Read Online Split Infinity by Thalia Kalkipsakis - Free Book Online
Authors: Thalia Kalkipsakis
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chorus of voices.
There’s a traffic deadlock too, but we’re nearly at the hospital before I see the cause. A group of protesters is holding up signs and chanting about democracy and citizen rights. They keep re-triggering the crossing point, too, so only a single batch of cars makes it through each green. A line of police officers stands at attention to one side, trying not to show any expression as they watch the protesters. They don’t seem to be doing anything about it. So far, at least.
It’s so difficult manoeuvring through the crowd that we decide to stash the bike in a rack across from the hospital. The lock needs a swipe to engage but we just rest the wheel in position and hope that no-one notices.
Mason holds my shoulders. ‘I’ll be watching, okay?’
On tiptoes, I reach around his neck as he pulls me close, holding tight, both of us holding back the rest of the day.
It doesn’t feel right, leaving him here, but we’ve already agreed that it’s safer if I go in alone. With Mason out here, he might have a chance of helping if anything goes wrong. He’ll be able to hack in and view everything via the CCTV footage throughout the hospital.
I also don’t want to draw Mason in more that I already have. Much as I’m reeling after finding out about Boc, I can’t help feeling like I have him sitting on my shoulder. You’re putting us all in danger .
I pull back, and Mason lifts two fingers. I give him a tiny smile in return. Be careful. Stay safe .
I follow the crowd across the street, sticking close with the flow of the people making their way to the main entrance and out of sight from security cameras. The hospital has a couple of cameras near the double door so I keep my head down, careful not to stand out, using the crowd around me as a screen. People line the edge of the footpath leading to the hospital entrance, some sitting and others leaning against the wall. It’s as if they’ve been here for hours, maybe days, but I’m not sure if this is a queue or the place where people wait for someone they know who’s being treated.
At one point I catch the eye of a girl with sharp cheeks and deep, dark eye sockets. It’s hard to tell how old she is. She looks frail but childlike at the same time. When she opens her mouth I think she’s about to say something but then she shuts it slowly and the muscles in her face tighten.
She glances down and I realise she’s holding a baby, its head showing above a blue knitted blanket and one arm dangling out the side. Mid-stride, I hesitate. The colour of the baby’s skin is wrong, grey-white and lifeless.
The girl holding the bundle lifts her eyes to mine, sort of pained and questioning, but by now the momentum of the crowd has built up behind me. Even as I strain to see over my shoulder, I’m pushed forwards and she disappears from view. I try not to look sideways much after that.
The emergency wing is to the left of the main entrance, obvious from the sirens and shouts, so I turn right into the admittance hall, walking freer as the crowd spreads. I’d planned to use the eastern stairwell, but I change my mind and join the queue for the bank of elevators, finding safety in numbers again. Acid trickles in my nearly-empty stomach as I wait. I’ve lived on low rations before, but this is something else. This is starvation.
When we reach the front I shuffle past the others swiping before they each tap a floor number. I find a place near the back, acting as if my floor has been selected by someone else. Alistair is on the eleventh, second from the top, so I follow a tall guy who gets out on the ninth. With my head high I stride straight to the fire exit.
It’s safe in the stairwell, no cameras or motion sensors when I checked, so I take the stairs two a time. When I make it to the top I get this massive head rush. This used to happen sometimes when I was sharing Mum’s rations. I need to be careful not to waste too much energy.
Two hands gripping the
There’s a traffic deadlock too, but we’re nearly at the hospital before I see the cause. A group of protesters is holding up signs and chanting about democracy and citizen rights. They keep re-triggering the crossing point, too, so only a single batch of cars makes it through each green. A line of police officers stands at attention to one side, trying not to show any expression as they watch the protesters. They don’t seem to be doing anything about it. So far, at least.
It’s so difficult manoeuvring through the crowd that we decide to stash the bike in a rack across from the hospital. The lock needs a swipe to engage but we just rest the wheel in position and hope that no-one notices.
Mason holds my shoulders. ‘I’ll be watching, okay?’
On tiptoes, I reach around his neck as he pulls me close, holding tight, both of us holding back the rest of the day.
It doesn’t feel right, leaving him here, but we’ve already agreed that it’s safer if I go in alone. With Mason out here, he might have a chance of helping if anything goes wrong. He’ll be able to hack in and view everything via the CCTV footage throughout the hospital.
I also don’t want to draw Mason in more that I already have. Much as I’m reeling after finding out about Boc, I can’t help feeling like I have him sitting on my shoulder. You’re putting us all in danger .
I pull back, and Mason lifts two fingers. I give him a tiny smile in return. Be careful. Stay safe .
I follow the crowd across the street, sticking close with the flow of the people making their way to the main entrance and out of sight from security cameras. The hospital has a couple of cameras near the double door so I keep my head down, careful not to stand out, using the crowd around me as a screen. People line the edge of the footpath leading to the hospital entrance, some sitting and others leaning against the wall. It’s as if they’ve been here for hours, maybe days, but I’m not sure if this is a queue or the place where people wait for someone they know who’s being treated.
At one point I catch the eye of a girl with sharp cheeks and deep, dark eye sockets. It’s hard to tell how old she is. She looks frail but childlike at the same time. When she opens her mouth I think she’s about to say something but then she shuts it slowly and the muscles in her face tighten.
She glances down and I realise she’s holding a baby, its head showing above a blue knitted blanket and one arm dangling out the side. Mid-stride, I hesitate. The colour of the baby’s skin is wrong, grey-white and lifeless.
The girl holding the bundle lifts her eyes to mine, sort of pained and questioning, but by now the momentum of the crowd has built up behind me. Even as I strain to see over my shoulder, I’m pushed forwards and she disappears from view. I try not to look sideways much after that.
The emergency wing is to the left of the main entrance, obvious from the sirens and shouts, so I turn right into the admittance hall, walking freer as the crowd spreads. I’d planned to use the eastern stairwell, but I change my mind and join the queue for the bank of elevators, finding safety in numbers again. Acid trickles in my nearly-empty stomach as I wait. I’ve lived on low rations before, but this is something else. This is starvation.
When we reach the front I shuffle past the others swiping before they each tap a floor number. I find a place near the back, acting as if my floor has been selected by someone else. Alistair is on the eleventh, second from the top, so I follow a tall guy who gets out on the ninth. With my head high I stride straight to the fire exit.
It’s safe in the stairwell, no cameras or motion sensors when I checked, so I take the stairs two a time. When I make it to the top I get this massive head rush. This used to happen sometimes when I was sharing Mum’s rations. I need to be careful not to waste too much energy.
Two hands gripping the
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