Consider (23 page)

Chapter 20

Day 148: December—877 hours to decide

Question: Do you have sicknesses? Diseases?

Answer: We have advanced medical knowledge of the human genome and brain that we no longer have sickness, advanced aging, or disease. When new outbreaks emerge, we can easily cure them.

I wake to
harsh lights and a female voice mumbling near me. Whatever she’s saying, it sounds like a muffled plea. The voice reminds me of the crazy lady from the vertex site, begging for someone to listen to her rants, but as my mind drifts into full awareness, I recognize the shape of my mother.

“Where am I?” The heaviness in my temples and ears dulls my thoughts. My throat and eyes feel dry and sore.

“You’re at the hospital.”

Then I remember.

“Where’s Dad? Oh God, where’s Dominick?” My heart freezes, waiting for information.

“Alexandra, relax. They’re okay.”

It seems like she’s talking in slow motion. As my mind clears, I see nurses and scrubs walking in the distance.
Why am I in a hallway on a cot?
I sit up, toss a sheet off my lap, and try to stand. I’m not even wearing a hospital gown. The pants I threw on before Dominick picked me up still cover my body, but they’re filthy and one of the legs has a ripped hole.

Dominick and Dad are nowhere in sight. I need to see them to believe they’re okay.

“Where are they, then? Dad? Dominick?” I yell down the corridor. A few nurses head toward me, but Mom shoos them away.

“Dominick’s fine,” she explains. “He’s got bruises and a broken arm, but he’s fine. They’re also monitoring him for a concussion. Dad’s being prepped for surgery.”

“Surgery?” My mouth goes dry. “I thought you said he was okay.”

“He is, but he broke his leg, dislocated his shoulder, and has some internal bleeding.”

My head gets woozy, and the floor slants awkwardly. Mom catches me and leads me back to the cot. Her words sting my already tired eyes, and I think I’m crying, but it’s hard to tell.

“Why am I in the hallway?” I ask through the haze.

“The hospital is so overcrowded and understaffed, and your condition is not as severe as other patients.”

Not as severe.
That means Dominick’s and Dad’s conditions are severe.

I start to hyperventilate, my chest caving in and out in rapid succession. My skin is on fire, and sweat pours down my back. I fall off the side of the cot and onto the checkered floor. I can’t find my pills to anchor my body to my mind.
How can this not be what death feels like?

Two nurses scramble over to me. The pinch of a needle, and then nothing.

I wake up
feeling physically numb and emotionally drained. Whatever they gave me, I’d love it in a pill form. As I glance down, I see that I’ve become worthy of a hospital gown. Mom says my injuries are minor cuts and heavy bruising, but since I collapsed, they want to check me for a possible concussion or something worse. Dad’s still in surgery, and there’s been no update on his condition. Benji and Marcus are waiting near the surgical unit for more news.

After I plead with my nurse, she allows Mom to push me in a wheelchair to Dominick’s room. I try to convince her that I can walk, but she says it’s standard procedure.

Dominick’s in a hospital room built for two, but currently houses six patients. His glasses are missing, and one of his eyes looks swollen shut. A large bandage covers the side of his head, and his left arm is in a sling, which sucks since he’s left-handed. His mother and Austin sit near his bed watching television. Austin waves to me. Dominick’s mother gives me a grim stare. I guess it’s always the girlfriend’s fault.

I watch Dominick sleep.

My family and
I watch television together to pass the time. It’s ironic that we’ve been clinging on to every possible minute left on the planet, and now we cannot stand each second as we wait for word of Dad’s condition.

I click through channels and notice something odd about the news. The media has changed focus. Every newscast is reporting feel-good stories about the nation and the world, optimistic anecdotes about CORE scientists working hard to defeat the comet with Artemis, heroic tales of those journeying through the vertexes, and hopeful speeches from world leaders that we will overcome.

What’s missing is the violence, the looting, the breakdown, the truth. I know the violence must be happening across the globe, but it’s absent in every segment. I’m guessing the media content has been censored to stop the spread of mayhem. People need to hold on to the notion that the world has rules. Anarchy cannot be televised and promoted.

I search the Internet using my phone. Some sites are spreading optimism, but on other sites, especially on social networks, people are scared and posting videos of spreading mayhem. The contrast between the news and the people disturbs me on a deep level. How can they expect people to look out the window and see violence with their own eyes and still blindly believe the media’s message of hope?
How can we edit the truth and it not have consequences?

All I know is that when the media actually starts focusing on the good, it means we’re screwed.

Hours later, Mom
sits with me, Benji, and Marcus in my hospital room with five other patients and their families.

“You’re lucky you weren’t arrested,” Benji says.

“Thanks,” I mutter. I didn’t even know that was a possibility.

“Why would she be arrested?” Marcus asks. “She wasn’t doing anything wrong.”

Thanks, Mr. Blu.

“Wrong place, wrong time. Police usually arrest everyone and sort it out later. They were outnumbered, and she was unconscious. They may come back to ask her questions.”

“Great. Thanks for that,” I spit back at Benji.

“Thanks for what?”

“Making me worry about the police coming here.”

“Welcome.”

Marcus rolls his eyes and smiles at me. I’m liking him more and more. I wish he was my brother instead of my brother-in-law. I don’t understand how Marcus can stand Benji sometimes. Now I know why he made such a great teacher.

“So who’s gonna tell Dad about the store?” Benji asks the three of us.

“What about the store?” I ask.

Mom places her hand on my back. “The supermarket was burned to the ground. Arson.”

It’s gone?
Dad cannot lose his job. He loves his job.

“No one was hurt in the fire, though,” Marcus adds.

“I’m not breaking the news to him,” Benji says.

“I will,” Mom volunteers. “When the time is right.”

A knock on the door ends the conversation. Two men wearing scrubs enter the room. Mom takes a deep breath and doesn’t exhale. She holds onto my bed rail so tightly her knuckles turn white.

They brief us on Dad’s condition. Aside from the broken leg and dislocated shoulder, he suffered from a stab wound to the chest that punctured and collapsed his lung. They stabilized the lung and put him on a ventilator, but he lost a lot of oxygen and still has low levels. They aren’t sure if there will be any brain damage. He’s still unconscious.

It’s a waiting game.

My family wheels me to his room. His skin is the color of paste, and from what I can see of his lips behind the ventilator, they have a bluish tinge to them. Like permanent Zombie Night. Mom kisses his forehead and strokes the side of his face, whispering things I cannot hear into his ear. She doesn’t cry. I sit by his side and listen to the machine breathe for him as silent tears fall over my cheeks. Benji and Marcus stay in the corner as if he’s contagious. I only have one thought.

I cannot leave him like this.

I cannot leave him like this.

When Dominick wakes
up and sees me, his mouth smiles, but his one good eye tears up.

“You look terrible,” I say, crying and laughing.

“You look gorgeous yourself,” he says back and hugs me with his right arm. I flinch as a pain in my left side shoots forward.

“Sorry,” he apologizes.

“It’s okay,” I say, then I lift up the side of my shirt and see a huge bruise.

“Ouch,” he comments.

“Looks worse than it feels,” I lie.

“Why are you in a wheelchair? Is something wrong with your legs?”

“No, no. I just fainted. It’s protocol.”

He doesn’t look convinced.

Dominick’s mother asks my mom, “How’s your husband?”

“No change.” After a few strained minutes of minor conversation, Mom proposes, “What do you say we leave these two alone for a bit? Good time to search for a decent cup of coffee.”

Yes. Please say yes.

“Sounds good to me,” Dominick’s mother agrees. “Let’s go, Austin.”

“Aw, but I was watching that.” He points at the television screen to a Pokémon cartoon.

“I’ll let you pick a snack from whatever they have left around here.” Then I hear her whisper to my mom, “I bet some people are coming to the hospital just for the food.” She turns her attention to Dominick. “We’ll be back in a little while. Do you need anything?”

“No, I’m fine,” Dominick says.

She kisses him on the forehead, and the three of them exit quietly. We still aren’t exactly alone since there are five other patients in the room, but four of them are asleep, and one old man stares out the window.

Dominick touches my shoulder. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought you there. I’m such an idiot.”

His words stun me. I had no idea he’d blame himself.

“Dominick, it’s not your fault. Not at all. We didn’t know what was going to happen. You were trying to help.”

“By walking right into a violent situation? It was stupid. We could’ve been killed. You . . .” His good eye fills with tears.

“I’m fine. We’re fine.” I kiss his forehead, his cheek, his lips. He half-kisses back. The last time I saw him this low was after his father’s funeral.

“I’m so glad you’re going with us,” he whispers.

I kiss him to avoid having to say anything, and his eyes droop, the drugs pulling him under.

I can’t leave him like this.

I can’t leave him like this.

The problem is
that the “him” my brain is referring to isn’t Dominick.

“Maybe,” I whisper back.

Chapter 21

Day 153: December—750 hours to decide

Question: What is the weather like on your planet?

Answer: Much like Earth’s. But we have the ability to control and manage the weather to meet our agricultural needs.

Dominick and I
were released from the hospital, me two days before him. Dad has only gotten worse. Still unconscious. High fever. Infection at the surgery site. Understaffed must also mean incompetent. One small piece of good news: the hospital refilled my Ativan.

Today is New Year’s Eve. Dominick and his family leave tomorrow. His mom waited as promised, and the fact that her son was attacked only reaffirms her wish to leave ASAP. Dominick still thinks I’m going with him.

I meet Dominick at the house near the ocean for one more night. We need one last night alone so I can say goodbye.

"I will go.
Eventually. But not yet.”

Dominick flips out. “Are you crazy? You can’t wait for him. You don’t have time. Since so many people decided to wait, the vertexes are becoming a bottleneck nightmare. The holograms gave us six months to leave for a reason. It comes down to math.”

“Dominick, I know. I will come. I promise.”

He paces in front of the fireplace. The glow from the fire highlights his face, displaying both his anger and his recent facial injuries. It’s heartbreaking to see him hurt physically while also hurting him emotionally.

“How can I believe you?” he asks. “Seriously. Once I go, I can’t come back. It’s a one-way exit. If you don’t end up going . . .” His voice cracks.

“I know. I will go.” I hold his good hand, try to make him look at me. He won’t. “I won’t leave you again. That was a mistake I won’t ever make again. You have to have faith in me.”

He grunts and tears spring from his good eye. “You don’t get it. If the other side is like what the holograms are saying, I want to experience that world with you. And I want you safe. The world is falling apart. Look around. All this time, your father didn’t even care about your safety, and here you are worrying about him?”

“This isn’t about worry. He would wait for me. I have to give him one last chance to change his mind. I won’t be able to live with myself if I don’t try. Can you convince your mom to stay longer? Can you stay longer?”

“You know I can’t do that.” He turns away.

“Because of your father, right?” I clarify. “Well, this is because of mine.”

“But you don’t even like your dad,” he says. “Not really.”

Low blow.
I don’t know what else to say to him to make him understand. He’s too worried about me, and I’m too worried about my dad.

We spend most of our last romantic night together not talking. He pokes at the fire. I eat a small bag of trail mix. It’s what they call a stalemate. At some point, I crawl into bed under the heavy blankets to help my body let go of the weight of the world.

In the morning I find Dominick lying awake next to me. We reach out to one another across our divided loyalties. The whole time I hope beyond all reason and fantasy that it’s not the last time.

“Can you do one thing?” Dominick asks as we get dressed.

“What?” I’m worried what his request might be.

“Come with us to the vertex today. I want you to be the last thing I see in this world.”

A lump develops in my throat at the power and love in his words. But the lump constricts as the memory of the last time I went near a vertex replays in my mind. I know Dominick would never do what Dan the Drunk Dude did. At least, I think Dominick would never do that.
But desperate men take desperate measures.

“Sure.” My voice squeaks, and I clear my throat. “Of course.”

Dominick's mother hugs
me when we arrive at their apartment. She’s never hugged me before, so I’m not sure what has changed. Dominick whispers something to her, and her face drops. I think it’s about me not going. I’m surprised that she cares. She hardly knows me.

Together we pack up the few belongings they each want to bring with them. Dominick drives his car with his mother in the passenger seat, and Austin and I ride in the back.

The ride is both endless and finite. I can’t wait to get out of traffic, and I hope we never escape. I don’t want him to leave without me. I don’t want to stay without him. I cannot let him go, but I don’t have a choice. He’s chosen his path, and I’ve chosen mine.

The radio announces that Artemis is on schedule to rendezvous with the comet in two weeks. Dominick glances at me in the driver’s mirror, and I beg him with my eyes to wait two more weeks. If his mother and brother weren’t here, I’d beg with other body parts.

The normal fifty-minute ride to Quincy takes five hours. When we finally reach the crowded vertex, a blur of heads fills the area like a screen of giant pixel dots. They never showed this scene on the news. At the sight of all the people, my brain flashes a memory of the vicious mob scene, and my body flinches. It’s different from a panic attack. It’s like the pores of my skin have gone into high alert.

The four of us walk through the slush on the ground and join the line. Dominick hands me his car keys. “I won’t be needing these anymore.”

Normally, I’d refuse such a gift.

We stand in silence as the line inches forward. The tension in my body relaxes as it realizes the crowd is following social rules. As we wait in the line, protesters walk past and chant random phrases like, “Don’t be a lemming” and “Jesus is the only savior.” I want to join in with the protest and stop Dominick from leaving. I say nothing. What’s left to say?

My body goes numb, and I don’t think it’s the cold. Around us people get impatient. One family quits the line; a teenager curses under his breath. The religious chanting continues.

More waiting. Dominick hugs me. I take in his heat, his touch, his physical presence. The crowd doesn’t matter. Nothing matters. It’s just the two of us, barely talking, our breath escaping and mingling together in a mere wisp of cold air and then dissipating. Like us.

Over an hour later, we reach the front. I begin convulsing in massive waves of grief. It’s like Dominick’s walking to his death and I am forced to watch.

“I can’t. I can’t,” I whimper.

He puts his forehead on my forehead. “Alexandra,” he whispers and wipes my tears. He never calls me that. “I love you. Promise me. Promise me.”

“I promise. I promise. I love you. I love you.”

I kiss him one last time as if our lives depend on it.

His mother checks in with the guards, and they add their three names to the list. I spot Benji on duty off to the side, avoiding eye contact with me. I’m probably embarrassing him again with my wacko behavior. I don’t care what he thinks anymore.

As Dominick’s about to step through the vertex, he turns around and waves to me. The last sliver of him I see before he vanishes forever into an ocean of electric blue is one of his red sneakers disappearing into nothingness.

By the time I get into Dominick’s car, I can’t see straight. The TARDIS air freshener dangles in front of me, and I rip it down and throw it into the backseat. Over and over I slam my fists into the steering wheel, the horn bleeps and bleeps, and people start looking at me. I hate life. I hate everything that made this happen and took him away from me. I change my mind. I want to go. I want to run back and jump in and make everything the way it was. Pull him back out and make him stay with me until I’m ready.

But I can’t. I can’t.

I can’t stop the pain with any amount of medication. I keep pounding and pounding and hoping that something will change and fix it and make it all better. It can’t be real. It has to be some bizarre nightmare. Somebody wake me up. Please.

Wake me up!

I open my
eyes and find myself slumped over in Dominick’s car still parked near the vertex site. It’s dark outside the windows and much of the crowd has gone.

I visit the vertex again, alone. I need time to look into the eye of the vertex without the pressure of people I care about standing next to me. I want an unbiased view. Benji should be gone by now, thank God.

At the vertex, I watch as a young family takes one last look at each other. They enter one at a time, in a chain, holding hands. Father, mother, sister, brother. And I see it in each of their faces. They don’t know if it’s the right decision, but they don’t know that it’s wrong either. They have hope. They have each other. There’s strength in making a choice. Strength in choosing a side.

What have I chosen? What side am I on? What do I believe in?

Both Rita and Dominick walked through the swirling dark haze, one for freedom from religion, one for a promise made to his dying parent. Hundreds of years and parsecs between us, and I can still feel them here with me. I wonder what they are doing right now, somewhere, on another planet, in another time.

Rita could run into Dan the Drunk Dude. I can only imagine what he’s up to by now. He has to be sober. Imagine that hangover.
I’m where?

Maybe Dominick will meet Dan. Maybe he’ll deck him for me.

My two best friends will each have to figure out how to start over. What to do with their lives in a world that doesn’t require work or money.
That is, if they’re still alive. That is, if the holograms are telling the truth.

I am surrounded by ghosts of the past and possibility. And I don’t know where I fit in the present.

As I walk back to the car, I notice the same crazy lady as before lying on the ground near the road. She must just hang out at the vertex. She looks worse than ever if that’s possible. As I get closer to her, I see that she’s foaming at the mouth and shaking. I yell for help. Even though she’s nuts, I can’t let someone suffer alone. I understand crazy.

Her whole body begins spasming and her head bangs against the concrete. I know what to do. I’ve seen the school nurse handle seizures before.

Clearing the area is my first task, but the ground near crazy lady has nothing except melting snow. I crouch near her and roll her to one side. When the jerking of her head and body slows, I allow her body to lie flat again.

She looks up at me in a moment of clarity. I can see it in her blue eyes—something clicks. She grabs my arm, squeezes, and sputters a series of non-words. I scream for help, and running footsteps approach from behind.

With the rest of her energy, she hands me a sweaty piece of crumbled paper. Scrawled in neat penmanship, it reads:

When the truth is shrouded in fear and clouded by dreams,

when fact and fantasy become deviant lovers,

maybe there are no real heroes anymore.

Maybe that’s when heroes are born.

I recognize the phrase right away. I wrote the same message that day in my journal, the day I thought about taking all my pills to escape. The end of the sentence is different, though. It’s been edited to be more positive. I had written “maybe there are no real heroes anymore.” I don’t understand. How did she get it? I didn’t post it online or anything. It’s been sitting in my journal.
Did she rip it out somehow? When all our food was stolen?

Maybe I’m really going insane. Maybe we all are.

“Where did you get this?” I ask her, holding up the note. “Did you go into my house?”

Soldiers stationed at the vertex come to assist. Her body collapses in its own weakness.

An ambulance arrives, and I wait with her. I wonder if she has a family, and if they will go through a vertex somewhere and live in another time and space while her body remains lost in this fading world.

As soon as I get home, I pull my journal from my bookshelf. It doesn’t look like it’s been tampered with. I compare my version to crazy lady’s note. It’s verbatim except for the ending.

Did I tap into some cosmic phrase?
Some sort of alien telepathy from first exposure to the vertex?

I enter it online to search for an author or reference to it. Nothing. I wish I knew crazy lady’s name so I could search for her at the hospital. I want answers to how she read my mind.