Chapter Five
I sink to the floor of the shower. The moment is surreal. I have been waiting for this for so long, expecting it to happen, but it is an immense shock after all that I’ve learnt today. I am going to die.
I don’t know how long I stay in the shower, I vaguely notice my crinkled fingertips and somewhere in my mind I think to turn the water off. Recycled salt water or not, it seems like a waste. I rub myself down avoiding any contact with the sore. I don’t want to look at it. I’ve seen them so many times before, I’ve wiped away the pus that seeps from them and shaken out the crusty scabs of them from clothes before I washed them. I don’t need to look at mine to know what’s next.
All of my movements are mechanical, it’s like my mind has been emptied of any thought, and my body is taking over. I dress in a loose nightdress, plait my wet hair and for some reason put in my Mum’s hairpin. I hear Max call my name and something about Mickael waiting for me to go out on sentry duty. It brings me to the present for a second. I can’t go out there. I’m infected. I could contaminate everyone. The seriousness of the situation dawns on me. Before I knew what Renka told me, I would not have thought about contamination. None of us ever separated the sick. We nursed the dying while we lived among the healthy. We visited those coughing up blood and offered to wash the dirty cloths soaked in it. But now, everything is different, the BAS survivors lived in quarantine. They tried to kill the people who infiltrated it for fear of infection. We have been living like the Sickness is inside us, like we have no choice, we’re going to die from it, no one ever abandons the sick for fear of infection. Now here I am, on a ship with a disease that could infect everyone, kill everyone before we get to The Refuge. Why did the committee send the eldest of us, why didn’t they send younger volunteers who may not have contracted the Sickness yet?
I’m frantic, I consider asking Max to take my sentry duty, writing him a note and jumping overboard. That could give the others a fighting chance, give Max a chance. But how can I be sure I’d make it on deck without seeing anyone? What about the air system down here, it’s some sort of electrical air purifying, cooling and heating system from BAS. Vonteuse explained that it probably recycled our air. It seemed to be the fashion back then, recycle everything. I wouldn’t be surprised if our drinking and shower water is the same water we flush down the toilet systems on this ship. Maybe I’ve already infected everyone. I curse Renka and his stupid commune for keeping this information to themselves. How could they continue to let so many people die? And why would they do that?
Max’s insistent knocking on the bathroom door forces me back from my thoughts. I scramble for a way out of sentry.
“I don’t feel well, Max. Can you please get Mickael to ask Fiona to cover for me? I’ll owe her back”, I call in a surprisingly calm voice.
“What’s wrong? Are you alright?”
“I’m fine; it’s just a bad headache. I’ll go to bed and be fine in the morning, don’t worry”, I respond quickly.
What a stupid thing to say, of course he’s going to worry and how am I going to keep him away from me? Just then something Renka said slams into my consciousness with a force that shakes me from within, ‘I’ll tell you this because the chance of you making it back is slim to none’. I didn’t even give it a second thought at the time, I knew what my chances were of ever seeing ‘G’ again, and I wouldn’t have put my best pelts on slim. But why would he say that after what he knew? It doesn’t make sense. Did he know I was already infected? How could he, I didn’t even know. Something does not fit; I need to talk to Renka. He obviously didn’t tell me all that he knows.
Questions start to flood my mind, why didn’t the people of his commune move away, separate themselves from the rest? Why didn’t they quarantine the infected or, callous or not, kill and burn them as soon as signs of the Sickness were visible? More importantly, why did Commune C’s population suffer the same desolation in numbers as the rest? I know this because the communication screen outside of the Rations Office displays the numbers of the dead at the end of every week. I would have noticed if ‘C’ had significantly lower numbers than the rest. Of course, it could have been rigged, who knew what the Committee were capable of anymore.
The rush of questions brings on a pounding headache, it seems Max won’t be telling a lie about why I skipped sentry. I break out in a sweat. I can feel it trickle down towards the sore. I’m not sure if I am just extra sensitive to that area now or if sweat is really dripping off my skin. It seem that my hip is warmer than any other part of my body. I have to lie down.
I open the bathroom door and find Max staring at me from a sitting position on the bed. He’s sporting a concerned frown, right between the eyes. It is exactly the same as mine. When I see him with it I think we look like brother and sister, otherwise there isn’t that much resemblance between us.
I muster as much confidence in my voice as I can and tell him it’s just a headache and I’m going to bed. I don’t think I fool him for a second. He fusseds over me even though I try to keep him at a distance. The truth is I feel terrible. I am hot and start to shiver violently. I know I have to get to bed quickly if I want Max to believe I’ve only gota headache but I’m a bit shaky on my feet. I plop down on the bed and look down at the foot of the bed where the crumpled blankets are in a heap and feel an overwhelming sense of exhaustion. I can’t even muster up the strength to lean over and pull the blankets up. The next thing I remember is Max talking frantically to someone at the side of my bed. From then I live in a world of dreams.
I am a little girl picking wild garlic from near the stream. The green leafy stems are brushing past my legs as I walk past them. I smile as they tickle me, but when I look down they aren’t stems, they’re thousands of cockroaches crawling up my legs. I scream and squirm, hitting my legs but they just kept coming, an endless supply of cockroaches. Then when I hit my leg my hand goes right through it, I have no substance, I am made of water or something similar. A tormented sound tries to rip out of my mouth only to dissolve in a watery gargle, I am silenced.
It keeps on like this. I don’t know what is real and what is a fever dream. I hear snippets of conversations around me and see concerned faces but I cringe away because they turn into horrible masks, or huge mouths laughing cruelly at me. I’m vaguely aware of my body moving uncontrollably and Max calling my name. He is trying to put a wet cloth on my forehead and I try to smile in reassurance at him, but the cloth suddenly turns into a stick and he is trying to hit me with it. I push him away and try to get out of the bed. Hands hold me down, hands that are streaked with blood.
I wake to an empty and quiet cabin. I’m lying in the foetal position in the moisture of my own sweat. I wonder why I amleft alone. Surely someone would want to be by my side in case I wake or have a seizure from the fever. I feel a little sad about being considered so unimportant, even by Max or Tomas. It is daytime. The room has a shiny quality about it that hints at the sun shining outside. I uncurl myself and sit up, assessing my body as I go. I’m covered in pussy sores; some have crusted into scabs that show the signs of being repetitively scratched. I remember Richard, Sadie’s older brother frantically scratching his sores till they bled and became so badly infected that we had to tie his hands down. I vaguely think that he only got that way after months of the Sickness, has it really been that long?
I try to swallow and let out a groan of agony as I feel my throat constrict in pain. I run my tongue around the inside of my mouth and feel my teeth move. I press against them experimentally with my tongue and they fall out, filling my mouth, rattling together. I open my mouth to scream for help but my teeth just keep on falling and falling out onto the blankets. I frantically try to push them back into my mouth, clawing at my mouth till I taste blood. I am calling for help, for anyone to help me get my teeth back. I feel a sting across my cheek and a second too late hear the clap of a slap. I register that it is supposed to be the other way round before I fall into a deep dreamless sleep
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I wake again and know this time it is real because that shiny quality to the room; that I now realise can’t exist below deck without a window, is not there, and next to me sits Tomas with his journal sitting opened on his lap. I realise it’s the scratching of his pencil that has awakened me. He sees me stir and looks up. He looks so different, older or scruffier or something. He has deep purple circles under his eyes, like he hasn’t slept in days. He doesn’t smile at me, just stares as if confused or wary , expecting my head to suddenly spin around on my shoulders.
I attempt to say hi, but it comes out in an incoherent croak. I clear my throat waiting for the bite of pain I felt the last time I thought I woke up, but there is only a dry parched feel to it.
“Hi”, I try again with some success. He knows what I am trying to say because I see a flicker of acknowledgement in his eyes, but he still just stares. I look around the room and notice Max sleeping in the corner on a mattress that I haven’t seen before. He’s frowning even in his sleep and I want to go and comfort him but I can’t move anything, my body is wracked with exhaustion, as if I’ve just finished chopping wood for every house in my commune.
“What time is it?” I ask.
“What day is it is probably the more important question”, Tomas responds.
“What do you mean? How long have I been in this bed?” I’m was scared he is going to say I’ve been out of it for months or something.
“It’s Tuesday, you’ve been sick for eight days”, he answers slowly.
I let that sink in for a little bit, eight days. I wonder vaguely about my sentry duties and who has been covering for me, and about the drills practice and how that’s been going. I look up at Tomas to ask him about it when Max stirs.
“Pia?” He murmurs as he rubs his eyes and looks around.
“Yeah, it’s me Max, I’m awake”, I say huskily as I try to raise my voice a little.
It’s as if he has been struck by lightning. He sits bolt upright on the mattress and stares at me in utter disbelief. I lift my head a fraction and smile at him. He jumps up and runs over to me crushing me in a hug that squeezes the air out of my lungs.
“You’re alive! You’re alive! I can’t believe it! Tomas, she’s alive!” Max is calling out in excitement over my shoulder.
“Of course I’m alive, you Wally, what did you expect? Eight days and I’d be gone, you know it better than that”, I respond with a smile.
“You were really sick, Pia. You went right through to vomiting up blood in three days, you haven’t eaten in five days and we’ve been forcing small drops of water into your mouth but you weren’t keeping it down”, Max says with the look of someone who isn’t sure if they’re dreaming.
Like everyone else, Max knows the course of Age-Sickness. If you get to vomiting up blood stage you’re very close to the end because you can’t keep any liquids down. Although plenty of people suffering from the disease don’t eat very much and the little fat they have wastes away from their body, they hang on because of the water they consume. Most people can live for months between the first sore and blood vomiting stage. I am shocked that I could have deteriorated so quickly yet am alert and interacting with those around me straight after I awake. I look up at Tomas for confirmation that what Max said is true, he nods his head and continue staring at me in confusion.
I pull myself away from Max, exhausting my movement quota for the day and look down at my body. The blankets, which had been changed from our usual scratchy ones that Max complained about, are gathered at my thighs and my nightie is nowhere to be seen. Instead I have on a singlet top that does not belong to me. I suddenly feel very self-conscious with Tomas there staring at me. The top is longish so it covers my thighs but this is not the usual outfit I’m seen in by anyone except Max and usually not even then. But besides that, I’m disgusted at the way I look, I am rake thin, my ribs protrude at sharp angles through the material of the singlet, my hands, that are now laying on the blankets are so thin as to be alien-like, the rounded knob of each knuckle is defined against the skin and my wrist is so tiny that it doesn’t look like it can support my hand. Even then, it isn’t so much the wasted flesh that is my body that disgusts me, or the pastiness of my skin, it’s the hideous sores that I have scratched and picked at so much that they join together as if they are my skin. There is dried blood and crusty pus residue smeared all over my skin and the singlet top. Somewhere in my mind I think about how I’m going to get this top back in order for the person who lent it to me but dismiss the idea, who would want this thing back after what I’ve done to it? It suddenly dawns on me that I’m not wearing the same clothes I had on when I crawled into bed eight days ago. Someone has changed me. If I was capable of blushing at this moment I would flame a bright crimson, who has undressed me? Who nursed me?
I look back up to see Max smiling at me in what can only be described as unimaginable relief. I don’t know what he ses but it isn’t the alien being that I see when I look at myself. I notice that he has a long scratch that starts at the corner of his eye and spreads down his cheek to the jaw-line. I reach up to touch it and have a flashback to the dream I had of Max hitting me with a stick. I feel sick, have I done this to him? Tears well in my eyes and the smile is wiped from Max’s face.
“No, don’t cry, don’t worry about it, it doesn’t hurt, you didn’t know what you were doing, don’t cry”, he begs frantically.
Max is back in my arms squeezing me. I feel the frailty of my body afresh because Max seems bigger than me. That thought brings on a new rush of tears and I find myself crying uncontrollably. Any dignity I had maintained during the last eight days in front of Tomas is now gone. I can’t stop crying great wracking sobs that do not sound even remotely human-like. Max is patting my back and murmuring soothing noises that I use on him when he wakes from his night terrors. I think about the reversal of our roles, I never wanted this for Max, I never wanted him to have to nurse me the way I had nursed others. If it’s possible my crying reaches new heights until I have tired myself out. The last thing I remember is Max lowering me down to my pillow.
I wake up some time later and Fiona is sitting beside my bed. She looks tidy and efficient as always but she has the same deep purple rings under her eyes as Tomas. I’m relieved to see her there, I fervently hope that it was her who changed me and tended to my sores and other bodily functions. I smile at her and she smiles back.
“It’s good to see you awake”, Fiona comments softly.
“I’m starving”, I croak, it’s the most urgent need of my body.
“I’m glad, that’s a good sign and lucky too that I brought this down for you”, Fiona responds with a small smile.
She move to the small drawer set next to the bed and picks up a bowl covered in a cloth. It is then that I notice the most glorious smell I have ever smelt. It must have been that delicious scent that caused me to awaken with food on my mind.
“What is that?” I ask trying to sit up.
“It’s a fish broth Mayther cooked”, Fiona explains.
I am so grateful to her and Mayther and anyone else who had a part in this meal. I don’t think I could have stomached a dried biscuit or salted meat as my first meal, a nice piece of freshly cooked rabbit would have gone a treat but there isn’t much chance of that and since I haven’t eaten in days a light meal is probably all I can stomach, despite what my brain is telling me. We had had steamed fish when it was caught but no one had ever thought to make a soup from fish, simply because it would be fish water with no seasoning, we had no access to herbs or spices here. Fish itself is a much more fulfilling meal than soup anyway, why would we waste any part of it for a broth.
“Here, let me”, Fiona says as she moves her chair over to my bed and proceeds to spoon-feed me the soup. It is as delicious as it smelt but I can’t even get through a third of it, my stomach must have shrunk to the size of a pea. As that thought crosses my mind I feel I need to pee and move to get out of bed to make my way to the toilet.
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“Oh no you don’t, stay there”, Fiona admonishes.
She puts slight pressure on my shoulders to push me back down, not that there is any fight in me to deny her. I relent with good grace and she reaches under the bed and pulls out a chamber pot. I look at it ruefully and am about to protest but decide my chances of getting to the toilet without collapsing and breaking a bone are fairly slim.
After the business is taken care of I feel much better than I did the first time I woke up. I shy away from thinking about that time in case a fresh flood of tears comes on.
“Have you been nursing me the whole time?” I ask.
“Yes, with help from the others”, Fiona responds looking at me sideways.
“What others?” I cringe internally at the image of Tomas holding a chamber pot for me.
“Gerla, Isabella, Merva, Max and Tomas”, Fiona replies matter-of-factly.
I wince as she lists the names. The thought of those people seeing me in the state I was in is just horrifying. I can’t even imagine how Merva found herself at my bedside unless she had intended on using the freaky show I put on against me somehow. I mentally chastise myself for being cruel. She has obviously done something very nice for me; I can at least give her the benefit of the doubt.
“Oh, thanks”, I mumble.
It is nowhere near enough for what they would have had to deal with over the last eight days but how else can I thank her, or them. I guess I can start by not thinking badly of them as soon as I’m lucid enough to put two thoughts together.
“It was all of us really, the rest of them were covering for sentry duties and teaching the drills to us at different times in the day”, Fiona adds.
“Who changed my clothes?” I have to ask, it’s something I can’t get from my mind. I don’t want Tomas, or Max or Merva for that matter to see me naked and most likely thrashing around in a fever-induced rage.
“I did that part”, Fiona answers looking me directly in the eyes.
Thank God for that, for some reason it doesn’t seem as bad to have Fiona see me like that. I can imagine her going about the business with the ease and efficiency she does everything else.
“Thanks”, it escapes my mouth in a relieved sigh. I hope it conveys the deep gratitude I feel towards her.
“No problem, we’ve all done it before, you would have done it for any one of us”, Fiona waves her hand in dismissal of my thanks.
My initial response to that is, yes of course I would have. I’ve had plenty of experience in dealing with the symptoms of the Sickness. But after a split second I think I wouldn’t have gone near whoever it was after what Renka had told me. Thinking about Renka brings back all of the questions I had when I found the sore. He is keeping something from me, nothing makes sense. The fact that I believed every word of it is an embarrassment to me. I should have questioned him further, I should have thought critically about it. Jumping straight into believing him makes the fall from the heights of hope that much more painful.
“You look really tired, get some sleep. I’ll wait here until Max comes back”, Fiona says in her no-nonsense-yet-caring sort of way.
“Yeah, I feel so tired, was I really as bad as Max and Tomas said I was?” I want clarification from Fiona, she isn’t one to exaggerate the facts and it seems slightly farfetched to me that I went from one sore to a full-blown case of Age-Sickness on the brink of death in only eight days. Fiona studies me for a minute, looks me straight in the eye and nods.
“You were in the final stages of the Sickness, you had not passed water for two days, you were losing blood through all of your orifices, Isabella and Linton have sewn a shroud for you and we have all folded a paper flower in preparation”, she states.
That’s a little too much information. What Fiona describes could not possibly have been me, it’s too hard to fathom, impossible.
“How can that be? How did I suddenly wake from that? What happened?” I ask frantically.
The questions are running around in my head, I can’t understand, I can’t put the person Fiona describes anywhere near the ‘me’ who is talking coherently to her in this moment.
“Tomas said you were burning with fever, calling out and moaning, he tried to cool you down with a wet cloth and you pushed it aside. Then you fell silently asleep and Tomas assumed you were going to pass peacefully, he let you be for some time, intending on waking Max before you breathed your last breath but you stirred and said hi to him instead”, Fiona explains calmly.
Although Fiona speaks matter-of-factly there’s an undercurrent of disbelief or confusion in her voice. I can’t think of a response to this. It is unbelievable. By all rights my organs should have shut down due to dehydration at least, not to mention loss of blood and no nutrients.
I just can’t think about it anymore. It’s all too much too soon, my mind is scrambling with exhaustion. Thankfully, Fiona reads the look on my face and tells me to go to sleep, she excuses herself to use the bathroom and I close my eyes losing consciousness almost immediately.
Max is sleeping on the mattress in the corner the next time I wake so I assume it’s nighttime. There is no one else in our cabin and I’m relieved, I need time to think. My sleep was fraught with dreams about the BAS safe house and Renka. Even in my sleep my mind is not satisfied with the story he told. I can’t drop the idea that the very first response to a sickness that is quickly becoming a fatal pandemic would have been quarantine and research into what it was and how to stop it, if quarantine had worked we wouldn’t have the problems we were having now. Even if people still contracted the disease because they weren’t careful we would know not to come in contact with them. That type of knowledge does not die, no matter how many people die over how many years. But we don’t do that, somewhere along the line people must have written off quarantine as a means of stopping the Sickness. There’s heaps of stuff that we no longer know, how to use a lot of the BAS technology, for instance, but any knowledge about stopping Age-Sickness would have been engraved into our ancestral psyche. Renka either made up his story or left out some pretty important parts. I need to speak to him as soon as possible.