Arcadium (16 page)

“Accommodation
is basic, but we have a school for under sixteen’s, a library, a
gym and a mess hall with hot food. Once you’re settled you’ll be
expected to participate in work duties. But for now…” She stops
abruptly and puts her hand on a door. “Make yourselves at home. I
am assuming you’re all together?” She glances at Trouble. There’s
something about her cold stare that I don’t like. “Yeah,” I say.
“We’re family.”

Doctor Hope
gives me a strange look. “Inside you’ll find clean clothes. Down
the hall to the left you’ll find the bathrooms and to the right,
the mess hall. Breakfast is six to seven. Lunch is twelve to one.
Dinner is six to seven. Any questions?”

“I have one,”
Kean says, raising his hand. “How long were we out for?”

“Approximately
six days.”

“Holy crap,” he
says.

Doctor Hope’s
lips tighten and she looks at me. “Three of your fingers are
broken, another two have hairline fractures. You’ve a nasty cut on
your head that we’ve stitched up so I’ll have to check up on you
later.” She nods and then turns. We all watch her walk away and
round the corner. Her white lab coat flutters and for the first
time I realise she’s wearing heels. The footsteps echo like
stabbing knives against the concrete.

The first thing
I do is put an arm over Liss’ shoulder, and then I hug her to me.
“I thought for sure that was it.”

Kean looks at
me, and then at my hands, and then at Liss. He looks back at the
door. We stand, huddled close like a heard of animals, in the
middle of the bland concrete hallway.

Henry clears
his throat. “Let’s have a look inside then.”

Kean opens the
door and we peer in.

“Not exactly
what I’d call wheelchair accessible,” Henry says.

The room is
tiny and narrow like an after thought, a cupboard to store an
overflow of mess. It’s a concrete cave with bunk beds built into
the walls; six spaces, two at waist level, two up high, and two so
low they are practically on the ground. The mattresses have white
sheets and grey wool blankets tucked in tightly. And on top are
folded white clothes.

Henry wheels
himself in and transfers himself to one of the waist height beds.
Liss sits on the other one.

“What the…”
Henry picks one of the clothing pieces. It’s a white long sleeved
top with a high collar. “It looks like something from Star Trek.
They really expect us to wear this stuff? Why can’t we wear our own
clothes?”

“Maybe they
didn’t want to take a chance with the infection,” Kean says. “Who
knows?”

“What do we do
now?” Henry asks, looking at me.

For some reason
I can’t speak.

“Maybe…” Kean
says. “We should change and have a look around. Is that bed good
for you?”

Henry nods.
“Yeah I can get in and out easily.”

“And Liss? Is
that your bed?”

Liss nods.

“Florence?”

“I’ll sleep
under Liss.” Since the outbreak we’ve been sleeping on the ground,
or near enough. It feels wrong to do anything else.

“I’ll sleep
under Henry, so Trouble can have one of the top bunks.” Kean
gestures to Trouble and taps the top two bunks. Trouble puts his
hand on the one above Henry.

“Well, that’s
sorted. I guess we get changed.”

We’re all in
our hospital gowns so it’s easy enough to change with dignity. I
slip into the white pants and pull them up with my thumbs. Some of
my fingers stab with pain; others ache with the small effort. I
wonder what they look like beneath the bandages but at the same
time I don’t want to see the damage.

The uniform
material is soft and stretchy, almost like leggings but thick
enough not to be see-through. I turn my back to the others and slip
on the top. It’s more like a snug fitting jacket, with a high
collar that makes a V down to my collarbone. The front has a
diagonal zip that stretches all the way up and there are no
pockets. It seems weirdly trendy for the apocalypse.

“I feel like
I’ve been inducted into a weird fashion cult,” Kean says, zipping
up his jacket.

Henry’s all
fitted out in his, and is lying back on the bed laughing. “Kean,
you look like you’re in an ABBA tribute show.”

“Alright,
Captain Cook. Get in your wheels, we need to explore,” Kean says,
and then he looks at me.

I pull a small
shrug and Kean’s eyes linger on me for a moment longer.

Back in the
hallway we fall into our single file places just like on the
outside. Trouble goes first, Liss and I follow, and Henry and Kean
chase up the rear.

We find the
bathrooms first, but they’re pretty standard so we move on. Next is
the mess hall it’s a great square room with a low ceiling and above
us, bladed fans spin lazily. Basic tables and benches are set up in
rows. It’s huge, but then I suppose it does have to feed over three
hundred people in a sitting so it makes sense. Down the very end is
a kitchen and serving area. People dressed in the same white
uniforms are moving around behind the glass but they don’t notice
us.

“How do they
feed so many people?” Kean says, but no one answers.

As we filter
out the door again Kean drops back and walks beside me. Henry and
Liss go on ahead with Trouble.

Kean looks at
me, and then taps me gently with his elbow. “Are you alright?” he
says. “You seem quiet.”

“I’m ok,” I
say. “Tired, I think.” But it’s more than that. I feel slow like
I’m ebbing out of a deep sleep.

“It looks like
you took a battering when the car hit the infected person.”

“I wasn’t
wearing a seatbelt.”

He nods. In the
seconds that follow I can tell he wants to say something, but maybe
he doesn’t know what. Or perhaps he knows but isn’t sure he should
say it.

I look over and
half smile. “It’s a catch twenty-two, I put my seatbelt on and I
can’t get away fast enough, I don’t wear it and we crash.” I
shrug.

Kean reaches
over suddenly as we walk. His fingers sit against my hair and his
thumb smoothes gently over my forehead. “How does your head
feel?”

“Fine.” I
blink. “Why?”

Kean’s hand
drops away. “You shouldn’t look in a mirror, then.”

“Why not?” I
touch my fingertips to my face. I can feel the bandage on my
forehead now; I hadn’t even noticed it before. Of course my head
would be damaged, it smacked into the dashboard upon impact.

My temple feels
swollen too, right down to my cheekbone. “How bad is it?” I
ask.

“You kind of
have a rainbow on your face.”

Damn it. It’s
forever impossible to look good in the apocalypse. Meanwhile Kean
looks fine. More than fine…

“Are you ok?”
Kean asks. “You’re staring.”

I look dead
ahead. “This is insane,” I say.

The next room
we find is the library. It’s just another windowless concrete cube,
nearly identical to the mess hall except for its contents. There
are study tables and chairs set up in the centre. Hundreds of books
sit on shelves, including a lot of huge medical textbooks on crazy
topics like genetic mathematics and evolution biology.

On one wall is
a huge flat screen TV and below it dark couches sit in rows just
like a movie theatre. On the opposing wall and visible through
giant windows, is a school classroom full of children of all
ages.

A woman spots
us wandering aimlessly and comes over. “Hello,” she says. “I’m
Linda, head librarian. You must be the new survivors.” She looks us
over carefully with a polite smile.

“I’m Kean, this
is my brother Henry. That’s Trouble but he doesn’t speak English.
And this is Florence and her sister Liss.”

“My, my. I bet
you have some interesting stories about the outside. You must be so
relieved to be safe finally.”

“Yeah,” Kean
says. “We are. It’s all kind of overwhelming though.”

“I can only
imagine. Well, why don’t I tell you about the library? Here there
are plenty of books, but you can only take one fiction book at a
time and we ask you return it as soon as you’ve finished. There are
a lot of medical and scientific books here that you won’t need to
bother with, they’re just for the scientists and doctors working in
the laboratory.” Linda bunches her hands into fists and holds them
up for a moment as if she’s about to go skiing. “Oh, and of course…
the television is available for use. After dinner we always put on
a movie if you’d like to join us. We have plenty of DVD’s, and a
few private TV rooms too, if you’d like.”

“Is that the
school?” Kean says.

Linda turns
toward the glass and we all follow suit. “Yes. We have three
classes for sixty seven children in total.”

“That’s a
lot.”

“Yes… well…
they are the future, aren’t they?” Linda smiles. “I’ll leave you to
it. My desk is over there if you need anything at all.”

“Thanks,” Kean
says. “Do you guys want to hang out here for a while? I have to
head back to the room. Maybe get Linda to put on a DVD for
you.”

Liss and Henry
race over to Linda while Trouble meanders through the bookshelves.
Kean looks at me. “Come on, let’s go.”

“Where are we
going?”

“Some place to
talk.”

“About what?” I
follow him into the hallway.

“Let’s go back
to the room so we can sit down.”

I don’t really
have a reason to protest, and it’s not like I don’t want to be
alone with Kean, it’s just… I don’t know. Everything feels like a
foggy dream. Kean leads me back to the sleeping quarters and when
the door shuts, encasing us in concrete, I sit on the edge of Liss’
bed. Kean sits across from me on Henry’s bunk. The room is so
narrow our knees are almost touching. He stares at me with a
furrowed brow.

“What?” I
ask.

“Do your hands
hurt?”

“No.” I blink.
“Why?”

“They must have
you on some crazy painkillers,” Kean says, shifting forward even
closer. “Can I see?”

I extend my
hands to him, palms up, and Kean holds them gently for a moment.
Slowly he begins to unwind one of the bandages until all that’s
left is swollen purple bruised skin. My fingers are taped together
and kept straight with splints.

He unwinds the
other one and it looks slightly better: only two fingers are taped
together. Kean rests my battered hands on his knees and reaches for
my forehead, gently pulling back a corner of the bandage. I flinch
at a sting of pain and he pauses.

Kean sucks in a
sharp breath and his lips move with a silent count. “You’ve eight
stitches.” He smoothes out the bandage again and wraps my hands
back up.

“Are you hurt?”
I ask.

Kean shakes his
head. “Nah.” Then his eyes light up. “Unless you count this.”
Without warning he unzips his white jacket and bares his chest.
There’s a thick red graze going diagonally over his collarbone but
that’s not really what I’m looking at. His chest is full of smooth
contours and just-defined muscles. It’s like I’m stuck in a trance
for a moment. Eventually I lift my eyes to the red mark, and then
to his face.

“Seatbelt
burn,” he says, zipping up the jacket again. “Do you think maybe
you should rest? You seem dazed.”

“I feel foggy,”
I say. “I suppose.” I lie back on Liss’ bed and Kean sits back on
Henry’s, bringing up his knees. He sits there watching me as I
drift away into the sleepy fog.

***

A sharp knock
sounds on the door sounds and my eyes flick open. For a moment I
forget where I am, that is until I see Kean staring back at me.

“Come in,” he
calls.

The door opens
and Doctor Hope stands on the threshold. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch
your name,” she says looking at me.

“Florence.”

She nods.
“Florence. Doctor Harding is free. I thought we might give you a
check up now.”

“Uh, sure.” I
glance at Kean.

“I’ll be in the
library with the others,” he says.

I follow Doctor
Hope along the empty hallways, listening to her heels crack against
the ground. She doesn’t say anything and I feel like I’m back at
school, insignificant and invisible, and somehow in trouble.

She punches in
a code at a locked glass door, waits for the beep and pushes it
open.

The hallway
changes; the ground is painted white and the walls are panelled
with decorative white wood.

“This way,” she
says. I hurry to catch up and follow her into an office. It looks
like a doctor’s office with the big desk and computer and
examination table.

A small pensive
man sits at the desk. His face is narrow and pointy, with
cheekbones so sharp they could almost cut through his own skin. His
eyes are nearly colourless, some kind of bland grey that reminds me
of the solid concrete in our sleeping quarters.

“Yes,” he says,
looking over. “Let me see the hands.”

“Sit,
Florence,” Doctor Hope says.

I sit on a hard
black plastic seat and offer my hands. Doctor Harding grips my
wrists and jerks them over to the table, nearly pulling me off the
chair.

“Ow,” I say,
frowning.

He looks up at
me and then glances at Doctor Hope. “Forgive me, perhaps I haven’t
had a real patient in some time and my bedside manner may be
rusty.” He strips off the bandages, lays my hands flat on the desk
and inspects them. “Well…” he says casually. “They seem to be
coming along. Splints are doing well. Still rather swollen.”

Doctor Harding
holds up one of his fingers and shines a mini torch in my eyes. I
flinch away. “Look here,” he says with a note of impatience. He
flashes the light across both eyes. “No sign of prolonged head
trauma. Do you remember anything?”

“Everything, I
think.”

“That’s good.”
He leans back and types something into his computer. Doctor Hope
stands motionless, watching me under the glow of fluorescents.