Kzine Issue 18

by Graeme Hurry et al.

  * * *

  I lay awake in bed, contemplating whether I should go. The Parental Unit is in sleep mode, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t monitoring my actions. They monitor everything here. I figure it already knows about the book, so I might as well see this thing through.

  The Girl and I sit side by side under the darkness of Sky, passing a cigarette back and forth. This is the first time I’ve ever snuck out of my box like this. I’m kind of surprised the door wasn’t locked, but it also makes sense. Where could I go? A twelve foot wall encloses Outside. You can’t see much beyond it and there is nothing to aid in scaling it. There’s just a bench on some grass where you can look up and not see a ceiling.

  “You ever wonder what’s beyond these walls?” The Girl says.

  “School. Church. Therapy.” I point in the general direction of each.

  “The whole infernal machine.” She gives a knowing smile. “No, I mean beyond that.”

  How does she know about that?

  “I imagine miles and miles of Corridor,” I say. “Lot’s of locked doors. Behind them, maybe some more people like us.”

  “And beyond that?”

  I have to think about it for a moment. “I’d like to think there are other, larger patches of Sky.”

  “What about beneath them?”

  “Bigger and better places than Outside.”

  She nods her head. She knows more than she’s telling me.

  “Where did you come from,” I say. “Before you transferred here?”

  “A place like this.”

  “A place outside the machine?”

  She answers my question with a question. “Would you want to visit if one existed?”

  “Would they let me?”

  She puts on a show of thinking about this. “I don’t know. But that doesn’t mean you can’t.”

  It’s like I’m talking to a different person. She is no longer a student, like me, living with a Parental Unit, going to School every day. We are no longer equals. She is in a position of authority, asking questions like The Therapist or The Priest. Giving vague answers. Trying to get information out of me. I become angry.

  “What exactly is the point of all this?” I gesture between us. “What do you want?”

  “Maybe we just want what’s best for you.” She said we. I look to see if she has a hand reaching under the back of her shirt.

  “Did The Priest put you up to this?” I say. “Is this penance for your sins?”

  “I haven’t been to see The Priest.”

  “Maybe you have your own Priest, back where you came from, before they relocated you.”

  “You have to trust me.”

  I stand up to go. “No. I don’t.”

  As I walk away she calls after me. “They don’t always lock the doors here. But something tells me you already know that.” I shouldn’t stop, but I do. I turn back around. Another mistake for my list.

  * * *

  A week goes by and everything is back to normal. No Restricted Material. No Confession. No sign of The Girl. I start to think maybe she never existed, but she warned me that would happen.

  I count the days. If after seven more I still want to go through with the plan, I’m supposed to meet her at a designated area in The Corridor. I recite the directions every night like a prayer.

  The night finally arrives. I wait until The Parental Unit has gone into sleep mode and then I wait some more. I try to think back to what came before this, but all I get are fragments. Kind of like reading an analog book full of black lines. I remember long, white legs. I remember all the faces looking the same, covered in squares of white cloth. Then there’s a huge gap. The rest is School, Church, and Therapy, on an endless repeat.

  I slip out of bed, fully dressed. I take nothing with me except this journal. Before I close the door, I take one last look at The Parental Unit. A part of me is sad I’ll never see it again. But it’s a small part.

  Even though it’s the middle of the night, the lights in The Corridor are on. With every step I expect a shout, an alarm, a hand on my shoulder. It would almost be a relief. I follow The Girl’s instructions, committed to memory. They seem random. The Corridor is like a maze. Somewhere lurking within its walls I imagine a minotaur. Before long I’ve lost all sense of direction.

  I try a couple doors, out of curiosity. Most of them are locked. A few open on supply closets. Mops and buckets. The Corridor has a lot of floor space, but I’ve never seen any janitors.

  One door opens onto what looks like a nursery. I get a whiff of deja vu but it fades, like a lost sneeze. I get down on my hands and knees to view the room from a different vantage point. Familiarity washes over me. I lay on my back and take it in. Bright lights. Masked faces hovering.

  I check other rooms. Some contain fragments of memory, some don’t. The most disconcerting are exact replicas of places I’ve know all my life. School. Church. Therapy. My box. There are chairs turned over on top of desks. Parental Units unplugged. A layer of dust covers it all.

  In one of the classrooms I find a box full of Slaughterhouse paperbacks. I flip through them. They are all marked up, some more than others. I feel like there’s enough here to assemble a full, readable copy. I consider taking the box with me, but I know that would be foolish. Instead I stuff as many copies as will fit into my pockets.

  Back in The Corridor, I make what I think is the final turn. The hallway dead-ends at a single door with a wooden handle. No locking mechanism. I lean against the door to wait, per my instructions. I fight the urge to try the handle.

  The quiet is huge. The slightest movement sends sound bouncing off the walls. At least no one will be able to sneak up on me, I tell myself.

  I think about why I’m doing this. It’s not too late to go back, but I’m not sure I could find my way. I don’t know if I’m even in the right place. I check my watch. She said she’d be here. An hour goes by. I start to worry.

  Maybe she got caught? Or maybe I’m the victim of an elaborate setup. I’m going to wind up in Confession again. Or worse. I start to feel foolish. What do I do if she doesn’t show? I study the door. I’ve come this far. Would I go through on my own?

  A movement catches my eye. I look up. At the end of the hall is a man about my age. He wears the same clothes as me, has the same haircut. I’m on my feet, heart racing. How did I not hear him? I finger the handle behind my back, unsure of what to do. My own fear is reflected in his eyes. We stare at each other, frozen.

  It only lasts a moment. The echo of footsteps interrupts our standoff. Startled, he turns towards the sound. I turn towards the door. I turn the handle and push. The door is heavy. I throw my shoulder into it.

  “Wait!” A voice fills The Corridor.

  I stop pushing. That’s it, I tell myself. It’s over. I turn around in defeat.

  “You okay?” It’s The Girl. Relief washes over me.

  “I thought I saw someone.”

  “It’s just me.” She smiles. “You ready?”

  I crane my neck, look past her. The question hangs there. Whoever I saw, they’re not there anymore. I nod.

  The Girl reaches out and turns the handle. The door swings open like nothing at all.

  * * *

  It’s been a long time since I’ve written. Life on The Outside doesn’t allow for much free time. I start Work before the sun is up and don’t finish until after it sets. This is a necessity if I want to keep off the street. The box it affords me is slightly bigger than my old one, stacked together with a bunch of other boxes in one big concrete box.

  Work itself is another series of boxes, but these are lacking in any semblance of privacy. Everyone can see what I’m doing and The Boss can pop his head in at any time. I shuffle papers, mostly, and trade them with the occupants of the other boxes. It’s mind numbing stuff, and I’d leave if I could find something better, but Work is hard to come by on The Outside. Plus, I have a child on the way.

  I wonder what it must be like to grow up withou
t a Parental Unit. It keeps me up at night. I have no idea how to raise a child. Maybe I should have thought of that before I left. Maybe my unborn son or daughter would have been better off.

  If I do well enough at Work, if I can save up enough, maybe we can leave this dreary place. I’ve heard life is easier beyond The City. It’s all my fellow workers talk about, although none of them have ever been there.

  Like me, some of them came from Inside. We herd together around coffee during break, out of nothing more than our loyalty to a shared experience. Everyone else was born here, like my son or daughter will be. I hope for their sake I made the right decision.

  Thankfully I’m not on my own. If it weren’t for The Girl, I would have never survived in this strange new world. As soon as we stepped through that door I dropped to my knees and cried. I had never seen so many people, so much Sky. But The Girl kept her cool. She stood me up and got me off the street. “We have to keep moving,” she said. “In case they come looking for us.”

  Her instincts were crucial in those first few weeks. She recognized the importance of establishing relationships, and always seemed to meet the right people. She secured me my job. It is because of her I can support our family.

  Other than that, life isn’t much different here than on The Inside. Nothing new or exciting ever happens here. Once it’s set, it’s hard to deviate from the routine. Until the day my child arrives, I don’t think I’ll have cause to write again. Which is a shame, because I’ve grown to love writing, and I’m better with words than I used to be.

  * * *

  The Therapist closed the Moleskine and placed it in front of him, a wry smile on his face. He lined the book up parallel with the edges of his desk. The glow of the lamp gave his pale skin a jaundiced hue.

  He looked up at The Girl, who sat across from him, her face equally as pale. Her stomach distended against the too-small shirt she wore. He gestured to the book. “You should get this back before he notices.”

  The Girl reached across the desk to take the Moleskine.

  “I’ve made some minor alterations,” The Therapist said. “Subliminal things. I doubt he’ll notice.”

  The Girl nodded, shifted in her chair, nervous.

  “Things are going well?”

  “Yes.”

  “How are you adjusting to life in Second Tier?”

  “It’s… different.”

  “It’s been a long time since I’ve been there myself. Obviously there are a lot of former patients it would be better I didn’t run into.”

  “But it’s so big.”

  “Not as big as you think.”

  “What about…” She looked down to her stomach.

  “How far along are you?”

  “Twenty-eight weeks.”

  “There’s still time. In exactly ten more weeks we’ll induce. You’ll tell him you went into labor while he was at Work, which will be true, and there wasn’t time to send word. You’ll tell him the child was stillborn.”

  “What does stillborn mean?”

  “It means born dead.”

  “Oh.” Just the thought of it disturbed her. “Will I be able to visit?”

  “It’d be better if you didn’t. We will place the child with an appropriate Parental Unit. Maybe even your own. It will be well cared for.”

  The Girl could only nod in response. She stared at the cracked linoleum floor, trying not to cry.

  “See The Doctor for some supplements before you head back to Second Tier.”

  The Girl got up to go, paused at the door. “He talks about leaving The City a lot,” she said.

  The Therapist brightened, seemed almost proud. “Good. That’s… good.”

  “What’s out there?”

  For the first time, The Therapist looked unsure of himself. “I don’t know. I’ve never traveled beyond Second Tier. If you’re lucky, maybe you’ll get the chance.”

  They stood there in silence, and then The Girl turned and exited the room, hand on her stomach. She walked down The Corridor, thinking about how fortunate she was to have this opportunity, tears rolling down her cheeks.

  THE PATH

  by Lynn Rushlau

  Fingers tracing lichen on the tree trunk, Kaya considered the slices of light. Nine spilled out before her in the Traverse Grove. Twisting. Beckoning.

  Excitement buzzed through her veins. Nine new worlds. Nine unexplored realms. And the guard at the entrance clueless that she’d slipped in through the woods. Mischief touched her smug smirk.

  Of course she was ready for this. Everyone would finally agree to that when she came home with her précis. She’d already proven one of the first tenets of surveying. Clearly, she could pass unseen. She’d made it around and through all the Grove’s security.

  Pulse racing, she crept along the border of the Grove. She paused to admire the fierceness of the crimson light. The honeyed streaks that sparkled in the gold one. Iridescent bubbles shimmered in an icy blue column.

  But the one on the end was a pink that evoked cotton candy and distant twinkling stars. She beamed. This one was meant to be hers. Adjusting the straps on her backpack, she stepped into and through the pink. Stumbled. Caught her balance in a different place. An unknown world.

  Mist swirled through a dusky grey wood. Nearly dawn. Or just past dusk. She grinned. She’d find out soon enough. She trailed her fingers through the mist that ribboned past her. Tendrils caught on her fingers and curled along the course of her hand. Delight widened her grin.

  Between the shimmery white mist and the grey light of the sky, she could see her new world fairly well. Waves and spirals of mist looped both ways down the dirt path on which she stood, around the trees and into the depths of the forest. From this spot, nothing more could be observed, but oh, could human life be smelled.

  Perfume wafted on the air. The earthy musk of patchouli, sandalwood, myrrh. Other deep, earthy scents she couldn’t quite place. Intoxicating. Cloaking the entire woods in a feeling of holiness, sacredness.

  Loving that either direction could lead to unimaginable wonders, she took a step forward. Her thoughts caught up two steps later and she froze. This smelled like a holy place. What if she trespassed? She clenched her jaw. As long as she passed unseen—as she was supposed to—all would be fine. The foreign god would forgive her intrusion due to ignorance. Her or His priests need never know.

  The trail twisted around great trees and clumps of undergrowth she couldn’t identify in the dim light. They could be plant-shaped goblins for all she knew. The thought sped her heartbeat and her pace. They could not be goblins.

  Except they could. New world. Utterly unknown. She veered away from the next clump.

  Her focus was so caught on the worrisome blob of plants, her feet carried her into the small clearing before she noticed. A gasp knocked breath from her lungs. She edged a pace back. Two, three. Out of the clearing. Fingers clutched the nearest tree for support. Papery bark came off in her hand. Heart thumping too fast and too loud, she pressed closer to the tree.

  The world she chose to protect wasn’t supposed to be one of barbarians. A ten foot pyramid of skulls gaped at her from the center of the clearing. A few skulls loomed brilliant white. Most bore designs. Flowers of red and yellow on one in the center. Two rows down on the end, a pink butterfly splayed across the forehead. Jagged marks of blue and black crossed the foreheads of others. Simple circles of different colors rimmed the eye sockets of the majority.

  A flicker of light drew her attention. Candles lined the base of the pyramid. Caught in glass cups of red, purple and black, firelight danced along the bottom row of skulls. Curls of smoke rose from between the dancing flames caught inside two black cups. Incense. Recently lit?

  Candles flickered. Mist swirled. A single plume of smoke wafted from a stick of incense. Nothing else, not even a slight wind, moved around her.

  Taking a deep breath, she skirted around the edge of the clearing. As she drew even with the left side of the pyramid, she spotted two
lanes leading out. One mere steps from her. The other even with the next corner of the pyramid. She chose the nearest and took off at a jog.

  This track zigzagged its way upwards. Panting, she slowed down. It wouldn’t do to run herself out of breath. Logs were set at each zig and zag to serve as a step up into the next section.

  The route led nowhere for twice, three times as long as the one from her entry to the skulls. This time she spotted the candlelight first. Fire beckoned through the trees beyond a zig. She stepped over the log, taking that sharp veer to the left, and slowed to a crawl as she approached the end of the walkway.

  Immense boulders loomed to either side of the entrance. Kaya slipped around one, hugging close to its cold solidity. People filled the space before her. She took a deep breath. Not filled. That implied far more people than were actually present. Her précis must be solid facts, no exaggeration.

  Clumps of people stood around tiny structures with roofs, but no walls. Bursts of golden flame sparked and swiftly faltered around them. She laughed silently at herself, tension spilling from her shoulders. They lit incense.

  The structure behind them drew her attention. It rose four stories into the sky. Brilliant gold light filled wood-framed, covered windows on level after level. Tiny red lanterns bobbed from the roofs of porch on ground level. Glows of red stained porch columns three times the height of a man, wide enough she would need two or three friends to encircle one with their arms.

  People climbed the steps and walked the portico’s length. Some disappeared into doors at either end. The black silhouettes of two people passed along a balcony on two levels up. Faint music drifted on the mist. She couldn’t spot its source. Perhaps from inside the building?

  Wishing she’d arrived by day, she tiptoed closer for a better look. She wanted—needed—to be able to get more accurate details on the building, the attire of the people. To be able to see exactly what they were doing with the incense.

  Of course, what she really wanted to do was climb the steps to that portico. Touch those pillars. Enter that building. She sighed silently. She’d need weeks—maybe months—of observation to learn enough to mimic the clothing and ways of these people. Perhaps longer still to learn their language, assuming speaking would be necessary to enter.