Page 34

Atta

They fell into a delicate rhythm after the evening Murdoch apologised.

It was still tense, thrumming with something Atta couldn’t quite put her finger on, but he gave her more to do, and would sometimes even carry on conversations with her. She discovered the book he’d been reading when they’d first met was a work of fiction,The Prisoner of Zendaby Anthony Hope. It took some cajoling, but he’d even told her what it was about, and Atta suggested he watchPrincess Bridebecause it sounded similar to her.

He’d smiled then, a small thing that looked as if it pained him a bit. “I don’t get to see many films.”

Then, the conversation was over and they went about their work separately, Atta marking papers and Murdoch scratching away at a notepad.

“Did you read about the section of campus they’re blocking off to bury some of the Infected?” she ventured a few days later when she brought him coffee between classes.

Atta watched Murdoch’s jaw clench. “I did. Yes.”

“It’s strange, isn't it? All this time we’ve been told it’s important to burn them. What changed? The article said the Medical College was taking part in the research to stop the Plague. Is that you? I would assume Pathology and Morbid Anatomy would be the perfect department for tha?—”

“Those matters are not to be discussed here.”

Atta swallowed the rest of her words and busied herself with other things until her next lecture and shift at the morgue.

By the time she made it to Achilles House that night, she was surviving off of caffeine and a petrol station chicken fillet roll she would undoubtedly regret soon. But it was worth it.

The Unidentified Infected numbers were still low. The Plague had its tendrils further into the flesh of society leaving more and more mourners behind, and Atta without subjects. There had, however, been one Unidentified that day. When Carl arrived for the TBB, she lied and told him the body had been identified, and that it would be buried in the new Trinity Cemetery. Carl left and Atta sliced, rejuvenated by the prospect of the first subject in what felt like ages.

Her heart fell when there were no signs of flora, but she still found something grossly interesting. The blood around the cadaver’s heart had not only turned black but congealed into a loamy mess that resembled used coffee grounds or— Atta had gasped.Soil. She quickly made her notes, sewed the body shut, and hauled it into her car.

The door opened before she could finish knocking. Gold Stitch stared down at her, the light glinting off his goggles. “You haven’t been here in two weeks.”

“Wow. Thanks for the history lesson.”

“That body better be for me.”

“Isn’t this whole shindig yours?”

She couldn’t see his face, but she knew it was snide. “I need a Stage 3, and you know it.”

This piqued her interest. “Is that what you call it—the flora phenomenon? How many stages are there? What marks the other stages?”

Gold Stitch stepped out onto the stoop, causing her to back up, descending to the gravel. She didn’t like him higher than her, peering down.

“Stop asking questions.” He came down the steps and walked past her to her car. She opened the boot for him and he cursed, really a rather colourful display hissed through the beak of his mask. “You opened the corpse again. A–” He abruptly broke off. “You have to stop opening them. It jeopardises the integrity of the research.”

“How am I supposed to know if there are signs of flora if I don’t open them, Sherlock?”

The sigh that escaped him was so long she thought it might be his final breath. “I foolishly assumed you were aware of the outward signs.”

Her banter slipped away into the cold night air. “Wait. How did I miss that?”

Gold Stitch lifted a shoulder, impatience in the set of his limbs.

Had she, though? Missed it? “Do you mean the black veins?”

“Especially in the eyes.”

Atta gnawed on her bottom lip. She had put that together internally, perhaps even in her notes, but it hadn’t fully registered. . .

She squinted at Gold Stitch. “What’s your name, hm?”

He didn’t answer her, only strode back toward the door.