IT'S easy to see why the little kids stared at me the way they did on the bus. I catch a glimpse of myself in a mirror as a nurse leads me into a showering stall. My face is streaked in mud and blood, as are all my clothes. My hair is knotted and wild, leaves and twigs sticking up in it. There's even something about my eyes, too; they've become slightly sunken, with dark circles and an even darker presence within them.
I used to be beautiful. I used to have silky dark hair and big brown eyes and soft, inviting skin. Now I look like something out of a nightmare.
The nurse draws back a shower curtain and tells me to strip.
"Can't I have a little privacy?" I ask, arching a brow.
"Not with a wound like that," she inclines her head to my arm. "I need to stay with you and make sure you don't pass out again. You're also in no condition to wash your hair – and we want to make sure you're squeaky clean."
So I stand there under the running water, naked, with a nurse's hands scrubbing diligently at my scalp and digging her nails into my skin. My time in the wilderness is washed away, into a swirling mess at my feet, slipping down the drain.
I'm almost embarrassed as I feel her move to my hips, thumbs pressing harshly against the supple skin. I turn to look at her – and maybe even make some smart remark about getting her jollies or something – when I catch sight of my arm.
It's bright red. Blood is still oozing, slower than before. I can see the puncture wounds clearly.
That's definitely going to leave a mark.
The nurse helps me step out and towels me off. She helps me slip into a white robe and motions for me to exit the room. "Dr. Pam should be ready to see you now," she says.
Only she isn't. I sit on the edge of the examination table for five minutes, swinging my feet and keeping my arm close to my chest. Where the hell is she? What's taking so long? I realize that there probably aren't a lot of doctors around to be with every patient immediately, but you would think they would say 'chick has rabies, better get her set up with medical care.'
Just as I'm considering getting up and going back to the nurse who felt me up – okay, not really, but I'm still bitter that she didn't let me do anything myself – the door opens, and a woman with a stethoscope around her neck steps in.
"Hi," she greets with a smile. "I'm so sorry for the wait; a lot of children have just arrived. I'm Dr. Pam. What's your name?"
"Mary."
"It's wonderful to meet you, Mary." She actually sounds sincere. "How are you?"
"Cold," I tell her honestly. "These robes are crap. Also, I nearly got my arm bitten off today."
She shakes her head. "Sounds like you've had a rough day."
I snort. "More like a rough past few months."
Dr. Pam nods very understandingly. "I can only imagine. I would hate to be anywhere but Camp Haven, and I pity those who aren't here."
I purse my lips. "Then why only bring the children?"
"What do you mean?" She asks as she pulls out my injured arm.
I let out a hiss and squeeze my eyes shut. Crap, I hope it's not infected. "If you want to bring more people to safety, then why only bring the kids? Why break up families like that?"
Dr. Pam tenderly pushes my sleeve up. "We're not 'breaking up families,'" she says as she inspects my wound. "We're going back for the adults. We have limited transportation. Children can't stay by themselves; they wouldn't survive."
"No one can survive in a world like this."
Instead of answering me, she moves my arm.
"Ow!"
"That dog bit you good," Dr. Pam says. "I'm going to go ahead and give you the first dose of treatment for rabies. Then we will conduct a regular examination for those who enter Camp Haven."
"And what does that include?" I clench my fist as she readjusts my arm.
"A regular exam?" She walks across the room to a storage cabinet and opens it with a key. "Well, we'll give you a checkup. We'll ask you a few questions about yourself. Then, there's a simple tag and bag... and then there's Wonderland."
"Wonderland?" I echo.
Dr. Pam turns back to me, carrying a large needle. My heart speeds up a little, but I don't fight it as she gives me the shot. Better getting a shot than dying.
"Wonderland is... complicated." Dr. Pam tells me as she tosses the needle into the waste basket, then stitches up my wound before dressing it with a thick, waterproof bandage. "It's a form of alien technology that we-"
"No way. You guys obtained alien tech?"
She smirks. "Yes way," she says. "It's a sort of... mapping program."
"Really?" I'm on the edge of my seat. "What does it map?" I ask calmly, when on the inside I'm like: fuck yeah, take that aliens! Us stupid earthlings have got some of your shit! Suck it!
"It maps you." She says with a soft smile. She touches the stethoscope to my side, where my heart should be. "Who you are, what your experiences are..."
She has me take a deep breath then, and then let it out, and then suck in again, and then let it out again, and one more big breath, good, hold it, hold it, okay, let it out.
"Your heart sounds good." Dr. Pam seems happy.
Next she shines a light in my eyes and my ears and my throat. "You're lookin' good, Mary." She says as she writes stuff on a clipboard. "You're looking very good.
"Okay, scooch forward." I wiggle to the edge of the bed. Dr. Pam stands between my legs and gently rubs under my jaw. Then she motions for me to lay back, and firmly presses my stomach to check for any pain.
"No pain," I tell her. "Other than in my arm."
She nods. "I'll give you something for that when we've finished the examination." She helps me ease off the table. "All right, can you touch your toes for me really fast?"
"I've never been able to touch my toes." I grimace. "I have the suckiest flexibility. I can dangle, though. I'm good at that."
Dr. Pam laughs. "Okay, dangle, then." She runs her fingers up and down my spine. "Okay! That finishes up this part of the exam. Sit back on the table for me."
I hop back up while she flips a page on the clipboard. "Okay, time for some quick questions. Answer as honestly as you can. If you don't know the answer, it's okay. Now, for starters – what's your full name?"
"Mary Beth Thompson."
"Mary Beth... that's a pretty name." She compliments as she jots it down. "How old are you, Mary Beth?"
"I'm 17."
"Where are you from?"
"Springfield."
"Do you have any brothers or sisters?"
"...yes. Tram. But he was adopted."
"Is Tram alive?"
"No."
Dr. Pam looks up at me from her slightly hunched position over the clipboard. I know what she wants to know: when did Tram die?
"Before the Arrival." I tell her, crossing my arms as best I can over my chest without yelling out from the pain.
Dr. Pam bites her lip and nods. "What about your parents?"
"Dad and I were near water when the second wave hit. He got pulled under. I made it back to Mom, but she got the plague..."
"Did you ever catch the plague?"
"Yeah, for a couple of days," I watch her hand fly across the paper. "It didn't like me much. Mom said I was too tough for it."
Dr. Pam nods and sets her clipboard down. "I think so, too." She rubs her hands together. "Okay, that's enough questions for now. I have something to show you." She goes to another cabinet and retrieves a tiny silver pellet.
"This is a tracking device," she places it in the palm of my hand. "It has been in the use of the military for years. Completely safe. Our plan is to implant all surviving members of the human race, so we can keep them all safe."
She gives me an expectant look. I sigh. "And you're going to have to give me another shot to put it in me, aren't you? Is it optional?"
"No, it's not optional, because it's for your own good." She pulls out two needles. "And I'm afraid it's two more shots – one to numb you, one to insert it."
I shrug. "As long as it's not an anal probe, I guess it's all right."
Dr. Pam laughs before pricking me in the back of my neck. Almost instantly I lose all feeling in the back of my neck.
"You couldn't have done that to my arm?"
She just laughs again. I don't feel the second needle go in, but I feel the force of her hand slapping a band aid on the back of my neck. "Done!" She announces. "Now for Wonderland."
Dr. Pam leads me into an adjoining room. I swear, everything must be connected here. It's much smaller than the examination room. I feel oddly cramped when she closes the door. "It's a little tight, I know." She gestures for me to sit in a large white reclining chair. "All right, this is going to seem a little weird, but I have to strap you down for this part."
I stand beside the bed and give her a suspicious look. "Why?"
"Remember how I said that Wonderland maps you? Well, it does this by running through your memories. While this happens, your body sometimes mimics motions, such as running. It can knock you off your chair, and you might hit your head or seriously injure yourself. I think you're banged up enough, hmm?" She smiles at me fondly.
I don't move. My eyes linger on the chair. "Does it... does it show you the memories? Like, I'm guessing that I'm going to be sort of unconscious since you have to strap me down, but is it like when you're dreaming and everything feels real and you can see everything happening?"
"Sort of, yes." She motions for me to lay down. I don't budge.
"What if there is something that I... I try not to remember at all... is it going to make me see that?"
Dr. Pam's face drops into a beautiful, kind, sympathetic frown. "Yes, I'm afraid it will. But it will be quick, I promise. It's not real. It's in the past and it's over. Whatever it is you've been trying to suppress can't hurt you here."
Oh yes it can, lady. I don't want Dr. Pam to lose patience with me, so I hesitantly crawl into the chair. It's made of a sticky leather that clings to my still damp skin. "This is going to sound sort of dumb," I say as she hooks me up to the machine. "But if I, like, cry or something when this thing is over, can you just..." I don't know what I want her to do.
She sees me struggling and presses a finger to her lips. "Promise to keep a secret?" When I nod, she opens a drawer at her desk. Inside is a couple of bars of chocolate. "It's my personal stash. Tell you what: when you're done with Wonderland, we'll split a bar to celebrate the end of your exam."
I haven't seen chocolate since before the end of everything. "Deal," I say, sounding more confident than I feel. When I was outside the Air Force Base, I was much tougher, I guess. Now, on the inside, I feel my age again. I feel like a kid who has lost everything she ever held dear and doesn't know how to put herself together again.
I should be able to tough out re-living some of my memories. I shouldn't have even had to mention or ask twice about it. But something about Dr. Pam... she reminds me of my mother. Maybe that's why I've given into the comfort of weakness a little bit. She makes me feel secure. I don't think she's lying to me.
Plus, you know, she's saved my life, so there's that.
"Okay, are you ready?" She sits beside me. "Take slow, deep breaths. I'm going to be right here the entire time, okay? All right, here it goes... counting down... three... two... one..."
And it feels like I'm falling.
Then I realize it's because I'm five and Tram is thirteen and he's throwing me. I'm soaring up, high into the bright blue sky, grubby hands splayed out like an airplane as I squeal. Tram is laughing beneath me, dark hair looking almost raven black in comparison to the orange, red, and gold leaves surrounding his feet.
Tricycle. Bicycle. First broken bone. First pet.
Seven. Tram is laying on the floor of my bedroom. The lights are out; my eyes are wide. I whisper to ask if Tram's awake, and he yawns, "Yeah, sis, I'm up." Then I lay quietly, content to know that he hasn't left me alone in the frightening reality of the dark. "You need to try to go to sleep," he tells me. A whimper passes my lips as I tell him I can't, it's too dark, and if I close my eyes the T-Rex might sneak up on me. Tram sighs. "We so should not have let you watch Jurassic Park." Then I hear his sheets rustle, and suddenly he's sliding into the small twin bed with me. He heaves me on top of him, ear pressed against his chest, listening to his constant heart. "There aren't any T-Rex around anymore," he repeats for the millionth time. Then, he changes up his usual speech. "But even if there was, I would never let them get you, okay? So you can go to sleep. I'll be right here, on watch."
First flight. Getting three teeth filled. Chipping my front tooth, then losing it a month later.
Ten. Tram is standing in the doorway. His bags are in the car. "C'mon, Meth," he uses the silly name for me that Mom hates. "Don't be this way. I'll write letters to you whenever I can. Basic Training isn't that long, anyway. I'll be able to talk to you in about eight weeks." But I ignore him because eight weeks is too long to be without the brother you've never had to be without. I run up the stairs and leave him standing in the summer sun.
Letters. A trip to Alaska, where Tram is stationed. Painting Mom's toe nails red. Dad teaching me how to fish.
Thirteen. I'm sitting in my room, leaning against my Mom, snotting all over her shoulder as I cry. Tram wasn't going to be able to come home for my birthday. He hadn't been able to before, but this time he said that he would try to, so I got my hopes up. When I calm myself down and get all those hurt feelings out, I apologize for my tears. "Don't be silly," Mom rubs her thumbs across my red, flaming cheeks. She's the only one I have ever let see me cry, and she's never made me feel bad about it, but I still do. "It is perfectly okay to cry. In fact, I think only brave people cry, because they're the only ones who have the guts to let others see that they are human."
Starting high school. A couple of 'boyfriends', a couple of kisses. Lots of letters.
Fifteen. Mom's crying in the doorway, talking to a man in a military uniform. Then we receive medals in the mail. Then we're at a funeral, and there's so much dirt on top of a coffin that is put in the ground too early. Everyone is crying, but I'm staring straight ahead, emotionless, holding a tri-folded American flag to my chest.
Getting my license. Lots of boyfriends, lots of kisses. No letters.
Sixteen and an eleventh. "Come look at this," Dad calls to us from the living room. Mom and I leave the kitchen to stand behind the couch with open mouths. The news is displaying the alien's ship, the stupid pancake looking thing, and discussing different probabilities. Everyone thinks they know what's going to happen. But no one could have guessed this.
Dropping out of school. The lights going out. People going hungry. Dad deciding to go to his fishing cabin at a lake a few days' hike away.
Seventeen. Dad and I are in the little boat when the earthquake hits. The waves quickly swallow the small vessel, throwing us both under. I fight against the water, thrashing. My lungs burn. Of all ways to die, this has always been the one I fear the most. I break the surface, gasping, only to be thrown back into the darkness. At one point, I brush something that feels like an arm, but I kick it as hard as I can away from me before considering the possibility that it might be my father. When this thought crosses my mind, I suck in as much air as I can before diving to find him. The water doesn't want me to, though. The water wants to keep my father. The water wants me to go away. I'm shoved so far up shore that I can feel the slippery ground beneath my feet before the waves rush up around me, leading me towards a cluster of trees. I brace myself, scrapping a good amount of skin when I make contact. I cling to it, though, slowly shimming up higher as it races past to claim more people and ruin more lives.
Making it home to Mom. Mom get the plague and dies. I get the plague and survive. I leave and find my little tire shop and scavenge and stain my hands bright red until I get bit by that dog...
"It's over," Dr. Pam's voice sounds distorted, like I'm still under the water and she's calling to me from above. I push myself to the surface. Her voice becomes clear. "It's all over. You're okay. Calm down, Mary Beth. You did great. Hey, it's all right."
I'm gasping, sobbing, breaking. The bandage around my arm is soaked with blood; I must've messed up the stitches while in Wonderland. My whole body aches. I can see redness on my skin where the harnesses were.
"Sh, sh, sh," Dr. Pam chants softly as she pushes my hair off my forehead. "I must say, Mary Beth, you are a trooper."
I pant, trying to regain control of my breathing. "You think so?"
"I know so." She gently removes the binds. "You've been through so much, not to mention almost dying three times!"
I snort. "That's been the easy part."
She gives me a compassionate pat on the hand. "How about that chocolate?"
___
"THERE'S one more thing," Dr. Pam says when we polish off two chocolate bars. "We have an infested here."
I furrow my eyebrows. "A what?" After the first chocolate bar, Dr. Pam gave me a white jumpsuit to change into – which was much more comfortable and warmer than the stupid robe – and then a pain pill for my arm. The thing works like magic. But it makes me feel a little goofy too. Dr. Pam says that it's just a side effect; it has relaxed my muscles.
"An infested is an alien." She explains to me as she lowers me into a wheelchair. I can't do much walking with my body gooey like this. "You see, the aliens have found a way to get inside us. Our studies have found that one in three humans on Earth is actually one of them."
I stare at her for a moment, trying to make sure she's being serious, because, in all honesty, that sounds freaking crazy.
"Would you like to see one?"
"Uh, yeah," I say, which makes her laugh. I'm glad she finds my lack of manners amusing. Mom wouldn't have. In fact, she probably would've beat my ass.
Dr. Pam wheels me down a hallway and into an elevator. We zoom several feet below the surface; I can feel it in my gut as we drop. When the doors open, we're in a long white hallway. I'm told that we're in a bomb shelter. I wonder if the aliens know about it, or if they can see us down here. I'm assuming all their shit is pretty advanced – I mean, just look at Wonderland – so they must have some sort of device that can pick up thermal radiation off of human bodies, so that they can keep track of us and know where to target each wave. But can they find us way down here? Can our stuff even find us down here? Isn't that the point of a bomb shelter, to hide so you can't be blown to pieces?
Not that blowing stuff to pieces is the aliens' style. They seem like the 'kill-em-slowly-and-painfully' types. Like sweeping away towns in walls of water and letting the people's lungs gradually give out. Or like letting lightning strike buildings with people inside and let them eventually cook to death. Or like creating a plague that only latches on to some people, so if you're not choking on your own blood, you're choking on your sobs as you watch your loved ones go.
You know, that sort of fun stuff. Assholes.
Dr. Pam stops outside an unmarked door. She slides her ID card in it, opening the door and pushing me into the room. There's a chair in front of a long mirror. Dr. Pam wheels me beside it and then sits down next to me.
"Are you ready?"
I grimace. "Show me the fucker."
She sends me a cautious look – is this the first time I've cussed in front of her? – and hits a light switch.
The other side of the glass comes into view. There's a man strapped down in a chair. He looks unconscious. There are all sorts of electrodes and stuff hooking him to machines. I can hear their beeping through the glass.
Dr. Pam hits another button, and a screen blinks.
It looks like an ultrasound of the brain... if the baby is a tiny egg-shaped growth with roots ripping through the brain and coloring it a sickly green.
"That's the alien?" I breathe.
Dr. Pam nods grimly. "We don't know how they did it, but that little thing there? It's attached to his prefrontal cortex – the thinking part of the brain, the part that makes us human. And as you can see, it's poisoning it, in a way.
"We don't know if the infected are aware of the aliens' presence, or if they've been puppets their entire lives.
"We want to save these people who are infected, of course, but there's no way to remove the creatures. We've tried everything: drugs, radiation, electroshock, surgery. None of it works. The only way to kill the growth is to kill its host."
I bite my lip, nodding. "Then we do it." I tear my eyes away from the man and the alien. "Right?"
She looks surprised for a moment, like she was expecting me to protest or something. There's something in her eyes – the same something I saw in Parker's when we arrived at Camp Haven. I can't quite put my finger on what is it. "Right," she says. Then she slides a keyboard over to me, and points to a big red circle. "Would you like to do the honors?"
You bet your ass I would. I bring my finger down. There's a flash on the screen. The body jumps slightly. Then the gross ugly dickhead alien slumps, no longer pumping its toxic bullshit into the human.
And I feel great. When I look over at Dr. Pam, I see she's forcing herself to keep a straight face. She wants to smile. She wants to beam. She wants to grin so big it could spilt her face in half.
Instead, she just says, "I think you're going to fit in extremely well here."