Chapter Text
After bidding Zosia goodnight, Carol left the room just in time to catch Dr. Lawrens’ retreating figure striding down the hall.
Carol raced to catch up with her. “Dr. Lawrens.”
The doctor spun around with a haughty grimace. “What?”
“You bought her ice cream.”
“What?”
“Mango ice cream,” said Carol. “Her favorite.”
“Well,” said Lawrens. “She was injured. I thought it would make her feel better.”
“You care about her, don’t you?”
“I’m a doctor,” Lawrens insisted, “I care about all my patients.”
“That’s more than I can say about the other doctors around here.”
“What do you want, Ms. Sturka?”
Carol crossed her arms and stood straighter as though trying very hard to intimidate this gorgeous, intelligent asshole. “Do you have some kinda problem with me?” she said. “Why are you being such a bitch?”
“It’s not like you’ve been extra gracious with me.”
“Well can you blame me?” Carol spat. “You’re in league with the people hurting her. The people… forcing her to have seizures, interrogating her, drugging her, raping her—”
“Are you going to tell me, Carol Sturka,” Lawrens growled, “That you didn’t do every single one of those things to her already?”
Carol blinked, her train of righteous indignance roadblocked without warning. “What?”
“I talked to her. A few days ago,” Lawrens explained. “I’ve found that she really opens up when she’s in a more relaxed environment. Just talking, not interrogating.”
Carol bit her lip, quite certain she knew exactly what Zosia had told Lawrens. Todo.
“She told me everything,” the doctor continued. “She told me about how Carol Sturka would scream at her till it went black, about how she put her in the hospital with a hand grenade and how she drugged her and questioned her until her heart stopped beating. She told me how Carol Sturka touched her, how she made her feel so good every single night, and how she returned the favor. Anything to make Carol Sturka happy.”
“I…—”
“You’re sorry, right?” said Lawrens. “That doesn’t change what was done to u— to her.”
“Look, I know what I did was wrong. There isn’t a day that goes by where I don’t hate myself for it, and I wish she could hate me for it, too.”
Lawrens regarded Carol with an expression of utter disgust. But agreement, too—at least they both hated Carol for what she’d done.
“I want to help her, okay?” Carol continued. “But I need your help.”
Lawrens watched her for a very long time, as though considering the fine print of some unspoken contract, and then glanced pointedly at the security cameras and more pointedly at the guards that lined the halls.
“Y’know, Doc,” said Carol, catching on. “I’ve been getting these migraines. Probably nothing, but couldn’t hurt to see a neurologist.” She pulled out a pen and wrote Manousos’ address on Lawrens’ hand. “Say, do you do house calls?”
“Carol Sturka,” said Manousos, “Why are you cleaning my house?”
“Because,” Carol called over the roar of the vacuum as she cleaned her own crumbs from his carpet. “We are going to have guests.”
“...What?”
She shut off the vacuum and began tidying up the coffee table. “The medic from the Pentagon and Zosia’s neurologist are coming by today.”
“...What?”
“And I want the place to look like a depressed alcoholic is not sleeping on your couch.”
“...What?”
“Which part of this are you not understanding?”
“Okay, new question,” said Manousos. “Why?”
“Well,” said Carol, fluffing a couch cushion. “I can’t really talk about our plan to break Zosia out of the Pentagon at the Pentagon, can I?”
“...What?”
Now, Carol was bringing out her quite literally world-famous pink lemonade while Maxwell, Lawrens, and Manousos sat around the coffee table with an assortment of eager and skeptical facades.
“Thanks for coming,” said Carol. “Um. You guys know why I asked you here.” She paused. “I mean, you do know why I asked you here, right? Because otherwise this might get kinda messy. Doc, I don’t really have a migraine.”
“I know, Carol,” said Dr. Lawrens. “I have a PhD. I understand the concept of subtext.”
“Okay, the Others were so literal all the time so sometimes I’m not used to—” Carol started. “Okay. So we’re all in agreement here, right? We want to find a way to get Zosia out of that prison.”
“It is not going to be easy,” said Lawrens. “Zosia is a very powerful asset, and the security is very tight. Her intellectual abilities are extraordinary. My superiors do not want that power in anyone else’s hands.”
“She’s an atom bomb,” Carol muttered, mostly to herself. “Dr. Lawrens, how much sway do you have over what Zosia does and where she goes?”
“More, now,” said Lawrens. “The general has been impressed with my work. He is allowing me more authority.”
“Good,” said Carol. “That’s good. Are there any other exits in the lab? Or her cell, or any of the other rooms you guys take her to?”
Maxwell unfurled a roll of blueprints and laid them on the coffee table, weighing them down at the corners with glasses of lemonade. “No. I got these schematics from Vinnie. Looks like all the labs, interrogation rooms, and cells only have a single exit. Makes sense; they are built for security.”
“Okay. Fine.” Carol thought for a moment. “Maybe… The yard? Is there a way out that way?”
Maxwell shook her head, pointing at the map. “There’s an emergency stairwell here, but the door to exit the facility at the bottom requires a special code to open. None of us have it. Vinnie wouldn’t, either. It’s only accessible to a small number of high-ranking officials in case of a fire or a coordinated attack.”
Carol leaned back. “What kind of emergency exit needs a code to open?”
“The kind at the Pentagon, apparently,” said Maxwell. “They’d rather their soldiers burn in a fire than risk their secrets getting out.”
Carol grunted in frustration and rested her head in her hands. “Wait a sec.” She popped her head up, “Do you guys think they’ve changed any of those codes since the Unjoining?”
Maxwell shrugged. “Probably not. Everyone’s ID badges still work and the people who need the codes would still remember them. The codes I use for her cell and the medical ward are the same. Trying to change all those combinations while simultaneously restructuring after the Unjoining would be needlessly complicated.”
“Right. So, hypothetically,” said Carol. “Zosia would know the code. She’d remember it from when she was all the officials that had access to it.”
“I have made progress with her,” Lawrens cautioned, “But Zosia is still very confused and she does not have control over what information she can access in her own mind. I do not think she has the presence of mind to be able to recall a code on a door in the Pentagon.”
“We have some time,” said Carol. “I mean, she is too injured to make a great escape right now, anyway. Doc, can you work with her on numbers for the next few weeks? Get her to start remembering sequences and codes, phone numbers and stuff? See if she can tell you how to get through that door?”
“Carol,” said Lawrens. “She suffers from acute amnesia and is extremely psychologically disturbed. I’ll work with her on it, but it is very unlikely that we will be able to fish a nine-digit code out of her head. Even if she tells us something, it might just be a random string of numbers. Haft has been trying to get foreign coordinates out of her for months. She just can’t remember, or if she does, she doesn’t know how to communicate it to us.”
“Maybe that’s the problem. Remembering, communicating.” Carol explained, “She told me...— Back then, she told me they have muscle memory. Well, she didn’t tell me—she said I sucked—but they do. Have you seen her artwork? If you ask her to describe what she’s drawing, she barely knows what she’s saying. But her hand knows how to draw, her muscles remember how ten million artists did it. Maybe she can’t remember the numbers consciously, but when she sees the door, she might be able to punch in the code.”
“It’s kind of a plan,” said Maxwell. “Three incorrect codes locks down the door, though, so she’ll need to get it right.”
“She will.”
Manousos grunted. “There is one other problem: how do we get her through without her guards seeing?”
“We need a distraction,” said Carol. “Something big enough that they’ll forget all about their precious little experiment for a second.”
“We were supposed to report our findings to the President this week,” said Lawrens. “I am sure they’ll push it back because she is injured. Gives us time to prepare. And with the President around—”
“—Security will be more concerned with keeping people out than keeping them in,” said Carol. “But wait, if you’re gonna be showing her off, all eyes will be on Zosia. That’s what we don’t want.”
“Not if they think the President’s in danger,” Maxwell muttered. Carol's eyes were all confusion until she looked down and saw Maxwell’s hand move to grip the military-issue handgun on her belt.
“Maxwell,” said Carol. “If you shoot the fucking President, you will go to jail forever.”
“I won’t shoot him,” said Maxwell. “I’ll load it with a blank. The sound of a bullet will be enough. It will be chaos. No one will look at Zosia, they know she can’t hurt anyone. It’s the perfect opportunity to slip out. Everyone will go right for the sound of the gun.”
“You mean they’ll go right for you,” said Carol.
“Carol,” said Maxwell. “I joined the military because I wanted to help people. I became a medic because I wanted to help people. But I still couldn’t help my sister.” She smiled sadly. “Let me help Zosia.”
Carol swallowed and nodded. “Lawrens, can you convince them to let you meet with the President in the courtyard instead of the lab?”
Lawrens nodded. “Zosia’s gotten much better at being outside. I can frame it as a way to demonstrate her progress.”
“Hold on—Zosia already gets kind of twitchy outside,” said Carol. “Is she gonna be okay when there’s gunshots and shouting and chaos? We can’t risk her freaking out, and we definitely can’t risk a seizure.”
“She will likely be overstimulated,” said Lawrens. “It might make it hard for her to follow instructions. But she’s your chaperone, Carol. Nothing is more important to her than making you happy. She will do what you tell her to. We just have to make sure no one screams at her directly. Hopefully they’ll be too busy screaming at—”
“Me,” said Maxwell.
“Dr. Lawrens,” said Carol. “Can you get them to let me be there with her when you present her to the President? Maybe tell them I can keep her calm and help her answer questions?”
“Yes,” said Lawrens. “Haft has already begrudgingly approved your presence at her exams and outings. He doesn’t like it, but he knows that you are useful. It might take some convincing, but I can definitely get him to get you approved to be there.”
“What will happen if the President uses our door as his escape? The Secret Service will have all of the passcodes,” said Manousos.
“He won’t,” said Maxwell. “I’ll ask Vinnie to advise that the President be positioned closer to the main entrance. I won’t tell him why. It makes more sense from a security standpoint, anyway. No one is going to want to squeeze into a tight, unlocked stairwell with a blocked exit when there’s a shooter on the loose—they will head for the secure rooms in the main building. We should have the emergency exit all to ourselves.”
“Great,” said Carol. “Manousos, you have government plates. You can park right up close to the building, yeah?”
“I will need to be approved by Secret Service when the President is there,” said Manousos. “But yes, I can.”
“Then you’ll be our getaway driver.” She pointed at the map. “As soon as we come out of this door here, you’ll be waiting for me and Zosia.”
“And me,” said Lawrens. Carol and Manousos cocked their heads at her. “Look, as soon as they start investigating, I will have already incriminated myself by pulling all these strings for you. I am going to need to escape just as much as you. Besides, Zosia is still going to need a doctor.”
Carol nodded slowly. She didn't love the idea of this judgemental genius accompanying them on what would likely be the most important roadtrip of their lives (second-most important, maybe, if you were Manousos), and she and Dr. Lawrens still didn't completely get along. But Dr. Lawrens did care about Zosia, and so Carol did trust her. “Okay. So the three of us hop in with Manousos and we start driving west.
“Where will we go?” asked Manousos.
Carol said, “I have a spot in mind.”
“There’s one more thing,” said Maxwell. “Do we tell Zosia about the plan?”
“No,” said Manousos. “She cannot lie.”
“Right,” said Lawrens. “If we tell her what we are planning, the wrong question and a moment of misplaced clarity could mean we’ve all been made.”
“So we’ll just have to trust her to make it easy for us on the day,” said Carol. She took a deep breath and regarded their ragtag group, feeling a pride rise up in her that she never felt back when she met those original, complacent survivors. “You guys know this is gonna change your lives forever, right? We are gonna be fugitives. Max, you might spend the rest of your life in prison, all just for Zosia. If anyone wants out, now’s the time.”
“‘Just for Zosia?’” asked Maxwell. She smiled warmly, too warmly, like this was the last joke she’d ever make. “Carol, Zosia’s the whole world.”
Two weeks went by and Zosia was recovering well. As far as Carol could tell, Zackary was not punished at all for his attack against her (Carol was sure he had the footage erased and argued that the injuries were the results of necessary testing), but it was clear that Lawrens now had considerably more pull, and the power to keep Zosia more comfortable and far away from Zackary’s worst experiments, at least while she recovered.
Today was the day. And the drive over to the Pentagon with Manousos was stressful enough even without Carol frantically switching between radio stations looking for one that would relax her (such a station was nonexistent, for what sound could possibly drown out this deafening dread?).
“Did we not play with enough radios during the Joining, Carol Sturka?” said Manousos, stilling her hand with his free one, the other white-knuckled around the steering wheel.
“I can’t believe you are letting me ruin your life,” said Carol.
Manousos shrugged. “My life was ruined the day those raros took over the earth.”
“You’ll lose your job, you know,” said Carol. “The money. The power. You’re gonna need to become a whole new person.”
“I do not mind,” said Manousos. “The whole world became a new person, once. Perhaps it’s our turn, now, Carol Sturka.”
When Manousos dropped Carol off, she was rather astounded by the level of added security. The President was scheduled to arrive that afternoon, but already the place was crawling with extra soldiers and Secret Service.
Lawrens met them outside with a small white case.
“Busy out here,” Carol noted.
“Well,” said Lawrens. She smirked. “President’s coming by today. Not sure if you heard.”
Carol rolled her eyes. “Haha.”
Lawrens handed Manousos the case and he placed it beside him on the floor in front of the passenger's seat. She told him, “This should be everything we might need. First aid, Zosia’s meds, tranqs just in case. Maxwell and I were very thorough.”
“Thank you, Dr. Lawrens,” said Manousos. “I look forward to seeing you this afternoon.”
Lawrens flashed him a small smile. "Can't wait."
“Don’t get too comfy,” said Carol. “You’ll get sick of the two of us after a while.”
“You two lasted the whole apocalypse together,” said Lawrens. “Somehow I think I’ll manage.”
It was a pain to navigate the ultra-secure building in advance of the President’s arrival, and Carol worried that they’d stop her from entering even if she had nothing yet to hide.
But Carol was a known entity at this point, a predictable face even if not a friendly one, and she made it through inspection with no problems. As promised, Dr. Lawrens got Carol approved to be present for the President’s visit, and she was therefore afforded all the necessary credentials. Still, she needed to be escorted by guards per usual, and she had several hours to kill spending time with Zosia before the meeting would take place.
Before seeing Zosia, however, Carol asked the guards to take her to see Maxwell.
Now, alone in Medical with Specialist Maxwell, voice low and face turned away from the security cameras, Carol said, “Thank you for what you’re gonna do today.”
“I’ll be okay,” Maxwell said. “I’ve been to war. I’ve watched children die, and I’ve aided the government that killed them. That’s not what sacrifice is about. This is.”
Carol almost smiled. She felt so grateful to this woman, so recently a stranger, for risking everything for Zosia. Was it possible that the whole of humanity wasn’t all that bad? “Those drugs you give her,” said Carol, steadying her expression into something more neutral. “The ones for her seizures. Can I have some? Just in case.”
Maxwell raised an eyebrow. “Lawrens has plenty in her kit, which is already stashed in Oviedo’s car.”
“Not in case she has a seizure,” said Carol. She got even quieter. “In case this all goes south.”
Maxwell watched Carol for a long, dreary moment and then nodded slowly. She went into a storage room, and Carol could hear her rifling around for a while. Then Maxwell came out with a different vial, this one labelled in red. “If things go bad, give her at least 5ml of this, undiluted. It will work much faster, and it will be painless. If you give her pills, they’ll just induce vomiting or pump her stomach. This is the way to free her, if it comes to that.”
“If it comes to that.”
“But it won’t come to that. Don’t fuck this up, Carol,” said Maxwell. “I’m putting it all on the line for her.”
“I saved the world once,” said Carol. “What’s one more woman?”
“She is the world.”
“You know where to find us if you make it out of here?” said Carol.
“Yes.”
“Good luck.”
“You’re the one who's gonna need the luck.”
“Says who?” said Carol. “I’ve got the whole world by my side.”
Then it was time to see Zosia, who was joyous as ever, who had no idea that this would be her last day in this awful place, one way or the other.
And be it because of the added security, the entire facility’s anticipation of the President’s arrival, or Carol’s own nerves, there was a suffocating tension in the air that was not softened even with the addition of warm water to the pallet of watercolors that Zosia and Carol painted with now.
“What are you painting, Zosia?” said Carol.
Zosia leaned back so Carol could see the near-perfect facsimile of O’Keefe’s Bella Donna that she’d managed to copy onto her paper. “I know this flower.”
“Yes,” said Carol. “You did a beautiful job.”
“Thank you, Carol,” said Zosia.
Carol pulled the still-wet sheet over to her side of the table, “Can I keep this, Zosia? I love it so much. It will remind me of you whenever we’re not together.”
“We think it will look great in your home, Carol,” said Zosia, nodding with a cheeky smile. “Keep it safe from the buffaloes, okay?”
Carol couldn’t tell if Zosia was being funny or crazy or both. She would not put it past Zosia, even crazed as she was, to tease Carol over that conversation so long ago, but she would also be unsurprised if Zosia’d forgotten that interaction completely by now, or if maybe she believed it was a dream instead.
Carol looked down at her own page, which was still blank save for a soggy yellow splotch in the top left corner. Carol had meant for it to be a sun, but she gave up quickly for lack of inspiration. How could she think about art at a time like this, when anticipation and dread were winding her tighter by the second? And how dare these watercolors flow so easily, bleed together with such liquid freedom, when the air itself was strung so taught it might burst and suffocate them all?
“Zosia,” Carol said softly. “Do you want to leave this place?”
“We want whatever makes you all happiest,” Zosia replied.
And Carol said, “Do you want them to stop hurting you?”
“We prefer not to be in physical pain,” said Zosia, “But we don’t mind it as long as it pleases Dr. Zackary and the others.”
Carol nodded and fingered a faded cut on Zosia’s arm. “How are you feeling, now?”
“We are much better, thank you,” said Zosia. “Specialist Maxwell says that our hand has healed remarkably well, with minimal nerve damage.”
“That’s great, Zosia,” said Carol. “Are you excited to see the President today?”
Enthusiasm colored her quick nod. “It has been a long time since we’ve seen President Taffler! We love him, too.”
“He and the doctors are gonna ask you some questions,” said Carol. “He wants to see how good you’re doing, how smart you are.”
Zosia’s grin wavered. “Sometimes I get confused.”
“You’ll do great, babygirl,” said Carol. She leaned over the table and took Zosia’s hands in her own, even if her arm became smeared with yellowish paint-water that had dripped onto the surface during their crafts. “There’s just one thing I need you to remember, though,” Carol added. “It might get really loud, and you might feel overwhelmed and you might get distracted. But, no matter what, I want you to do everything I tell you. Okay? It’s very important that you do everything I say. Got it?”
Zosia smiled that same placid smile she always smiled, and her eyes sparkled with that same absurd brilliance they always seemed to. “Yes, Carol.”
“Good girl,” Carol said. She stood, folded up the now-dryish Bella Donna painting to put it in her pocket, and kissed her chaperone on the head—one final act of worship for that impossible, brilliant, beautiful brain in case this all went wrong. “I love you so much, Zosia. I must be the happiest person on Earth because of you. Make me proud today, alright?”