Wilder Girls(57)

It doesn’t matter anymore. I tear up my sheet, bandage my arm stain spreading and I get to my feet. I don’t want to be where they put me when it happens.



* * *



—

My clothes are in the cabinet behind my bed, sealed up in a biohazard bag. I rip it open with my teeth and take them out jacket, shirt, jeans, and in their own bag, my torn-up boots.

I clutch them tight against me, breathe in the cold salt smell. This is enough to make me my own again.

By the time I get everything on, my legs are trembling. I find the iris where it fell, hold it tight, and hobble to the door, push it open with my shoulder. There’s a wheelchair just outside. I manage a few last steps over to it, let my body collapse into the seat.

   The lock is manual, a catch I have to release and a handle I have to bear down on hard. And then there’s some maneuvering, and I almost throw up because I’m so tired and my stomach is so empty, but I get it moving. Down the hallway. The way the way somebody took me when we went outside.

Something drips down over my upper lip. Slow, like syrup, with a taste almost like blood, but sour. I wipe it off don’t look at where it stains my hand.

My right leg numb, my vision darker and darker. Won’t be long.



* * *



—

It’s just the way I remember it being.

Through the lobby all emptiness and disarray and familiarity think think Byatt don’t you know

and then around around around corners and there to the dented door

To the outside

To winter sweet and cold and just for me



* * *



—

I make it as far as I can

Stick close to the wall I scrunch down at the base and press my back against it wrap my jacket around me tight clutch the iris to my heart

   I can see it coming like a wave cresting like the sun rising like a train down the tracks like a bullet like

like home or

won’t it be better this way won’t it be better



* * *



—

Sun rising in the trees

Slanting through in pale streams

I’ve done what I could I’ve tried how I’ve tried



* * *



—

Breathe in breathe out

Keep my eyes open as long as I can I want to see I want to look I want

the woods to fall away

the ocean to crawl up to my feet

the island to come drifting in on the tide

Raxter don’t forget Raxter

It will be like sea glass I will bend down I will look into the rippled surface of it I will see myself suspended inside I will know exactly where I am

I will cradle it in my palms until it dries until the edges have worn off until it has stopped being beautiful

(Roaring a roaring a rush it is coming)

I will keep it anyway





HETTY





CHAPTER 17


“Time. Come on.”

I sit up so fast my head slams against the top bunk. I’d laid awake all night alone in our room, and when I did manage any sleep, it was fitful with nightmares of Mr. Harker, of him turning into Reese.

“Seriously.” It’s Julia, leaning in the doorway. I peer behind her, looking for Welch—she’s supposed to be the one who wakes us—but Julia’s alone. “We don’t have all day.”

“Where’s Welch?” I ask, trying not to sound as nervous as I feel.

“Busy. Get up.”

I breathe deep. It’s just Boat Shift as usual. If Welch knew I broke quarantine and followed her out, I’d be in trouble already.

I rub the crust from my blind eye, take a second to let my vision adjust, and follow Julia down the hallway, half in gloom with the sun not up yet. Somewhere behind me Reese is sleeping in one of the empty dorms.

   I keep my gaze resolutely ahead, ignore the pang in my chest. She made herself clear.

We step out onto the mezzanine. Below us I can see Carson standing by the door. She’s got her coat on—she’s always so cold—and she waves when she sees us. But Julia pulls me aside at the top of the stairs.

“Welch and Headmistress were down in the main hall when I came to get you. They’re pissed about something.” She leans over the railing to see the rest of the hall. “I’d rather not get caught in the crossfire.”

It could be about a million things, I tell myself. About dwindling supplies, about managing schedules, about the broken generators. But then Headmistress comes striding out of the hallway leading to the office, Welch on her heels, and it’s clear that it’s not any of those things at all. They look too wrecked for it to be about anything but our most important rule—they must know someone broke quarantine. Maybe they don’t know it was us, but they know it happened.

Welch catches up to Headmistress and they stop, talk in low, strained voices. Headmistress’s hands, shaking so hard I can see it from here. A flush spreading down Welch’s neck.

“Looks intense,” Julia says.

“Headmistress probably found out we weren’t saving her any of the chocolate delivery,” I say, smiling tightly and pushing past her. “Aren’t you the one who said we don’t have all day?”