Chapter Six
The first time I attempt to get out of bed I crash to the floor bruising my hip badly. After that, I decide to concentrate on getting healthy before I confront Renka with my accusations. My body is healing fast but I’m nowhere near my pre-sickness strength and I seem to lose my train of thought frequently. I fall asleep in seconds and have at least three naps in the day as well as eleven hours at night. I started to eat more textured meals and my appetite is growing steadily but I can’t eat large quantities in one go so I’m eating small meals every hour or so. With my schedule of eating and sleeping, with a few toilet stops in between, there really isn’t much time to do anything else. The healing process is not as rapid as the development of the Sickness which is very annoying to me, it seems pretty unfair, although on seeing the response I get from everyone who comes to visit I’m lucky to be alive and shouldn’t complain. And I know it to be true.
The ironic thing is that I se more of the others during my healing process than I ever did before. They come and talk to me as if we are great friends who have known each other for years. Merva is a surprise. She is still her catty self but I see another side to her, she says really condescending things that would usually drive me crazy but the sting is taken out of them as she fixes the blankets around me, puffs my pillow and tidies away my food scraps. She is motherly or at least nurse-like. I start to ignore her jibes and concentrate on the nice things she is doing.
Linton is not a surprise. He always comes with Isabella and is constantly snivelly and contrary about everything. I’m relieved when he leaves after each visit. Mickael comes often and brightens up the cabin with his jokes and stories about what has been happening while I’m stuck in bed. He makes a boring fishing story into something hilarious and I find myself looking at him a little differently. I found him a bit annoying and over the top before; someone I’d avoid because I wasn’t sure what was expected of me. But after his frequent visits I can see he is just a happy person.
It isn’t just Mickael who I look at differently. Everyone else seems to reveal a different side to themselves. It might be that I’m paying more attention or it could be that I’m grateful to be alive and have leant a gloss to everyone around me.
The visits from everyone make the absence from one more pronounced – Renka. He is nowhere to be seen. Fiona always explains that he’s doing drills with someone, taking on my extra sentry duties, fishing or something else, anything but coming to talk to me. I have a theory about that. He knows I’m going to confront him about his story and is avoiding me. It can’t be for fear of getting infected from me because he’s come in contact with everyone else on board and they are in my cabin all the time. I intend to seek him out as soon as I can walk further than a few steps. I’ve asked Fiona to get him to visit me a couple of times, just to see if he’ll come, but there is always an excuse. It’s probably better this way anyway; I don’t want him to be able to walk away from me.
Overall, I’m content with having visitors, I never would have thought this of myself but when you’re spending twenty-four hours a day lying in a bed you take whatever entertainment comes your way.
The only person I don’t really look forward to seeing is Tomas. Things are strained between us, I think it’s more from me than him, I can’t get over him seeing me at my most vulnerable, my most ugly, my most insane. It certainly takes out any romance that could have occurred between us. I can’t look at him without feeling exposed, so I just don’t look at him. Until you try not to look at someone who is sitting in front of you, you can’t realise how hard it is and how obvious it is that you’re trying to avoid looking at them. The whole situation is very uncomfortable, I’m relieved when Max is there with us because then they mainly talk about their sketching. On the fifth day after I woke up Tomas sat beside my bed sketching in his journal. I was having one of my daytime naps and woke without him noticing. He had his journal angled so that I could see what he was working on. Without realising it I had inhaled sharply at what I saw alerting Tomas to my state of wakefulness. He looked up at me but didn’t try to hide the sketch. It was of me in my worst state while I was sick. I had the singlet top on but one strap had fallen off the shoulder revealing the sharp angles of my shoulder and collarbone. My face was distorted in a tormented mask of agony, with blood trickling from my nose and mouth. I was covered in grotesque sores that wept pus and blood. I was the most disgustingly frightening thing anyone could ever see. I had avoided looking at myself in the mirror up until that day so this sketch was the first I had seen my new sore-covered face. I am appalled that Tomas has not only seen me this way but has captured it in so much detail in his journal. I want to confront him about it but I can’t find the strength to string together an argument against it without sounding completely vain. I just closed my eyes again, but I couldn’t stop a traitorous tear from running down my cheek.
Ever since then I haven’t really said that much to Tomas, we mostly sit in silence or speak about the general goings-on around the ship with very little enthusiasm. The ease of conversation we had experienced the night I found the Age Sore is gone and I don’t think it will ever return.
As for everyone else, the only topic that never comes up with anyone is why and how I have come back from such a serious case of Age-Sickness. I will happily forgot all about it myself, who knows when the next bout could come along. I’d rather try to get as healthy as possible before then, not dwell on the why’s and how’s anymore. At first I couldn’t let it go, I didn’t believe it was possible that I was as bad as everyone said but my body didn’t lie. In the end I decided that the only thing I really wanted was to get Max to The Refuge. I don’t know if it is an answer to our problems but I can’t handle the thought of Max having to watch my body being thrown overboard then spending his days and nights alone in this tiny cabin. At least by the time we reach The Refuge he would have gotten to know the others better, he won’t be as lonely. I might be able to set him up a shelter with some others so he’ll be protected and supported.
It is the Sickness and the way it’s ravaged my body that has forced me to realise keeping Max to myself is wrong; it isn’t good for him. He should be closer to the others, learn to get help and comfort from them. If I’m honest with myself, this realisation was thrust in my face when I saw Max interact with the others who came to do things for me. He was polite more than comfortable, but he was very grateful for their help, just unsure how to show it. The only people he seems to relax more with are Tomas and Fiona. It’s understandable. I mean they are the ones who make me feel comfortable, well up until the Sickness struck anyway.
I venture out further than the hallway outside my cabin after recuperating for eight days. I desperately want to see the sun and water and breathe air that actually comes directly from the Earth’s atmosphere. Max helps me climb the stairs, it is a tedious task but once I’m on deck I feel it’s well worth it. Tomas has brought up a high-backed chair from the common cabin for me to sit on, sheltered by the dome from the breeze. I recognize the gesture but am a bit annoyed at being treated like an invalid, which I know I basically am, but does he have to make it so obvious?
I sit staring out to sea without talking to anyone for an immeasurable amount of time, it’s so beautiful, breathtaking really. I did my research before this little excursion, I found out that Renka is on sentry this morning, he’ll begin his shift very soon because Mayther just replaced Gerla and Diego is looking around for his replacement. It will be a perfect opportunity to finally talk to Renka. I’ve gotten everything I need to say straight in my mind. I’m ready to confront him, more than ready; I’m desperate to know why he lied and what exactly he lied about.
Hurried footsteps shuffle to an abrupt stop behind me and I know it’s Renka, probably shocked to see me on deck. I stand up from the chair and turn to face him, my movements alert Max who is leaning against the ship’s wall and he quickly walks over to me. Max knows me well enough not to help me secure my balance on the gently swa
ying deck; instead he stands beside me facing Renka. With a look of resignation Renka squares his shoulders and starts to walk towards me, it’s slightly comical that I, a frail, weenie, pockmarked girl, can halt someone like Renka in his tracks. The thought makes me smile and Renka responds with a tentative smile of his own.
“Hi, Renka, how have you been?” I ask, innocent enough.
“Good, thanks, you’re looking much healthier, I’m glad you’re feeling better”, he replies uncertainly.
“I am, thanks, can I talk to you for a minute please?” beginning pleasantly seems like a good idea.
“I can’t right now, I’m on sentry, sorry, maybe another time”, Renka says regaining his composure.
“Don’t worry, it won’t take long and Max will cover for you, right, Max?”
“I don’t mind”, Max responds and walks straight over to relieve Diego without waiting for Renka to agree.
“So, I guess you know what I want to talk to you about?” I ask, hoping Renka will just spill the beans without me having to ask question after question and decipher what is a lie or not.
“I have a fair idea”, he responds curtly.
Well, that approach didn’t work, so I start with the most important question.
“Is Age-Sickness contagious or not?” I ask looking him directly in the eyes, daring him to lie.
Renka gazes around the deck immediately uncomfortable, he glances either side of him to see if anyone is in ear shot and turns back to me with frustration written all over his features.
“Now is not the right time to talk about this, can’t we do it in a more private setting?” Renka hisses through gritted teeth.
“I did ask for you to come and see me in my cabin but you refused, so answer the question please”, I refuse to lower my voice.
“Look, I don’t know okay, I can’t talk about this here, I’ll talk to you later. I’ve got to go”, Renka responds hurriedly.
At that he starts to walk towards Max and Mayther, I don’t have the speed to reach him so I call out the one thing I think will stop him.
“I’m going to tell everyone what you told me in the common cabin tonight after drills practise”, I holler across the deck and watch Renka’s back stiffen in response.
Everyone goes back to the common cabin after drills to return the knives they use so I’ll have a full audience. Renka turns towards me abruptly, red-cheeked and fuming. He walks back with a long purposeful stride and I nearly flinch at his closeness, but I’m determined not to let him think I find him even remotely intimidating, especially not when I’m physically so depleted.
“You can’t do that”, he pushes through gritted teeth.
“Yes I can, you have no right keeping information like that from us. We have left our homes and families and deserve to know everything. After drills tonight…” I warn and turn to walk away, mainly for dramatic effect. I don’t really think Renka will leave it like that and I’m right. He reaches out and grabs my upper arm then cringes back in what looks like disgust. My bones sre so close to the skin, I’m like a baby bird, everything about me screams breakable. I’m offended by his response but fight to keep the emotion from my face.
“Alright, I’ll come down to your cabin after sentry, three hours, I promise”, he says resigned.
“Good, if not I’ll see you in the common cabin tonight”.
At that last statement I walk towards the stairs leading to the lower level, Max catches up to me before I get there and begins to chastise me for not waiting for him but I silence him with a look. The whole interaction with Renka has utterly exhausted me. I want more than to sleep until he comes to visit.
I’m dragging my feet along the hall outside our cabin when it occurs to me that Renka cringed when he touched me, maybe it wasn’t my wasted flesh that repelled him but the sores that are scattered over my arm where he made contact. Does that answer my question?
I try to work through this idea as I lay down in bed but fall asleep before I can consider any other options.
I wake to soft voices, they sound like they’re arguing about something. When I open my eyes, I see that Tomas and Max are talking to Renka. He’s outside the cabin door peering through the slit that Tomas has opened and is now trying to close.
“She’s asleep, she doesn’t want to see you”, Tomas hisses in aggravation.
“She asked me to come and see her, she’s expecting me”, Renka argues back in frustration.
“I doubt that, you haven’t cared enough to see her the whole time she was sick, why would she want you anywhere near her?” Tomas spits angrily.
At this I clear my throat and sit up patting down my sure-to-be fuzzy hair. All three of them look my way and Renka uses the opportunity to push his way into the cabin.
“Hey”, Tomas calls out trying to block his entry with his shoulder. I would have thought that Renka would have it all over Tomas but their physique isn’t that much different. I’d always perceived Renka to be brutish in appearance and Tomas to be softer or something.
“No, Tomas, he is right, I did ask Renka to come and see me today”, I call over the ruckus they’re making.
The words have an immediate effect on Tomas’ stance. He angles his shoulder away from Renka and visibly slumps as if completely deflated. He looks at me and nods, then turns to Max mumbling that he’ll see him later before he walks out as quickly as he can manage. Sadness at Tomas’ reaction floods my senses but it doesn’t completely wash out the feeling of anger that Tomas somehow appointed himself as my personal security guard. I never asked him to do that and I certainly don’t need it.
“Max, can you please leave us alone for a few minutes, I need to talk to Renka”, Max responds to this in much the same way as Tomas. He reluctantly agrees to leave and I hear anger directed at me and a warning directed at Renka in his voice when he states that he’ll be with Tomas drawing.
As soon as he leaves I get out of bed, straightening my clothes and excuse myself to go to the bathroom, a bit of time freshening up is what I need. I also want Renka to understand that I’m doing this on my terms not his. I don’t want him thinking me as frail as I look. He had just had three hours, well nearly three weeks really, to get his story sounding as reasonable as possible and I need to be able to question him at every turn.
When I come out of the bathroom he’s standing looking intently at my mother’s hairpin in his hand. I walk around him and sit on the small chair in the corner, it seems a better vantage point than the bed. Invalid is not the impression I want to leave him with, it’s bad enough he came when I was having a day nap.
“It was my mother’s, a family heirloom”, I comment motioning for him to take the seat in the opposite corner.
“I know”, he mumbles placing it back down on the bedside table before sitting down.
“What do you mean you know?” I’m confused at his response.
“I know a lot about your parents, maybe more than you do”, he quips nonchalantly.
What do my parents have to do with this? Is this something Renka said to distract me? I stare at him and sense a level of smugness in his demeanour causing a fiery anger to swell in my stomach.
“Stop making statements to get a reaction out of me, Renka and tell me the whole story. Nothing you said makes sense. As far as I can see you have two options, you can tell me the truth and I will make of it what I will, deciding whether I will tell the others or not. Or you can tell me half truths or total lies and I will take it to everyone so that you’re pressured not just by me but by everyone on this inescapable ship for the next month,” I spit at him.
I practiced that speech while I was stuck in bed for the last week and although I still expect him to leave out as much as he can get away with, I have every intention of bringing everyone else in on it if I’m less than satisfied with what he says.
He looks at me, assessing the truth to my words, I stick my jaw out and stare back at him. He has no idea how stubborn I can be. This seems to have some e
ffect because he sits back in his chair, links his hands and lets out a long breath through his teeth.
“What don’t you believe of what I said?” he asks in a sigh.
“I think it would be more prudent if I ask the questions and you answer them honestly. I’ll start with the one I asked you this morning. Is Age-Sickness contagious, will quarantine stop its spread?”.
“I don’t know”.
“Well, you implied it very strongly the other day, if not outright stated it, why did you do that if you didn’t know?” I ask not masking my annoyance at his deception.
“Because I could see you wanted to believe I had answers; that you needed to have some faith in this journey. Do you think we can’t see how negative you are about the whole thing?” he accuses leaning forward.
This throws me a little, until I realise he had intended on doing just that, have me reflect on myself instead of question him. He’s extremely frustrating and I’m sick of his roundabout responses. I’m going to tire out before I can get anything out of him. I chose to ignore that answer as one that gives no information of any consequence. If anyone knows how negative I am about this whole thing it’s me.
“I’m not interested in your thoughts on my mental state, if you’re going to be purposely elusive then just leave right now and I’ll talk to everyone tonight like I planned”, I’m not bluffing, I don’t have the strength to deal with his wordplay.
“I just answered your question”, he responds arrogantly.
At this I stand up, walk over to the door and hold it open for him, indicating with my head for him to walk through it.
“Leave please. I’ll leave the questions up to everyone else to ask you”, I say curtly.
“Alright, alright, just sit back down, I’ll tell you what I know but you have to promise to keep this between us. I shouldn’t have told you what I did before and I’ll be implicating a lot of people in what I have to say”, Renka grumbles in resignation with sagging shoulders.
“No, I won’t promise that, I’ve given you the conditions, it’s your choice to tell me or not but I won’t promise to keep it from everyone if I think it’s in their best interests to know”.
I’m not going to let him set the boundaries. What can he possibly tell me that would have to be kept from all of the volunteers? It’s ridiculous; we’re so far from home with no way to contact anyone, except the committee once we arrive at the dock. What is he worried about, not being liked anymore? I’m not sure he’s well liked now.
Renka sits for a long time with a calculating stare as if he can change my mind with his eyes. I look down at him from the doorway and meet his stare with stubborn determination. I hoped we were over these stupid games.
“After the people from my commune had killed the BAS survivors they found one still alive. He was hiding in some sort of sealed room in the safe house, they really thought of everything. They were able to get some information from him before he died”, Renka says holding my glare.
“What do you mean get information from him before he died?” how much more is there?
“If you’re going to ask questions every three seconds this will take a lot longer and can you shut the damn door and sit down”, Renka responds angrily.
I think about reasserting my control over the conversation and my earlier condition but I decide to keep quiet and let him talk. Hopefully I can keep a store of my questions for the end. Taking my seat I nodded for him to continue.
“He was really old and they said he died of heart failure, that’s all I know. I’d like to think he offered information freely, why wouldn’t he?” Renka questions with a shrug of his shoulders.
Probably for the same reason his friends tried to kill you all, I think, but don’t say aloud.
“Anyway”, he continues, “he told them about how they all came to be down in the safe house and how they had escaped the Sickness. He didn’t know how it was passed on or if it existed inside of us, because people were getting it in and out of quarantine centres in the early days. But they thought they had found a way to stop it. Before they could help everyone, it all fell apart and they locked themselves away”, Renka explains as he paces the width of the small cabin.
This sounds farfetched and way too convenient but I’m going to let him continue to see if he can reel it back into the realm of reality. I motion with my hand for him to give more details.
“My dad told me that the man’s story was verified by things they found in the safe house. It was... basically a vaccination against Age-Sickness”, Renka reluctantly says this last sentence and pauses to look at me, gauging my reaction. I can’t help but fire questions at him.
“If that’s true why didn’t they give the vaccination to everyone? How did they come up with a vaccination in the first place, the research was unfinished, the scientists died? And why did they kill the people from your commune if they weren’t scared of contamination?” These are just the very beginning of questions I want to ask about this piece of information.
He gives me a disdainful look, frustrated at my interruption, but proceeds to answer my questions anyway.
“It wasn’t the scientist’s who found out about the vaccination, it was a normal person like you and me, and they would have vaccinated everyone but the immune donor died. For you to understand any of this you need to let me tell you what the survivor told my dad and the others”, Renka grumbles through gritted teeth as he looks at me in warning.
Once he’s satisfied I’m not going to interrupt again he relaxes into his chair and describes what he knows.
To call the person a BAS survivor isn’t exactly accurate, Age-Sickness had already decimated the population, the only difference Renka describes to now is that the people were scared, really frightened of the disease, the fear made them do crazy things, as opposed to now where everyone is resigned to the fact that unless they’re killed in some freak accident they’ll most certainly die of Age-Sickness. The survivor explained that his neighbour contracted the disease and got really sick really quickly. By this time they knew quarantine didn’t work. There were places built underground in earlier years but those who retreated to them died of Age-Sickness anyway, so the survivor helped his neighbour through the Sickness. The neighbour was a twenty-year-old woman who had a child and whose husband had died a few months before. The symptoms didn’t take the usual course they did for everyone else. They were worse and came on all at once instead of coming at different times. But the most unusual aspect of it was that she woke up as if she had just been asleep after a week. Her family had prepared for her death. Her son was living with his aunty already. It was too distressing for him to see his Mum in the later stages of the Sickness. Everyone was shocked that she survived after such extreme sickness, but they assumed she would be hit with another bout soon and that would finish her off. It took a few weeks for her to heal enough to get back to normal life. She waited for the telltale sore but it didn’t come.
It was the blood from this woman that was mixed with pus from someone infected with Age-Sickness that created the vaccine. Renka explained that he didn’t know how long they waited for the woman to show more symptoms of the Sickness, only that the survivor and a small group of others used themselves as guinea pigs, scraping small amounts of pus from the sore of an infected person, mixing it with the woman’s blood and putting it in cuts they made on their skin. They did this over the course of many weeks and all of them showed signs of Age-Sickness, but only one got really sick and died. They wanted to wait and see if it definitely worked, but questioned what difference it would make if everyone was going to die of it anyway. They told the people in their community about it and had planned to vaccinate anyone who wanted it, but before they got to that stage the woman whose blood they needed died in a hunting accident. There was some of her blood left but only enough to vaccinate a small group.
Renka describes a scene that was not that much different to the Pro-Sickness Campaigner’s riots. Everyone wanted the last of t
he vaccine; things became violent when a group of people kidnapped a vaccinated girl to get blood from her. They were cruel in their methods and she died. It was then that the vaccinated people escaped to the underground quarantine zone.
At first I try to absorb this information critically. It’s a very detailed story and there’s a lot I don’t quite understand. But there’s one factor that is glaring me in the face; the woman who developed immunity had gotten really sick, really fast, then suddenly woke after a week. This isn’t a coincidence, surely. Renka has obviously told me this because he thinks I’ll grasp hold of the idea that I could have immunity now. He’s working on giving me hope again, to try and get me to leave him alone, stop asking questions. How dare he make up such an elaborate tale? To say I’m furious is an understatement, my whole body stiffens in response to the anger that burns through me. Any thought of Renka’s story being true leaves with the arrival of my fury.
“Do you expect me to believe that? You think I don’t know what you’re trying to do? Creating a character in a story that parallels me so that I get my hopes up again! Get out! I don’t want to hear anymore of this. I’ll speak to everyone later and you can deal with them instead”, I yell at Renka feeling the heat flush to my face.
I’m so angry with him. I stand up and with shaking hands hold the door open for him for the second time in the conversation.
“I knew that was your mother’s hair pin for the same reason that I know she and your father committed suicide before Age-Sickness got them. That before they died they both had unusual symptoms that came and went. That you had a girl called Sadie living next door to you who had an older brother who you helped nurse before he died”, Renka says clearly and calmly, a direct contrast to the emotion in my voice.
His words shock me out of my anger. How can he know these things? Had Max spoken to someone on board and Renka overheard? But why would Max talk about our parent’s getting sick or me helping with Richard, Sadie’s brother? I’m frowning at Renka and he must take it as a sign that I still don’t believe him because he starts up again.
“Your Mum’s name was Sara and she was the younger of two sisters, her sister didn’t die of Age-Sickness but from a cut that got infected when she fell from a tree. Your Dad’s name was Antonio; he was an only child and a good hunter. He had a scar on his left temple from where an arrow grazed past him during a hunting trip with his friend. You were their first child, born on the seventh of December and Max came five years later on the third of December”, Renka continues reeling off the facts he knows.
I had forgotten about Dad’s scar. He did get that in a hunting accident when I was four years old. I remember my Mum boiling up some herbs in a tied cloth and placing it on his temple. In a daze I close the door and walk back to my chair. I stare at Renka and my mind is blank. He must be waiting for me to ask more questions because there is silence between us for at least five minutes until he leans forward and tells the rest of what he knows.
“I said there were things in the safe house that verified the survivor’s story, things that we could use if there ever was someone else who showed potential of developing immunity. The committee placed a person in each commune to observe its members and report back if there was any sign of unusual symptoms. Richard Preston was the most recent person in your commune. He and others before him reported your parent’s symptoms to the committee and their observations were recorded. When they died, Richard was to keep an eye on you and Max to see if either of you showed any potential. The thought was that maybe there was some hereditary component to immunity if it existed at all. The fact that you held the record of being the eldest made you a prime candidate. There were a couple of others in Commune E and J who were also candidates but one died after only two months of the Sickness and the other is still being observed. When Richard died six months ago the committee had already decided on this quest and knew you were going to be a volunteer. They gave me the file on you and your family to learn before we left. I was to take up Richard’s role and observe you and Max”, Renka finishes with a sigh.
I am gob smacked. The blankness in my mind from earlier clears way for a billion questions and denials. If this is true it leant a different meaning to the Committee agreeing to let Max come along with me. Not only am I the eldest, they believe me to potentially be immune to Age Sickness. One thing I can’t get out of my head is that if my parents knew they could have been candidates for immunity they might not have taken their own lives. No good could come from secrets like these. People can have hope, lives can change. Then I remember what Renka said about the people the survivor described. The ones who kidnapped the girl to get her blood and I imagine our house being stampeded by frenzied people. Hope can be a dangerous thing.
I question if I’m jumping in too fast, believing what Renka says because I want rather than because it is true. What proof do I have? There is the information about my parents, a lot of that he couldn’t possibly have known without someone close to my family telling him. I guess he could have known someone in my commune who may have known these things, but I’d have found out if someone were asking about my family. Still, I want something more, something concrete before I allow myself to believe wholeheartedly what Renka is offering me.
“I need more proof. What you are saying is unbelievable. I need more”, I croak with barely restrained emotion.
Renka looks as if he isn’t expecting this response. What did he think that I was going to jump up and down with excitement, or fly on the wave of hope he set me on earlier with a lie? He lets out a breath and I can read his thoughts all over his face. They go from anger at me asking too much, to frustration at having to answer to me, to resignation in the fact that he had already said so much. So what is the point in leaving out the little that is left? He squares his shoulders and looks me straight in the eye.
“The proof is in the dome”.