I scowl at him. “Why can’t I decide for myself?”
He rests his forehead against mine. “Amy, I’ve compromised my character in so many areas,” he admits, his voice thick with emotion. “And I’m ashamed of all the times I hurt you. Don’t push me on this. Please.”
After a moment, working past my selfishness and disappointment, I nod.
He leads me to a shady spot overlooking a large pond. We stretch out on the grass, Kane pillowing his head on Mel’s backpack, while I rest my cheek on his chest. We cuddle and kiss and our talk drifts lazily from one purposefully harmless topic to the next.
At one point, I ask, “When this is all over what—”
Kane silences me with a kiss. “No talk about the future,” he breathes against my lips. “Not now. Let’s just give ourselves this moment.”
60
HEATHER
––––––––
Wednesday, July 21
[EXTRACT FROM HEATHER’S LOG NOTES]
Day six of dosing. I don’t want to enter room 220. I pace the corridor until Glen makes a sarcastic comment and I know I have to go in.
There’s a large, shaved patch on each of the beagles’ necks. Glen tells me the dogs are having blood drawn every day. One more level of discomfort to add to an already intolerable experience.
I don’t look at Turbo. Not with Glen standing next to me.
I turn to examine the high-dose dogs. One of them seems to be having a severe reaction to the test substance. He’s lying on his side in his cage, panting, his eyes glassy and unfocused.
“He’s not going to make it past the next two hours,” Glen says.
I’m taking a huge risk, but I can’t stay silent. “I think we should put him out of his misery.”
“I agree,” Glen says, surprising me.
He leaves the room to speak to both the study director and the sponsor to see if they will authorize euthanasia.
The moment the door closes behind Glen, I carefully lift the beagle out of his cage and cradle him in my lap. I don’t care if my actions arouse anyone’s suspicions. I stroke the beagle, but I think he’s too far gone to receive any comfort. That doesn’t stop me. I want him to know someone loves him beforehe dies.
I blink back tears. I’ll cry for him later. Someone has to mourn him. It isn’t right that there’s no one to grieve for him or remember him. I make a promise to remember all of them.
Glen walks in with the study director and the sponsor and they position themselves around me. I don’t look up at them and no one rebukes me for taking the beagle out of his cage.
“Let’s give it a while,” the sponsor says. “See what happens.”
It takes the beagle twenty minutes to die. Glen takes the body away to the necropsy room.
I get to my feet. I’m dimly aware that the study director is talking to me about not getting attached to any of the animals at SolomiChem. He isn’t suspicious. None of them are. Apparently, this happens regularly to new-on-the-job technicians.
“You’ll get used to it,” the study director tells me.
Like that’s a goal I’m supposed to aim for.
We leave the room. It’s only when the door closes behind me that I realize I haven’t checked on Turbo.
#
Later that afternoon, I see a piece of paper taped to the door of Turbo’s room. Heart hammering, I read the note. It’s a sacrifice order. They’re going to kill the dogs,kill Turbo, tomorrow. Two weeks ahead of schedule.
