Defect - By Ryann Kerekes Page 0,80
kiss to each of our cheeks. She looks horrible, tired and weary with dark circles marring the skin beneath her eyes. She hasn’t slept. “He’s in our bed,” she says, and leads us down the hall.
The room is dim without any candles or lanterns burning and the curtains firmly shut. It takes my eyes a second to adjust. Eli is cradling little Elliott in his arms. My heart clinches seeing the sweet toddler, who normally doesn’t sit still, weak and non-responsive.
Kai, sure and confident as ever, takes Elliott from his father, lying him down on the unmade bed. Needing something to do with my hands, I open Kai’s bag and set out various things I think he might want. A piece of cloth, a vial and a syringe. Kai’s eyes meet mine, as if saying thank you. I nod once. You’re welcome. Just make him better.
Kai’s large fingers are so gentle against the baby’s neck and wrist, feeling for a pulse, that I know must be weak based on Kai’s frown.
I wonder if this will be my life – living on this outpost with Kai, maybe having a baby of my own someday. A baby that can be taken from you by the simplest of illnesses because of a government that forces outsiders to live without necessities like immunizations and medicines. The thought does not sit well. My stomach is a tangle of nerves, in fact. Is it possible to live a life when your heart and soul is on the other side of a fence?
Kai lifts Elliott to listen to his lungs, pressing his ear against the little guy’s chest and then murmuring sweet things. “You’re gonna be okay, buddy.”
My heart clenches in my chest. Kai is good at what he does, and for that I’m thankful. After lying Elliot back down on the bed, Kai reaches for the syringe I’ve set out. Neither of us comment that this is his last vile of penicillin. We both know Kai would give it to him even without the promise of more in the haul that arrived this morning. I hold Elliott’s little limp hand in mine, stroking the back of it with my thumb while Kai exposes his chunky thigh and gently administers the shot. Elliott’s eyes flutter open and find mine. I brush his blond curls back from his forehead. “Shh. Just rest now, sweet baby.” Elliott lets out a soft grunt and closes his eyes again.
I feel Kai watching me and when I meet his eyes, his expression is soft, reflecting wonder and kindness. I swallow roughly. “Is he going to be okay?”
Kai nods slowly, his eyes not leaving mine. My hands fumble to pack up Kai’s bag. When he watches me like that, like I’m the most interesting thing in the room, it makes my insides go all fluttery and I don’t know where to look or what to say. It’s not like Kai’s bad to look at, or hard to be around. He’s a sweet guy. He just isn’t Will and my mind won’t let me forget that. No matter how bad I might want to sometimes.
As if by unspoken agreement, we walk to the center of town in silence. We’re eager to see what the men have brought back, to hear of their journey, but for very different reasons. Kai gets excited about medicines, packages of bandages and I’m eager to hear what’s happening in the capital, to know the climate beyond the fence.
When we approach, Kai wanders to where the goods are being spread out and organized. He picks through the meager supplies and begins packing various things into his bag. I wander over to hear the men speak. Wilson is the unofficial leader of the group – he’s in his late fifties, but as vibrant and strong as a man half his age. He’s standing on an over-turned crate, speaking passionately before a small crowd.
“There are widespread riots and unrest in the capital and surrounding areas.”
My stomach drops to my feet as I think of Will, Rena and my friends.
“We traded for more weapons this trip as a precautionary measure,” Wilson continues. Murmurs and rumblings in the crowd erupt. Wilson raises his hands, quieting the group. “Mostly knives. We must be prepared.” The whispers subside slightly, and I see women clutch at their men’s hands, mouths pressed into tight lines and emotions running high. Kai walks over, joining me, the bag on his back having grown considerably.
Wilson steps down from the crate, waving