it still feels thick. I would tell them that Veronica already checked me over, but I'd rather have the attention.

“Mia swam underneath the ice at the lake to get us off campus. It was nuts.” It's hard to reconcile the wild and inarticulate motions Jimmy makes with his fully adult body.

“You did?” Dad asks, incredulous. He runs his hands through his thick hair and tugs in disbelief. “
Under
the ice?”

I nod, suddenly shy. He looks over to Veronica, who's fiddling with her ponytail, her mind elsewhere. “She's good,” she says reassuringly.

Dad stands up and shakes his head. “I can't tell whether I'm extremely proud of you or angry that you'd risk your life doing something so dangerous.” Before I can get annoyed, he grins and rubs my head. “I guess I'll take proud . . . I thought I told you to get out of Westbrook, not do something crazy!”

“If you had just told me why, I might have listened.” I'm semiserious and remember what Sutton said about him leaving me there. It makes me sad. “You abandoned me. I told you he was coming, and you left me.”

The look of concern and shock on his face is enough to make me forgive him. “I'd never, Mia.” He touches my nose with the tip of his thumb. “I thought you'd listen to me and go. I knew you were up for the challenge, and I knew I wouldn't be able to get there in time to help. You did well, honey. You did great.” I swallow back a lump, not because I'm so glad he's praising me, but because I'm not sure I believe him anymore.

Dad takes a deep breath, claps his hands together and takes the eyedropper from Veronica. “Okay, you boys, line up and open your mouths.” I guess that's the end of father/daughter time.

“Why?” Rob and Brayden ask in unison.

“Because this,” Dad says, holding the eyedropper up in the light and swishing the liquid around, “is the antidote.”

I frown, thinking of how Veronica dropped some on Odessa's wound. That's weird for an antidote; this isn't Neosporin. Rob's face bends in wonder. “So that's what you do here? You run an experimental pharma lab? That's why Sutton's trying to get in. For the antidote?”

The two adults exchange glances. “That's true,” Dad says. “He needs this, and right this moment, boys, so do you.”

“But what is it?” Brayden asks, his voice quiet. He's watching my father like a hawk.

Dad shakes his head. “Not right now. After you get some rest, okay?” We're quiet, and Dad looks at me. “Okay, Mia?”

“Okay, Dad,” I respond automatically, feeling somehow like I was just chastised and hating it.

They take the drops without further complaint, and Jimmy soon lies on the floor near Odessa's feet. Rob pulls off his shirt, indifferent to the fact that we are here, and walks into the shower. It has a curtain, but none of us are looking. I can't help but notice that Brayden's swollen lip has gone back to normal. He keeps touching it, then looking at his fingers, searching for blood.

“Want me to kick you in the face again?” I say.

He smiles. “No, actually. I'd rather not.”

Brayden takes the bed below me, atop an extra blanket we took from one of the lockers. I can hear him tossing and turning, even before Dad kisses me on the head and goes to the door.

“We're going to lock this, but just so you don't get lost, okay?”

“What time is it, Dad?”

He checks his watch by the light of the hallway. “Four thirty
P.M.
on Saturday.”

“I haven't slept in two days,” Jo says wearily into the dark.

“Well, get some sleep now, okay?” Dad says.

No one answers. Either they're asleep or they don't believe him that us getting “lost” is the biggest of his concerns.

His shadow remains in the doorway, his eyes sweeping across the room. “I'm glad you're safe,” he says to us, and then closes the door. I can hear the muted sound of him punching the code and the lock clicking into place.

Rob's out of the shower and sneaks through the dark onto the top bunk of Jo's bed, whispering “I love you so much” to his mattress.

Brayden holds his hand up and takes mine. I peer over the bed. “Don't keep stuff like your foot secret again, okay? That's dangerous.” His voice is soft, and it seems to slip from his mouth.

I nod a few times, but don't say a thing. I don't want anyone to wake up. I want to have this moment for myself. Staring over the side of the bed, at his disheveled hair and his face peeking over the blankets, at his worried smile, I find myself moving before I can think about what I'm doing. The bed creaks as I climb down and Brayden opens his blanket and lays me comfortably on his chest. He covers us both, and we lie there, our chests rising and lowering together, the heat of our little cocoon so acute that I begin to sweat immediately. I have never lain on a boy's chest before. I can feel his rib cage and the softness of his belly. I can feel the muscles in his arms as he holds me, and most of all, I feel safe. Small and safe.

I'm so tired that I can feel myself fading even as I fight, wanting equally to press myself harder against his body and to curl up and sleep.

“I want you to be safe, Mia.”

I want to tell him that that's exactly how I feel right now, but I don't. He rubs his hand gently along the ridge of my brow, down my chin. He kisses me; his lips are soft and gentle and don't ever leave mine.

MY EARS WAKE ME, REGISTERING THE DOOR'S ECHOING
pop
. Then the now-familiar
buzz
of the overhead lights. For a moment I panic, imagining everyone seeing Brayden and me tucked together on his bed, but I'm back on the top bunk. I don't know how I got here. I don't remember leaving him. It's hard to tell the time when you wake in the same sunless place; I'm not sure I want to ask. My body feels so heavy and poorly rested that I don't know whether I managed to get eight hours or three. After two days of being shot at and chased around, cold, wet and scared, I'm not even sure sixteen hours of sleep would have helped much anyway.

At least everyone else seems to be in rough shape too. Rob's standing over the sink, gargling water, his shoulders slumped and elbows resting against the metal bowl. If I didn't know better, I'd say it looks like he's about to puke. Jimmy's still sleeping, his mouth half open and his left arm tossed over his head. Jo's face is red, and she's trying to clear the grit from her eyes. Brayden sits thoughtfully against the wall, his knees drawn in, a pile of sheets folded next to him. He smiles, though it's a bit thin, not the type of greeting I was expecting after last night. Looks like he's been up for hours, ready to go. Why isn't he as tired as I am? I mean, it's not like I'm out of shape. I'm only a nationally ranked swimmer.

Dad pokes his head in, eyes closed, and calls, “Everybody decent?”

I'm embarrassed as only a daughter can be, but no one else answers either. We just sort of sit there and look at his long, stubbly face. Finally, he opens his eyes and enters the room. He's wearing a one-piece like Veronica had on yesterday, his body shapeless. He seems rested compared to us, what with his combed hair and bouncing feet. “Okay, everyone. Let's get moving. Breakfast is ready, and we've got a lot to do today.”

Jimmy's awake now, but I can see his eyelids drooping closed. His cheeks are sallow against his dark eyes and beard, and it seems like he could use the sleep. I'd like nothing more than to roll over myself, but this is my dad here, and ever the dutiful daughter, I lug my feet off the bed and hop down onto the floor, which is so cold that I squeal. Which means I felt something. Which means I'm not hallucinating when I see my perfectly healthy feet.

“Dad!”

He's at my side, looking scared, his eyes roaming my face for signs of injury or hurt. “What is it?”

“My feet!”

“Whoa,” Rob says, looking over Dad's shoulder.

Dad takes a foot and prods the skin, which I have the pleasure of feeling and seeing is as normal as it's ever been. A giddy, almost giggly pleasure. “How does it feel?” he asks.

“Fine,” I say. “But how can my feet be healed already?”

The look in his eye tells me that it isn't strange at all.

Everyone's standing near me now, checking out my feet. Brayden's smiling, and I notice that something's different. His lips are normal. There is no swelling anymore from where I kicked him in the face. They are pale and perfect and fade into his skin just like they did at Odessa's party.

Suddenly Jimmy seems to remember Odessa, because he hurries over to her side. His energy is infectious, and we all follow him, curious to know how she's doing.

“Is she okay?” he asks, speaking to no one and everyone. Odessa's waking up now, alarmed at the noise. Jimmy shushes her and puts a hand to her head.

“What's going on?” she asks.

“Just checking on the progress,” Dad says, inspecting her wound. The skin is almost seamless, the red nearly gone, and the wound doesn't smell at all. “Looking good, looking good.”

“How does a drop of an antidote to a virus heal a gunshot wound?” Brayden asks.

“And frostbite?” Rob adds.

Dad ignores them. This is a tactic he's used for years whenever I've wanted to know anything secret, and I almost say that out loud. The two boys share a glance of frustration. Odessa's dazed, but otherwise seems fine. Her newly aged face is angular and proper, and her freckles seem to have faded to the background behind her brilliant blue eyes. Suddenly, the obvious becomes clear.

“The virus is gone,” I mutter, but the others hear.

“What do you mean?” Jo asks.

“Yeah,” Odessa says from her perch on the cot. “Who made you a doctor?”

Dad watches me with interest.

“We slept for what seemed like hours, and the virus moves much faster than that. Jimmy still looks thirty. So does Odessa. They haven't aged, they haven't died—therefore they must be fine.”

“Really?” Odessa asks, taking all the good news in at once. “I'm not going to get all wrinkly and shriveled?”

I glance at Jo, but she truly seems to be focused on the good news and not the memory of her father. She's smiling, and she rubs Odessa's arm. Her fingernails still have specks of the purple nail polish I applied for her days ago.

Rob pulls his glasses from his face and begins to clean them. He speaks grimly. “This is awesome, of course, so, that's great. But, Mr. Kish, you can't think we're dumb enough to believe you just gave us something like penicillin. Not after Mia's foot.”

Of course he wouldn't. I'm allergic to penicillin.

Dad's quiet for a moment. He rubs the ridge of his thick nose, thinking about how best to respond. He looks at me, then at Odessa's wound. “I promise this will all be easier if we explain naturally. Just . . . yes, you're right. There's something special about that liquid. That's why we need to hurry, so we can show you firsthand. It's an immunization to the virus.”

“And frostbite?” Rob presses.

“Yes, Rob. It cures many things.”

And suddenly I get a glimpse of what's so important about the work my dad does in the Cave.

“So we're not sick anymore?” Odessa asks.

Dad shakes his head.

“But we are stuck this age?”

He nods, his brow furrowed apologetically. Rob whistles low. There's a tense pause, and we all watch Odessa think it through. I can actually tell that she's chewing the inside of her cheek.

“Well, all right, then,” she finally says. “At least I can get into bars now.”

Jimmy scoops Odessa up in his arms. She laughs and says, “I never thought I'd be glad to be thirty.” Jo's happy too, and she jokingly steps on my once-dead toes.

I'm curious and proud and fascinated. Is my dad a chemist, then? Runs a private section of a big pharma corporation? Is he working on a cancer cure or what? It must be top secret, like he's sworn against telling me anything. Maybe he had to sign a confidentiality agreement. This is way better than microchips. And the reason for Sutton's interest in the place is beginning to crystallize as well. If there's a liquid that cures everything from the plague to frostbite, the demand for it would be beyond enormous.

“Leave your things here,” Dad says, breaking up the fun. “There should be slippers in the lockers. Put those on and follow me.”

I find myself hurrying, eager to know what's next, what more I can learn about my dad. I kind of want the private tour, but this isn't really the place to be whining about father/daughter time.

We're soon back in the hallway, wandering empty halls with many doors, and something occurs to me. “Where is everyone?” I ask.

“Good question,” Jimmy mutters. “Feels like
The Twilight Zone.
”

“When the facility was built,” Dad answers, not even breaking his stride, “we prepped for growth. It's extraordinarily inconvenient and expensive to expand quickly underground, so we built for the future.”

“So how many people work here?” I ask.

For some reason this is too much for Rob. “He never told you?” he asks angrily.

“Well, he did.” I pause, speaking carefully. Dad makes a sour face, pulling his stubble tight across his jawline. I feel like I'm betraying him. “But now I don't know if he was telling the truth.” I look right at Dad. “Were you?”

“Not really, no.” His brown eyes flash at the challenge, his eyebrows bend in annoyance.

“Then how many?” Jo asks. We're all on one another's heels, wanting and needing to know more.

Dad doesn't say anything for a moment, and his sturdy work boots echo through the corridor. He stops at a double door, one without a keypad, and pushes the doors inward. “Come meet the employees of Fenton Electronics.”

There are three long tables, which I take to be more room for expansion because there are only two adults sitting at them, including Veronica. The room feels so immense, I can imagine that this place was designed as a hidden bunker for the president or something. We all file in, and there's an awkward moment as the two adults stand and march across the room toward us.

“Three,” I say, almost in disbelief.

“No way,” Brayden says, fiddling with the spot where his bracelet used to be. “There has to be someone manning the controls, right?

Dad grunts. “I wish that were the case. Only three, at the moment. We were supposed to have six, but the circumstances have changed of late.”

“But what if Sutton tries to get in?” Rob asks, adjusting his glasses.

“He's already trying,” Dad replies, his voice less carefree than last night. “Our monitors show men attempting to puncture the outer door with high-density drills. We already had to manually disable our alarms, or the sheriff would have showed up.”

“Why is that a bad thing?” Jo asks.

“Because,” Brayden answers before my dad can, “Sutton would have no choice but to capture the sheriff and then threaten the town too.” What, did he pipe up just to impress Dad? Whatever the case, it seems to be working, as Dad nods approvingly. Sir, I'll have your daughter back by eleven, if we ever get out of here.

“I still don't get it,” Jo persists, and she tugs at her ponytail in annoyance. “That seems like a good thing. More people coming to help us.”

“Not if it means the outbreak spreads beyond Westbrook and his soldiers,” Dad says. “There is literally nothing the local police could do quickly enough to help us out. These are just automatic alarms. We can't explain what's going on here, we can't warn them, so if we hit the alarm, we're just sentencing the sheriff and his deputies to death.” He checks his watch. “I'd say we have seven to ten hours before Sutton's engineers can burrow into the rock. Maybe double that before he can breach both doors with the fancy gadgets he has.” He seems to be talking to himself now. “Hopefully that's long enough.”

By now, Veronica and a very tall man have reached us. He seems familiar in a way that Veronica wasn't. He's got a buzz cut; his hair's already gray, though he doesn't look older than Dad. His face is tan and long, and he's wearing what looks like a flight suit.

“I've seen you before,” I say, trying to catch the fleeting memory. The man smiles, pleased at my recall, his teeth stained by coffee or cigarettes.

“I'm Chuck. I was your doctor after the well. I set your bones and stitched you up.”

I look to my dad, and he nods in confirmation.

“But why haven't we seen you around town?” Odessa asks. I agree with her. This doesn't make any sense.

“I was working here,” Chuck says, “and this is where I am most of the time. I have a house, down on Breakers Lane, but I don't really leave it except to buy food. Otherwise, I live in Denver.” Odessa shrugs, already bored, and he notices. His face shifts immediately, as if slighted and incredibly annoyed. “What, you think you kids pay attention to who's in the supermarket with you?”

“I guess not,” Odessa replies, and I have to stifle a laugh because I can't really see her doing much household shopping.

Suddenly, as if out of nowhere, I'm hit with a waft of the smell of eggs, and it makes me almost dizzy with hunger. We slept until Sunday morning. Is must be my birthday! Weird, this isn't how I expected to spend it. We take the long walk to the tables and have a seat, and soon enough Veronica and Chuck are back from behind a swinging door with heaping trays in their hands. There's juice and water at the table, pitchers and glasses. I'm in heaven.

I try to pace myself. Jimmy has no such qualms; he uses the big spoon to pull a good quarter of the eggs onto his plate. At first I thought they were for Odessa, but she's already managed to fill her plate on her own just fine.

It's almost a sideshow at first. The adults arrange themselves across the table from us, like a panel of professors or something, sipping their steaming coffees and watching us closely. Sitting there, my body shifts to normalcy through egg yolk. It's strange to see the people Dad works with. Chuck's the hardest to read; he keeps checking his watch and swirling his coffee like you would a glass of wine. But it's Veronica I'm drawn to anyway. She's tough, and I like that, but she also smiles when she catches me looking, and I feel a genuine warmth for her. I guess I was wrong yesterday about her being so stiff and cold. I wonder if she's one of Dad's close friends. Dad doesn't really take his eyes off me, as if my life depends on each bite I take. It's getting kind of annoying. Even their silence is. I know they're anxious and ready to go. Though I wish I knew more about what that means. I wonder, fleetingly, if once we're out of here, I'll ever be able to take anything he says at face value again.

My stomach almost hurts from the food.

“Good, good eggs,” Jimmy says, from a couple seats down. “You guys bring 'em in, or are they powdered?” Chuck frowns, offended at Jimmy's suggestion, and the others chuckle. I watch them with my chin close to the plate, food dangling from a metal fork.

“Chuck never gets any compliments from us,” Dad explains. “But, then again, I'm not sure he deserves them.” We all stare at Chuck, who's looking pleased with himself, a doctor and a chef.

“Whatever, Kish. If you guys ever thanked me for meals, you might get as good as this.”