“Lots on my mind, that’s all.” It’s not quite as much as five-years-ago Lindley would’ve offered, but it’s something. It’s honest.
For once, she doesn’t jump in immediately with strong opinions on how I should be handling all of this. She sits for so long without saying anything I start to wonder ifshe’sokay. And of course she can’t be, not completely—none of us can live through what we have and come out without scars.
“What about you?” It shouldn’t have taken me this long toask; I swallow the guilt down, try to convince myself I’m just an overwhelmed and distracted friend, not a terrible one. “How are you holding up?”
She plasters on a smile, but her eyes fill with tears; an instant later, her smile tightens and the tears recede. Not a single one slips out. “I miss them,” she says, watching the water like it can give her clarity. “My parents, I mean. And I missus. All of us, how we used to be. We’re all just ghosts now, you know?”
I let her words sink in, tear their layers apart. I hadn’t thought of it like this before, but she’s right. We’ll never be the same people we were before the virus hit. Our flesh and blood might be the same, but we’re forever changed.
“Every day is a new day, though, I keep reminding myself,” Haven continues. “I can keep fighting, even when I feel like parts of myself have gone missing. People go through hard things all the time and come out much stronger than before, right?” She doesn’t give herself the same luxury of silence she afforded me. Tips and tricks and easy fixes, that’s how she’s making it through.
Maybe I should try her approach instead of letting things weigh on me like I do. Maybe her bright-side attitude actuallyisthe secret to how well she seems to be surviving these days.
A loud clang from the filter alcove, followed by a string of curse words, startles us both. Zesi’s voice bounces from orb to orb, from ceiling to deep pit.
“Everything okay over there?” I call, jumping to my feetand hurrying back down to the catwalk. Haven follows me. No one answers, so I pick up the pace. Even once we’re back to the alcove, it’s dead quiet. I look from Zesi to Heath to Natalin to Leo, each of their faces wearing varying shades of panic.
Panic laced with frustration.
Panic laced with disappointment.
Panic laced with anger.
Panic laced with calm. A failed attempt at calm, anyway, one I can see straight through.
“Someone want to tell me what’s going on?” I put edges in my voice, hope they can slice through this silence.
Zesi rises, drenched in sweat. “Filter doesn’t fit,” he says. “We’re screwed.” He pushes past Natalin, between Haven and me, his furious footsteps shaking the cool metal catwalk until he exits the chamber.
I’ve never seen fury and fear like I have on Natalin in this moment. She could spontaneously combust; she could shatter every orb and assail us with a storm of shards.
But she holds herself together. Looks me straight in the eye and says: “Completely. Royally. Screwed.”
44
WHEN IN DARKNESS, STRIKE A MATCH
NONE OF US wants to be here.
We don’t want to talk about how completely wrecked we are. We don’t want to stumble on each other’s live, frayed wires, don’t want to feel the shock wave of electricity as it radiates through our skin. We would all be better off alone right now.
We don’t have that luxury.
I ordered an emergency meeting of our six, again in SSL, with its silent, still forest of glowing pillars. Silent and still is all I crave right now—we have problems upon problems upon problems, and they’re not going away unless we find a way to deal with them.
Natalin is the last to arrive. She stalks over to us, paces around the spotlit lab instead of making a place for herself. The rest of us might be steady where we sit and stand, but the tension is palpable. Even Leo’s looking cracked and worn down, and Heath—Heath’s eyes have never looked so heavy.
I should say something. They’rewaitingfor me to say something. I called this meeting, after all. But I’m at a total loss.How would my mother handle this? How would she deal with this spiral of defeat that grows more hopeless, more bleak, with every hour?
She wouldn’t let it crush her, I know that much. But she also wouldn’t give false hope just for the sake of lightening the mood.
“We’re imploding,” I say finally. “I know it, you all know it.”
No one says a word. No one moves. Only Leo and Heath meet my eyes, and the others—the others stare at their hands, at the floor.
“Zesi, Heath, thank you again for making the trip toNautilus.” Zesi looks up, his brown eyes hard and cold. It’s an unnatural look on him, and for a moment, it steals my breath. Everyone hears what I’m not saying, I’m sure:thank you for making the trip even though you brought back a useless filter and, possibly, a new strain of sickness.
“It’s particularly devastating,” I continue, “to have so much at risk. To think you’re making progress, to come so close, only to have it not work out after all. And to have huge consequences on the line,lifeat stake.” Now I’m the one who has to look away. “On one hand, it would be easier not to try anymore at all—the higher your hopes, the harder the fall when they don’t work out, right? And nothing seems to be working out. At all.”
