The Survivalists by Kashana Cauley

Author:Kashana Cauley [Cauley, Kashana]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Soft Skull
Published: 2022-11-08T00:00:00+00:00

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SHE WOKE UP IN A BALL OF LIGHT WITH A NEEDLE IN HER LEFT arm, facing a doctor who held a clipboard. She tried to get up, but the needle held fast.

“Thanks for everything,” she said, “but I have to go back to work.”

“Don’t worry,” the doctor said, “they know you’re here.”

She looked deep into the doctor’s long white beard, angry that Rip Van Winkle didn’t seem to get it.

“I think you think that’s a good thing,” Aretha said.

“Everyone understands an allergic reaction, Aretha.”

“Right. So what the hell am I allergic to?”

“Bee pollen.”

“Fuck.”

“Just don’t eat it. It’s pretty easy to avoid. Unfortunately, you’re also allergic to bees.”

“So I can’t eat them either.”

“Unfortunately not.”

“I’m going to have to cancel tonight’s dinner plans.”

“We want to keep you here overnight for monitoring, anyway.”

“No,” Aretha said, picturing the twelve hours of work that would go on without her, alongside the rumors. “Aretha had some kind of breakdown,” the senior associates who didn’t like her would whisper to the juniors. “Some people just can’t handle the workload,” the partners would say to one another in the backs of their hired cars. Here she comes, a fired weakling unable to gut through swelling and a blackout at the office. Complete with unfixed hair and sweatpants she’d never change again, with nothing else to do but come up with a new name so her student loan company couldn’t find her.

“Yes,” the doctor said. “Sometimes these reactions come back a few hours after we first treat them, and we’d like to keep an eye on you to make sure we can treat you right away if that happens.”

“Fine.”

The doctor left. Aretha picked up her un-needled arm to test it, and her legs. She felt a little light-headed. Not affected enough that she couldn’t go back to work, just a hair off. Without the doctor, the only sound left in the room was the low rumble of medical equipment. Where the fuck was her phone? She scanned the room until she spotted her work purse sitting on a chair near the door in all its acceptably office tan, flat-bottomed glory, way out of reach.

Aretha had spent almost all of the last six years looking at her phone, a legal document, or someone else, and had no idea what to do with herself if all three were taken away. What did people do who were stuck in hospitals longer than overnight? How many hours a day could a person spend trying to entertain themselves by listening to machines beep? She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, trying to put herself to sleep, but she felt the restlessness that meant she’d probably spent too many hours passed out already. The doctor had shut her door on his way out, which meant she couldn’t ride this out by listening to other people’s conversations, and no one had the decency to discuss something salacious while glued to the area right outside her door. Not that she had any idea what salacious hospital conversation might be.

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