by Lisa Jade
"What?" she demands, "what is it? Is he dead?"
I start to move my head, but suddenly a mottled hand reaches up and grabs Minni's. She yelps and we both jump back, me losing my balance and crashing into the wall. Minni gasps and pulls herself to her feet, managing to maintain some small amount of dignity. I sit up, my shoulders pressed into the concrete, my mouth agape.
N is sitting up now, for the first time in weeks or maybe even months. Even in the dim light, I can see that his body is covered in sores. His bones audibly creak and we both wince back, frightened to be around someone so fragile. He lifts one bony knee and rests his arm on it, then his slim face twists into a smile.
"Well, well," he says, his voice barely a whisper, "look who it is."
His gaze lifts, floating past Minni and focusing on me. My heart plummets. Oh no. It is who I think it is.
The man sees my expression and lets out a dark, mirthless laugh.
"Ha. Cat got your tongue?"
Minni frowns, looking between us, and he scowls.
"I see they left you here, too, girlie. What's the name again… I think it was Mouse?"
I don't move; don't even react. I don't know what to do.
The man winks a little, and his face flashes in my head. He was there when the accident happened. He was there when Adam and the others came back from the first mission. The face floats in the back of my mind, younger and fresher and healthier. I can't think of the name.
"Okay," snaps Minni, "someone explain to me what's going on. Please. N, I've been asking you to speak to me for weeks. Where did all this energy come from?"
"It's not energy. I'm just intrigued that someone else from Fairground is here. And don't call me N. Surely by now you've heard me call myself Nicholas."
Nicholas. Of course.
Minni blinks slowly, then something seems to dawn on her face.
"That was your name? Huh. I just kind of assumed you were talking nonsense.”
"You're the only one who talks nonsense around here," he grumbles, but she ignores him.
"By the way," she asks, "what did you mean by someone else from Fairground?"
"I suppose the girl can't exactly tell you where she's from, but I'd think you'd figured it out about me by now."
"No," she admits, "I honestly had no idea you were from there. We found you so far away…"
His expression falters, and for a moment I think he might say something kind. Instead he simply shakes his head.
"There’s a good reason for that. As I'm sure the quiet one will agree, the Scout team at Fairground are the worst bunch of people I've ever had the misfortune to meet."
I shake my head wildly. No. No, they're great people. Strong, smart, brave. They're heroes in their own time.
"Don't be so kind to them," he hisses, "they left you behind in the city just like they left me."
"They didn't leave her behind. She got separated."
"And that's what they'll keep telling themselves. Just like they did with me. I got ‘separated' too. They didn't look for me. Didn't come back for me. Just left me out here like a dog."
His words pierce my chest and I feel a little sick. No. No, they wouldn't just leave me here. I matter to them. Maybe not as much as Dr Newton, Adam or any of the Scouts… or the council… but I kind of matter. I'm at least a little bit important to them. Aren't I?
Suddenly, doubt sets in. I don't even remember Nicholas going missing. I don't remember the announcement, the desperate attempts to find him. I don't remember anyone mentioning his name after he was gone. My gut clenches.
They wouldn't forget about me.
Minni interrupts, looking him up and down with an expression only reserved for mad people.
"Come on. Don't just assume the worst. Anyway, N."
"Nicholas."
"Sorry. Nicholas. Anyway, what the hell is wrong with you? I've been trying to get you to show any reasonable signs of life for ages. How can I treat you if you won't tell me what's wrong?"
He pushes her hand away and snarls.
"Oh please. Your constant nagging is the only thing that's wrong with me. If you would just shut the hell up, I could get some rest."
"Why won't you at least eat something?"
She pushes a plate of food towards him, but he kicks it away.
"What's the damn point?"
Minni glances back at me, her eyes darting around. She needs me to step in and help, but I can't. I'm frozen by my own internal panic, the thought of being abandoned by Fairground. Her eyes plead with me to help, though, so I manage to scramble to my feet and pick up the food. It's a little dirty, so I wipe it off and put it back on the plate. I try passing it to Nicholas, my movements slow, my eyes wide, just like I do with everyone else…
His arm flies up and smacks the plate hard, knocking it out of my hand and sending it across the room. Minni scowls, disgusted by his manners, but I just watch him.
The way this man looks at me; all jowls and brows, hate and anger and resentment rolled into one… it's terrifying. It's the look of someone who's sat for months or even years and allowed pain and sadness to snowball and grow, until all that's left is fury and selfishness.
"Don't play dumb," he scolds me, "I know you. You're the little girl who worked under Newton. Well, it's not going to help you. I thought I was important, too, all that time ago. I thought I'd never be left behind, but I was. And if they gave up on me, you can be damn sure they're going to give up on you."
His lips curl into a cruel smile.
"Make yourself comfortable now, girlie. You’re never going home."
Chapter Fourteen
I can't help it. Tears fill my eyes and I pull away, narrowly avoiding him as he reaches up and grabs for me. I stand for a moment, not sure what to do, and then take off. I hear Minni call my name as I leave, but I don’t stop.
I run out of the building and into Street. I hide my face in my hands as I go, and somehow nobody notices the tears in my eyes. My mind is in a panic; I don't know where to go. I don't know what to do. All of a sudden I feel trapped and enclosed, claustrophobic...
Strong hands find me and I'm pulled into a sudden embrace.
"Hold up!” cries Max, "what's the rush?"
I stare up at him, unable to tear my gaze from his face. He looks at me for a moment, his blue eyes drilling into my own dark ones. I pull away hard and the movement knocks the water from my eyes. It splashes down my cheeks and streams from my chin. I can feel my face turning red and my mouth twists, my face contorting into something ugly.
His face softens and suddenly he pulls at my wrist, yanking me back towards him. Arms wrap around me and his gentle breathing drowns out the sound of Street.
"Come with me," he mutters. He grabs my elbow and leads me, guiding me out of Street and into one of the buildings. My heart sinks. He must think I'm pathetic.
He places a hand on my back and pushes me, and I stumble a little as I feel stairs under my feet. I try to see where he's taking me, but it's dark and my eyes are brimming with tears, blurred by liquid, shame and sadness and humiliation causing tears so thick I fear I might drown. I wipe madly at my face with a dirty sleeve, but it just leaves my cheek smeared with muck.
I try to stop, pushing back against his touch, but he sighs.
"Just trust me."
I follow him up several flights of stairs, and by the time we reach the top, my cheeks are mostly dry. I don't trip up the steps anymore. I sniff deeply; misery settles in the pit of my stomach.
Suddenly light burns my eyes and I flinch back; but he nudges me forward. He steps past me and I can see his face, his lips curling in a gentle smile.
"Take a look at this."
We turn the corner and I gasp.
We're on the roof. The building is tall, so high that it towers over the other structures around it. Beyond us I can see the sun starting to sink, the light glittering through the dark grid on the globe. The city is laid out below me, at an angle I've never seen before, and
it looks somehow lovely.
I stand in a rooftop garden. Plants and flowers bloom around me, somehow blossoming in the heat, and further down the roof is a small, run down shed. The area is lit golden and soft, the evening sun warm and gentle and comforting.
I turn to look at Max, but he simply raises one hand and points into the distance.
"Look."
His hands find my shoulders and he leans down next to me, his head next to mine. He points again, extending his arm over my shoulder. An odd chill courses through me, but I push the feeling aside.
This time, I follow his gaze. It's off into the distance, into the mass of buildings on the other side of the dome. For a moment, I can't see what he can, but then the sun brightens a little and a shadow forms on the horizon. It's tall and motionless, and the evening light shines through what appears to be an endlessly massive wheel.
Fairground.
I throw myself forward and climb onto the wall, paying no mind to the deathly drop beneath me. Max yelps and grabs at my ankle, trying desperately to hold me onto the wall, but there's no need. Years on watch in the tower has left me fearless. My feet find the wall quickly and hold firm, my weight steady.
I raise my hands to my face and hold it up against my face in a hopeless attempt to keep the sun from my eyes. I squint hard into the distance. If I look hard enough I can just about make out the spokes of the big wheel, the carriages lining the outer edge. I can see the broken bars and the missing carriage doors; I crave it, yearn for it. I reach out a hand to try and clutch it or pull it from the sky, but my fingers close around air and my face falls. The sight is warm and comforting, and the fear starts to ebb. Of course they won’t leave me.
Max leans over the wall, one hand still carefully resting on my leg, like he's ready to grab me and pull me back at any second. He stares at Fairground, too.
"I thought you'd like to see it," he tells me, his voice soft, "this is my personal space. Sometimes I need to get away from things, and you'd be surprised how much time I spend looking at your Fairground."
I turn so sharply that I nearly lose my footing, stumble and then stare at him. That's the first time I've seen any of the people in Street call it Fairground. I've started to think that the whole thing is taboo. He simply looks bemused, a small smirk on his face.
"Yep. I know what it's called. I spent a lot of time talking to your Boss, remember?"
It takes a second to remember who he means, but then a face flashes through my mind and I frown. Adam's been talking to Max? Somehow the whole thing is so bizarre that I simply can't imagine it.
"It sounds wonderful there," Max breathes, "as much as I hate to say it. More structured, more organised. Not like here."
His face falls, and my fleeting moment of joy ends. The tears are gone from my face now, dried and faded in the warmth of the evening. I gaze down at him, and after a moment I climb down from the wall. He turns away now, unable to meet my eyes any longer.
"I know you must hate it here," he mutters, "I know how it seems. My men question me. They question everything I do, every order I give. You must think I'm a terrible leader."
I shake my head wildly, but I can tell he doesn’t believe me.
"Let me just clarify that I never asked for this. I'm expected to be like my Dad and brother... But damn it, I'm just not."
I step up next to him, place a handle gently on his shoulder, and gaze into his eyes. He looks momentarily confused, but I smile softly and his hard expression softens. I blink slowly, leaning forward a little, my eyes pleading with him. Tell me.
I've always been a sounding board for other people's problems. I can't talk, can't give advice, can't get involved in any way - and that makes me perfect for ranting to. Just like the infirmary, people open themselves up to me because I'm non-threatening. I'm simply harmless.
He pushes away a little, hurt in his eyes, but then sighs.
"Most people ended up alone after everything went to pot," he mumbles, "orphans, widows... There's not a single person here who didn't lose most of their family. I'm willing to bet that applies to you, too."
I nod.
"I thought so. Well, I didn't end up alone. I still had my Dad and my brother, Damien. I never really had a mother, but it never occurred to me to give a crap. I didn't need anyone else. My Dad gathered people together, brought them here, made them safe. He became the first leader of Street."
He looks down into the crowd below, a sad look on his face.
"But it didn't last. About two years in, he got sick. Everyone rallied around him but we never had any chance of saving him. After he died Damien took over, and he was as good a leader as Dad had ever been. He was tougher, more private, and encouraged us to build more and fight less. Under him, it all seemed better. We were safer and didn't go outside so much. Things weren't easy, but we felt… secure."
His voice cracks a little.
“But… about five years ago everything went to hell. The wall got broken down, and then the bots got in. We fought them off, but it had been a while since we’d fought anything and we were struggling. Then one of those big fuckers came. I’m sure you know the ones.”
The image of a mecha flashes through my mind and I grimace, an awful feeling in my gut. I can see where this story is going.
“We lost a lot of people that day, including my brother. Even though I was only a teenager, everyone expected to me to lead them.”
I step forward and gingerly place a hand on his shoulder. His face crumples, and for a moment I think he might cry, but then he just sucks in a rattling breath and sighs. His hand finds his head and he rubs his face with a dirty hand, exasperated.
“I’m… not good at this,” he admits, “I’ve never been a natural leader. I’ve never been brave or smart or good with a weapon. Damn, you saw how bad I was with a gun. I never seem to know when to fight and when to flee, and people get hurt because of that. The others question my decisions constantly, but they’ve never asked me to step down. If they asked me to, I would. I’d step down in a heartbeat if I thought someone else would step up.”
He trails off, and he doesn’t need to say the rest. Nobody else would. If Max were to step down then nobody else would take his place, and then Street would be open, exposed and without hope. At least with Max in charge he can try his hardest to do something, anything to protect them.
He gazes up at me, and his eyes shine with years of tears that he’s never been allowed to cry. His face twists, and I feel a rush of empathy. I know how that feels. I know how it is to be boxed into a role, too scared of leaving it in case it all goes wrong. I was the same for a long time, hiding away in the infirmary, watching the Scouts with longing in my eyes and yearning in my heart. It took a lot of courage to finally break away from what I was told I had to be.
Bree’s face flashes in my head, and that night at the watchtower replays in my head. The way that both of us had understood, agreed without words. Scared and excited and lonely at the same time. I remember her wrapping her arms around my shoulders and pulling herself close against me, I can remember my fingers wrapping in her dark coils as we hugged at the top of the tower…
My hand finds his arm now and I tug myself closer, still a little unsure. I wouldn’t blame him if he pushed me away right now; but instead his eyes lock onto mine, and he watches me carefully as I pull him into a slow, gentle half-hug. It’s not the long-held, emotional embrace of the tower, but it’s a small, quick, awkward gesture that I hope gets my point across. I squeeze his arm. I understand.
Max stares at me for a moment before the corners of his lips twist into a small smile. I smile back, and something strange flickers through my stomach. Like the soft, delicate fluttering of something gentle and light. But then he pulls away, and the moment is gone. We break apart and I step back, wrapping my hands behind my back and taking a slow walk across the roof. I stare at Fairground again, but now the sky is too dark and I can no longer make out the shape of the spokes. Max runs his hand through his
hair and grins.
“You know something. It felt good to get that off my chest. I’ve never told anyone that before.”
He blinks a little, and colour rushes to his cheeks; the realisation at what he’s said. How he’s just blurted his innermost thoughts to a stranger.
“But you absolutely have to promise not to tell anyone!”
I roll my eyes theatrically and he frowns.
“I know that. You won’t say anything. But you’re a doctor, so I’m willing to bet you can read and write. So you have your ways. Alright?”
I pretend to hesitate, and then nod, pressing my palms together and crossing my fingers. He eyes me for a moment before giving a satisfied nod.
“Good. I suppose it doesn’t matter, anyway. Nobody around here really knows how to read or write anyway. Except Minni.”
Ah. That little black journal she’s always writing in. Makes sense. I should probably ask if I can read it some time.
“Anyway. You know your way back down, right? Go to bed, relax. I know you feel homesick, and I can see why. It’s a great little place and you seem to be happy.”
I start to walk past him, but a hand flies out and a hand touches my arm. It’s just a graze, so light I can barely feel it, but it sends a small shock through me.
“And, uh, that Adam guy? Your boss? He strikes me as a bit of an asshole, but I can see he’s a good guy. They all are. Trust them, okay?”
I don’t reply – but some of the dead weight seems to have been lifted from my shoulders. I give him a warm smile and pull away, turning my back on him and darting into the stairwell. As I enter the darkness, I glance back.
Max is silhouetted against a robotic twilight, his kind eyes a contrast to the distant sound of machinery. So different from Adam, the way his eyes sparkle with a strange intelligence, a captivating ferocity. Max is a softer being, less deadly. I feel my resistance beginning to break.
Chapter Fifteen
By the time I wander back into the hospital, Nicholas is fast asleep. My gut clenches as I see him, turned against the wall, his shoulders hunched. Next to him sits a plate of food – but he’s only taken a single bite before thrusting it aside. Minni sits at her desk, and I can hear the sound of frantic scribbling, the noise of lead on paper. When she sees me she stands, an uncertain look on her face.