The Wall

Matthew sat down and I sat next to him, feeling eyes on me the whole time. A man spoke first. He was older, maybe fifty, with grey hair and a full beard. He was thin and wiry, like everyone here. He seemed to be the leader. I sca

“We need to talk about the move,” he said, his voice deep and scratchy, full of authority. “We’ve already stayed longer than we should have. The diversions we have set up are ru

I leaned into the table, squishing my poor child against the metal rim. He squeaked, and I eased off. Anger was bubbling up. The boy? He had a name. Matthew put his hand on my shoulder and pulled me back, gently. Across the table, Deshi had the same offended look in his eyes.

“I hear you, Gus. But we can’t move him like this. The life support is not portable. Can you give me a few more days? There is one thing I haven’t tried,” Matthew said evenly.

Everyone shifted in their chairs. The metal legs screeching on the stone floor made my teeth ache. They were waiting for the bearded man to speak. One woman looked bored, rolling her eyes and looking longingly at the door. Get out, I thought. If this doesn’t interest you—why are you here? Gus stared at his nails; they were caked with forest floor. I inhaled deeply, trying to calm myself. I could almost smell the layered leaves, the decomposing matter that held such richness and life. Gus picked at his nails and flicked a bit of scum onto the stone. Mulling.

“Matt, we need to be practical. You can’t bring these wounded birds into our house and expect us to change our plans so you can save them. Some of them can’t be saved.” Several of the survivors shot him an appalled look I didn’t quite understand.

My fingernails from one hand were digging into the underside of the table. What could I do? I had no influence over these people. I knew what I wanted to do. Launch at him. Scream Joseph’s name. He was a human being. He was a good person. He deserved a chance.

Someone else spoke up. A young man. Not much older than myself. He had dark brown, curly hair, curly like Joseph’s, but longer. He had it tucked behind his ears, which stuck out like sawed-in-half saucers. They were dressed so differently from anything I had seen before. No uniforms. Everyone seemed to have their own style. There were different colors, materials, and cuts. My mother would have been fascinated. As soon as I thought it, I pushed the idea out my head. Mother was gone.

This boy was wearing a t shirt, something they called ‘jeans’, and a soft sweatshirt that had a hood sewn into it. He pulled a strange face as he spoke, like it was hard to get the words out, as he toyed with the toggle attached to his hood.

“Dad, imagine it was me, or Saz. You would want Matt to do everything he could to save us. Wouldn’t you?” the boy stuttered, each word louder than the one before as he gained confidence.

The man, Gus, wiped his forehead, leaving a dirty streak across his weathered skin. He rubbed his temples like he had a headache. He looked to the boy and smiled, a warm, familiar smile, full of affection. “All right, I’ll give you a few days, Matt. The rest of you need to start packing up your groups and preparing.” He took a sip from his coffee, swallowing it with a sour expression. Adults—always drinking stuff that tasted bad for the after-effects.

The rest of them shuffled out of the room, talking to each other and ignoring us. This left our original group sitting around the table, along with Matthew. We all wanted to hear his plan. I jolted up once the others had cleared the room, pumping my legs, jiggling the baby to keep him sleeping.

My heart sank and then jumped up in my chest repeatedly. Hope. It’s a strange feeling, and one I’ve had very little experience with. It made you feel buoyant, like you were pulling the clouds down to meet you.

“What are you pla

“A broken heart operation,” he said, like we should all know what he was talking about. “But we’ll need blood.”

She nodded, somehow she knew, or could guess. “Blood type?”

“O,” Mathew replied

Apella frowned. “What have you got?” Hope was bleeding out. Something was wrong.

“None. We need to ask people to get tested and donate.”

I stuck my arm under his nose. “Take as much as you need,” I said enthusiastically, pointing to a nice, big vein that wanted to volunteer.

Matthew smiled and pushed my hand aside. “Sorry, Rosa. You’re not compatible.”

I frowned. Of course. Our differences included our blood.

They started to make plans. There were only twenty people left. The rest had already moved back to wherever they came from. We would divide those people between us, send them to the clinic to be tested, and hopefully have their blood collected.

I made my excuses and ran back to my room. The corridors looked brighter, glossier than before, like a light was shining behind them, like the building was swelling with hope for Joseph. I skipped down the halls, imagining those beautiful eyes. Totally distracted. I thudded into a soft but solid mass. I looked up to see the boy who had helped buy us some time staring down at me awkwardly.

“Sorry,” I muttered, attempting to walk past him. The baby would be hungry soon. I wanted to get back.

He put his hand to my shoulder. “Your shoelace is untied,” he said, smiling kindly. Warm hazel eyes looked from my shoes to my face.

“Oh. Here, hold this,” I handed him the baby and knelt down to tie them, ignoring his surprised expression at my use of the word ‘this’. The boy gazed at my child, rocking him back and forth as he held him.

“He’s cute. What’s his name?”

I fought back my suspiciousness. “He doesn’t have one yet.”

“Oh.” Was he looking at me with pity? No, it was something else, sympathy and camaraderie, like he got it.

“What blood type are you?” I blurted out. Standing before him, all I could see was blood. He was a walking bag of blood.

“O,” he answered warily.

Our eyes co

“My name’s Cal!” he called after me.

O. O. O. O.

I could see him again. It could work out. Please, please, please, let this work.

I barreled into our room and the baby cried. He didn’t seem to share my elation. I sat down on the bed and fed him. He looked dreamy and satisfied after. Lit by the fluorescence and reflective black rock ceiling, his little face was so pale compared to my own. His defective eyes twinkled as he watched the changes in the light. I wrapped him up tightly in a blanket and held him. Hurry up, I thought. Sleep. He closed his eyes and then opened them again, peering at me, making sure I was still there. I smirked, thinking my suspicious nature had been passed to this tiny bundle. “You trust me about as much as I trust myself, don’t you?” I whispered, rolling my eyes.