“—but you were also risking Father Storey’s life and the life of everyone in camp. It was dangerous and thoughtless and violated rules that exist for good reason and it can’t go without consequences. Not even for you. And believe me: there do have to be consequences for unsafe behavior. There has to be a way to keep order. Everyone wants that. They won’t stay without it. They want to know we’re taking steps to keep this shelter safe. People need law. They need to know someone is looking out for them. They may even feel better if they know a few hard-asses are in charge. Strength breeds confidence. Father Storey, God bless him”—casting a halfhearted look over his shoulder at the sleepless sleeper behind him—“never seemed to understand that. His answer to everything was to hug it out. His reaction to someone stealing was to say possessions are overrated. Things were going to hell even before we brought the convicts back to camp. So.”
“So,” Harper said.
He lifted his shoulders and then dropped them in a great sigh. “So we at least have to make a show of punishing you. And that’s what we’re going to do. Carol wants to see you tomorrow, to get an update on her father. I’ll take you over and we’ll stick around, have tea with her. When we come back, I’ll pass the word you made amends at the House of the Black Star, that you spent most of the time there with a stone in your mouth. In a lot of ways, that’s the fairest way to handle the situation. In my field, we say ignorance of the law is no excuse—”
“Ignorantia juris non excusat,” Renée said. “But considering punishments in this camp are handed out on the spot, without an opportunity to appeal to an impartial judge or present a fair—”
“Renée,” Ben said wearily. “Just because you’ve read a couple of John Grisham novels doesn’t make you a Supreme Court justice. I’m giving Harper a way out, so will you lay off my ass?”
“Ben, thank you,” Harper said softly.
He was silent for a moment, then lifted his gaze and offered her a tentative, wan smile.
“Don’t mention it. If anyone in this camp deserves a little slack—” he began.
“But there’s no fucking way,” Harper said.
He stared at her, his mouth partly open. It took him a while to come up with a response, and when he did, his voice was thin and hoarse. “What?”
“No,” Harper said. “I’m not going to put a stone in my mouth in some moronic self-abasing act of contrition when I don’t have anything to feel contrite about. And I’m also not going to let you lie to people and tell them I went along with this hysterical bullshit, either.”
“Will you stop swearing at me?” he asked.
“Why, is swearing against the rules, too? Will it get me another hour with a stone in my mouth? Ben: no. I say no. Absolutely no. I am a fucking nurse, and it is my job to say when something is sick, and this is sick.”
“I’m trying to make things easier here, for cripes’ sake.”
“Easier for who? Me? Or you? Or maybe Carol? Is she worried it might undermine her authority if I don’t bow and scrape with the rest of you? If I don’t play along, maybe other people will make trouble, is that it?”
“Ben,” Renée said, “isn’t keeping secrets also against one of the rules? You aren’t going to get in trouble for plotting to get Harper out of a punishment, are you? I’d hate to see our head of security walking around with a rock in his mouth. That might cost him something in terms of respect.”
“Jeeeshus,” he said. “Jeeesum Crow. Listen to you two. Harper—they’re gonna make you—you can’t just—I can’t protect you if you won’t let me.”
“Your impulse to protect me conflicts with my need to protect my self-respect. Sorry. Besides. I have this vaguely uneasy feeling you’re offering to protect me from you. That’s not doing me a kindness—that’s coercion.”
He sat there for a time. At last, in a wooden, stilted tone, he said, “Carol still needs to see you tomorrow.”
“Good, because I need to see her. Going to my house to get a first aid kit was a decent start to restocking the infirmary, but it isn’t nearly enough, and next time I go hunting for supplies, I will need help. Yours, and maybe a few other men. I’m sure Carol will want to weigh in. I appreciate you making the arrangements for my audience with her eminence.”
Ben stood, twisting his wool cap in his hands. Muscles bunched and unbunched in his jaw.
“I tried,” he said.
He almost tore the curtain down on his way out.
6
From the diary of Harold Cross:
JULY 13th:
THERE WAS NOTHING LEFT OF SARAH STOREY BUT A BAKED SKULL AND THE THIGH BONES. THE DEAFMUTE WAS IN THE COTTAGE WITH HER WHEN THE PLACE WENT UP BUT HE WASN’T EVEN SINGED. HE MIGHT’VE BEEN UNHURT IF THE ROOF HADN’T CAVED IN FROM THE HEAT. I’M MONITORING HIM FOR SIGNS OF INTERNAL INJURIES BUT THERE’S NOT MUCH I CAN DO FOR HIM IF HE’S GOT A RUPTURED INTESTINE. HE’D HAVE TO GO TO PORTSMOUTH HOSPITAL AND THAT’D BE THE END FOR HIM. ONCE YOU GO INTO PORTSMOUTH HOSPITAL, YOU NEVER COME OUT.
NO ONE WILL SAY SO IN FATHER STOREY’S HEARING, BUT I KNOW A LOT OF PEOPLE THINK SARAH WOULDN’T HAVE DIED IF SHE SPENT MORE TIME IN CAMP, SINGING IN CHAPEL WITH THE REST OF US. I’M LESS CONVINCED. I WISH I KNEW MORE ABOUT WHAT SHE WAS DOING OVER THERE WITH THE FIREMAN AND HER LITTLE BOY. I’M ALSO, FRANKLY, STUNNED: SHE CONTRACTED DRAGONSCALE LESS THAN TWO WEEKS AGO. FOR THE LONGEST TIME SHE WAS THE ONLY “HEALTHY” IN CAMP. I’VE NEVER HEARD OF ANYONE BURNING SO QUICKLY AFTER INFECTION. WILL HAVE TO SNEAK BACK TO THE CABIN SOON AND GET ONLINE, SO I CAN PASS THE DETAILS OF HER CASE ON TO THE RIGHT PEOPLE.
THE FIREMAN HASN’T LEFT THE ISLAND, NOT SINCE THE ACCIDENT. THE DEAF BOY IS HERE IN THE INFIRMARY WITH ME, SO I CAN MONITOR HIS CONDITION. AND ALLIE IS STAYING WITH HER AUNT AND GRANDFATHER. SHE DRIFTS AROUND LOOKING LIKE SHE’S DOSED UP ON A HEAVY NARCOTIC. SHE’S THE ZOMBIE VERSION OF HERSELF, PASTY AND DEAD-EYED.
IS IT WRONG TO BE THINKING ABOUT HOW GRIEF IS A FAMOUS APHRODISIAC? IF SHE’S LOOKING FOR COMFORT, MR. HAROLD CROSS’S SHOULDER IS A FINE PLACE FOR HER TO SHED HER TEARS.
OH I AM A BAD BAD BAD MAN.
A THOUGHT, INSPIRED BY FILET AU STOREY: SARAH STOREY HAS TURNED TO ASH, AND HER ASH CONTAINS THE ACTIVE SPORE, WAITING FOR A NEW HOST. WHICH MEANS THE SPORE IS PREPARED FOR REPRODUCTION BY HEAT, BUT NOT DESTROYED BY IT. AN ENZYME MUST PROTECT IT FROM DAMAGE. ENOUGH OF THAT ENZYME COULD—THEORETICALLY—ALSO COAT THE SKIN AND ACT AS A FIRE RETARDANT. SO, MY THEORY: THE FIREMAN CAN TRICK THE ENZYME INTO PROTECTING THE HOST. SARAH STOREY COULDN’T AND IS NOW FLAMBé. BUT WHAT IS THE ENZYME TRIGGER? SOMETHING ELSE TO DISCUSS WITH THE GUYS ONLINE.
NICK STOREY ISN’T A COMPLETE MUTE. RIGHT NOW HE’S GROANING LIKE HE CAN’T TAKE A TURD. FML. I’M NEVER GOING TO GET TO SLEEP.
7
Harper woke with a jolt, as if her bed were a boat that had struck a rock, the hull grinding off stone. She blinked into the darkness, not sure if a minute had passed or a day. The boat shivered off the rocks again. Ben stood at the foot of it, nudging the bed frame with his knee.
She had slept from dawn to dusk and another evening had come.
“Nurse,” Ben said. Only it was not the same Ben who had pleaded with her the night before. This was Officer Patchett, his soft, pleasant, round face gone blank and formal. He was even in his police uniform: dark blue trousers, pressed blue shirt, dark blue coat with a white fleece lining and the words PORTSMOUTH PD printed on the back in bold yellow letters.
“Yes?”
“Mother Carol is hoping for an update on Father Storey,” Ben told her. “As soon as you’re ready, Jamie and I will walk over with you.”
Jamie Close stood in the doorway to the waiting room, passing a white rock from hand to hand.
“Before I update her on the patient’s progress, I’d like to update myself. And take a minute to get ready. If you’ll wait in the other room?”
Ben nodded and cast a casual look toward Nick, who was sitting up in bed, watching with wide, fascinated eyes. Ben threw him a wink, but Nick did not smile.
The police officer ducked through the curtain, but Jamie Close lingered.
“You like dishin’ out the medicine,” Jamie said. “We’ll see how you like takin’ it.”
Harper was trying to think of a brave, clever reply when Jamie followed her superior back into the waiting room.
Nick signed, “Don’t go.”
“Have to,” she said with her hands.
“Don’t,” Nick told her silently. “They’re going to do something bad.”
She grabbed the pad of paper and wrote, Don’t get yourself worked up. You might give yourself a stomachache.
Harper was combing out her hair in the bathroom when there was a little knock.
“Yes? Come in.”
Michael nudged the door inward three inches. His freckled, boyish face was very pale behind his coppery twist of a beard. “Insulin shot?”