Page 89 of Blue Arrow Island
So that’s something. I’m finally completely alone and safe for the first time since I got to this island.
I lie down in my clothes, covering myself up to the waist with the blanket.Maybe tomorrow will be boring, I think as I drift off to sleep.
Somehow, though, I doubt it. Especially if I spend any amount of time around Marcus.
27
Test subject horses showed dramatic increase in aggression and agitation. We are moving too quickly on trials, but Mr. Whitman is insistent that we have a usable compound within the next sixty days. The team is operating on very little sleep.
– Excerpt from the journal of Dr. Randall McClain
Lazy swirls of drifting snowflakes float on a light breeze as I wait outside the tunnel for Ellison several hours later. On this steamy day, the flakes fizzle and disappear as soon as they hit the ground.
It’s bright and sunny, the snow falling from a massive dark cloud that doesn’t fit in with the rest of the clear, blue sky. I’ve added artificial microclimates to the growing list of things on this bizarre island I wish I could talk to my mom about.
“Briar.” Ellison greets me with a bright smile. “It’s good to see you. Let’s go to my office.”
She leads me down into the tunnel, keying in a code to open the door. I can’t help thinking about the last time I took this path, with Vance beside me.
Ellison nods to two men who are walking in the opposite direction, waiting until they’re out of earshot to say, “How are you feeling today?”
“I’m fine. I got a few good hours of sleep.”
“Good.”
It took me no time at all to fall asleep in Marcus’s bed, and I didn’t hate waking up surrounded by the scents of saltwater, leather, and soap on his bedsheets. He was already gone when I unlocked the door and left in search of a bathroom.
On the table, he left me a fresh bar of soap, a towel, toothpaste and a toothbrush, a piece of paper on top of the pile bearing a handwritten note.
Briar,
You’re off work duty in the garden until further notice. Take the time you need. Find me if you need anything.
Marcus
Reading my name in his handwriting gave me butterflies. Ridiculous. I feel like a teenager with a crush, only I’m a grown-ass twenty-four-year-old woman who knows better.
Acting on feelings is a death sentence in the new world order. Even though I rely on logic, intuition, and experience, I’ve had several near misses with an eternal nap. I have to stay sharp, which means no more closing my eyes and breathing in the smell of Marcus’s pillow like a lunatic.
Ellison leads me down a hallway and through another secured door that requires a code for entry, and then into a room that takes me aback.
Shelves on the walls are lined with plants, artificial lights above casting them in wide arcs of brightness. Other shelves hold glass jars of medical supplies like gauze, pills, and dried, crushed plants.
There’s a loveseat with a blanket folded neatly over one side, and colorful paintings crowd the walls. It’s maximalist, with no rhyme or reason. An oil painting of a Black woman carrying a basket on her head hangs next to a watercolor of a portly pink pig with aviator goggles flying through the sky, his wings minuscule.
Tears prick my eyes and I clear my throat. This is the warmest, coziest room I’ve been in since before the virus. The last time I was in a place that gave me this feeling, it was my mom’s office. She had a freestanding office behind our home with a big greenhouse attached to it. The vibe was plants, comfy furniture and bright colors, and I loved it.
“Please sit.” Ellison gestures at the loveseat, sitting down in a wooden rocking chair.
I sit on the loveseat, breathing in the scent of eucalyptus. It’s one of my favorite smells.
“This place is beautiful,” I say.
“Thank you. Nova calls it my den of organized chaos.”
I smile. “My mom had one of those, too.”
“You said she was a scientist, right?”
