“A painkiller. To take the edge off,” she says.
I reach out for the pill and slip it in my mouth. Gamma presses the glass to my lips so I can chase it down with a swig of cool, clear water. After I swallow, she removes the glass and smoothes my hair back. She’s calmer than she was. “It’s not as bad as it looks, Omega. The cut is long. That’s why there’s so much blood. But it’s not very deep.”
It doesn’t hurt as much anymore. Maybe Tau is being more careful, or maybe the painkiller is kicking in. Within a few minutes, I can feel her wrapping the injury. She’s tying the bandage so tight my arm tingles. I inhale sharply and turn to watch her. Her knuckles are as white as the bandage. Gamma continues smoothing my hair, like my mother did when I was little. She turns to someone behind her and asks, “Is the transport on the way?”
“No.” This time I manage to make my voice stronger and I force myself to sit up as Tau ties off the bandage. I can see that the groups of girls have now dispersed further around the factory. Some seem to be missing, probably outside taking a smoke break while they have the unexpected opportunity.
“It’s not so bad, Omega, but we do have to get you to the Clinic,” Gamma says.
“I’ll walk.” Maybe I can slip back home without anyone noticing.
“I’ll go with you.” Gamma helps me to my feet. I’m a little shaky, so I lean into her as she wraps an arm around my waist. Tau is kneeling beside us, repacking the Med-Kit.
Tau rises to her feet and rounds on the few girls who are still hanging around the action. “Get back to work. All of you.” She turns to us and addresses Gamma who is urging me toward the door. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“Taking her to the Clinic, ma’am.” Gamma stresses the last word, her grip tightening around my waist.
Tau strides toward us, Med-Kit in hand. “Are you deaf? I said get back to work.”
“Ma’am, she won’t go if I don’t take her.” Gamma stands her ground, locking eyes with Tau.
“She’ll go.” Tau drops the Med-Kit with a clang. “She’ll go because I’m going to call ahead and tell them to expect her.” She raises her communicator and starts pushing buttons.
“Ma’am, she’s hurt.” Gamma releases me and plants her hands on her hips. “She won’t be able to get there without help.”
“She looks steady enough to me.” Tau indicates me standing without Gamma’s assistance. “You’re alright to walk to the Clinic yourself, aren’t you, girl?” It isn’t really a question.
“So you get back to work.” Tau points a stubby finger at Gamma before nodding at the Med-Kit by her feet. “And put that away while you’re at it.”
Gamma frowns, apparently not planning to push her luck. She snatches up the Med-Kit almost ramming it into Tau’s shin in the process. Tau jumps back but it only takes a moment for her to regain her composure. She turns her attention to me. “Get on your way, girl. I’m putting the call in now.” As she raises the communicator to her lips, I meet Gamma’s dark eyes over her shoulders. Then I turn and head for the exit, the factory’s oversized steel doors looming in front of me.
A wrought iron gate marks the entryway to the Clinic. The three-story building is surrounded by a fence that stretches out around a lush garden. Its centerpiece is a reflection pool set into the ground in a perfect circle. The gate is never closed. It’s intended as a signal that those in need are always welcome. The area is tranquil between shifts. The sinking sun’s rays dance across the water’s surface. At the far end of the pool, there’s a woodland comprised of firs and oaks, arranged to provide shade and relaxation for those lucky enough to come out and enjoy it. If only I had time to soak it all in.
A pair of squirrels darts around me, racing each other for the base of an oak tree. One follows the other up its trunk, chittering excitedly until they disappear amidst the leaves. My contact lenses scratch my eyes. I shouldn’t take them out in public. If anyone knew, it would lead to questions that I can’t answer. My mother says it’s only a genetic abnormality, but those aren’t supposed to exist inside the palisade. It’s better no one knows about my eyes.
With a furtive glance to check that I’m truly alone, I slip beneath the oak tree the squirrels climbed. Its foliage shields me from view of the building down the path. I lean into its rough bark, unable to resist running my palms along its ridges and valleys, immersing myself in its sweet summery scent. If I were a squirrel, I guess this is the tree I’d pick for my home too. After a moment, I crawl to the edge of the reflection pool and lean over the water. My face gazes back at me, a little paler than usual, my mop of chestnut hair escaping from its braids.
The lenses are still in place, their fake blue beaming up at me. I pinch out the plastic discs and clip them into the case I always keep in my pocket. Placing it on a rock beside me, I cup my hands under the water and splash my face, blinking my eyes to lubricate them. The water is cool and refreshing, reminding me of Gamma holding the glass to my lips. I press my fingertips to my mouth. She’s my very best friend. She has no problem finding girlfriends. Why don’t I feel that way about her? About anyone here? Life would be so easy if I did. My future could be all mapped out.
I could commit to a life partner, have a family and hopefully retrain for a better Calling. Of course, the one Calling I’d like doesn’t exist anymore. Adventurer, explorer. Like in the old history books we study at school. If we still had explorers we could find out what’s really outside the walls. It can’t be empty nothingness forever, can it?
My thoughts are interrupted by a movement in the trees, followed by a flurry of falling leaves. A pair of eyes stares at me from a high perch. Someone is hidden there, masked by the leafy canopy, haloed by the sun.
Is it a girl playing around up there? Or maybe an animal, although it seems pretty bulky. Too big to be a squirrel. Could be a raccoon, but do they actually climb trees?
I take a breath and call out, “Who are you?”
No response.
“What are you doing up there? Are you stuck?”
The figure shakes its head. It understands me. So, not an animal.
“Why don’t you come down? I won’t hurt you.”
The head shake is vigorous, causing the tree to shed more leaves. I move forward until I’m directly beneath her, but she shimmies to a higher branch.
“Don’t be afraid. I’m going to call for help.” I raise my communicator to make the call.
“No!”
I don’t know if I only imagine the hissed word combined with the whoosh of air when the girl leaps from her perch. She drops like a huge black bat, arms outstretched, draped in something thick and dark. She catches me off guard, pushing me backward. My knee twists painfully, and I feel something tear as I go down, but I can’t cry out. The fall knocks the wind out of me.
Then she’s on me, clawing for the communicator at my wrist as she straddles my hips and pins me. I try to fight back, but my injured arm screams in pain. With a last violent jerk, the girl succeeds in snapping the communicator strap and pulling the device away. I draw in a breath to cry for help, but her hand is over my mouth, her body pressed to mine. She’s unbelievably strong. I thrash against her but she presses down harder making it difficult to breathe. My vision blurs. I’m worried I’ll pass out. I try to get a look at her face, but I can’t see past the hood of the dark cloak. Focusing on breathing through my nose, I try to steady myself. The girl begins to relax her grip.
“I’m sorry,” she says in a low husky whisper. “I couldn’t let you call them. They can’t find me here.” Her hand drops to my shoulder, and I sense her exhaustion in the motion. Is she a psych patient? I vaguely remember Gamma mentioning her mother treating a case a while back, but I’ve never met anyone suffering from mental problems before.
The girl’s hand remains over my mouth, her head pressed down on my shoulder. Her breathing is ragged, warm puffs of air billowing hot against my neck. We both hold still for several moments. Finally she straightens to arms�
�� length, keeping my mouth pinned with her hand and my torso pinned with her legs. As she leans back, the hood flops away, and I see her face for the first time: piercing dark eyes set against large angular features. But that’s not what makes me gasp. It’s the scruff of fur covering the lower half of the face. I redouble my efforts to fight when I realize the horrible truth. This isn’t a girl.
It’s a deman.
Chapter 3
My fight doesn’t last long. I’m hampered by the pain in my knee and injured arm. The deman is so strong. He leans in and clamps his free arm against my collarbone. His furry cheek scratches my throat. I can smell the scent of oak on his skin as well as a hint of something else. Lavender? How could he have gotten inside the wall? The palisade can’t be breached. Our ancestors sealed it tight generations ago.
He inhales deeply. Is he sniffing me? I buck against him. Bad move. A shock of pain screams through my knee, and I cry out against his clammy palm. I’m surprised when the pressure is released from my chest. He’s lifting his weight off me but keeping one hand locked over my mouth. He slides the other to my waist.
No! I can’t let him touch me there. I know what these demen do. I’ve read the history books. I brace my palms against the ground and grasp at the rocks and stones. Anything I could use as a weapon. There’s nothing big enough. He clamps his hand around my upper thigh, causing me to grimace.
“Stop that.” His command is hoarse, his grip unyielding. “If I take my hand away from your mouth, can you please keep quiet?”
My eyes widen. He talks like me.
“Look.” He releases my thigh and brings his face close to mine. His eyes are dark and unreadable. “Your leg is hurt, but I can’t look at it if I have to keep you quiet. We can’t stay here like this. Please.”
A monster is begging me to cooperate?
“I’m sorry you’re hurt, okay? I want to help,” he says in that hoarse desperate tone. Abruptly, he slides his free hand beneath my shoulders. I try to resist, but he braces me and pulls me to a seated position. I try to bite the hand over my mouth, but he pulls me against him. This fight is pointless. I can’t win. With little cooperation from me, he manages to maneuver me into a seated position on the ground. He has one arm looped across my chest, covering my mouth from behind. With the other, he points at my leg. That’s when I see the fabric at the knee of my trousers is ripped. A large swelling rises underneath. Beads of blood pucker around the edges.
“You’re injured.” The deman’s voice is surprisingly kind as he manipulates the fabric just above the injury with one hand while holding me in place with the other. I twist my head to face him. When my eyes meet his, I’m surprised to see what looks like a mixture of hesitation and fear. He’s younger than I thought, his skin pale with purple hollows beneath his eyes. His hair is shaggy and unkempt, hanging just above his shoulders, the bangs drooping into his dark eyes. “Will you let me help you?”
A bat screeches overhead. We can’t sit here like this all night. If he thinks I’m cooperating, he might lower his guard, and I’ll be able to escape. I avert my eyes and nod.
He loosens his grip, but hesitates. “You won’t scream?” His breath puffs against my skin. Warm and moist. I shudder.
I shake my head. No, I won’t scream. If I did, there’s no telling what he’d do. What if he’s not alone? A chill snakes up my spine as I glance over my shoulder, seeing nothing but the quiet woodland surrounding us. A lizard peers out from under a rock by the water, flicking its blue tongue a few times before disappearing again.
“I’m going to let you go now,” the deman says, without loosening his hold. “Stay calm, okay?” Ever so slowly, he releases me. I slump forward, forcing myself to resist the urge to bolt. I hold my face between my hands and try to focus, pushing down the bile that rises in my throat. I close my eyes for a moment. When I open them, he’s skirted around in front of me, kneeling beside my outstretched legs. Even on his knees, he seems enormous, probably because he’s so broad across the chest. He’s wearing dark clothes, but they look like the regular outfits we wear in our quarters. Simple cotton trousers and a fitted shirt. Nothing like the animal skins I would have expected from an outsider, a savage. His arms and legs are muscular. He’s wearing a short-sleeved shirt so I can see that his arms are a little hairy, but no more than some of the women I’ve seen in the field.
He is younger than I thought. The skin around his eyes is smooth and unlined. He’s probably about my age. That would make him a boy, wouldn’t it? I think back to the terminology from our history classes. The dark circles are pronounced under his eyes. Maybe he’s ill. Is that why he’s outside the Clinic? Does he need medicine?
He loosens his cloak and drops it to his knees, producing a penknife from the side of his leather boot. I flip over, but my knee buckles, and I fall to the ground. Before I can try anything else, he grabs my good ankle with his free hand and drops the knife. Then he leans over and clutches my shoulder. His face is so close I can smell his sweat again. The hint of lavender mixed with the scent of oak. His eyes search mine, wild and panicked. “Stop.”
“What are you doing?” I gesture to the knife with a tilt of my head.
The deman kicks the knife away with the tip of his boot, sending a cloud of dirt into the air. “I was only going to make a brace for your knee.” He nods at the blade and lifts his cloak from the ground to demonstrate what he was planning. “I was going to cut a strip of this as a bandage for you.”
I stare down at the pile of fabric in his arms. His cloak and boots are as well made as the rest of his clothes. They look like something manufactured inside the palisade by our stitchers and weavers, but that’s impossible. He looks me over and then makes a grunting noise low in his throat.
“What?” My tone is sharper than I intend, sharper than I can afford under the circumstances.
He leans forward, a muscle twitching in his jaw. “I should have known better than to try and help a stranger. They warned me I wouldn’t be safe here. I should have listened.”
His words ignite my anger full force. “You wouldn’t be safe here? That’s rich. You demen are the ones who hurt us. That’s why we built the palisade in the first place.”
“That’s right. We’re the evil ones, aren’t we? The terrifying demen. Not you. Not women.” He almost spits the last word. “You can’t even say it, can you? What we really are. Human like you. Another gender. Not another species.” He sinks back on his heels, dropping his head into his hands.
His voice catches when he speaks again. “Just go.” He doesn’t look at me. This may be a trick, but he sounds so sincere. I gather my feet under me, grimacing at the ache in my leg. The deman looks up at me from his hunched position, accentuating his pale cheeks and the hollows under his eyes. He really does look ill. The fact that he doesn’t move any closer stokes my courage, and my curiosity. “Why are you here?”
“I’m waiting for someone.” He wipes his sleeve over his eyes. Who could he know inside the palisade? As the sun’s sinking rays hit his face I notice a slight asymmetry in his features – the right side of his mouth tilts higher than the left. I press the heels of my hands to my temples. The leaves rustle in the breeze. Tiny ripples line the pond’s surface. It’s not possible for this creature to be here. But he is. I have to know why. And how.
“Who are you waiting for?” I ask.
He turns his head toward the looming brick building at the end of the path. “Someone in there.” The trees cast long shadows against its limestone façade.
“I thought you didn’t want anyone to know you were here.”
“She already knows,” he says as he gathers his cloak into his lap. “Maybe we could help each other?”
I look down at him, sitting there. Alone. Running his fingers through the hem of his cloak, glancing occasionally at the building behind him with what looks like yearning in his expression.
“What did you have in mind?” I ask. I know I should run. Get as far away as I can and report
him. I know I should. But this creature is from outside, and he’s here. I need to know why.
A glimmer flashes through his eyes. He rises to one knee and snatches for his cloak before it tumbles to the ground.
I take another step back. He holds his arms out, palms upward. “I could help you with your knee.” He points at my torn trouser leg. “And you could deliver a message for me.” He cocks his head toward the Clinic.
I clasp for the communicator on my wrist only to remember that he never gave it back after our scuffle. “To a Med-Tech?”
Then he surprises me by grabbing for the knife and offering it to me hilt first. I take it from him, hefting its unfamiliar weight in my palms. It’s only a small pen knife. It probably wouldn’t do much damage to anyone, but the fact he’s given it to me seems significant. The corner of his asymmetrical mouth twitches as he begins to tear the edge of his cloak to make a bandage. He holds it out and gestures at my knee. The cut is beaded with blood. I must have scraped it along a tree root or a rock when I feel. The joint is swollen and bruising. The deman looks up to meet my eyes and gestures again with the bandage. I bite down on my lip. This is the point of no return. Am I really going to let him touch me? I straighten my shoulders and raise the knife in his direction before jutting my chin down to indicate that it’s okay to touch me.
He leans forward, keeping his eyes pinned on mine and raising his eyebrows before hitching up the hem of my trouser leg and rolling it up to my knee. His fingers are warm and calloused. I grit my teeth and grip the knife tighter, but he’s not paying attention to it. He’s completely focused on the injury, working with confident movements as he braces the joint. Firmly, but not too tight. Like a Med-Tech. I’m almost hypnotized by the sight of the monstrous hands engaging in such skillful work.
Inside the Palisade Page 2