The Queer Rebels

Chapter 40: Deteriorating

Christopher doesn't even give me time to grab my binder before he leads me out of the sleeping area. I cross my arms over my chest self-consciously as we walk past the half-wall that surrounds the rows of sleeping forms and walk into the back offices.

When we make it to Christopher's private room, Sequoia is already there. She is sitting on the folding chair, which she has pulled up to the cot.

Harry is sitting up, fingers pressed to his temples. His skin is wan and his eyes are wide.

Watching Harry struggle, I can't help but think of the first time I saw him. His confidence as he led me through the tunnels under the Choosing Day Center. Seeing him like this now, reduced to a trembling, fearful shell, makes my stomach twist in knots. Is this what will happen to Marcy if the city has its way?

Christopher looks over at me. "He's been like this for an hour. Not saying anything. Just in pain."

In the orange glow from the single lamp, I see beads of sweat along Harry's forehead.

Sequoia turns to me. "We need to know everything he said when you rescued him."

"Eli's went back home," Christopher adds. "I can try to radio to him in the morning, but for now, please. Tell us what you can remember."

I nod and step forward, sitting on the foot of the cot. "Well, we already told you about the screen he was watching when we found him."

"Did you see what was on it?" Sequoia asks.

"No." I shake my head. "And when Eli knocked it out of his hands it slid across the floor and–and I didn't think to look."

"Probably better that you didn't," Christopher says, eyes darting over to Sequoia and then back to me. "Especially if it was somehow hypnotizing Harry."

I try to think about what happened next, but so much of my memory is lost to the fog of adrenaline. "Everything happened so fast, but there were two times he woke up enough to speak."

Sequoia and Christopher both stare at me, waiting for me to continue. Harry is rocking back and forth, letting out one long low moan.

"First, he told us there was a bomb in his head," I say.

"A bomb?" Christopher's eyes widen, and he steps closer to Harry.

"When he woke up again later, I asked him what he meant, and he just said that the city messed with his mind," I continue. "But, really, he didn't say much else. I don't know what he remembers."

Christopher reaches out and brushes the top of Harry's head. "Oh, baby," he sighs.

Harry flinches at the touch, eyes wild. "They're watching. They know," he whispers, voice hoarse with fear. "We can't trust anything. Anyone."

Christopher crouches down, concern carved deep in the lines of his face. "Harry, it's just us. You're safe here."

But Harry shakes his head violently. "No, you don't understand. They're inside my head. They can see, hear... everything." He grips the sides of his head, as if trying to keep his thoughts contained.

Sequoia exchanges a worried glance with Christopher. "We need to understand what's happening to him. There must be something we can do."

"Let's get Amelia," Christopher says, referencing the orderly who told me to run on my Choosing Day. The one who also worked as a doctor in the old compound's clinic. The doctor who, along with Harry, helped me transition. He takes out his com-device and types out a message.

Despite the early hour, it's only minutes later when she walks into the room, her blond hair pulled back in its familiar bun, a suitcase rolling behind her.