“Marcus, listen to me,” Dr. Yancy coaxed, her mouth close to his ear. “This will save your life. You are in the advanced stages of illness, and there is no other way to jumpstart your failing organs. Nicolas died with great dignity and for the sole purpose of saving your life. Please just take a moment and think about what I’m saying.”
Marcus grew still. Yancy and Gearhart seemed to be holding their breath, and Gabi realized she was holding hers too. She trembled with shock and nausea but was coherent enough to know she did not want to pass out in this gruesome place and wake up in one of those beds.
Gabi kept her eyes fixed on the doctors, unable to stand the sight of Marcus’s blood-smeared lip, so she knew the moment something changed. Yancy and Gearhart’s faces loosened, and the hint of a smug smile plucked at the corner of Gearhart’s mouth. Gabi dragged her eyes toward Marcus, and saw that the tip of his tongue was cautiously licking at the blood on his lip. As he swallowed, his face took on a fiendish animation. He pulled his entire lower lip into his mouth and sucked on it with loud smacking noises. His eyes were closed, but he pawed restlessly at the starched sheet. Dr. Gearhart dipped his finger into the dish again and dabbed at Marcus’s lip. Without hesitation Marcus sucked at the blood, drawing Dr. Gearhart’s finger into his mouth up to the second knuckle.
“Ouch!” Gearhart yelped, retracting his finger. He shook his head and chuckled. “I’d say he’s ready, Dr. Yancy, wouldn’t you?”
No no no no no! Gabi screamed inside her head.
Dr. Yancy extended the morsel of flesh toward Marcus as Gabi heard the whistle of the executioner’s blade cleaving time in two. As she watched Marcus snap at the slippery human flesh, eyes wide and crazed, she couldn’t imagine what the future could possibly hold. Surely the world would be obliterated, crushed to dust under the weight of what people, her people, had become. Marcus was no longer Marcus. His eyes were lasers latched on to the incision site on his friend’s flank as if it were the mouth of God. The cords in his neck stood out as he lifted his head and jutted his chin toward the exposed flesh, his face alive with ravenous want. “’Ore,” he wheezed through his protruding teeth. “Hlease!”
The moment Dr. Yancy carved another, larger portion from Nicolas’s buttock and offered it to Marcus, first taking care to dissect the skin away for easier chewing, Marcus tore at it with ferocity. Yancy and Gearhart bowed their heads, lips moving in sync.
They’re praying, Gabi realized as she watched the familiar contortions of their mouths. It was a prayer received by Messenger Nystrom and translated by her father only a few years after the twenty-fifth anniversary of the Gathering In, when the first Witness teams were being trained for coastal expeditions. Gabi knew it by heart: “With love and compassion for our lost fellows, we venture forth knowing the perils that lie ahead, and the worse fate for those who suffer separation. Through our actions, which are ordained by God and given to us by true message, we seek not to harm but to fulfill our destiny as stewards of humanity. Though the actions of the shepherd are firm, it is only by a strong hand that his flock may be Returned, in the spirit of peace, unity, and protection.”
“Amen,” whispered Dr. Yancy.
“Amen,” affirmed Gearhart. “You’ve done well, Marcus,” he said, using a swab to clean the dribble of blood from Marcus’s chin in a parody of paternal tenderness. Marcus strained toward the inert body across from him, blind to anything else in the room.
“We’ll call in an attendant to administer the rest of the dose, then take him back to cold storage,” Dr. Yancy said to Gearhart over her shoulder as she turned away to make notes on her clipboard.
“It’s important that you take it slow in the beginning, Marcus,” said Gearhart. “Your stomach has shrunk, and this is rich fare. Still, we’d like to get you on organ tissue as soon as possible, as these are the most nutrient-dense foods.” Gearhart reached over and removed a switch-bearing device from the wall. “We’ll be keeping you on the electrolyte drip, of course, but you can use this Call button to page a nurse whenever you’re feeling ready to eat again. You were dangerously malnourished when you came to us, so this will take some time. Be patient with yourself.”
Dr. Gearhart moved to the portable sink, and used a stiff brush to scrub under his fingernails. Steam rose from the sink, and the bristles turned pink as they worked the dried blood from his cuticles. Gabi looked from the brush to Nicolas to Marcus and knew she was going to throw up. She wanted to vomit out all that she had seen, purge it from every corner of her mind, but she was infected with something she could never un-know. Gabi unglued herself from the wall and staggered across the empty cubicle to where the edges of the curtain met to form an entrance. It felt like a thousand years since that steel doorknob clicked under her hand. Her shirt was soaked with sweat and clinging to her skin, but she was cold to the marrow of her bones. The edges of Gabi’s vision grew diffuse as bile inched up her throat.
After a quick look through the curtain revealed that the coast was clear, Gabi dove toward the exit. Though she wanted to bolt right through both doors to the nearest bathroom, she forced herself to support the first door behind her as it closed to prevent it from slamming before opening the second. She couldn’t recall
