by Lisa Jade
I grin at the page – I remember that. The open hostility, the mistrust. She truly despised me.
I turn the page, expecting it to be blank, but at the bottom, I can see something else. It’s scrawled, uneven, like she jotted it down at the last minute. The ink looks fresher than the rest. My eyes take a moment to adjust to the sight.
Note to amend previous page: The newcomer wasn’t so bad after all. Best of luck to you. – Minni
Something tightens in my throat and I let out a small, teary gasp. She must have written this in once she knew I was leaving, once she decided to give it to me. It just makes me miss her even more. The tears threaten to pour but I bite back on them, not wanting to cry yet again. I need to be stronger. I’m supposed to be stronger.
“You really miss it there, huh?”
I jump; Sparrow’s head pokes up over the ladder, a sheepish grin on her face.
“I’m sorry,” she mutters, “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. I was coming to ask you if you wanted to swap over.”
I shake my head, wipe my eye and tuck the journal away. She watches me, her eyes curious, and then pulls herself up onto the platform where she stands, facing away from me. She leans onto the railing and focusses on the city in the distance. We stand in silence for a moment, and then she speaks.
“Did I ever tell you the story of my first trip into the city?”
I shake my head, though I know she can’t see me. She makes a small noise, and I can tell she’s smiling.
“It’s a pretty odd story, but bear with me, okay? It gets better.”
I stand up and wander over, leaning against the railing next to her and following her gaze. She watches the city with a smile on her face, her eyes warm, almost wistful.
“I should probably explain to you that I lost a lot the day the bots turned on us. I was part of a pretty massive family. I had a lot of friends. Not one survived. Even though I was picked up and brought here, it didn’t matter. I had lost everything, and I had no reason to try.”
Her face is suddenly in shadow, and she sounds sad. I frown. Everyone lost someone, or even everyone, but it’s been twelve years. Most people our age barely remember that day.
“Adam had just been appointed the new leader for the Scout team,” she continues, “even though he was so young. He was a prodigy, as I’m sure you know. Legend-level. And he decided it would be best if the Scout’s main team was made up of teenagers. Younger, faster, more energy. Of course you have the risk of teenagers being cocky, but he was convinced he could train that out of them. I signed up immediately… and when I was accepted, it was the best thing ever.”
I smile, thinking this gave her some purpose, but then she grimaces.
“I wasn’t like you, Ash. I didn’t want to go into the city to help save people, or to prove myself. I wanted to go into the city because I had nothing else to live for, and I figured that if I went out, there was a good chance I could die.”
My heart plummets and I stare. No. That can’t be true. Not Sparrow, with her easy smile and kind eyes. How did nobody know she felt that way?
She glances at me, and then chuckles.
“I know it bugs you when people give you that pitiful look, so could you maybe not do it to me? I’m okay. I have been for a long time.”
She steps back a little and tosses her long, dark hair behind her.
“Anyway, it was a bad idea from the off. It’s easy to say you want to die, but once you’re there, on the edge of it, you realise it’s worth fighting. I got pinned by a bot, and I had this realisation. I didn’t want to die. I wanted to live – no matter what, I absolutely, definitely wanted to live. So I grabbed a piece of scrap metal and brought it up into the bot’s core. I destroyed it in one hit.”
She smiles.
“I hit it, and I hit it again. And again. And… again.”
She’s still smiling, but there’s something sinister about it, unnerving. She turns to me and meets my eyes, that smile still playing on her lips.
“I don’t know if you’ve felt it, Ash, out there. The satisfaction that comes with attacking something, over and over again. Beating it until it crumbles under you, choking the life out of something until it’s just a pile of smoking scrap.”
She stares at me, and I feel a little taken aback, a little frightened. Sparrow has always seemed so gentle, so measured in her attacks, so professional. The thought occurs to me that perhaps the reason she’s so good at it is because she enjoys it.
“That feeling was exactly what I needed,” she hisses, “I needed that relief, that break. It released my anger, eased my pain. I felt human again afterwards.”
I hesitate. Perhaps it is a little cathartic. I suppose I can understand that.
“The problem was that once I started, I didn’t ever want to stop. I loved it. I loved having that control, if not over someone’s life then at least an artificial one. One that needed to be destroyed anyway. It made me happy. It gave me purpose – but I was also a little frightened by it. What normal human being loves to destroy things this much?”
Her hands clench on the railing and she emits a low, angry sound, like a dog growling.
“I hated myself. I hated that I loved it. I thought I was going crazy.”
But then her face brightens, and a soft smile crosses her lips.
“But one day, Adam confronted me. He could tell something wasn’t right, that I took too much joy from it. He asked me for the truth – and I told him. I thought for sure he’d kick me out of the Scouts, or maybe even try to get me sent out of Fairground. I was scared he’d think I was dangerous, but I’d never hurt a person. But it was okay. Once I told him, and I was fearing the worst, he just nodded and said okay. Can you believe that? I had just told him I was a lunatic and all he could say in return was okay.”
I nod. I can believe it. Adam’s not stupid. He knows who to trust, and he can read people like books. He must have known from the off how desperate she was, and gave her a chance to try and bring her back to herself. He’s selfless that way; if a little naïve.
“Since then, there’s not been another word about it,” she smiles, “and I realised that if he could accept my past, and my pain, then there was no reason why I shouldn’t be able to do the same. And it worked. Fairground is my home now. I love being a Scout, and I love protecting people. I still get a kick out of fighting – it’s just a part of me now – but now I do it for a good cause.”
She turns to me now and rests a hand on my arm, and despite the shiver that runs through me, I take comfort in it.
“It doesn’t matter what happened to you in the past, you know. And it doesn’t matter how many things you think are wrong with you. This is home. Imagine that – in a city full of monsters, you can still find a home, and a family here.”
I meet her eyes, and suddenly I feel like I might be able to understand.
“You miss them, and we all get that. But don’t let it destroy you. Remember what you have here, and realise how important it is. It’s hard to let go, I know that better than anyone. But you can’t let it control you. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
I pause, and then smile. I think I get it. I think I do.
It’s another two days before Street contact me. I’m sitting in the infirmary, sorting bottles of medicine, when Dr Newton’s HT bursts into life.
“… this a good time?”
I recognise Max’s voice immediately and press the button to confirm I’m here. Something about hearing him again sends flutters through my chest, but I push the feeling aside.
“Hey! Take it that’s you, Ash. How are things?”
I smile, though I know he can’t see me. I can hear something strange in his voice, a hesitation, a doubt.
“I can’t believe it’s been a week already. I’m glad you made it back in one piece.”
He sighs, and I can hear his fingers against his head, scratching.
“I wish I could ask you more questions. I wish you could tell me. But… I can upd
ate you on Street, anyway. I feel like you might want to know.”
His voice is odd – the cheeriness is gone from it, and there’s a sadness to his tone.
“Uhh… things aren’t great here.”
My stomach plummets.
“It was a normal routine,” he tells me, “just pacing the outskirts around the wall. We came across a group of bots and attacked them. There were only a few and we beat them easily, but then one of them kind of… blew up.”
I gape at the HT, my stomach churning now.
“Nobody died,” he assures me, “but everyone’s a little shaken. All our trips outside the wall have been cancelled and Minni’s been working overtime trying to keep it all in check.”
I frown. Minni was just a nurse when I went there. I was able to teach her certain things, binding and stitching and such, but I don’t know how well she’d handle it all on her own. With a pang of guilt I realise it would have been easier on her if I had been there.
“I didn’t realise how much you taught her. And all those supplies, too – I had no idea you left them, but they were lifesavers. I figure it would have been a lot worse if you’d never come here.”
Despite my concern, his words feel warm to me, comforting.
“And I’ll admit it. On a personal level… it’s really strange to be without you now. I suppose I got so used to you being around that I can’t really adjust. I… we all miss you.”
The warmth spreads across my chest, comforting and reminiscent of home.
“Anyway, that was really it. I daresay I’ll get back in touch in a few days – Minni’s been begging me to hand over this thing so she can talk to you – so, uh, hold tight I guess. And…”
He hesitates now, and I can imagine him, his forehead pressed to the HT, his face crumpled as he fights to find the words.
“It… was fun.”
The line dies now, and I clutch the HT to my chest like I could find some tiny piece of him, some fragment of a time lost. It was fun. It was scary and dangerous and a total nightmare but somehow – despite all the pain I went through – it was fun.
“Take these, and these.”
Dr Newton packs some bottles into a box and lifts, stacking it on top of the one already in my arms. I stumble a little; this new box is taller and obscures my vision, but the weight is manageable.
“You okay with that?” he asks, and I nod.
“Good. Take it over to the nurseries, then come back. I have to go to the council meeting and I won’t be back for a few hours. I know I said I didn’t want you to come back just yet, but can I trust you to cover the infirmary for that time?”
I nod, but he doesn’t seem sure. It’s been a few days but he still doesn’t want me to get back to my old role. He still insists I sleep in the infirmary and only gives me menial tasks to do. He gathers his white coat and pulls it on, pausing to open the door for me. I duck through and out into the courtyard.
It’s a better day today. I feel happy; the guilt and sadness that’s swirled in my gut since I got back is finally beginning to fade. I still miss Street desperately – it feels like much longer than a couple of weeks since I left – but each time I tear up I simply remind myself that everyone survived before that, and everyone will survive after it. My being there was not the be all and end all.
“I’ll see you in a few hours,” Dr Newton says, pulling the infirmary door shut behind him. A small part of me wonders again why he won’t take me to the council meetings anymore. I used to stand with him, his right hand man, ready to act at a moment’s notice and jump in whenever I needed to. He used to want me up there with him – a part of me wonders if it’s because he knows the council will grill me for information, and perhaps he’s being kind in wanting to spare me that.
I reach the nurseries rather quickly, despite barely being able to see ahead of me. They’re based in a large building that used to house a selection of distortion mirrors. Some part of me doubts the entertainment value of such a space – but as I enter, I’m instead greeted with a warm blue room. Cots line the walls, mismatched and aged, and most of them are full. Several women stand at the other end of the room, muttering amongst themselves. They don’t even look up as I enter.
I settle the boxes down on a bench and dig around in them, making sure to put labels on everything before setting them down. These medicines are for the children; those born here usually are small and underfed, and it takes more than a little care to make them strong. Many die before they reach adolescence, unable to deal with the heat in the air. I idly wipe the sweat from my brow, and wonder what it must be like to only know this life.
I don’t remember a great deal about my own life before the bots attacked. Very few of us do, and even fewer spend any time dwelling on it. I have vague memories that flit by occasionally like passing cars, but it’s not the same. I catch glimpses; a large sofa, soft eyes, comforting hands. A silvery car and a man in a suit. A table, and the memory of being forced to sit at it even though I resisted so much. And a face, soft and feminine, speaking as their hands moved, teaching me sign.
But that’s it. There’s something about it, about being here, that makes the whole thing seem less important. When you lose everything, you end up with a clean slate. You build yourself from there. I suppose it’ll be no different to the children here.
“Newton sent you?”
One of the women catches my eye. Her face is round and her reddish hair is scraped back, making her look older than her years. I nod and she turns around, leaning back against the bench and looking across the nursery.
“Good. These kids need it.”
I don’t respond. It’s not normal for a person to want to engage me in conversation – either she doesn’t know who I am or she doesn’t realise that I’m mute. I meet her eyes and she shrugs.
“I know it seems weird to you, right? You learn medicine and that’s so admirable. But I can’t help it. I love children.”
Her eyes fill with sadness and she gazes down at herself.
“I’m sure you remember the last time I came to the infirmary.”
Suddenly, I do. I remember her sitting on the bench and crying, with Dr Newton’s arm wrapped around her as he muttered something comforting. I try to remember what it was that caused it – but as she looks at the cribs, I realise.
“I always wanted kids,” she whispers, “I was so excited to try. But it didn’t happen for me, as you know.”
For a second I wonder why she’s telling me this – and then I remember. When you can’t talk, you can’t spread secrets. You become the perfect buffer, ideal for bouncing thoughts of with no real risk there. And I already know her past. She probably just wanted someone to talk to.
But then she turns to me, a small smile on her lips.
“What about you? Do you want kids?”
I try to resist snorting at her. No. The possibility of children has never even entered my mind. The thought of being like some of the women here, as good as they are, strikes me as so… superior. Those women are the ones bringing new life into the world, and they’re the ones who make sure those kids are strong. Even if I changed my mind, I’d have no way of knowing what a child of mine might be like. There’s a medical reason for my muteness, but without extensive tests I have no clue if it’s hereditary or not. It could easily be.
I look over at the nearest crib and look at the baby in there - pink, wrinkled, fragile – and something pulls me away from it. No. Not only do I feel a total lack of maternal instinct towards it, there’s something terrifying about being so close to something so delicate. Like I could break it simply by touching it.
I shake my head hard, and her face falls.
“Shame. But I get it. You’re a Scout now, aren’t you? One of Fairground’s heroes.”
She looks away now, and I get the feeling she’s disappointed by my answer.
“Anyway. I’m sure you have plenty to be getting on with. I’ll let you go.”
Then she moves away, not both
ering to turn or look back at me. Something about it feels off – and as I pack the boxes and stack them up, I realise that I’ve finally achieved what I wanted before. I’m a Scout – at least technically – and respected as such. But the label doesn’t fit me anymore. It’s not who I am now.
The trip back is a little easier. The boxes, now empty, feel lighter in my arms, though they still obscure my vision a little. As I walk, I push aside what she said. Who is she, anyway? Will I ever see her again? Does it matter what she thinks of me?
I reach the courtyard, and I’m surprised at how quiet it is. Usually it’s empty around here anyway, but it seems even more so today. I turn towards the infirmary, boxes in hand.
Suddenly, a deafening scream rings out across Fairground.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The boxes crash to the floor and I whip around – the girl who was on watch a moment ago, her legs tucked under her, asleep, is now on her feet. She shifts, cries, and I realise that there’s something attacking her. It’s long and thin, and as I run closer I realise it’s a robotic limb. Down on the ground, just outside of the gate, are a number of bots, one of them reaching up over the gate and attempting to pull her down to them.
I dart forward; but it’s too late. The mechanical arms find her and lift, dragging her over the fence and throwing her hard at the ground. She seems to black out for a moment, but then she’s screaming again, and I can hear her desperate gasping, her feeble kicks as she’s pinned under one of the bots.
I don’t think. I race towards her and start to climb the guard tower, grabbing the rope on the way to send the alarm bells ringing. Some part of me says I should wait for the others to get here so that we can fire pulse mines at them, but I know it won’t work. They won’t get here in time.
My mind does the maths and suddenly I’m jumping, up and over the railing at the top of the tower and over the top of the gate. My feet catch a little and I cling on, somehow finding my balance on the top bar.
The girl is below me, still kicking. Her moves are small and weak and her screams are only drawing the others to her. A crazy thought enters my mind and I know that Adam is going to hate me for it – but my body moves of its own accord and I leap off the top of the gate, throwing my full weight at the bot that has her pinned.