The Rains (Untitled #1)(53)

Chatterjee said, “I’d hoped that there would be a period where the air was fertile—infected, that is—and then it would pass. But no. It seems that the air composition itself has been altered.”

“Maybe it’s permanent,” Rocky piped up from the back. “Like when a supervolcano erupts and changes the air for like a million years.”

“One great Dusting,” Chatterjee said.

A strangled sound rose out of the bleachers. “I’m dead, then.” Chet lowered himself to one of the benches and let his face droop into his hands. His voice came out muffled through his fingers. “I’m dead.” His shoulders shook, but aside from a few wet gasps he was silent.

No one knew what to say.

Ben finally spoke up. “You’re right. We gotta call it like it is. Come tomorrow, it’s over for you.”

“Do you remember what time you were born?” Dezi Siegler asked.

Chet lifted his face, smeared with tears. “A minute after noon. Since I was so … big, the delivery took a long time. My mom used to joke that my birth was a high-noon showdown.”

“So you have till midday tomorrow,” Ben said. “Then I’ll put you down. I’m sorry, Chet, but it’s gotta be done.”

Chet looked around from kid to kid, appealing for some kind of help, but there was none to give. I’d never felt so helpless in my life. And that wasn’t even the worst part. Scratching at the back of my skull was an even more terrifying thought: Four more days till we’ll have to do the same to Patrick.

Dr. Chatterjee made his unsteady way to Chet and sat beside him. Chet tilted into him, sobbing into his shoulder. “I’m sorry, son,” Chatterjee said. “I’m sorry I can’t protect you. If there was any way it could be me instead of you, I would make that trade.”

Chet cried for a long time. When he started to wheeze, Dr. Chatterjee told him to slow his breathing down, to take deep, measured inhales. Finally Chet looked up.

“Is there anything you want?” Patrick said. “For tonight? Tomorrow morning?”

“Like a last meal?” Chet’s laugh turned into a stifled sob. “No. I think I just want to look at the view, maybe. Breathe some fresh air.”

Patrick nodded. “How ’bout the roof? You could go up there.”

Chet rose and made his way down the bleachers, pausing on his sturdy legs. “Will you come with me, Patrick?”

“Of course I will.”

As they headed out, Ben called after them, “Careful you don’t get spotted.”

Patrick and Chet were gone for a long time. The two oldest kids in our party. The two closest to death. I don’t know what they did, but I imagined Chet sitting up there staring at Ponderosa Pass in the distance, trying not to count the ticking seconds. Our air was crisp, the view clear, and I hoped every breath was a reminder of the good things his life had held.

They came back in for dinner, and all the kids went out of their way to be extra nice to Chet, offering him their dessert, making sure he had the most comfortable cot, the best pillows.

But even after night fell, he didn’t sleep.

If I had only a few hours to live, I wouldn’t be able to sleep either.

He sat on his cot, rocking, his arms wrapped around himself.

Everyone tried not to look at him, but he was the center of attention—even the air seemed to pull toward him there in the middle of the cots.

I lay in my own bed scribbling in my notebook, doing my best not to stare. But I couldn’t help shooting looks over at him now and then.

Morning passed in a crawl. Now kids kept their distance from Chet, who moved through the breakfast line sluggishly, his face heavy with dread. He sat at a table alone in the corner of the cafeteria, chewing his food, his eyes lowered.

I picked up my tray and went to join him. We didn’t speak. There was no point. Nothing could make him feel better. I just didn’t want him eating his last breakfast alone.

Back at the gym, Chet sat in the bleachers, his head hanging low.

The clock crept to ten, then eleven. Finally the minute hand inched its way up toward noon.

Ben stood, tugging the stun gun from his belt. “It’s time,” he said.

The Mendez twins burst out crying and ran to hide behind the bleachers.

“Where do you want it done?” Ben asked. “Want me to take you somewhere private?”

“No,” Chet said. “I don’t want to be alone. I want to be here with all of you. If that’s okay.”

“Of course it’s okay,” Patrick said. “You get whatever you want.”

Alex said, “You’re surrounded by friends here.”

Ben strode over and said, “I’ll wait for you to start to turn. Then I’ll do it. You won’t feel a thing.”

Chet nodded, his cheeks wobbling.

Ben raised the stun gun and pressed it to Chet’s forehead. “Ready, Chet?”

Chet closed his eyes.





ENTRY 23

It felt like there was no air in the gym. We watched stiffly, our bodies tensed, waiting for the clack of the stun gun firing through Chet’s skull into his brain.

Ben’s fist tightened around the handle.

Chet’s eyes flew open. “Wait!” he said, stepping back. “Wait. I don’t want to. I can’t. I don’t want to be dead.”