Idream.
I dream I am sitting on the edge of the ocean, staring out at open water, looking for my brother, for Bran, but all I see is the sisiutl. Its head rises above the seafoam as it swims toward the shore. All at once, the ocean draws back, rushing away as if repulsed by the sisiutl, and I draw back too, for I’ve never seen it without water surrounding its body. Folded close to its back are a set of wings, glistening like mica, and as the sun beams down on it, I am forced to shade my eyes. This is no eel, no sea serpent. This is a creature of ages.
Drop your hands, the sisiutl says in a voice that’s as deep as the ocean, as thin as air. Drop your hands and look at yourself.
My arms fall to my sides as I force my eyes open and stare at nothing.
We set out at daybreak. Cedar carries one end of my stretcher, a man named Joe Potter the other. I am permitted to walk for short intervals until my breath comes in shallow gasps and then they force me back onto the stretcher.
Ravens wheel above us, but they don’t follow. They’re content to watch from a distance.
A whistle breaks the silence and we draw to a halt. Six men, armed to the teeth, emerge from the ferns.
Stop! I try to yell to the men, but my words don’t carry. Henry gives Cedar a quick glance. He nods, and my stretcher is picked up and moved out of earshot so I can’t do any damage. I want to laugh, but I only choke. Damage. What damage can I do, compared to what Henry is doing at this very moment? He’s shaking hands with one of the men, spreading contagion as if it’s nothing to him, as if he’s forgotten our history. Smallpox. Tuberculosis. Addiction. All brought into our communities by outsiders. I clench my hands. I will not allow this.
“Settle down,” Cedar says, putting a hand on my shoulder to steady me. I’m so angry I’m trembling. “Cass,” he says again, more deliberately this time, “get a handle on yourself.”
“No,” I say as I struggle against him. Doesn’t he understand? Doesn’t he get what Henry’s doing?
But then…
I realize. The earthquake. The last time I was this angry, I caused an earthquake. All of a sudden I can’t make myself calm enough. I hold my breath, bite my tongue, grab on to the sides of the stretcher so tightly that my fingers go numb. Despite what Henry could do, despite what he is doing, I am capable of far, far worse.
Henry steps back from the men and storms over to us. He points at me. “You,” he snarls, “are to keep your mouth shut.”
“We need to be quarantined,” I say, every word as pointed as his.
“Do we? I say we don’t. None of us shows signs and the incubation period is just about over. You’ve been so out of it that you’ve got no idea how much time has passed.”
Is that true? Maybe. Possibly, but still… “But we’ve never seen this before, Plague in Others. What if this is a new strain? What if it behaves differently?”
He doesn’t allow me to continue. “There’s been no new cases since the earthquake. No new cases. We’re safe. Got it?” He leans in close, so close I can smell his stinking breath. “And, in case you need reminding, don’t forget who allowed your family to come here and gave you that nice house of yours. I can change my mind about that, you know.”
“Go ahead,” I say, though fear is thick in my throat and it’s hard to force words past it. “See how well you do without a healer.”
“Oh, I won’t send you away.” His smile deepens. “I need you. I’ve seen what you can do. But your father? Your brother? They’re expendable.” He leans on the last word, and I draw back. “I think you know what I mean.” He waves a couple of the newcomers over. “Relieve Cedar and Joe. They’ve been carrying this stretcher all morning.”
The stretcher swings as the men lift it up. I know what Henry is doing. He’s keeping me from those who might listen. These new men, they don’t care about me one bit. But why? Why is he doing this? Yes, it’s true that the incubation period could be over, but why put the entire community at risk? How can he not understand this?
But, as we enter town, it’s clear that it no longer matters. It’s too late. People are waiting for us, and the moment we’re sighted they come running over, hugging their husbands and sons, kissing their cheeks, welcoming them home. I turn my head and refuse to watch. What did this trip accomplish? Nothing. No refugees arrived at the outpost. The searchcraft? As far as I know, it’s still in the woods. Maybe it’s salvageable, but probably not. Madda? Dead, along with how many others? I still don’t know. So what was it that we were supposed to have done? It doesn’t make sense. None of this-my burns, the earthquake in my feet, the sisiutl in my mind-none of it makes any sense at all, especially when I open my eyes to see Henry Crawford throw his arms around a woman and a little girl.
I look away, sickened.
“Where are we taking you?” one of my stretcher-bearers says.
“Home.” I want to go home. My father isn’t here. I want to see him before I quarantine myself.
They lift the stretcher up and set out. The man at the foot of my stretcher keeps sneaking glances at me, until finally he says, “Pretty sorry to hear about your brother. I was out on the water with him. Nice guy.”
“My brother?”
His gaze drops to his feet. “Oh. Um… well… he was in the canoe that didn’t come back.”
My heart stops. “What?” I whisper. Paul’s canoe? It didn’t come back? Are you sure? I try to ask, but when I open my mouth, nothing comes out. This man is wrong. He must be wrong. Paul? Missing? Does that mean Bran’s missing too? I try to get up so I can run back to town, but my arm gives out and I almost fall off the stretcher.
“Whoa,” the man says. “Take it easy. You’ll hurt yourself.”
I’m already hurt. I can’t tell you how hurt. “Tell me what you know,” I finally manage to say. My shoulder is aching so badly that my vision’s gone spotty and my ears are ringing, but I force myself past it. I must listen. I need to know.
“Well… we’re not sure what happened,” the man says. “The canoe went out on patrol and didn’t report back when it was supposed to. No one thought anything of it at first, because sometimes currents can mess things up.” He won’t look at me. “By the time we figured out that something was wrong, too much time had passed. There was nothing to find.”
“So what’s been done?” I blink, hard, trying to clear the spots from my eyes. “Who’s trying to find them?”
I wait. And wait. And when no answer comes, I tip myself off the stretcher and fall in the dirt, but I don’t care. I have to go back to town. Paul and Bran are missing. We need to go find them. We need to get them back.
All I manage is two steps before the blackness overtakes me.
• • •
Sometime later, I wake. They’ve bound me to the stretcher, so I’m forced to stare at the sky as they carry me toward our house. A few puffs of clouds cling to the blue. I want to touch them. I want to touch what’s untouchable.
“No,” I say when they start down the driveway. “No, leave me here.”
The men exchange puzzled looks. “Here?” one of them says. “You sure?”
I nod. “Just go down and tell my father I’m up here, okay?”
He looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. Maybe I have. “All right,” he says. “Will do.”
A few minutes later, my father jogs up the hill toward me. My stretcher-bearers head off without a word, leaving my father and I to stare at each other. He’s trying not to cry. So am I.
“Don’t come closer,” I manage to say. “I’ve been exposed to Plague.”
“But you can’t catch Plague.” He’s clearly puzzled. “None of us can.”
“We can now.” Something inside of me cracks. I think I’m going to cry, but instead, it’s laughter that spills from my mouth. My ribs hurt and my stomach is clenched in knots and all I want is to stop, but I can’t. No matter what I do, I can’t stop-until I do. Just like that. But the tears streaming down my cheeks? They don’t. They keep on coming.
My father kneels at my side and unbinds my hands. “Oh, Cass.” He’s about to say something else but can’t, so instead, before I can stop him, he leans in and kisses both of my cheeks.
And that’s that. Whatever happens next, we’ll face it together.