Margins and Murmurations

by Otter Lieffe

  As she continued to scan the room, she noticed a couple signing to each other over by the serving bowls, communicating with hands and faces. Nathalie didn’t understand a word.

  That’s not USL, she reasoned. They must actually be deaf. Didn’t these people leave the City? What is this place?

  White, middle class, skinny and able-bodied, Nathalie stood in judgement of everyone around her, forgetting for a moment that she was herself a kinky lesbian dating a trans woman of colour. Cocooned in privilege, she ignored the fact that if it wasn’t for her ability to escape the State’s arbitrary profiling, she’d be amongst the first against the wall.

  The makeshift kitchen which at some point had been a pizza restaurant was particularly full that night and volunteers ran back and forth shouting orders. Out beyond the front door, Nathalie saw the long queue of people waiting for their meal.

  She stood awkwardly for a long moment, curling a strand of her hair around her finger, trying to decide if she should actually get involved or make a break for it.

  I can always tell Kit I helped out; she’ll never know the difference.

  One of the deaf couple came over to speak to her. Tall and beautiful, Nathalie noticed.

  “Hey,” signed the volunteer.

  “Hi,” replied Nathalie smiling nervously. “Do you…erm…sign USL?”

  “This is USL. So yes.”

  “Ah,” said Nathalie out loud before switching back to sign. “Erm…my friend Kit sent me here, to help out with the food. Do you know her?”

  “No clue. But as you see, security’s always pretty low here. Do you want to help out?”

  “Sure.”

  The volunteer lead Nathalie over to where the food would be served and without a word handed her a serving spoon. She showed her how to arrange a plate—first, salad from the secret City gardens in the south, then pasta, from the resistance stocks down-town, one Nutrition bar per plate and hand it to the person waiting.

  “We’re opening in five minutes,” signed the volunteer. “Will you be ok?”

  “No problem. Do you…always come here?”

  “Every week since the Improvement. Without this place, these people would literally not have access to food. No employment for people like us, you know.”

  “People like us…” Nathalie repeated just as the doors to the restaurant opened and the first hungry visitors arrived. She lifted her serving spoon and didn’t put it down for another three hours until the very last mouth was fed.

  * * *

  Either from thirst or the sedatives wearing off, the General's head was pounding as he walked through the dark forest.

  I think I'm actually beginning to imagine things. There’s another one. I see it. I'd swear that's a bear hiding behind that tree.

  He stopped dead still and held his breath until it passed by, but a moment later he realised his mistake.

  All the bears are long dead.

  Minutes or maybe hours later, he was shocked again from the rhythm of his walking by the penetrating call of a wolf.

  Or I guess that's what wolves sound like—calling to the moon or something. I must have seen it on TV once.

  But again, they'd all been wiped out decades ago.

  I'm delusional—it's the dehydration—I'm actually going to lose my mind out here—this dusty forest will be the last thing I see.

  He needed to rest. He curled up under a particularly big tree—he figured its thick canopy would give him some protection when the sun came up—and he tried to sleep. He heard voices whispering around him and the wolf—or whatever the hell that is—was still calling. The General was too tired to be scared. He slept.

  * * *

  Danny's bed was comfortable, but tiny, and it was a tight squeeze for Ash and Pinar to fit in together. It was already the middle of the night and they were so exhausted they fell asleep instantly. Danny curled up on the sofa—which is where he usually ended up these days anyway—and they slept deeply until just before sunrise.

  They were all awoken suddenly by a loud knock at the door.

  Chapter fifty-four

  “These things always take me ages to work out,” signed Danny. “Do either of you remember the key for this week?”

  He held in his hand a note from the resistance. As usual it was printed out in Braille and encoded with the key they had all received the night before.

  “Don't look at me,” said Ash, sleepily. “My brain's so old, I barely remember either of your names.”

  Pinar laughed. “I remember the code.” She took the piece of paper. “It's the first time in ages I had to memorise a transposition key—or anything really. Let's see if I can remember…do you have a pen?”

  Danny passed her one from his drawer. Pinar started reading with her left hand, her index finger running over the tiny dots while she noted down the letters they represented, converted them in her head and wrote down the un-encoded message. It said simply:

  Dignity. Tonight. Sundown.

  “Dignity?” asked Pinar.

  “Dignity Park I guess. It's quite a long walk from here, it's out in what used to be the suburbs, next to the sea.”

  “I've never heard of it,” said Pinar, “Who’d build a new park since the crash?”

  “Ah, you probably knew it as Independence Park. Since it was…reclaimed…everyone just knows it as Dignity.”

  “Will that be the new location for the mesa then?” asked Ash.

  “Seems like it might be. These days it's a…erm…cruising park…” Danny said tentatively. “Cruising is when people erm—”

  “—We know what cruising is, sweetie,” Ash interrupted. “We weren't always old you know.”

  She gave Danny a playful wink.

  “Of course. Err…well, anyway, the State never steps foot there. It's been a safe zone for as long as anyone can remember. So far, at least.”

  He opened the drawer of his desk and pulled out a map of the City. It was at least twenty years old and bore almost no resemblance to the modern layout, but the park was there, and he pointed it out to them.

  “Yeah, seems a long way from here,” said Pinar, running her finger over the map. “Maybe it is a safer place for the mesa.”

  “Or it's a great place for the State to set up an ambush.” Ash stood up and stretched. “We have no way to know who left this message. We might be walking straight into a trap for all we know.”

  “We don't have much choice,” said Pinar, also getting out of the tiny bed. “We'll just have to be careful.”

  “Cool, so let's head out this evening,” said Danny. “I have a cleaning shift now and a client to see. Help yourself to food and I'll leave you the spare key in case you want to go out. When I get back we can go together if you like?”

  “Perfect,” said Pinar, “We'll be here.”

  They decided it was safest to wait for Danny in his apartment, so they spent the day quietly sleeping, signing and watching the sunlight move across the wall.

  Ash was hungry and decided to cook something. She got up and dug around for a while in Danny's empty cupboards.

  “How does anyone live like this?” she said louder than she intended.

  “Sign, don't shout.” Pinar giggled. She had accidentally quoted a USL promotion campaign from the twenties. “Sorry! Didn't mean to speak State at you…”

  Ash didn't look amused. “There's nothing here but Nutrition snacks and one dusty old Nutrition meal and a bottle of beer which must be older than I am.”

  “Nothing's older than you are, dear. This is what people eat in the City. There aren't any vegetables…and after all, 'Everything nutritious starts with Nutrition,'” signed Pinar, quoting another commercial, this time for the monolithic company that controlled the City's food supply.

  “Please stop doing that!” Ash sat down on the bed, exasperated. “This stuff is made by City prisoners, for City prisoners. And who knows what they put in it?”

  “Ra
ts, I heard.”

  “I miss our gardens. Well mine at least,” Ash signed, allowing herself to relax into the banter. “Yours is just a big mess. I hope my squashes are okay.”

  “All standing in a row like little State soldiers? I'm sure they'll be fine. I'm hungry. Let's eat Danny's rat bars.”

  Ash made a face. But she stood up anyway and went back to dig them out of the cupboard. Her stomach was growling. She was hungry enough to eat just about anything.

  * * *

  The General opened his eyes. The sun was bright and high in the sky. His head still hurt, and his entire body was screaming for him to drink something—anything—right now.

  He guessed he must also still be hallucinating. As he blinked his eyes to see clearer, he saw people around him—five or six in a circle, talking with their back to him. He could smell food and wood smoke.

  He tried to lift himself up to cast away the images, but he was too tired. He had walked too much, suffered too much. He wanted to die here surrounded by dirt and trees.

  One came over and spoke to him although he couldn't understand a word. It held a cup to his lips and suddenly he felt cold, crisp water in his mouth. He swallowed without thinking. If this was just a dream, he would at least enjoy it. He drank more and nearly retched. The imaginary person was telling him to sip slowly, so he did. He felt a little better; his stomach was knotting less. Gratefully, he put his head back down on soft leaves.

  Chapter fifty-five

  They were still there, the hallucinations.

  They saw that he was awake again and came over with more water.

  They were asking him his name.

  “G,” he said instinctively, which was true although he had only been called the General, or Sir, for as long as he could remember. Or Prisoner 7485, but that was in jail and he was a free man now. So, he was G. The name of his proud past. And here he was, talking to imaginary people. “My name's G.”

  “I'm Olly, good to meet you,” said the hallucination softly.

  A resistance name, the General noticed vaguely.

  “Are you feeling a bit better?” Olly asked him.

  “I'm…are you real?” G asked, his dry lips mumbling the words a little. “Did you come…with the wolves?”

  Olly's face creased with concern.

  “We found you yesterday—you were severely dehydrated. You're doing better though, G. I think you'll be fine. Here—” he said as he offered more water. “Small sips remember…”

  G drank as slowly as he could. His vision was clearing, and the people seemed to be staying with him.

  Could they be real? Have I survived again?

  He drank and ate some bread that the one called Olly gave him.

  He was still weak, but he was beginning to feel whole again. I'm going to be okay. Of course I am. I'm a fucking warrior.

  * * *

  Nathalie's heart was racing. She had a meeting scheduled with Kit. In fact, it was a 'date' with her 'girlfriend', but she no longer liked to think in those terms. Every time they'd hooked up, it had been rougher and sleazier than the last time. And Nathalie was loving every second of it.

  They were meeting at Kit's place for the first time and after checking repeatedly that the neighbours were absolutely, definitely not in, Nathalie walked quickly through the corridor and knocked on Kit's door.

  She waited. There was no sound from the other side and Nathalie looked around the corridor nervously. She really didn't want to get caught: Kit was protected by her job, but Nathalie wasn't. Besides gossip was just never a good thing.

  She knocked again, just a little louder this time, still trying not to draw attention to herself. She heard sounds from inside and after another minute's pause, the door swung open, the person behind it standing just out of view.

  Nathalie stepped in and the door closed behind her. The apartment was dark and humid. Shutters blocked out the afternoon sun and two red candles were lit by the bed.

  Kit stepped out in front of her, completely naked and without a word, began to kiss Nathalie, her lips soft and tender. As Nathalie's clothes fell silently into a heap on the floor, Kit got down on her knees and began tasting Nathalie's breasts, drawing a line down across her belly, the dampness she left behind, cool in the afternoon heat.

  What the hell? Nathalie thought. It's never like this.

  Until today, they'd only met outside, in public, but Kit was always forceful with her, even violent.

  And that's just how I like it.

  But Kit was different today—tender, even—and as she climbed onto the bed, lying on her front, her arms spread out, she gestured to Nathalie, inviting her to lie on top of her. Nathalie obeyed, climbing on, straddling her naked body.

  This doesn't feel right. I wanted to be below her. I'm always below her. This isn't what my fantasies look like at all.

  “Pull my hair,” said Kit. It wasn't an order, it was a request, a polite suggestion. Nathalie complied and gave her black hair a little tug, but only just.

  Since the day she had learned about Kit's profession, every night in bed and every day at the office, Nathalie had fantasised about her lover dressed in leather and heels, brandishing a whip, surrounded by her lucky subs. She dreamed constantly of giving the gift of total submission.

  It looks nothing like candlelight and kisses on the bed.

  Kit rolled over. They kissed and held each other tight, fingers exploring, penetrating. Kit pulled her close and began stroking her skin.

  Stroking not scratching.

  A while later, Kit began her climax, an intimate, shaking orgasm that tore out of her mouth in muffled moans. Her expression was one of pure and total bliss, her eyes were wet.

  Nathalie followed, but hers was faked. There was something missing. This was all too gentle, too real for Nathalie. She wanted violence and tears of pain. She wanted to be pinned down and be given no choice.

  All this emotion. Maybe next time, I should piss her off somehow. I'll find a way to provoke her into giving me a good, hard slap.

  Kit curled up and invited Nathalie to join her. She complied.

  This isn't how it's supposed to be, Nathalie thought as Kit was dozing off in her arms. I joined the resistance for her. I'm risking my job hanging out with those people. I deserve more than this. Because, after all…

  Kit began to snore lightly.

  …I'm dating a pro-Domme for a reason.

  Chapter fifty-six

  “My name's Gus actually. Sorry about before, I didn't know if you might be State. We can't be too careful these days.” Gus meant 'revered' in German and that pleased him a lot. The General—prisoner 7485, G, Gus—sat surrounded by the resistance shoal who had saved his life. They hung on his every word as he effortlessly invented himself a new history.

  Sometimes lying is just as easy as breathing.

  “I lived in the City before, you know, with my boyfriend. He was a pianist with the State, one of the few musicians still around, and—uff…you had to hear him play. He has such an amazing passion, like you’ve never heard before. The first time I heard him he was playing under the escalators in Central Station, all the other commuters rushing by to get their trains and ignoring him entirely, but I just stood there. I couldn’t take my eyes off of him. He was so young and handsome. So…intensely focused. I watched his entire set and, of course, missed my train. As soon as we spoke, I knew he was the man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.”

  Gus took a dramatic pause.

  “We moved in together that same year and were together for nearly fifteen years. But we should have known we wouldn’t be able to survive the Purges. We should have been more careful. We were caught out—our neighbours knew about us, I mean, at some point everyone did and, I don’t know, I guess they had to cover themselves, or something, so they turned us in. Anyway, when the troopers came to our house, Tom—my darling Tom—was out at work, at the admin office and…uff…

  Gus look
ed around to check his story had everyone’s full attention.

  “…I kissed him goodbye barely an hour before. The bastard troopers knocked down our front door. Literally, they smashed it off its hinges. And…I was lucky, I suppose. I managed to escape by jumping off the balcony. Almost broke my ankle, but I ran and I ran and I got away. Eventually I joined the exodus—and even saw those same damn neighbours who turned us in—I guess they really had something to hide and tattling on a couple of gays wasn’t enough to protect them. Anyway, I escaped through the tunnels with the rest of the exiliadas. We walked for days and I’ve been out here ever since, just getting by. Going from well to well, trying to survive. And Tom, I don’t know. Prison maybe? Or something worse…”

  Gus caught the eye of the older woman who looked like she was about to cry. He could already see his future opening up before him.

  This is almost too easy. Suddenly being a vergent makes me a victim in need of help. Here, it's actually a good thing. I'll be back home in no time.

  “…I miss him so much.”

  “And now?” an older woman asked softly. “Are you heading back to the City? We're only a few hours walk from the walls, you know.”

  “Really? So close?” Gus kept her eye contact with false sincerity. “Yes, I want to see him again. I know it's dangerous and crazy, but I just want the chance to kiss him just one more time.”

  There were understanding nods around the circle.

  “I must have gotten turned around. I've been walking for days and finished up all my food and water. I would have died here if you hadn't found me.”

  The group fell silent.

  I'm not sure what life I have waiting for me in the City, but I'll find something. Anything has to be better than this resistance-infested forest. I'll start from the bottom and rise, just like I always have.