Brighter Days, Darker Nights

“You’re very brave,” her dedicated nurse said. She had a bit of a smile on her lips, on her cheeks, but it didn’t move as if she had to force herself to keep it there.

“I’m scared,” Sara responded. Her face was blank, yet concern creeped along her eyes. She fought to maintain that balance and let go of her nurse’s hand. “The other nurses say I’m brave, but....” She sighed. “If it’s just like going to sleep, that’s not brave. The other thing, the staying out there, that’s brave. Existing. The not knowing but still being alive. That seems more brave.”

“Maybe, but this is new and you’re here. You’ve agreed to do the never-before-been-done. That’s brave. That’s very brave.” She stood up. “Two more mornings. You rest well tonight.”

“I’ll try.”

Another smile and the nurse walked out of the room. The hall was long with open doors and empty rooms on either side. Then a stairwell that went up to more halls and rooms. She found her way to an exit where a guard stood before her and shook his head. “No one gets to leave anymore.”

That was sudden. She’d been out during the sunrise and it was ugly, but no one had suggested that outside would be forbidden.

“You can go to the observation deck if you’d like, but that’s about the only view.”

“I’m good.”

She left the guard and went to her room.

Sara woke up to the soft noises of garden birds. She’d let the noise go for hours before, but she was not in the mood and shut off the phone. She laid on her back, her hands clasped over her heart. She did not pray. She stared at the ceiling. For the first time since she had arrived she did not feel a need to move, as if stasis had already settled over her.

Three months earlier these people had found her, had been directed to her while she sat with someone’s child. She had held the little boy because no one else did and all he needed was a little comfort to stop crying. She took that responsibility when none of the adults could direct her on how else to help.

And there were so many lost children.

She even took up the kids sitting next to a parent since so many of those adults just stared ahead blankly and let the child cry. Endless days for three months but she felt useful. She didn’t miss it, but wondered how they fared now.

She believed not well.

Her dedicated nurse knocked and entered into the silence. “How’re we today?”

“We’re well.” Sara sat up in bed. “I’d like to see the world again, before tomorrow.”

The nurse’s smile flittered. “Me too.” She let the smile go and sat down on the bed. “We can’t do that, though. Everyone here has been locked in, no exception. The risk of going out has gone up dramatically.”

“Do you know what happened?”

“No. Just that we can’t go out.”

“Okay. So we just eat and do our morning vitals,” Sara said, no longer wanting to think about outside.

“Yes and no. We’ll eat, but no vitals today. Maybe not tomorrow. Today you’re going to learn how to wake up.”

“To bird noises, I’m sure.”

“No, I don’t — would you like that?”

Sara didn’t answer at first. She’d been being silly, but then the idea became real. “Maybe. I’ll think about it.”

Her nurse nodded. “You’ll have breakfast with me in the cafeteria, then we’ll go to your tube. A couple of things we need to let you know about.”

The tube looked like she expected it to look like, stainless steel body with a small window over where her face would be able to see out, for a little bit. The one before her wasn’t attached yet but the holes for them were all along the top. It stood at a forty five degree angle.

“Would you like to lie in it?” her doctor asked.

“No.”

Her nurse set a soft hand on her shoulder and guided her forward. “This is important.”

“Yes,” the doctor agreed. “Once you’re in there you’ll be safe and watched over by the machines. You know all that.”

“Yes.”

“Go ahead and lie in it,” the nurse said. 

Sara did so. There was no cushioning. She’d never been in a coffin before, but it felt like being in a coffin.

“Okay,” the doctors directed. “Move you fingers on your left hand on the panel behind you, until you find a circle. It’ll be very faint, like touching a single hair.”

Twenty seconds past before she realized she’d already found it. 

“Found it.”

“Good. If you remember nothing else when you wake up, remember that little circle. It’s like an emergency release.”

“Why would I —“ She stopped, not wanting to think about her question.

“It’s the one contingency for if things happen ... if they.... Let’s say the power goes off and you wake up prematurely and no one is here. If you freak out and can’t get out, that would be bad. Right? Some people might freak out. We don’t want that. Also, some people might wake up and not freak out, but maybe they just lie still. You don’t want to just be there, so you remember the button and push it and the tube opens up.”

“Why would things happen?” Sara asked.

“It’s just in case.”

“Is life out there going to get worse?”

Nobody answered.

“Okay.”

“So,” the technician said, “continuing with our contingency plan, you wake up and no one’s here. You push the button and the door pops open. Then what?”

“What?”

“You tell me.”

“I don’t know.”

“Worst case scenario, right? You’ll need food and water and supplies. Clothes and —“

“I won’t have on clothes?”

“Yes, yes. But more that what you’ll sleep in. So, hop out and we’ll go to the next room.”

“And I will see you tomorrow,” the doctor said. He left the way they had arrived.

She followed the technician to a larger room, her nurse next to her. On one wall were two by two lockers stack three high, each with a small screen on the right top side and a name along the middle top edge.

“Find yours,” the technician said.

“What are they?”

“These are lockers. Food lockers and clothes and water bags. The food is dry and will last forever, just add water. I’ll show you in the next room. See if you can find yours easy enough.”

She scanned the rows in sections, started counting the lockers when she found her name on a low row.

“Here.”

“Very good. See the little screen?”

“There’s 99 lockers,” she told them.

“And 99 in another wing. Not all the lockers will be filled. The ones without names any one can open. But how you open yours, ready, place any digit on that screen.”

“Digit?”

“Fingertip.”

She placed her index tip on and the door hushed open. It was empty. She closed the door.

“It’ll be stocked tomorrow,” the technician said.

“Tomorrow,” she whispered. “What if I change my mind?”

“Don’t,” her nurse said.

“That’s easy for you to say.”

“No. I’d volunteer and go with you if I could.” She paused for a moment, her eyes locked on Sara’s. “You have no idea how bad it’s got out there in just the three months since you’ve been in here. Really, in just the last few weeks. And now I can’t go outside just to sit.”

She kneeled down in front of her. “I’ll tell you this, there were to be two hundred children chosen for this, two hundred perfect children, out of thousands seen. Maybe four months ago we could have filled the tubes but we thought we had more time. Three months ago we got you and you were the last child chosen. Think of that, in the last three months we haven’t found another child we could take.”

Sara ran her words over again, then asked, “The why can’t you go with me?”

“The tubes were designed for children. I just don’t fit.”

“Sara,” the technician said, “we’ve got a lot to cover today.”

She woke before the birds’ tweets and whistles started and turned off the alarm. She brushed her teeth extra good and put on her best hospital issued gown, then sat on the bed and waited. The fake sun brightened up a fake window. For three months she’d listen to the trolley come up the hall and stop at the doors of other children. Each week there was less stops until a few weeks earlier the morning nurse, a different one, only stopped for her. That nurse hadn’t been seen for three weeks. Her dedicated nurse now brought food. This last day of her life she expected to go to the cafeteria again, but wasn’t sure she’d eat.

If this is it, she thought to herself more than once, guess I’ll just do it.

Breakfast didn’t come. The doctor showed up with her dedicated nurse and the technician from the day before.

“I’m hungry,” she told them.

“You’ll get a drink soon,” the technician said.

Her nurse took her hand and walked with her, following the doctor and being followed by the tech.

“Did any of the others cry?” 

“A few,” her nurse said.

“I might.”

“I understand. I might too. But it’ll be okay.”

A second technician greeted them in the tube room, by her tube. It was open and all piping and lines were attached. The coldness startled her, compared to just the day before. 

The second technician handed her a tall glass of orange liquid and smiled. “It’s a special drink made just for this. And it’s tasty.” He smiled wider, friendly, not at all fake.

She took the glass and sniffed. It smelled as orangy as it looked. She sipped it and the liquid fizzed down her throat and tickled down into her belly.

“Tastes good, yes?”

She nodded and drank.

“While you’re doing that,” the doctor said, “I’ll explain what we’re going to do.”

“I’m going to get into the tube and lay there and go to sleep.”

The doctor stared back a bit. “Um, yes. Basically.”

She handed back the empty glass. “I guess I’m ready.” She moved past them and took her place in the tube. Her heart pounded. She breathed deep to keep herself from shaking.

“It’s okay,” her nurse said, kneeling down beside her.

“I know.”

The technicians got busy with monitors, pushing buttons and waiting for beeps.

“But I have a question,” Sara said.

The room seemed to freeze. The doctor looked at here with a grim smile on his lips.

“What makes me perfect? All of us? You said out of thousands of kids you only found a few of us. There were no tests,” Sara continued. “I was just brought here.”

The nurse took her hand “The arena you were at there were thousands of kids, of people. You know that. And they ... they all needed help. So many of them just couldn’t go on. And you were there walking around, helping out as much as you could. Do you remember how many people just wouldn’t do anything? Not to save their children, or other children, or even themselves?”

“Yes.”

“That wasn’t you. As bad as life was then, you didn’t stop. You still moved. Whether or not you still believed in something, you still moved. That’s perfect. Everything in our world changed and all these people couldn’t go on, but you didn’t stop.”

“That doesn’t seem like much.”

“Sometimes, for our future, it’s all that matters. I hope to see you again, outside, but I don’t expect to.” She squeezed her hand once more and let go.

The End6