She’ll know that I was here. And that I loved her.

She’ll always know that, unless she chooses to forget.

CHAPTER 27

XANDER

The village isn’t still at all. People are everywhere. Kids run the paths and play on an enormous stone in the center of the village. Unlike the sculptures in the Society’s greenspaces, this stone isn’t carved smooth. It’s rough and jagged where it broke away from the side of the mountain years ago. You can tell the people built the village around it. The children turn to look at us as we come past, and their eyes are curious, not afraid, which is nice to see.

The infirmary is a long wooden building across from the village stone. Once we’re inside, we carefully transfer Ky from his stretcher to a cot.

“We need to take both of you back to the research lab and interview you,” Leyna says to Cassia and me. Around us, the villagers’ versions of medics and nurses take care of the still. I do a quick count and see that Ky is the fifty-second patient. “We need Xander’s information about the Plague and its mutation, and we need Cassia to take a look at the data we’ve gathered. You’ll be more useful there.” Leyna smiles to ease the blow of what she’s saying. “I’m sorry. I know he’s your friend, but really the best way to help him—”

“Is to work for the cure,” Cassia says. “I understand. But surely we have breaks now and then. I could come visit him.”

“That’s up to Sylvie,” Leyna says, gesturing to an older woman standing near us. “I’m in charge of overseeing the cure as a whole, but she supervises the infirmary.”

“I don’t mind as long as you scrub in and wear a mask and gloves,” Sylvie says. “It might be interesting to see. None of the others here have anyone to visit them. Maybe he’ll recover more quickly.”

“Thank you,” Cassia says, her face bright with hope. I don’t want to tell her, Actually, talking to them and staying with them seems to make no difference at all. I kept talking to the patients myself. It’s instinct. And maybe the right person could make a difference. Who knows? I hope someone back at the medical center is talking to Lei. Would it have been better for me to stay there?

The door slams open. Cassia and I both turn, startled, and a man comes through the entrance. He’s tall and rail-thin, staring at us with shrewd dark eyes that peer out from under shaggy white eyebrows. His head is brown and smooth and bald. “Where is he?” he demands. “Colin told me there’s someone here who went down within the hour.”

“Here,” Leyna says, pointing to Ky.

“It’s about time,” the man says, hurrying over to us. “What have I been telling the Pilot all along? Bring them to me when they’re still fresh and I might have a chance of getting them back.”

Cassia doesn’t move away from Ky. She stays there, looking protective.

“I’m Oker,” the man says to us, but he doesn’t offer to shake hands. He carries a plastic bag full of liquid and his knotted hands grip it so tightly that it bulges and seems as if it might burst. “Damn it,” he says, noticing, and he holds it out to Sylvie. “Take it from me,” he says. “I’m seizing up. Don’t break my fingers.”

Sylvie pries the bag out of his grip.

“Hook it up now,” he says, nodding toward Ky. “I just made this. It’s fresh. As fresh as he is.” Then he laughs.

“Wait,” Cassia says. “What is it?”

“Better stuff than what the Rising gives them,” Oker says. “Go on,” he tells Sylvie. “Hurry up.”

“But what’s in it?” Cassia asks.

Oker huffs and glares at Sylvie. “Take care of this. I don’t have time to go through all the ingredients.” He pushes the door open with his shoulder and leaves the infirmary. I hear his shoes on the path outside as the door squeaks shut. He moves fast. His hands might be twisted, but there’s nothing wrong with his legs.

“He’s right,” Sylvie says. “At first, we used the nutrient bags the Pilot brought in from the Provinces, but then we ran out before the Pilot could deliver more. Oker made his own mixture to keep the patients alive and it seemed to work better, so we’ve been using it ever since.”

“But won’t that compromise the cure?” I ask. “This isn’t what the patients back in the Provinces are getting.”

“That may change,” Sylvie says. “Oker recently gave the Pilot the formula for the solution in the bags. If the Pilot can, he’s going to try to change what they use in the Provinces.”

“What do you think?” Cassia asks me quietly.

“They do look better,” I say. “Their color is good. Hold on.” I listen to one of the patients breathe. His lungs sound clear of fluid. I feel near his ribs—the spleen seems to be normal size.

“I think Oker’s telling the truth,” I say. I wish we’d had this formula earlier. Maybe it would have made a difference for our patients.

Cassia kneels down next to Ky. He looks ashier than the others, though he’s the most recently still. She sees it. “All right,” she says.

Sylvie nods and hooks up the bag that Oker brought in. Cassia and I watch Ky’s face to see if there is any change, which is stupid. Not many things work that fast.

But Oker’s stuff does. After only a few minutes, Ky does look a little bit better. It reminds me of the way the cure worked on the first Plague.

“It seems too good to be true,” Cassia breathes. She looks worried. “What if it is?”

“We don’t have a lot to lose,” I say. “What the Rising is doing in the Provinces isn’t working.”

“You’ve never seen anyone come back?” Cassia asks.

“No,” I say. “Not from the mutation.”

We both stand there for a moment longer, watching the liquid drip into Ky’s line. We avoid each other’s eyes.

Cassia draws in a deep breath and I wonder if she’s going to cry. But then she smiles. “Xander,” she says.

I don’t even try to stop myself. I reach out and pull her close and she lets me. It feels good and for a moment I don’t say anything. Her arms go around me and I can feel her breathing.

“Are you all right?” she asks.

“I’m fine,” I say.

“Xander,” Cassia asks. “Where have you been? While I was in the canyons and in Central, what happened to you?”

I’m not really sure how to tell her. Well, I didn’t go through any canyons, but I gave tablets to babies on their Welcoming Days. And, I took tissue samples from old people at their Final Banquets. I did make one real friend, but I couldn’t keep her from going still. No one I took care of came back.

“We need to go,” Leyna says. “Colin’s gathering together people to question you. I don’t want to keep them waiting.”

“I’ll tell you later,” I say, smiling at Cassia. “Right now, we have to find a cure.”

She nods. I don’t mean to seem like I’m trying to get even with her for all the times she left me in the dark about what was happening. But it’s strange to realize that she knows as little about me right now as I did about her for all these months. She’s the one who has to wonder.

I don’t want us to have to wonder about the other anymore. I’d like us to know what’s going on because we’ve been together. I’m hoping that finding this cure can be the beginning of that.

“Can you,” one of the villagers asks me, “give us any specific numbers regarding the way you were treating the still?”

The room is filled with people. I couldn’t tell right away from looking at them which of them might be people like us, brought here by the Pilot to help with the cure, or who might be the Anomalies from the village. But after a few minutes, I think I can tell who has lived in the Society at one point or another.

Oker sits on a chair near the window, his arms folded, listening to me. Some of the village’s sorters are here to take down the information. Oker’s the only person in attendance without a datapod, except for me.

Leyna sees me noticing the datapods. “The Pilot brought them for us,” she explains. “They’re very useful, but not as dangerous as miniports. We don’t allow any miniports in the village.” I nod. Datapods can record information but they don’t transmit location the way a miniport can.

“I have treatment and patient data for the regular Plague and for the mutation,” I tell the group. “I’ve been working inside the medical center since the night the Pilot came over the ports to announce the Plague.”

“And when did you leave?” someone else asks.

“Early this morning,” I say.

They all lean forward at once. “Really,” one says. “You’ve been working on the mutation that recently?”

I nod.

“Perfect,” says another, and Leyna smiles.

The medics want to know everything I can remember about each patient: the way they looked, their ages, the rate of infection, how long it took until they went still, which people’s illnesses progressed more rapidly than others.

I’m careful to tell them when I’m not certain.

But for the most part, I remember. So, I talk and they listen, but I wish it were Lei here working with me on the cure. She always knew the right questions to ask.

I talk for hours. They all take notes, except for Oker, and I realize that he can’t manage the datapod with his hands the way they are. I expect him to interrupt like he did when he came into the infirmary, but he remains perfectly quiet. At one point, he leans his head back against the wall and appears to fall asleep. My voice starts to wear out right when I’m explaining about the mutation and the small red mark.

“Now this,” Leyna says, “we already know. The Pilot told us.” She stands up. “Let’s give Xander a rest for a few minutes.”

The room clears out. Some of the people look back over their shoulders like they’re worried I’m going to vanish. “Don’t worry,” Leyna says. “He’s not going anywhere. Will one of you bring back something for him to eat? And more water.” I finished the pitcher they’d brought in for me long ago.

Oker is still asleep at the back of the room. “It’s hard for him to rest,” Leyna says. “He catches a catnap when he can. So we’ll leave him alone.”

“Are you a medic?” I ask Leyna.

“Oh no,” Leyna says. “I can’t take care of sick people. But I’m good at managing the live ones. That’s why I’m in charge of finding the cure.” She pushes her chair back a little and then leans closer to me. I’m reminded again of an opponent at one of the game tables back in the Society. She’s drawing me in, getting ready to make some kind of move. “I have to admit,” she says, smiling, “that this is all rather humorous.”

“What is?” I ask, leaning forward so that there’s not much space between us.