The Forsaken (Forsaken - Trilogy)

by Lisa M. Stasse

  I’m certain the other feelers are going to chase us, but when I look over my shoulder, I see they’re still battling David, Markus, and James. I turn back around and keep moving with Gadya.

  Seconds later, I hear the awful sound of someone being taken.

  And then someone else.

  I turn again, just in time to see Markus being pulled up into the sky. Then I catch a glimpse of another feeler heaving James into the heavens, his black robes flapping, his mouth open in a frightened, disbelieving O.

  There is nothing we can do for them. Gadya and I keep heading toward the hatch.

  Another feeler has descended behind us. I hear David yelling as he tries to fight it off alone. I can’t stand feeling so powerless anymore.

  “David!” I scream, looking back one last time. I see the feeler pulling his struggling body up into the sky. He has sacrificed everything so that Gadya and I have a chance to survive. I turn back around. I can’t watch anymore—the pain is too great.

  Gadya and I reach the hatch within seconds. Up close I see that it’s huge and round, nearly the width and height of a single-car garage door. The words “MAINTENANCE HATCH No. 12” are stenciled on it in red paint.

  I throw out my hands, grabbing the large hydraulic wheel that serves as its handle. I desperately hope we’ll find refuge from the feelers in this building, even if we just curl up and freeze to death inside it.

  Gadya grabs the wheel too. We both crank the handle with all our strength, screaming as we hear more feelers in the sky above us, getting louder. The metal wheel feels locked and immobilized at first.

  Then, with a sudden hiss, the wheel slowly starts to turn. . . .

  SELECTED

  “IT’S OPEN!” I YELL, barely believing our good fortune. Part of me thinks I’m hallucinating. Another part thinks it’s a trap and an army of feelers is going to burst out and fly us up into the void.

  “Go, go, go!” Gadya screams at me.

  We yank the hatch wide open. As pressurized air pours out, we fling ourselves inside.

  I don’t know where we’re headed, or who or what we’ll find there. I just tell myself it can’t be worse than what’s outside.

  Gadya sprawls to the floor, clutching her damaged ankle as I slam the huge door shut. I spin the handle, trying to lock us inside and keep the feelers out. I hear a clank, and the handle stops turning.

  I’m gasping for air. I lean over, heaving, trying to listen for the feelers. There’s nothing but silence.

  I gaze around. We’re inside a frigid, square cement chamber. It’s cold but doesn’t have the dry-ice feeling. It’s dimly lit by a few recessed fluorescent bulbs, and the concrete walls are slick with ice.

  Three large metal doorways to our left appear to lead into further catacombs. I can see icy stalactites hanging down from the high ceiling, as though pipes have leaked and the water has frozen. The floor is pretty much a sheet of ice, as slippery as the frozen lake.

  “Where is everyone?” Gadya asks, trying to get a look at her ankle. Indeed, the space is deserted, like it was abandoned long ago.

  “I don’t know.” I can barely speak, and not just because I’m out of breath. I’m mourning all of our friends. I failed to help David—after he saved me so many times. Just like I couldn’t save Liam. And now there’s no way to ever make it up to them.

  “I thought there’d be people in here,” Gadya says, her voice rising in a groan of desperation. Her fists are clenched, but there’s no one around for her to fight. “None of this makes any sense!”

  “It looks like no one’s been here for years.”

  “How is that possible?”

  I hear the raw panic in her voice. This is not the place either of us expected. It’s not the gleaming nerve center of a city. It’s just an empty hole inside an old industrial building.

  “Liam, Sinxen, Markus,” Gadya says. “David, too. They died for this? For this?”

  I gaze around. “At least they have lights in here. That means they’ve got power. Which is more than we had at the village.”

  Gadya doesn’t respond. I see a bank of dusty computer monitors embedded in one of the walls. They’re all dead, their LCD screens cracked and frozen.

  Gadya sinks against a concrete pillar. “I think my ankle’s broken from jumping off that pipe. I can’t move it anymore. Not even a little.”

  “We have to go deeper and find somewhere to hide,” I tell her urgently. “Then we can rest.”

  Gadya nods. She sits there wincing in pain as I start trying to open the metal doors closest to us. The first two are either locked or I’m not strong enough to open them. Then I come to the final one, the largest of the three, which has a huge concrete arch above it. A sign next to the door reads BALCONY DELTA OPENING: PORTAL TWELVE.

  Gadya watches me with hooded eyes.

  “It’s not over until we give up,” I tell her. “And I haven’t given up yet. Have you?”

  “Never,” she spits back.

  I grip the third door’s chrome wheel handle. It’s freezing, and my gloves are in tatters. I put all my strength into it as I try to crank the wheel. At first I think it’s never going to turn, that it’s either locked or frozen shut.

  And then it gives.

  I turn the handle faster, spinning it. The door begins to move. I leap back as it starts opening outward, under its own power.

  Gadya is startled too. She pushes herself off the floor. We know that anything could come through this door.

  But nothing does, except stale air. It’s like we’ve broken into a mausoleum. Inside is blackness, with a few small lights burning white in the darkness like electric candles.

  Neither Gadya nor I say anything. We just stand there for a moment, completely puzzled.

  “It’s deserted,” Gadya finally says. “Like the rest of this place.”

  We creep closer to the entrance, trying to understand what’s going on. My teeth are chattering so hard, my jaw hurts.

  I take one step forward and then another, passing through the archway with Gadya at my side.

  Immediately, I sense that we’ve walked into a much larger space. One that is slightly warmer than the outside. But it’s hard to get oriented here. The scattered white lights don’t make sense to me. They seem to float in the air, like fallen stars.

  “Alenna,” Gadya says. I feel her fingers grasping for my sleeve. “I can’t see you.”

  I slow down, and we find each other’s hands. I take one more step and put my foot down.

  I hear a strange echoing click, like I’ve triggered something.

  I stop dead in my tracks.

  A millisecond later, the entire space explodes in a blaze of white light.

  I reel back, as light glares at us from all directions. I press my hands against my eyes and sink to the icy floor.

  For a sickening moment I think maybe I’m dead. That I stepped on a mine or booby trap meant to thwart intruders. Then I realize I can still hear Gadya trying to talk to me. So I can’t be dead. Not yet.

  I open my eyes, but I keep my hands over them, peeking out through my fingers. I still can’t see anything because the room is impossibly, overwhelmingly bright.

  “Alenna—it’s okay,” Gadya tells me.

  I open my fingers a little bit more, still squinting through the gaps.

  As my eyes adjust, I’m surprised at what I see. We seem to be at one end of a colossal semicircular chamber, curving off to our left like a horseshoe. From here, it appears to have no end.

  I turn to Gadya. She has lowered her hands from her eyes. I slowly do the same.

  Along one side of the chamber is a curved white wall with an endless array of video monitors on it. Unlike the ones in the maintenance antechamber, these look unbroken, although none of them is turned on.

  I get up and tentatively step toward the nearest one. Electronic buttons are recessed into the wall everywhere—thousands of them, as though we’re in a gigantic control room. Maybe this is the place we’ve be
en seeking!

  I realize that the blinding whiteness is emanating from banks of glaring fluorescent lights. They’re on the ceiling, the wall, and even on the floor, encased in translucent tiles underneath our feet.

  Opposite the white wall is a massive curved window made from huge panes of thick glass. I can’t see what’s behind it because it’s so dark out there. All we see are our own reflections. I notice additional computer consoles jutting up from the floor in front of the window, covered with dials and controls.

  “What is all this stuff?” Gadya asks, leaning against the wall to take weight off her wounded ankle.

  Before I can even begin to speculate, I’m interrupted:

  “Hello there!” a female voice crackles loudly above my head, making both of us shriek. The voice ricochets off the floor and the glass wall like a sonic bullet.

  I look up, staring directly into a circular loudspeaker in the ceiling. I see more speakers stretching off into the distance around the curve.

  “Someone else is here!” I yell at Gadya excitedly. Of course I realize that they’ll inevitably want to punish us for escaping our sector and breaking into their city. Maybe they’ll even kill us. But at this point, anything is better than getting massacred by the feelers or freezing to death.

  Gadya tilts her head back. “Help us!” she demands. “We’re from the blue sector!”

  “It’s a pleasure to welcome you to the Silver Shore Terminal on Prison Island Alpha,” the voice replies stridently, loaded with forced optimism. “I was not expecting guests today, but our staff will do our best to accommodate you—”

  “Just send someone down to get us!” I yell, barely listening. “We’re freezing and we’re injured! We surrender, but we need help—”

  The voice keeps talking over me.

  “A staff member will be with you shortly,” it informs us in bright tones. “If you require a beverage, please ask one of our receptionists for assistance.”

  Receptionists? Beverages? I look at Gadya, thinking, What the hell is this lady talking about? There’s nothing here but ice.

  “We need your help, damn it!” Gadya screams at the speaker above her.

  “If you require rest after your journey, you’re welcome to take seats in the waiting area on concourse B,” the voice continues blithely. “Just follow the dotted lights.” As if by magic, a pathway of red-lighted panels brightens the floor, leading off down the curve of the horseshoe. “A tour guide will be with you shortly. If you have a prearranged appointment, please speak the letters of your guide’s last name, and I will page your contact.”

  I spin to face Gadya, finally understanding. “It’s not real!” I say. “It’s a recording. A computer program.”

  Gadya’s face reflects my emotions.

  Total, absolute despair.

  “Because at the Silver Shore Terminal,” the voice continues babbling, “your comfort and satisfaction are our primary goals.”

  I have no clue what this building is, or why this automated voice is speaking to us now, but it continues, undeterred.

  “My video feed indicates that no staff members are currently available. So I invite you to take your seats in the waiting area.” The lighted panels on the floor start flashing more insistently.

  “Video feed,” Gadya mutters. “Did you hear that?” We immediately start looking around for cameras.

  Finally I see one, up high on the ceiling above the door. It’s the first camera I’ve seen since the one near the spiral staircase, the first day I arrived on the wheel. Gadya and I both start waving at it. Even though this voice is automated, maybe there’s a human somewhere out there in the darkness, watching us.

  “I notice that you are signaling to me,” the voice says. “If you have a request, please speak to the receptionist. Remember, a staff member will be with you shortly.”

  “Screw you!” Gadya screams, head tilted up at the speakers again, her voice raw. “Rot in hell!”

  I stop waving at the camera. The voice is just saying the same things over and over. I was hoping I could ask it questions and get some answers. Clearly, that’s not going to happen.

  Or so I think—until the voice abruptly changes in pitch. It’s still female, but now it sounds deeper and more serious. “I apologize for the delay. We here at the Silver Shore Terminal take pride in our punctuality. It is possible your guide has been unexpectedly detained. If you wish, you may request the automated tour function. Just say ‘automatic mode.’”

  I do what the voice says.

  The lights dim slightly, and I try to see out of that huge, mysterious window. But beyond all the reflections, it still looks blacker than the night sky.

  “Welcome. I will be your automated tour guide this afternoon,” the new voice continues. “My name is Clara. C-L-A-R-A. At any time you may interrupt this tour, and I will do my best to answer any questions.”

  I take that as my invitation. “Where are we?”

  “You are on Balcony Delta.”

  “No, I mean, what is this place?”

  “Balcony Delta,” the voice repeats, with the exact same inflection.

  “What does that even mean?” Gadya presses. “What does Balcony Delta do? Where are the aircrafts?”

  There’s no answer this time.

  I stare at Gadya helplessly. Under the lights, I see how dirty and grimy she is. Her piercings are dull and encrusted with blood. I see my own reflection in the glass wall and realize I look just as haggard. I barely recognize the filthy, skinny girl staring back at me. I look like a wild animal.

  “This isn’t working,” Gadya mutters.

  “What’s behind all those windows?” I ask the robotic voice, trying another tactic.

  “Windows?” It’s like the voice just recognizes certain words and ignores the rest of the sentence. “This gallery window is the focal point of Balcony Delta, which is one of twelve viewing portals in the Silver Shore Terminal. The windows are made from a Plexiglas-silicone hybrid, fourteen inches thick, to provide maximum viewer protection.”

  “Protection from what?”

  My question throws the voice. “I’m sorry. I do not understand.”

  Gadya speaks up. “She means, what the hell’s behind that glass?”

  For some reason, the voice likes her phrasing more than mine. “Behind the glass is the Silver Shore specimen archive. We’ve processed more than fifty percent of the island’s specimens, making this the largest processing facility on Island Alpha—”

  “The island!” I jump in. “How do we get off it?”

  I don’t think there’s any chance the voice will answer that one. But to my shock, it does. “The helipads and aircraft landing strips are located on the roof level of Terminal C. Please contact a staff member to request all relevant scheduling data.”

  “Can we get off this island without a helicopter or an airplane?” Gadya asks.

  “I’m sorry. I do not understand.”

  I leap in. “Is there a boat? A bridge? Anything?”

  “I’m sorry. I do not understand.”

  Gadya yells and kicks at the wall with her good foot. Her boot leaves a dark smudge on the white surface. We stand there, freezing and dirty, not sure what to do next.

  “Hey, what did it mean by ‘specimens’?” Gadya finally asks me. “It said that earlier. Did you hear?”

  The voice decides to answer before I can. “All specimen test subjects are flash frozen in a cryoprotectant solution, and held at minus fifty degrees Fahrenheit, to minimize cellular decay.” It pauses. “Do you wish to view the specimens?”

  “Yes,” Gadya and I say, at the exact same moment.

  The fluorescent lights start dimming again, and our horseshoe-shaped room grows darker until there’s barely any light at all.

  “Please step forward to the observation window,” the voice instructs.

  Finally, as the lights in our horseshoe fade to total blackness and the ambient light beyond the window begins to rise, I’m able to see th
rough the glass.

  “This facility is currently running at ninety-three point seven percent capacity.”

  I ignore the voice for a moment and struggle to make sense of the strange shapes emerging from the darkness. The glass is as cold as ice. Way too cold to touch. I feel it trying to burn the tip of my nose when I lean forward.

  “The specimen archive is the heart of this facility,” the voice continues. “More than one hundred test subjects are processed here every day. That includes harvesting, freezing, and transportation to their position in the grid. The specimens are then held until they get recalled to Mexico City Three in the UNA, for clinical tissue biopsies and live dissection . . .”

  Live dissection? Tissue biopsies? I’m still just trying to figure out what I’m looking at. Then, as the lights within the massive black space are adjusted more precisely, I finally realize what is being held inside it.

  “No!” I gasp.

  My legs turn to jelly as the air is sucked out of my lungs. I get a strange floaty feeling, like I’m about to faint.

  Gadya claws at me, clutching onto my arm. I grab her back, holding her close. I literally cannot believe what we are seeing beyond the glass.

  “The archive currently houses more than ten thousand specimens,” the voice burbles, oblivious to our horror. “Our efficiency rate is the highest of any station. We are proud to be the number one processing plant on Island Alpha, for the second consecutive year.”

  “Burn in hell!” Gadya suddenly screams, kicking at one of the monitors, splintering its glass screen.

  “I’m sorry. I do not understand.”

  Tears run down my face. I know that Gadya is crying too, racking sobs that make her shoulders shake.

  “Don’t look,” I whisper. “We don’t have to look.”

  “No, I want to.” She leans back up to stare down through the glass. I do the same, because I can’t help myself.

  What I see are human bodies.

  Ten thousand of them, hanging on vertical metal beams inside an incredibly vast subterranean space, descending hundreds of feet deep.