Читать книгу Darwin’s Children - Greg Bear - Страница 35

Stella saw and felt everything in ragged jerks. Being moved was an agony and she cried out, but still, the shadows insisted on hurting her. She saw asphalt and stone and gray bricks, then a big upside-down tree, and finally a bed with tight pink sheets. She saw and heard adults talking in the light of an open door. Everything else was dark, so she turned toward the darkness—it hurt less—and listened with huge ears to voices in another room. For a moment, she thought these were the voices of the dead, they were saying such incredible things, harmonizing with a weird joy. They were discussing fire and hell and who was going to be eaten next, and a mad woman laughed in a way that made her flesh crawl.

The flesh did not stop crawling. It just kept on going, and she lay in the bed with no skin, staring up at cobwebs or ghostly arms or just floaters inside her eyeballs, tiny chains of cells magnified to the size of balloons. She knew they were not balloons. It did not matter.

Kaye was beyond exhaustion. Iris Mackenzie sat her down in a chair with a cup of coffee and a cookie. The house was huge and bright inside with the colors and tones rich folks choose: creams and pale grays, Wedgwood blues and deep, earthy greens.

“You have to eat something and rest,” Iris told her.

“Mitch…” Kaye began.

“He and George are with your girl.”

“I should be with her.”

“Until the doctor arrives, there’s nothing you can do.”

“A sponge bath, get that temperature down.”

“Yes, in a minute. Now rest, Kaye, please. You nearly fainted on the front porch.”

“She should be in a hospital,” Kaye said, her eyes going a little wild. She managed to stand, pushing past Iris’s gentle hands.

“No hospital will take her,” Iris said, turning restraint into a hug and sitting her down again. Iris pressed her cheek against Kaye’s and there were tears on it. “We called everyone on the phone tree. Lots of the new children have it. It’s on the news already, hospitals are refusing admissions. We’re frantic. We don’t know about our son. We can’t get through to Iowa.”

“He’s in a camp?” Kaye was confused. “We thought the network was just active parents.”

“We are very active parents,” Iris said with iron in her tone. “It’s been two months. We’re still listed, and we will stay listed as long as we can help. They can’t hurt us any more than they already have, right?”

Iris had the brightest green eyes, set like jewels in a face that was farmer’s daughter pretty, with light, florid Irish cheeks and dark brown hair, a slender physique, thin, strong fingers that moved rapidly, touching her hair, her blouse, the tray, and the kettle, pouring hot water into the bone china cups and stirring in instant coffee.

“Does the disease have a name?” Kaye asked.

“No name yet. It’s in the schools—the camps, I mean. Nobody knows how serious it is.”

Kaye knew. “We saw a girl. She was dead. Stella may have got it from her.”

“God damn it,” Iris said, teeth clenched. It was a real curse, not just an exclamation.

“I’m sorry I’m so scattered,” Kaye said. “I need to be with Stella.”

“We don’t know it isn’t catching…for us. Do we?”

“Does it matter?” Kaye said.

“No. Of course not,” Iris said. She wiped her face. “It absolutely does not matter.” The coffee was being ignored. Kaye had not taken a sip. Iris walked off. Turning, she said, “I’ll get some alcohol and a bath sponge. Let’s get her temperature down.”