Skylight (Arcadium, #2) (28 page)

The medical
room is not far, and thankfully it’s empty. No one’s even been back
to check on Jacob or me. That can’t be right. I think back to when
Jessie was pulling out the equipment to use on the soldiers. Which
cupboards did she open? Which bits did she grab?

I pull open all
the cupboards until I find a bunch of labeled white boxes. I rustle
them about, shoving everything, digging through their contents
vaguely, waiting for the needles reveal themselves to me. I flick
open some draws and pause. I recognise one of the items — a
shotgun, for quick administering of drugs, just like Jacob found
moments ago. Instinctively I grab it and keep looking. It’s only a
matter of time before I find the needles and syringes, but there’s
so much and I have no idea what I need… even though I have been
helping a nurse. I grab a few boxes and stack them up on the
bench.

That’s when I
hear something. A whisper of a footstep. Out in corridor
somewhere.

I think about
jumping on the bed and pretending to be asleep but I’ve left the
room in such a mess, it’ll be obvious something is wrong. I listen
hard. And there it is again, a tiny noise, the slightest of
movements. I move slowly to the door, pressing my face against the
frame so I can see as far as possible without actually sticking my
head out the door.

I keep leaning,
further and further. I’ll be visible soon, but I can still hear the
odd sound and I can’t quite place it.

I blink,
staring down the blank corridor. A man steps into the harsh light,
baring his profile. His eyes are empty, twitching, staring ahead
and away from me. His arms hang strangely, like they’re
disconnected from his brain. He’s infected. The corridor seems to
get shorter and shorter, narrowing in, pulling me closer.

So close, in
such confined space, in such bright light. Every part of me feels
the fear. Every nerve, every bit of skin, every hair, every
thought. My mouth goes dry, my blood feels like ice, slowly
clogging my veins and freezing me to the spot.

All I’m capable
of is standing here, knowing it’s pure luck if he decides to come
this way. Knowing there’s nothing I can do. Sometimes I guess you
just have to wait and hope and wish like you’re heart’s going to
explode. Wish that this won’t be the moment your luck runs out.
That’s what I do.

His head jerks
softy, aimed to the ground. His arms swing a little like dead
weights, like he doesn’t even need them. His skin is pale with a
tinge of green-blue; he’s rotting from the inside out. He’s tidy
too. I mean, his clothes are a bit ragged but they’re still free of
blood, and his face is unblemished like he’s never eaten human
before.

No wonder the
science centre is empty.

And they left
Jacob and me to be infected food. So kind of them.

I slowly pull
back and look around the room. There has to be something I can use
as a weapon. But everything’s too small and the room is too bare of
things. I glance over the open cupboards and stop at the tall one I
haven’t opened yet. I pull the door open as quiet as possible.
Inside there’s a plastic red first-aid type box screwed to the
back. It’s big, maybe as long as my arm, and it carries that pointy
twisted biohazard logo. Below that in small white letters is the
word emergency. That’s all I need.

I release the
clips on top, pull it open and just about have a heart attack of
happiness.

It’s a literal
infection survival kit, complete with fire axe, gas mask, hand-held
radio, torch and instruction booklet. If there weren’t an infected
wandering the hallways right now I’d probably laugh. A booklet sits
in a clear plastic folder in the lid. The cover says,

In case of containment
breach follow safety procedures as laid out in this Skylight
Terminal Emergency Procedures booklet.

I haven’t got
time for that, I mean, I didn’t even close the medical room door
because it would have made a way to obvious noise. I grab the axe,
leaving the rest of the kit, scoop the boxes into one arm and
listen at the door. I can’t hear anything, so I peer out quickly in
both directions.

Empty.

I back out
slowly and run in a strange exaggerated way because I’m trying to
be silent. It doesn’t occur to me until I reach the
still-wedged-open door that there could be more infected around. I
don’t know why, but I feel like I should have been more afraid.

When I burst in
I see Jacob has resigned himself to half leaning, half sitting on
the bench edge closest to the crack in the glass door — head down,
arms crossed, lips curled down slightly. He looks up. His eyes move
to the axe in my hand.

“There are
infected in the science centre. How the hell did this happen?” I
dump all my stuff at the glass door and open all the boxes because
I’m hoping Jacob will be able to tell me what I need.

He stays
silent, but his eyes say it all.

We are all, as
of this moment, completely screwed.

“JACOB,” I SAY,
my hands hovering over all the medical supplies. “What do I
do?”

He’s got the
now useless vial of his blood and he’s turning it over in his
fingers. “You know,” he says slowly, as if he’s having a
conversation in the local supermarket about which brand of cereal
has more fibre. “I always liked you. I think—” A sad smile tugs at
his lips. “I think you remind me of what it’s like to be just a
person again. To be good and honest and not perfect. Just being
what you are. Just doing your best. Not giving up for anything.
Before I met you, I’d spent so much time on my own I’d forgotten
people like that even existed.”

I watch Jacob,
slightly horrified, but mostly worried. I don’t know where he’s
going with this and he still has what I want.

“I’d forgotten
what it was like to trust people, to want to be part of something
bigger.” He looks up.

I don’t say
anything. Kean and Trouble are still out there and they don’t have
a clue what’s going on. Still I don’t want to interrupt Jacob,
because it feels strangely like his final speech. I think it’s a
trade off — if I listen, he hands over his blood. So I let him
speak.

“So much
information you could never imagine. There’s no rest, no escape, no
leaving the past behind. Everything stays with you, Florence. It’s
like seeing things through frosted glass… meanings don’t really
mean anything, feelings don’t really feel like anything. I can’t
explain it to you, but believe me when I say… this is not a
cure.”

“Okay.”

He stands up
and glances over the stuff I’ve brought. “Get that, the Vacutainer…
and that needle.”

I do as he
says, removing the packaging as quick as my shaking fingers will
let me.

Jacob looks
down at his arm and taps the skin on his inner elbow. Unsatisfied,
he grabs the excess material of his t-shirt sleeve and twists it
until it digs into his skin: a makeshift tourniquet.

“I don’t know
how to do this,” I say, glancing back at the monitor. The corridor
is still clear.

“Stick the
needle through the gap in the glass, and put the Vacutainer in the
plastic part. When I say, push that tube up and it’ll suck my blood
out.”

I follow his
instructions and watch with horror as he starts checking his veins
and trying to line his arm up with the needle.

“That’s another
handy thing — spin the needle round the other way up — no infection
risk. Your sister won’t get sick anymore,” he says. “Angle it
up.”

I don’t want to
watch but I have to, in case I move and screw it all up. Jacob
presses himself right against the glass and brings his arm down.
The needle trembles slightly then dents his skin, before piercing
all the way through. I mean, the guy is pretty talented to be
drawing his own blood by just aiming at a needle.

“Now,” he
says.

I push the tube
up and it sucks into place. Blood dribbles through instantly. I
wait, watching it, wishing it were faster.

“You better not
blow this place up with me still inside,” I say.

The corner of
Jacob’s mouth flickers with a sentimental smile that disappears as
quick as it arrives. “I would never do that.”

I roll my eyes.
“What are you going to do?”

He shrugs with
his other shoulder and I wince for him as the needle moves
slightly. The vial is almost full, maybe a third to go. Jacob
releases his makeshift tourniquet and presses his forehead against
the glass, avoiding my gaze. “Liss needs all of this, as soon as
you can get it to her.”

I nod. “I have
to get Kean and Trouble.”

Jacob’s eyes
flick up. “You’re going back in?”

It never
occurred to me before this moment that I as soon as I have the vial
of blood I could just run back home. Or maybe it didn’t occur to me
because it’s not a choice. “I can’t do it alone out there. I have
to give Liss the best chance.”

“You’ll be
heading into a battle zone. You know what it’s like, how fast the
infection spreads. You know the odds.” Jacob lifts his arm away and
a tiny drop of blood forms, but that’s all. I pull the tube out and
stare at it for a few seconds, kind of shaking it.

“I do.”

Jacob smiles.
“They’ve never been able to replicate my success with the virus.
Never been able to make the super soldiers they want. These ones
have brain haemorrhages, seizures. They’re so close, but so far off
the mark.”

“What happens
when they find you?”

Jacob stares at
me blankly. “I don’t know. I don’t know why they did it in the
first place. I… don’t know.”

I nod. “I
should take more samples.” What if Kean or Henry or Trouble gets
bitten, how will I save them?

Jacob steps
back. “No. A deal’s a deal. One modifier for your help getting the
serum. Just one more vial? Two or three or twenty or a hundred?
Where does it stop? I’m a person, not a blood bank, not a test
subject, not a miracle. I have a right to myself and absolutely no
responsibility to a world that ruined me first.”

Suitably
shamed, I lower my head. He’s right. I was behaving just like the
people who did this to him: careless, reckless, greedy.

“One is
enough,” I say.

Jacob nods.

I sort myself
out quickly — blood vial in my pocket, virus gun tucked into the
back of my jeans, axe in hand. I check the monitor. It’s still all
clear, thank God. With my hand on the door handle, I pause and
glance over my shoulder. Jacob watches me calmly.

“I’m sorry this
happened to you,” I say. “I mean, that they experimented on you,
changed you.”

Jacob blinks a
few times, like he’s hearing a truth he’s been denying. He nods his
head briefly, but I feel the depth of his appreciation. And even
though we haven’t been the best of friends and even though I’ll
never see him again — I know I’m leaving him to his death — I can’t
help but feel like I’ve given him the peace of mind that he should
have gotten a long time ago.

And before I
can think on it anymore, I leave.

I move as fast
as I can, knowing there are infected in here with me, trying to
balance stealth and pace. I stop in at the medical room again and
grab the torch from the emergency kit, and with that I’m ready to
go. I tighten my grip on the axe, hoping like hell I won’t have to
use it. I have no idea if there are infected in the tunnels too but
I have no choice. There’s no telling what’s happening in Skylight
right now.

I reach the
intersection where I last saw the infected man and hold my breath
as I cross it. It’s silent. No scientists or doctors, and no
infected. I always secretly wondered when I was with Liss, what
would be worse — being in a big group, having to look after someone
else, or being completely and utterly alone.

I think this is
much worse.

I reach the
door leading to the station. It’s got all the regular security, but
I just try pulling the handle and to my relief it opens freely. I
stick my head out and check the platform, wondering what exactly
has been “locked down” in this lock down. Apart from the stash of
serums where Jacob is currently trapped, no other doors seem to
have been triggered by the alarm. When I’m sure it’s all clear I
step out and glance in both directions — into the tunnels of
darkness at either end. The door shuts quietly behind me and I
spin. There’s no handle on this side, nothing to grab, no way to
get back in unless I’ve got the code, which I don’t. And that’s
it.

No way
back.

I skate across
the platform, keeping low, and jump down to the tracks. I pause on
the edge of the darkness to switch my torch on, then I grip it in
my teeth so I can keep both hands free for protection and
listen.

No trains, no
rats, no infected.

For now.

I pick a path
as close to the curved tunnel wall as possible, and I run. The
torchlight illuminates glimpses of the graffitied concrete and
glints off the slow bending tracks, but it’s not strong enough to
penetrate the sheer wall of dark before me. Skylight can’t be far.
By train it’s a couple of minutes. A sense of urgency chases me as
I run, and I don’t care how noisy I am. I aim the torch down so I
can see where my feet are about to land, and use the wall as a
general guide. I crunch over things, barreling down the tunnel,
sliding and slipping and pushing on even harder. My breath heaves
and whistles past the torch between my teeth, and for the moment
I’m calm enough, trying not to think of what’s happening to the
others. That is, until I hear a noise. I stop dead so I can trace
its location. A low moan sweeps down the tunnel toward me. An
infected person, just up ahead.

I flick off the
torch but keep it in my teeth, and I move slowly, now that I’m
completely reliant on the wall for my direction. I strain my ears,
frowning, and for some reason I glance behind me. There’s nothing
but black — in front, behind, above and below. I’m breathing
darkness like I’m drowning in concrete. My heart panics and jumps
about. I squeeze my eyes shut for a second and take a deep breath.
Now is not the time to get claustrophobic.