“I wish there was something…” She stopped herself. She heard the sirens before Peony did. “I’m so sorry.”
Peony swiped at her nose with her sleeve, leaving a trail of mucus. Then kept crying. She didn’t respond until the wails of the sirens reached her ears and her head snapped up. She stared into the distance, the entrance of the junkyard somewhere beyond the trash heaps. Eyes rounded. Lips trembling. Face blotchy red.
Cinder’s heart shriveled in on itself.
She couldn’t help herself. If she was going to catch it, she already had.
She fell to her knees, wrapping Peony up in both arms. Her tool belt dug into her hip, but she ignored it as Peony grasped at her T-shirt, sobs renewed.
“I’m so sorry.”
“What will you tell Mom and Pearl?”
Cinder bit her lips. “I don’t know.” Then, “The truth, I guess.”
Bile rose in her mouth. Maybe it was a sign. Maybe stomach sickness was a symptom. She looked down at her forearm, embracing Peony to her. Still no spots.
Peony shoved her away, scooting back in the dirt. “Stay away. You might not be sick yet. But they would take you. You have to get out of here.”
Cinder hesitated. She heard the crunch of treads over scattered aluminum and plastic. She didn’t want to leave Peony, but what if she really hadn’t caught it yet?
She sat back on her heels, then clambered to her feet.
Yellow lights were nearing them from the shadows.
Cinder’s right hand was sweating in its glove. Her breathing had shallowed again.
“Peony…”
“Go! Go away!”
Cinder stepped back. Back. Had the bleary sense to stop and pick up the folded magbelt. She moved toward the exit, her human leg as numb as the prosthesis. Peony’s sobs chased after her.
Three white androids met her around a corner. They had yellow sensors and red crosses painted on their heads and two were pushing a hovering gurney between them.
“Are you the letumosis victim?” one asked in a neutral voice, holding up an ID scanner.
Cinder hid her wrist. “No. My sister, Linh Peony. She-she’s that way, to the left.”
The med-droids with the gurney wheeled away from her, down the path.
“Have you had direct contact with the victim in the past twelve hours?” the remaining android asked.
Cinder opened her mouth, hesitated. Guilt and fear curdled in her gut.
She could lie. There was no proof she had it yet, but if they took her to the quarantines, she didn’t stand a chance.
But if she went home, she could infect everyone. Adri. Pearl. Those screeching, laughing children rushing through the hallways.
She could barely hear her own voice. “Yes.”
“Are you showing symptoms?”
“N-no. I don’t know. I feel lightheaded, but not—” She stopped herself.
The med-droid neared her, its treads grating on the dirty ground. Cinder stumbled away from it, but it said nothing, only inched closer until Cinder’s calves were pressed against a rotting storage crate. It held up the ID scanner in one pronged hand, and then a third arm appeared from within its torso—a syringe in place of grippers.
Cinder shuddered but didn’t resist as it grabbed her right wrist and inserted the needle. She flinched, watching as dark liquid, almost black in the android’s yellow light, was pulled up into the syringe. She was not afraid of needles, but the world began to tilt. The android removed it just in time for her to slump down onto the crate.