by Amy Cross
“I think the splints are working,” Olivia says after a moment. “I was feeling her legs and...” Her voice trails off for a moment. “If she woke up, I honestly believe she'd be able to walk again. Eventually, at least. It's not her body that's the problem, at least not anymore.”
Stepping closer to Asher, I look down at her swollen, bruised face. I'd give anything for her to open her eyes, or for her to show some sign that her mind is still in there.
“It's not impossible that she'll wake up one day,” Olivia continues. “I was a nurse, remember? It's unlikely, it'd be almost miraculous, but miracles do happen from time to time. I mean, the fact that she's still alive at all is a miracle, so why shouldn't we get one more?”
If I could speak, I'd probably try to temper her optimism, to remind her that Asher will most likely just wither away and die. That her heart will just stop beating one day, and that her body will finally give up its long fight for survival. Then again, maybe it's a good thing that I can't say those words out loud. For some reason, people tend to interpret my constant silence as a form of wisdom. Even when they see the stump of my tongue, they think I must be compensating for my inability to speak by somehow becoming smarter and more thoughtful. I wish that was true.
“She's pretty,” Della's voice says suddenly.
Glancing to my left, I see my dead sister watching Asher's face.
“I hope she wakes up,” she continues. “She probably will. She wouldn't have stayed alive this long, if she was just going to die in her sleep.”
That's just the kind of thing Della would have said in real life, if she was here.
Figuring that I've already got more than enough to be doing, I turn and nod at Olivia and then I make my way to the door. Outside, the town is so lively and full of noise, full of people calling out to one another, that I feel certain Asher would be proud if she only knew that Steadfall had survived. Maybe somehow they're keeping each other going. Asher's staying alive because of the town, and the town...
“There's something else,” Olivia says suddenly.
I turn to her.
“I think I know why she's still alive,” she continues cautiously. “I think I finally understand what her body is fighting for. I first became suspicious about a month ago, but it seemed impossible so I didn't say anything. I've been watching, through, and I've finally realized that I was right.”
I wait, and then I watch as she makes her way to Asher and pulls the front of her tunic up to reveal the flesh of Asher's belly.
“I can't even begin to understand it,” she says after a moment, “but she's pregnant.”
Staring at Asher's belly, I feel a sense of shock. There's no way Asher could possibly be pregnant, I can't believe she'd have slept with anyone here on the island, but I can't deny that her belly looks slightly larger than usual. It's also hard to comprehend that a child could be surviving in there, but I know Olivia too well to doubt her. She's a calm, thoughtful person who never rushes to judgment. If she says Asher's pregnant, than I guess she must be pregnant.
“I've begun to change how I look after her,” Olivia explains. “Whether I can keep either of them alive is...” She pauses. “Well, at least I can try. As long as Asher's heart keeps beating, there's hope.”
I know she's right, but as I step outside and make my way across the clearing I can't help feeling that her sense of optimism will be short-lived. Asher can't possibly carry a child all the way to delivery, not in her current state, so it's inevitable that at some stage her heart will give out. Then again, I guess this is another reminder that my lack of a tongue can sometimes be a positive thing. If I could talk right now, I'd probably annoy everyone with my negativity. As I head out through the gate and into the forest, to check the snares I set yesterday, I have to fight the urge to speak to Della again. I need to keep my head clear, and that means cutting out the long, meandering conversations with my dead sister. I can no longer indulge myself in those flights of fancy. My sister is dead, and I have to accept that fact.
When I reach the snares, I crouch down to start pulling the dead rabbits free. For a moment I lose myself in this simple task, although I can't help feeling a little sorry for the poor creature. Still, after everything that has happened, it's good to focus on work.
And that's, suddenly, I realize I can hear a beeping sound from somewhere nearby.
Looking over my shoulder, I listen to the steady, repetitive beep as it rings out from beyond the next ridge. Getting to my feet, I cautiously make my way closer, while constantly glancing around to make sure there's no-one nearby. It takes a couple more minutes of searching, but finally I find that the source of the beeping is some kind of device that has been left wedged near an old tree-root. Again I look over my shoulder, just to be sure that I'm not about to be jumped, and then I get down on my knees and take a closer look at the device.
I instantly recognize it as an old-style long-range communication rig, the same kind that I used to see being sold in the market back home. Ex-military, I think. I fiddle with the control panel for a moment, before pressing the button to play back a message that seems to have been left on the system.
The beeping stops.
I wait, as a faint hissing sound emerges from the machine.
“This is a message from the Board of Island Affairs to anyone capable of picking up this signal,” a voice says calmly, filled with static and distortion. “Please stand by.”
A shiver passes through my chest as I realize that I'm hearing someone from the mainland.
“In accordance with paragraph five, sub-section one of the new draft resolution, and the fifth clause of the constitutional script, it is hereby announced that the program to support and tolerate the island's existence has been annulled. The island is therefore to be terminated. Members of both the senate and the courts have been made aware of the recent incursion and deception perpetrated by Harold Mars, which was an unsanctioned action carried out without the government's endorsement. Following a series of meetings at the highest level, it has been decided that the island is no longer a viable project and -”
His voice cuts out for a moment, replaced by swirl of static, but the distortion fades after a few seconds.
“This automated message is the only warning that will be issued. If anyone hears this, be aware that the island is now scheduled for destruction, and that relocation will be offered for all inhabitants. Those who refuse this offer will be destroyed along with the island. These measures have been ratified by the senate, and signed into effect by both the executive and the chair of the Board of Island Affairs, pursuant to the fifth and sixth cardinals of the constitution, overseen by the eminent lords.”
There's a faint clicking sound, before the message starts to repeat.
“This is a message from the Board of Island Affairs to anyone capable of picking up this -”
More static bursts into the signal for a moment, before the voice returns.
“The island is therefore to be terminated.”
I hit the button on the side of the device, cutting the message. For a moment, all I can do is sit alone on the forest floor, replaying those words over and over in my mind. Finally, trembling with fear, I look up at the vast, empty blue sky. It's hard not to imagine helicopters already heading this way, preparing to clear the island and then destroy what's left. They'll swarm all around us, killing anyone who resists and taking the rest back to the mainland, back to the madness and cruelty of modern civilization. A flash of panic bursts through my chest as I imagine myself back in the old marketplace, surrounded by the chaos of the city.
Stumbling to my feet, I start hurrying through the forest, heading to town. I don't know what we can do, but I have to warn the others.
Epilogue
Many years earlier
“Hello Asher,” Doctor Phillips says calmly, “why don't you take a seat?”
“I'd rather stand,” I reply, taking a step back.
I know she's irritated, but she's too s
mart to turn this into another petty confrontation. She always thinks she's so much smarter than me, that she has me under control, but she's wrong. I won't bend to her will.
“You've grown up to become a fine young woman,” she continues finally. “How long has it been since we last met? A year? I thought I'd give you some space to think about things. During our previous encounter, it was very noticeable that you seemed...” She pauses, as if she's trying to find the right words. As if that matters. “Stressed,” she adds after a moment. “On edge.”
“Why are you here?” I ask.
“Sit down.”
“I'd really rather not.”
“Asher, sit down.”
“No.”
Damn it, I sound like a petulant child, but I will not obey the woman who did all of these things to me.
She sighs, before making a note on her chart. “I was warned that you have a tendency to be stubborn,” she says after a moment. “Your most recent clinical observation found that you can be extremely stuck in your ways, to the extent that you'll sometimes pursue the wrong option purely to prove a point, even though you know you're making a mistake. It's hard to understand how a supposedly intelligent young woman might choose the path of irrationality over the path of logic.”
“Shows what you know,” I reply darkly.
“You think I'm wrong about you?”
I can't help smiling.
“You think you're special?”
I shake my head.
“What about strong? Do you think you're strong?”
I don't reply, while still maintaining eye contact with her. I refuse to look away.
“Do you know what I want to talk about today, Asher?” she continues with a faint, smug smile. “I want to talk about what happens when we send people to war. I want to talk about the human mind, and how it copes with those horrors.”
“Then go find someone who'll listen to you,” I reply.
“You know we have a program that helps ease the burden of the soldier's life, Asher.”
“You wipe people's memories.”
“That's right, and -”
“You won't wipe mine.”
She pauses, eying me with a hint of amusement. “Won't we?”
“I can't stop you sending me to fight,” I continue, “but I can promise you that I'll remember every moment. You can do your worst when I get back, but my memories are mine and I won't let you take them from me.”
Her smile grows.
“You'll see,” I tell her. “You won't be able to make me forget.”
“Yes, well...” She makes another note on his clipboard. “That's what everyone says, Asher, but the process is extremely effective.”
“Not on me.”
“You'll thank us when the time comes,” she continues. “Who wants to remember such awful things? When you return from the battlefield, you'll be begging us to help you forget.”
I shake my head.
“Oh, you will,” she adds, fixing me with a firm stare. “And I will make sure that I'm personally present to watch as the procedure is administered. I will make sure, Asher, that I am the person you beg.”
***
“I hate her!” I shout, slamming my fist into the locker door. “You have no idea how close I came to just losing it and...”
I pause for a moment, trying to think of all the inventive ways I could have beaten Doctor Phillips into submission.
“I just wanted to wipe that smug grin off her face!” I hiss.
“But you didn't,” Mads points out, putting her hands on my shoulders from behind. “Asher, you did way better than most people. I heard Phillips actually got attacked by a recruit last year. Someone actually tried to throttle her before security ran in and stopped it all. I spoke to a guard who was there, and she said Phillips squealed like a baby. Apparently she was on the floor, crying out for help.”
Turning to her, I can't help finding that story slightly amusing. “Did that really happen, or are you just trying to make me feel better?”
She smiles as she nods. “Really happened. So I was told, anyway.” She turns and looks over at Harold as he hauls his kit-bag onto his shoulder. “You heard about that, right?”
“Who do you think stitched the bitch's lip up?” he replies with a smile, heading to the door. “Such a shame I'd run out of anesthetic that day. See you guys later. I have to talk to a man about dog.”
“I don't get it,” I continue, turning to Mads once Harold has left. “Why can't the mind-wipe be optional? Why does it have to be enforced? If they take our memories of the war, then how do we even know who we are?”
“They don't want anyone to know who we're fighting,” she replies. “They tell us they want to take away our bad memories, but really they just want to keep the identity of our enemy under wraps. I suppose it's a type of control. This vast, all-consuming war has been going on for so long now, and still no-one outside the government knows who we're fighting. Who knows? Maybe they're right to do it that way.”
“We're not children,” I point out, once again struggling to keep my temper. “We should be told! Whatever happens out there, I can handle it!”
“We'll find out when we go to fight,” he continues. “We'll see the enemy. We'll even kill a load of them, hopefully. And then, if we survive, we'll be forced to forget.”
I shake my head. “Not me.”
“You'll resist?”
“Damn straight. I've started practicing techniques that'll help me to hold onto all my memories.”
“Asher,” she continues cautiously, “I don't mean to worry you, but you might not have time. There's a rumor going round that we'll get sent off to fight sooner than planned, maybe even within the next couple of weeks. If that happens -”
“I'll be ready,” I tell her, even though the news is a shock. “It's what I've been training for.”
“But if they wipe our memories when we get back -”
“They can't actually do that,” I reply, interrupting her. “Not completely, anyway. I talked to a guy who works in the psych division and he told me it's a hit-and-miss process. They might be able to make it so we don't remember specific incidents during the war, but they can't make us forget everything.”
She pauses, before smiling again. “You can be very confident sometimes. Almost arrogant.”
“I won't forget the important things,” I tell her. “I've been teaching myself recall techniques so that I can bypass any attempt to wipe my mind. That guy I spoke to? I got him blind drunk and then I persuaded him to give me some tips. I know what to do, and I've been practicing.”
“And you don't think they know you've been doing that? They monitor everything that happens in the barracks.”
“I don't care. I'm strong enough.”
She stares at me for a moment. “You know what?” she says finally. “I truly believe that you believe what you're saying. Whether you're right or not, I don't have a clue, but if anyone can beat a memory-wipe, I think it's you so... Good luck.” She pauses. “Now come on,” she adds, taking a step back. “If we're really getting shipped out soon, we need to make the most of our time here at base, whether we end up remembering it or not. How about we lose our memories the old-fashioned way with a trip to the bar?”
“I'll catch up,” I tell her. “I just have a few things to do first.”
“Gonna sit around brooding?”
I shake my head.
“Sometimes I worry about you, Asher,” she continues. “You need to learn to let go and just operate on instinct. I've seen during training programs how you always pause to over-think everything. You take so long to make big decisions. Sometimes you've just got to do what feels right.”
“I'll catch up,” I tell her again. “I promise.”
“Don't take too long,” she replies, heading to the door. “I'll have a drink waiting for you!”
Once she's gone, I get to work. Taking the small plastic kit from a nearby cupboard, I open the lid and slip out a need
le, along with a vial of black ink. Turning away from the mirror, I look over my shoulder as I dip the needle into the ink and get ready for the inevitable flashes of pain. I figure this is important, in case I need to jog my memory after the war. After all, if they take my memories – even the bad ones – I won't really be myself anymore. The oncoming war is going to be a part of me. Slowly, carefully, I start tattooing a word into my flesh, a word that means more to me than any other in the world.
A word that'll contain all my memories, and then give them back to me after this war is over.
Steadfall.
Coming soon
THE ABYSS
(THE ISLAND BOOK 3)
Facing the threat of an imminent invasion, the island's inhabitants are forced to work together as they prepare to defend themselves. For Iris, this means taking charge of a disparate group of people, some of whom believe surrender might be a better course of action. Watching the skies day after day, and night after night, they all wait for government helicopters to appear. Finally, however, they come face to face with a much greater threat, and soon the island itself looks set to sink to the depths of the sea.
Also by Amy Cross
THE ISLAND
(THE ISLAND BOOK 1)
“The revolution never came. We all waited, but it didn't happen. Eventually we just had to accept that the world was never going to change.”
In the near future, it's not hard to end up on the wrong side of the law. Every lie counts, every minor mistake. Build up enough points, and you'll be hauled off to work for the government. The only possible escape is the island, a remote wilderness with no rules and no laws. But if you choose to go to the island, you can never come back.
Everyone knows that only crazy people go to the island.
Arrested for a crime she didn't commit, Iris soon discovers that she already has a long criminal record she never knew about. When her world comes crashing down, she makes the ultimate choice and invokes her right to be sent to the island. There, she quickly discovers the horrors of a land where anyone can do anything they want, free of all rules and laws. She also meets Asher, a mysterious girl with a dark past and a crazy plan to establish her own town in the midst of the island's chaos. First, though, they both have to face a deadly group with a taste for human flesh.