UnWholly (Unwind Dystology 2)
His left ear flutters with every sound, like a moth has found its way inside. His vision is blurry, and time itself seems to have altered. It’s like Lev and Marcus have been thrust into an alternate dimension where cause and effect are all confused. Lev can’t figure out if he’s here because the girl blew up, or if the girl blew up because he’s here.
The paramedics work on Marcus as they speed to the hospital, injecting him with God knows what.
“L-L-Lev,” Marcus says, his eyes struggling to stay open.
Lev grabs his hand, sticky and brown from drying blood. “I’m here.”
“Keep him awake,” the paramedic tells him. “We don’t want him to go into shock.”
“L-listen to me,” Marcus says, fighting to get the words out. “Listen to me.”
“I’m listening.”
“They’ll want to . . . to give me stuff. Unwind stuff.”
Lev grimaces to prepare himself. He knows what Marcus will say. Marcus would rather die than get parts from Unwinds.
“They’re gonna . . . they’re gonna wanna give me kidneys . . . a liver . . . whatever . . . parts from Unwinds . . .”
“I know, Marcus, I know.”
Then he opens his half-shut eyes wider, locks his gaze on Lev, and grips Lev’s hand more tightly.
“Let them!” he says.
“What?”
“Let them do it, Lev. I don’t wanna die. Please, Lev,” Marcus begs. “Let them give me unwound parts. . . .”
Lev squeezes his brother’s hand. “Okay, Marcus. Okay.” And he cries, thankful that his brother didn’t just condemn himself to death, and hating himself for feeling that way.
- - -
Lev is examined thoroughly and told that he has a broken eardrum, various lacerations and contusions, and possibly a concussion. They bandage his wounds, which are minor, put him on antibiotics, and hold him for observation. He hears no word of Marcus, who was rushed into an operating room the moment they arrived. Aside from the nurse taking his pulse and blood pressure every hour, there’s no one to visit Lev but the police, who have questions, questions, and more questions.
“Did you know the girl who perpetrated this attack?”
“No.”
“Did you recognize her from your clapper training?”
“No.”
“Was she a part of your clapper cell?”
“I told you I didn’t know her!”
And of course, the stupidest question of all:
“Do you know any reason why they would target you?”
“Isn’t it obvious? She told me it was retribution for not clapping—that the people in charge weren’t happy.”
“And who are the people in charge?”
“I don’t know. The only ones I ever knew were a bunch of other kids who are dead now because they all blew up, okay? I never met anyone in charge!”
Satisfied, but not really, the police leave. Then the FBI shows up and asks him the same questions the police did—and still no one will tell him anything about Marcus.