by Emma Clayton
Thank frag my parents can’t see me now, he thought, frantically. My mother would die of fright. What are they going to learn from doing this to me?
He breathed deeply.
They’re not going to kill me, he told himself. What would be the point?
The blindfold was tight and he couldn’t see a thing. He felt the men’s hands on his arms guiding him towards the cage and stepped inside. The only solid part of it was the floor. He listened as they fastened the door with several locks.
‘They can’t get you,’ one of the men said, ‘if you keep your arms and legs inside the cage. Whatever you do, don’t put anything, not even a finger, through the bars, OK?’
‘Yes,’ Mika replied, shakily.
‘We can fix cuts and broken bones,’ the man went on, ‘but we can’t grow new hands or feet.’
‘OK,’ Mika said, feeling as if he’d already got the message.
The cage began to move and he crouched down and put his hands on the floor to keep his body steady as it rocked. In the pit below, he heard the grind of heavy bolts as the locks on the metal door were released. The door slid back with a groan and the creatures were out. There were several, Mika could tell by the sound of their feet on the concrete floor, running round in circles beneath him. They made heavy clicks, and whirrs and low whines and he knew from this that they were some kind of borg. He heard a snarl, not loud, but so ferocious he felt it rip into his gut like shark teeth, but that was just the start of it, within seconds they had realized he was above them and they launched into a rabid frenzy. Snarling and growling, they leaped into the air, their metal teeth snapping at the cage, and the image that flooded his mind was of ripped skin and spattered blood, slips of silver and evil red eyes. Suddenly the cage lurched and tilted as one of them managed to get a grip on the side with its teeth and Mika felt himself slip down towards it. He grabbed desperately in the opposite direction, trying to hold the other side of the cage, then remembered he couldn’t put his fingers through the bars. The beast was yanking with its head, its whole body weight pulling down one side of the cage, and Mika was sliding towards it. Terror paralysed him for a few seconds. Blind and helpless he slid down until his foot went straight through the bars by its snarling jaws. Survival instinct kicked in and he yelped and pulled back and luckily, at the same time the cage hit the bottom of the pit and the jar of impact made the borg lose its grip. Mika lay on the floor and panted. It was quiet then, oddly quiet considering the madness of the last minute. He lifted his head and tried to get a sense of what was happening outside the cage. He could hear them, their feet clicking on the floor. They were pacing around him, their movements slower now, and he wondered what was supposed to happen, what the people watching through the cameras were hoping to see. How he wished he could see. He wanted to know what they were, he could hear them sniffing through the bars and it was maddening being able to hear them but not see them. He stood up and concentrated, trying to build a better picture in his mind from the sounds he could hear. They were like dogs, he was pretty sure of that because of the sounds they made, but they were enormous, at least as tall as him if not taller. They were moving lazily now and their heavy footsteps sounded relaxed. He heard one sit down right next to him with a big sigh and the others followed, resting against the wall of the cage. He felt the urge to touch them, to connect physically with them, but just as his fingers passed through the bars of the cage, one of the men above shouted at him angrily. ‘Oi! You fool! Don’t do that! That’s enough, pull him up!’
The chain jerked on the top of the cage and Mika felt it start to rise.
42
LIKE PURGATORY
Mika walked away from the pit feeling as if he’d spent days dragging a boulder up a mountain and when he returned to his room, he fell asleep as if someone had unplugged him the moment he lay down. He awoke feeling cold and saw needles of light in his eyes. Awen was close, nuzzling his hand and he fiddled with the dog’s silky ears and listened to the sound of leaves rustling. Then he heard another noise in the distance like woodpeckers or hammers and eventually realized someone was knocking on the door. Awen spooked and left and Mika opened his eyes to see Audrey jittering in the doorway like an electrocuted imp, as if she’d spent the time he was asleep licking an electricity pylon. She had a bruise on her jaw.
‘You look terrible,’ she said. ‘Your face looks like tank meat.’
‘Thanks,’ he replied. ‘You don’t look so great yourself.’
She flopped on his bed and Mika inspected his face in the mirror over the desk. His eyes were puffy, he had red pillow marks on his cheek and the bruises on his throat had deepened in colour.
‘You’d better splash some cold water on your face,’ she said. ‘A man just said they’re taking us for the prize-giving dinner in a minute. We’re going to find out who’s won.’
‘I think I need more than cold water,’ Mika replied, frowning at his reflection.
‘We haven’t got time for a head transplant,’ she said.
They were quiet for a minute, both aware they were balanced on a pair of scales and in the silence they felt Cape Wrath, waiting.
‘I don’t like this place,’ Audrey said, uneasily. ‘I’m glad we’re going home soon. Why do you think they lowered us into that pit?’
Mika shrugged and looked meaningfully at the camera to remind her people were listening. She fell quiet again and they both thought about their experience in the pit. They had grown up in a world with all kinds of borgs everywhere doing things for them: the vacuumbots in their homes, the Ghengis Borgs on The Wall, the animal borgs they had seen on holiday, but all these borgs had one thing in common; they were as empty-brained and empty-hearted as a toaster or a kettle. You could flick a switch and turn them off and they wouldn’t know any different. But these dog borgs felt special; the way they moved and behaved felt real somehow, as if they were alive. Who had made them? Where did they come from? Why had twelve children been lowered into a pit with them? The competition had become more bizarre with each round, but now it was nearly over and there was no time to think about dog borgs, only about whether or not they had won. ‘Are you going to wash?’ Audrey asked.
‘Yes,’ Mika replied.
Then he grabbed a towel and went to the hygiene room to stick his head under a tap.
* * *
The finalists of the Youth Development Foundation’s competition were taken to Gorman’s private suite on the top level of the fortress for their last meal together. It had been fitted in an old-fashioned style, like a grand old house before the plague, so when the lift doors opened, they found themselves in a great hall with a marble floor. A crystal chandelier hung from the ornately plastered ceiling and a staircase wound its way round walls adorned with paintings of men in tights with curly hair and women in dresses that looked like cakes. The children huddled together nervously; three contestants had disappeared since that morning and the remaining nine were busy imagining hands and feet slipping through bars and the snap of metal teeth.
They were led into a long dining hall with oak panelling on the walls. Down the middle of the room was a banqueting table also made of oak and it was the first time most of them had seen real wood. They touched it curiously, feeling its warmth. Another, smaller oak table made a cross at the top and both were laid with silver cutlery and candlesticks. Scores of priceless candles burned even though it was afternoon, and behind the top table, a gas fire blazed in a stone fireplace. Over the mantle hung an oil painting: a view of Cape Wrath hundreds of years ago, punching green and proud from the rugged Scottish landscape. They were told to sit down. Five girls and four boys remained. Mika waited for Ruben to choose a chair near the top table before taking one at the other end. Audrey sat on his left with her eyes glued to the painting and Leo sat on his right with a girl called Iman; a striking black cat of a girl whose lines were as elegant as those of a Pod Fighter. She smiled at Mika and he tried to smile back, but couldn’t. He watched the candles flicker with
a horrible feeling something bad was about to happen.
It’s nearly over, he reminded himself. You’re so close to them now. And the closer you are to them, the closer you are to Ellie.
But it felt like waiting to be burned. Like standing next to a fire, knowing he would have to reach in to pull his sister out.
* * *
Gorman sat on a gold chair before another fire in his dressing room. The Minister for Youth Development had bigger, grander rooms than this, but the dressing room, with its red velvet curtains and antique rug, was the warmest. Still he shivered; nothing seemed to shake the cold from his bones in Cape Wrath.
His dinner suit hung freshly pressed over the arm of the butler, who stood in the corner, waiting for the doctor to finish examining his master.
‘What’s wrong with me?’ Gorman asked the doctor irritably. ‘I haven’t got time to be ill, I’ve got too much to do.’
‘Your heart is beating erratically, sir,’ the doctor replied. ‘Are you particularly stressed or worried about anything?’
‘No,’ Gorman snapped. ‘I’m just not sleeping very well and I feel cold. I thought perhaps I’d caught a chill.’
‘You need to rest,’ the doctor advised. ‘Perhaps you shouldn’t go to this prize-giving dinner.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Gorman said. ‘I’m giving the prizes and I want to see the children. Just give me a pill or something. And hurry up, I’ve only got a few minutes.’
Gorman rose to his feet and held out his arms so the butler could put on his jacket. The doctor sighed and looked in his case at his bottles of pills and medicines. He shook out two large blue tablets and left them with a glass of water on the table next to Gorman’s chair, but he wasn’t sure they would help. Hearts were not designed to keep beating for a hundred and eight years, even with Everlife pills, and Mal Gorman needed to be more careful with his.
As Gorman left the dressing room, he felt his pulse quicken as if someone had turned up the speed dial on his heart. He paused for a moment and with one bony hand resting on the banister, he looked down the stairs towards the dining hall, wishing he didn’t feel so uneasy about sharing a meal with a few children.
They will be scared, he reminded himself, there is nothing for me to fear.
He took a deep breath, straightened his back and walked down the flight of stairs.
* * *
The butler entered the dining hall and rang a gold bell, then he said, ‘Please stand for Mal Gorman! The Minister for Youth Development!’
Mika stood with the others and looked towards the door. Then he gasped before he could stop himself as the second Telly Head walked out of his nightmares into reality. But this one was much more frightening than the sneering nurse with her plastic cups, for here was the Knife Sharpener, the demon who’d lurked in the darkness of Ellie’s cupboard crushing her in his hand, the monster who’d pressed a blade against his arm and smiled as the first drop of blood appeared.
But he wasn’t the only one to gasp as the old man walked in. What a scary sight Mal Gorman was, even to those who’d never dreamed about him. Thirty years of Everlife pills had made him look like a walking corpse. Skeleton hands hung out of his jacket sleeves and faded eyes protruded from a skull face of bone and papery skin. A few strands of grey hair still grew from his scalp, but they looked parched as grass trying to grow on the edge of a desert. Audrey reached for Mika’s hand and a shudder passed through them like a Mexican wave.
‘This is weird,’ she whispered. ‘I want to go home.’
Gorman walked towards the top table and a waiter pulled out his chair. As he sat down he looked at the nine children as if he was a collector of fine jewels and had opened the box to admire them. But there was no love in his eyes, only a cold glint, because he wasn’t appreciating their beauty, only how much they were worth.
Mika stared into his lap, still recovering from the shock of seeing Gorman while he was awake. He’d dreamed about this man for months . . . but how was that possible when they’d never met? Mal Gorman, the Minister for Youth Development had stood in Ellie’s cupboard in Barford North with a cup of spiders in his hand. It was too creepy for words, but he couldn’t deny it, the features of the old man’s face were burned on his brain as well as those of his parents. But Mal Gorman’s appearance was not the only shock in store for Mika. The butler rang the bell again and eleven more people walked out of his nightmare to join Mal Gorman at the top table.
They were announced as politicians involved in the Youth Development Project but Mika knew nothing about politics, all he knew was that these monsters with their papery skin and bulging eyes had spent months arguing about how to eat him, and now here they were, sitting at a dining table, tucking their napkins under their chins. Waiters waltzed around the dining hall placing enormous silver platters on the tables, and although Mika was relieved to find he was not on the menu, it was a grim meal; the Telly Heads gorged and guzzled and stared at the finalists with gravy on their lips while the children shuddered and wished the event over as quickly as possible. They were immensely relieved when, after the second course, Mal Gorman rose to announce who had won the competition.
‘I’m going to announce the winners before dessert,’ Gorman said. ‘Then, perhaps, some of you might want to eat it.’
His mouth smiled but his eyes remained cold. Nobody laughed at his joke. Mika could barely breathe for fear and longing.
I can’t believe I’m doing this, he thought. I’m actually hoping to win a competition organized by the Telly Heads.
‘But first,’ Gorman said, ‘I want to say how much pleasure it gives me to see you all here. This competition has been a journey of discovery for all of us and you have exceeded our expectations, well done.’
The Telly Heads nodded and smiled and raised their wine glasses in agreement.
‘You have bright futures ahead of you,’ Gorman continued, ‘whether you win this competition or not, so don’t be disappointed if your name isn’t called today. You will all be rewarded for your efforts. But now I will announce the winners, so please stand up when I call your name.’
‘Iman.’
The black cat of a girl stood up and the Telly Heads clapped.
‘Santos.’
A skinny cheeky boy with a shaved head and old-fashioned glasses got up from his chair.
‘Leo.’
The Lion Boy.
He rose to his feet with calm eyes and the slightest trace of a smile.
‘Colette.’
A French girl stood up, blushing through a mass of chestnut hair.
‘Audrey.’
Mika nudged her with his elbow and she looked at him as if an eagle had landed on his head.
‘Me?’ she said.
‘Yes, you, noodle brain,’ whispered Mika.
‘Me?’ she repeated, looking at Mal Gorman.
‘Yes,’ Gorman replied. ‘Unless there’s another Audrey hiding under the table.’
Her eyes glowed as she stood up and the Telly Heads clapped their bony hands.
‘You next,’ she whispered to Mika.
Five contestants now stood and four remained seated. Mal Gorman paused for a moment and the room became as still as a holopic. But his pause wasn’t intended to add drama to the scene, he was having last-minute doubts about his final choice. It had taken him a long time to select the last child. He’d been forced to choose between the two most promising children, as he knew if he took both he wouldn’t be able to control them. The previous day these two boys had burned a hole in a table and tried to kill each other. Ruben Snaith and Mika Smith were incredibly powerful but keeping them together would mean ongoing problems, like owning two dogs who constantly fought for leadership of a pack. In his dressing room, Gorman had tried to make his decision logically, based on the results of the tests, but he couldn’t disregard Mika’s dream memory. Because of Mika Smith, every time he looked in the mirror, he saw himself with a television for a head. How could he have that boy around when
he had dreamed such a thing? And then there was his sister, Ellie, to consider. Those dark eyes of hers had nearly killed him. That moment in The Shadows had been the most painful and terrifying of his life and although he was constantly reminding himself they were just children, he didn’t want two like Ellie, his heart couldn’t take it. Gorman had stared into the fire in his dressing room and decided that although Mika Smith had done better in the tests, the last winner of the competition, the final chosen one, would be Ruben Snaith.
But that was before Gorman saw Ruben Snaith. What a peculiar-looking boy he was. In the silence, Ruben was glaring at Gorman with a sneer on his face and his fists clenched on the table, as if he was threatening him, insisting his name was called. He looked like a bleached rat, Gorman thought, his nose was too pointy and his skin too pale as if he had milk for blood, no not milk, something more venomous than that, snake venom, white and viscous. By contrast, Mika Smith, sitting at the other end of the table, looked sensible, modest and calm.
What should he do? Was he over-reacting about Mika? They were only dreams, after all. He remembered that his men had told him Mika worked hard and would be easier to control than Ellie. Easier to control . . .
Gorman’s heart slowed right down, then speeded up, as if it couldn’t make up its mind whether to stop dead or beat so fast it exploded. Everyone was watching him and the silence felt like purgatory.
‘The last winner is . . . Mika Smith.’
Somehow Mika managed to stand, knowing Gorman had only chosen him in those last awful moments.
‘Mika?’ Ruben sneered, jumping up from his chair to face Mal Gorman. ‘Mika Smith? You chose Mika instead of me?’
‘Sit down, Ruben,’ Gorman said.
‘No!’ Ruben shouted, stepping back so his chair fell heavily on the floor, his face grotesque and gargoyle-like in the candlelight.
‘Ruben,’ Gorman said, his eyes cold as ice. ‘Control yourself and sit down or you will regret it. You will not leave here with nothing.’