Carola Dibbell - The Only Ones

“I saw that worm today. Now what could have triggered that?”

I said I didn’t know.

“Your pure spit code and fucking bloods,” and he smacked the wheel again, like, three times. “Your code kicked off the hardy flag. Some fucking Courier!”

I didn’t say a word. I thought I was the Subject.

It’s already morning when we pull into an icy yard near a long building called Motel 16, and a big white truck is parked on the side, and a girl is running out crying and an old guy is standing at the door, shaking his fist at her. When he saw Rauden, he started to laugh, spread his arms for a big hug, and brought us into the RV that looks more like a regular lab inside than Rauden’s place. It got cots and tables and counters and all that, and Bernie made a hot Beverage though he said none for me, in case he needs to put me out for a test, but he was nice. He wore a white jacket with short sleeves, though it is cold, but he had a that. I tell you that.si operationon kind of sleeve anyhow, of white hair, and he smelled good. Bernie says to Rauden, where they are sitting on stools with their Beverage, “So what is so special you must interrupt my tight schedule and drive all this way on such a dangerous night?”

Rauden leaned over and said something quiet.

“What?” Bernie looked over at me, surprised. “That old hocus pocus? Do not read too much into this, Junior. You know the man was not in his mind at the end.”

Rauden whispered some more.

Bernie looked at me harder.

Rauden started to talk so loud I could hear it from my stool. “The fucking flag went off! The worm went up. Her bloods fit the fucking modality. I’m telling you, Bernie. Come up here, I.”

I went and stood in front of them.

“Bernie! You are looking at a Sylvain hardy!”

iv

There is a TV in the Motel 16 room Bernie puts me in when he got done. The TV is broke. The window is broke too. The test was invasive.

I had worse.

He gave me pads where I, you know, bled.

“Too bad,” he said when he left.

The window in the room got a hole. I could hear a sound through it. I went to check. Ice falling from the roof. I lay down again. Now it’s crunch, crunch. I went to look again. An older woman and a man are crunching across the parking lot, over the ice, and went in the RV. The next crunch, crunch is them leaving, with the woman crying.

The next crunch, crunch is Bernie crossing with Rauden, who came back from errands in Ithaca. I ducked back on the cot and act like I’m asleep when they come in, with Bernie patting Rauden’s back, Rauden looking shaky, and Bernie saying, “Too bad.”

And that is when I got it. Whatever these guys thought they could do with me, it isn’t going to work.

Bernie took food out of a little Locker and put it in a cooking box. He said it is Frank in Bean and gave me mine to eat on the cot. Him and Rauden ate at a table. With all three of us, it is not too cold in here. Frank in Bean was pretty good but not as good as meatloaf. Rauden mostly just sat without eating, but Bernie ate the whole time he talked to Rauden.

“I’m very sorry, Junior, but,” Bernie goes, “she would have been a hard sell even without this problem. My clients are such dickheads — they insist on virgin Hosts. They do not understand a girl like,” Bernie looks at me and nods. “And patching her up would not be simple. Even selling her ova will not be simple. These dickhead clients all insist on pre-pandemic product! And, you know, that one Dewey had dealings with? The Dearborn hardy? She had many problems, even besides the antibody anomaly. Compatibility, response. Her ova had some very serious problems, and there was another he heard had the same problems. Eat your lunch, Junior.”

“No offense, Bernie,” Rauden said and did take a few bites, “but are you sure there are no problems with those pre-pandemic embryonic viables you’re selling those dickheads? Isn’t that stuff twenty years old?”

“I am very careful with my freezers. Double generator backup. So? Sometimes it doesn’t work.” He looked across the room at me. “She would be a hard sell, Junior.” Rauden looked too. I just look at my empty plate, and Bernie starts clearing up. “She has no Proofs! No history for oldies. otof separateaccine Syndrome! No one has heard of Sylvain hardies!”

So I wasn’t the only one.

“The ordinary tests are useless, as you have already seen. There is one that could work, but it is very, very risky. It is even risky to try to patch her up. Too bad,” he said again. “The life these poor girls live, they will sell anything. Some of them,” he lowered his voice, like I won’t hear him if he does, “they are so exploited, their pimps have put them on the street since they were little girls. They do not understand their own worth. They sell parts of their own bodies. Most of them would be glad to be a Host. Nine, ten months? They are happy to be off the street. Too bad.”

He went in the toilet to clean up and came out drying a dish on a towel. “Let’s start her on shots ASAP. Beef her up. See what happens! Call me to schedule the Harvest. When we see how the Harvest works out, we will know how to proceed.”

Rauden and me got our coats on and Bernie patted Rauden’s back again. “So!” he goes. “You are going cross species! You’ll have to do the shots yourself. I will be on the road. But I am sure it will be easier than the work you do with Daisy. That is fussy work. I have written the instructions for the timing and tucked it in the kit. Watch out for yourself, Junior. They say there is a new thing starting up though it is still overseas.” He puts his arms around Rauden. “I miss your father still.”

Then he gave Rauden a kind of kit and we’re off, with Rauden just driving, not talking.

It’s getting dark. The snow is turning blue.

Rauden didn’t say a word, just drove, and we really been on the road quite a while before he said, real casual, “What did you get for it?”

So I thought, do not say anything.

He pulled over by a house we had seen on the way to the RV and he put his head in his hands. “This is not going to work,” he said and turned the truck around. He drove to a place where there was a kind of shelter with a roof on poles over a bench and two lanterns on the sides. “The bus to Yonkers should come by in a few hours. You should be able to find your way to Queens from there,” and he handed me a bunch of coupons. Before I climbed out he said, “Whatever they paid you for it, it wasn’t enough.” Then he drove away.

I sat on the bench.

It was pretty cold.

So I am going back to the Mound. So, whatever. No vehicle passes.

It got darker. Colder too. Snow under my boots. Snow, snow, snow.

Whatever.

After a while some lights came down the hill in the dark. I stood up so they could see me, if it’s the bus.

Man! It’s the truck. Rauden jumped out, starts running right at me over the snow and now this rube is yelling, “And it’s not worth a goddamn thing without you attached! What moron thought it was?”

I got up and ran.

He fell down in the snow.

I waited.

He pulled himself up by the pole that holds the roof up over the bench. The lantern lit him so you could see where he is covered in snow from falling.

I just wait in the dark, what he will do next.

He walked back to the truck. I heard him hit it with his fist. “And the mess they made looks me up and downisis everything taking it out!” he yelled from there. Then he came back and sat on the bench. I stay standing, in case he’s going to run at me again. He just put his head in his hands.

When I am pretty sure he is not going to run again, I told him, “They gave me too much shots.”