Chapter 65: Taran

I have no answer and I don't think Grayson wants one either. I wasn't responsible for Garrett's death, yet I was there and part of me wonders if I could've done more. Could've maybe reasoned with Xavier. I know better, and so did Garrett right before he died, but survivor's guilt is something we all live with in a society riddled by death. Without another word Grayson starts the car and pulls away from the Tower.
Doctor Bishop's office is located near the police station in Sanctuary's commercial sector. It looks like a small house that's been converted into an office. He greets us at the car, opening my door and reaching in to help me out. I smile at his old-fashioned manners, but they suit him.
"Come on inside, my dear, and don't mind the mess." His deep voice belies his pleasure in having some company and I'm happy I made the decision to come.
"I'll be out here." Grayson stations himself at the door, his rifle within easy reach and his hand resting on his sidearm.
I follow Bishop inside and am surprised to see a familiar face. "Dee!" I haven't seen her since the botched dinner party.
She lifts her head from where she was sitting at a desk writing something down. "Bishop told me you'd be coming, and um..." she glances sideways at a radio sitting next to her and shrugs. "We have it for emergencies. Those commandos are always getting themselves hurt."
"I didn't know you worked with the doctor."
"I have some medical training so I'm able to assist the doctor whenever he needs an extra set of hands. After my husband died, working here gave me something to do while my kids are in school."
Once again it strikes me how much I don't know about the elites. We have jobs and schools in the slums, but nothing as organized as what I'm seeing here. Definitely no doctor offices with helpful receptionists. I must talk to Diogo about this lack of medical resources in the other sectors of the city.
"If you'd like to step into the back with me." Bishop opens a door and waves me toward the interior.
I smile at Dee. "It was nice seeing you again."
"Oh, you too," she agrees enthusiastically. "Think about coming to our women's volunteer group. We'd love to have you speak."
At first I think to refuse, not wanting to be part of a group of over-privileged women talking about the bright shiny aspects of Sanctuary. But the more time I spend with elites, the more I see of their sectors, the more I'm convinced we have a real possibility of bridging the gaps in this city. Plus, meeting with the elite women will get me out of the apartment for a few hours and I wasn't kidding when I said I was going stir crazy being cooped up all the time. Diogo can't possibly object to my spending time with Dee, Milla and some of the other women.
"I'd like that," I tell her and then follow Bishop through to his back office.
"Have a seat right here," he instructs me, patting a medical bed.
I hop up on it, looking around to take in the small but homey office. There's a desk with some paperwork on top, the medical bed and some instruments and jars. He catches my eye and nods toward the back of the building.
"I have a small surgery and a make-shift morgue in the back." He comes to stand next to me, reaching for the bandage on my neck. He peels it back gently and probes the healing wound. "If I need more space then there's a section of the police station that I can use as a hospital."
"Why would you need more room?" I ask.
"Multiple casualties," he says matter of fact.
"Oh." That makes sense but ‘multiple casualties' isn't something I want to think about, especially because my husband would likely be in the line of fire if an emergency situation arose. "Does that happen often?"
He drops the bandage from my neck into a garbage can and steps back to look at me. "More than I like, but not as often as life under most Warlords. Even the food riots produced minimal casualties. Just broken bones and bumped heads." He pats my leg. "You won't need another bandage for this. Just keep it covered up with a scarf and let it heal naturally."
A scarf. The reminder is chilling. I can't let anyone see the wound yet. Maybe not ever. It finally hits me that the wound I sustained has life-altering consequences. Which reminds me of my real reason for coming to Bishop's office.
"Did you get a chance to have a look at the Primitive that attacked me?"
His gaze turns serious. "I did."
"And?" I ask, eager for news.
Bishop steps back and drops into the chair behind him, rubbing his knee absently. "She wasn't in good condition when she was brought in. Your husband and the elements did a number on her, but I managed to get enough for a proper autopsy."
I shudder imagining Xavier out there in the desert, alone. Even though he'd died during the attack, I hate the idea that his body could've been disturbed. In life, he was such a handsome man. I can't imagine the vibrancy he had in life being drained from him, just a lifeless shell decomposing in the harsh desert. I force the gruesome image away.
"Did you find anything?"
He shakes his head. "I've seen my share of dead Primitives, even done some research on them. This one was no different from the others. Same blood type, same skin, same organs, same everything."
The Death Kiss alters humans right down to their blood type, creating a new type categorized as Type N for Necrotitis Primeval. Only Primitives or humans infected by the disease have Type N blood.
"What about her teeth, did you examine them?" I badly want to know why I didn't turn. "Could there have been something different about her bite?"
"Her teeth were typical for a Primitive. I'm sorry, Taran but I can't find a reason why you wouldn't have turned. Given her condition prior to her death I'd say she was an older Primitive, possibly as much as five years. That she survived that long suggests she'd killed or bitten her fair share of prey. If she was an ineffective Primitive, she would've been killed off years earlier, either by her prey or by her own kind. It's my opinion that her bite is no different from every other Primitive."
Most Primitives don't live beyond a few years. Their total disregard for their own safety kills them quickly. While in pursuit of sustenance they will leap off buildings, in front of cars, into water where they quickly drown with no memory or ability to swim. If their bite wasn't so deadly, they probably would've died out years ago. I'd even heard a story once about a horde of Primitives leaping off a cliff while chasing a bird over the edge. The Death Kiss eradicates the thinking centres of the brain until there's nothing left but violent instinct.
"But if there wasn't something wrong with her" I trail off trying to follow the path of logic. I touch the wound on my neck, my fingers drifting over the tiny ridges where her teeth burrowed into my skin.
"Then there's something right with you," Bishop confirms. He watches me carefully, then says, "Years ago, when you would've been just a child, there was a rumour circulating around the Sanctuaries of a woman who was immune to the bite."
I gasp, "Really? Who was she?"
He shrugs. "No one knows, the rumour died along with the hopes of an antidote. In all the years since the Great Fall no one has even come close to creating an anti-virus. Civilization has never seen anything as virulent and effective a disease as the Death Kiss. As far as we know, there are no known survivors. If you're bitten you either die or turn. No alternative."
"Until me," I murmur.
"Until you."
I straighten on the bed and give him a stern look. "The we'd better get to work and find out why I'm different."
He smiles and stands. "I was hoping you'd say that."