Nemesis (Project Nemesis #1)(12)

Notebook Man stands at the front of the line. "Arrange yourselves in alphabetical order. When your name is called, come forward and answer Dr. Parker's questions."

This takes a few minutes, Mrs. Thompson grumbling the whole time. Knowing we won't be close in line, I let go of Noah's hand. He holds on a little longer, then releases me, wiping his slick fingers on his shirt. "Sorry."

"S'okay." I dry off my hand behind my back, so he doesn't see.

"Albertsson, Tobias."

Toby slinks forward, legs shaking. I can't hear what the woman asks him. I'm a W, practically last in line. One by one, the others are called to the front, answer questions, and then disappear into one of the white tents. Finally, my name is called.

"Wilder, Melinda."

I approach the table.

"Age?" the woman asks in a dull monotone.

"Six," I answer, eyes darting to Mrs. Thompson. My teacher has a weird expression on her face, but she smiles encouragingly.

"Date of birth?"

"September seventeenth."

The questions go on for several minutes. I do my best, but I don't know all the answers. The woman frowns each time I come up short. I catch one muttered comment from Mrs. Thompson-how would a six-year-old know her medical history?-before it finally ends. The doctor stamps some papers, closes a file, and then points to the last tent on the right. "Please report to Bay F."

I trudge across the gym and slip through the white curtain. Inside is a chair like at the dentist's office, and a small cabinet with medical stuff. I see a box of needles and an orange bin covered in loud printed warnings.

My heart drops into my shoes.

A white-coated man enters through the back. He's thin and gray-haired, with twinkling blue eyes floating above a white mask. Dropping his clipboard onto the cabinet, he pulls the mask down and smiles. "Hello, there!"

"Hello." Hugging my arms to my chest.

"Come, come!" The man squats down on his heels so we're eye to eye. "There's nothing to be afraid of"-popping up to glance at the clipboard-"Ms. Melinda. I'm Doctor Harris." 

"Min," I mumble.

His smile grows. "What's that?"

"Min." A little louder. This one seems nicer than the others. "My name is Min. I hate being called Melinda."

"Well then, we won't make that mistake again." With exaggerated strokes, he crosses something off on the clipboard and writes. "Name: Min, and definitely not Melinda. There we are! All better now."

His grin is contagious. I smile back.

"Now, Min," he begins, "would you mind climbing up into my whirly chair for a tick? I promise we'll go through this step by step, okay?"

I tense, but do what he asks, clambering up onto the seat.

Dr. Harris plops down onto a tiny, wheeled stool. "I'm sure you're a little worried about what we're doing today."

I nod slowly. He nods back.

"Well, don't fret." He taps the clipboard. "This examination is purely precautionary. We just need to make sure you stay safe and well. Are you okay with that?"

"Yes."

"I thank you, Min. Now let's get these silly tests out of the way."

Over the next twenty minutes, I am weighed, measured, poked, prodded, and generally inspected. Dr. Harris is very polite, explaining all the procedures beforehand and always asking for permission. He jots down notes after each one.

Finally, Dr. Harris hunches back on his stool. "Only two more things, then we're done. Unfortunately, you're not going to love either one."

"What things?"

"I need to take a teeny-tiny blood sample, and then . . . I must give you . . ." His voice drops to a whisper, his eyes popping to a clownish degree, "-a SHOT."

The doctor's face is so funny, I giggle. I can't help it.

"That's the spirit!" Dr. Harris offers a high five, and I meet it. I'm not as scared as I was. He swivels, slides open the cabinet, and removes a tiny kit. "Let's just get it over with. What do you say?"

I swallow. Nod.

He beams at me. "Good girl. I thank you."

The first needle isn't so bad. Dr. Harris tells me to look away-so that I don't have to see my own blood-but I watch it fill up the tube instead. He tells me how brave I am.

The second needle stings. It's larger and longer, and I feel it bite into my shoulder. I whimper slightly, but Dr. Harris pats my back, speaking soft encouragements as he presses the plunger. In moments it's over. The doctor quickly applies a bandage, leaving nothing behind but a slight itch.

"Excellent, Min!" Dr. Harris puts my blood into his kit, then scribbles a few more notes onto his clipboard. "Only one moment more, and then you can go back to class." He carries the kit out the back of the tent.

I notice his clipboard is still sitting on the cabinet.

Hopping down, I walk over for a look. The doctor's handwriting is small and squiggly, but two words are stamped in red at the bottom of the page. Project Nemesis.

• • •




       
         
       
        
An hour later I'm back in Mrs. Thompson's room, playing with the magnetic letters. Everyone is rubbing their shoulders. Jessica and a few others have been sniffling since we returned, but most are excited. They think we've had an adventure, like the adults keep saying.

The soldiers are gone, which clearly makes Mrs. Thompson happy. I wonder if the men in suits left with them. Is Principal Myers still mad? Did he have to get a shot, too?

A knock on the door.

I look over, then freeze.

Principal Myers has entered the room, but that's not what surprised me. Standing beside him is Dr. Harris. Spotting me, he smiles and waves. Caught out, I wave back.

"This is not what was discussed," Mrs. Thompson is saying, looking upset. "The permission slips only cover school-based physicals and inoculations. I can't let you take students away from here simply because this man-"

Principal Myers cuts her off. "I'm aware of your objections, Agnes. But I don't need to remind you who runs this school. I'll be along to supervise."

Mrs. Thompson's shoulders droop. "Their parents, surely-"

"Will be informed, of course. Now please call the students forward."

Mrs. Thompson stares at Myers as if seeing something for the first time, then looks over at me. Our eyes meet, and she flinches. Then puts on her big fake smile. "Min? And Noah? Could you both come to the front, please?"

I stand up slowly. Walk to her desk. I hear Noah following on my heels. If Dr. Harris wasn't smiling so encouragingly, I'm not sure I'd do it.

Dr. Harris drops to a knee before the two of us. Noah's legs tremble as we stand side by side. "Min, hello again. Noah, my name is Dr. Harris. I have something very special to tell you. We're going on a trip!"

His eyes twinkle in the fluorescent light. "Won't that be fun?"





10



I woke up sweaty and breathless.

My shoulder was cramping, right beneath the old inoculation scar. I rubbed it fitfully, trying to clear my head.

The doctor's face was burned into my retinas.

I reached out blindly, hand-locating the clock and spinning it to face me.

Six a.m. I knew more rest wasn't coming.

I sat up, blinking in the darkness. The kindergarten memory was like a scab picked open. Dr. Harris. I'd forgotten his name was Harris. 

I hadn't thought of that day in years. I remembered being ushered into a van with Noah. The doors had shut and we'd been driven somewhere miles away. But not over the bridge-even at six I'd known to listen for the thump-thump, thump-thump of wheels crossing partitions.

We'd gone the other direction-into the eastern woods.

I stiffened.

Where the convoy went last night. Is that what made me think of it?

I could recall little else of that afternoon. Dr. Harris led us inside an unfamiliar building. Noah and I were separated. The lights were bright. Soldiers and people in lab coats filled the halls, some eyeing me curiously. Harris took me to a room equipped like the tent from school. The door closed, and then . . . then . . .

Nothing.

I remembered nothing else. I'd woken up at home.

Mom had listened to my story, holding my hand and stroking my hair. She'd given me a cherry Popsicle, then stormed to the telephone. Mom had begun yelling almost immediately, and I'd heard her say the name Andy, which is what some adults called Principal Myers. Then she'd hung up and sat still a moment, holding her head in her hands. Seconds later she'd put one of my DVDs into the player, told me to stay put, and then hurried from our trailer.

I pushed my sheets away and stood, a statue in the darkness. Details were flooding back faster than I could process them. Why hadn't I thought harder about this before? Where had I been taken? Why? By whom?

My mother hadn't come back for two hours, and never explained. She'd even given me a second Popsicle, which never happened. Mom had hugged me close, telling me not to worry about that afternoon. I wasn't supposed to talk about it. The other kids wouldn't understand and might tease me. I was to keep the whole thing secret.

I was a kid. Six years old, with a second cherry Popsicle. So that's what I did.

But I'm not six anymore. I'm sixteen, under attack by a serial killer, and nothing my mother did that day makes sense.

We never learned more about the spill, yet we'd had blood tests at school every year since. Supposedly they were still checking for pathogens. The samples were always taken by the same company, but the results were never shared. As far as I knew, nobody else had been driven onto the government land like Noah and me. Others could've been told to keep it secret, too, but Fire Lake is a small town. I'm sure I would've heard something.