The Deathless Trilogy

1.9. Becoming a Scientist

                  

The next morning I wake up with a nervous mind and a growling belly. Today is my first day as a rebel on the Immortal. I dress myself in one of the white Immortal jumpsuits that were left in my room. It still has an old American flag patch sewn onto the lapel from when this was a government-owned tank, but as I walk to the infirmary, I run my fingertips along the edges of the patch, tearing the corners free. Once I've pulled enough away for my fingers to grasp, I rip off the rest and shove it in my pocket. As soon as I find a trashcan, I'll throw it away.

When I enter the infirmary, I see Mom is already dressed in her own white jumpsuit, though her black stitches poke out of the top, which is not fully zipped. Dr. Patel removes the IV from her arm, and pulls away the last of the wires that connects her to the bed. She smiles seeing me, and greets me loudly. "Isla! How did you sleep?"

"Great. How are you?"

"I'm alright. I got a good night's sleep, so I'm feeling better than yesterday."

Dr. Patel helps her to stand. "Remember to come here after lunch. We still need to run those tests," he says.

"Tests for what?" I ask.

"Radiation damage," Dr. Patel says plainly. "We see it in many survivors."

"I won't forget. Thank you, Doctor."

My ankle is still sore, but I hide the pain as I help her out of the room. She squeezes my arm and thanks me, but it's not until we are in the hallway of dormitories that I ask her about her chest.

"It's fine. Just don't make me laugh." I haven't been able to do that in months, but with this new opportunity to be a part of a community and to get our family back, I might be able to make Mom laugh again.

Declan exits from a dormitory across from the cafeteria, wearing raggedy jeans and a red flannel shirt. His hair is disheveled and dry, like the brown grass that consumed our yard the summer we had the drought. "Good morning," he says, mid-yawn.

"No white suit for you?" I ask.

He smiles, and leans forward to whisper, pushing his glasses up his nose. "Those outfits are for newbs."

I look down at the jumpsuits Mom and I wear. "Should we not have worn them?"

He laughs. "No, I'm kidding, you're fine. They just don't fit me right. My body is oddly proportioned. My legs are too long for my own good."

We laugh, and some of my nerves escape with my breath. "Well," I say, "we can't all be as perfectly proportioned as we are, I suppose."

"No, I guess not." He gestures toward the cafeteria. "After you, ladies."

We step through the doors and into the expansive, sterile room: white walls, white tables, white floor, and patrons in white suits, of course except for Declan, a few other higher ranking scientists, and some Deathless in white t-shirts and pants instead of the suits. We follow Declan down a ramp that leads to the main floor of the cafeteria. He walks like a marionette puppet on invisible strings, swinging his arms with his steps and plopping his feet with finality. His body is oddly proportioned, and thinking about it makes me smile. He stops at the end of a long line of people holding empty white trays for food.

"This is where the line starts. You take a tray, and then when you get up there, the servers they will hand you a plate full of whatever foods you'd like. They have everything, so try to control yourselves. The first time is always overwhelming." His tired eyes light up as he talks about the food.

We take a couple of steps forward.

"So, Declan, what has it been like for you since the blast?" Mom asks.