“Where are all the other kids?” I ask. “Are they still around?”
“Naw. They disappeared. I ran away from the doctors. . . .” Her brow furrows. “Wait, that can’t be right. I must be remembering it wrong. Our caretakers put us all in a room, but no one was telling us what had happened. One kid wouldn’t stop crying. I didn’t want to be with them anymore, so I ran into the exercise yard and hid. I never saw them again. I’ve been on my own ever since.”
There’s a ringing in my ears. Children gathered together, transported somewhere. Ken had said the children, children like Baby, were brought to Fort Black but got lost in the chaos. I slide my hand around the back of Brenna’s head and lift it slightly to look at the spinal column tattoo on the back of her neck.
“Brenna, why did you choose that tattoo?”
“Oh, I thought it was badass.” A tiny grin. “And I wanted to cover up an ugly old scar I had there, from foster care. I try not to think about back then, but the caretakers used to take blood, give us shots, make sure we were healthy in case someone wanted to adopt us. Even then I knew I was too old to be adopted. People just want babies, not preteens with too much attitude.”
My mind churns with the new facts. If Brenna was part of the experimentation group that Baby was, she could be immune. She might not change. Baby was bitten years ago, infected by a different strain of bacteria. Could Brenna now be fighting the new, mutated bacteria? It’s such a long shot. Ken said they’d tested that vaccine and it’s not effective. I try not to get ahead of myself, but a new spark of hope has permeated the air.
I let Brenna go back to sleep. Hours pass, and I nearly fall off the arm of the couch when I start to doze off. I move to a tattered chair across from Brenna, set my sound amplifier to maximum, and tilt my head toward her. If she moves, I’ll hear her. I try to get comfortable, but something is digging into my side. I reach into the pocket of my sweatpants and find Ken’s small notebook.
I’d completely forgotten about it. I open it and skim the pages. It’s his personal journal.
Day 46 in Fort Black: I am no closer to finding what I am after than I was in New Hope. Dr. Reynolds insists that there are answers here, but all I see are dead ends. I have even halted my main research, barring any new discoveries, and started working on a side project. This “Black Pox” that runs rampant here is easily treated. I am hesitant to share my findings, as I know I will be chastised for working on anything that is not a Florae vaccine. Even so, I’ve insisted on creating a quarantine zone, an area of my allotted space in the back wall, where those infected with the Pox can rest and die in peace. It’s a small comfort, but it’s something.
I flip ahead a few pages.
Day 52 in Fort Black: I still have not been able to speak with Kay. I am only allowed to contact the research staff in New Hope and discuss matters that relate to our research. I am concerned for her after her demotion, a fact I had to hear about secondhand from a lab assistant as passing gossip. The news was a shock. I’d been briefed on the escape of the girl those months ago, but no one mentioned my sister was blamed. I’m grateful for the information the assistant let slip, but if we were monitored, she’ll be punished. I hope she isn’t sent to the Ward. She’s a good worker.
Day 55 in Fort Black: Instead of sitting on my cure for the “Black Pox,” I decided to broach the subject with the Warden during one of our rare meetings. He was adamant that I keep my findings to myself, unwilling to give the people here even the slightest reprieve from the fear that binds them to him. I’m sure that as soon as he is able, he will report me back to New Hope. I should have known better than to suggest anything that would endanger his position.
Day 56 in Fort Black: As expected, I received a call about my non-sanctioned research and a long talk from Dr. Reynolds about the importance of my project. As if I didn’t know. I believed, just for a second, that the actual saving of lives might counterbalance the possibility of a Florae vaccine. But I was wrong.
Dr. Reynolds doesn’t see life in the same way others do. In his eyes, the good of the whole outweighs the good of the few. I can’t say I disagree. I just wish I could do more for the people who are dying around me every day. I can help them, and yet I do nothing. Dr. Reynolds has spoken. My hands are tied.
After thumbing through his journal, I understand Ken a little bit more. What Kay was trying to tell me—he’s not bad, he’s trying to do some good, but he has to play by so many rules, and he feels like he can’t make waves. She said to convince him to take Baby as his own test subject, but maybe I don’t have to. Maybe Brenna will be the key.
I turn to the end of the journal and I see an entry that makes me pause.