“The girl’s eye is a mutation, and if all the children in her clan have the same one, as she claims, it means that their parents all did something that would produce that dramatic of an effect in their offspring.”
“And you think this has something to do with a drug.”
“What I was told, Miles, is that a group of greenie scientists were working on a drug to solve the problem of endangered animals. To help species that were dying out resist disease and extinction. They tried it on themselves and found that they were immune to every illness they tested. It would have been at least a year—nine months, of course—before they could find out that it had an effect on a developing fetus. And when they knew what they had, they escaped America for somewhere they could live undetected, in seclusion.”
“Just to hide their kids’ eyes?” I ask doubtfully.
My father sets his glass down on the counter and looks at me intently. “I’m guessing that they didn’t initially know what they had. But they stayed when they discovered they had stopped aging.”
“So that’s what Amrit is,” I say, confirming my theory from before—from when I saw Whit with my own eyes. “It’s a drug that stops aging.”
“If you want to get technical about it, Amrit doesn’t completely stop aging. But it slows it down to an imperceptible rate—at least that’s what Dr. Graves claims. It’s the holy grail, Miles. The fountain of youth. They have figured out how to cheat death.”
I just stare at Dad, at the greed on his face, and feel sick. “Not only do I think you’re all crazy,” I say, “but I think you’ve been duped.”
Dad holds a finger up, like he’s scolding me. “Believe it or not, it’s true. I’ve seen the test results. I’ve seen Mr. Graves himself. I know what’s possible with this drug, Miles. And Blackwell Pharmaceutical will own its patent.” He turns and leaves the room.
I’m not going to let this happen. When I hear his office door close, I sneak away to the carport and start cleaning out my car, leaving all the camping gear in the back. We’re going to need it. Hopefully soon.
60
JUNEAU
THE BUZZING IN MY EARS HAS FINALLY STOPPED. My vision is normal, but I feel shaky. And the last time I went to the bathroom, the nurse had to come over and help me walk. My legs feel like rubber bands.
No one knows what happened to me. The paramedic said I could have just fainted or had a panic attack. It could have been the stress of the last few days. All I know is that when Mr. Blackwell said what he did about the elders taking a drug and having mutant babies, something snapped in me. Maybe because it made sense. Maybe because I didn’t want it to be true. My clan’s lies are never-ending. We kids are experiments. The whole thought of it made me sick.
I am left alone with my thoughts and for once don’t want to be by myself. It’s just me and the realization that what Mr. Blackwell said about a drug is true. I didn’t make the connection before, didn’t realize that what I thought was a complicated ceremony to unite a person to the Yara could actually be broken down to one essential component. That the singing and dancing and arrangement of the body was just a farce. That the tying of elements to the hands and feet, the nine sips of pure water, the furs and feathers and candles and crystals were all symbols. Like Whit’s totems. They were all a sham.
Only a second of the eight-hour ceremony counted for anything, and that was when the concoction of plants and minerals was poured down the initiate’s throat. It was a drug. And it had a name: Amrit.
I didn’t think I could feel any worse, but this has made me numb with shock. United with the Yara? What a joke. I have a bitter taste in my mouth, and if I weren’t sitting in someone’s nice bedroom, I would spit.
I hear the sound of a door slamming, and a minute later the roar of a car engine starting up and driving off. Miles bursts into the room. “Dad just got called into the office for something urgent. We’ve got to get you out of here before he gets back. The closer Dad thinks he’s getting to the truth, the more pressure he’s going to put on you. You’re never going to be able to get away until he gets what he wants, and maybe not even after that.”
Miles grabs my shoes from beside the door and hands them to me. “The nurse is watching TV. If we go out the back, she won’t see us leave the house, but she can see my car out of the window. And if she sees you outside, she’ll definitely phone my dad to let him know. Do you think you could do your disappearing act for the length of time it takes you to walk from the side of the house until you get into the car?”
I nod, although I’m not really sure. I lace up my second shoe and rise unsteadily to my feet. Miles puts an arm around me, and we tiptoe out of the bedroom and down a corridor to a glass door leading out to a flagstone patio. Miles turns the key in the lock and opens the door, careful not to make a noise.
We slip out onto the patio, and I follow Miles around the side of the house. He looks at the car, and then points to the front window. The nurse is sitting facing the window, watching an enormous flat-screen TV that is to one side of it, but with a clear view down the drive.
“I’m going to walk first, open the car door, and hesitate a second before I get in. If you can slip past me in through the driver’s-side door and stay invisible until we drive off, the nurse will think it’s only me who left.”
“Okay, just give me a second,” I say, and closing my eyes, I take a deep breath. Suddenly losing my equilibrium, I stumble, and Miles reaches out to grab my shoulder.
“Are you okay?” he asks, his brow knit with worry.
I nod. “Closing eyes—not a good idea,” I say. “I don’t know if I’m going to be able to connect to the Yara while standing up. I’m still so dizzy.”
“Okay, how about if you hold on to me while you walk. Would that work?” he asks.
“Let’s try,” I say, and looping my arm through his, put some of my weight on him. “Put your arm down a little, or it looks like you’re holding someone up.” Miles puts both of his hands in his front pockets, and I get a good grasp of his arm. “That’s perfect,” I say. “Now hold still.”
I stand, holding Miles’s right arm with both hands, and keep my eyes open this time. Metamorphosis, I think, and look at the colors around me. Green everywhere. The grass, bushes, and trees make an almost solid verdant backdrop, and I picture a chameleon in my mind, skin changing to meld in with its environment. I feel the Yara flash through my body like a lightning bolt as I change to resemble my surroundings.
“And you think this has something to do with a drug.”
“What I was told, Miles, is that a group of greenie scientists were working on a drug to solve the problem of endangered animals. To help species that were dying out resist disease and extinction. They tried it on themselves and found that they were immune to every illness they tested. It would have been at least a year—nine months, of course—before they could find out that it had an effect on a developing fetus. And when they knew what they had, they escaped America for somewhere they could live undetected, in seclusion.”
“Just to hide their kids’ eyes?” I ask doubtfully.
My father sets his glass down on the counter and looks at me intently. “I’m guessing that they didn’t initially know what they had. But they stayed when they discovered they had stopped aging.”
“So that’s what Amrit is,” I say, confirming my theory from before—from when I saw Whit with my own eyes. “It’s a drug that stops aging.”
“If you want to get technical about it, Amrit doesn’t completely stop aging. But it slows it down to an imperceptible rate—at least that’s what Dr. Graves claims. It’s the holy grail, Miles. The fountain of youth. They have figured out how to cheat death.”
I just stare at Dad, at the greed on his face, and feel sick. “Not only do I think you’re all crazy,” I say, “but I think you’ve been duped.”
Dad holds a finger up, like he’s scolding me. “Believe it or not, it’s true. I’ve seen the test results. I’ve seen Mr. Graves himself. I know what’s possible with this drug, Miles. And Blackwell Pharmaceutical will own its patent.” He turns and leaves the room.
I’m not going to let this happen. When I hear his office door close, I sneak away to the carport and start cleaning out my car, leaving all the camping gear in the back. We’re going to need it. Hopefully soon.
60
JUNEAU
THE BUZZING IN MY EARS HAS FINALLY STOPPED. My vision is normal, but I feel shaky. And the last time I went to the bathroom, the nurse had to come over and help me walk. My legs feel like rubber bands.
No one knows what happened to me. The paramedic said I could have just fainted or had a panic attack. It could have been the stress of the last few days. All I know is that when Mr. Blackwell said what he did about the elders taking a drug and having mutant babies, something snapped in me. Maybe because it made sense. Maybe because I didn’t want it to be true. My clan’s lies are never-ending. We kids are experiments. The whole thought of it made me sick.
I am left alone with my thoughts and for once don’t want to be by myself. It’s just me and the realization that what Mr. Blackwell said about a drug is true. I didn’t make the connection before, didn’t realize that what I thought was a complicated ceremony to unite a person to the Yara could actually be broken down to one essential component. That the singing and dancing and arrangement of the body was just a farce. That the tying of elements to the hands and feet, the nine sips of pure water, the furs and feathers and candles and crystals were all symbols. Like Whit’s totems. They were all a sham.
Only a second of the eight-hour ceremony counted for anything, and that was when the concoction of plants and minerals was poured down the initiate’s throat. It was a drug. And it had a name: Amrit.
I didn’t think I could feel any worse, but this has made me numb with shock. United with the Yara? What a joke. I have a bitter taste in my mouth, and if I weren’t sitting in someone’s nice bedroom, I would spit.
I hear the sound of a door slamming, and a minute later the roar of a car engine starting up and driving off. Miles bursts into the room. “Dad just got called into the office for something urgent. We’ve got to get you out of here before he gets back. The closer Dad thinks he’s getting to the truth, the more pressure he’s going to put on you. You’re never going to be able to get away until he gets what he wants, and maybe not even after that.”
Miles grabs my shoes from beside the door and hands them to me. “The nurse is watching TV. If we go out the back, she won’t see us leave the house, but she can see my car out of the window. And if she sees you outside, she’ll definitely phone my dad to let him know. Do you think you could do your disappearing act for the length of time it takes you to walk from the side of the house until you get into the car?”
I nod, although I’m not really sure. I lace up my second shoe and rise unsteadily to my feet. Miles puts an arm around me, and we tiptoe out of the bedroom and down a corridor to a glass door leading out to a flagstone patio. Miles turns the key in the lock and opens the door, careful not to make a noise.
We slip out onto the patio, and I follow Miles around the side of the house. He looks at the car, and then points to the front window. The nurse is sitting facing the window, watching an enormous flat-screen TV that is to one side of it, but with a clear view down the drive.
“I’m going to walk first, open the car door, and hesitate a second before I get in. If you can slip past me in through the driver’s-side door and stay invisible until we drive off, the nurse will think it’s only me who left.”
“Okay, just give me a second,” I say, and closing my eyes, I take a deep breath. Suddenly losing my equilibrium, I stumble, and Miles reaches out to grab my shoulder.
“Are you okay?” he asks, his brow knit with worry.
I nod. “Closing eyes—not a good idea,” I say. “I don’t know if I’m going to be able to connect to the Yara while standing up. I’m still so dizzy.”
“Okay, how about if you hold on to me while you walk. Would that work?” he asks.
“Let’s try,” I say, and looping my arm through his, put some of my weight on him. “Put your arm down a little, or it looks like you’re holding someone up.” Miles puts both of his hands in his front pockets, and I get a good grasp of his arm. “That’s perfect,” I say. “Now hold still.”
I stand, holding Miles’s right arm with both hands, and keep my eyes open this time. Metamorphosis, I think, and look at the colors around me. Green everywhere. The grass, bushes, and trees make an almost solid verdant backdrop, and I picture a chameleon in my mind, skin changing to meld in with its environment. I feel the Yara flash through my body like a lightning bolt as I change to resemble my surroundings.
