The Fever Code (6 page)

224.10.07
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12:43 p.m.

Thomas's head healed much quicker than he would've guessed. Soon he was back in his own room, attending classes as if nothing had changed. Since the day of the operation, he hadn't seen a trace of Teresa, Minho, or the boy named Newt. Or anyone else, for that matter. Sometimes, as he walked down the hall toward his classes, he heard voices. They were distant enough that he couldn't quite tell which way they were coming from, but he was sure they were kids. It made him wonder what was wrong with him that others were allowed to interact so much. When was it going to be his turn?

He wondered about it every day. At times he could explain it away as part of the experiments. Maybe some kids were together and some were alone. Maybe they'd switch it soon.

A bumpy line above his ear marked where they'd cut him open, but the hair had already grown over it and he hardly thought about it anymore. He figured soon he wouldn't even be able to feel it. Sometimes he got a deep, resounding ache inside his skull, as if a magical hand had reached in there and squeezed. Whenever he asked Dr. Paige or his instructors about the implant, they simply told him what they'd told him before—it was analyzing his system—and they were always quick to point out how much less frequently he had to have tests done. That was something he did appreciate.

Dr. Paige constantly reassured him that there were reasons he was so isolated for now, that they wanted to take good care of him, keep him safe. The outside world was a scary, scary place, radiation and Cranks everywhere. And she said they needed to understand the disease better before Thomas interacted with others, that his was a special case—though she never went into much detail. But she brought him books and a handheld entertainment pad so often that he couldn't doubt her kindness, which reassured him that she wasn't just making things up to appease him. She always made him feel better about his strange life.

One day he woke up with a blistering headache and a weighty grogginess like he'd never felt before. It took every last ounce of his willpower to get up and slog through the morning routine. He took a nap in his room at lunchtime and felt like he'd barely closed his eyes when someone knocked on his door. It startled him, but he jumped up to answer it, worried he'd slept through his afternoon class. The movement brought another wave of pain crashing through his head.

His heart sank when he saw Dr. Leavitt standing in the hallway, the lights shining off his bald head.

“Oh.” It came out of Thomas's mouth before he could stop it.

“Hey there, son,” Leavitt replied, as cheerful as he'd ever been. “We've got a big surprise for you this afternoon, and I think you'll like it.”

Thomas stared at him, suddenly dizzy. Hearing those words had triggered such a strong moment of déjà vu that he thought he might still be sleeping.

“Okay,” he said, trying to hide his discomfort. Any change in his daily schedule was welcome. “What is it?”

Dr. Leavitt had an odd, nervous smile. “We—the Psychs,” the man said through a shifty grin, “have decided it's time for you to have some interaction with others. We're, um, going to start you off with Teresa. How does that sound? Would you like to meet her and spend some time with her? Maybe things will go a little better than your first, uh, unofficial meeting.” His smile grew bigger, but it didn't touch his eyes.

It had been a long, long time since Thomas had felt anything like what burned inside him at that moment. He wanted to meet Teresa more than anything else in the world.

“Yes,” he said, “absolutely. I think I'd like that very much.”

During the walk, that strange déjà vu came over him again, as if he'd made this exact same walk with the exact same purpose before. The man guided him into a small office on his floor, the only furniture a desk with nothing on it, a couple of chairs on either side. The girl named Teresa was already sitting in one of the chairs, and she gave Thomas a very shy smile.

The feeling hit him even stronger than before, almost making him stumble. Everything about the episode—the room, Teresa, the lighting—felt so familiar that it seemed impossible that it was happening for the first time. Confusion clouded his mind.

“Have a seat,” Leavitt said, gesturing impatiently.

Thomas tried to compose himself. He sat, and the man stepped back out into the hallway, pulling the door almost completely shut. “We thought it was time we let you guys have a chitchat,” he said, then added with a quick smile, “Enjoy,” and closed the door. There was another strong wave of familiarity.

Thomas couldn't stop staring at where the man had been standing moments before, too embarrassed to turn his attention to Teresa. He felt so awkward—a few minutes ago he'd been excited; now he was two seconds from getting up and running away, baffled by the strange rush of feelings. Finally he shifted in his chair, forcing his gaze to flick to her, and found that she was staring at him. Their eyes met.

“Hey.” It was the best he could do.

“Hi,” Teresa replied. She gave another shy smile. A smile Thomas could swear he'd seen at some point before today, in this very room.

But now wasn't the time to dwell on what might have happened—he had all the time in the world to think about the weirdness later. He motioned around him. “Why did they put us in
here
?”

“I don't know. They wanted us to meet and talk, I guess.”

She hadn't gotten his point—he wondered if maybe that was her attempt at sarcasm. “How long have you lived here?”

“Since I was five.”

Thomas looked at her, tried to guess her age, gave up. “So…”

“So four years,” she said.

“You're only nine?”

“Yeah. Why? How old are you?”

Thomas wasn't sure he knew the answer to that question. He figured that was close enough. “Same. You just seem older is all.”

“I'll be ten soon. Haven't you been here just as long?”

“Yeah.”

Teresa shifted in her seat, pulled one of her legs under her body and sat on it. Thomas didn't think it looked particularly comfortable but loved that she seemed a little more at ease. The same was true for him—the more they spoke, the more that disorienting pulse of déjà vu retreated to the background.

“Why do they keep some of us separate?” she asked. “I can hear other kids screaming and laughing all the time. And I've seen the big cafeteria. It's gotta feed hundreds.”

“So they bring your food to your room, too?”

Teresa nodded. “Three times a day. Most of it tastes like a toilet.”

“You know what a toilet tastes like?” He held his breath, hoping it wasn't too soon for a joke.

Teresa didn't miss a beat. “Can't be worse than the food they give us.”

Thomas let out a genuine laugh that felt great. “Heh. You're right.”

“There must be something different about us,” Teresa said, suddenly getting serious. It threw Thomas a bit. “Don't you think?”

Thomas gave his best impression of an intelligent, thinking nod. He didn't want to give away that the idea had never occurred to him. “I guess. There has to be a reason we're kept alone. But it's hard to guess what when we don't even know why we're here.” He frowned on the inside, hoped it didn't show on the outside. He'd said the word
guess
twice, and the whole thing had sounded stupid.

Teresa didn't seem to think so. “I know. Is your life pretty much school stuff from the wake-up to lights-out?”

“Just about.”

Teresa nodded, then said almost absently, “They keep telling me how smart I am.”

“Me too. It's weird.”

“I think it all has something to do with the Flare. Did your parents catch it before WICKED took you?”

All the joy Thomas had started allowing himself to feel came to a grinding halt. He suddenly saw his dad, drunk with rage, his mom saying goodbye to him when he wasn't even five years old. He tried to shut the vision out.

“I don't want to talk about that,” he said.

“Why not?” Teresa asked.

“I just don't.”

“Fine, then. Me neither.” She didn't seem mad.

“Why are we in here, anyway?” Once again, he gestured at the tiny room where they sat. “Seriously, what're we supposed to be doing?”

Teresa folded her arms and let her leg drop back down to the floor. “Talking. Being tested. I don't know. Sorry being around me is so boring for you.”

“Huh? Now you're mad?”

“No, I'm not mad. You just don't seem very nice. I kind of liked the idea of finally having a friend.”

Thomas wanted to slap himself. “Sorry. That sounds kind of good to me, too.” He didn't know if this meeting could have gone any worse.

Teresa let him off the hook with another smile. “Then maybe we passed the test. Maybe they wanted to see if we'd get along.”

“Whatever,” he said with a smile of his own. “I quit guessing about things a long time ago.”

After a long pause, she said, “So…friends?”

“Friends.”

Teresa held out her hand over the desk. “Shake on it.”

“Okay.” He leaned forward and they shook on it.

Teresa sat back in her chair, and her expression shifted again. “Hey, does your brain hurt sometimes? I mean, not just like a normal headache, but deep down inside your skull?”

Thomas could only imagine the look of shock on his face. “What? Are you serious? Yes!” He was just about to bring up his terrible morning headache—maybe even the feelings of having done this before—when she held a finger to her lips.

“Quiet, someone's coming. We'll talk about it later.”

How she'd known, Thomas had no clue. He hadn't heard anything, but someone knocked at the door a moment after she spoke. A second later it opened and Dr. Leavitt popped his head through the crack.

“Hello, kids,” he said brightly. He looked from Thomas to Teresa. “Time's up for today. Let's get you back to your rooms. We think this went well, so there'll be plenty more opportunities to get to know each other.”

Thomas exchanged a glance with Teresa. He wasn't totally sure what her eyes said, but he really did believe he had a new friend. They got up from their chairs and moved toward Leavitt. Thomas was thankful for even the short time they'd been given, and would keep his fingers crossed that the good behavior would truly lead to more meetings, as promised.

They were at the door when Teresa stopped and asked Dr. Leavitt a question. Two, actually. And it was enough to change the man's demeanor completely.

“What's a swipe trigger? And is it true that seven kids died during the implant surgeries?”

The questions stunned Thomas. He turned to look at Teresa as the doctor fumbled for an answer.

“How…,” the man began, then stopped, realizing at the same moment what Thomas did: Teresa had stumbled on something major. Something
true.
“Where would you come up with such nonsense?”

Thomas wondered the same thing. How could she have heard something like that? He never heard anything.

Teresa shrugged. “Sometimes you people talk when you think we can't hear.”

Leavitt was not pleased, but his voice remained steady. “And sometimes when you overhear things, you don't hear the whole story. Let's not concentrate on what doesn't concern you, okay?”

And with that he turned and started back down the hall. He didn't seem to care whether they followed or not, but both were right on his heels.

“This is kind of fun,” Teresa whispered to Thomas. “Walking along with my new friend.”

He looked at her in bemused disbelief. “Really? You drop that bombshell about kids dying and now you act like it's no big deal? You're so weird.” He tried to make a joke of it to hide just how horrified he'd been by her second question. Surely it was just a rumor?