Outside In. Maria Snyder V.
a decent, reliable person, she failed.
“But your arm—”
“I can do it.”
“One handed?”
“Riley will help. We’ll keep an eye on everyone for you. If there’s an emergency, we’ll wake you.” I gave Riley a significant look.
Understanding my hint, he released my hand and led Lamont back to her bedroom.
I sorted supplies. Since the majority of the injuries from the accident had been cuts, we were low on sutures. I would need to restock them.
“Why did she listen to you and not me?” Riley asked when he returned.
I shrugged. “She thinks I’d be a good doctor.”
“Like her?”
“Don’t start.” I almost growled at him.
He kept pestering me to test my blood. I couldn’t make him understand that the result wouldn’t change my opinion of her.
“We’re running out of supplies. Has anyone opened all the crates found in the Expanse?” I asked.
“Not yet.”
“Somebody should go through the crates and inventory them.”
“Good idea, you should bring it up at the next Committee meeting. Oh, wait.” He smacked his head as if remembering something. “Since it’s a good idea, it will be promptly ignored.”
“They have a ton of decisions to make. Just give them time to sort everything out.”
“You’re defending them?” Riley cupped my cheek. “Are you feeling ill? Headache? Fever?”
I swatted his hand away. “I’m serious.”
“And this change in opinion is due to …”
“I realized they have a tough job and I shouldn’t be so critical. Especially since I’m no longer a part of the Committee.”
He gaped at me. “What did you just say?”
“I resigned. They don’t need me. I’m going to explore, and now I’ll have time to go through those crates.”
“I think that’s a bad idea.”
“What? Inventorying the crates or exploring?”
“Resigning.”
“Why? I’ll have more time for …. Sheepy. I’m sure he misses me.”
“Sheepy can wait. You’re the voice of reason. You’ve seen both sides.”
“They don’t listen to me. I’m too young.”
“You led the rebellion.”
“And almost all the people who were involved are on the Committee—Domotor, Hana, Takia, Breana, Jacy and your father. If you really think about it, I started it, but Jacy, Anne-Jade, Logan and the rest finished the rebellion. This is the same thing. The Committee has it covered. I’m just in the way.”
Riley tried to argue, but I didn’t want to dwell on how useless I was in those meetings. I handed him the antiseptic and pointed to the gash on my arm. He grumbled, but helped to clean and then suture the cut. Although a bit awkward, he didn’t balk when it was time to pierce my skin with the needle. That part tended to unnerve potential interns. I shouldn’t be surprised. He had assisted Lamont with surgery in our storeroom when a Pop Cop had knifed me. Maybe he should be the one to train with Lamont.
When he finished tying the last stitch, I examined his handiwork. Yet another scar on my arm. Between Vinco’s knife and my various injuries, I resembled one of those striped tigers listed in the computer files. A wild animal we had left behind. Why we left, I’d no idea, but I was sure Logan’s efforts to find the original files for Inside would be successful. Then we would know everything.
After Riley and I finished checking on all the patients, I showered and changed into clean clothes. Since I no longer traveled through the air ducts and pipes, I wore the comfortable light green V-neck shirt and pants Lamont and the other caretakers wore. Yes, I realized the irony, but since I was only 1.6 meters tall, only a few uniform types fit me—unless I wanted to wear the student jumpers. And I wasn’t about to go around Inside wearing my air scrubbing uniform or the surgery whites—a special white fabric worn during an operation that allowed the blood stains and other fluids to be easily bleached clean.
After my shower, I returned to the infirmary and organized the mess left by the Big Shake. Riley went to search for his father. Their rooms were located in Sector E4, cattycornered to the power plant, but he wasn’t too worried.
“He didn’t come to the infirmary on level four,” Riley had said. “I doubt he’s hurt, but I want to make sure.”
As I worked, people stopped by to look for loved ones and to visit the injured. Everyone seemed dazed, and I wondered how long it would take them to recover.
Hana Mineko arrived to record the names of the injured. She carried a portable computer—one of Logan’s new devices. Not only a member of the Force of Sheep, she had also been involved with Domotor’s first effort to regain control of Inside from the Trava family. Now she was a member of the Committee.
Her black curly hair, usually fixed in an intricate knot, hung in messy clumps. Dirt smudged her cheek and scratches marked her petite nose.
When she finished, I asked her how bad it was.
Pressing a few buttons on her computer, she said, “So far, I’ve listed five hundred and three.” Hana glanced at my forehead. “Make that five hundred and four injured and sixty-six to be recycled.”
My heart lurched and I put a hand to my chest. “That many are going to Chomper? Are you sure? The blast wasn’t that strong.”
“The number is unfortunately accurate and bound to increase slightly. It could have been worse,” Hana said. “The explosion happened between levels four and three. The hardest hit areas were Sectors F3 and F4, which houses apartments for the uppers. If the blast had been in the lower two levels, the scrub barracks in Sectors F2 and F1 would have been in the line of fire, and thousands would now be waiting for Chomper.” She swept a hand, gesturing to the far wall of the infirmary. “Another piece of luck, the energy went south. If it had gone west, this place would have been torn to bits. You and Doctor Lamont would be waiting for Chomper. And if it had blown to the east or north …”
Horrified, I stared at her. “Was it strong enough?”
“To punch a hole to Outside?”
A disaster that would cause the end of our world. “Yes.”
“We don’t know yet. Maintenance is looking into it.”
At the start of week 147,020, another announcement played. It had been thirty hours since the accident—looking at how much we’ve done in the meantime, thirty hours seemed an impossibly short time. The mechanical voice—which I had been correct in assuming was the computer’s automatic safety system—informed us maintenance had bypassed the damaged sections of the power plant and operations have resumed.
Once again electricity and heat were being generated and we would be up to full capacity in a matter of hours.
A new voice, sounding like Hana, requested helpers to assist with cleanup in Sector B4. One of the water storage tanks had ruptured. I imagined rust growing on the walls and floor of B4, spreading like a disease.
During the week, the infirmary emptied as people healed. About mid-week, I finally had a few hours to myself. I decided to inspect the damaged areas, starting with Sector F3.
In the back of my mind, I knew the force of the blast had been significant. But to see a huge jagged hole, crinkled metal and scorch marks was a whole other experience. A number of apartments had been destroyed. Wires hung to the floor and water dripped and