72
THAIS
One week later…
I opened my eyes to sunlight and silence. The air in the room was neither cool nor warm, but perfect. The blanket that covered me from the waist down was soft against my body, and a fluffy pillow lay beneath my head. I was dressed in a sleeveless, white cotton nightgown; my hair had been washed and brushed so it lay like silk against my bare shoulders, and I smelled lightly of citrus shampoo and soap and lotion; my breath tasted of toothpaste, or mouthwash.
Aside from the few bandages and stitches, the only thing that made me uncomfortable was the IV in the bend of my arm. A little tube attached to a needle sitting in my vein ran along the edge of the bed into a clear plastic bag that hung from a hook above me. It was close to empty, I noticed. I touched the needle over the white tape and square of gauze that covered it, pressed my index finger against it until it hurt, and decided then that I was awake and very much alive.
On the other side of the cozy, spacious room was a tall, glass double-door that led out onto a balcony. The sky framed by the glass was mid-morning-blue unaccompanied by clouds, and fringed by the tops of buildings made of sparkling glass and shiny metal that reflected the sun.
And then it hit me, something clicked inside my brain and I suddenly remembered everything. I knew where I was.
“Shreveport…”
My mind raced as I sat up, with difficulty, in the center of the hospital bed, and my hands grasped the metal rails attached to the left side. I remembered what had happened in the field; flashes of Atticus carrying me in his arms, and of Marion, and of the scowling girl standing over me, went through my mind; I remembered hearing the shot; I remembered the gun Ona had given me, in my hand, so heavy it was, that even now I could still feel the weight of it. I remembered Atticus lying next to me, the way he struggled to touch me, and I remembered everything he said to me as we lay there dying.
“Everything under the sun…” I whispered to myself, and then said into the empty room as though he were with me: “We can change the world together, Atticus.”
And I remembered telling him that we’d made it, that we were finally home, in Shreveport, and I smiled thinking about him, and I ignored the strange feeling in my heart that threatened to destroy what was left of me, a lie, digging, burrowing inside my brain like an insect—I knew it was there, I could feel it, but I ignored it.
The door to the room opened, and I turned to see a familiar woman entering with a tray of food balanced on her hands.
“It’s time you get some solid food in that body,” the woman said. She walked over and set the tray down on a tall, wheeled table next to my bed. “You need to eat now more than ever.”
Absently, I glanced down at my ninety-something-pound body. I never looked at the food. I didn’t care about the food because disbelief was a powerful influence that exhausted my will to care about anything.
The woman—she had rescued me from the field—changed out my IV bag, and she checked my IV needle, and then my stitches and bandages, and she flashed a tiny light into my eyes and my ears and my mouth, and she took my temperature, and she listened to my heartbeat and my lungs with a stethoscope.
“You’re miraculously healthy for someone who’s been through what you’ve been through,” said the woman, presumably a doctor. “Except for the malnourishment, of course. The IV fluids have helped considerably, but you need to eat.”
The doctor pushed a button on the side of the bed and it raised behind me so I could sit in an upright position. I let her move the blanket down to my thighs, and lift my gown so she could examine the gunshot wound in my midsection.
“God was looking out for you,” she said, touching the tender skin around the wound close to my pelvic bone.
I looked up, almost commented about God in a way that Atticus might’ve, but I stopped myself. Disbelief was a sweet lie I wanted to taste a little while longer.
The doctor shuffled my gown back into place, and then pulled the blanket back to my waist. She moved around the bed and turned the wheeled tray so it suspended over my lap. Still, I did not look at the food.
“We’re in Shreveport?” I wanted to be sure.
After hesitation, the doctor nodded. “Yes,” she said, and smiled faintly. “You’re in the Southern Faction, led by the noblest man I know: Gordon Brant.” She blushed. “We’re getting married in a month.”
I forced a weak smile, but said nothing. Married…
After a moment, the doctor introduced herself.
“I’m Elena Mendoza. Soon-to-be Mendoza-Brant. I’ve decided to go with the fancy double last name.” She reminded me of Fernando’s mother, Ms. Mercado: long, black hair, dark brown eyes, Spanish accent, and even her rounded cheeks and the freckle set to the right of her nose were almost the same.
“I’m Thais.” I paused, looked at my hands in my lap, and glimpsed my wedding ring. “Thais Hunt. Just Hunt.”
“Nice to meet you, Thais Hunt.” Elena smiled. “Well, you have nothing to be afraid of here. I can’t even begin to imagine what you went through, and the people you came across traveling all the way from Lexington City. I have a hard time believing you made it this far. But you did. And here you are. And you’re safe. And I just want you to know that. You lost a lot of blood—barely had a heartbeat when we found you—but the bullet missed everything major. You’ll be sore for a while.”
“How did you know? That I came from Lexington?”
“That would be my doing,” Edgar said from the doorway.
He walked into the room on crutches, his left foot encased in a cast. He was as portly as he was when I last saw him just before Atticus and I escaped Lexington City, but he seemed healthier somehow, cleaner, and more cheerful. He hopped over to the bed. It was a surprise to see him again, but I was incapable of showing interest or emotion.
“I didn’t think you’d make it,” Edgar said. “But I’m glad you did. I was worried Hunt would take you west. You never would’ve made that trip by yourselves, that’s for sure.”
“But we’re safe now,” I said absently, refusing to exclude Atticus. “We don’t have to run anymore. We’re safe.”
Elena and Edgar shared a private glance I pretended not to see, not for their sakes, but for my own.
Elena smiled and reached out, placed her hand atop mine. “Yes, you’re both safe. This is your home. For as long as you want it to be.”
A surge of energy flooded me then; I raised my back from the elevated mattress and held onto Elena’s arm, hopeful and eager. I lost my breath in one sharp gasp, pressed my free hand to the center of my chest.
“He’s here? He’s alive? Atticus is alive?”
Elena and Edgar glanced at one another again, and this time I couldn’t help but acknowledge it for what it was. Or what it might’ve been. I waded through my mind, trying to understand what I was missing.
Then I tried to get up—if they wouldn’t tell me what I needed to know, I’d go find out for myself.
“Thais, sweetheart,” Elena said, and she pressed a hand to my chest, forcing me to stay put. She sighed, and all traces of her smiles from before left with her breath. “I’m not talking about the man you were with,” she said, and then she laid her palm on my belly. “I’m talking about your baby.”
“What?” I blinked.
Elena smiled again. She nodded. “Yes, your baby. You both will always have a home in Shreveport. I take it you didn’t know you were pregnant?”
Edgar smiled, too.
I sat stiffly on the bed with the smell of scrambled eggs and bacon wafting into my nose from the tray just inches away.
“That’s mostly why you need to eat,” Elena added. “Baby’s healthy—strong heartbeat—but if you don’t start eating solid foods now, it won’t be for much longer.”
“I…you’re telling me I’m pregnant?” I couldn’t believe it. I didn’t want to believe it. I vehemently refused to believe it.
I shoved the tray out of the way, and the wheeled table rolled away from the bed. “I need to find Atticus,” I said, getting up from the bed against Elena trying to stop me. “I’m not talking about anything else until Atticus is here with me.” Pain rolling through my body, I got to my feet, but the IV tube wasn’t long enough to allow me much room to walk, and I stopped when I felt the needle tugging underneath my skin.
“Thais,” Elena said, coming up beside me; she laid a hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry, but—”
I swung around. “Don’t you say it,” I demanded, holding up my index finger. “You brought us both here, rescued us from that field—I was worse-off than he was, so I know he made it because I made it. I remember telling him we were in Shreveport. I remember seeing his face.” Didn’t I? The Sweet Lie began to taste bitter in my mouth.
“Thais,” Edgar said, “you were the only one they brought back from the field.”
I stopped cold. I looked at the tiled floor cool underneath my bare feet as the weight of Edgar’s words pushed down on me from all sides.
“I’m sorry,” Elena said, “but he’s right. You were the only one alive when we found you.”
I stood motionless in the same spot for a full minute.
“If something happens to me, promise me you’ll do whatever it takes to get somewhere safe—promise me that you’ll fight to live. Promise me that you’ll go on to live your life to the absolute fullest, that you’ll be strong.”
“I know it’s hard to accept, or even to understand,” Elena began, “but I’m here for you, and for your baby. I always will be.”
I felt Elena’s hands on my shoulders from behind; I wanted to push her away because I didn’t want to be touched, but she was too kind and I couldn’t bear to treat her that way.
“Hunt was a good man,” Edgar said. “He will be remembered, and honored. No one here knew him but you and I, but he will still be—”
“Yes,” I interrupted, “Atticus was a good man. I am alive because of him. And I will live because of him, because I made a promise.” I said these things more to myself.
I peeled the tape from my arm and removed the needle feeding me fluids, letting it fall to the floor. With two fingers pressed against the flow of blood, I limped toward the balcony and pushed open the glass door to a bright blue sky and a new day. A new life. A new purpose.
Shreveport City was not as I had imagined—it was better. The streets were not made of gold, the skyscrapers did not scale in a whimsical spiral high above the clouds like out of a fairytale, and there were no glittering gates insofar as I could see. It was realistic—it was real. It was safe. And to finally be here, it meant everything. And as I stepped up to the stone balcony railing and looked out at the Great City, at the river reflecting the sun, the thousands of people packing the streets, I only thought of Atticus and how I wasn’t supposed to be experiencing this moment without him.
Finally acknowledging the life growing inside of me, the life Atticus and I created, I placed my hand on my flat belly. “Your father was the bravest man I ever knew,” I whispered. “And one day, I’m going to tell you all about him.”
Edgar and Elena joined me on the balcony.
“Where is his body?” I asked without looking at either of them.
“I’m sorry,” Elena said, “but we left the bodies. We don’t bother with the dead anymore. When people die here, in the city, we give them a proper burial. But out there on The Road, people we don’t know, we leave them. I’m sorry.”
I nodded. I understood. Am I standing? I couldn’t believe I was still standing. I couldn’t feel my legs. Or my hands. The pain of losing Atticus was all I could feel.
“Just the same,” I said, “I’d like to go back to where you found me. I need to bury him. I can’t stand the thought of him…lying there like that”—I swallowed—“I can go myself if I have to, but if someone could—”
“Say no more,” Elena cut in, touching my wrist. “I’ll have a group take you there. You can bring the body back, and we can bury him here.”
I turned back to the balcony.
“I…I’m sorry, but I need to be alone,” I told Elena and Edgar. After a moment, when neither responded, I added, “Please.” I sensed their reluctance.
“Okay,” Elena finally said. “We’ll go right now and get a group ready to take you. Are you going to be all right?”
“Yes. I’ll be fine.”
Seconds later, I heard the door to my room shutting softly.
My ghost legs finally gave out on me and I collapsed onto the stone floor as air rushed into my lungs. But I could not cry. And my eyes did not burn. I could never cry again—I knew I could never cry again. In these many months, I had cried all that I could, and there was no time for that anymore. Because I made a promise. And in the world I knew I had to live in, the one I was determined to shape even with the smallest of hands, there was no place for tears. There was no room for weakness.
I pulled myself up, and I looked out at the city, but all I saw was the memory of Atticus’ face. He saved me. And he loved me. And he forever changed the landscape of my life, paved the way for my future. Atticus Hunt was a hero. A great man who sacrificed everything for me. He was the love of my life. And I knew that I would never, could never, love another again.