The next time I woke, the daylights brightened the infirmary and half of my curtain had been pushed back. Lamont rolled a small table toward me. Stocked with clean bandages, salve, a bowl of water and a sponge, I grimaced in anticipation. She planned to change my dressing and clean the burns.
Hour two glowed on the clock. Another ten hours lost to injury. Another week gone. We were now on week 147,022.
Lamont tried a smile, but thought better of it. She kept her tone and mannerisms all business. Doctor to patient. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I’ve been stuffed into an oven and twice baked.”
Amusement flashed on her face. She tucked a long strand of her hair that had escaped her braid behind her ear. Wearing her light green shirt and pants, she looked ready for surgery. “You know I need to—”
“Just get it over with…please.”
With deft fingers, she peeled the bandages from my left arm, starting at the wrist. “You might not want to see your skin. It’s not fully healed yet and will look like…”
I waited.
“Raw meat. But it will return to normal healthy skin. I even removed the scars on your arms and legs from…before.”
“You can do that?”
“It’s considered cosmetic surgery. I normally wouldn’t do it for arms or legs. Faces, yes. But since you needed so much skin already…”
“Oh. Thanks.”
Without the dressing the air stung my skin. I braced for the touch of water and it didn’t disappoint, feeling like liquid fire as it ran down my arm. I hissed in pain.
“Do you want a pain pill?” she asked.
“No…thank you. They make me sleepy and I’ve slept enough.” Why was I being so polite? Because this woman saved your life.
I kept that thought in mind as she changed all the bandages. My extremities fared the worst. When she finished my bedding and gown were soaked, and so were her sleeves. She pushed them up to help me switch to a clean bed and I froze.
White bandages peeked out from under the wet fabric on both of her arms. I stared at them, knowing what they meant, but not wanting to really believe it. Finally, I pulled my gaze away and met hers.
“You were going to die,” she said. “We needed to find you a match.”
8
“AND YOU MATCHED MY SKIN TYPE?” I ASKED.
Struggling to keep her professional demeanor, Lamont nodded. Impressive considering I stood less than a meter from her. The fact we matched meant I was her daughter. The daughter she had thought had been fed to Chomper over fifteen hundred weeks ago. Alive and…not quite well, but living and breathing.
How would I feel if Cogon returned from Outer Space and he hated me for leaving him out there? Thrilled and awful at the same time.
But I couldn’t get the image of her standing with Karla Trava in the main Control Room out of my mind. She had searched all the faces in the room and didn’t recognize me. Shouldn’t a mother recognize her own daughter no matter how old she was? Plus the fact that she had been there with Karla in the first place, cooperating with her, endangering thousands of people for her own selfish desire.
However, if I was being fair, I endangered everyone with our rebellion. Was I being selfish as well?
Too confused to say anything but thanks for the skin cells, I collapsed on the clean bed and closed my eyes. Too much of a coward to meet her gaze.
Riley visited me around hour ten. He smiled and sat on the edge of the bed. “How are you doing?”
“Great. I’m ready to go. Do you think your dad would mind if I sleep on your couch?”
“Nice try. But you’re not leaving here until Doctor Lamont gives you permission.” He took my hand gently in his. “Did you even stop and think about the danger to yourself before you rushed in to save Logan?”
“No time. I hope you didn’t come here to lecture me.”
“Actually, I came to see how Sheepy is doing. He doesn’t like sleeping in strange places.” Riley picked up the stuffed sheep and smoothed his gray fuzzy hair made from real sheep’s wool. The little toy had been sharing my pillow.
At my age—1535 weeks or 17.5 years in the old time—it seemed silly to lavish so much affection on a toy. But with a limited amount of playthings available while growing up in the care facility with nine others, and the all-work-and-no-free-time structure of my upbringing, Sheepy filled a void.
“Sheepy’s been keeping me company,” I said. “Thanks.”
“He does have an ulterior motive,” he said with a sly smile.
“And that would be?”
“Spying on you. Making sure you’re listening to the Doctor’s orders and not… What’s that?” Riley put Sheepy up to his ear as if listening to the toy. “Not staying in bed? Bothering Logan?” He tsked.
“Anne-Jade really needs to learn the difference between her job and basic friendship.” I grumped. “I don’t suppose she has any suspects for the attack on her brother?”
“She’s questioning the two stink bombers, but that’s all she has right now.” He fiddled with his shirt. “Inside has been locked down. It’s worse than when the Pop Cops had been in charge.”
An outrage on her behalf surged through me. I struggled into a sitting position. “She’s dealing with a very different type of rebel than the Pop Cops ever did. We didn’t blow anything up, or kill any innocents or set fires. The only people to get hurt were our own and a few Pop Cops.”