Page 4 of Unnatural
The small form was dwarfed by the large hospital bed, machines blinking and beeping softly from behind her. Somuch equipment for one tiny girl.
Autumn dropped her school bag from the class she’d attended in the south wing and sat down at Mara’s bedside, taking her friend’s skeletal hand in hers. Mara’s eyes blinked open, and she gave Autumn the slip of a smile. “How are you feeling?” Autumn asked.
“About as good as I look.”
Autumn squeezed one eye shut, wrinkling her nose. “That bad, huh?”
Mara laughed, though it was shallow. “Worse.” She adjusted her body, wincing. “There’s not much more they can cut out before I’m all out of the necessary organs,” she said, and though her tone was matter-of-fact, her bottom lip quivered slightly.
Autumn gave her hand a squeeze even as she felt tears burn the backs of her eyes. “If the surgeon removed enough, the Mesmivir will take care of the rest.”
But Mara shook her head. “You’re always optimistic, Autumn. But…it hasn’t so far. And…I don’t know if I wantto do this anymore.”
A slice of fear cut through Autumn. “Do what?”
“Live like this. What kind of life is it? Constant suffering? Unending surgeries.” Mara gestured to her body, the wound from her most recent operation covered in gauze. Autumn knew that beneath Mara’s white nightgown, there were numerous scars from previous surgeries, the ones that had attempted to remove tumors so her body could overcome the cancer.
“What’s the alternative, Mara? We have to fight. If we don’t, what is there?”
“Peace.”
Peace.
The yearning that one-syllable word brought produced a physical pang that rose above her myriad other aches.Peace.Others felt that. Others woke in the morning and sprang out of bed with healthy bodies, their minds focused on classes, meetings, or maybe the date they had planned that weekend. Did they stop to consider the peace they possessed? The peace that enabled them to hum distractedly as they listened to music or scrolled through social media? Autumn could only wonder.
What shewascertain of was that she’d give anything not to wonder but toknow.
“That’s what we fight for,” she told Mara. “No matter the improbability.” And they had to address the improbability that Mara would heal, didn’t they? Because truth mattered too, and if Mara couldn’t count on it from her other sick friends who carried the same burden as she did, regardless of scale, then who could she trust to provide honesty?
Fight,but not blindly.
Yet Autumn didn’t tell her about Zoey. Not today. Notwhen Mara was still so fragile. She hadn’t been able to attend breakfast in the cafeteria, so she wouldn’t have heard the announcement.
Autumn squeezed Mara’s hand. “You just had surgery, and you’re feeling especially ill. But you’ll be up walking the halls soon, and you’ll get that fighting spirit back.”
“Walking the halls.” Mara sighed. “Great. Really something to look forward to.” But she gave Autumn a faint smile and squeezed her hand back, even if weakly.There it is. That glimmer. That fight.Autumn would be there to help her friend lace up her armor when she was ready.
For a flash, Autumn thought about her dream, and something strange blossomed in her chest. She’d almost call it excitement, but that seemed too strong a word for something only in her imagination.
“You must look at me and worry,” Mara said, taking Autumn’s momentary silence for concern.
“Of course I worry—”
“No, I mean, you must worry that you’ll be me in a few years.”
The door opened, Mara’s nurse bustling in and chirping an overly cheery good morning. Autumn let go of Mara’s hand as the nurse she believed was named Cheryl took Mara’s vitals and asked her questions about how she felt.
You must worry that you’ll be me in a few years.Autumn turned her head, staring unseeing out the window to the wide stretch of emerald-green lawn and paths where a few early morning walkers strolled, arms linked with nurses, children and teens who moved slowly and hunched over as though they were ninety. A wheelchair went by, the occupant’s head hung low, lank flaxen hair covering her face.
You must worry that you’ll be me in a few years.
A buzz of guilt vibrated through her. Of course she did. And perhaps more than others because she was one of the ones who hadn’t yet developed any tumors. Thatyetloomed large, and rarely did a day go by when she didn’t fear that the next scan would show what was practically inevitable.
Her fate.
She was an ADHM baby, the chemical name a long chain of consonants she’d known once and would recognize on paper but couldn’t spell unless she thought long and hard about it. And she had no interest in doing that. The acronym told the tale, and there wasn’t anyone in the Northern Hemisphere who hadn’t heard of it at this point.
ADHM, a street drug that had hit the market sixteen years before and addicted hundreds of thousands of people, was known by other names too: satellite, blue lightning, blind man’s vision, Lucy in the Sky (and the simpler offshoot, Lucy), among the more popular and well-known. The users of ADHM who had gotten pregnant while taking it had had babies riddled with cancerous tumors, and if they weren’t born with tumors, they developed them soon after. There were a rare few, like her, who remained tumor-free longer, thanks to the medication all ADHM babies were put on at birth. But they were the exceptions. Her body had responded amazingly well, but like all of them, she was a ticking time bomb. Her clock simply held a few more digits. The oldest ADHM baby had lived until sixteen. His name had been Logan, and he’d lived in the room down the hall. He’d loved classical music and read philosophy books. The nurses had called him an old soul, and Autumn had hoped that was true and he’d lived a hundred lifetimes, because this one had been far too short. Logan had died five days after hissixteenth birthday.
