Chapter 4: The Ultimatum
701words
"Too much dust outside," she explains. "Not good for your 'cold.'"
I know she's afraid—afraid of Hank, afraid of those suspicious, fearful eyes, afraid of Miller's ultimatum. She spends the entire afternoon polishing her acupuncture needles until they gleam. It's her nervous habit.
By the third day, she can't bear it anymore. "You need fresh air," she says, opening the trailer door. "But Lily, promise me—stay close, don't wander off, don't make a sound."
I nod. My neck makes a soft crack.
We walk through the camp. Brenda grips my hand so tightly my bones ache. People fall silent when they see us, giving us a wide berth as if we carry the plague.
Just as we're about to return to the trailer, it happens.
A red rubber ball rolls toward us. It bounces along, trailing children's laughter, and stops at my feet. It's bright as a giant candy.
A little girl, five or six years old, runs after it. She sees me and freezes, just a few meters away.
The smile vanishes from her face. Her big eyes fill first with confusion, then terror. She opens her mouth and lets out an ear-splitting wail.
The cry is high-pitched and piercing. Like an alarm.
It drills through my ears straight into my brain. Some ancient switch flips inside me. That switch is labeled "predator."
A voice in my head screams: No!
But my body moves anyway.
I break free from Brenda's grip. Slowly but deliberately, I step toward the crying child. An uncontrollable, hungry growl rises from my throat.
"She's going to attack the child!"
It's Hank's voice. Like an enraged bull, he charges from the side and slams into my shoulder. The impact sends me sprawling. My head hits the ground with a dull thud.
Hank positions himself protectively before the child, glaring at me with bloodshot eyes. The surrounding residents panic, screaming as they back away. Their faces no longer show suspicion—only certainty.
In their eyes, I am a monster.
"I told you! I told you all along!" Hank points at me, shouting to the crowd. "She's a ticking time bomb! Miller has put us all in danger!"
"She didn't!" Brenda rushes over, helps me up, and clutches me tightly. "She just wanted to return the ball! You're all seeing things!" Her voice trembles, but she defends me desperately.
The crowd stirs. Someone shouts: "Drive them out!"
BANG!
A gunshot drowns out all other sounds.
It's Miller, revolver pointed skyward. The smell of gunpowder fills the air.
Everyone falls silent.
"Break it up!" Miller commands in a voice that brooks no argument. The crowd hesitates, then slowly disperses. Hank tries to speak, but Miller silences him with a stern look.
Miller approaches us. He glances at the red ball on the ground, then at the child sobbing in her parents' arms. Finally, his gaze settles on Brenda.
His face is expressionless.
"Brenda," he says, "come to my office."
Miller's office is a shipping container reinforced with sandbags. Inside stands only an iron desk, two chairs, and a map of the camp on the wall.
Brenda tells me to wait outside. I can hear their voices through the wall. At first, Brenda's voice is loud—arguing, explaining. But soon it lowers, and finally falls silent.
After what seems like forever, the door opens. Brenda emerges, her face as gray and pale as my own skin.
She doesn't look at me, just walks straight toward our trailer. I follow behind.
Back in our tiny trailer, she closes the door, leans against it, and slowly slides to the floor. She buries her face in her knees. I can see her shoulders trembling slightly.
I stand before her, helpless. That terrible predatory impulse still lingers in my body. My mind is chaos.
After a very long time, she finally raises her head. Her eyes are red, though tearless. She looks at me with exhaustion and a helplessness I've never seen before.
"Lily," she whispers, her voice sandpaper-rough.
"You need to be stronger."
"Show mommy that you're just sick."
