by M. D. Massey
“Go and lay down Ashley,” she croons.
I feel a shift in the air of the room and all thoughts of escape leave my mind. My vision begins to fade. I form a fist and make contact once more with the metal door. The pain revives me again but only for a moment. Something filters through the vents against the far wall and all I can think of is the bed. My feet are sluggish but I manage to drag the silver pole back to the bed, enticing and comfortable, not stopping until I am horizontal, pulling the thin sheet over my body.
* * *
The lights are dim when I open my eyes. With no way to know how long I have been asleep, I shift slightly taking account of how my body feels. They drugged me. I know that much. So, wherever they are in the building, they have control over the atmosphere of the room. The next thing I notice is the incredible urgent need to empty my bladder. I lower my feet to the cold floor, crossing over to the door.
Still locked.
“Um....Maggie?” I call out.
A moment passes.
“Hello?” I say.
“Yes, Ashley,” someone replies, but her voice is not Maggie's. She sounds young. Not much older than myself perhaps.
“Um... I wondered if there was someplace I could pee.”
“There is a restroom behind the bed for your privacy where you can void.”
Void, I think. What. The. Hell.
The bathroom is smaller than the one at Eden's. Once there, I can examine the port in my arm without worrying about being seen. The tape peels from the crook of my elbow with ease, but the tubing takes a bit of a tug. It stings as I remove it, but it does not bleed much. I jab a wad of toilet paper in the crook of my arm and return to the main room.
“There is a meal for you in the dumbwaiter,” the woman says through the intercom. “You shouldn't have any trouble opening the door.”
Sliding the door open proves to be harder than expected. Perhaps I put a dent in it after all. With one more hitch, it slides free, revealing a tray with a flat silver cover over the plate. I set the tray aside and run my fingers through and around the inside of the enclosure. This might actually work. I climb inside the dumbwaiter and pull the door closed behind me. My eyes squeeze shut for a moment in attempt to ignore the claustrophobic sensation creeping up my shoulders, as I press my back against the metal wall of the cubicle. The only light is the line from underneath the door.
The light soon disappears as the lift begins to move, creating a flip-flop sensation in my stomach. I weigh more than a tray of food, but this thing seems solid enough. A few seconds pass by. For a moment I wonder if I will be somehow trapped in here forever, locked in this tiny coffin traveling upwards to a level out of reach, as cold panic clutches at my throat.
The dumbwaiter comes to a stop. The door opens.
My eyes take a moment to adjust, but I see a hand extended to help me climb out. I take the hand, carefully exiting the dumbwaiter and adjusting the gown around my chilled body as the panic drains away. Three of them, white coats and curious smiles, are watching me. Behind them, I see a wall of screens flickering pictures of the room I had just escaped.
Another woman enters through the open door to the left, catching her breath as if she had just been running. When my eyes focus on her, I realize who she is. The room grows still as reality sinks in. Every eye in the room watches my reaction.
Her hair has grayed at the edges of her face, but I know her. The woman who held my hand as a small child traveling down the elevator. The woman who encouraged me to smile as the photographer snapped the photo all those years ago. Maggie. Margaret Donovan. She straightens the collar of the white lab coat.
“Congratulations, Ashley,” she says with a smile. “You just passed your first test.”
10
Her eyes glow and her smile widens as she speaks. In an instant, I am crushed in her embrace as she clasps her arms around my shoulders. Dr. Margaret Donovan, the woman who raised me and of whom I have little memory. I stiffen at the contact and step back as soon as she lets go. My instinct is to put as much space as possible between the two of us, and I cannot keep from crossing my arms over the thin paper gown. The other scientists watch on with eyes darting back and forth between us.
“What test?” I say in what I can only hope is an unwavering voice.
The dull beige room from which I have just escaped is visible at various angles on each screen jutting from the observation deck. I scratch at the crook of my arm where I had removed the I.V. It itches terribly. Someone flips a switch and the lights go dim in the room below.
“We wanted to see how resilient you are to a foreign environment, to start with, but you showed remarkable skill and determination in finding the means of escape.”
Her words make little sense to me. “To what?” I stammer.
“Oh, Ashley.” She grasps my shoulders, her eyes nearly brimming. “You have no idea how remarkable you are. Do you?”
I do not answer.
“Come with me. I'll show you to your room and you can get into some proper clothing.”
She takes me by the hand and leads me out of the room. Despite my distrust of this woman, I know I need to find out what this place is. The sooner I can get my bearings, the quicker I can find a way out.
The hallway has shiny white walls and beige trim, calm and sterile. Imagining the lights gone and paper cluttering the floor, it is identical to the abandoned laboratory where I had found the photograph.
“Where are you taking me?” I ask.
“To your room.”
We arrive at a large double door leading to another hall with a markedly different atmosphere. The floor is carpeted with ornate designs, golden flowers against a maroon background. Gilded trim lines the taupe colored walls. We pass several doors built from rich red wood, gleaming and decadent. My bare feet sink into the thick carpet, and it reminds me of the thick mossy ground in the midst of the forests.
“This is going to be your home for a little while,” she says as we turn the corner.
“Is it?” I reply.
“Yes,” she says with a laugh. “I understand this must be so disorienting for you, but I can assure you we want nothing but for you to feel at home here. After all, you are home.”
We reach the door at the end of the hall and come to a stop.
“Go on,” she says with that incessant smile. “Open it.”
I take a breath and turn the gold handle.
The furniture is bright shades of lavender, purple, and pink shades foreign to the vine-covered cityscapes to which I had grown accustomed. The space is filled with an enormous bed piled with pillows and ruffles, a bookshelf, and posters of smiling movie stars adorning the walls. What strikes me immediately is that this room is identical to the one in which I lived as a child before the Fall.
I step inside, momentarily shocked by the wave of Deja Vu. The nostalgia of the surroundings threatens my emotions, but I push them aside with the realization that this is exactly the reaction she is most likely hoping for. Connection. Longing for home.
She proceeds to flutter around the room, straightening here and there, smoothing out the bed covers. “There are towels in the bathroom, so you can get cleaned up. If you need anything, just press this button here.” She pauses at the door. “You may call me Dr. Donovan or Maggie if that isn't too informal. There was a time when you called me 'Mother,' but your memory has been compromised. I understand if you are not comfortable with that just yet.”
“There is one thing,” I say.
“Yes, of course.”
“My backpack?”
She trots across the room to a closet door the same sickly pink shade as the wall, opening it to reveal a small room lined with clothing. She reaches in and pulls out my backpack, holding it out to me. Despite my desire to remain stoic, I grab it from her, clinging to the one familiar thing in the whole compound.
“Ashley,” she says in her simpering tone. “You have been through so much, I know. Why don't you get settled here? P
ick out something to wear. Take your time. I'll come back in a couple of hours to show you around and introduce you to the others.” She walks towards the door to exit, pausing at the frame and turning back towards me. “You are not a prisoner here. Please don't think that, Ashley.”
For a moment, her face reveals a glimpse of genuine friendliness and I wonder if I am responding too harsh towards her.
“Is there anything else I can do for you at this time?” she says.
“Just one,” I reply. “My name is Ash.”
“Ash. Of course,” she replies with a thin pressed smile before she pulls the door closed behind her, leaving me alone.
The first thing I do is open the backpack and examine the contents. Everything is there, even the photograph. Myself as a child, standing hand-in-hand alongside a younger version of the same woman who just left. Why I feel a strange affection for the woman in the picture, but a cold disdain for the same woman in person is difficult for me to understand. Perhaps there is some memory yet to be unlocked which holds the answer.
I step to the closet. Mesmerized, I run my fingers over the selection of clothing. On one side hangs several pairs of pants leading to a collection of brightly colored dresses. I pass over them thinking them impractical. Out there, it had not been difficult to gather selections of clothing from the abandoned stores. I always stocked up on tee shirts when I had the chance.
I choose a pair of jeans and a fitted black cotton tee shirt, something in which I could easily move if needed. The shoes have rubber soles with thick padding around the foot, made for running which may come in handy. Next, I examine the room, my eyes darting around the corners, suspecting they may be watching me, even here.
Dr. Donovan arrives a few moments after I press the button and we return back the way we came, towards the laboratory. Just at the end of the hall, she stops and presses a panel on the wall. I realize then that there is a set of doors inset into the paneling which opens to a staircase and sliding doors leading to an elevator.
“Here we are,” she says.
The doors open and we step inside, closed in and surrounded by reflective walls on all sides. I am overcome with a wave of Deja Vu when she smiles at me just as she had when I was a child.
“Is everything alright?” She draws together her eyebrows.
“Yes, I'm fine,” Even though my stomach flips at the movement of the elevator, leaving me disoriented. I place my hand on the bar along the elevator wall until the unit comes to a stop. The door opens and we step into an open courtyard and glorious fresh air.
“This way.” She gestures down a paved footpath.
People come and go all around us, laughing and smiling. Again, I notice the lack of urgency I witnessed in the members of Eden's farm. These people are the same. Living in assumed safety changes people's demeanor.
The sun pierces my vision as we move towards a patio extended from a squat brick building in the center of the courtyard. Through the expansive open window, I see people scurrying and sounds of metal clanking together. We approach one of the metal grid tables and sit down. She motions to a girl with deep red hair, close to my age, darting to and from the surrounding tables.
“Rose, can you bring us a tray please?”
“Right away,” she replies, casting me nothing more than a quick glance before disappearing into the building. Around us, the others sit and eat with casual, slow comfort, sitting up straight, chatty and relaxed. It makes no sense.
“How are you feeling?” Maggie asks, pulling my attention back to her.
“Oh, I'm fine,” I insist. “Maybe a bit disoriented, but I'm okay. Really.”
“The food will help. I am sure.”
Within another few minutes, the young woman named Rose returns, balancing an oval tray containing two plates of food. The one she sets down in front of me, contains a stacked sandwich made of puffy bread, a large slab of grilled, ground meat. Next to it, lies a pile of golden, glistening sticks which smell of salt and earth. Maggie's plate contains the same food. I watch her to see what she does. She picks up a golden stick and takes a bite off the end, and I do my best to mimic her movements to avoid drawing attention to myself.
The food is delicious and unlike anything I have tasted before. It does much to make me feel better, but I know I have to keep my composure. I need them to trust me. More importantly, I need them to think I trust them.
“Okay,” I say pushing away my now empty plate. “Are you ready to tell me what this is all about?”
“I'm sorry,” she says clasping her hands before her. “This all must seem so strange to you. I apologize for all the theatrics. It is all just so exciting. I can't wait to show you everything. Would you like to have a tour?”
“That would be wonderful,” I reply.
I stand and follow her, taking in the details of the compound as we move along. The expanse of the courtyard is large enough that I cannot see the far end except that it is surrounded by buildings. A metal staircase leads up the side of a brick building. There are no apparent exits between the buildings, each connecting to the other forming an expansive wall around the circumference, not one of them is less than three stories tall. We walk along the spider web of paths stretched across the grassy area, accessorized by a square-edged shrubbery.
“This place was built long before the Fall,” she begins. “Those of us left, consider it our duty to uphold the ideals of the human race, what is left of us. And we are proud to do so. There are seven of these compounds across the country. One of which you grew up in, as you may have guessed. Each compound is completely secure. Nothing can get inside the perimeter.”
“But why?” I ask, pausing as we approach the sidewalk running in front of the buildings. “Why did they build this place if nothing had happened yet? How did they know what was coming?”
She considers her words, continuing slowly as if reciting a memorized passage. “There had been isolated incidents. Whatever this was, had come to the attention of certain powerful parties long before reaching the public's knowledge. They called it the Z plague. At first as a bit of a joke, but once it became apparent what the potential was, no resource was spared in building these places. They already knew it was only a matter of time before something went wrong...”
“Went wrong...?” Something sparks in my mind, reaching for a puzzle piece just out of reach.
“Sadly, yes.” She gestures towards a towering building with two spires jutting towards the pale sky. “This is the school building where the others take their lessons. You'll be joining them after we complete all your tests. We want you to be comfortable and get acclimated as soon as possible.”
“Tell me more about the Fall. How did they know what would happen?”
“Oh, they didn't specifically know this would happen,” she continues as we meander on down the path. “But they always knew it would be something. Nuclear war, biological warfare... There was always some apocalypse or another being kept at bay. Honestly, there were many surprised it didn't come sooner.”
We have circled around the length of the courtyard, returning back to the elevator entrance at the base of the building.
“This building is the main laboratory, some of which you have already seen. This is the place where they are trying to recreate the molecular reaction which caused the plague in the first place. Once they do, it could lead us to a more efficient antidote. The living quarters are here as well, for many of the scientists and their families.”
“There is something I don't understand,” I say. “What does any of this have to do with me? Why did I grow up the way I did, and why don't I remember any of it?”
She nods, pressing her lips together and clasping her hands behind her back. “Come with me,” she says. We step once more into the coffin-like elevator which lifts us without ceremony to the third floor.
“Once the government realized this virus had the potential to erupt into epidemic proportions, work began immediately to find a vaccine. Several experiments
took place in attempt to create antibodies within an existing bloodline. Keep in mind, this happened long before the actual Fall.”
Up ahead, a floor to ceiling picture window spills a cheerful yellow light onto the linoleum floor of the hallway. As we approach, I see smiling, cartoon animal faces sticking to the glass overlooking a room filled with couches on one side and cribs lining the wall around one corner of the room. A gentle-faced woman stands bouncing one of the babies against her hip, a fat and happy child gnawing on a chubby fist.
Behind her a young man straightens up, his back to us, having just laid down one of the children in a crib. I guess his age at about two years older than me. He brushes away a stray lock of auburn hair and immediately I see the resemblance to the girl who had brought us our food earlier. He glances our way, giving a quick wave.
“There was one successful strain of antibodies found,” Maggie continues. “They have been trying to replicate the circumstances ever since. These children here are the product of that experiment. Oh, don't worry! They are healthy in every way. Born just as any of us have been. But after that first case, success has evaded us.”
I cross my arms in front of me, unable to pinpoint the source of my discomfort.
“Would you like to go inside?”
“Inside?” I reply. “I don't... I mean, I've never...”
“Come on,” she pushes open the door inviting me inside. “The nursery is one of the areas we are most proud of. If we cannot pinpoint the antidote, at least we have a good start on rebuilding a healthy population, right?”
“I suppose so,” I mutter as I step through the door. The room is filled with babbles and occasional fussy cries. Two infants sit on the carpet sharing a wooden beaded wire toy. The woman passes off the child to the young man and steps towards me.
“I'm Eva,” she says with a wide smile and an outstretched hand. “It's nice to meet you. This is my son, Thorn. Rose tells me she made your acquaintance at lunch today.”