The Well's End (19 page)

“What do you know about biofuel?” Odessa says, her voice stronger and deeper than before. She's hobbling more on her own now, but it's apparent that the virus has taken hold—her face is adult, just like Jimmy's. Two thirty-year-old seventeen-year-olds walking arm in arm.

Jimmy looks over at her quizzically. She pulls him to a greenhouse, and they stand next to each other, looking at their faint reflections. She touches her face. She doesn't look like Pippi Longstocking anymore. She hops experimentally on her legs.

“I don't think you should do that,” Jo says. We've all stopped and are watching her in amazement. I can't believe it. Five minutes ago, she seemed like she was almost dead, and now she's shrugging off her wound. I don't like not understanding what's going on.

“I feel better, though.”

“I bet it's the virus,” Brayden says. “It's healing her.”

“What do you mean, healing me?” Odessa touches her wound tentatively, but scowls in pain. She's definitely not healed up.

Brayden points at Jimmy. “Look at him. He's a perfect version of himself in the future. He's older. And, if everything goes like we've seen, he'll start degenerating soon. But for now, his body is aging quickly, so maybe it's healing quickly.”

Odessa tries to take another step and hobbles painfully. “Not quickly enough.”

“At least there's something good from this, right?” I say.

“I don't know,” Rob replies. “Why heal you and
then
kill you?”

I'm surprised when it's Jo who speaks. She's staring at something in the distance, lost in thought, but still here with us. I can guess pretty clearly where her mind is and feel an ache of sorrow for my friend.

“It has nothing to do with healing,” she says, her voice slow and quiet. “The virus isn't taking years from your life, it's making you go through those years faster. Don't you dare think it heals.”

Jimmy and Odessa look at each other, facing their own mortality, but I can barely register that. I put my arms around Jo, but at first she resists. Her body stays stiff a good ten seconds or so before she hugs me back. I hear her sniff, feel her shake. I can feel the others watching, respectfulness mingled with impatience. I'm ashamed to say that I feel some of the same things. I want to make sure Jo's okay, but I want to get answers, see my father, find some way to help everyone here. I grab her shoulders and look her in the eyes.

“We have to keep going. Even in here, we don't have much time.”

Jo swallows, looking guiltily at the others before walking on. Brayden brushes his hand lightly against mine.

He whispers in my ear, “You're really an amazing girl, you know that?”

My body goes flush, and I duck my head.

“It's true,” he says, and he kisses me at the outer edge of my eye and starts walking after Jo. I feel a happiness in me, one that moves to eclipse the doom we're living in. And I don't want it to go.

We're weaving our way from one greenhouse to the next, Odessa walking more normally.

We have just cleared the last greenhouse when Odessa gasps. My gut leaps, assuming the worst, but instead she's just pushed up against the final greenhouse window, peeking in.

“This is incredible,” she moans, her voice deeper now, more sultry.

Brayden and I hurry over and wipe off another spot. Things look about the same as the last place, plants lined up in a chaotic jumble of greenery.

Jimmy asks, “What am I looking for here?”

“This.” Odessa is still in awe. “All of this. I haven't seen
any
of it before.”

“She's right,” Brayden says. “This is crazy.”

“What's crazy?” Jimmy cries, growing exasperated.

No one gets the point. Except maybe Brayden, who seems to know this stuff. “Guys,” Odessa explains, “my first paper made it into
Science
when I was thirteen. I've already won the Intel competition.”
Aww,
I think. My earlier guesstimates were wrong. Forget the twenty thousand—you win the big prize, you get one hundred thousand bucks and a full ride at any school. I might hate Odessa now, even though she has a bullet wound in her leg and is a petri dish for a virus. “I'm as good a botanist as any in the States,” she goes on. “And I don't recognize
one
specimen of flora in that room.”

We squint again. Everything just looks green to me. Tropical. Odessa sighs, clear that we don't get it, and so she goes to the front of the greenhouse and opens the door. A red light flashes, and she's in. She digs around in the bushes and then comes to the window we're all looking through, with her hands full of fruit we've never seen before. One is like a coconut in a U shape, a long coconut banana. In her palm are some berries that look like black-eyed peas, except they're blue and white. Little eyeballs of color.

And here's where I start thinking this place is wrong. I mean, really wrong. We already know something's not right, but I really can't believe the Cave houses some huge microchip-processing plant after seeing this cavern. Dad's been lying to me, like, forever. I stagger back and look at the large space. Greenhouse after greenhouse. Why would Sutton want to get into the Cave? Why would he be so insistent, be willing to let loose a virus that he clearly can't control? Why would Dad want me to come here if he knew Sutton was looking for me?

I grab Jo's arm and almost double over in pain at the feeling in my gut, the reality I've been repressing since I heard his message on Mr. Banner's phone. My dad knew all about this. And if he knew all about the virus, and if he's been lying to me for years, and if he really doesn't work for an electronics company . . . then the virus came from here. Westbrook might be ground zero, but this is where it was spawned.

“It was made here,” I say, out loud, unable to help myself.

“What,” asks Jo. “What was made here?”

“The virus. It came from here—I'm sure of it.”

“But why?” Rob asks. “I mean, a couple greenhouses don't mean end-of-the-world virus.”

Rob doesn't know, he doesn't get it. I stare Jo down and watch her run through the logic. I could be wrong, sure. I hope I am. But suddenly all the clues from my life seem to stand out. The subscriptions to
Science
and
Nature
and dozens of other journals. The time I found a hazmat glove in the car. Dad's obsession with biological-warfare movies. All small things, sure. Even added up, they aren't concrete. Yet, my father . . . my dad. What if he
has
been lying? Who is he? What does this even mean?

Jo puts her hand to her mouth, then shakes her head and her eyes go hard, pissed off at me for even thinking such things. “No way, Mia. No way.”

“No way what?” says Odessa, returning from the greenhouse, her limp barely noticeable, and clutching the banana-coconut thingy as a prize.

“Mia just blamed this whole outbreak on her dad, who, awesomely, we're heading for right now.”

“I thought that Sutton guy was the one who caused the breakout,” Jimmy says.

“He did,” I reply, worked up. “But he's trying to get back in here. There are exotic plants, my dad's been lying, and this place is a front. There might be antidotes here, sure, but that probably means the virus is from here too.”

“This all makes more sense now,” Odessa says thoughtfully.

“What do you mean?”

“In one of the earlier greenhouses I didn't make a fuss, but all I saw were toxic plants. Belladonna, hemlock, wolfsbane, oleander. Death plants.”

“Why didn't you say anything?” I ask.

“Why would I? I'd only looked at one greenhouse. There are what, two dozen around here?”

“Socrates was forced to drink hemlock, right?” Rob asks, and I stare daggers at him for throwing us more off topic.

“Most famous suicide in the world,” Odessa replies.

“But I don't get it,” Jimmy says, perplexed.

“You don't have to get it,” I growl, angry and embarrassed. “Just ignore me. Ignore that Odessa is holding a plant from Jurassic Park and that some crazy lunatic is trying to break in here.
Here,
not the town of Fenton. Not even the school. Ignore how all of a sudden everyone is aging and dying, and my dad
knew about it already from inside the Cave.
” I swing my arms around me. “Ignore the greenhouses. They're actually hobbies for an electronics company. Everything's superokay!”

They're quiet, gazing at the other greenhouses in the room, their foggy windows, their steaming roofs.

“Mia?”

The voice is familiar, but staticky. I follow the sound up into the air and spot a speaker on the lip of the greenhouse.

“Dad?” The anger that was gushing forth from me, collecting in each tense breath, dissipates immediately at the sound of his voice. I'm not angry at my father. I don't want to be. I can feel the smile growing, and desperately shout now, “Dad, Dad! Can you hear me?”

“Mia! You made it! Jo, Rob. Oh, my gosh, you guys did it. Are you okay?”

“Dad, Odessa's hurt. What's going on? Where are you?”

“We're farther inside the Cave. Quickly, what took you so long? Where's Blake?”

He means Sutton, who sounds so normal with a first name. “I don't know, Dad. We saw him. He tried to capture us at Furbish Manor. But we got here and blew up the aqueduct so they couldn't follow us in.”

There's a pause. “And Wilkins?”

I press my hand to my head and close my eyes. “He's dead.”

Another pause, just the hiss of static, but I can imagine his lips pursing sadly. “You've done an amazing job, Mia. Everyone. We're on the far side of the mountain in the command console. This place is huge, honey. You're deep, near the thermals. About twenty minutes away.”

This place
is
big. “Tell us where to go. We can hike to it.” I look at the group, everyone is standing straighter, breathing slow, hardly believing this is all almost over. Odessa stretches her leg again, nodding reassuringly at me . . . and reminding me. “Wait, Dad. Dad!”

“I'm here, honey.”

“Odessa's hurt. She needs help. She's been shot, and we need to take care of her. But, Dad”—I pause here, worried about asking this—“do you know about the virus?”

“She's been shot? He shot a kid?” His voice is as intense as the speaker can convey.

“She's doing better,” I reply. “I think we can make it. But Dad, the virus.”

“We know about the virus, Mia.” I feel a touch of the betrayal slipping back into my gut. He
did
know. I glance around, but only Brayden will meet my gaze.

“Well, it's spreading to the soldiers.
Through
the hazmat suits. We don't know why. But we could be carrying the virus maybe. I don't want to expose—”

“It's okay, Mia. It's okay. We know all about it. We're fine. And we'll take care of Odessa and your other friend too. I can see they both need some help.” I don't know where there's a camera feed. Funny; my only friends used to be Rob and Jo. But of course he remembers Odessa from when we were kids. I wonder if Dad's actually thinking,
Who are those others, that new kid?
“We're coming right away; it's pretty confusing—so many tunnels it's like a maze. Just walk straight through the tunnel until you reach a fork. Stay there, and we'll find you. Just head fifty yards to your left, and you'll hit a tunnel entrance. I'm sorry we aren't there already, we're a bit short-staffed at the moment, but we're coming right now. Okay?”

I want to know more. Who's he with? Who all works here? Have I met them before in Fenton?

“Mr. Kish,” Jo says, her voice uneven.

“Jo, hi. Are you okay?”

“Can you reach Fenton?” She pauses. “Have you heard from my mom?”

Dad's voice gets gentle, and I know he must have put two and two together as to why Mr. Banner isn't with us. “They cut our phone lines, Jo. I'm sorry. But we do still have high-intensity cameras posted outside the Cave, and there are no soldiers in Fenton itself that we can see.”

I watch Jo physically relax, her body bend halfway as she sucks in deep bouts of air and tries not to cry. I know I should rush to her, but this time I'm just watching from a distance, as she heaves in happiness and relief. Rob takes my role, and she steadies herself in his arms. “So she's okay?”

“I'm sure she's fine, Jo.” There's a pause, the static thick through the speaker. “Will you be okay?”

“Yes,” I say, assuming he was talking to me. “Hurry, though, Dad. We need you.”

“I will, Mia.”

“Dad?”

Nothing, not even static.

“Dad?”

“Yes, darling?”

“Do you know what's going on?”

Pause. “I do, Mia. And I'm not going to let anything happen to you.”

Coming through the static, my dad's voice isn't very convincing.

THE TUNNEL IS RIGHT WHERE HE SAID IT WOULD BE.
There's something incredibly anticlimactic about arriving at the Cave only to find out that we actually have to hike through more caves. At least these ones are spotlit by lamps mounted near the floor. The passage is wide enough to walk two abreast, and as we move, our shadows bend and arc across the tunnel.

We find the fork in five, maybe ten minutes, though it's more like a T-junction, a tunnel going directly to our right and left. Jimmy and Odessa slump to the ground, and pretty soon everyone follows suit but me. I'm too anxious for that. Rob's even nodding off, his head leaned back against the wall, his mouth open so wide I can see his fillings. I pace up and down, taking ten steps either way, then fifteen, then twenty.

Suddenly I'm out of sight of the others, listening for footsteps. Funny that I don't hear him when he tugs on my hand. I give a little internal shriek of pleasure, but when I spin, Brayden's face is serious. The floor lights splash upward against his features, magnifying his scowl, making his lips look dark and his cheeks gaunt. He gazes down at his feet uncomfortably and plays with the zipper of his coat.

“What's going on?” I ask softly, hoping the group can't hear us.

“Mia,” he begins, flicking his dark eyes at mine. I smile encouragingly, though my mind is racing with puzzles. “Listen. I just want you to know that . . .” He looks at me dead-on now, taking a breath and a step closer. I find myself holding my breath too. “Well, no matter what happens to us—”

I'm not sure why I say it. Maybe because he seems so upset. But I blurt out, “Nothing's gonna to happen to us.” He considers this. Then, as if making a decision, he suddenly becomes someone different. A transformation that feels both disturbing and amazing. He pushes me against the cave wall, and I hit my head lightly against the rock, but it doesn't hurt so much and I can barely feel that anyway. Alarm shifts to pleasure as he kisses me, his hand tucking inside my shirt and coasting up from my hip to my side; his thumb is light against my abs, and I suck in a breath at his touch, unable to help myself. I can't move, and all I can do is press forward against him and let his hand cup the curve of my breast.

No one has ever touched me this way. A small part of my mind has always felt ashamed at that, at how the other girls at Fenton have done everything and I haven't. Even Jo lost her virginity last year. No one's come close to Baby Mia, but I don't feel like a baby anymore. I feel a burn, instantly too hot for my skin and my clothes, and I fight the urge to rip them off. I let him kiss my neck, and I close my eyes. He pulls away and disappears.

Literally, he disappears. And when I open my eyes, a flashlight beam hits me like a spotlight. I toss my hands into the air and stifle a scream. It all comes tumbling back in a rush, and all I can think is that they caught up with us. Sutton broke the door, and it's all over.

“Mia?”

The voice is familiar, but not Sutton's chiding condescension.

“Dad?”

The beam keeps me blind for another moment, but it wavers and drops and a big shadow moves quickly and envelops me. I try not to think about the fact that two seconds ago, someone else had me in his arms, which Dad clearly didn't see. I'm incredibly happy he's here, my dad, but I'm flustered and embarrassed and would rather be in Brayden's arms. I feel awful even thinking that. And then I'm tired, completely exhausted. He smells medicinal, like Old Spice and cough syrup, and his grip is strong enough that I can't really get my own arms around him. I'm held like a baby and finally stop resisting.

“Mia,” he says again, pushing me back to arm's length. Through the gloss of sudden tears, I can make out a woman politely standing off to the side. She's watching the exchange with unconcealed agitation. But my father's face holds most of my gaze. I sniff loudly and try to stop crying.

“You're here,” I say simply, and then with dawning horror I push him away as fast as possible. “Don't come too close. I might be contagious.”

I see scruff on his face and heavy bags under his eyes. And his smile is as economical as always, especially considering the fact that I might have just killed him with my snotty nose.

“Mia, don't worry. We know about the virus, and we're not infected and won't be.” He laughs, his mouth open enough to see the coffee stains on his teeth. “Please trust me. You can relax.”

“Greg,” the woman says from behind him, clearly a reminder to hurry. She's a short woman in a blue jumpsuit, a one-piece that zips from the ankle to the neck. Her hair's tied back, like mine, but I can see some streaks of gray in the black. Despite that, she's very pretty, her nose pert and her skin pale and smooth. Though at the moment, her lips are pursed thin enough to be severe.
What's her problem?

Dad glances over his shoulder. “Oh, yes, no time for delayed hellos. Veronica's right, we have to get moving. This is all a race against time, you know.” I grab his arm, my grip more forceful than I mean it to be, and he squints at my hand.

“I don't know, Dad,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. Trying not to sound betrayed. “I don't know anything, do I?”

His face melts. “Mia, I know I haven't been completely forthright. But you're here, you're safe, and if you trust me, I'd ask that you wait just a little while longer. Then I'll tell you everything.” He looks from my left eye to my right. I hate it when he does that. “Okay? Can you do that?”

I nod, annoyed but unwilling to let that break the good news of our reunion. He appears to notice Brayden for the first time. Brayden, the one who was just cupping his daughter's breast. I shiver at the thought.

Dad seems about to say something, but Brayden beats him to the punch.

“Mr. Kish,” he says, holding out his hand, “my name is Brayden Cole. I'm glad to meet you.”

Dad's just barely taller than Brayden, and I can see him sizing the new kid up. He takes the proffered hand and pumps hard, which is funny, the seriousness of it all. It feels like Brayden's about to take me to the prom or something. Dad claps his hand on Brayden's shoulder and says, “I don't know your story, but if you helped my Mia get here, I'm grateful.”

Veronica snorts, and I give her a look, hopefully one that she'll understand translates to
I don't know why you are here ruining this for me.

“Where are the others?” she asks.

“This way.” Brayden waves and leads us on, though we don't have to go far before we find them all resting on the ground. Jo and Rob leap up and, unable to focus their delight, they hug me and then my dad. Veronica goes straight to Jimmy and Odessa and checks their eyes, their pulses, and glances at Odessa's leg; the bandage is clearly visible through the tear in her pants. I probably should tell her about my foot, but I haven't felt it in a while. It's just a heavier weight than usual, like a wet sock is wrapped around my toes and I can't wiggle it off. I catch Brayden's eye and give him a mischievous smile, but he looks chastened—happy, sure, but he's not exactly sending me any signals. I could use ten minutes alone with Jo to complain or pick her brain. Maybe we can actually do that, I think. Maybe we'll get a bed and a room and some rest.

Dad joins Veronica, inspecting Jimmy and Odessa like cattle at an auction. He even whistles to himself. Jimmy looks at me in alarm, but I don't know what to say to that. Dad takes a closer look at Odessa's leg. “It's been a long time, Odessa.” He's bent at his waist, peering close. “Very brave of you to step in front of that bullet.”

She smiles, showing a field of new lines upon her face. Not wrinkles, yet, just the beginnings, but I've never seen them there before.

Jimmy flicks his eyes from Dad to me, taking in the resemblance. “Yeah, I see it.”

Dad looks bemused and goes on examining their faces from all angles.

“See what?” Odessa asks, tired of being the test case. I don't blame her.

It's Veronica who speaks. She's writing notes now in a little booklet she's carrying. “Odessa, right?” She nods. “You two have the virus. We haven't seen it in humans before. I'm sorry we're poking and prodding you—we should hurry, of course. But it's hard not to collect real data when we can. Sort of hardwired in, you know?”

“But they're growing older by the second,” Rob complains.

“You're right,” Dad says. It's weird to see him so zoned in on something that isn't me. He holds out a hand to help them up. “Odessa,” he ventures, “you going to be okay to walk?”

She nods. “I'm fine, I'm fine. And besides, I got Jimmy here to carry me, right, Jimmy?”

“That's right. Muscleman me.”

“All right, then,” Dad says. “We've got a ways to go, but not too bad.” He keeps his hand on my shoulder, very proprietary, and when Veronica nods approval, we all haul out, with her taking the lead and me and Dad bringing up the rear. We walk uphill, moving fast.
Now
I feel my foot; it aches with every step.

“Where are we going?” I ask. Rob cranes his neck to hear the answer.

“The infirmary. We have a pretty good facility, all things considered.”

“What about the virus?” Rob asks, but he keeps his voice low, as if it's a question only he had in mind and doesn't want to share with the others.

“I don't think I want to tell the whole story twice, so I'll just say that we'll take care of it soon.”

“How?” Rob persists.

“Well,” Dad says, “that man who's doing this, the fake newspaper reporter?”

“You know him,” I say, though it's the most obvious thing in the world.

“That's right.” He nods. “We all do. He used to work here.”

“At Fenton Electronics,” Rob says drily. Dad knows Rob well enough to understand his sense of humor, but he looks a little wounded at this comment.

“Yes, Rob. And I promise you both you'll get some answers. But for now, let it be enough to know that since he used to work here, we know what motivates him.”

“Did you make the virus?” I ask.

Dad doesn't stop walking—he doesn't even pause. He just shakes his head in disgust and mutters, “You think that ill of your father?” The reaction has me feeling equally guilty and angry, bummed to be letting my dad down and annoyed that he wouldn't think that question had come to mind. I watch him move ahead of me. I let the anger win over the guilt, tired of his deceptions, and sulk after him.

The path is carved out of the rock and entirely mazelike, with a number of twists and turns, and I've lost all understanding of where I am. Not that I ever did know. Every once in a while, we suddenly enter a vast room of stalactites and stalagmites still dripping, still growing, big enough to put Carlsbad Caverns to shame. Spotlights are placed to illuminate the view as well as the path, and I'd like to think that was my father's idea. But then we'll go for stretches of time in near complete darkness, with only a thin walkway of lights guiding us through a narrow tunnel. The air's cold, and we don't talk much. I think we all have this feeling like this walk is
finally
about to get us some answers. The gravity of the mountain weighs on us, pushing us down, keeping us quiet and respectful and determined. There was a time when this walk would have killed me, something this deep and dark. But now the claustrophobia competes with adrenaline, a spike that pulses like my heart, providing a burning fuel to combat my fears. That's how I got over water, by diving in. I've used swimming my whole life for the rush, a safe place to remember my nightmares, until one day I realized I was good, and I found some sort of karmic balance from my success. Now the cave feels oddly the same; I dive into my fears, and am rewarded with an entirely new world. The darkness around me is gentle, as if it's only watching, not trying to harm. That doesn't stop me from imagining some creature leaping from the shadows; I've seen enough scary movies to know that they're lurking nearby, waiting for one of us to fall back. I watch Odessa's slow shuffle-step and feel better. The monsters would eat her first.

Dad finally gets over his hissy fit and checks in with me from time to time. He knows I don't like this wall of darkness, and I wonder in passing whether part of the reason he never told me the truth was that he couldn't bring me here—he was too afraid of my reaction. “Not much longer,” he says for the third time. Thanks, Dad. Keep up the lies.

But in this case, he's not really wrong. Suddenly, almost out of nowhere, we hit a different style of tunnel, lined in concrete, manmade or at least man-fiddled-with. The lights that run along the floor are brighter and placed in small circular globes.

“If the lights are on your left,” Veronica calls over her shoulder, “they mean you are heading central. On your right, away from center.”

Finally, we hit another hallway, then a door, then a series of doors, all locked by punch code.

Our feet start to echo. I realize I have no idea how many people work here, and now that I know that I'm clueless about what goes on in the Cave, every door holds some sort of secret. Where
is
everybody? Surely a place this big can't be entirely empty?

Suddenly, up ahead, Veronica stops. We crowd around her at a door while she enters a code. I can hear Rob muttering the numbers to himself under his breath, and I elbow him in the ribs. The door beeps, then unseals with a release of air, and Veronica pulls it open. Judging by the strain in her arms, it's pretty heavy.

“After you,” she says.

Inside there's a room, a dormitory more like it, small, steel and compact. There are only three sets of bunk beds, allowing six to sleep. I see a small door marked
LAVATORY
, a shower stall and four lockers. There are also a few machines, like the ones you see in a hospital, an IV stand and heart monitor and such, but not much in the way of an infirmary. It's strange, being here, imagining my father working nearby. The place appears safe and sturdy, like a small bomb shelter. Why is it that the people who build the bomb shelters are the crazy ones?