This Is Not a Test (18 page)

Still here. Still here. Still here.

Cary and Grace.

I hear them breathing.

I move away from the scene slowly and then I’m in the hall, tears in my eyes. I run past LaVallee’s office, past the auditorium where Trace and Harrison’s voices now float out. I push through the doors to the gym and Rhys is there, smoking. The first thing I want to say is
Cary and Grace have paired off
but I can’t because it will make the thing I’m about to do worse, wrong. I calm down. Walk across the gym slowly.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

I bite my lip and turn my head in the direction of the hall. He grinds the cigarette out and follows me out. I don’t look back at him.

I pick the locker rooms because they’re closest.

Once we’re inside he says, “Is it Cary?”

I shake my head.

“What is it?”

“Thank you,” I tell him.

“Whatever,” he says.

I should ask permission first, but I can’t. I move to him and then—I press him against the wall. My hands fumble and grope all over him and he lets it happen. His mouth is just as hungry against mine. He tastes lonely. I feel it all through him. It’s what’s making him not stop this, not ask questions, it makes him kiss me back. He was with girls all the time. They were always around him. I bet he hasn’t been used to not having anyone to touch like this and I’ve never—I’ve never had that.

And that makes me so angry I don’t know if I want to hurt him for it, for having it. Hurt Lily for having it. I kiss his throat hard, clumsily. I want him to feel it. I want to feel this. I need it to hurt for me to feel it, I think.

I run my hands all over him, dig my nails into his skin, and he says, “Sloane—”

And I look him in the eyes and he has the most incredible eyes. They’re unremarkable—a muddy brown—but they show me he’s as empty as I am.

He kisses me and his lips are soft. I don’t want soft lips. I want to feel it. He puts his hands on my waist and turns me around so I’m the one against the wall. In that brief moment, I take in the room around us. There’s barely any light in here. The storm is still outside. The rain, I hear it. I imagine it. Fat drops of water splashing onto roofs, tracing slick wet trails down before turning back into smaller droplets that hit the pavement and splash, making puddles.

“Your shirt,” Rhys mumbles.

My fingers unbutton my buttons. Nine buttons until my shirt is open. He slides it off my shoulders and it hangs from my elbows. He steps back a little, looks at me. I’m not wearing a bra, but then I remember he’s seen this before. He brings his palm against my skin, against my collarbone. He’s shaking and I’m dizzy. He kisses me again, hard. Finally.

The sky cracks open, thunder, and then all I can think about is the rain, the smell of the pavement after it rains. That musty beautiful smell that coats your lungs. A mild spring day, two girls in blue raincoats with yellow buttons shaped like flowers. Lily taking off her boots, grabbing my hands, and trying to drag me through all the puddles she could. I was always too scared and—she always let go of my hand.

“Sloane?”

Rhys’s voice brings me back, pulls me out of the memory. My hand disappears from Lily’s hand, the puddles disappear under my feet and it’s just me and him, but it’s not really me and him. It’s just this emptiness between us, the stupid idea I could kiss it away, and I’m crying before I can stop myself and then we’re on the floor and his arms are all around me and I keep saying
I can’t
because I don’t know what else to say. He tries to calm me, quiet me. Brings his hand to my face, tells me it’s okay. It’s not okay. I’m dying. I am dying. I have finally achieved what I set out to do. My heart is splitting open and I breathe in but no air gets into my lungs. I push against Rhys but he won’t let me go, so I lean into him, curl my fingers into his shirt and sob and the only thing that makes me feel okay about it is the fact that Cary broke down before me, Grace, she broke down before me, Harrison. But still, every second like this hurts, it hurts so bad I can’t stand it. I want it to stop, that’s all I’ve wanted. I let go of Rhys’s shirt when my fingers start to ache. I let him go, but his hold on me never wavers and it is so quiet.

And then he asks, “Why can’t you?”

The floor in the locker rooms is cold.

The floor is cold and Rhys is warm.

“Because she couldn’t.” I say it so quietly, he has to rest his head against mine to hear me. “She told me she couldn’t do it anymore.”

“Do what?”

“Be my sister.”

These words cut me, feel like they cut me when they come out. They tear up my lips, make them bleed. I’m your sister, Lily. I never stopped being your sister.

“Why?”

“Because—our dad beat us. We were going to leave together. We had this plan but she left me with him instead because being stuck with me made her feel trapped … she left me and—” I think of myself sitting on the edge of the bathtub and it was so long ago, too long, and I start to cry again. “I’ve been here so much longer than I was supposed to be—”

He tells me it’s going to be okay until all the words blur together into a hum that makes me close my eyes and I start to go away and five, ten, fifteen minutes later, I’m aware of my hand sliding down to his lap and then nothingness and then the gentle sensation of his index finger pressing into my open palm and then his hand is at my face, running his fingers across my skin and I’m so awake. I untangle myself from his grasp and get to my feet so fast it surprises him. I can’t look him in the eyes. Rhys grabs my hand and tries to pull me back down but I jerk away.

“Sloane, wait—”

My shirt is still undone, wide open. My face burns. I button it up so hastily, every button is one button off. I have to get out of here. I push out of the locker room and run. His voice chases me down the halls. I duck into the girls’ room and lock myself in a stall and then I just sit there with my head against the side of it. I don’t even realize I’m not alone until I hear my name and then I freeze and lift my feet off the ground, like this could make me invisible.

“Sloane?” Grace pushes against the stall door. The lock rattles. “I know you’re in there. I saw you run in. What’s wrong?” I press my lips together. “Sloane.” The lock rattles again. “Open the door.”

I reach forward and unlock it. Grace steps back.

“I saw you with Cary,” I say.

“What—” She stops. “That’s why you’re upset?”

I leave the stall, push past her. “So the last few weeks were just a total game to you? You just—you and Trace make it hell to be in here, you push Cary until he’s broken and then we all have to pick sides but then you’re basically
fucking
him in the nurse’s office—”

“Sloane—”

“That is
not
cool, Grace!” I want to break something. I storm toward the door and then double back. She stares at me, her mouth hanging open. “Give me the keys.”

“What?”

“Give me the keys to the nurse’s office.”

“Why?”

“I want to see Cary. Give me the keys or I’ll tell Trace what you were doing—”

“What is your problem? I came in here because I heard you
crying
and I wanted to see if I could help—” I hold my hand out, cutting her off. She looks at me and she knows I am not going to talk about this with her anymore. She digs into her pockets and gives me the keys along with a pleading look. “Please don’t tell Trace about this.”

I promise her nothing. I go back to the nurse’s office. My hands are shaking so badly it takes me forever to unlock the door, so it’s not like I surprise Cary or anything. He’s laying on the cot and I think he looks satisfied. I hate him. I slam the door behind me.

“I thought you loved my sister.”

He sits up. “What—”

“I saw you with Grace. I thought you loved my sister.”

He has to separate the sentences before he can tackle either of them.

“Sloane—”

“I saw you with Grace.”

“Sloane—”

“And you were wrong about her anyway,” I say. He gets up and steps toward me and I step back. I wish I had a switch, some way I could turn myself off. And now I’m just lying, I don’t know why I’m lying. I’m lying because I’m the only one that can say the things I need to hear. “You were wrong about Lily. You were wrong about her. I’m her sister. I would know. She was—she wasn’t like—she was free. She wasn’t trapped—”

“Okay, but—”

“You were
wrong
—”

“Sloane—”

Cary stops. His gaze catches something behind me. I turn. Rhys stands in the doorway, staring at us. I shove the keys in his hands and leave them both standing there and all I can think is how she left me when I needed her and that I need her. I still need her.

I sleep. I refuse to be awake. In the afternoon, Trace asks Rhys if I’m sick. I open my eyes and ask him if he’ll shoot me depending on my answer, which goes over about as well as I expect it to.

“Sloane, get up,” Rhys says at one point. “Move around.”

I stare at the skylight. It’s raining again. A rainy spring that will turn into what kind of summer? It’s hard to imagine it summer, everything bright and alive and someone, somewhere not having sorted all of this end-of-the-world stuff out.

I go back to sleep.

Eventually, Rhys prods me awake and volunteers me to take Cary his dinner and I don’t want to but he says I have to, that he won’t leave me alone until I do. Grace, mysteriously, has given up the job. I grudgingly take a tray down to the nurse’s office. Cary is not surprised to see me. I set the food on the desk without looking at him and head for the door.

“She never took her shirt off,” he says at my back. I stop. “When we were together. I thought it was cute because she was usually so confident. I never thought she was hiding something.”

I see them in my head. They’re in a car, the backseat, they’re all over each other. He’s trying to push her shirt up, she’s pulling it back down and playing coy to hide the bruises.

I turn. “Rhys shouldn’t have told you.”

“Maybe but you need to bury it,” Cary tells me. “All of that’s over. You have to be here now.”

Bury it. Lily is gone, has been gone. It’s been weeks since I had to face my father and the last of those bruises have been replaced by ones that have nothing to do with him. I don’t want to be here now. Especially now.

“You’re not infected,” I say. Cary nods and looks at his still-bandaged arm. “Which means Baxter wasn’t infected, which means we let him go outside to die. Does it bother you?”

“I’m just glad it wasn’t me.”

“What about the Caspers?” I ask. “Are you glad that wasn’t you now? Did Grace forgive you? What about that?”

“I’m as close as I’m getting.”

“So you buried it,” I say. “You’re here now.”

“Yeah.”

“Enjoy your dinner, Cary.”

I leave, locking the door behind me. I make it a short way down the hall before I stop and lean against the wall, my head buzzing, trying to figure out everything Cary knows. Rhys told him about me and Lily. Did Rhys tell him I wanted to die? Did Rhys tell Cary what we did? When Cary sees me, does he see a girl with her shirt open, pressed up against Rhys?

I go to the bathroom and I check my forehead. Underneath the bandage, my skin is raw pink and red, gouged out and trying desperately to heal. I’ll have to change the bandage soon, but all of the first aid is with Cary and I don’t want to see him again. I leave the bathroom and make my way to the auditorium. I’m almost there when Rhys charges out of it. He shouts my name.

“Sloane, I need the key to the nurse’s office—we have to get Cary.”

Figures.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“Nothing. We just have to get him now.”

He won’t tell me what it’s about before we get to Cary. He won’t even tell me after we get to Cary, just says we have to get back to the auditorium now, it’s important. There’s a strange energy about him, not dire, but urgent. When we step inside the room, Grace, Trace, and Harrison are huddled around the radio. Trace turns it off as soon as he spots Cary.

“What is he doing out? It’s not tomorrow yet—”

“Cut the bullshit, Trace,” Rhys says. “You know he’s not infected—”

“We agreed on three days. Put him back.”

“Here, Trace,” Cary says. “I’ll prove I’m not infected. Give me your arm.”

“Real clever. I want you to stay at least ten feet away from me at all times—”

“I can stand wherever the fuck I want to stand.”

Cary gets as close to Trace as he can before Trace reaches out and shoves Cary. Cary rebounds quickly, shoving Trace back. In no time, Grace is between them, looking tired. When she says, “Trace, stop,” an uncomfortable silence fills the room. Cary backs off, his cheeks pink. Trace pulls a disgusted look at the back of Grace’s head.

“Would you stop acting like you want to fuck the guy?”

Grace’s face turns white. She whirls around and Trace steps back, knowing at once he’s crossed the line but not knowing at all how on the mark he is.

“Grace, I’m—look, Grace, I’m sorry. I know you wouldn’t—”

“You should be,” she says before he can finish, and there’s something beyond hurt in her expression. She shares everything with him but she can’t share this.

“The radio,” Rhys says. “If you’re finished.”

Trace walks over to the radio and turns it on. The soft drone of Tina T’s voice comes through the static, familiar at first and then—different.

“Emergency shelters have been established in the following locations…”

My fingers tingle at the list of locations. My ears perk up at the name of only one: Rayford.

“All survivors are to proceed to the shelter nearest to them for medical processing. Shelters are equipped with food, water, military protection, and first aid. Exercise extreme caution while traveling and avoid heavily populated areas. If you encounter anyone you suspect to be infected, do not attempt to assist them…”

“See that, Chen? We shouldn’t have attempted to assist you.” Trace turns the radio off. “Help isn’t coming for us. We have to go to it.”

“Rayford,” I say.

“Yep,” Trace says.