For the smallest part of a second, I knew the truth, and then my whole world collapsed around me. Something deep inside split apart—what I saw and what would become my reality—and I ran from the coffin. A mob of people pushed and pulled, and I couldn’t breathe. I had to get out. I had to run and never come back.
But the people wouldn’t let me go. They were everywhere. I fell, gasping for air, surrounded by pale and weeping faces.
The center screen in the bomb shelter filled with deep violet color. I felt a searing pain behind both ears, a scorching sting as if I had been cut by two knives, and then I was having a seizure. Was I on the floor in a funeral home surrounded by people who wouldn’t let me escape, or was I in the bomb shelter with some part of me being sucked away, exchanged for something else?
I felt a piece of me return, the part I’d blotted out about Keith, a darkness I couldn’t hold without losing my mind. Stillness then—a drifting through time—and then nothing. No feeling at all, just empty space.
When I awoke, the headphones were gone. I didn’t take notice of this fact at first, nor the fact that the room itself had been greatly altered. The monitors, gone, replaced by a plain white wall. My backpack, gone, and with it my Recorder. The cot remained, on which I found myself lying.
All of these details eluded me on waking, because there was only room in my small world for one thought. It was a thought so big that it could never fit in before; but now, on the other side of Rainsford’s inhuman treatment, I could finally hold it inside and live with it.
My little brother wasn’t alive. My Keith, with the stupid green baseball cap and the mad basketball skills. He’d been gone awhile—two years or more—and I felt the strangest, most unexpected thing at the sudden arrival of this information.
I was finally ready to let him go.
I cried, pretty hard, I think, the memories pouring out and away. The air hockey elbow shot in the basement that never worked; the way he moved in the driveway, slipping past me and driving to the hoop over our dented garage door. His inability to master the simple mechanics of running away from a robot, making me laugh until my sides ached.
It all melted into something soft and deep, a pain I could hold without falling apart.
You were a good little bro, Keith. The best.
You weren’t too bad yourself.
His voice was never the same after that, which sort of broke my heart and kind of didn’t.
Peace, bro. Peace wherever you are. See you on the other side.
The changed nature of the bomb shelter remained a secondary piece of information as I stood and wiped my eyes. There were two other things crowding my mind now, and they seemed of equal importance. Keith was not replaced but rather centered in the deepest part of my heart, where I knew beyond any doubt he would always stay.
My mind moved past Keith now and crept toward the first of two things: Marisa. So much had happened so very quickly, but now my thoughts swung back to her. We held the death of a close family member in common, us two, which made me want to go to her more than I ever had before. I knew her pain. And then, the biggest question of all: had she been cured?
The idea of the cure was what brought my own circumstance screaming back, the second thing that held my attention: was I cured? Like the others before me who had been so sure, I suddenly felt sure, too. Maybe it was knowing that Keith was with me, not some fake one I was creating in the empty space around him. Or more likely, it had something to do with what had happened at the end of the cure. I felt the small space behind my ears. There were bones there, and tender skin below. And something new: small wounds, tender to the touch.
Those monkey phones did something to me. Something I was not supposed to know about.
I recalled what Rainsford had said: Most people forget, but not you, Will. You will remember. I’ll see to it. Enjoy it while it lasts, Will Besting. Soon this will all be gone, wiped away, as if it never was. And with it, your fear.
There would come a time, soon it sounded like, when everything I knew about Fort Eden would vanish from my memory. As if it never was.
I had to find a way to make sure that didn’t happen.
At last my mind had arrived at the reality of the moment. I felt battered and bruised, as if I’d walked through a minefield and managed to live through three violent explosions.
“This can’t be right,” I said, staring at the bomb shelter wall. When I said the words, I felt the fourth and final explosion ripping through my mind. It had been so numbingly quiet in the bomb shelter, the thought hadn’t even occurred to me. Everything had seemed normal, but it wasn’t. I said three more words; but they registered as a thought, not as sounds.
I can’t hear.
Everyone suffered symptoms after the treatment, but no one had totally lost something in the exchange. It had been small things—a headache or a sleeping foot—but never an entire category of who they were. The idea of never hearing again struck me as the cruelest deception.
I yelled, not a word but a sound, and found that I had been wrong. The word sounded far away; but it was there, distant and weak. I yelled again, moving my jaw up and down as if I’d dove too deep into a swimming pool and only needed to pop my eardrums. Was it better or the same? I picked up the edge of the rusted metal cot and dropped it on the concrete. The sound bounced quietly into my head and seemed to bring things closer.
“Can you hear me, Will?” I asked myself, loud but not yelling; and I heard my own voice. It was still small and far away, but my ears were getting better. It seemed, oddly, like the more I heard, the better I heard.
“This is what he meant,” I said, too quietly to hear myself say it, but understanding perfectly. Rainsford knew that I’d lost my hearing, and he knew what this would mean: that I wouldn’t hear him talking to me when I joined the rest.
“It’s his voice; that’s what makes them forget. It’s what makes them do what he says.”
But he’d also known that my hearing would return, at least most of it would; and when it did, his voice would undo my memory, break it apart, scatter it in the woods where I’d never find it again. I couldn’t know this for sure, but all the evidence pointed to his powers of persuasion. And it seemed to me that his most powerful tool was his voice, a voice that lulled those around him into doing what he asked. Even if I was wrong, I decided not to take any chances. If hearing Rainsford would erase my memory, than I’d have to make sure and never hear his voice.
I looked once more at the bomb shelter and really took it in this time. Had there ever been a wall of monitors? I didn’t have a watch anymore, and there were no windows in the basement. For all I knew I’d been in a deep sleep for days and days while they removed the monitors. The books were gone, too, and the monkey phones. Actually, the more I examined things, the more it seemed that everything was gone. Only the cot remained against one wall, on which I’d been sleeping.
I felt a gnawing hunger in my belly, and salivated at the thought of Mrs. Goring’s canned peaches with the dash of cinnamon thrown in.
Some food, that’s what I need, and then I’ll figure out what to do.
It wouldn’t matter anymore if Mrs. Goring discovered she was missing a jar of preserves. She knew I was down here and had to imagine I was starving. I opened the door and stepped out. It wasn’t as dark as I’d expected it would be in the basement. There was a soft, yellow light overhead, which hadn’t been there before.
Outside the room I saw the wall of twisting mushrooms and, turning, the black door with the number 7.
“I’m not in the bomb shelter anymore,” I said, hearing my words as if they were whispered from the end of a long hallway. “I’m at the bottom of Fort Eden. I’m in room number six.”
It took me a few minutes to calm down and get past the idea that I’d been moved from one basement to another. The bomb shelter was real; I just wasn’t in it. I stood before the door marked with a 7 and wished I’d had the courage to knock on it, but I didn’t. It was the last
room, his room. The only person who was going in there was Avery Varone, the girl who claimed she couldn’t be cured.
I walked to the elevator, which stood open, and stepped inside. I took the long, slow ride up to the main floor. Staring at Kino’s smashed canoe, I felt his life going in reverse and imagined him making different choices. When I got out, I walked up the ramp and Kino got bigger on the floor. Parting the curtain was the easy part; but standing at the door to Fort Eden, I had an old, familiar feeling. I was afraid. It wasn’t the old, debilitating fear that grabbed me, but a new one, a rational one. I wasn’t afraid of being with a bunch of people; I was afraid of what Rainsford would do to me if I went inside.
The door opened before I could turn around and go back.
“Get in here; I don’t have all day, and the food’s getting cold.” Mrs. Goring, yelling in my face, loud enough for me to hear.
I stepped inside, nodding, and saw that everyone was sitting at the round table staring at me. In the past, this would have been my signal to cut and run, but I saw them differently than how I’d seen groups of people for a long time. They were smiling at me, saying things I couldn’t hear. Even Connor was glad to see me, pumping his fist and, I think, even a little jealous that I’d put one over on the system, at least for a while.
Nice shirt.
I didn’t hear Ben Dugan say the words; but he was pointing to his own, and I could read his lips. I looked down and saw that I had on the same shirt, the one with the E sitting on a blooming pedestal of stone.
I hadn’t moved from the door, and Mrs. Goring was already back at her metal cart, which sat next to the table. She was moving big bowls of steaming pasta and sauce, and rolls of bread wrapped up in foil. A spaghetti dinner, my favorite. Alex and Kate were waving me over, calling my name, but I still didn’t move.
When Marisa got up and started walking toward me, I met her halfway. She reached out her hand, smiling so perfectly, and our fingers touched. Her hand was shaking as much as mine was; and dragging me to the table, she kept looking back, wordless and beaming.
You’re okay, I said, so softly that I heard nothing. She nodded as we arrived at the table, and I sat down. Her eyes looked tired, as if she hadn’t slept for days; and it worried me. Maybe she hadn’t been cured after all.
“Eat. Now!” Mrs. Goring yelled from behind me. “I’ll be back in twenty minutes.”
Questions were firing left and right, and I caught the general idea: where have you been? Tell us everything.
I pointed to my ears, offered a start: “The cure left me just about deaf, but I can hear a little. I think it’s coming back. Am I yelling?”
Friendly laughter followed, along with a lot of head nodding. Dude, you’re practically screaming at us.
Food was making the rounds, the first real dinner I’d been this close to in a while, and I whispered close to Marisa’s ear.
“Can you say something quiet and near? I want to hear your voice.”
She smiled down at her plate, touched my hand under the table, and put her mouth next to my ear. If the hand-holding had been amazing, this was completely off the charts. I felt her warm breath on my skin. The words were alive in my ear, and I heard them.
“Don’t leave me again. Stay.”
“No problem,” I said, and everyone laughed. I had the feeling I’d said it pretty loud, and laughed along with them. I piled pasta onto my plate and covered them in thick, red sauce, then crunched my teeth into the best garlic bread I’d ever tasted. Things were looking up, no doubt.
As I scanned the table, I realized that Avery Varone wasn’t there. I leaned in close to Marisa and asked where she was. She shrugged, pointing her fork toward the door leading outside, smiled absently. She was trying to put up a good front, but there was no mistaking how exhausted she was.
“Where’s Rainsford?” I asked, and got the feeling I’d finally found the right volume for my voice.
Connor had the biggest voice in the group, but Kate was a close second, so I’d aimed my question at them.
“He’s around,” Kate said. “He says we’re going home tomorrow.”
“I’m actually going to miss this place,” Alex Chow offered. I heard his voice, quiet but there. My hearing was slowly getting better, and I understood the reason for the dinner. Rainsford knew that hearing voices would bring me back around. The more I heard, the better I heard. What better place to get people talking than around a dinner table?
I was starving and wanted nothing more than to eat everything in front of me, but I was smart enough to know it was a trick. The longer I stayed, the more I’d hear; and that, I knew, was dangerous.
“Can we take a walk? Is that allowed?” I asked Marisa.
She hesitated, not like she wasn’t sure if they were allowed, but for a totally different reason. She was too tired to go for a walk.
“Go on,” said Ben Dugan. “I’ll hide some food for you. She’ll never know.”
This seemed to give Marisa just enough energy to get up and push me toward the door. The smile was back and we were moving. I looked back, and was happy to see Ben taking my heaping plate into the guys’ quarters.
I did take one slice of garlic bread with me, not for myself, but for Marisa. If the walk ended in a kiss, I wanted her to have the same breath I did. We held hands and walked the path to the pond, taking turns biting into the crisp bread until it was gone.
She leaned in close, putting her shoulder against mine.
“You’re cured,” she said. “I’m happy for you.”
“I’m happy for you, too,” I said.
“You’re yelling.”
“Oh, sorry.”
She smiled and looked at her shoes.
“Do you remember getting cured?” I asked, softer this time.
She shook her head no.
“But I’m not scared anymore. And I’ve put some things behind me. Hard things.”
I wanted to say “I know,” but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. There would be time, later, to dig deeper into both of our pasts.
“Why so tired? Up late last night?”
She laughed, and the whisper was back, close and warm.
“Quite the opposite. I sleep all the time. Must be my symptom, like Kate’s headaches and your hearing. Rainsford says it will go away after a while.”
Maybe you’re just catching up on your sleep, I thought, which felt true.
We fell into silence on the path, and I wished I had my Recorder. I’d have put one earbud in her ear, the other in mine, and played our song. It would have been epic-unforgettable-romantic-awesomeness. I was lost in this thought, thinking of the words and the tune, when she stopped me and looked into my eyes.
“You’re singing our song,” she said, softly enough so that I couldn’t hear her; but I could tell what she’d said. And I realized that I was.
She leaned in, rising on her toes to meet me, and we kissed.
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
.....................................................................
EDEN 7
AVERY
When we arrived at the pond, Avery Varone was sitting alone on the dock. She was staring at the pump house, holding the pipe wrench in her hand.
Marisa touched me on the shoulder, signaling me to wait at the water’s edge, and then she went to Avery’s side and sat down. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but whatever it was, it wasn’t much. Avery wasn’t in a talkative mood. She kept glancing over at me, and I wondered again: are you with us or against us? She had overtaken Kate as the most likely mole in our group for a number of reasons.
I stared off at the pond, silence enveloping me, and thought about what I knew.
Kate Hollander was beautiful and smart, and she knew how to play people; but she wasn’t a follower. Kate led. It was in her bones. I found it gradually harder to believe she would fall into step with someone else’s plan, especially if it was a plan p
ut into play by adults. She was classic antiauthority. She’d be the one at school pulling pranks and causing trouble for all the right reasons. I had come to trust Kate’s motives in the days at Fort Eden, in part because I knew her tragic past, but also because she was a rebel fighting for us, not them.
So Kate was out, and Marisa wasn’t even on the radar, which left only one person: Avery Varone. She was a foster kid, and I knew from her audio sessions that she’d been in at least nine different homes over the past few years. That sort of thing didn’t happen if you were a good kid. My guess is that foster parents are in it for the money, and problem kids get moved along. But more than that was the central problem with Avery: she couldn’t be cured, or at least that was her story. And standing by the pond that night, I thought I’d figured out why. Avery Varone couldn’t be cured because she wasn’t sick to begin with. It was the only answer that made any sense.
I was thoroughly convinced of these facts as Marisa got up and came back toward me, which made what she said all the more confusing.
“How’s she doing?” I asked, making sure to whisper so my voice didn’t carry over the dock. I moved closer so Marisa could answer me.
“Davis came back and saw her. She told him first.”
“Told him what?”
Marisa looked hollowed-out with tiredness, as if she was walking in her sleep. Her words were faint, but clear enough.
“Avery’s ready. She’s going to do it. She’s getting cured.”
When we got back to the main room in Fort Eden, Marisa curled up on one of the couches and fell fast asleep. The guys were hustling one another at cards and tried to rope me in, but I waved them off and headed for the guys’ room for at least three reasons.
1) I wanted the food Ben had taken for me.
2) I wanted to talk to Dr. Stevens.
3) I could hear them.