The Deathless Trilogy

2.21. Outlive

Gunther has been behaving strangely since Alexander was killed, and since Hugh received the transplant. Joe said Hugh is still unconscious, because he had a bad reaction to the anesthesia. But he said he's also scared that Hugh's body might be rejecting the new lungs.

Joe told us that when he broke the news to Gunther, he threw an entire tray of glass beakers against the wall, shattering them into pieces. That was days ago.

I don't blame Gunther for being on edge still, but most people don't build expansive Rube Goldberg machines when they're under stress.

With each passing day, the machine gets larger, and crosses over more of the ballroom. I'm actually kind of worried about him. He doesn't eat, and from the looks of it, he hasn't been sleeping. From the smell of it, I don't think he's been showering either. His face is covered in black stubble hairs, like those old Wooly Willy toys. At least he's been too occupied in his own mind to notice that the Caregivers are getting stronger, and that Cooper's getting angier.

This morning Cooper gave his entire lesson on the pitfalls of science and exploration. About how science and learning can mislead a person into believing that they are more important or more intelligent than they truly are. He looked directly at me when he said it, and asked me to stay after class.

Now I'm left alone in the classroom with Cooper, and a million thoughts speed through my head. What could he possibly want with just me? Has he called me in to threaten another person in my life? And if he has, why? I've been playing by their rules, keeping my mouth shut, and doing my trivial Comforter duties as far as they know.

I walk to the front of the room, and the closer I step to Cooper's mechanical body, to his shriveling face and his down-turned lips, the more my arteries constrict in fear. It's like I'm back on the farm, but instead of running away from the scanning machines, I'm stepping into their claws.

He sighs a wheezing hiss, as if even his lungs are made of metal. "Take a seat, Isla," he says, gesturing to a seat at the front. I slide into the seat, and take a breath to prepare myself.

"What can I do for you, Mr. Cooper?"

"Where are you girls going?"

I lose my breath. His words knocked the air from my lung, and I know it's already too late: My mouth is stuck open.

"I can't leave this wing of the estate, as I'm sure you've noticed; however, my drones can be very informative. I've been charting movement after hours, and I have noticed an increase in activity between the bedrooms and the Comforter bathroom. I'd like to allow you ladies that privacy, but if I don't get some answers, I can very easily assign drones to the bathrooms."

"We, um..." I stutter. I'm drowning, sinking into quicksand like in my dream, but instead of the air being crushed from my lungs, I feel like the thoughts are crushed from my mind. Even if I were a good liar, I wouldn't know what to say, so the words stumble out of me: "We don't do anything. Just... practice. We practice our hair and make-up. We, just, want to be better. At that."

"You're an appalling liar. I thought killing your precious General would have taught you better than to lie to me," he says, spitting his words at me. I don't even have time to react before he starts again, "The New World Council is coming here tonight to discuss our progress. I need to know that there are no subversive movements under my nose."

"The New World Council?"

"Tell me," he threatens.

"We practice," I spurt. "We practice our make-up, like I said."