Memory Girl (32 page)

“It's so hot and uncomfortable in here,” Visla yells in my ear.

“Uncomfortable,” I agree, but I'm looking at the drolls. “Can we go to the lab now?”

Visla nods.

Once we're in the elevator, far from noisy tumblers, silence curls around us. I can't stand the curiosity any longer. “Can I ask a personal question?”

“Took you long enough.” Visla smirks. “You want to know my age.”

“You're younger than me. But youths haven't been born in fifteen years.”

“Physically, my body is eleven,” she says proudly.

“How is that possible?” I ask.

“I was born in ShareHaven six years before the Attack.”

“But … but ….” I stare at her, puzzled. “Why did you cease aging before twenty-five?”

“I was the first to try out the patch—well, the first to survive.” She shrugs. “Early stages of new procedures are always unpredictable.”

“The scientists experimented on you?” The elevator rises smoothly, yet I'm jolted inside.

“How do you think they perfected the cease-aging patch?” She puffs out her scrawny chest with pride. “Only the most trusted sistas participate in experimental research. There was a celebraze when it was proven I'd stopped aging.”

“But you stopped too soon!”

“It was a risk the scis were willing to take. They were able to determine the prime age to cease growth because of me. This was a key breakthrough in the development of the cease-aging patch.”

I shake my head. “How could you allow them to do that to you?”

“I'd do anything for Sci Lila.” We've reached the third floor, and the elevator stops, but we stand still looking at each other. “You'd understand if you'd been here when ShareHaven was attacked. An explosion killed my parents—Dad was a custodian and Mom a chemist. When ShareHaven shifted to a ruling of Families, I had no Family. The Leaders wanted me to leave like they forced others to do, but Sci Lila made me her assistant. I owe her my life.”

I think of Frost's cold hands on my neck and the cutting tool in Scientist Daniel's hand. I owe Lila my life too.

“Still, you were so young—couldn't you have joined a Family?”

“None wanted me. I was injured and too weak for hard work, another burden to a ripping chaotic community. Even though Lila was dealing with so much, she healed me.” Visla holds out her arm and wiggles her fingers. “Can you tell this arm and hand are mechy? I lost my real arm in the explosion that killed my parents. But Lila and Martyn—he's brilliant with circuitry—fixed me so good no one can tell it's mech-flesh. The only dif is my digi-clock.” She touches the gold band encircling her wrist. Not jewelry as I first thought, but a timepiece embedded into her skin. At a tap of her finger, the time flashes: 9:36A.

“We're late,” she says, frowning. “Sci Lila will be waiting for us.”

Visla presses a wall button and the elevator doors slide apart. We enter such brightness, as if we're stepping outside. I glance down a narrow hall and count three closed doors. Visla says two of them are Daniel's and Martyn's rooms, and the other is the lab. Like trapped sunshine, neon-white walls illuminate the place with painted symbols swirling across the ceiling in a mysterious language.

We stop at a large metal door.

As Visla turns the brass handle, the floor rumbles. I turn around to the opening elevator. A golden-haired woman in a white lab coat runs out, screaming. Her arm dangles oddly at her side. Her eyes are wild with panic. As she rushes by, I gasp at the deep jagged slashes on her mangled arm.

Still screaming, she races into the lab.

Spilling a trail of blood.

I'm too stunned to move, wanting to help but having no idea what to do.

“Tamsin!” Visla's voice shrills with panic. She lunges for the lab door. She twists the knob, but it doesn't open. “Let me in! Please!”

“What happened to her?” I point to the blood drops on the floor.

“I don't know, but I'll find out. Poor Tamsin. She'll need me.” Visla pounds on the door and calls again to be let inside.

“Who's Tamsin?”

“A sista for Lila … like me.” Visla's voice shakes. “I can't believe this happened …. She knows the risks and is always so careful.”

Visla turns away from me, pounding on the door with her mechy hand, calling out for Lila and Tamsin over and over. “Why won't they let me inside?” Visla sags to the ground, her back against the locked door. I kneel to slip my arm around her trembling shoulders. “I have to see Tamsin … make sure she's okay.”

“Lila will heal her,” I say gently. “Have you known Tamsin long?”

“We were raised together, playing all over the island before there were Family compounds or beasts in the woods. Tamsin lost her parents in the Attack like I did, and she
helped me recover from this.” She lifts her mechy hand.

“Tamsin's arm looked … so bloody …. What do you think happened?”

“I don't know. She's cautious when she works in the restricted—” Visla stops.

“Restricted what?”

“Nothing.” She stares at the door, her lower lips pressed tight. “I could help if they'd let me inside …. She needs me.”

“Have there been other …” I search for the right word. “… accidents?”

“No,” she says quickly. Too quickly. “I can't talk about this. Please go back to your room. The tour is over.”

I start to argue, but there's a metallic click. The lab door opens. Lila's purple robe falls apart like curtains as she looks at us. “I thought you might still be here.”

“You must let me in!” Visla jumps to her feet, peering beyond Lila into the dimly lit room. “How's Tamsin?”

“She's healing well.”

“Are you sure? Her arm looked ….” Visla flexes her own mechy hand, frowning. “Will it be usable?”

“There's no lasting damage. The injury appeared worse than actuality.”

“How did it happen?” I ask.

Lila and Visla exchange a meaningful glance before Lila answers, “Tamsin was clumsy while cleaning tools. Fortunately, the cut didn't go too deep.”

Not deep? Are we talking about the same injury? A tool doesn't chew flesh like a savage beast. Something alive attacked Tamsin—with sharp teeth and claws. But how could a beast get inside the scientists' compound?

“Tamsin is fine,” Lila assures, with a calmness that
makes me want to scream for her to tell me the truth. “I sealed the wound with curing cream, and she's resting in cubicle eight.”

“Can I sit with her?” Visla asks anxiously.

“Of course, but first bring a droll to clean this mess.” Lila gestures to the floor, distaste flickering across her face. “You're free of duties for the day and may stay with Tamsin. She'll be cheered by your presence when she awakens.”

“Thank you so very, very much.” Visla exhales deeply, then hurries to the elevator.

I move to follow, but Lila stops me with a firm hand on my arm. “Jennza, you haven't finished your tour.”

“But Visla said—”

“Visla is no longer your guide.” Silvery purple sleeves brush against my arm as she clasps my hand. “I am.”

I hardly know what to say when she invites me into the lab—a door that only moments ago was locked. “Would you care to see where I work?”

“More than anything!” My glance flickers to blood drops. “But don't you have more important things to do?”

“No more important than you. If you're concerned about Tamsin, be assured she's healing and resting comfortably in a rear room.”

“Won't I be intruding on the other scientists?” I think of Scientist Daniel aiming a sharp cutting tool at me while I lie helpless on a table. And his assistant Frost, with her icy cruelness. I never want to see them again.

“You may go anywhere I say.” Scientist Lila lifts her shoulders defiantly. “Only Martyn is working here now, and he rarely looks up from his microscope. He's busy with research and documentation—nothing exciting.”

A lab—with experiments and secrets—is exciting to me. While my born-mates invented stories about their future Families, I dreamed of exploring beyond boundaries and discovering universal secrets. The broken Fence wires were my first discovery, then the cave and the best discovery of all—Petal. And look where I am now: the most mysterious place on the island, where Instructors, Leaders, and Uniforms aren't even allowed.

“Come inside,” Lila says with a swish of her elegant purple robes as she holds the lab door open for me.

I follow Lila into the lab.

Compared to the luminous hall walls, the lab seems dark, with stenches of chems. Lila was right—the lab is dullness. There's no décor on the walls—only metal shelves. The ceiling slopes toward skylights, which do little to brighten the room. I count four work areas divided by partitions—one for each scientist—consisting of a desk, chair, and document cabinet.

“Nothing elaborate, but it's a good working space.” She makes a sweeping gesture around the room. “Kataya is the chaos queen,” she adds, pointing to a desk cluttered with stacked jars, over-full files, boxes, and a tray piled with tiny yellowed (animal? human?) bones.

“Over there is Daniel's desk,” she continues with a nod to the plainest desk in the room; there's not a pencil, paper, or dust mote on the flat wood surface.

“And there's Martyn, the most brilliant man I know, yet he forgets to sleep and eat.” A scientist with gray hair on his egg-shaped head is hunched over a thick retro-book, flipping through pages, his glasses slipping down his thin nose. He's aged like Grandmother Cross. He mutters to himself,
showing no more attention to us than Frost gave the drolls.

“Lastly—an oasis for my cluttered mind—my desk,” Lila finishes, crossing over to a U-shaped desk in the center of the room. It's organized precisely, paper, pens, folders in perfect alignment. There's a framed picture of Lila beside a goodly looking man with fawn-brown hair, blue eyes, and a close-shaven beard. They're staring into each other's faces as if no one else exists in this moment. Something about their expressions—longing, joy, and sadness combined—makes me think of the way Nate looked at me before he left through the tunnel.

“This is the Sharing Bloom.” Lila's voice pulls me from the picture. I follow her gaze to a flowering vine enclosed in a glass dome with tiny air holes. The plant has dark-purple stems, four-pointed green leaves, and shoots of yellow blossoms that shimmer as if on fire.

I sniff the blossoms, surprised to smell nothing. “Do you know why it's odor-lacking?” I ask.

“Nature is a trickster, using beauty to lure in prey and odors for defense. There's a scent, but it's only obvious when boiled in salt water. I doubt you've ever seen one before today.”

“But I have.” In my cave they dangle from the ceiling, growing down instead of up. I'm sure it's the same flower I call rainbells.

Her brows arch. “Where?”

I hesitate, not ready to share this secret. “I don't remember.”

“You've probably confused it with the lillsy, which is similar and grows near the Edu-Center,” she says, reaching out to lift the glass dome. “Daniel's wife—she died many years ago—discovered the Sharing Bloom quite by accident,
which is often the way for scientific breakthroughs.”

“It's lovely—like bubbles waving in the air.”

“It's much tougher than it appears and never withers like common flowers—not in rain, heat, wind, or icy winter. In fact, adversity makes it stronger. The flower does have a weakness, though, which makes cultivating it very difficult.”

“What?” I reach out to touch the bloom.

She slaps my hand away and lets the glass dome fall back into place. “Human touch,” she answers. “Our skin oils are like acid to the Sharing Bloom, so we must handle them with gloves. Ironically, while human touch damages them, their oils heal us. Without the Sharing Bloom, we wouldn't have the cease-aging patch, healing creams, or memdenity.”

“They come from a—a flower?”

“Not an ordinary flower—it grows in a location only known to scientists. This isn't common knowledge, so do not repeat it.”

If it's so secret, why is she telling me?

Slipping back in her tour tone, Lila points across the room to a closed door and says that's where Tamsin is recuperating. I'm curious about Tamsin, but Lila leads me away.

Before exiting the room, I get an odd feeling. I glance over my shoulder to find Martyn scowling at me. He quickly looks away, but I sense resentment. I turn to ask Lila about him, but she's already moved ahead. I hurry after her.

This narrow hallway has three closed doors to the right and one to the left. Contrasting odors swirl in the air—sweet sea-mist grasses and harsh, acrid chemicals. A flash of memory comes to me, of running through the street, clinging to the Daddy's hand, while behind us buildings burn. “Your mask!” the Daddy man shouts, so angry that I
start to cry. He looks back, then sweeps me up in his arms and helps me slip the breathing mask over my head.