Crimson

Chapter Three

|Chapter Three|
Cancer Babies

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There's not much time to assimilate and piece together what's happening. One of the robust- looking soldiers walk over to where I am and clamps a firm arm over my risen one. When did I raise it? Et tu, arm?

Another advances towards Jécob's wheelchair and gives him a pitiful look.

Poor, poor things, they must be thinking.

Mahmud steps forward again. "Thank you for your cooperation everyone. Please return to your nightly activities."

"Hey. You, Big Guy. Loosen up on the grip, will you? Cancer baby here, remember?"

I quit thrashing when he finally lessens his handgrip.

I add, "What's this about anyway?"

"You'll know." His stare tells me not to ask any further questions.

We are lead to one of the hospice's holding areas. I feel small under the eyes of the soldiers. They're so. . . starey. It's as if they're expecting us to start oozing malady. Uncultured swine.

To distract myself, I scan the sea of faces in hopes of finding Jécob. No avail.

I settle at the rear, my back pressing into the wall- somehow wishing it would swallow me.

The atmosphere is suffocating, and all I can do to control my anxiety is flex my fingers. I notice that I'm not the only one who seems uncomfortable and that somehow makes me feel a little better.

I take the time to scrutinize each soldier that I see in the room, pausing to stare at Lucas Mahmud. His mouth is set in a hard line, and he leans over to whisper something to a staggering blonde across from him. They both appear to be very distinguished and imposing, not to be reckoned with.

"Greetings Again, Children of Tier Three. I am Major Gemma Karella."

It is the blonde who says this. Her voice is clear and confident despite facing so many different vessels of decay.

"This fashion is unorthodox of us, but seeing as we're dealing with children, we have to be delicate."

A sickening heave signals somewhere, then an embarrassed clear of the throat. Fat-faced Ellen then, I conclude.

"We have, however, not come to frighten you, but to be messengers of the good news."

The statement hangs in the air, as whimsical as that of religious emissaries.

"For years, our lab techs have been trying to develop a cure for a disease that tragically changed the fate of a group of babies a couple years ago. You. Or those who are left of you, anyhow."

A collective murmur ripples amongst us, and there's a sickening feeling in my tummy. I dread that I may throw up all over the floor until we're all swimming in gastric juices and chunks of today's lunch. Another irrational fear.

"We all know you as the Cancer Babies."

The blonde pauses dramatically as if giving us time to mentally process what she's saying. To mentally process that we are the Cancer Babies. As if we aren't aware.

"Yes. Our Lab Technicians have engineered treatment for your disease, and we have come here to escort you to our Private Medical Facility in Tier One. You will be treated there, and given a new look on life."

My eyes widen, and I can almost see giddy hope blossoming in everyone around me. I'm still confused about the whole thing, and my emotions are dancing between teeming expectancy and circumspect.

Lieutenant Lucas Mahmud takes the stand and appraises each of us before speaking. "We know you must be very anxious to know what will happen to you, but we are confident that our treatment and procedures will be successful. We ask for your patience and cooperation."

"Your respective Nurses have already gathered all your personal assets," he continues.

It seems we don't have a choice in the matter, but who would decline? Who would decline a chance at being finally cured? My arm mentally stays down.

"Therefore, there's no need to worry about your belongings. Please follow Major Karella as she leads you to the transference vehicles. A straight line please."

I push through the crowd, ignoring the discontented moans, in desperate need of finding Jécob.

"Jécob? Jéc!"

"Miss? Join the line!" Someone shouts.

"I need to find my friend!" I growl. "He's in a wheelchair!" And I doubt anyone has any better sense of discernment to help him out.

"Miss!"

"Skye?" Jécob's uncertain voice rings out ahead of me. "Skye! I'm here! Somewhere against a wall."

Relief floods me when I find him rooted in a corner, his eyes fluttering and his fingers digging into his thigh.

"Are you okay?" My voice is hoarse and unfamiliar.

"Yeah, I just got stuck here in this stupid piece of shit."

"It's fine, I'm here."

"Did you hear what they said, Skye?" His voice is pitchy, hopeful. "They're going to fix us!"

I'm unsure of what to say. Up to a few hours ago, I hadn't known that we could actually be fixed.

"Join the line, please!"

Jécob frowns as I grab ahold of the wheelchair handle so we can join the line together, and keeps repeating that he's got it. He hates feeling helpless, but I don't care at the moment.

There's a noisy crowd generating at the exit, and I will myself to push walk faster.

Willow.

Her name spills into my mind and I almost choke up a sob. I wonder what will happen to her and if I'll ever get to see her again. She's also a cancer baby, but her parents had enough money to buy her citizenship into Tier Two. Surely they would buy the treatment. Right?

As we emerge into the stinging cold of the night, I find myself re-questioning everything. What changed? Why now? Had they always been trying to concoct a treatment?

A third of the cancer babies at the children's home was already dead, and I'm sure those left out there can't be that much.

There's a pitch deep in my gut at the thought that something may go terribly wrong.

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