Demitria Lunetta - In the End

“But won’t they just torture Brenna instead?”

“It won’t come to that, not if she’s the answer. They’ll be able to develop a vaccine quickly, maybe even a cure. Brenna was bitten more recently than Baby; her body has combated the mutated strain of bacteria. Besides, Brenna is strong. Baby is just a child.”

I know I’m trying to convince myself as much as I am him. The fact is, I know in my heart I would trade Brenna for Baby. I would sacrifice anyone, including myself, if it meant that Baby was safe.

“Why were you even out there?” Jacks asks.

“Tank attacked me in the prison. I was going to make a run for it, and Brenna said she could take me to get a car with gasoline.”

“What?” Jacks says, clenching his fists. “I’m going to kill him. Now.”

“Too late.”

“Why?”

“He and Pete followed us out there. They’re both dead. I . . .” My voice catches. “I shot him. The Floraes must have gotten him.”

“Good.” Jacks looks at me, taking in my guilt. “If anyone deserved to die, it was Tank. Do you know how many girls he’s probably tortured? Girls who couldn’t defend themselves like you could. Girls like my sister.”

I stare at him, his stony face and dark hair. He holds on to so much pain about his sister’s death. My eyes trace the snake tattoo on his arm while I debate what to do. Would knowing Tank was at fault ease his pain? Would knowing be better than not knowing?

“Jacks, there’s something I have to tell you.”

He looks at me expectantly. I take a deep breath.

“Your sister’s death . . . wasn’t your fault—”

“I should have been watching her,” he cuts me off.

“No. I . . . It was Tank,” I say, struggling to find the right words. “He was obsessed with her. He used that night, the night of the fire, to take her. He killed her, Jacks. No matter how carefully you watched her, he would have found a way.”

Jacks stands up, approaches me with shaking hands. “He told you this, Amy?”

“Yes . . . no, but, Jacks, Tank is dead.”

Jacks grabs my shoulders, shakes me. “How do you know what happened?”

“I read it, in Tank’s psyche-eval.” I realize I made the wrong decision, and fear flashes through me. Jacks collapses onto the floor. He puts his head in my lap and sobs softly. I stroke his hair. “I shouldn’t have said anything,” I whisper.

“No.” He lifts his head and looks up at me. “I’d rather know everything that bastard did to her. She shouldn’t have to suffer alone.”

“But she’s gone.”

“Amy.” He puts his hand in mine. “I want to read it too. Whatever it is you read to find out the truth.”

I shake my head. “It’s not a good idea, Jacks.” It’s too horrible; I can’t let him read it.

“I need to.”

Reluctantly, I pull out Ken’s journal, handing Jacks the loose pieces of paper. I watch him silently while he reads, his mouth slowly dropping. I expect him to rant, to break things, to hit the wall or kick a chair. Instead he sits motionless for a long while, rereading the words.

“Oh God.” A tear escapes the corner of his eye. His pain is so great that for the moment, it drowns his anger.

“It’s not your fault,” I tell him softly. “You had no way of knowing what Tank was up to.”

He rubs his face, wiping away any trace of tears. “I couldn’t protect her. I couldn’t protect either of you.”

“I’m not exactly easy to protect. That’s why I have to take care of myself. And Tank’s gone now. He’s not coming back.”

I reach out my hand to his and hold it gently.

“I’ve got to tell Doc. I’ve got to tell my dad.”

“Do you think that’s such a good idea?” I ask. “It might be better if he doesn’t know.”

Jacks stands, clutching the paper. “He was still her father.”

I know I can’t stop him, and he leaves without another word. I wait, wondering if knowing is better. Was my life better when I was ignorant of what the Floraes really were, and my mother’s part in their creation? Was it better to not know if Baby was safe or not? No. Knowing is always better.

Jacks returns a while later, looking grim.

I jump up and ask, “How’d he take it?”

“He . . . He acted like he didn’t even hear me. He’s working on analyzing Brenna’s blood. He didn’t even stop to talk about what I was telling him. He . . . He may have been high. He just kept saying that I should go away and he’d come get me when he was done.”

I make Jacks sit and get him some water. He drinks it slowly, staring at the wall. I stay next to him, trying to be a source of strength he can use.

Jacks and I sit with Brenna in silence. Every minute that passes she looks more like herself, and I silently will her to get better. She may be the only hope that Baby has.

Hours later, we’re deep in the darkest morning.

I’m exhausted, but my mind is racing and I’m too wired to sleep. Too much is at stake; too many people I care about are in danger. Still, my body’s shutting down. My eyes are just beginning to close when Ken comes into the room.

He looks from me to Brenna to Jacks.

“What are you doing in here? I saw the light on, but this room is supposed to be empty.”

“Doc didn’t send you?” I ask. “He said he was going to get you a long time ago.”

“No, why would he?” He looks curiously at Brenna.

I scramble up, overcome with gratitude for this stroke of luck despite Doc’s efforts to thwart us.

“Brenna was bitten by a Florae and didn’t change,” I say hurriedly.

Ken freezes for a second, his mouth open. Recovering, he rushes over to examine Brenna. “Are you certain?” He feels her head, looks in her eyes, and unwraps and studies her wound. He has the same wild look on his face that Doc had. Their single-minded obsession has ruled them, and now that the end is in sight, it’s as though a fever has taken over. “I have to see what’s going on in her blood.”

“Doc’s already on it,” Jacks tells him.

“He took Brenna’s blood,” I add.

Ken looks up from Brenna for the first time since receiving the news that she was bitten and didn’t change. “But I just saw Doc in the exercise yard. He had a line of people he was giving shots to. I wondered what he was up to so late at night, but I just assumed it was the newest vaccine.”

“Giving shots?” I say. “He’s not even looking at Brenna’s blood?”

Jacks leaps to his feet. “Where’s that clipboard Doc had me get?” He’s frantically searching the exam room. “The one with the names of the people who’ve already had the shot?”

“I don’t know. Doc must have taken it,” I say.

“What are you doing?” Ken asks as Jacks tears the room apart.

“That list,” Jacks says, giving up and staring at Ken, eyes wide. “Doc took it. He’s lining those people up, he’s injecting—”

“You’re not making sense,” Ken says. “Why would he be vaccinating people who’ve already received the vaccine?”

“He said he was going to do some ‘life tests,’” I say. “What does that mean?”

Ken looks at us, his excitement replaced in a flash by fear. “Life tests? Life test is the term we use for experimenting on human subjects.” He gives his head a shake. “No. He must just be inoculating them. Then he’ll test this subject’s blood.”

In Doc’s mind, the vaccine is effective. Removing Brenna’s fingers stopped the spread of infection while the vaccine suppressed it in her blood. I think of all I know about the infection, and for some reason the Black Pox springs to mind. People can survive the infection and still spread the disease. Doc was already unhinged. Jacks said he thought he was drugged up. Could the possibility of a vaccine and the news of what really happened to Layla push him over the edge?