Oasis (The Last Humans Book 1)

by Zales, Dima

  “No shit,” I subvocalize at Phoe and stalk toward my nemesis.

  “Do I smell Why-Odor?” Owen says when I get near enough that he doesn’t have to shout. “Or do I smell trouble?”

  I cock my head to the side. “What do you want?”

  Instead of answering, Owen closes the distance between us and, before I understand what he’s about to do, punches me in the solar plexus.

  Air escapes my lungs, and logic goes with it.

  I wasn’t expecting Owen to do this. Though he’s an asshole, he hasn’t resorted to violence of this magnitude since we were little. I haven’t been in a fight for so long that I’ve forgotten how unpleasant it is to get punched. I think I was around seven years old the last time I was in a fight, and it wasn’t even with Owen; it was with Logan, one of his lackeys. I recall it not being fun, though Logan didn’t even hit me in this sensitive spot. I suspect that even if he had, it wouldn’t have been as bad, since I was fighting another seven-year-old.

  “I have to say, escaping Witch Prison was an impressive feat,” Owen says. He’s jumping around me, fists raised in the style of an ancient boxer. “I didn’t expect anyone to succeed at that, least of all you.”

  I’m too busy getting air back into my lungs to respond. When I finally straighten my back and take a breath, Owen’s fist meets my jaw.

  My head snaps back. The pain is exquisite, and the shock is completely dumbfounding.

  “I’ve wanted to fight you for over a decade now.” Owen’s voice is distant. “Admit it, Theo. Don’t you also want to? I know your buddy Liam does.”

  I’m too dizzy to answer. There’s a metallic taste in my mouth.

  He punches me in the shoulder—lightly, in comparison to the other hits.

  “Oh, come on,” he says. “We’re in the forest. No one will be the wiser. The Adults keep us from having any fun.”

  I spit. The spittle is red.

  The sight of blood, combined with his taunts, awakens something within me. There’s a roar in my ears, angry moisture in my eyes, and a desire to see Owen’s blood that overwhelms me.

  My hands curl into fists. I raise them, mirroring Owen’s stance.

  When my opponent notices this, he grunts approvingly and tries punching me in the face again.

  Instinctively, I duck. His fist whooshes past my ear.

  I see that his miss left him momentarily exposed.

  The world goes quiet, and I focus in on my target. I haven’t hit another human being in a decade and a half, but I don’t hesitate.

  With all my strength, I bury my fist in Owen’s midsection, cognizant of how hard it was for me to recover from this kind of blow.

  A shock of pain travels up my arm, but Owen bends over with a squeal and begins hyperventilating.

  Instead of gloating the way he did, I grab his hair and yank his head down at the same time as I jerk my knee up.

  His face meets my knee with a satisfying crunch. My knee objects, but I take solace in the fact that his face must feel exponentially worse.

  With a grunt, Owen slumps to the ground.

  I pull my foot back to kick him, soccer-style, and he whimpers.

  “What are you doing?” Phoe says urgently. “Haven’t you heard the expression about hitting a man when he’s down?”

  I stop and stare blankly at the withered mess that is Owen. He’s somehow gotten into the fetal position and is cradling his head in his arms.

  If Phoe hadn’t spoken up, I would’ve kicked him. What’s worse is that I still kind of want to.

  With effort, I resist the urge and take a deep breath.

  Now I have a practical dilemma. Owen is hurt, and I need to get him help without giving myself up to the Adults.

  “Just leave him here and come meet me,” Phoe says. “I’ll make sure someone finds him in a few minutes, after you’re gone. Even if he tells them what happened, I doubt you could get into worse trouble than you’re already in.”

  Feeling an odd thickness in my throat, I turn and walk away.

  Owen makes more noises, and I tell myself that means he’s relatively okay.

  When I can’t hear him anymore, I break into a run again, channeling my confusion into physical movement.

  “This is scary, Phoe,” I think as my feet pound the forest floor. “For a moment there, I lost it.”

  “You were defending yourself,” she says. “You have no reason to feel guilty about that. It’s a normal response. The Adults just managed to shelter you from it. Perhaps that is the only positive consequence of their totalitarian meddling.”

  Too out of it to argue with her, I continue to push my body to its limits. My leg muscles burn, and I feel as if my lungs might explode.

  “Hey, cheer up,” Phoe’s voice cuts in after a minute. “I’m just through this meadow. Get ready for that surprise.”

  Slowing down to catch my breath, I enter the meadow and see a figure at the edge—a slightly large, round figure that has its back to me. The shape is vaguely feminine, so I assume it’s a woman.

  I get closer.

  Something about this back brings up a memory, but I can’t quite place it.

  For some reason, I think of the Institute. Specifically, I think of History Lecture.

  “Ah, so you do recognize me,” Phoe’s voice says in my head.

  The figure turns around, and in stunned silence, I look at the person in front of me.

  It’s Instructor Filomena.

  12

  I shuffle back a step.

  Instructor Filomena smiles.

  “So you finally know,” she says, her nasally voice unlike Phoe’s cheerful soprano.

  “I couldn’t well sound like myself, could I?” Phoe’s voice says in my head.

  “Not when I wanted to keep my identity a secret,” Instructor Filomena continues, picking up exactly where Phoe’s mental voice left off. “So, yes, as weird as it might be for you to accept, I’m Phoe.”

  “You can’t be.” I rub my temples, staring at her. “You just can’t.”

  “We don’t have time for a long debate,” Instructor Filomena says. “Follow me.”

  She walks away.

  “Come on,” she says as the voice of Phoe inside my head.

  Even though I actually want to hide, I follow her.

  It still doesn’t make sense.

  “Stop being so dense,” Instructor Filomena says. “Phoe and I both know history really well. We both have access to what only Adults can access. We both like to use Virtual Reality—”

  “But I just saw you—I mean, Phoe.” I shake my head. “She looked nothing like you.”

  “What did you think I would do when I could make myself look like anything I wanted?” Instructor Filomena says. “I wanted you to find me attractive, and in my real form, I obviously don’t impress someone as handsome as you.”

  I gawk at her. It’s true that Instructor Filomena and Phoe’s virtual-reality form couldn’t be more different. I might be primed by having just talked to Grace, who looks like the Little Mermaid, but the cartoon character Instructor Filomena reminds me of most is Ursula, the chubby octopus-looking villain.

  “That’s just plain mean,” Instructor Filomena says. “I was right to keep my identity from you.”

  “Sorry… Phoe,” I subvocalize. “This is just a bit too much for me to handle.”

  The Instructor sniffs. “We’re almost at the Barrier, so I suspect my identity is about to be the least of your worries.”

  I follow her gingerly, keeping a distance between us.

  The fear hits me suddenly, as it did all those years ago when Liam, Mason, and I first got this close to the Barrier.

  “The Barrier is a sophisticated bit of technology,” Instructor Filomena says. “It emits a signal to everyone’s neural implants that tells the brains of unauthorized people that they shouldn’t be here.”

  “I can’t walk any farther.” I wipe my clammy hands on my clothes.

  Instructor Filomena turns ar
ound. “Oh, this won’t do,” she says as the voice of Phoe in my head. “You look practically ashen.”

  A tingling sensation washes over me.

  “That’s better,” Phoe says. “Those eyes are sparkling again.”

  I feel lighter. This sudden removal of fear is almost pleasurable.

  “I granted you Adult access,” she says in her nasally ‘Instructor Filomena’ voice. “Let’s go. They’re closing in.”

  I follow, my gait becoming noticeably less shaky. This is easy, especially considering the magnitude of fear I’d be experiencing had Phoe/Filomena not done her juju.

  We walk into a clearing that no Youth has ever reached.

  From here, the Barrier is clearly visible in all its shimmering, liquid metal beauty.

  “Now we just walk through,” she says and confidently walks toward the field, or whatever it is.

  I follow carefully. I can’t help but compare this spot to the one I saw them lead Mason through.

  “We’re going to make them pay for what they did to him.” Instructor Filomena’s tone is sterner than usual. “The Elderly will regret this deeply, as will all of Oasis.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask mostly to distract myself, as I’m about to cross into the ultimate restricted area. “What is the plan?”

  “We’re going to shut down something else—something pretty useless anyway,” she says as the voice of Phoe in my head. “We’re going to shut down this very Barrier and its cousin—the one that separates the Adult section from that of the Elderly.”

  “We’re what?” I ask, but she doesn’t answer.

  She simply walks into the Barrier and disappears behind it.

  The thing ripples like a pond of mercury around a dropped stone—a large stone.

  “Hey,” Phoe says in a wounded voice. “My metabolism is not as fast as that of Youths.”

  “Sorry,” I mutter. “If you stayed out of my head, you wouldn’t have to hear that.”

  I approach the Barrier, then stop and stare at it.

  “Just walk through it,” Phoe says. “You won’t feel a thing.”

  I raise my hand and bury it in the silvery surface.

  My hand feels as if it’s submerged in warm, gentle water, but when it exits the thin obstacle on the other side, it comes out dry.

  I guess this is what putting your hand through a bubble feels like.

  Emboldened, I take a step.

  The warm sensation brushes over my face. Half of my body is on the forbidden side.

  I take the next step.

  I’m dry, safe, and on the other side.

  If I’d made a list of things I expected to see on the Adults’ side of Oasis, it would’ve included many possibilities. Probably a pine forest to match the one I just ran through and an area filled with geometric shapes matching those of the buildings on the Youths’ side of the Barrier.

  None of these things are present, though.

  The scene in front of me is something I never would’ve expected to see in Oasis. It looks like something out of Instructor Filomena’s Lectures or an ancient movie.

  A bucolic village sprawls as far as the eye can see, with vineyards, green hills, and clay roofs.

  “Inspired by the French countryside,” Instructor Filomena says from my right.

  I glance at her and note that she managed to change her clothes in the time it took me to cross the Barrier. She now looks like one of the ancient occupants of said French countryside. She smiles at me, but I quickly return my attention to the landscape.

  Something about the warmth of her smile makes me uncomfortable.

  As I look around, I realize that the most distinguishing feature in this part of Oasis is a tall tower in the distance—a tower that looks exactly like the Eiffel Tower from the History Lectures.

  “Oh, Theodore.” Instructor Filomena makes a tsk-tsk sound with her tongue. “Of course that is not the Eiffel Tower.” In Phoe’s voice, she continues in my mind, “You could just as easily call it the Louvre, because of all the glass.”

  She’s right.

  I’ve seen the Eiffel Tower in those sequences of ancient Earth she shows us before every Lecture, and this tower resembles it only in shape. With the sun reflecting off its glass windows, it’s a magnificent sight.

  “You like it, don’t you?” Instructor Filomena smiles and winks at me. The gesture, combined with her puffy cheeks, makes her look like the cherub the ancients believed shot arrows on Valentine’s Day.

  “So we’re going there?” I let my eyes scan the many miles separating us from the tower.

  “Please put these on.” She takes a couple of odd objects out of her bag.

  After a second, I identify the stuff in her hands as a pair of glasses and an ancient hat.

  She steps closer to me. “We have to make you look older.”

  I try not to back away, figuring it might insult her. She rises on her tiptoes and puts the glasses on my face. Her pudgy fingers brush my temples; then, in a cloud of jasmine fragrance, she takes a couple of steps back. I’m too stunned to react, so I just observe as she looks me over and nods approvingly. Then she steps up to me again and puts the hat on my head.

  I exhale in relief when she steps back and studies me. “That should do,” she says. “At least if no one scrutinizes you closely. Now follow me.”

  We walk down to a cluster of houses in silence.

  There’s feeling overwhelmed, and then there’s the state I’m in as I walk on the old-fashioned cobblestone streets. The feeling intensifies as I see long-extinct creatures, including dogs, chickens, and cows. The animals are walking around as if we’re at the agricultural part of the Zoo instead of the Adult section of Oasis.

  The funny-looking people around us are busy with their farm work. Some are feeding the animals, while others are working in their gardens. I assume they’re Adults, but they look more like the Amish we learned about yesterday.

  The oddest thing is the ancient technology. Moving vehicles (tractors, I believe they’re called) abound, as do some vehicles that I can’t name. In the distance, there’s an actual windmill.

  Suddenly, I spot something that doesn’t fit this archaic landscape—something shiny, like the Barrier. A sunbeam reflects off it as it disappears behind a wooden house.

  I point in the direction where the strange object disappeared. “I need to go there.”

  I don’t know why I feel the conviction that I must, but I trust the instinct and begin walking that way.

  “We don’t have much time,” Phoe’s voice says in my head. “And please don’t speak out loud. We don’t want to draw attention to ourselves.”

  As I approach the house, I see that it has large windows through which the backyard of the house is visible. I squint to make out what the shiny object I saw was, but the antique furniture inside the place blocks my view.

  All I see is a glimmer of white.

  “I’m going to check it out,” I think at Phoe. I feel certain of my decision. “You can stay here and wait for me.”

  Without waiting for her to respond, I jog in the direction of the shiny object. My gait shouldn’t look too suspicious since many of these people are rushing about, taking care of their farms.

  Three houses later, I think I see the object again, but it disappears behind a parked tractor.

  I turn the corner and almost trip on a large tree branch that’s been stripped of its bark. On autopilot, I place it in its proper historical context: someone plans to chop it into smaller bits of wood to power a fireplace. Didn’t those things predate the tractors? The history question reminds me of my companion, and I look back. She’s fallen slightly behind but is still following me.

  Seeing no one around, I risk picking up my pace.

  When I clear the next house, I finally see my target. The shiny thing and flash of white I saw was the helmet of a Guard and his white uniform. I think I knew this on some level; that’s why I felt compelled to follow him.

  Seeing the Gu
ard, however, isn’t what solidifies my stomach.

  There’s a person walking next to the Guard—an achingly familiar person.

  My friend Liam.

  Despite having run the equivalent of a marathon today, I turn around and sprint back to the piece of wood I nearly tripped over. It’s still there on the ground, so I quickly grab it. Armed with the wooden stump, I run back even faster, determined to catch up with the Guard.

  “This is a very bad idea,” Phoe says in my head.

  I ignore her, going as far as purposefully whistling one of my favorite melodies: the ‘ta ta da dam’ beginning of Beethoven’s Symphony No. 5 in C Minor. I repeat the melody in my head, over and over. It seems to shut Phoe up and gives me a modicum of courage.

  When I reach a certain threshold, I run more softly, landing on the balls of my feet to stay quiet.

  Liam is walking slowly, which works to my advantage. The Guard isn’t rushing him; he’s merely following along.

  Thinking of what happened to Mason after a similar walk with a Guard strengthens my resolve.

  “Seriously, Theo, it’s not too late to stop this mad idea,” Phoe says to me mentally.

  “Ta ta da dam,” I subvocalize in reply.

  The melody plays in my head as I close the last few feet and raise my makeshift club.

  Encouraged by my earlier win against Owen, I smack the Guard on the head with all my force—a classic move from ancient movies.

  His helmet makes a hollow, dull sound, and my hand goes numb from the impact of the wood’s recoil.

  The Guard turns to me. I hear a scary mechanical whir of some kind, but I’m not sure whether it’s something the Guard is doing. Though the visor is covering his face, I get the sneaking suspicion that hitting his helmet was a tactical mistake. At the same time, some corner of my mind registers the interesting fact that Liam hasn’t even turned around.

  The Guard makes the gesture that’s supposed to pacify me.

  This is my chance to make up for the helmet blunder. I allow my body to relax and pretend his mind control worked on me. Then, as suddenly as I can, I jab the club like a fencer would a sword, aiming it at his midsection.

  The Guard catches the club in his iron grip before it connects with his body.