Читать книгу Once We Were - Kat Zhang - Страница 10

Our muscles, bones, organs liquified.

Jenson.

Jenson of the review board. Jenson of the dark suits and creased pants and never-ruffled voice.

Jenson, who had chosen Hally and Lissa for surgery. Whose cool, steel voice frightened us more than Mr. Conivent’s silk. A man who didn’t need Mr. Conivent’s slick smiles or ready excuses. Who had watched us like he owned us.

He looked just as I remembered. Dark hair. Light eyes. Suit jacket. Not young and not old, and brutal in the way a panther was brutal—claws retracted inside soft paws. He stood before a podium, his expression crafted from a block of marble. A band of text ran across the bottom of the screen: Mark Jenson, Director of the Administration for Hybrid Affairs for Sector Two. Nationwide address.

Director for all of Sector Two? The Americas were divided into states, which were grouped into four sectors: two in the northern continent, and two in the southern. The president presided over us all, but lesser government heads watched over each sector. I’d known Jenson was part of the review board that had come to examine Nornand—I’d seen the importance the clinic had put on his visit—but I hadn’t realized just how powerful he was.

“Our country was formed as a haven for the single-souled,” Jenson said. “Since the first rise of civilization, the hybrids have thought themselves better—smarter, more able. For thousands of years, our ancestors were subjugated to slave labor and then near–slave labor, to monstrous and inhuman treatment. Finally, they took a stand. They fought for their right—our right—to be free of hybrid rule.” He paused. “The Americas were truly a new world—colonized, perhaps, by hybrids, but built on the backs of the single-souled. We fought for and won this land during the Revolution. It is our haven in a world gone mad. And as such, it must be protected.”

<What is this?> Addie said softly.

Our initial sickness hadn’t faded, only soured and curdled.

“In past times, when the world was a more barbaric place, the hybrids were able to maintain their power through sheer brutality and superior numbers. But today, we can see them for what they truly are: mercurial in mood, unstable in action. That is, if they do not simply succumb to insanity. Who but the insane could so savagely treat their fellow human beings for thousands of years? Who but the unstable would continue to fight endless wars, until they’d all but driven themselves into the ground?”

Ryan had come to stand beside us, slipping his fingers through ours. We felt the heat of his arm through his sleeve. It wasn’t until he gently squeezed back that I realized I was crushing his fingers.

Jenson stared out from the television screen. It felt like he was talking specifically to us. To me. “We’ve long closed our borders to the hybrids overseas. But unfortunately, that didn’t solve the problem of the ones being born into our midst. For a long time, the institutions were our best solution to the hybrid condition. Institutionalization allowed hybrids to be secured and cared for away from those they might harm. It allowed them to be protected from themselves. But times are changing. As a country, we improve and move forward, discovering better ways to resolve our problems. And that is what I wish to introduce to you today—the next step in our answer to the hybrid issue: not containment, but a cure.”

A cure.

A cure was what they’d been looking for at Nornand. Child after child had died on the operating table in search of a cure. Jaime Cortae—thirteen years old, funny, brilliant—had gone under the knife and lost a part of himself he would never get back. All because they’d been searching for a cure.

<Dr. Lyanne> Addie said. <She said they’d given that up. She said that the review board—the government considered Nornand a complete failure. She said there would be—there would be backlash—>

Surely, they hadn’t changed their minds so quickly. Surely, Dr. Lyanne had been right. But Dr. Lyanne’s hand in our escape had been discovered soon after the breakout, and she’d had to flee. Since then, she’d been in hiding just as much as the rest of us.

What if she’d heard wrong? My voice was quiet. <Maybe this is their way of responding. Instead of hiding it, keep doing it until they get it right.> The last word was a twist in our gut. <If they can find a way to fix hybrids, it won’t matter if people learn the truth about Nornand. It won’t matter if Nornand was a failure, because they could say it was just the first step. If they succeed, then Nornand was just a trial, and nobody will care.>

If they succeed, then all those children who died were just collateral damage.

On-screen, Jenson explained that a cure for hybridity wasn’t yet available for widespread use, but research was being conducted. They hoped to implement it in certain areas before beginning the program nationwide.

“Security levels will be increased across the country,” he continued. “This will stay in effect for the immediate future as a preemptive measure against the possibility of hybrid backlash. Safety, as always, is our primary concern. In this case, there is a second reason.”

Something hardened in Jenson’s face. For a second, things became personal, not professional. Then it passed, and he was just a government official again, just a guy at a podium giving a speech someone else had probably written for him.

“We are searching,” said Jenson into the microphone, “for a child.”

There existed nothing, nothing in the world except for his words.

“A thirteen-year-old boy named Jaime Cortae was stolen from a hospital after being successfully treated for hybridity. Investigations have been launched, and it is believed that he was kidnapped by a small group of hybrid insurgents.”

He was talking about our Jaime.

“Eva?” a small voice floated out behind us.

Kitty stood in the hallway, dressed in pajama pants and a soft blue T-shirt, her long hair plaited down her back. Outside of Nornand, Kitty and Nina never wore skirts. They almost never wore their hair down. They never wore blue. Their big, dark eyes were the same, their almost luminous skin, their matchstick limbs. But here in Emalia’s apartment, a flush in their cheeks, they’d lost a bit of that fairy look.

Until she saw the screen, saw Jenson, and her face went white. “What’s he saying?”

Just as she spoke, the video feed of Jenson cut away, replaced by a shot of a dark-haired couple.

Mr. and Mrs. Cortae, read the caption.

They stood outside, their hands twined together, looking themselves like lost children. The woman wore a long, heavy skirt, though it was summer. Her husband’s eyes stayed fixed on the ground, but hers kept moving—around and around, in all directions, searching. Searching for what? For Jaime? For answers? For justice? Or for a way out? An escape route from the camera jutting into her private grief.

“He was healthy,” she cried. “He was healthy, and they took him. They—”

Then she and her husband were gone. Jenson once again dominated the screen.

No. No, go back. Let her speak. Let us hear her. I needed to know what she had to say. What did she know about Jaime and her other, lost son? Was she fighting for him? Did she want him back, no matter what? Had she been coerced into giving up her child, like our parents? Did she regret it, every day?

“His family is, of course, devastated to have come so close to having a healthy child back home,” Jenson said. “We are likewise highly concerned for Jaime’s well-being and are working diligently to secure his safe return.”

Was that really what Jaime’s mother had meant by healthy? A boy with part of him unnecessarily stripped away? Or had she thought Jaime healthy before he ever left for Nornand?

<Kitty> Addie reminded me softly. <She’s scared, Eva.>

I forced myself to focus back on Kitty’s face. Her hands had rolled into white-knuckled fists at her sides.

Sabine stepped forward, shielding her from the screen. “Hi, I’m Sabine. Sorry to barge in while you were sleeping.”

I grabbed the remote and lowered the volume, reducing Jenson’s voice to a murmur. “It’s just a speech, Kitty. Don’t worry about it, okay? Why don’t you go get dressed?”

Kitty studied our face, then nodded, her expression unreadable. I never knew exactly how much to screen from Kitty and Nina. They were only months older than Lyle. Sometimes, they seemed younger. Sometimes, so much older.

“She seems sweet,” Sabine said once we heard Kitty shut our bedroom door. “I’m glad you guys—” She hesitated. “I mean, just, it’s always nice when they can rescue them young.” She stared at the television again, her cheeks flushed but her eyes cold.

“You know Jenson,” Ryan said to her. “Personally, I mean.”

Now that Ryan brought it up, I could see it, too. Sabine didn’t watch Jenson like he was a stranger, a hated figurehead. She watched him like we did. Someone who had felt his fingers press our skin against our bones.

“Personally?” Sabine’s voice was a darkly amused trill. “I guess. He came personally to my house when I was eleven years old. He personally forced me into his car. Personally delivered me to his institution.” Her smile was so bitter I could taste it on our tongue. “He’s moved up in life since then. But we were personally acquainted once.”

The phone rang. Numbly, I answered.

“It’s Christoph again,” the voice on the other end said. “Put Sabine back on.”

I handed the phone over. Sabine walked a little ways away, her back to us, the phone cord stretched out behind her. “Yeah, I’m watching. Christoph, calm down; I’ll be right there.” The phone clanged back into its cradle. Sabine was already moving for the door. “I’ve got to go. Christoph’s going to explode if I don’t find him.”

“Are you going to the meeting tomorrow night?” I called after her.

“It’s not going to be tomorrow night anymore.” Jackson hurried after Sabine, speaking over his shoulder. “Peter should be back home in less than an hour. Meeting will probably be late tonight, once everyone’s off work.”

“I—” I began to say, just as Sabine asked, “You guys are going to be there, right?”

“Emalia’s against it.” I shrugged, shaking our head. “She’s worried we’ll—I don’t know—get snatched off the street or something.”

Sabine nodded. “I’ll talk to Peter, see what I can do.”

We said our good-byes, and then Sabine and Jackson were gone. The television played some commercial about toaster pastries. I put it on mute.

I sank onto the couch. After a moment, Ryan joined me.

“Jaime will be all right.” He took our shoulder, tried to guide us gently against the backrest. “He’s with Dr. Lyanne.”

Dr. Lyanne, who was also in hiding. Who had been wrong about the government’s views on Nornand. But what was the point of saying all that aloud? It wouldn’t help.

“Yeah,” I said. “Yeah, he’ll be fine. We’ll all be fine.”

<You sound about as convincing as he did> Addie said. I didn’t bother responding. Our gaze drifted away from Ryan and to the small paper bag he’d set by the couch. I’d forgotten all about it.

“Did you make something?” I asked.

“Yeah. Here.” He handed me the bag. Whatever it was, it was heavy for its size. “It’s for you.”

“It’s not another salt-and-pepper shaker, is it?”

He smiled faintly. “Not exactly.”

The paper bag crinkled as I opened it. I drew out a small metal bird, just the right size to fit in our cupped hands. Its spread wings framed the round face of a clock, its eyes staring upward, head arched back, as if looking to the sky.

Ryan tapped a fingertip against the clockface. “It plays music when the alarm goes off. Not great music or anything, because I got the recording from—well, anyway …” His fingers slid down the metal’s cool, smooth ridges until they touched my hands. “You said you didn’t like the one Emalia gave you. Since it sounds like—since it’s so loud.”

Since it sounded like a siren.

“Thanks.” My eyes traced the overlap of our fingers, up his arm, catching against the way his shirt creased down from his shoulder, across his chest, up to the hard edge of his chin, his mouth, his nose, his eyes. “Thanks,” I said again, but softer, because he was leaning toward me. My eyes closed.

His lips brushed against my cheek.

I held utterly still, and so did he. As if sudden movement would break something. As if tasting his mouth against mine—as if being less than so, so careful—

Would cause something to shatter.

I didn’t want to be careful. I didn’t want to have to stay so still, or try so hard to keep always that breath of distance. That last-minute shift of his mouth from mine.

I didn’t want to think about Addie. Or Devon.

Just for a second.

Just for a moment.

Just for this one moment—

But I had to. My body did not belong solely to me. That was the way it was, no matter how utterly unfair it sometimes felt.

“It’s going to be okay, Eva,” Ryan said, and the words skirted over the edge of my jaw.

He leaned back, and there was air in the world again. Our eyes held. Then his gaze slipped to the little golden bird between us, half-hidden beneath our fingers.

His hands squeezed mine.

Ours.