The Isle (9 page)

I
keep my head down as Callum leads us through the West Isle; Ren says acting normal is the best way to keep from getting caught. I try to focus on how wonderful streets are. Back home, everything sways—the docks, the boardwalks, the suspension bridges.

With the bird mask on, it's easier to pretend. I'm something with wings. I could fly away at the last minute if I need to. Some people might think it's silly—I'm fourteen, after all, still pretending. But I don't. It's how I survived. When you're stuck sick in one place for years, you find other ways to live. Even made-up ones.

Beside me, Ren is sending out comms left and right. “Just letting Derek and the others know we're safe, and we're almost at Callum's.”

“Others?” I ask, hopeful. Ren winks. She knows who I'm really asking about.

“You'll see him soon enough,” she says just as her wrist buzzes. Looking down, she reads the message. “Speak of the devil!” She nudges me twice with her elbow. “He says hi and that he can't wait to see you.”

I don't care that I'm blushing.

As we walk, Ren fills me in on everything I've missed, from finding the Tètai family album and learning Derek's true age (it's in the centuries) to the night she and the other racers distributed the cure. The same night I was taken.

One block away stands a cream-colored castle-like building made entirely out of giant slabs of stone. “We're close,” Callum says, pointing.

Ren's bird mask does a double take. “
That's
where you're taking us?” We both walk a little bit faster.

Swanky
, I think
,
knowing that's what Ren would call it.

A humming noise grates in the air, growing louder the closer we get. “What is that?” I ask, covering my ears. It sounds like it's coming from a nest of electric bees. It doesn't hurt to listen to, but I feel it in my belly and it makes me even more anxious.

“Private turbine generator, for electricity. My entire complex pitched in to pay for it,” Callum says, opening the building's glass double doors for us.

We follow him into a circular lobby filled with potted, dying green things. I don't understand why they have plants if they don't have the money to water them. Seems cruel to the plants.

A guard sits at a wooden desk. He's gray on top with whiskers like our old cat, and he's playing chess alone. When he sees Callum he waves, chess piece still in hand.

“Morning, Dr. Cory,” he says with a nod for both Ren and me.

I can tell he's wondering about us. Who we are, if we really belong here. And we don't belong here, not really. It's a different world on the Isle.

I smile back, though, as wide as my cheeks can go from under the bird mask. Ren gives him the stink-eye. I'm not too surprised. Rich people always make her grouchy.

Except for Terrence, of course.

He's different. He grew up like us, orphaned by the Blight, and his new dad just happened to be rich. Thinking about him still gives me bubbles.

Callum turns down a carpeted corridor, still on the ground floor. He unlocks a heavy lead door and pushes it open. Inside his apartment, gray drapes keep out almost all the light, so we can't see much of anything.

“It's late,” he says, turning on a small lamp. “Tomorrow we can discuss our next move. Before calling it a night, however, I have a surprise.”

Whatever he's about to show us . . . it's good. I can tell. His face is lit up like he's been plugged into a magic power outlet somewhere. He walks us through the living room and down a narrow, dimly lit hall.

At a door two rooms down, he stops.

Seeing what's inside, I squeak, “They're glowing!” and run toward what looks like a fish tank. Except, it's not filled with
fish. It's filled with algae-covered rocks growing neon-green mushrooms. A pump attached brings old water out and circulates it with new water. From underneath, burners heat the tank, throwing off tiny blue circles of fire. “What is this? Is this the water?” It's all too weird.

“That's the water, all right,” Callum says with pride.

Ren grins. She tousles his already messy brown hair. “You never said you could grow more! Sneaky scientist, ain't we?” She lets him go and peers down into one of the glass bowls, her finger tracing the rim.

“That's because I
couldn't
. The mushrooms wouldn't grow.”

“Why are the mushrooms so important?” I ask, eyeing their bright green hoods. “I thought it was the water that healed me.”

“It was. But only because of the mushrooms. They have these chemical compounds, phytonutrients, with medicinal properties, some antitumoral and antiviral in nature. All plants have phytonutrients, actually. Just not in the same quantity or combination. And since the mushrooms grow in an underground hot spring, they release those compounds into the water. That's how the water cures the Blight.”

“That, and
me
,” Ren quips, pointing a finger at him. She taps the crook of her arm. “My blood. It made the serum work better, naturally.”

I don't need to ask what she means: Ren's immune to the virus. Of course her blood would help. Ren never told anyone about it, though. At the orphanage, Miss Nale warned
her not to. She was afraid the DI would experiment on Ren so badly, she'd end up dead. Which doesn't seem so far-fetched, now knowing what I do.

I turn back to the neon tank, mesmerized by the soft green glow. “So how did you keep the mushrooms alive, then?”

“I made a breakthrough,” Callum says with a bounce, clearly happy I asked. “I realized I knew nothing about the cave's ecosystem. They can't just grow out of rocks, or water. Plants need soil. In the cave there wouldn't be soil, but I guessed that there might've been some algae growing on the rocks. I tried a few kinds and landed on the right one. Nothing special about the species, but without it, the fungi have no way to grow.”

“So simple!” I laugh, though I'm sure it sounds much easier than it actually was.

“Not quite,” Callum says, confirming it. “The fungi would seem to be growing, and just when I thought I'd succeeded, they'd die all over again. I was confounded. Until I had my
second
breakthrough.”

Ren and I exchange glances, waiting for him to tell us. He leaves us hanging for just a few moments before the big reveal. . . .

“The fungus is parasitic,” he says at last. “If the spore count grows too large, it will actually kill the algae.”

Seeing both Ren's and my blank expression, he explains.

“Spores—they're like microscopic baby mushrooms. Given the right conditions, they'll grow. But with too many, the algae dies. No algae, no fungus. That's why it kept dying off; the spore count would get too high as the fungi reproduced.
In the spring's natural ecosystem—with fresh water flowing in and out—you've got a perfect ratio, always in flux.”

“Okay,” Ren admits. “I don't usually dig the science stuff, but it's pretty impressive how you just figured all of it out.”

Callum grins sheepishly.

“A real, live Fountain of Youth,” I murmur. “Just like in the stories.”

“Well, I haven't found anything to suggest the water can reverse human aging, but as Ren learned, Derek's been alive for centuries.”

At the mention of Derek's name, Ren glances at her cuffcomm. She stifles her sigh, but we both see how worried she is.

“Then why isn't everyone you gave the cure to immortal?” I ask.

“I filtered out any unidentifiable phytonutrients when making it. I left only the antitumorals and the antivirals, I was so terrified.”

“Even if you hadn't, the immortality isn't a permanent side effect,” Ren says. “Derek needs to drink the water every day or he'll turn into a corpse.”

Callum lowers himself slowly onto the corner of his desk. “Unbelievable,” he whispers, scratching his cheek. After a few moments of awe, he shakes his head. “Well, maybe they wouldn't have become immortal, but they would definitely have had a hard time dying—at least until the water was no longer in their system. I've identified more than one phytonutrient responsible for regeneration.”

I nearly jump out of my skin at the word. Nudging Ren with
my bandaged wrist, I lean into her ear so only she can hear me. “Could it help? Would Callum give me some? Maybe if I drink more, my hands really will come back.”

Ren turns and says, “What do you think, Doc? Can we give Aven a dose or two?”

“I don't see why not.” Callum stands and pulls out an eyedropper from a drawer. He fills it with water from the tank, then pinches the water free into an empty vial.

He passes the vial to me. Too late, he remembers that I can't hold it.

Ren takes it. Bringing it to my lips, she says, “Drink up.” I tip my head back and, slowly, she pours it into my mouth.

When it's all gone, I smack my lips together. “Yum.” Just like when Derek gave it to me, I feel a jolt, a surge of electricity powering up my veins and my muscles and my bones. “Whoa,” I say, going a little cross-eyed.

“What is it?” Callum asks, taking the glass back.

“Nothing bad . . . it gives me a buzz. I feel strong.”

He replaces the glass in a drawer and turns to me. “The phytonutrients are going to work. I believe one of them switches on the chain of proteins responsible for regeneration. It's a good sign. Now, we just have to wait.”

Callum yawns, shaking himself awake. “On that note, ladies, let me show you to your room?”

Ren and I share a secret look of excitement. Callum will have a bed for us, he has to—we won't be sleeping on just a mattress tonight.

He sees our not-so-secret look and grins, gesturing toward
the door. “After me,” he says.

As he leads us out of the lab and back through the corridor, the water speeds through my veins. I feel invincible.

“We can talk about the prisoners tomorrow too, right?”

Ren sighs. “That's a pretty big conversation,” she says. Her tone worries me.

“Aven, why don't you go ahead—last door on the right. Ren, if you're up to it, I can draw some blood now?”

“Fine,” Ren heaves, hanging her head dramatically in the middle of the hallway. “Let's get it out of the way.”

Callum chuckles as she kisses me on the forehead. “I'll be there in two shakes, but you go to sleep. Don't wait for me,” she says.

“I won't.” I peck her cheek in return.

At the last room I nearly faint. In the corner is a massive, four-poster bed topped off with clean white blankets. I rush for it. Plopping down and finding myself actually bouncing, I deem this mattress more than acceptable.

On the night table, under the lamp, lays a sleek black cuffcomm. Looking closer, I see my name's etched in gray on the back.
Callum got this for me.
I choke on my laughter.

I like this Callum guy.

Using my elbow, I flip the light switch and the room goes dark. I laugh again, this time at how easy it all is.

Getting to sleep, however, is another story.

Exhaustion tugs at my eyelids, but I resist it. I don't know how long I spend with my eyes wide-open, blinking at the ceiling. I last as long as I can, until I own the truth:

I'm afraid.

There are places in my mind where I don't want to go. There's a white room. And in the white room is a knife of a man. And in the knife-man's hand there are sharp tools. And in this place, I'll never be whole again. My memories are the opposite of lullabies.

You're safe
, I tell myself.
It's okay to close your eyes.
But when sleep grips at me with both hands, I still fight.

I fight until I can't anymore; I'm too tired.

I don't go willingly to those places, but I do go.

White walls, the color of a body—a dead body. A new dead body, floating down the strait. I wake, but not really: the dead don't wake. And here, we're all dead. I am a star that died long ago. Death always catches up, though. The doctor wears white because even she is dead. This is a place only the dead go. Her needle is full.

A black bird circles the room.

The room stops being white. We're still dead, though. Dead in a dark, wide bowl, where hundreds of stars have been shoved into tiny lightbulbs. They don't fall for our wishes anymore. They're losing light, because their home is out there, somewhere in the universe. I want to help them fall. In the dark, wide bowl I make a promise to the dead stars.

I will bring you back to life
, I tell them, and they believe.

The doctor locks both my arms together. I don't fight back. It's always been like this. I'm always lying, locked and looking up while the black bird circles.

A knife without a face reaches for my hand.

Why am I doing nothing?

Because you are dead,
I remind myself.
You were not born a black bird.

The knife has a voice that is also a knife. It makes my ears bleed. But that can't be right—the dead don't bleed. The knife doesn't care.
You're dead
, he says, and then he tells me he's not even a real knife. He's just a toy knife, and toy knives don't really hurt.
He's lying
, I think.

The toy knife that is not a toy comes down across my wrists.

The black bird shrieks.

Two white wings fall onto a white floor.

The wings flap, and I die twice.

I push at the air, the sheets, but I still can't make myself move.
Only Ren can do that.
And then I'm being shaken—

I shoot out of the bed, gasping for air, pushing her away with a gauze-covered stump. I'm crying and I can't stop it: there's a knife still in the room, because it's still in my head, which means it will never go away.