The Host (The Host #1)(193)

If I hadn’t been watching her face so closely, I wouldn’t have seen the tiny flicker of her lids.

“You like summertime, do you?” I asked hopefully.

Her lips twitched.

“Summer?”

Her hand trembled.

“Is that your name—Summer? Summer? That’s a pretty name.”

Her hand tightened into a fist, and her lips parted.

“Come back, Summer. I know you can do it. Summer? Listen to me, Summer. Open your eyes, Summer.”

Her eyes blinked rapidly.

“Doc!” I called over my shoulder. “Doc, wake up!”

“Huh?”

“I think she’s coming around!” I turned back to the woman. “Keep it up, Summer. You can do this. I know it’s hard. Summer, Summer, Summer. Open your eyes.”

Her face grimaced—was she in pain?

“Bring the No Pain, Doc. Hurry.”

The woman squeezed my hand, and her eyes opened. They didn’t focus at first, just whirled around the bright cave. What a strange, unexpected sight this place must have been for her.

“You’re going to be all right, Summer. You’re going to be fine. Can you hear me, Summer?”

Her eyes wheeled back to me, the pupils constricting. She stared, absorbing my face. Then she cringed away from me, twisting on the cot to escape. A low, hoarse cry of panic broke through her lips.

“No, no, no,” she cried. “No more.”

“Doc!”

He was there, on the other side of the cot, like before, when we were operating.

“It’s okay, ma’am,” he assured her. “No one is going to hurt you here.”

The woman had her eyes squeezed shut, and she recoiled into the thin mattress.

“I think her name is Summer.”

He flashed a look at me and then made a face. “Eyes, Wanda,” he breathed.

I blinked and realized that the sun was on my face. “Oh.” I let the woman pull her hand free.

“Don’t, please,” the woman begged. “Not again.”

“Shh,” Doc murmured. “Summer? People call me Doc. No one’s going to do anything to you. You’re going to be fine.”

I eased away from them, into the shadows.

“Don’t call me that!” the woman sobbed. “That’s not my name! It’s hers, it’s hers! Don’t say it again!”

I’d gotten the wrong name.

Mel objected to the guilt that washed through me. It’s not your fault. Summer is a human name, too.

“Of course not,” Doc promised. “What is your name?”

“I—I—I don’t know!” she wailed. “What happened? Who was I? Don’t make me be someone else again.”

She tossed and thrashed on the cot.

“Calm down; it’s going to be okay, I promise. No one’s going to make you be anyone but you, and you’ll remember your name. It’s going to come back.”

“Who are you?” she demanded. “Who’s she? She’s like… like I was. I saw her eyes!”

“I’m Doc. And I’m human, just like you. See?” He moved his face into the light and blinked at her. “We’re both just ourselves. There are lots of humans here. They’ll be so happy to meet you.”

She cringed again. “Humans! I’m afraid of humans.”

“No, you’re not. The… person who used to be in your body was afraid of humans. She was a soul, remember that? And then remember before that, before she was there? You were human then, and you are again.”

“I can’t remember my name,” she told him in a panicked voice.

“I know. It’ll come back.”

“Are you a doctor?”

“I am.”

“I was… she was, too. A… Healer. Like a doctor. She was Summer Song. Who am I?”

“We’ll find out. I promise you that.”

I edged toward the exit. Trudy would be a good person to help Doc, or maybe Heidi. Someone with a calming face.

“She’s not human!” the woman whispered urgently to Doc, her eye caught by my movement.

“She’s a friend; don’t be afraid. She helped me bring you back.”

“Where is Summer Song? She was scared. There were humans.…”

I ducked out the door while she was distracted.

I heard Doc answer the question behind me. “She’s going to a new planet. Do you remember where she was before she came here?”

I could guess what her answer would be from the name.

“She was… a Bat? She could fly.… She could sing.… I remember… but it was… not here. Where am I?”

I hurried down the hall to find help for Doc. I was surprised when I saw the light of the great cavern ahead—surprised because it was so quiet. Usually you could hear voices before you saw the light. It was the middle of the day. There should have been someone in the big garden room, if only crossing through.

I walked out into the bright noon light, and the giant space was empty.

The fresh tendrils of the cantaloupe vines were dark green, darker than the dry earth they sprang from. The earth was too dry—the irrigating barrel stood ready to fix that, the hoses laid out along the furrows. But no one manned the crude machine. It sat abandoned on the side of the field.