Chapter 3
A big, square people-container on wheels came to us. I could only assume the plump man had sent for it.
George wasn’t dead . . .yet. The doctor people said she maybe had a week left, if that.
They took us all to a building not unlike the Compound hospital. Everything here was so much better. There were things called cars, and popcorn, and small animals people kept known as pets.
One night, as I was sleeping in George’s hospital room, I woke up to her screams. These incidences were occurring increasingly often, and guilt surged through me every time, knowing I had caused this. She knew it too, since she often screamed my name. The nurses increased her sedative dosage every few hours.
Then, what little hopes we had left were dashed. Many of the teens and children from the Compound were getting headaches. They said it felt like a dull blade trying to separate their skulls. I would soon find that their description was perfect.
George was in surgery the day I experienced my first headache, our fourth day away from the Compound. I was talking to Kriss and some of my other friends when it happened. My vision blurred and swayed as my brain felt like it might explode. Thankfully, unconsciousness soon took me.
I awoke some hours later to find the splitting pain replaced by a new, throbbing one. A doctor came in later to show me what had been found in everyone’s brain, the source of the headaches, a small piece of metal and plastic. The chip.
The deaths at the Compound hadn’t been murder. They were accidental; the chips weren’t built to last. None of us knew why we had the chips, but we didn’t know whom to ask about it. For all we knew, our parents were dead. Every adult we used to know was dead.
I went to see George as soon as I could. She seemed so distant after a week and a half of struggling for her life. I wanted to take her in my arms and kiss her, but of course I couldn’t. Not yet, anyway.
Gee stirred a little as I brushed her cheek. Her hand reached up to hold mine.
“I wasn’t blaming you,” she whispered, referring to her screams.
“I know,” I murmured, looking at the scar from her chip-removal surgery.
“I just missed you. A lot.” Her eyes fluttered open. “They cut all my hair off, didn’t they?”
“You still look beautiful,” I promised. Her eyes filled with panic.
“I’m slipping!” Gee’s voice rose to a scream. “Damn it, Aden, I’m slipping!”
There was a loud beep as her heart stopped.
My eyes hurt horrifically from crying, but I couldn’t seem to stop. George was going to die; she was barely hanging on. Sensing nothing from the outside world, possibly not from her own inner one either.
I needed answers. Luckily, they came to me in the form of a man named Richard Maars. He came to the hospital the day after George was admitted to the Intensive Care Unit.
“Why did this happen?” I asked.
“The man from the Compound was an old friend and colleague of mine. He started it to help people conquer disease and weakness. Truly, I never thought he actually did it. The world was told he’d died from exposure after getting lost in a snowstorm,” Mr. Maars said.
“What was his name?” I asked.
“Tate Herrison.”
“Herrison?” I cried.
“You’re his only child. That’s why he favored you.”
“Favored me! Is that why he tried to kill the girl I love?” I fumed.
“He was saving George Carson for himself, and he didn’t like it when she went for you instead.” The man scrutinized me.
“What’s this chip thing?”
“He made it mostly as a threat, claiming he’d activate it if people disobeyed him. But it wasn’t really for that, it was a tracking device in case anybody tried to run away,” Richard stated.
“Is there any way to save George?” I finally asked the question that’d been bugging me the most.
“There’s one, but it’s very risky and might not even work.”
“Tell me,” I snapped, trying not to get too frustrated.
“Her lung tissue isn’t healing well, and is extremely thin. Therefore, she’s having trouble breathing. She could get a tissue transplant, but I wouldn’t recommend it.”
“What would I have to do?” I jumped on the idea.
“You’d need to get some of your lung tissue cut away and grafted onto her lung. There are no guarantees, and both of you could die in the operation. And even if you make it through the operation, you could die from your tissue not growing back.” He stared at me.
“I want to have the operation,” I tried not to say it too snappily, knowing he just wanted to help.
“That’s settled then. The sooner the better. I’ll see you in two days for the operation.”
“Do you know who the doctor is?”
“Well me, of course. I’m the head surgeon here.” Richard Maars walked away, leaving me to contemplate my possible death.
Chapter 4
I didn’t back out of the surgery like Dr. Maars thought I would. There was no way in hell I would miss the last chance for George’s survival. I loved her too much to ever let her go, let alone when I could do something about it.
“You’re completely sure about this?” Dr. Maars asked again.
“Of course,” I replied. He nodded, and everything faded to black.
My first conscious thought was that it hurt. Everything hurt. My head ached, and my chest stung.
“Did it work?” I asked when Dr. Maars came in to see me.
“We can’t be quite sure yet. But I think so.
“When can I see her?” I mumbled.
“Look to your left.”
I glanced over and she was laying there, a serene look on her delicate features. Our beds were only a couple of feet apart. I reached my hand over to grasp hers, overjoyed that it held some warmth. She would make it; I knew she would.
My heart raced as I waited outside the hospital. Feeling a light tap on my shoulder, I turned around. I just stared at George for a moment, not used to seeing her standing.
I ran a hand through Gee’s short hair, as she looped her arms around my neck, pulling me closer to her. She kissed me so forcefully I though we might tip over, not that I’m complaining. We could have stayed like that forever, and we did. Well not forever, but you catch my drift.
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