Page 3 of Brood
It’s been a good day.
I’m mulling over a pile of russet potatoes when Vanessa comes up behind me. “Cadence.”
I turn at the sound of my name.
“Can you?—”
I never actually hear what she was going to ask because the strangest expression twists her face.
“Are you okay?” I come closer, reaching out to help as she sways and raises her hands to her throat. “Vanessa?”
She makes a weird choking sound and falls. I grab her in time to prevent her from hitting the floor. The weight of her body brings mine down too, and I land on my knees beside her.
She’s making jerky twitches. Grappling at her throat and chest.
“Someone help!” I call out, my voice breaking embarrassingly because I’m starting to panic. “Call a medic!”
I check her pulse nervously. She’s not breathing, and I can’t feel a heartbeat.
I start chest compressions. The repetitive motion comes automatically. I was trained like everyone else when I was thirteen, in my last year of school.
Bella runs over and kneels on the other side of Vanessa, but there’s nothing else we can do. I’m still working on the chest compressions when the medics arrive. I back away to watch them work.
In another minute, someone else runs into the kitchen, pushing me out of the way to get to Vanessa.
It’s the chief of facilities, Vanessa’s spouse. His name is Will. I’ve never said a word to him, but I’ve known who he is for most of my life. He doesn’t talk a lot, but when he does, people listen.
He crouches and reaches for one of her hands. He’s got thick, unruly dark hair and an equally rumpled beard that’s got a lot of premature gray in it. His expression is as stoic as normal, but I can sense emotion shuddering beneath the surface.
He’s scared.
And he should be.
Vanessa is having a heart attack. It’s been a long time since anyone has survived one.
* * *
When I return to the kitchen at four for my short afternoon shift, I hear the news.
Vanessa died.
I’m not surprised, but I’m upset. It makes me want to cry even though I was never particularly attached to her. She was older. I never worked with her closely until recently, and she was my supervisor. But I liked her. I enjoyed working for her, and earlier today she told me my protein sandwich was the best she ever tasted.
She shouldn’t have died like that.
My good mood from the morning has transformed into a bleak heaviness. Barbara, the coordinator of morale, would tell me that’s why I need to learn how to stabilize my mood. Highs will always lead to these kinds of lows, and those lows will affect my work and my behavior.
I’ve never been able to take her advice.
Sometimes life is good, and sometimes it’s terrible.
How can I notfeelit?
I’m quieter than normal as I tweak the stew recipe for dinner, but everyone else in the kitchen is quiet too. After my shift is over and I’ve eaten, I’m ready to head back to my quarters and go to bed early, but a messenger is waiting to tell me that the Council of Chiefs wants to meet with me.
Withme.
The only time I’ve ever met with them was when I completed my final internship and was posted in the kitchen crew, and that was merely a brief, standard interview to usher me into worker status.
