The Facility

by Eliza Green

  ‘Sheila, leave it,’ said Dom.

  ‘All I’m saying is... If she’s best buddies with the ninth floor, maybe she can tell us what the hell’s going on here.’

  ‘I know as much as you.’

  The weak lighting flickered off and plunged the communal area into darkness before spluttering back into life. Both Dom and Sheila stared up at the ceiling.

  Dom looked at Anya. ‘What Sheila means is that everyone has to experience all the floors. It’s what we were told when we joined. No skipping.’

  ‘Well, I didn’t ask them to bump me,’ said Anya. ‘They just did.’

  ‘Maybe they changed the rules,’ said Frank.

  Dom and Sheila glanced at each other.

  ‘Maybe,’ said Dom.

  32

  Anya felt better when they decided as a group not to touch the gold door without everyone’s prior agreement.

  For the rest of the day, she fought against her boredom at the lack of entertainment on the third floor. Anya had given in to sleep that afternoon, but in the evening tiredness hit her again. There was still no sign of the supervisor.

  She yanked a pair of headphones off her head. The music she’d found so comforting in the beginning now irritated her. No siren marked the start and end of the workday. There was no official start or end to anything.

  The others had gone back to the dorm. Dom was making something to eat.

  Anya got up and stretched. ‘I’m so sick of sitting around. I wish I could go for a run.’

  ‘Me, too,’ Dom called from the kitchen.

  She smiled. Her hands and feet twitched with the memory: the delicious strain on her lungs, the slow burn in her muscles. Her mind returned to the one place in Essention Dom had shared with her. Running was their therapy.

  ‘Night, Dom.’

  ‘Pleasant dreams.’

  She returned to the dorm to grab a bar of soap and a toothbrush from her bag and headed to the bathroom. Dressed in her red running T-shirt and pyjama bottoms, she stared in the mirror. Her hair had grown a few inches since she’d started in Arcis and now hung past her shoulders. She tucked it behind her ears and turned on one of the taps.

  She had just finished washing her face and patting her skin dry when the door flew open.

  Anya jumped back from an agitated Dom. He pushed past her, diving for the nearest sink. She caught the large brown stain on the front of his white T-shirt and the smell of coffee. He turned on the tap and splashed cold water on the stain.

  He dragged air through gritted teeth as he pulled the wet fabric away from his skin. ‘I’m such an idiot. I wasn’t paying attention.’

  She didn’t look away when he pulled his T-shirt up to expose his hard, flat stomach. He splashed more cold water on the parts of his skin that were red.

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘Spilled scalding coffee on myself. I wasn’t watching what I was doing.’ He glanced at her. ‘Sorry, but I had to come in here.’

  ‘No, it’s fine. I’ll leave you.’

  ‘Please stay. I’m almost done.’

  He sighed as the cool water appeared to give him relief from the pain.

  While he was distracted Anya looked him over. Even without the boxing and running to keep him fit, Dom still looked strong, lean and muscular. His skin still had a hint of colour. When he lifted his T-shirt higher to expose more of his back, Anya drew in a tight breath.

  She stared at the large C-shaped scar running underneath his armpit to just below his ribs.

  Dom turned and caught her looking. ‘Shit, I shouldn’t have... Shit, shit.’ He yanked his tee down so fast he almost ripped it.

  Before she could ask him about the scar, he was gone.

  She blinked once, twice, then the door opened and Sheila walked in. She carried a small bag under her arm. Anya tensed up.

  Sheila eyed her and walked to the sink that Dom had used.

  ‘What did you say to him? He ran out like his pants were on fire.’

  ‘Nothing,’ said Anya. ‘He burned himself. He was just splashing water on the burn.’

  Sheila arched a manicured eyebrow at her. How did she manage to look so perfect all the time?

  ‘There’s only one thing that freaks him out. He has other scars, you know.’ She looked in the mirror and brushed her finger over her brow and under her eye. ‘He’s secretive about it.’

  More scars?

  ‘What happened to him?’

  ‘He was very sick as a child. He had a lot of operations.’

  ‘For what?’

  Sheila turned and looked at her, amused. Her finger hovered over her brow. ‘Ask him about it. If he wants you to know, he’ll tell you.’

  Anya stared into the mirror at her pale face and her brown hair. Next to Sheila—tall, tanned, curvy—she felt horribly plain.

  ‘And don’t think I’ve forgotten what you did.’

  ‘You provoked me.’

  ‘Yeah, I guess I did.’ Sheila flashed a smile. ‘But humiliate me like that again, and I’ll show you what I’m really made of.’

  Anya thought about taunting her, as she would have done on the ground floor. But Sheila seemed different, less confrontational than before.

  Maybe Anya had changed, not Sheila, thanks to Dom’s injection.

  ‘Don’t worry. I’m done with that.’

  The bittersweet smell of coffee followed Anya back to the dorm. The lights were off and Dom was already in bed, his soiled T-shirt crumpled in a heap on the floor. She glanced at him as she passed. He was already asleep, or pretending to be.

  Anya folded her day clothes and placed them on the floor. She climbed into bed and tried to sleep.

  But the lingering smell of coffee reminded her of the boy with secrets that she desperately wanted to know.

  33

  Anya woke to the sound of movement in the dorm. When she saw it was just Frank, she closed her eyes and tried to go back to sleep. But Frank’s curses drew her attention. He was fully dressed and pulling on his trainers.

  Then he slipped out the door. Anya sat up, dressed quietly and followed him.

  She heard no noise in the corridor outside the dorm. She checked the bathroom and showers but heard no activity. Maybe Frank went to get a snack.

  She buried her hands in the pockets of her hoodie as she walked to the start of the blue dorm. She was about to enter the middle section when noises coming from the black section caught her attention.

  Damn it, Frank.

  Anya chased him through the twisting and turning corridors of the black section. She heard Frank’s muffled curses ahead of her as he struggled to find his way. But he never doubled back, which meant he’d found the way to the bright gold door, the one they’d agreed not to open yet.

  ‘Frank, don’t do this!’ Anya called out, but he didn’t answer. She wasn’t sure he could hear her.

  She picked up the pace and narrowed his short lead until she heard his footsteps more clearly. They were near the gold door.

  ‘Frank, talk to me,’ she said, pulling in breaths of air. Whatever fitness she’d had was almost gone with her new sedentary lifestyle.

  ‘Go back to bed, Anya.’

  She rounded the corner to find him standing in front of the gold door, staring at it.

  ‘What are you doing here, Frank?’ She already knew the answer.

  ‘I can’t stand it any longer. I have to know.’

  ‘You can’t open it. We agreed to vote on opening the door. We haven’t done that yet.’

  Anya stepped closer to Frank. He was taller than she was, but she was strong. She’d fight him if necessary.

  He turned to face her. ‘Look, Anya. There’s nothing else on this floor except a gold door that they’re telling us not to open. Don’t you see? That’s our invitation to open it. It might end the game.’

  The game? Anya almost laughed. The further she ventured into Arcis the less game-like the floors felt. The controllers were preparing them for something else.
/>   Maybe he was right. If they opened the door, it might conclude their time on this floor. But something about the door unnerved her. What if it was set up to shock anyone who touched it?

  She stepped closer to it, examining the exterior: glossy, like liquid gold. She glanced back at Frank, who egged her on with a smile.

  ‘We have no idea what this door is even connected to.’

  She extended her hand, keeping it several inches from the door’s surface. She knew what electricity felt like: hundreds of tiny wasp stings on her skin. She jerked back at the memory, then inched her palm closer. She detected no energy from it.

  She took a risk and brushed her fingers over the door’s surface. It felt how it looked: cold. No heat source, no fire, waited for them.

  She stepped back. ‘I can’t be sure if it’s connected to anything. But we should wait until morning so we can all take a look.’

  Anya turned to go but spun back around as Frank rushed towards the door.

  She caught his wrist just before his fingers touched the handle. ‘Frank, no. Stay away from the door. I’ll break your wrist if I have to.’

  Anya tried to twist his wrist, to disable him, but he locked his arm so she couldn’t move it. He pushed her away with his other hand causing her to slip and bang her head on the floor.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said as he lunged for the handle again.

  She reached out for him, this time from a seated position on the floor. ‘Please. Don’t—’

  His fingers hovered over the handle. ‘You don’t understand. I need this. I hid while the rebels shot my father and I did nothing to help. That haunts me every day.’

  Anya’s lower lip trembled. ‘Me too. Please, Frank. Wait until the morning.’

  He stared at her. ‘Really? How do you manage it? You seem so together all the time.’

  Anya looked away. ‘I’m not together at all. I’m messed up, just like everyone else.’

  Frank turned back to the handle. ‘What if this door is the way out of here? What if I can do something that’s worth shit in this world?’

  ‘Think about what you’re doing. Think of the risks.’

  Frank gave a short, bitter laugh. ‘That’s all I’ve been doing and the risks are worth it. Risks are what get me out of bed in the morning. I joke around to forget my pain. Risks make me feel alive after feeling dead for so long.’

  He gripped the handle and pressed down.

  ‘Don’t!’

  A noise—a grating, sliding sound—stopped her cold. The metal handle softened and curled back on itself, ensnaring Frank in its steely grip. He tried to pull his right hand free from the circle of steel.

  ‘I can’t move...’

  Anya scrambled to her feet and clawed her fingers underneath where the handle had doubled back on itself. It had completely changed shape. Metal had melded with metal; she couldn’t find where it began and ended.

  ‘There’s nothing to grab.’

  ‘Really stupid, Frank.’ He tugged and strained against the wrist clamp.

  ‘I’ll get the others.’

  ‘No, don’t leave me.’

  She hesitated as Frank jerked and pulled, one foot behind the other.

  Then, a new sound filled the air—a grinding, high-pitched squealing noise. A large metal disc extended out from the wall to the left of the door. The blade spun like a circular saw. It was lined up with Frank’s neck, and moved towards him.

  ‘What the hell is that?’ Frank tried to dislodge his hand from the door. ‘Oh, God. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.’

  Anya wrapped her arms around Frank’s waist and pulled. The blade drew closer. Its spinning disturbed the air, blowing strands of hair into Anya’s face.

  ‘Pull me loose, Anya!’

  ‘I can’t...’

  A smaller blade extended out beneath the larger one, rotating at the same speed. This one approached at waist level.

  The vibrations increased as the blades moved closer. She pulled at Frank’s waist as hard as she could.

  Something new drew her wrist to the door like a magnet. Frank too, as he snapped out of her grasp. His free hand slammed into the glossy gold door. She thought she heard the bones in his wrist break.

  He screamed.

  A deep shudder ran though her wrist upon contact. The small blade made her nervous. She twisted away from it that was moving faster than the larger one and only inches away.

  Her trainers gave her no grip on the smooth floor. Her left arm held her body in place. The smaller blade caught her once, twice on her arm. Anya gritted her teeth and smacked her arm to shift it down and out of the blade’s line.

  But Frank couldn’t move. He squeezed his eyes shut. ‘Oh God, Anya. Please, do something.’

  She wrapped her free arm around Frank’s legs and pulled again, her chest heaving with the effort.

  The blades continued to spin overhead, seconds away from reaching Frank. He leaned back from the door.

  Not far enough.

  Anya jerked her head away, just as the blades ground into something solid.

  Warm and wet rained down on her face. She tasted copper and iron.

  Something heavy dropped to the floor. She heard gurgling.

  Finally, her wrist broke free.

  She opened her eyes and slid over to where Frank had fallen. The larger blade had sliced into his neck. He was bleeding heavily from a large gash. She yanked off her bloodstained hoodie and pressed it to the side of his neck. That’s when she noticed he was missing a hand.

  She swallowed back bile. ‘Frank, stay with me. Hold on. Help’s coming.’

  She checked his pulse and pressed harder on his neck.

  But the gurgling in Frank’s throat had already faded. He stared at nothing, his eyes glassy and lifeless.

  ‘Frank...’ She pulled the hoodie away, refolding it and pressing it to his wound once more.

  The blades had disappeared inside the wall. Frank’s right hand still gripped the handle. The smaller blade had cut through his wrist with surgical precision.

  There was blood everywhere. A gagging Anya squeezed her eyes shut so she couldn’t see it.

  Someone was by her side, lifting her to her feet. Her foot slipped and her eyes shot open. She steadied herself against Dom.

  ‘What the hell happened here?’ Dom’s eyes blazed.

  His anger fuelled her outrage, and she jerked away from him.

  ‘I followed Frank. I tried to stop him from opening the door.’

  Sheila appeared, skidding to a halt when she saw the horror. Anya waited for the screams and her insistence that Dom protect her. But she didn’t even flinch.

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘Frank was trying to open the door,’ he said, in a softer tone that only fuelled Anya’s anger.

  Sheila glared at Anya. ‘And you were helping him?’

  ‘No! What’s wrong with you people? I tried to stop him.’

  Dom hooked an arm under Anya’s elbow but she snatched it away.

  ‘I don’t need your help.’

  She stumbled away without a backwards glance, feeling the shock keep her in a cocoon of numb.

  She made it halfway through the black section of the maze when an ear-piercing siren rattled her bones and brought her to a sudden stop.

  Anya pressed her hands to her ears, to soften the shudders from the vibrating floor. The walls on either side dropped down. The siren stopped.

  She removed her hands. The exit to the walkway opened and a slightly thinner version of Supervisor One walked in.

  ‘Congratulations,’ he said in a flat tone. ‘One of you disobeyed our sign and opened the door. Twenty-four hours. It’s a record. You’re all being rotated to the next floor. Grab your things and meet me by the elevator.’ He turned and left, closing the door behind him without as much as a glance at Anya covered in blood or Frank, dead.

  The beanbags in the kitchen and recreation room looked pathetically small without walls to give the space context. Their dorm room was e
qually exposed. Lilly and Lucas both stood by their beds.

  Anya looked behind her. Sheila was still by Frank’s body, but Dom had started to follow. She stepped over the retracted walls, her movement slowed by her shock.

  Lilly screamed when she saw her approach.

  Anya reached for her backpack. Dom had caught up to her.

  ‘You need to sit down. You’re going into shock.’

  He didn’t try to touch her.

  She saw the concern in his eyes. It must have been for someone else, because this wasn’t happening to her. She wasn’t covered in Frank’s blood. It was just a bad dream.

  Somehow she made it to the elevator. Dom was right behind her.

  Supervisor One waited by the rail of clothing, giving Anya’s appearance the once over.

  He pointed at her arm and spoke to Dom.

  ‘You’ll need to sort that before she crosses the fourth-floor walkway.’

  Anya turned to see a trail of blood behind her. She lifted her arm and examined where the blade had caught her, twice.

  Anya couldn’t muster the energy to change. The fourth floor could take her as they found her.

  Dom grabbed a T-shirt off the rail and ripped it into one long piece of material. He tied it like a tourniquet around Anya’s left arm to stem the bleeding.

  She felt nothing.

  34

  Jason was the talk of Foxrush. His discovery—that Arcis had been altering the frequency of its force field—had sent Preston into overdrive. Jason had offered his help but when Preston worked, he worked alone.

  They were getting closer to leaving Foxrush and saving Anya. Jason could feel it. He thought about going it alone, but Max’s wife had disappeared, and Max and a rescue group had already tried the front-door approach. According to Max, those who had successfully made it inside Arcis that day were never seen again.

  But if Jason and Thomas could figure out the pattern of rotation, it might give them an edge the rescue group hadn’t had. Max needed answers and Jason would help him find them as long as it meant getting Anya out of Arcis.

  He found Thomas sitting cross-legged on a patch of grass behind one of the smaller tents. Ten sheets of paper surrounded him, each scrawled with numbers and data. He and Jason had been trying to work out when and why the power fluctuated, so they could predict Arcis’ schedule.