Rising Tide (32 page)

She gives me a nod. “Send me a message if you turn anything up.”

“I will,” I say.

And then the Keepers escort me out.

Before I see Clay, I stop off to see Rabbi Cohen. His synagogue is empty, but I find him straightening up. He smiles when he sees me. “Ah, Ben,” he says. He's wearing a simple, knit cap today, sweater and pants both black. He comes forward to me, clasps my hands in his own. Then he must see something in my face because he says, “What's the matter?”

“I came to ask you to pray for someone,” I say.

He frowns. “Who?”

“His name is Sergei. He's one of the scientists I came here with. He's sick.”

He places a comforting hand on my collar. “I am very sorry to hear that. Are you two close?”

I shrug. “I consider him a friend. But he's practically a father to Miranda.”

“Ah, I see,” he says. He gestures for me to sit on one of the wooden benches, and when I do he sinks down next to me. “And you can't stand seeing her upset.”

“I just . . . she's been through a lot. And we just got a win with this detection test of hers and things are starting to settle down and then . . . this.”

The rabbi is silent. He just stares at me.

“I like Sergei, I do. And of course I want to see him well.”

He chuckles.

“What?”

“You're human,” he says. “You're unhappy because a friend of yours is sick. You're also upset because someone you care for is upset.”

“Yes,” I say. “I just . . . I want him to be well.”

“Who is taking care of him?”

“Miranda.”

“I see.”

“They're in quarantine now.”

“So that's why you've come to me.”

“I'm kinda running out of options,” I say.

“Very well.” He folds his hands in his lap. “But let me ask you, why should I do the work for you? Why can't you pray yourself?”

I squirm a bit. “Because it would be hypocritical. Because I don't believe.”

“But because I do, that makes it okay? You do realize you're asking me to do something you claim not to believe in.”

“I'll take whatever help I can get,” I say. “And if God is up there, listening, I'm sure he's more likely to do you a favor than me.” His face is skeptical. “It makes perfect sense to me.”

“Ben, you do realize that God isn't there for us to ask things of, right? I tried to explain that to you before.”

“Look, Rabbi, like I said, I'm willing to try anything at this point. We're so close,” I say. “So close to some kind of change. A good one. I can feel it. I just want us to get there.”

“Is that optimism I hear?”

“I guess.” And I start wondering, When did I start believing Miranda? What convinced me that she might be right? Was it the test? Or was it when I realized I had feelings for her? Or is it just that I'm sick of always being afraid. Cautious. Waiting for the sky to fall.

The rabbi pats my leg. “I will pray for your friend, Ben,” he says. “And I will pray for you and I will pray for Miranda. Not because you asked me to, mind you. But because I would have done so anyway, once I heard what was happening.”

“I'll take it,” I say. “Thank you.”

I get up to go, and he shuffles off to continue his straightening up. “You still haven't shown up for services,” he says as I turn away.

“Yeah. I've been a little busy, Rabbi.”

“Maybe when all of this is over? I'm not asking you to pray. Or even to believe. Just come and sit. Listen to the words.”

“Okay,” I say. “When all of this is over, I'll come.”

He smiles. “Good.”

As I walk out, I realize that I actually mean it. I'll come back when Sergei is better and all this hubbub dies down, and I'll sit and listen to the rabbi sing the songs of my childhood.

A part of me can't wait.

The thing about the rabbi is that being with him, talking to him, ultimately calms me. There's something in his demeanor, or something about him, that generates a sense of ease in me. A feeling that everything will be okay. He relaxes me.

Clay is the exact opposite.

I prepare myself as I walk to the lab, telling myself to be nice, that it's for Miranda, that it's for Sergei, and I think I have it down. I can be nice to him. I can ignore how I felt about him in the past.

But then I see his smug face, the expression that flits over it as I walk in, and I just want to punch him.

“Miranda's not here,” he says, his eyes back on whatever work he's doing.

“I know. She's with Sergei. In quarantine.”

“Oh,” he says. He looks up. “How is he?”

“The same,” I say. “At least Miranda gets to stay with him. Lewis is going to give her some of her equipment.”

“Good,” he says. “I don't suppose they'll let anyone else in?”

I shake my head. “Only Miranda.”

“Damn,” he says.

“Miranda wanted me to ask if you noticed anything weird about him before he collapsed. Or if he had been working with anything new or different.”

“He was working on the detection test, same as everyone else,” he says. “He wasn't even working with any blood at all. Just the reagents.”

“Could one of those have caused this?”

“No,” he says. “I can't imagine how. And we've all been working with them.”

“Did you notice any symptoms?” I ask.

Clay sits back and crosses his arms across his chest. “Nothing that couldn't also seem to be the results of overworking. He looked tired. A bit rundown. But most of us do. We've been working practically nonstop for days. If I had noticed something, don't you think I would have said something? And to someone other than you?”

“Look,” I say. “I'm asking for Miranda. I'm not trying to imply anything. She's worried about Sergei.”

Clay stands up. “I'm worried about him, too,” he says. “I'm the one who's been with him this whole time. While you and Miranda were off having adventures in the sky.”

“Adventures?” I say, feeling my face get hot. “Fucking adventures? Which recent events would those be? Me losing my ship? Me getting shot? Diego getting tortured? My ship blowing up? Getting thrown in a cell multiple times?” My voice is getting louder now. “Don't forget that I helped get you that data from Gastown. Or that I helped free the boffins from that camp. Or that I fucking stopped raiders from dropping Ferals on your head.”

He moves forward. “The team wouldn't have even needed rescuing if you hadn't run back at Apple Pi.”

“Shut your fucking mouth.” I move closer to him. “You weren't fucking there.”

“And what about the rest? What about my friends who are still unaccounted for?”

“Clay.”

“And it was your presence on Gastown that gave away our location in the first place. Because Ben loses his ship and Miranda jumps to help him get it back. It's your fault you had to blow your fucking ship up. Miranda's too.”

It's all I can do not to tear into him. There's something red and pulsing behind my eyes and my fists are clenched at my sides, wanting to be used.

“And I'm supposed to be happy because, what, because Miranda decided to pretend to be a spy and got us some data from Gastown? Please.”

“Wait,” I say. “Who are you mad at? Me or her?”

“Both of you! She changed after you came along. She used to be focused on the work. On the science. Now she drops it all every time you get stuck in a ditch. And if you haven't noticed, you fall into an awful lot of ditches. She leaves Sergei and me here alone, trapped here, to continue the work while she plays zep with you.”

Some of the heat inside of me starts to fade. I'm starting to get it now. He
is
mad at Miranda. Probably a little because he has a thing for her, but mostly because Clay is a zealot. A science zealot. To him there's nothing higher. And Miranda has at least partially replaced it with caring about people. In Clay's world, the science comes first. And that's one of the reasons I can't stand him and I much prefer Miranda's company.

I force myself to take a deep breath. I unclench my hands. I hold them up placatingly. It's all I can do to keep them still. “I'm not here to fight,” I say. “You have issues with me and Miranda, fine. But this isn't about us. It's about Sergei. And he didn't leave you. He's been here with you for the past few weeks. And he needs your help.”

Clay exhales loudly, and his shoulders drop from their bunched-up position. “Like I said, he's been rundown lately.” He rubs his temples. “I thought it was just exhaustion.” He pauses. “And age. Sergei's the oldest. I thought the years were just catching up to him.”

“And now?”

“Now I think it's something else.” He sighs. “I'll get in touch with Miranda. Get her a message through quarantine. I'll see how I can help.” He lowers his head back to his work.

I guess that's it, then. I turn to go.

“Does it scare you?” he asks, just as I'm about to walk out.

My first thought is he's asking me about the disease. The answer is yes, but I'm not going to tell him that. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Your extinction. The world is moving on.”

“I think you know jack shit about the world, seeing as you've been stuck here for weeks.”

“We're building something here. Something new. There are no bones for you to pick here.”

“I can think of a few that are begging to be broken.”

He nods. “There it is. The threat of violence. Your first and last resort.”

“Fuck you, Clay. You left out my profanity.”

He shakes his head.

“Don't get too comfortable in your new world just yet,” I say. “You're not the first to think you've emerged from the Sick. Not the first to think you've evolved. I'm all for civilization, but it's not made of bricks, it's made of paper.”

“I like paper.”

“So does fire.” I hold his gaze. “Remember what happened to Gastown.”

He looks away.

“That's the problem with paper,” I say. “Someone can always black out everything you wrote.”

“Then we'll keep writing,” he says.

I nod. “Let's hope in the end that someone is around to read the book.”

Two more people get sick the next day. Then five more the day after. Lewis is losing his mind. Miranda has been telling him it's not the Bug—and it can't be, otherwise people would have Faded by now. We'd have Ferals on our hands. Instead, Sergei is just wasting away, and now others have joined him. Literally, too. They moved them out to Miranda's lab. The new one. They wanted to move them all to the Orchard, but Miranda needs access to her equipment. Everyone else has been ordered to stay in their homes and to limit contact with anyone else.

The whole island is afraid. And as far as I can tell, Miranda has no idea what's happening. Which makes me afraid. Miranda's spent years—decades—working on the Bug, but this is entirely new.