The Erasure Initiative

by Lili Wilkinson

  ‘Someone recorded your trial, your cross-examination, and leaked it to the press. The court tried to slap a gag order on it, but it was futile. You were so compelling. Unflappable. You didn’t deny anything. You didn’t show remorse. If anything, you seemed proud of yourself. You’d done what you set out to do. You rose above the pack, above your richer and more privileged peers at Westbridge. You were remarkable, in the most literal sense of the world. Westbridge’s most famous student. They shut down your social media, but people were still obsessed with you. Your favourite brand of eyeliner sold out in four hours. Your name was on everyone’s lips, your face on every screen. The whole world knew your story.’

  It isn’t true. It can’t be. I’m not that girl. I have remorse.

  I have nothing but remorse.

  ‘You’re really quite something, Cecily.’

  I feel a faint spark of myself return. ‘Is this the part where you say that I reminded you of yourself?’ I ask, not attempting to hide the sarcasm in my voice.

  Cato Bell snorts. ‘Sure, except I used my ruthless drive to build the world’s biggest and most successful tech empire, while all you ended up with was an orange jumpsuit.’

  ‘I bet I looked great in orange.’

  ‘You are the ultimate influencer. With you as the figurehead of the Erasure Initiative, my first test case, everyone will pay attention. If I can rehabilitate stone-cold, remorseless Cecily Cartwright, then the world will realise that the Erasure Initiative works. We’ll go viral, and politicians will have to get on board.’

  ‘What did you offer me?’ I ask. ‘In exchange for participating?’

  ‘The usual. Reduced sentence. A private room in a nice prison – one of the ones where they send the rich white people. And you had one extra condition.’

  ‘Which was?’

  ‘Nia. You wanted Nia here, too.’

  I let the room fill with silence. I remember what fake-Edwin wanted. A clean slate.

  ‘It doesn’t work,’ I say. ‘The Erasure Initiative. I’m still a bad person. Edwin still wants to set things on fire. You can’t erase someone’s goodness or badness. That part of me – it’s still in there.’

  Cato Bell shrugs. ‘Early days,’ she says. ‘There are … other avenues we can try. I’ll get there in the end. I always do.’

  I swallow, hollow-gutted at the thought of being stuck on this island, rebooted over and over again, losing myself and then finding myself again only to realise over and over that I’m the monster.

  There has to be a better way.

  ‘What if I can give you want you want?’ I say, my voice slow and foreign, as though it’s someone else speaking.

  Cato Bell turns her eyes upon me, speculative.

  ‘The results you’re after. I’ll give you whatever you want. I’m a good actor.’

  ‘I’m listening.’

  ‘You don’t want this part to last too long,’ I say. ‘Soon there’ll be a new scandal and people will forget about me. You want to strike while the iron’s hot. So let me give it to you. I’ll do the trial again. The bus. The whole thing. I’ll be a changed person. I’ll be good and moral and everything that you want me to be.’

  ‘In exchange for what?’

  ‘After this reboot, I want a full dose. I want to forget everything, who I was, all of this. I want a fresh start. I want a new home, a new name. I want to erase Cecily Cartwright from existence. Can you do it?’

  She hesitates. ‘What about Nia?’

  I remember leaning out over the darkness with Nia, the night breeze lifting my hair from my shoulders, stars scattered overhead.

  ‘What about her?’ I keep my voice nonchalant.

  ‘Is she part of the deal?’

  I shake my head. ‘Kill her. Leave her stranded here forever. I don’t care.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Cato Bell’s eyes bore into me, as if they’re waiting for me to flinch. She’s hoping to see a spark of remorse, of humanity, of goodness. She’s going to be disappointed.

  ‘I’m sure.’

  Cato Bell reaches out a hand and we shake.

  ‘I’ll need money, too,’ I tell her.

  ‘You have plenty of money,’ she replies. ‘You refused to hand over your Blue Fairy account key. It’s a cryptocurrency, so the court couldn’t trace it. There’s at least five million in there, maybe ten. Plenty to get you on your feet.’

  ‘But how do I access it?’

  ‘You need the electronic key. A number that only you know.’

  ‘But I don’t know.’

  ‘Better hope your memories come back soon, then.’

  ‘Is there another way to find out?’ I ask. ‘Surely I wrote it down somewhere.’

  Cato Bell shrugs, but she looks away and her body language shifts slightly.

  I narrow my eyes. ‘Do you know where it is?’ I ask. ‘The number?’

  ‘No,’ she says, after a moment. ‘I don’t know. But I have a theory …’

  DISGRACED SENATOR ATTENDS SON’S FUNERAL

  Ex-Senator Sandra Yates has made her first public appearance after the birth of her daughter, Honour, to attend the funeral of her 17-year-old son Paxton.

  Wearing a sombre black dress, Yates held her newborn infant close to her chest as she entered the hall where the service was to take place.

  When asked to comment on the events surrounding her son’s death, Yates defied the attempts of her handlers to usher her away and instead addressed the assembled press. ‘I want to take this opportunity to assure the people of this great state that the regrettable and tragic events of the last few weeks have not in any way dampened my resolve to continue to represent them as a senator. I am confident that the false charges laid against me will be dropped any day now, and I will resume my campaign.’

  Placed under house arrest a month ago for election fraud, Senator Yates has been implicated in a secondary scandal involving a high school prankster known as the Blue Fairy, who has caused chaos at the prestigious Westbridge Academy, resulting in the death of a student.

  Paxton Yates was discovered last Thursday dead in a motel room, in what police are claiming was a suicide. Speculation is now rife that he was the Blue Fairy, although Yates’s lawyer continues to deny this.

  17

  DAY 5

  06:45

  The new Riley is even more clueless than the old one.

  ‘How cool is this?’ he asks. ‘Participate in an experiment, and get all these prison perks – better food, choice of cellie.’

  ‘Dude,’ says Nia. ‘You have made some bad life choices. You have no idea.’

  New-Riley looks uncertain for a moment, then he grins and shrugs. ‘All uphill from here, then.’

  I hear a ghostly chuckle from Cato Bell. She’s Catherine again, in her blue T-shirt, her hair lank and stringy around her shoulders.

  There’s no new Paxton, though. Or Sandra. I guess Cato Bell only had one spare.

  Nia sidles up beside me. ‘Where’s Paxton?’ she says, under her breath. ‘Have you seen him?’

  I can’t look her in the eye, so I just shrug. After a pause, Nia leans over to me again.

  ‘Did you read it? The file?’ There’s something naked in her voice. She’s asking more than this question.

  I shake my head and lie. ‘Nope. Didn’t get around to it.’

  ‘Oh.’ She falls behind me, and we round the corner to where the bus is waiting like a sleek white bullet. Every last smear of Riley has been cleared away – the bus looks like it’s driven straight off the factory floor. I glance down at my hands. My cuticles are stained red with Paxton’s blood.

  Edwin walks in front of me, his head bowed, a fresh pair of glasses perched on his nose. I don’t know if he’s still planning to go ahead with what we talked about. I don’t know if I care anymore.

  We climb onto the bus and Cato Bell directs us to our assigned seats. When I sit, I feel the blunt folded end of the hunting knife jab into my bum. I don’t know why I brought it with me, but I could
n’t help think that Cato Bell might need some persuading to hold up her end of our bargain. A knife shoved into my back pocket can’t hurt, right?

  Cato sits down and taps at the seatback display in front of her. The bus starts to move off down the bumpy dirt track, the only sound the crunch of pebbles and leaves under its wheels, and the low hum of the electric motor.

  ‘We’ll begin once we hit the main road,’ Cato announces. ‘Sit tight.’

  ‘Is this it?’ New-Riley says. ‘Is the experiment starting? Why am I wearing this name-tag? My name isn’t Riley, it’s Jareth.’

  Nia is sitting a few seats behind Cato, tapping furiously at her own display.

  I look out the window. The bus rounds a corner and for a moment I see the whole island stretching out before us. I can see the grassed promontory jutting out over the ocean, where the helicopter collected Sandra. I see white strips of sand and endless blue ocean. And I see jungle. The island is bigger than I thought – I catch a glimpse of a river, tumbling off the side of a cliff then winding along a gully in a silvery ribbon. It’s beautiful, the kind of scene you might find on social media with some tooth-achingly sincere quote plastered over it.

  I glance down at my wristband.

  08:58

  ‘Is someone smoking?’ It’s New-Riley, craning his head over his seat to look up and down the bus. ‘If so, can I get some?’

  Cato Bell swears, and I look over to see a plume of smoke rising from where Edwin is sitting. I stand up to get a better look. He’s got the water bottle from his seat pocket and is using it as a magnifying glass, directing a beam of sunlight towards a folded piece of toilet paper.

  ‘Put that down immediately.’ Cato’s voice is as stern as a headmaster’s.

  Edwin ignores her, and the paper ignites. He holds it tenderly against the bus upholstery, which starts to smoulder and blacken.

  An alarm sounds, and sprinklers discharge, showering us all with water smelling strongly of chlorine. The bus slows and stops, the door hissing open.

  Cato Bell lets out a groan. ‘I hate you kids,’ she says. ‘I really do. Off the bus.’

  New-Riley, Edwin and I follow her down the aisle; Nia’s last, lingering in her seat for as long as she can without arousing suspicion. Edwin staggers along behind me like he can barely keep himself upright. I can hear his breath coming hard and fast, like he’s run a marathon.

  ‘Are you okay?’ I ask him, over my shoulder.

  He looks up at me, his cheeks red and his eyes bright, and slightly unfocused. It’s as if he’s drunk. ‘Yeah,’ he says, his voice breathy. ‘Yeah, I’m great.’

  He misses the step down off the bus and tumbles down onto the road, collecting me and New-Riley so that we all end up in the dirt among dead leaves and bits of rainforest floor.

  Edwin lets out a hysterical giggle and lies in the dirt for a moment. I notice he has a charred, soggy scrap of toilet paper still clutched in one hand.

  New-Riley side-eyes Edwin as he picks himself up. ‘Dude, what have you been smoking? Seriously?’

  Nia holds out a hand to help me up. ‘I’ve written a new command chain,’ she tells me, her voice low. ‘It’s uploading now. It should take … I don’t know. Five minutes? It’ll disable the memory wipe. If it pushes to our wristbands in time.’

  She hauls me to my feet, and for a moment her body is right up against mine. I can feel her chest rise and fall with each furious breath. I want her. I want to reach out and pull her in even closer, so that there is not so much as an atom’s worth of space between us.

  There’s so much blood.

  I pull my hand out of hers, and take a step back. Her eyes flash hurt, then anger. ‘What is going on with you?’ she hisses.

  I have no idea how to respond to that, so I turn and walk away.

  The knife is gone from my back pocket. I spin around and look at the others. New-Riley is sitting by the side of the road, throwing pebbles into the jungle. Edwin is walking in circles around the bus. Nia is staring at me, her eyes flinty, her jaw squared.

  I can’t trust anyone.

  The bus upholstery is still a little damp, but a grim-faced Cato Bell insists that we are going ahead. We take our seats again, and the bus rumbles down to the road. Nia has stopped speaking to me, so I have no idea if her upload is finished. My wristband certainly doesn’t feel any different. The bus smells damp and smoky, and like something else, something unfamiliar and sweet.

  ‘Okay,’ Cato says crisply. ‘Commencing Erasure Initiative trial number five. In five, four, three, two …’

  Nothing changes for me.

  Did Nia’s new command chain work? Or has everyone else been wiped and Cato Bell left me with my memory, to honour our deal?

  Either way, I have to put my game face on.

  Cato needs me to be good, and if I’ve learnt anything about Cecily Cartwright, it’s that being good is not something that comes easily.

  Whatever my instincts tell me to do, I’d better do the opposite.

  The bus goes silent. Everyone is asleep, or pretending to be.

  I get up and walk to the front of the bus, pretend to be surprised when there’s no driver to be found, then head back to my seat. Nia reaches out and grabs my wrist as I pass, and I sit down next to her.

  ‘What is going on?’ she asks.

  I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the window, and for a moment it looks like it’s dripping with blood. Nia is staring at me. The muscles of her jaw are clenched tight, although I can’t tell if it’s with agitation or anxiety. She’s waiting for something. Reassurance. Answers. A secret wink. I don’t know.

  I still can’t tell if she’s been rebooted or not.

  ‘I don’t know who I am.’ Nia’s eyes are wide. Is she genuine? Or is she a good actor? Does she have my knife in her pocket, and she’s waiting for an opportunity to sink it into my heart?

  It’s nothing I wouldn’t deserve.

  I swallow, considering my options. When this happened last time, I lied. I walked off to the bathroom. I refused to admit to Nia that I’d lost my memory too. But this time has to be different. I have to be good. Cato will be listening.

  ‘Me neither,’ I say. ‘I – I know things, like how to walk and talk and read and what the capital of Bolivia is. But I don’t remember who I am.’

  I wish that were true.

  A flicker of confusion passes over Nia’s face.

  If her override worked, and she still has her memory, then she could be confused because my response is different to the last time we did this.

  But if she has been rebooted, she could be genuinely confused to find herself in this bizarre situation.

  I can’t tell.

  The moment passes and she continues. ‘I don’t remember anything. How I got here, where here even is. And I certainly don’t remember how this happened.’

  Nia leans forward and rolls up the left leg of her jeans. My eyes rest on the golden letters. UNBREAKABLE. I hope that’s true.

  ‘Wow,’ I say. ‘It’s beautiful.’

  ‘Um, hello?’ It’s New-Riley, across the aisle.

  My blood runs cold as I realise that I totally forgot to factor him in. If Nia’s override worked, then he hasn’t had his memory wiped either. He could expose us all to Cato Bell.

  I hold my breath. Has he been rebooted or not? Either way, it’s time for Good Cecily to be helpful. I stand up and cross the aisle to where he’s sitting.

  ‘Hey.’ I keep my voice low. ‘You’re okay. Everything is okay.’

  ‘Cool, cool,’ he says, and his voice is irritatingly loud. ‘I just had one question …’

  I put my finger over my lips and glance around. ‘People are still sleeping,’ I whisper.

  ‘Oh, yeah, of course.’ New-Riley’s whisper isn’t much quieter, but it’ll have to do. ‘Hey, do I know you? You look really familiar.’

  ‘We don’t know each other.’

  New-Riley frowns and nods slowly. ‘Riiiight. It’s only …’


  ‘I think the best plan is to play along. See what happens?’

  ‘Yeah. Yeah, good plan. Play along.’ He winks at me, but I have no idea what that means. Then he leans in. ‘This is a trip, right? One of those new synthetic shrooms?’

  I hesitate for a moment before answering. ‘Yep. That’s exactly what’s happening. So just play along with everyone else.’

  ‘One last question.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Do you have any Doritos?’

  I stand up and glance over at Cato Bell, who is still pretending to be asleep. I plaster on a sincere face, clear my throat and try to Do The Right Thing.

  ‘None of us have any memories, right?’ I look over at Edwin, who nods without making eye contact.

  I genuinely can’t tell who is faking it, and who isn’t. I’m not even sure what I’m doing. But I soldier on.

  ‘What’s with the T-shirts?’ New-Riley plucks at his red shirt. ‘You and the old lady are in blue. The rest of us are in red.’

  Nia shoots me a cold look. ‘It’s obviously class-based,’ she says, her tone dripping with contempt. ‘Cecily and the old lady are rich.’

  ‘How can you tell?’ New-Riley asks.

  ‘Look at her. Her hair, her skin, her perfect teeth. She has money. But you, me and Edwin – we’re ordinary people.’

  I swallow. ‘I don’t want to jump to any conclusions,’ I say carefully. ‘Let’s judge each other by our actions, not assumptions on how we look.’

  Nia glares at me and turns back to her seatback display.

  ‘I am … pretty sure that none of you guys actually exist,’ New-Riley says, nodding his head as if he’s figured it all out.

  ‘Hello?’ Catherine is awake, looking around at us, and at the ocean out the window. ‘Are we going on holiday?’

  Her old-lady voice really is impressive.

  I crouch down next to her. ‘Hey,’ I say, my voice calm and caring. ‘Your name is Catherine. Don’t worry. You’re going to be fine. We’ll look after you.’

  Catherine blinks owlishly. ‘Could you make me a cup of tea, love?’ she asks, patting my hand. ‘No sugar, and a dash of milk.’