Legend

When evening finally comes and the Girl has dozed off into a fitful sleep, I ask Tess to stay with her so I can sneak away to check on my family. Tess is happy to do it. Going to the plague-infected areas of Lake makes her nervous, and she always comes back scratching at her arms—as if she can feel an infection spreading on her skin.

I tuck a handful of sea daisies into the sleeve of my shirt and a couple of Notes into my pocket for good measure. Tess helps me wrap both of my hands in cloth before I go to avoid leaving fingerprints anywhere.

The night feels surprisingly cool. No plague patrols wander the streets, and the only sounds come from occasional cars and the distant blare of JumboTron ads. The strange X on our door is still there, as prominent as ever. In fact, I’m almost certain that the soldiers have been back at least once, because the X is bright and the paint’s fresh. They must have run a second check through the area. Whatever made them mark our door in the first place has apparently stuck around. I wait in the shadows near my mother’s house, close enough so I can actually peek through the gaps of our backyard’s rickety fence.

When I’m sure that no one is patrolling the street, I dart through the shadows toward the house and crawl to a broken board that leads under the porch. I slide the board aside. Then I crawl into the dark, stale-smelling crevice, and pull the board back into place behind me.

Small slivers of light come from between the floorboards in the rooms above me. I can hear my mother’s voice toward the back, where our one bedroom is. I make my way over there, then crouch beside the bedroom’s vent and look in.

John is sitting on the edge of the bed with his arms crossed. His posture tells me that he’s exhausted. His shoes are caked with dirt—I know Mom must’ve scolded him about that. John is looking toward the other side of the bedroom, where Mom must be standing.

I hear her voice again, this time loud enough to understand. “Neither of us is sick yet,” she says. John looks away and back toward the bed. “It doesn’t seem to be contagious. And Eden’s skin still looks good. No bleeding.”

“Not yet,” John replies. “We have to brace ourselves for the worst, Mom. In case Eden . . .”

Mom’s voice is firm. “I won’t have you saying that in my house, John.”

“He needs more than suppressants. Whoever gave them to us is very kind, but it’s not enough.” John shakes his head and gets up. Even now, especially now, he has to protect my mother from the truth of my whereabouts. When he moves away from the bed, I can see that Eden is lying there with a blanket pulled up to his chin, despite the heat. His skin looks oily with sweat. The color of it is strange too, a pale, sickly green. I don’t remember other plagues with symptoms like that. A lump rises in my throat.

The bedroom looks exactly the same, the few things in it old and worn but still comfortable. There’s the tattered mattress Eden’s on, and next to it is the scratched-up chest of drawers that I used to doodle on. There’s our obligatory portrait of the Elector hanging on the wall, surrounded by a handful of our own photos, as if he were a member of our family. That’s all our bedroom has. When Eden was a toddler, John and I used to hold his hands and help him walk from one end of this room to the other. John would give him high fives whenever he did it on his own.

Now I see Mom’s shadow stop in the middle of the room. She doesn’t say anything. I imagine her hunched shoulders, her head in her hands, her brave face finally gone.

John sighs. Footsteps echo above me, and I know he must’ve crossed the room to hug her. “Eden will be okay. Maybe this virus is less dangerous and he’ll recover on his own.” There’s a pause. “I’m going to see what we have for soup.” I hear him leave the bedroom.

I’m sure John hated working at the steam plant, but at least he got to leave the house and take his mind off things for a while. Now he’s trapped here, with no way to help Eden. It must be killing him. I clench the loose dirt under me and make as tight a fist as I can.

If only the hospital had cures.

Moments later I see Mom walk across the room and sit at the edge of Eden’s bed. Her hands are all bandaged up again. She murmurs something comforting to him and leans over to brush his hair from his face. I close my eyes. In my mind I conjure up a memory of her face, soft and beautiful and concerned, her eyes bright blue and her mouth rosy and smiling. My mother used to tuck me in, smoothing down my blankets and whispering a promise of good dreams. I wonder what she’s whispering to Eden now.

Suddenly I’m overwhelmed with missing her. I want to rush out from under here and knock on our door.

I push my fists harder into the dirt. No. The risk is too great. I’ll find a way to save you, Eden. I promise. I curse myself for risking so much money in a Skiz bet instead of finding a more reliable way to get cash.