The Erasure Initiative

by Lili Wilkinson

  It would be impossible to escape there. It’s an endless maze of nature. We’d get trapped by thorns, or encounter some kind of deadly snake or scorpion.

  ‘D’you think they’d send someone after me?’ Riley asks. ‘Hunt me down?’

  I finger my wristband. I suspect he wouldn’t even get that far. The fluttering panic returns with a vengeance, and I take deep breaths, trying to calm myself down.

  Riley puts a hand on my shoulder. ‘Hey,’ he says. ‘It’s gonna be fine.’

  ‘What if it isn’t?’ I hear myself asking. My voice sounds small and high, like a child’s.

  Riley gives me a lopsided grin. ‘I guess we see it through to the end either way,’ he says. ‘Don’t worry, I bet the old lady picked blue. She’d never choose to save someone like me.’

  He flips me a casual salute, then lopes off the road towards the red X.

  The bus will stop. Of course it will. Even if this whole thing is being run by a sadistic madman. Whatever the endgame here is, it can’t be me getting squashed by a bus. It wouldn’t make any sense. If someone wants me dead, there are much less complicated ways of achieving it.

  I close my eyes and take a deep breath, smelling sea-salt and rich rainforest humus. I can hear birdsong, and the rhythmic roar and hiss of the ocean.

  ‘Okay,’ I murmur to myself. ‘Here we go.’

  I head up the side road towards a blue spraypainted X. The sudden burst of exercise after sitting still for so long makes my heart pound. It feels good, my mind suddenly clearer.

  I look back over my shoulder, but the jungle is between me and the main road now, and I can’t see Riley anymore.

  I am alone.

  I reach my blue X, and turn around to face the way I came. The wristband lights up and starts to vibrate slightly. I hear a high-pitched noise, so high it makes my eyes water. I try to wipe them, but I can’t move. I can’t even turn my head.

  I am frozen in place.

  The wristband is paralysing me.

  My heartrate accelerates and I feel panic rising.

  I can’t move.

  My throat closes over, and I can’t breathe. I feel my lungs pumping, but it’s as if hands are closed around my throat, choking the air from me. Blood pounds in my ears and acid stings the back of my throat.

  The squeal of brakes.

  Wet thud.

  Then the air comes rushing back in, and I hear myself take a rasping breath.

  I can breathe.

  I can breathe, and blink, and I’m still standing. But I can’t move. Whatever signal my brain sends to my body isn’t getting through. I’m locked in place.

  Something rustles in the undergrowth to my right, and I feel a queasy mix of hope and fear.

  ‘Hello?’ I call. ‘Is someone there?’

  My voice comes out strained and slurred through lips that don’t move the way they should.

  More rustling. I see a shadow out of the corner of my eye, and my blood runs cold. Whatever it is, it isn’t human.

  I start to tremble, but I still can’t move. I see a long, brown, segmented leg reaching out from the jungle. I shudder as another leg follows it. Whatever this creature is, it’s the size of a medium dog. It looks like a spider, but if it is, then it’s some freakish accident of genetic engineering, because spiders are not supposed to be the size of dogs. Maybe we really are on some alien planet after all.

  The creature ambles into view. It’s a crab. It’s the biggest bloody crab I’ve ever seen, easily a metre across from leg to leg. It moves slowly, jerkily, but with intent.

  It stops in front of me, antennae waving. I really, really hope it isn’t hungry.

  ‘Bugger off,’ I slur through my unresponsive lips. ‘I’m much bigger than you. I could kick your arse if I felt like it. I’m just choosing not to move, because you’re not worth my time.’

  The crab is unimpressed by my bravado.

  ‘I’ve eaten crabs bigger than you,’ I tell it. ‘With tartare sauce and a squeeze of lemon.’

  It rears up onto its back legs, revealing a bluish-purple undercarriage. Two pairs of huge front legs rise up like poised weapons, each topped with powerful-looking claws.

  ‘And I am very sorry,’ I say hurriedly. ‘Please accept my humblest apologies, from myself and on behalf of all my kind. Please don’t kill me.’

  The crab lowers its legs back to the ground, and with one last wave of antennae, it continues its passage across the road.

  I let out a shaky breath and for a moment there is a feeling of relief. Then I hear tyres on bitumen, and the bus comes rushing up the side road.

  From my place higher on the hill I can see that the top of the bus is covered in silvery solar cells, which explains why we haven’t stopped to refuel. Shame, I really wish it would run out right now.

  It’s getting closer, and showing no sign of slowing down.

  The others on the bus are pressed against the windscreen. Paxton is shouting, pounding his fist against the glass. Nia’s eyes are wide and terrified.

  I’ve seen that expression on her face before.

  In that instant, I am one hundred per cent sure that I know Nia. Not from the bus, or any of the other times we might have done this. But really before, in our real lives, whatever they might be.

  I’m going to die.

  I won’t explode into pixels of light. I’ll explode into red jelly and fragments of bone. Bits of me will splatter across the front of the bus, across the windscreen, only thin glass between all the parts of me and the horrified faces of the other passengers.

  I close my eyes. It’ll be easier if I don’t watch.

  A baby is crying.

  The wristband is warm against my skin. The sound of the bus is getting louder, closer. The temptation to open my eyes is almost unbearable, but I squeeze them closed. A scream rises in my chest, but I fight it down.

  A baby is crying.

  I open a door and there it is.

  Screaming and squalling in its crib, its face red and pinched.

  I take a step forward.

  How do I comfort a baby? I hate babies.

  The door opens behind me.

  ‘Jesus, what are you still doing here?’ a male voice hisses, and before I know it, I’m being pushed/pulled/bundled into the wardrobe, where leather jackets and wool skirts brush against me like dead fingers.

  The baby keeps crying.

  I open my eyes.

  I’m not on a bus. I’m standing on a road, and a bus is about to hit me.

  It’s mere metres away.

  It’s not going to stop.

  A girl is staring at me. Nia. Her name is Nia, and I know her. We lock eyes. Her fingers splay across the windscreen.

  I should have told her about the tattoo.

  Every muscle in my body is screaming to move, to fling myself away from this inevitable death. All the animal parts of my brain take over, so that all I can think about is ESCAPE ESCAPE ESCAPE ESCAPE and DEATH DEATH DEATH DEATH DEATH.

  Brakes squeal.

  Wet thud.

  Fluorescent lights paint a motel room blue and red.

  There’s so much blood.

  Warm air gusts against my face, pushed forward by the bus, only centimetres away.

  And it stops.

  The brakes don’t squeal, the bus doesn’t skid or fishtail. It just stops.

  It stops and I don’t die and I’m not dead and I’m still alive.

  I see the others, hurled against the glass from the force of the bus’s brakes.

  I take a deep, shaking breath.

  The high-pitched whine of the wristband stops, and I’m in control of my body again. I feel my knees start to buckle, but I reach out a hand to steady myself against the insect-splattered front bumper of the bus.

  I hear footsteps pounding nearby, and Riley appears from behind the bus.

  ‘Jesus, are you okay?’ he asks, reaching out.

  ‘Don’t touch me,’ I snap.

  The bus door opens and I st
agger up the steps as Nia darts forward and grabs me by the shoulders.

  ‘Are you okay?’ she asks. ‘Did it hit you? Are you hurt?’

  I shake my head, and my knees wobble again so I kind of fall into her arms. She’s solid and comforting and real and alive, and I’m alive and I don’t care if she’s really the Blue Fairy, I’m just glad that I’m not dead.

  The hug goes on for longer than it should. As I pull away, Nia’s cheek brushes mine, and she tilts her head as though she’s going to kiss me. It’s so utterly unexpected that I jerk backwards. A series of expressions pass over her face – confusion, hurt and then anger, like she’s waking up from a dream and has found herself somewhere where she doesn’t want to be.

  I stare at her. I’m still flooded with adrenaline, terror mingling with bone-shaking relief at not being dead.

  The bus starts to move again.

  ‘I didn’t—’ Nia puts a hand to her lips. ‘I wasn’t …’ She shakes her head and turns to Riley. ‘What the hell happened out there?’

  ‘This sucker,’ Riley says, holding up his wrist. ‘It does something. It made this high-pitched noise and I was totally frozen.’

  ‘I believe it’s using neuromodulation,’ says Edwin.

  ‘Neuro-what?’ asks Riley.

  ‘An experimental technology,’ Edwin explains. ‘A non-invasive way of altering the activity of neutrons by focusing ultrasound waves on particular areas of the brain.’

  Riley blinks. ‘Sorry, little dude, but I got none of that.’

  ‘He means it uses sounds to change your brain,’ Nia explains with a frown, acting for all the world like the weird moment between us didn’t happen. ‘Could the wristband really do that, though? Emit a noise that paralyses you?’

  Riley raises his hand. ‘It did just do that.’

  ‘I wouldn’t have thought that the technology was sufficiently advanced for that,’ Edwin says. ‘But who knows? We could have been held in stasis for a thousand years before we woke up. Or maybe someone’s been working on it secretly. I bet Cato Bell could do it.’

  ‘Who’s Cato Bell?’ I ask.

  Everyone turns to stare at me.

  ‘Cato Bell,’ Sandra says. ‘Controversial tech billionaire?’

  ‘She’s a genius,’ Edwin says, defensively.

  I shake my head. ‘Never heard of her.’

  ‘Really?’ says Paxton. ‘How can you not have heard of her? Everyone knows who Cato Bell is. She’s like Beyoncé or President Cortez or Harry Potter.’

  Nia scowls. ‘Cato Bell is capitalist scum,’ she says dismissively. ‘What about that plan to solve the housing crisis by putting digital advertising on all the walls in low-rent homes?’

  I feel weirdly left out. Maybe I’m the kind of person who isn’t interested in billionaires. I feel jangly and odd. I want … something. To fight with Nia. Or for her to try to kiss me again.

  But Nia can’t give me what I need.

  I can’t keep the adrenaline and fear and relief inside anymore. I need to scream or cry or burst into little pieces.

  I turn to Paxton instead. I push my face into his, hungry for evidence that I’m still alive. Energy courses through my veins as I press up against him, my lips against his. It’s a proper kiss, open-mouthed and breathless. I feel myself opening up to him, my body lighting up with desire, and after a startled moment, Paxton responds enthusiastically. I can feel his attraction to me in his hands, the way his body curves into mine, the rasping depth of his breath. I love it. He wants me, and I’m alive.

  I hear Catherine mutter disapprovingly, and that only fuels the fire inside me. Everyone is watching. Nia is watching. I let out a little moan and feel Paxton’s body respond in kind. I want to keep going. I want him to tear my clothes off and touch every inch of my body. I want to dig my fingernails into his back until he cries out. For a moment I consider dragging him into the little bathroom, but it’s too small, too disgusting.

  I disentangle myself, panting and flushed. Paxton stares at me for a moment, his eyes wild, pupils dilated. Then he grins.

  ‘Guess it’s true what they say about near-death experiences,’ he says, his voice husky.

  I place my splayed hand against his broad, solid chest and hear the hammering of his heart.

  I did that. I made his pulse race.

  ‘I hate to break up this charming scene,’ Nia calls out from her seat, a look of utter revulsion on her face. ‘But there’s something you need to see.’

  Typical Nia. She is jealous. She hates Pax because he wants me. Everyone wants me, because I am strong and beautiful and powerful.

  ‘There’s a new file,’ she says, her voice tight, and despite myself, I approach her seat and lean over to look.

  To: The Blue Fairy

  From: Mimi Pajalic

  I wish Mr Green would get fired.

  To: The Blue Fairy

  From: Madeline Bardsley

  I wish Jenna Ng wasn’t so fucking smug all the time.

  To: The Blue Fairy

  From: Marcus Tagiuri

  I wish the food hall would reinstate Taco Tuesday.

  To: The Blue Fairy

  From: Malachi Edwards

  I wish I had 10g of coke for Pax’s party next week.

  To: The Blue Fairy

  From: Libby Armstrong

  I wish boys knew how it feels to be treated like a piece of meat.

  To: The Blue Fairy

  From: Nicola Santilli

  I wish I had a puppy.

  To: The Blue Fairy

  From: David Marquez

  I wish Warner Garrett would get gastro on the day of waterpolo tryouts.

  To: The Blue Fairy

  From: Jock Petersen

  I wish I knew if Malachi Edwards liked me.

  To: The Blue Fairy

  From: Jenna Ng

  I wish Edwin Chen wasn’t the lead in the musical.

  7

  DAY 2

  16:48

  ‘Huh,’ says Nia, staring at the display. ‘Ten grams of coke for Pax’s party. Do you think …’

  ‘Yeah,’ I reply. ‘Edwin Chen, too.’

  ‘They must know each other. And if we’re right about Sandra and Paxton being related, then she’s connected as well. Do you think we all are? Do you think it’s possible we all knew each other, before?’

  I’m sure of it. I know Nia. Paxton too. Whoever we are, we’re all here for a reason.

  ‘Whoever has orchestrated this whole thing …’ Nia shakes her head. ‘Respect. I have no idea what’s going on, but it is complicated.’

  Something occurs to me, and I can’t believe I haven’t considered it before. Nia was the first one to admit that she had no memory. Nia was the one who hacked into the bus’s computer, using a tool she just happened to find in a secret compartment in her prosthetic leg.

  My blood runs cold.

  What if Nia is lying about having no memory?

  She catches me staring at her and scowls. ‘What?’

  I can’t trust her. I can’t trust anyone. I turn back to Paxton, but he’s gone, off talking in a low voice to Sandra.

  I sit next to Edwin instead.

  ‘How’s it going?’ I ask.

  He side-eyes me. ‘Why do you ask?’

  Because I’m bored and Paxton is talking to someone else? ‘Just being nice.’

  Edwin looks down at his hands. ‘I’m not good at small talk.’

  I hesitate, then tell him about the Blue Fairy wishes, and how Jenna Ng had wished that Edwin Chen wasn’t the lead in the school musical anymore.

  ‘And you think that’s me? Edwin Chen?’

  ‘It seems likely,’ I say.

  I watch Edwin turn this over in his mind. ‘I can’t imagine being in a school musical,’ he admits at last. I can’t either. He seems so introverted. The idea of him being on a stage, singing and dancing for a crowd is mind-boggling.

  ‘Can you sing?’ I ask him.

  ‘I have no idea.’

  �
��Try something. Something from a musical.’

  He shakes his head. ‘I don’t think I know any songs from musicals. I can’t think of anything.’

  ‘Twinkle Twinkle, Little Star?’

  Edwin steels himself, then clears his throat. He sings Twinkle Twinkle, but he pitches it too low, so it sounds breathy and tuneless. He gets through two lines and stops, wincing.

  ‘I can’t sing,’ he says. ‘And singing should be an implicit memory.’

  I tell him about the other wishes.

  ‘This Blue Fairy character is significant,’ he muses. ‘But I’m not sure how.’

  I glance over at Nia, but say nothing.

  ‘I’m quite certain we’re on an island,’ Edwin says abruptly.

  ‘Really?’

  He nods. ‘The ocean has been on the right-hand side of the bus the entire time,’ he says. ‘And the jungle on the left. The road always curves to the left. I’ve been watching the way the sun moves. And the signs we’ve passed, and the bits of old wreckage on the beach – we’re going around in circles.’

  An island. So there’s no destination that the bus is heading towards. And it probably rules out any chance of a helpful police officer randomly stumbling across us.

  ‘Huh,’ I say. ‘Do you think we’re the only people here? On the whole island?’

  ‘I imagine there’s a control centre nearby,’ he says. ‘A base for whoever is organising the experiment. They’re watching us remotely, but I shouldn’t think it’s too far away.’

  I glance over at Nia.

  Or they could be right here on the bus with us.

  ‘Who do you think they are?’ I ask. ‘The … whoevers.’

  Edwin considers it. ‘At first I suspected it was a research team,’ he says. ‘Perhaps a university conducting a study. The consent forms seemed to confirm that. But it’s not rigorous enough. Even if they did it when we had our memories, as a control group, there are still too many variables. It’s terrible science. If you wanted to do this properly, you’d do it with only one person at a time. And why use the trolley problem? It’s essentially meaningless as a thought experiment.’

  ‘So what then?’

  ‘It can only be pop-science,’ he says, with a great deal of disdain. ‘Like one of those televised “experiments” that has no scientific rigour but gets great ratings and makes people believe that they understand something about the human experience.’