The Wall (The Woodlands) (3 page)

This boy was wearing a t shirt, something they called
‘jeans’, and a soft sweatshirt that had a hood sewn into it. He pulled a strange face as he spoke, like it was hard to get the words out, as he toyed with the toggle attached to his hood.

“
Dad, imagine it was me, or Saz. You would want Matt to do everything he could to save us. Wouldn’t you?” the boy stuttered, each word louder than the one before as he gained confidence.

The man, Gus, wiped his
forehead, leaving a dirty streak across his weathered skin. He rubbed his temples like he had a headache. He looked to the boy and smiled, a warm, familiar smile, full of affection. “All right, I’ll give you a few days, Matt. The rest of you need to start packing up your groups and preparing.” He took a sip from his coffee, swallowing it with a sour expression. Adults—always drinking stuff that tasted bad for the after-effects.

The rest of them
shuffled out of the room, talking to each other and ignoring us. This left our original group sitting around the table, along with Matthew. We all wanted to hear his plan. I jolted up once the others had cleared the room, pumping my legs, jiggling the baby to keep him sleeping.

My heart
sank and then jumped up in my chest repeatedly. Hope. It’s a strange feeling, and one I’ve had very little experience with. It made you feel buoyant, like you were pulling the clouds down to meet you.

“
What are you planning?” Apella asked, her voice vibrating, face still green. Alexei was patting her back too hard, in a distracted way like he was trying to dislodge something she was choking on.

“
A broken heart operation,” he said, like we should all know what he was talking about. “But we’ll need blood.”

She nodded, somehow she knew
, or could guess. “Blood type?”

“
O,” Mathew replied

Apella frowned.
“What have you got?” Hope was bleeding out. Something was wrong.

“
None. We need to ask people to get tested and donate.”

I stuck my arm under his nose.
“Take as much as you need,” I said enthusiastically, pointing to a nice, big vein that wanted to volunteer.

Matthew smiled and pushed my hand aside.
“Sorry, Rosa. You’re not compatible.”

I frowned.
Of course. Our differences included our blood.

They started to make plans. There were only
twenty people left. The rest had already moved back to wherever they came from. We would divide those people between us, send them to the clinic to be tested, and hopefully have their blood collected.

I made my excuses and ran back to my room.
The corridors looked brighter, glossier than before, like a light was shining behind them, like the building was swelling with hope for Joseph. I skipped down the halls, imagining those beautiful eyes. Totally distracted. I thudded into a soft but solid mass. I looked up to see the boy who had helped buy us some time staring down at me awkwardly.

“
Sorry,” I muttered, attempting to walk past him. The baby would be hungry soon. I wanted to get back.

He put his hand to my shoulder.
“Your shoelace is untied,” he said, smiling kindly. Warm hazel eyes looked from my shoes to my face.

“
Oh. Here, hold this,” I handed him the baby and knelt down to tie them, ignoring his surprised expression at my use of the word ‘this’. The boy gazed at my child, rocking him back and forth as he held him.

“
He’s cute. What’s his name?”

I
fought back my suspiciousness. “He doesn’t have one yet.”

“
Oh.” Was he looking at me with pity? No, it was something else, sympathy and camaraderie, like he got it.

“
What blood type are you?” I blurted out. Standing before him, all I could see was blood. He was a walking bag of blood.

“
O,” he answered warily.

Our eyes connected and I smiled at him.
A real, full smile, my teeth catching on my lips, not used to the ascension. He returned my grin, his eyes sweeping over me. I stiffened. That made me a little uncomfortable. I thanked him hastily and snatched the baby back, brushing his hands lightly as I did so. I ran back to our room. I had to tell him.

“
My name’s Cal!” he called after me.

O. O. O. O.

I could see him again. It could work out.
Please, please, please, let this work
.

I
barreled into our room and the baby cried. He didn’t seem to share my elation. I sat down on the bed and fed him. He looked dreamy and satisfied after. Lit by the fluorescence and reflective black rock ceiling, his little face was so pale compared to my own. His defective eyes twinkled as he watched the changes in the light. I wrapped him up tightly in a blanket and held him. Hurry up, I thought. Sleep. He closed his eyes and then opened them again, peering at me, making sure I was still there. I smirked, thinking my suspicious nature had been passed to this tiny bundle. “You trust me about as much as I trust myself, don’t you?” I whispered, rolling my eyes.

Finally,
he stopped checking for my presence and I took him to his room. Creeping across the hall like I had stolen the child, I laid him down in his crib. I leaned down and kissed his tiny head. He stirred and his forehead crinkled for a moment before it relaxed again. My lips had never touched something that soft. It was the first time I had ever done that. Smoothing his tiny, blond curls from his face, I smiled again, the sensation less and less foreign.

I left our son and returned to Joseph. My heart still hurt
. It was wrapped up in a dark shadow that would squeeze inside my chest at the sight of him. His body was suspended in gold, waiting. I climbed into his bed, lightly touching his resting face, almost scared it would cave in if I pressed too hard. I whispered, “I love you.” Another first. My tears stung and fell on his unresponsive face. Yes, hope is a dangerous thing.

Matthew knocked on the
doorframe, interrupting me. I wasn’t embarrassed. After he caught me poking Joseph’s eyes, this was nothing. I sat up, wiping my away my tears.

“
I want to talk to you about the operation,” he said seriously. He walked to my bed and sat on the edge, crossing his legs like he was a preschooler sitting on the mat in front of a teacher.

I wasn
’t sure I wanted to know. I just nodded.

“
It’s a very complicated procedure. If it works, though, Joseph will be as good as new. Maybe better.”

“
So why didn’t you do it before?” If it would fix him so completely, why wait until now?

“
It’s very risky, the success rate is…”

“
Stop!” I turned away from him, closing my ears, closing myself off to the prospect of complications and slim chances. That cloud of hope was trying to return to the sky. I didn’t want to let it, not yet. I held onto it tightly, clutching it to my chest like a pillow.

Matthew put his hands up in surrender.
“All right. I just want you to understand that this is his last chance. If it doesn’t work…”

“
It will work. It has to.” I knew I was being stubborn, but I couldn’t leave room for the possibility the operation wouldn’t work. That was not an option. Joseph wouldn’t leave me here on my own.

Matthew smiled. He understood. For some
reason, he cared about us. I trusted that he would try his best.

“
Do you have any questions?” His kind eyes assessed my restless state. I was all over the place. He was much older than me but his casualness made him seem young, like he was a surgeon that still climbed trees and played. Maybe he was.

“
What can I do?” I asked anxiously.

He chuckled.
“Find people with O blood and get them to report to the clinic.”

“
That boy… Cal. He had O; I’ll go get him.” I jumped up, about to fly out the door.

“
Not now. Tomorrow.” I scowled. I didn’t want to wait. “Get some sleep, Rosa. Tomorrow will be a very difficult day for everyone.”

No. Not difficult.
Wonderful
. He could be fixed.

I relaxed back into the bed, sharing a pillow with Joseph.
I wondered if they had any technology that could fix me. I know what I would ask them to do. Before the baby, I would have said my eyes. That would have been the first thing. Now, I would ask them to install a few doors or blocks between my brain, my mouth, and my body. I would probably break through them all but at least it would slow me down. Stop the continuous flow of stupid or dangerous that seemed to pour out without warning.

I p
ulled Joseph’s limp arm around me and fell asleep, dreaming of the squeeze I would feel when he woke up and pulled me to him.

We were to meet at midday with our results. I had asked everyone I came across
what their blood type was, probably more than once. I wasn’t registering their faces; they sloshed down the halls, walking IV bags, in my eyes. I found myself winding up tighter and tighter like a rubber band about to twang and take out someone’s eye. Each person I asked seemed genuinely frightened when they told me
no
, like I was going to squeeze blood out of them like juicing an orange. And I couldn’t find Cal. I hoped someone else had.

I made my way through the maze of corridors to the clinic
with the baby in my arms. It was up a level. I followed a series of metal-rung ladders and platforms. My footsteps sent muffled sounds up into the ceiling, with no rebounding echo. Dull, like we were living inside a damp sponge. It was dark and cold, much colder than when I first arrived.

Hope.
It’s a foolish feeling, one that lifts you up only to cut your wings and send you crashing back to the ground.

I entered the
clinic, blinking. It was a shiny, white room, too bright. The smell of disinfectant and out-of-place mustiness swirled up my nose. As I scanned the room, I felt like a giant had stepped on me, squashing my body, twisting his foot to push me deeper into the dirt. There was only one person sitting in a chair. Only one. He looked pale. Bags of blood were piled next to him, a needle protruding from his arm. Cal.

Apella was talking to Alexei in
sharp whispers. I’d never seen him so angry. His bottom lip was quivering and his pale face was twisted into a very dissatisfied expression. She shook her wrist free of him, looking into his eyes, her own teary but determined. She slipped passed me without looking up and went into the hall. Deshi was hanging back, squeamish from all the blood.

“
Is this it?” I asked no one in particular as I spread out a blanket on the floor and put the baby down. I felt a little crazed, the morning’s disappointments weighing on me.
How could this be it?

Matthew walked over to Cal and patted his shoulder.
“That’s it for you; you’ve given more than enough.” Cal tried to speak but he could barely whisper. His face was white as a sheet. He tried to grab a glass of water from the table next to him, his hand shaking. He quickly gave up when he realized he was too weak. Letting out a small laugh, he said, “I think I keep grabbing for the imaginary one. I can see two glasses dancing in front of me right now.”