by Jack Lewis
When he turned, she was right behind him. “Thanks for the soup,” he said
“You hardly ate any.”
“Thanks. I mean it.”
“Don’t be a stranger, Ed.”
“You wouldn’t let me.”
He grabbed the handle of the front door and twisted. As soon as he opened it, a gust of wind blew into the house. Something smashed behind him, and pieces of porcelain scattered across the floor.
“Dad’s plate,” said April. She jumped off the couch and ran to the hallway.
“Oh shit. She made this for her father,” said Bethelyn.
“Shit,” said April. She scooped the pieces of plate in her hands.
Bethelyn ran her fingers through her hair. “You sure you don’t want to stay and see if it dies down? You can finish your soup.”
He didn’t want to leave the warmth and the light and step out into the darkness, but at the same time, the lights burned hot on his face and he couldn’t help wringing his hands. He didn’t belong there, and he didn’t deserve to be there. Since Dad had gone, and then James, Ed felt he should sit in the dark all the time.
He turned up the collar of his coat. “This isn’t going to stop anytime soon. I better get back. Tape the rest of your windows.”
Bethelyn grabbed his arm. “Don’t be a stranger. I know it wasn’t easy about your brother…”
Ed shook her arm away and stepped out into the cold. The darkness of the night swam around him as he walked into it.
Chapter Two
Heather Castle
Not far from the Dome.
A sense of dread rented a room in Heather’s head. It weighed on her most of her waking hours. It was there from the second she woke, always watching, always waiting, but she couldn’t pin down a reason for it. Sure, the world had ended, leaving a land filled with cannibalistic infected, but everyone had the same shitty deal. Nobody else seemed to walk around with a fog of dread their skull.
She stared out of the classroom window, but the view didn’t lighten her heart. A few miles away loomed the Dome, a crystal structure rising a hundred and eighty feet into the sky. Parts of it glittered when the light hit it, but mud covered most of the transparent glass.
It was a tourist attraction in happier times, a tropical garden in a non-tropical climate. A place to grow plants outside of their natural environment, for things given life that should never have been. Now, of course, it was the symbol of the Capita; the largest settlement in the land. Heather would never live there if she could help it.
“Miss?”
She snapped out of her thoughts and faced the room. Twelve wooden desks arranged in four rows, with masked children sitting behind all but one. She walked to the front of the room and wrote on the blackboard. She grimaced, but it wasn’t at the screech of the chalk on the board. It was the words she had written.
“Hands on your heart, kids.”
The children placed their palms on their chests in unison and spread their fingers. A girl in the corner caught her attention.
“No, Jenny. The other side,” she told her.
The girl crossed her hand to the other side of her chest.
“Now read the words back to me.”
Heather closed her eyes. Her old friend dread settled a cold hand on her shoulder. The children chanted the words back as one, their young voices managing to fill the room.
“The Government lived.
The Government died.
The Capita will live forever.”
“That’s right,” she said. The words burnt in her throat.
According to the rules she should chant along with them, but she never did. She couldn’t look at their faces as they read the slogan aloud, because she feared one of the perceptive kids would see how much she hated the words.
There was nothing keeping her in Capita territory, of course. Her house didn’t have bars on the windows, and warders didn’t guard the borders of the town. The problem was you didn’t have to travel too far away from the Dome until you hit the wasteland. Miles and miles of broken towns and cities filled with life that had long since lost the right to be called human.
Safety was the one thing the Capita could offer few other places could. The Capita’s land around the Dome didn’t attract infected. Nobody, save perhaps the inner circle, knew how this worked. Heather didn’t have a damn clue, but there it was. The only bond tying her here.
The children stared at her. What was I teaching, again? Ah yeah, the same old crock of shit.
“When was the Capita born?” she said.
“Eight hundred years ago,” chanted the class.
A lump formed in her throat. Seven years ago. Not eight hundred. Don’t believe the lies I’m teaching you.
“And why does the Capita exist?”
“To keep us safe.
To keep us fed.
Keep us from dying in our bed.”
She nodded. “Well done, kids.”
The children and their masks stared back at her expectantly. Most of them took pride answering her questions. They loved to be right, loved getting the prize of approval. Jenny sat at the back of the class. She picked the same seat every day. She never talked to the other kids, and she always stared out of the window or at the floor. Making friends didn’t come easy to the poor kid.
For people, alienation was their way. After all, not everyone can fit in, can they? Heather was the same at school, and it wasn’t until she became captain of the football team – the boy’s team, to the horror of some of the parents – that she’d made friends. Jenny’s loneliness wasn’t part of the normal process. She chose to alienate herself, and Heather knew why.
“Jenny,” she said, “Why do we wear our masks?”
The girl looked on the verge of tears, her eyes wet like the centre of rosebuds with dew forming around them. Heather put her hand to her own mask. She felt the clasp below her ear and was thankful hers was small and unobtrusive. Why did they make the kids wear the big masks? It made them look as though they were suffering a mustard gas attack. Maybe it was to make them harder to remove, so the kids wouldn’t pull their masks off each other as a joke.
Jenny cleared her throat. “We wear them so we don’t get infected.”
“And what happens if you get infected?”
One boy, a boy called Henry whose dad was a crop manager job in the Dome, grinned to himself. “You start eating people,” he said.
Heat flushed in her face. Oh shit. It’s happening again. That familiar old feeling, the only one that could displace the dread. She took a deep breath and held it in, trying to disperse the anger the boy’s comment built inside her.
“Have you ever seen anyone die?” she said.
The class went quiet. Henry shook his head.
“Then don’t laugh.”
It didn’t always happen, of course. Some people got infected, fell into a coma and woke without a hunger for human flesh. Heather looked to the back of the class, at Jenny alone in her corner.
It wouldn’t happen to you, Jenny, would it? The little girl tried so hard to hide it from everyone, but she was one of the Darwin’s Children. One lunch time, while the kids played outside, Heather was standing at the window. She saw Jenny sitting beside an oak tree, the trunk of it hiding her from the rest of the class. As the leaves rustled above her she unclasped her mask, and a smile spread across her face.
This was why she couldn’t stand the Capita. Jenny was blessed, and she shouldn’t have to hide it. Everyone had heard the stories of children taken away from their families. Of parents exposed to infection-ridden air to see which of them carried the immunity gene. She didn’t have a clue where they took the DC’s, but they never came back.
I’m going to help you, she thought. One day she’d get Jenny alone and tell her to be careful. She would tell her she knew her secret, take the burden away from her. She needed to work up the courage to have the conversation.
Today wasn’t going to be that day. If they caught
her helping a DC the repercussions could ruin everything, and she didn’t just have her own life to worry about. What about Kim? What about their Great Escape?
She caught Jenny’s eye and gave her a smile. One day I’ll do it. I’ll help you when I grow a spine.
“Miss,” said a boy at the front of the class.
It was Gary, a chubby kid who had a great memory, but poor logic skills.
“Yes, Gary?”
“Why do we have to wear our masks in here? Isn’t the air clean? My face itches.”
Heather paced at the font of the room. “How do we check if the air is free from infection?”
“Our AVS.”
“Get yours out.”
Gary fumbled in his pocket, but his eyes widened. Redness spread across his cheeks, and he stared at Heather as if expecting her to shout.
Heather stood over him, lifted her hand and brought it down on his desk. The boy jumped in his seat. Despite herself, pinpricks of heat dotted her neck, and her chest tightened.
She tried to stay calm in front of the kids. She hated losing her temper. But they didn’t understand. They didn’t have the slightest clue what a deadly world they lived in. Kids couldn’t be kids anymore. They had to get used to danger, to live beside it as if it was a pet snake they could never trust. If she had to be the bad guy to hammer sense into them, that’s what she’d be.
Her cheeks burned. “Stay behind after class. Five hundred lines. Can you guess what they will say?”
Gary swallowed. “I must remember my AVS?”
She shook her head. “I must remember not to die.”
She turned away from the boy, scared she might shout at him again. He didn’t deserve it, but it didn’t give her any more self-control. It was easy to come to realisations about yourself, but impossible to do a damn thing about them. At the board, she wrote a date on the black slate.
AUGUST 2016
“Someone tell me the significance of this date,” she said over her shoulder. “Jenny, at the back.”
“That’s when the infection got in the air,” replied the girl.
She says it with such sorrow in her voice. Was it because she was different? She wasn’t a stupid girl, even if the location of her heart sometimes confused her. Maybe she knew what the Capita would do to her if they found out she was immune. The heat rose through her again. Her muscles tensed up.
They think they can tell people how to live because they keep them safe, and the consequence is kids who must hide who they are.
There was a snapping sound, and Heather felt powder on her fingers. The chalk broke in her grip and white dust fell to the floor. Some of the kids stared at her strangely. What was I talking about? She looked back at date written on the board. Ah, yes. More bullshit.
“Correct, Jenny” she said. “And after it became airborne, the Capita tried to help us by dropping masks and air sensors out of the sky.”
“Like Christmas presents, Miss?” said one optimistic child.
“Yes, Declan. Exactly like Christmas presents.”
A man stepped into the classroom. He wore a disgusting, long mask with a beak protruding off the end, the kind plague doctors used to wear in the Middle Ages. A leather coat flowed around his bulky waist, and the ends stretched below his knees. She knew the man, of course. He sent a shiver of dread through her.
He was Charles Bull. A person came to recognise his name if they lived within the Capita’s borders.
“Hello class,” he said.
Heather squeezed her fingertips into her palm. It was an old trick she learned when getting ready to teach her first class. It supposed to take away the nerves, but it left her with fingernail impressions on her skin.
“Mr. Bull. How can we help you?”
“Sorry to butt in, but I was wondering if I could have a word?” said Charles, looking at the children.
“Sure,” said Heather. Her heart hammered in her chest. She didn’t want to go out of the classroom with Charles. Just being in the same room as him made her feel guilty, like she’d done something to offend the Capita.
“Not with you, Miss Castle. I need to speak to Jenny Fairgrove.”
Heather froze in her place. He knows what Jenny is, and he’s come for her. The Capita’s goddamn rat catcher has come to take her away. What do I do? She forced herself to stay calm. Betraying emotion was the wrong thing to do in front of Charles, and it wouldn’t do Jenny any favours.
“I’m sorry, but we’re in the middle of a class. Can this wait?”
Charles looked at the blackboard. “August 16th. Is this a history lesson?”
Heather nodded.
The bounty hunter put his hand to his chin. He faced the class and span on his heel. “I’ve got a good question for you, kids. When did the Capita come into being?”
“We’ve done this one,” said Heather.
“Let them answer.”
She hoped they’d get it right. She didn’t need Charles reporting back to the Capita about how ineffectual a teacher she was.
“Eight hundred years ago,” said the little voices.
Heather sighed with relief.
“No,” said Charles, and shook his head. “Try seven years. That’s how long the Capita has existed.”
Heather squinted at the bounty hunter. How did he get away with saying things like that? If she’d said it and one of the kids had told on her, Capita soldiers would have smashed through her front door at night.
The kids looked as confused they stared at the bulky man with the pickaxe on his back. Charles gave Heather a grin, as if to say there you go. Now you can deal with that one.
His face turned business-like. “Your lesson is of the utmost importance, Miss Castle. But I have an important matter to discuss with Jenny, and not even the history of the Capita can delay it. Jenny, come with me please.”
Jenny’s chair scraped on the floor as she swivelled away from her desk. She got to her feet and pleaded at Heather with her eyes.
What could she do? She couldn’t restrain Charles, and if she said anything untoward, he would pick up on it. She couldn’t risk anything happening to her. If it was just herself to think about then maybe, but not with Kim at home.
“Does Jenny have your leave?” said Charles. “I’d hate for her to get detention on my account.”
Heather didn’t speak. Was he goading her?
“Miss Castle?”
Charles smiled, but his eyes radiated cold, like he was peeling her layers back and reading her innermost thoughts. He wanted to make her give him permission to take Jenny because he knew how it would make her feel.
She had to stop him, but where would that leave Kim? She couldn’t risk something happening to her and having to leave her daughter alone. She couldn’t do anything to put their Great Escape in danger.
“Yes,” she choked out.
Charles put his hand on Jenny’s shoulder and guided her out of the class room. As the girl walked by the last of the desks one of the boys, Henry, grabbed her.
“You can’t take her,” he said, in a voice so hysterical it surprised Heather.
Charles hit Henry’s face with his palm. A slapping sound echoed. The boy’s head jerked back, and his cheek reddened. Heather thought he was going to cry, but his glazed eyes seemed too shocked for tears.
She seethed with rage. She wanted to rip his mask off and gouge his eyes out. Can’t do that. Need to control myself.
No, it was too late.
“Bullies pick on those smaller than them,” she told the children. “Remember that class. It’s because they’re weak inside.”
I’ve said too much. She waited for Charles to react.
He smiled. “Carry on with your lesson Miss Castle. History is my favourite. It’s always good to know the mistakes of the past, lest we repeat them again. People only get one chance to fuck up.”
The class gasped at the swearword. Charles mock-tiptoed out of the room, shutting the door behind him with exaggerated care. The class fel
l silent and the room was cold. Heather couldn’t find words. She should have tried to reassure the class, but she couldn’t.
“Excuse me a second,” she said to them.
She walked across the classroom and opened the door that led into the stockroom. There were two shelves with various glass beakers, art supplies and text books. On the top shelf was a doomed class biology project, where they’d planted bean sprouts in soil and tried to cultivate them. The sprouts died in days.