A Rat’s Death Would Be Mine, Too

A Fictional Short Story by Maya Shadid

“She’s not here, Dad! She’s gone. She’s gone, and she’s been gone! We need to get out of here,” Aldo screamed, his voice trembling with distress. 

“Who do you think you are? You don’t get to yell at me. You’re a kid. You’re nothing but a kid. This is my decision,” spit rained from my mouth, splashing onto his face, merging with each glistening teardrop. 

“I know you miss her. I do too. But she’s not in this lab,” he gestured at the dank laboratory that we’d been inhabiting for the past two years - a place I’d dragged him to, a hollowed carcass of a home. Aldo continued desperately, “She’s not on this Earth. She’s dead. She’s dead, and if we don’t leave right now, we’ll be dead, too. Is that what you want?”

“Watch it,” I growled - a warning.

“Because you’re right. I am a kid. I’m only fourteen, and I’m not ready to die. Not here, not now, not in the same place she did. She’d want more for me, for you!” Despair tainted the boy’s voice, hot like sour breath.

“Shut up!” I yelled, my voice echoing between the corroded walls. I breathed in deeply, collecting myself before muttering, “Screw this.” I reached into my left pocket and grasped the glass vial inside. It was cold in my palms, calming my boiling skin and siphoning the rage within me, neutralizing it like a buffer. From my right pocket, I felt around for the needle. “What? Where- what the hell? Did you take it? Did you take my shit?”

“Please, we need to leave. We need to leave, right now,” he sobbed. “Please, Dad. Come on, please.”

“Where is it? Give it to me now. Now!” I threatened, my heart racing in my chest. I could’ve punched him, but I calmed myself by bringing the vial into my sight, peering at the pale yellow liquid within. Tryptox read its tattered label. 

***

I’d spent years of my life working on that drug. It was supposed to be revolutionary - a gateway to a new way of life - and I was the architect. All the nights I spent in that fluorescent lab, coming home reeking of rat shit and chemicals, were supposed to be worth something.

“But you’re killing them, Klyre. How many mice are you going to go through?” My wife asked one of those nights, always sympathetic to the world’s underdogs. 

“As many as it takes.” 

Tryptox was derived from the amino acid tryptophan, a serotonin precursor. Its intended purpose was to evoke a sense of peace, reducing anxiety during the taxing process of high-speed space travel. For a while, though, it was merely an agent of euthanasia, killing every rat I tested on. They’d seize and spasm, their tiny limbs twitching frantically in response to their final nerve impulses. I’d watch their whiskers quiver, their eyes widen, their breathing falter. And, I’d put on my gloves, prepare my beakers, and get back to work. There was no other option. My company was already building the rockets, hundreds of them, and Tryptox needed to be ready first. 

And then finally, a rat survived. It was my 21st variant, V-21-Φ. 

“C’mere, buddy,” I cooed at the creature, scooping it out of its small, plastic cage. My hope for success had so often turned into acceptance of failure that part of me never expected the drug to actually work. When the needle entered its soft abdomen, I was prepared for agitation to begin. Seizure onset typically occurred within six to ten minutes of injection, but as the second hand ticked away on the overhead clock, the rat remained active. After two minutes, its breathing slowed - not as if respiratory failure was impending, but as if the creature was calm. After five minutes, it began grooming itself, a behavioral mark of anxiolytic effects.

“It’s working,” I muttered to myself in quiet awe. Yelling this time, “It’s working!” I peered at the creature in disbelief, watching it saunter around its cage before curling up in the center and dozing off. 

I was home by 6:00 pm that day. Naysa and Aldo sat together at the dinner table, and for the first time in ages, I returned in time to eat with them. 

“You don’t have to worry about the rats anymore, Nay,” I said smiling, “It finally worked.”

“The Tryptox?” Her eyes widened, and I nodded. She screamed out with glee, her chair falling as she leaped up to embrace me. “I’m so proud of you. Aldo, baby, tell Daddy how proud we are.” Her arms were cool against my skin, siphoning the heat of ambition within me, and I leaned into her embrace. 

“I knew you’d get it soon! I knew it!” Aldo exclaimed with bright eyes, twelve years old at the time. I didn’t know then that the rat would be dead by the morning - that there was more work to be done. Regardless, I was so, so close.

***

But, that was three years ago. 

“Where is it? Give it to me now. Now!” I threatened.

Anxiety tingled like static against my skin. The laboratory walls seemed to be inching closer, and the echoes of my shouting rang louder as the air shrunk. I breathed faster, eyes darting around the room in search of my missing needle. 

“Dad, please, we need to go,” my son repeated, urging. “It’s the last rocket. The last one, and it’s leaving, even if we stay. We have t-” The ground let out a small tremble, and we both froze. Slowly, my arms dropped to my sides, my grip on the Tryptox loosening. 

“We have to leave,” he whispered, body trembling.

“Just give me my needle. Aldo, my needle.” My voice broke as I pleaded. 

Aldo whimpered, exasperated. “Mom isn’t on this Earth. It doesn’t matter if you stay. You’re not finding her here, or in that drug, or anywhere.” But, I didn’t want to live in a world my wife hadn’t touched, even if everyone else was long gone. And, they were. Gone - galaxies away. 

***

My company hadn’t even completed all the rockets when the evacuations began; none of us foresaw what was coming. I must’ve been on V-22-X of Tryptox then, or perhaps V-23-Ψ. 

“I have a good feeling about you, little rat.” I smirked as I scooped the creature into one hand, twirling my needle in the other. It was another late night, only me and my rodents in the lab. They’d been acting peculiar that day, vocalizing in high-pitched pips, almost ultrasonic. There were a few different cages, some large enclosures with many mice, and some single-rodent plastic boxes like the one before me. Regardless of their habitat, all the creatures were pacing around irritably, urgently. I was used to the constant bustling in the lab room, tiny mousey movements constantly in my peripheral. But, when the Earth let out that first quiver, every living being in the room grew utterly still. Then began the screeching, the rats frantically clawing at the walls of their enclosures. I dropped the beast in my palm as it delivered a vicious bite, and I watched with piercing unease as it scurried away. 

“What the hell! What’s happening?” I yelled over the rats’ chorus of cries. In a bitter irony, the earth began to shake in response, this time with violent severity. The cages were vibrating profusely, and items that once rested upon tables and shelves now toppled to the ground. My body flinched as a 500 mL beaker fell, crashing on top of the rodent that had escaped my grasp. The creature screeched as glass shards pierced its flesh, its blood painting the floor in scarlet hues. I ducked under my desk, covering my head with my arms. 

“Oh my God. Oh my God.” I hyperventilated, scrunching my eyes shut. Making myself as small as possible, I curled into a ball and rocked my body slowly. “God save me,” I repeated for a small eternity, unceasing until the earthquake subsided.

That was just the beginning. The earthquakes persisted for the next three years, inflicting constant devastation across the world. Colonies on distant planets had been established by nations long ago; humanity was preparing for a distant future when Earth could no longer sustain us, unaware that this future wasn’t distant at all. Due to this dire misconception, interplanetary outposts faced immense immigration pressures as countless people fled across the cosmos. My drug was supposed to be the catalyst for such celestial expanse - an expanse that was supposed to make space travel easier, desirable. But, it wasn’t ready. It wasn’t fucking ready.

***

I was in my home office when I got the news.

“The company has decided to cut your funding, Klyre,” my supervisor stated, his voice stale across the phone call. 

“What? But, it’s nearly ready. If I just had a month-”

“You don’t have a month. We don’t have a month. We’re pouring every cent into the rockets - everyone’s trying to get out of here.”

“That’s the entire point,” I urged. “Tryptox would make it easier for them to leave. Space travel is traumatic to the human mind. My drug-”

“We’re well beyond that. People want to leave, need to leave, regardless of the comfort. Tryptox no longer has a purpose. You must understand.” His voice rang in my ears, and I felt rage course through my searing blood. “You’re not needed here anymore. Board a rocket. Get your family out.” My anger deafened me to his advice; I was swarmed by the incessant buzzing of fury, of bitter grief for Tryptox’s end. 

I hung up the call, storming around the house to find my wife. The ground began to shake subtly, but in rage-invoked ignorance, I attributed this to my booming footsteps.

“Naysa!” I called through the house. “They ended it! Nay?” My heart raced in my chest, and my body burned as if I was fever-stuck. “Nay!” 

“Baby, baby,” she panted as she ran toward me, grabbing my arm. 

“Where were you? Why weren’t you answering me?” I tried to shout, but my voice broke. Her touch had a way of softening me, and I felt my lip begin to tremble.

“In the basement, honey,” she breathed, her eyes wide and childlike. “Aldo’s down there. We need to go. Now.” Her voice was shaky, and the phone call instantly left my mind. The ground beneath us shook faster now, and I realized the source of her distress. Our basement was fortified for moments like this; during the first year of earthquakes, we’d prepared it - we were supposed to be prepared. “Now, baby! Come on!” She pulled at my sleeve forcefully as a distant object crashed to the floor, and I nodded back at her. 

As we raced to the basement, the earth’s fury magnified. There were clattering sounds as more items fell and creaking sounds as the floorboards shifted beneath us. My vision blurred from the motion as I ran, and I hadn’t noticed that I’d overtaken her. When I reached the basement door, I heaved a sigh of relief, pressing my back against the door as I held it open for her. But, she was many strides behind me. Not only that, she had fallen, lying crumpled on the ground, and her ankle was twisted in a grotesque angle.

“Mom? Dad?” Our son’s cries echoed up the basement stairs. 

“Nay, get up!” I urged. The ceiling was flaking, white paint chips snowing above her figure. I peered upward, and dread electrified my body. The exposed concrete beams of our flat-roofed house were cracking, deep fissures traveling like lightning bolts across their surface. At that moment, the world was so loud, and I gathered the full power of my voice to call once more, “Naysa!” 

I tried to step toward her, but she shook her head. Chunks of the ceiling hailed upon her, and I could see that the bone of her foot had pierced her flesh, blood pooling beneath it. “Oh my God, Naysa!” My voice shook, and tears filled my eyes. “Naysa, get up! Please, come on.” I shouted desperately. 

She smiled sadly and mouthed, Close the door.

“No! No,” I sobbed, but my voice was lost as the ceiling let out a thunderous groan.

“Aldo’s down there! Close the door!” She shrieked, almost animalistically - a final, unignorable wish. I slammed the door in tears, and in that instant, a powerful crash sent me flying down the stairs as the rest of our house collapsed. I loved her. I listened to her. 

God, why did I listen? Why didn’t I run after her, drag her with me? Why didn’t she try? Why didn’t she try? Why did I have to be on that stupid call? These questions haunted me, but my actions were solidified by time’s cruel touch. My wife was selfless - too selfless - begging me to go down with Aldo while she stayed behind to die. Maybe she gave up because I had the better chance - because our child needed parents, and one was better than none. But, I couldn’t be a father without her.

In the days that followed, my grief conquered every impulse in my body. My wife was… dead? I had everything, and then nothing at all. I couldn’t stop thinking about her, about her face contorting into something beastly as she screamed to close that door - about her bones being crushed as her blood painted the floor, like the rat crushed by my beaker. Her fate was the same as a fucking rat’s. A fucking rat’s. I couldn’t take it. So, I was selfish.

One morning that week, I left Aldo in the basement, departing before he could awake from slumber. The rest of the house was still in shambles - a rescue team had removed enough debris to clear an exit, but I hadn’t bothered to do anything else. I stepped over wooden panels, chunks of concrete, twisted rebar, and shattered objects as I made my way out. Cool and moist, the air pressed against my body as I walked the mile-and-a-half to my laboratory. Despite the earthquake just days prior, its outer structure remained unscathed, though items inside had fallen. My rats scurried around their cages, and I wept softly as I recalled my wife’s sympathy for them. I grabbed handfuls of the creatures, ignoring as they hungrily gnawed at my hands, and took them outside. I freed every last one.

Back inside the lab, I grabbed a beaker and filled it with a concentrated stock solution of Tryptox. I typically diluted the solution before injection, but this time, I didn’t. I didn’t need to, didn’t care. Filling a needle with the drug, I closed my eyes and pictured Naysa’s face, her beautiful face. A tear trickled down my cheek. 

“Argh!” I grunted as I stabbed my arm, pushing down so that the Tryptox filled my veins. I put the needle back in the beaker and drew up more, injecting myself again. And again. And again, until only droplets of the yellow substance remained in the beaker. A rat’s death would be mine, too.

Staring at the overhand clock, I began a mental timer. Two minutes passed, and nothing happened. Five, and my body remained still. Seven, and- something began. It wasn’t the feeling of death like I’d expected, and I muttered a quiet curse. Would my dying be prolonged like the rat of V-21-Φ? 

“No, silly,” a woman laughed, somehow reading my thoughts. Her voice was both far and near; it was nowhere and everywhere. 

“Who’s here?” I slurred, blinking slowly.

“You don’t recognize me?” she asked playfully. Sluggish, I wet my bottom lip with my tongue. My thoughts felt abstract, like I was thinking in patterns and shapes, and colors began to flood the room like light through a stained-glass window. I blinked again.

“Naysa?” I whispered slowly, drawing out her name. “You’re not here.”

“But you can hear me, can’t you?” A cool sensation tingled through my shoulder, like she was reaching out to touch me.

“How…” I tried to ask, but the colors distracted me, shifting from rainbow hues to a singular shade: yellow. Everything moved so slowly. I felt light - like I’d shed my body somehow. Yellow. I wasn’t sure if I was breathing anymore, wasn’t sure if my heart was still beating. Yellow. Everything was calm. Everything was quiet. Everything was-

“Yellow?” She chuckled. “Looks like it’s kicking in.” Her voice swirled across the room, around my body, dancing softly in my ears.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I garbled.

“Shh, shh, baby. I know.” My whole body became cold, like her essence was embracing me. I cried softly as she continued, “I’m here. I’m here.”

I spent the whole day there, thoughts of Aldo nonexistent. My brain belonged to Naysa - could only conjure her image. When I returned to the basement that night, his body was curled up in the corner. He was crying. Upon hearing my footsteps, he whipped his head around and sobbed harder.

“Dad, where were you? I thought you were dead.” Snot oozed into his mouth as he hiccuped through his words. I stood, watching him, and tried to muster some pity from deep within myself. Nothing came. My wife was dead. Dead. And she let herself die because of him.

“Stop crying and man up. We’re moving to my lab. This house is a wreck.” Cold, certain.

“But, I want to stay here,” he sputtered. 

“I’ve made the decision.” 

For the next two years, I raised him in that lab, watching him grow from the ages of twelve to fourteen. Schooling had been canceled across the nation, leaving Aldo bored and isolated. He’d lie on his mattress on the lab’s floor - quiet, pensive - counting as the evacuation rockets took off. He couldn’t see them, of course; there was no window. But, they made a distinct noise - a grand whoosh - as they broke through the horizon toward the celestial sea above. 

“Fifteen whooshes today, Dad,” he remarked on our third night. “Why can’t we board a rocket?”

“We just can’t.”

“But-” he attempted to contest, but I widened my eyes in a warning, and he fell silent. My wife died on Earth, and so would I.

He cried often the first year, a nuisance that my Tryptox easily muffled. I had learned that it didn’t take much to see the colors, to hear her voice; a single injection did the trick, though the effects were milder. Frequency solved this issue, and I’d inject myself multiple times a day. 

I’d made adjustments to the facility, securing all objects so that nothing could fall or break during earthquakes. Though the building was well-enforced and showed no threat of collapsing, it wasn’t immune to the earth’s tremors, especially as the earthquakes worsened. When they struck, the building was like a figurine in the palms of a giant being - shaking us like dice. 

“Should I worry, Nay?” I asked one night in the first month.

“No, sweet angel. I’m here to protect you,” replied her shifting aura as it glittered gold across the room.

“Dad, stop. She’s dead. She can’t answer.” Aldo cried out. But she wasn’t dead, not to me. He just couldn’t hear her.

At first, the giant struck once a week, then twice. But, as the third year of misfortune went on, the earthquakes occurred many times throughout the day. We had a radio stashed somewhere, but I didn’t allow Aldo to use it. It gave him ideas - fueled his urge to leave. Even though he was a pest, I couldn’t let him go; Naysa sacrificed her life so I could be with him. And yet, I watched helplessly as he counted the whooshes, the sounds multiplying day by day.

“Sixty, Dad.”

“So?” I shrugged, hardly hearing his voice as the Tryptox clouded my mind.

“So, everyone’s leaving. We need to know what’s happening in the world. Let’s turn on the radio, just this once.”

“No, Aldo.” I blinked slowly, then once more, my eyelids weighed down by an inescapable gravity - I dozed off and awoke to Aldo shaking me fiercely. “What the fuck?” I muttered groggily.

“They’ve mandated it. Everyone is evacuating.”

“What?” I groaned as my body adjusted to its conscious state.

“Sixty in one day? I listened to the radio. I knew you were going to be mad, but I had to. They’re saying we’re going to die if we stay behind. Launch points around the world have already shut down. Our launch point is the last one, and its final rocket leaves at the week’s end. We’ll be stuck. Forever,” he rambled frantically.

“I need more Tryptox.” 

“Dad. Did you hear what I just said? Our launch point is the last one open. Do you even understand how lucky that is? It’s a sign. To leave.” His voice swelled with anger, and I cocked an eyebrow. I wasn’t used to such audacity from him.

I put my hand in my pocket anyway, pulled out the drug, and injected myself twice. “That’ll shut you up.”

As the week went on, the wooshes slowed. Aldo was right, they’d soon stop, and the option of departure would no longer exist. This pleased me, and Naysa, as we had no care to leave our world behind. I didn’t think to hide the radio from Aldo. He was so unbearably annoying that I’d increased my Tryptox dosage significantly; lost in conversation with Naysa, I… well, forgot about him. That is, until he made sure I couldn’t.

***

Aldo whimpered, exasperated. “Mom isn’t on this Earth. It doesn’t matter if you stay. You’re not finding her here, or in that drug, or anywhere.”

“You think you’re so fucking smart, huh?” I scoffed. “Fuck this. I’ll just find another needle.” I began rummaging through my lab, but they were nowhere to be found. I was desperately searching through a drawer when he spoke again.

“There’s no use,” he called out over the ruckus, “I put them all at the launch point.” I froze, and my entire body tightened. I didn’t realize how tight my fists had become until the vial shattered in my palm, yellow and red dripping sunsets on the floor.

“You what?” I growled quietly, turning to face him before screaming, “How the fuck did you get to the fucking launch point? You know you’re not allowed to leave! When did you go?”

“I walked. It’s on company grounds. I just walked there. You sleep all the time. I went while you were napping.” He sniffled and breathed in before delivering his ultimatum, “I didn’t want it to be like this. I’ve been listening to the radio. The final evacuation is today. Now. The needles are at the rocket’s launch point. If we don’t go, you’ll never take that drug, see her face, again.” 

“Aldo!” I roared as I lunged at him, grabbing him by the collar. But, withdrawal weakened me, and I loosened my grip on his shirt. I believed him. I had to. The launch point was on company grounds, closer than any other place where I could find more needles. Following him was the best solution. “Fine,” I seethed. “Let’s go.”

My head pounded fiercely as Aldo led me to the rocket. I needed my needle. I needed my Naysa. Each step forward was propelled by the desire to hear her voice again. I squinted my eyes - the world looked almost purple, a sickening shade of plum. I needed my Tryptox. I needed my wife. So, I kept walking until finally, finally, we approached the spacecraft. Everyone had already boarded, likely waiting inside in case an earthquake hit. Still, we made it in time. Aldo ran up to the vessel, waving frantically. With a click, the door was remotely opened.

“We made it!” Aldo exclaimed. “Get in, Dad.” 

“Aldo, where is she?” I panted, exhausted from running after him.

“Get in the rocket, Dad.” He cooed like he was talking to a small animal, and a dreadful sense of realization overtook me.

“You said the needle was here. Where’s the needle?” I asked, my voice shaking.

“It’s on the rocket, c’mon.”

“No, you said it was at the launch point. This is the launch point.” My breathing quickened. “Where is the fucking needle?” I howled, grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking with all my might.

“Dad! Dad, stop,” he wept, “there are no needles.”

“You said you put them here!”

“I didn’t, I’m sorry. I didn’t. I wasn’t allowed to leave,” he sobbed, shaking his head. “I never left.”

“Where are they?” I shook harder as I bellowed.

“They’re under my mattress. Alright, Dad?” Tears streamed down his face as he continued, “Go back if you want. I tried to save you. I tried so hard. For her. I’m done fighting you.” His sadness turned into bitterness, his voice swelling into shouts. “All this time, I stayed behind, hoping you’d change your mind. I listened to you, tried to keep you happy, just to convince you to stay alive. I’m leaving this place, and I don’t care if you come anymore.” He pushed me off of him, and I didn’t resist. He got on the rocket, the door shutting behind him. 

I began racing away but only made it so far before something compelled me to look back, Aldo’s words ringing in my head. I tried so hard. For her. As I stared at the rocket, sober for the first time in ages, I saw her face. It was tiny, blurry, peering back at me from the window. I rubbed my eyes, but she was still there, palm pressing against the glass. My wife was there, right there, and she’d been there the entire time. She was him. Not my hallucinations - she was in him. He was her gift to me. With me all this time, yet I was blinded by my grief. I was unable to recognize her.

“Oh my God.” I held my head in my palms. “Aldo, oh my God,” my voice cracked as a deep regret coursed through me. “What's wrong with me?” 

I knew then that I had to get on the rocket - had to get back to my son. Sobriety awoke me, allowing me to tap into a part of my mind that had been tucked away for so long - sanity. What had I been doing? Was I such an awful father that I’d neglected him this entire time? Let the flames of my grief turn him into a shadow? I’d been awful. I’d been blind. That drug, that fucking drug, it was never my wife. It was me, me - flawed and wrong and foul. I was disgusted, disgusting; how could I do this? How could I become so stupid? I’d been nothing but a puppet, a puppet with mildewed stuffing, manipulated by the strings of my own emotions. I had to get back to Aldo. I had to get back to Aldo. I had to get back to-

Whoosh.