‘Jen and I had a fight,’ she said.
There was a stunned silence.
‘What about?’ said Sam. She was clearly shocked.
‘It’s private,’ said Pan. ‘Sorry. Maybe she’ll tell you, but I can’t right now.’
Sanjit gazed at her, his brown eyes wide. She thought he was going to say something, but he lowered his eyes and started eating again. Wei-Lin looked tired and dispirited. Eric was the only one who wouldn’t let it go.
‘A fight!’ he yelled. ‘And I missed it. Goddammit, Pan. You’re meant to fight in public, you know, so we can all gather round to watch.’ He mimed a few punches. ‘Kapow. Most exciting thing that’s happened since I’ve been here, and I missed it.’ He took another spoonful of soup and winked at Pan. ‘Bet you won, huh? Bet it’s a case of “you should see the other girl”. Bet Jen’s not here because she’s in the Infirmary, in intensive care. Am I right? I’m right, aren’t I?’
‘No,’ said Pan. ‘There’s not a scratch on her.’ She started on the soup. It wasn’t good, but she figured it must contain some nutritional value.
Dr Morgan found Pan sitting at the foot of the memorial cairn at the base of the Garden on Top of the World. I’m wearing my watch, Pan thought. That’s how he found me. But she didn’t care. Dr Morgan knelt in front of her and whistled.
‘You need to get that face seen to,’ he said. ‘Come with me to the Infirmary. We might be able to rustle up an icepack, and there are some painkillers we keep rationed for situations like this.’
‘An icepack?’ said Pan. ‘That sounds pretty high-tech for The School, Doc.’
Dr Morgan frowned.
‘We have some technology, Pan,’ he replied. ‘No one’s ever made a secret of that. And yes, there is a freezer, run by a generator.’
‘Right. But I guess you didn’t find me to discuss generators and icepacks. What do you want?’
Dr Morgan sighed and sat next to Pan. She kept her gaze fixed on The School grounds and the distant sweep of the wall. There was silence for a minute.
‘I miss our sessions, Pan,’ he said eventually. ‘And I think we were making progress. Some members of staff tell me you haven’t been attending any classes at all. That won’t do, my dear. That won’t do at all. I can understand that Mr Gwynne and Miss Kingston might not fill you with enthusiasm, but our personal development sessions were not exactly . . . difficult, were they? And you were making real progress.’
Pan didn’t reply.
Dr Morgan took a deep breath and tried again. ‘When a student becomes withdrawn, Pan, we worry. There is so much opportunity for depression to take hold. If that’s the case, talking will help. Not to me, if you don’t want to, but Dr Macredie, as you know, is a counsellor. Is there something you’d like to tell us, Pan?’
‘No thanks, Doc,’ said Pan. ‘Is there something you’d like to tell me?’
Dr Morgan sighed and got to his feet. He gazed up at the sky for a few moments. ‘If you change your mind,’ he said, ‘then you know where to find me. For what it’s worth, Pan, you were scoring over eighty per cent on the card-guessing. And that’s on a sample of thousands. Far beyond probability. I believe we were on the verge of a further breakthrough. It would be a mistake to stop now.’
‘I’m done with card-school, Doc,’ said Pan. ‘So a progress report is of no interest to me.’ She smiled, but her head remained lowered. ‘In fact, I think I’ve graduated. Maybe with honours.’
Pan had no idea where Tom kept his falcon, but she was good at finding things so it didn’t take long. She wandered The School, fingering the hood in her pocket and allowing her instincts to take over. They led her to the furthest fringes of the grounds, far to the right where the mountains gave way to the rocky plain.
A small enclosure had been constructed with chicken wire close to the perimeter, and inside a few chickens wandered dispiritedly. The animal husbandry program didn’t appear to be flourishing. Pan also understood why it was well-removed from the main body of The School. Even with so much on her mind, she couldn’t help imagining a roast chicken, maybe with roasted potatoes and thick gravy. Pan’s mouth watered.
The cage that housed Kes was behind the chook shed. It was poorly made of wire and mismatched sections of wood, nailed together with little regard for craftsmanship. Inside, the bird sat on a rough branch wedged against the sides of the cage. It regarded her with unblinking eyes.
Pan was nervous, and a part of her wanted to simply walk away, wait for the day to pass and focus on her meeting with Nate that evening. But she knew this was something she had to try. The migraines had been intense, though they tended not to last too long. Each time she made contact with another mind, the result was pain. Each time but one: when she had soared over the mountains inside the falcon in search of Cara’s body, she had paid no price, no migraine, not even a slight headache. She was curious to see if she could, first of all, repeat the experience and, secondly, come back to her own body with the same sense of well-being. She had a theory. And there was only one way to test it.
She found the simple latch at the side of the cage and placed her thumb against it. Then she took a deep breath and let the fingertips of her other hand slide over the material of the hood. The falcon still hadn’t blinked, nor had it taken its fierce and concentrated gaze away from Pan. She nudged her mind towards the bird.
It was so much easier this time. Before she lost her sense of self entirely, Pan pushed her thumb against the latch and released it.
And then she was inside the bird and hopping towards the cage door.
It was as exhilarating as before, the feel of air under wings and the overwhelming sense of possession, that she owned the sky and all beneath it. She was compelled to soar so the world beneath her receded. She flew over the Infirmary. No one moved on the rocky garden. She saw the winding stairs that led down to the plain and one lone figure standing at the top step, but he was of no interest and she circled down. There was a mound of stones at the base of the cliff and a group of people running. A woman stood watching the group. There was something familiar about her and for the briefest moment a name bubbled in her head. Kingston. But as soon as it arrived she dismissed it and climbed higher. The clarity of her vision was astonishing. She passed over the wall and her instincts told her to swoop down. Hunt, she thought. It is time to hunt. But another presence was insistent. See what is in those towers, it said. She obeyed the command. She flew low over the wall. There were no thermals here, so she could not float and glide. She was acutely aware of the powerful muscles in her wings, defying weight, fighting against a force that would drag her down if she allowed it. She would not allow it. She circled the watchtowers, but they were empty. Tiny rooms. Deserted of any living thing.
The place beyond the wall crawled with creatures, but they paid her no attention. Pan headed out to sea, found a thermal and rode it up and up until, even with her sight, the movements on the ground faded. The world was beneath her. Mountains as far as she could see, most topped with cloud, a few visible peaks coated with snow. And still she rode higher, seeking out the boundaries of the thermal, letting the wind take her until the place she had left had shrunk to an insignificant spot. I could stay here. The thought was clear. I could stay and hunt and mate and ride the wind forever. But another thought pressed and it was one that had to be obeyed. Time to go home, it said.
Pan left the thermal. She was familiar with the way. She knew every centimetre of this place and others beyond it. She headed for home . . .
Pan flicked the latch shut with her thumb and forced her eyelids open. Kes hopped onto his branch and regarded her with those same unblinking eyes. Her limbs felt leaden and when she tried to walk the clumsiness of her body made her groan, and she had to hold on to the corner of the chook shed for support. Pan waited until she knew she fully occupied her body and tried again. This time she did not stumble, though the sense of leaden weight remained. Her head was clear.
She glanced at the chickens, s
cratching against the dirt in the yard as she passed by, and felt a momentary temptation. But then she walked on.
‘How’s your face?’ asked Jen.
Pan ran a hand along her jaw, which felt puffy and tender. At least the empty socket in the corner of her mouth was no longer bleeding and the ache had subsided.
‘I’ll survive,’ she said.
‘I won’t apologise.’
‘I’m not asking you to.’
‘And it’s true. Do . . . what you did . . . again and I’ll kill you.’
‘I heard you. And I believe you.’
‘As long as you know.’
The girls walked towards the forest. It was six o’clock and the sun dipped towards the horizon. Another missed dinner, thought Pan. The knowledge that what they were about to do was much more important than eating did not stop the empty gnawing sensation in her stomach. Toughen up, she reminded herself. Jen had left her personal development session with Gwynne early, made an excuse about not feeling well, and met up with Pan back at the dormitory. She had said nothing at all, but simply followed when Pan dropped her watch onto her pillow and left the building. Pan was gratified to note that Jen also undid the strap of her timepiece and left it on her bedside cabinet. She thought that might possibly indicate a willingness on her friend’s part to believe that Pan could be right about some things. Well, she’d find out soon.
‘Do you want to talk?’ asked Pan.
‘No.’
‘Not curious where we are going and who we’re going to see?’
‘No.’ Jen paused. ‘Frankly I don’t think there’s much point asking you anything, since I have no idea whether I’ll hear the truth or some bizarre fantasy.’
‘Fair enough. But where we are going, it won’t be easy to talk. Just thought you might want some information before that.’
‘You were wrong.’
‘Okay.’
They walked in silence for a while before Pan spoke again. She didn’t glance at her companion.
‘All right, Jen. You don’t want to talk, but that doesn’t mean you can’t listen. And I need to tell you everything because, frankly, time is running out and I need your help. You might not believe me – in fact, you probably won’t. It’s up to you. If I have to do this alone, then so be it. But I want you on board, Jen. The rest of our team too, if possible.’ She waited for a response and got none, so she took a deep breath. ‘The dream of the tanker, like I told you, was no dream. It happened. We took the virus onto it, infected the crew members who, in turn, passed it on when they docked after The School captured us. The world is out there, as we remember it, but now it’s got less than three months to live. Everything we remember about the virus was not memory, but a vision of the future. This is what Professor Goldberg told me when they brought us back. This is why it is happening . . .’
Pan kept the story as short and factual as possible, but even as she recounted it, she was acutely aware of how strange, how unbelievable, it sounded. Jen’s continued silence didn’t help, but she pressed on.
‘He showed me a video, Jen. On his phone. A real phone with a video of you being interviewed by Gwynne. I think it was to break my spirit, to make me realise there was no way I could fight The School when they could take my friend, who I trust with my life, and make her remember something totally different. That was my punishment, Jen. To know I was alone with my knowledge and that anything I said would be dismissed as the ravings of a madwoman.’
They were nearly upon the forest by now and the distant rumbling of the waterfall was intensifying with every step. Pan risked a glance at her friend, but there was little to read in Jen’s face. She stared rigidly ahead, her features stony, and it was difficult to tell if she had listened to a word.
‘I never told anyone that Gwynne interviewed me,’ said Jen after another thirty seconds.
Pan didn’t respond.
‘But I guess he could’ve told you.’
‘Possible,’ said Pan. ‘But he didn’t.’
After that they walked in silence. When the forest swallowed them, Pan tried to remember the quickest route to the clearing, but once again there were no signs and she was forced to push through trees and follow the sound. It seemed to take longer this time, but then they stepped onto the verge of the clearing and the waterfall, hazy in the light, was before them.
‘Hate to tell you, Pandora,’ said Jen. ‘But you’ve brought me here before. Picturesque and all that . . .’ She shrugged.
‘There’s another place I want to show you,’ Pan replied. She reached out to take Jen’s hand, but her friend snatched it away before contact could be made. Pan led the way to the side of the waterfall and the narrow track leading to the cave behind it. If Jen was impressed by the secret place she gave no sign, but she did look around the interior, bathed in milky light with flashes of iridescence as the setting sun caught the water.
Jen turned to Pan and shrugged, lifting her hands to her shoulders, palms up. The roar of the waterfall made regular speech impossible. Pan beckoned her over and bent her head to Jen’s ear.
‘We wait,’ she yelled. ‘And when you see someone come in, grab him and don’t let go, okay?’
Jen nodded and a faint smile ghosted over her lips. Action, Pan thought. Jen is always more comfortable with action. If the evening was successful, it occurred to her, then Jen would face more action than even she could deal with. The notion almost made Pan smile.
After that there was little to do but wait, each girl lost in her own thoughts since conversation was impractical. The quality of the light within the cave gradually changed; the sparkles of fractured rainbows became more infrequent and eventually stopped altogether. Night fell on the clearing and the cave closed in on itself until Pan could barely see Jen’s silhouette from two metres away. All that was left was the incessant and cacophonous sound of falling water.
Pan didn’t even sense Nate’s arrival. The first indication was a spark within the darkness and a blooming of flames as a torch ignited. In that split second, Pan saw his features dancing in light, the shock stamped on Jen’s face, and then all was chaos and confusion. The flame torch fell to the floor and almost guttered. Shadows moved, but she couldn’t make anything out and she couldn’t hear anything. Pan froze for an instant and then picked up the torch. A weak tongue of flame wavered, caught and pushed the shadows back.
Jen had Nate in a headlock. Over his right shoulder, Pan saw Jen’s mouth twisted into a snarl. Her left arm forced his head back, exposing his neck. The knife in her right hand was pressed against it, the blade throwing off dull gleams of reflected fire. Nate’s eyes brimmed with fear and he looked at Pan as if for aid.
Chapter 8
There wasn’t much Pan could do other than sit and hold the torch while Nate and Jen talked. The notion of the three of them bellowing into each other’s ears was absurd. So she sat and waited and tried to read Jen’s expression, though with limited success. She noted that her friend did not put the knife away, but kept it at her side, her fingers curled around the hilt. Pan couldn’t blame her. In this strange and twisted world it was impossible to know who to trust. If you couldn’t even trust the contents of your own head . . .
At least there was a conversation. Pan had entertained the idea that Jen would simply leave, that the weirdness of the situation would be too much. But Jen was asking questions and listening to the answers. That had to be a good sign, didn’t it?
Time passed, but with no watch Pan had no idea how much. Eventually, after it seemed as if she had sat there forever, Jen bowed her head and Nate covered his eyes with one hand. Then Jen moved to Pan’s side. Nate remained motionless.
‘He’s backed up some of your story, Pandora,’ Jen yelled into her ear. ‘But there’s a lot he says he doesn’t know, even though he should.’
Pan didn’t react. She had waited so long, but now wasn’t the time for persuasion. Jen would have to come to her own conclusions.
‘Here’s what I reckon,’ Jen c
ontinued. ‘Maybe your story is true. Or it’s bullshit. Or maybe your story is partly true, but you’ve been as brainwashed as you say I’ve been. How’s that for a thought? What you remember of the tanker is a lie.’
Still Pan said nothing.
‘Like I said before, it’s difficult to swallow an argument that says, “Hey, we’ve all had our minds screwed with, but only Pandora Jones’s head is straight. Trust me.” ’
Pan brought her mouth to Jen’s ear.
‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘Nothing I say can convince you. But what do you feel, Jen?’
Jen closed her eyes for a moment before responding. Then she nodded towards Nate, who still had his head in his hands.
‘He’s here, alive and kicking, though I saw him die on the island. If nothing else, that proves something fishy’s going on. Plus, I’ve been thinking of that elevator in the Infirmary. Questions, Pandora. Questions and no answers. And that dream last night . . . I don’t know. It felt right. So, yeah. Faced with two conflicting versions of reality, I guess I’m inclined to believe yours. And my own gut feeling.’
Pan simply nodded.
‘What about lover boy, here?’ Jen continued. ‘According to you, he’s lied to us, faked his own death and worked for the enemy. He kinda admits it himself. So now you’re gonna trust him?’
‘Of course not,’ Pan shouted. ‘But I have a way of getting more information. Entering his mind. Like I did with yours.’
Jen shuddered. ‘What if he shuts you out, Pandora? When you pulled that shit on me, I threw you out, and correct me if I’m wrong, but I don’t think you could do much about it.’
‘You’re right. I couldn’t,’ Pan replied. ‘But if he wants any kind of trust, he’ll have to let me in. That’s my condition and he can take it or leave it.’
‘When are you going to do it?’
Pan gripped the flame torch and got to her feet.
‘No time like the present,’ she said.
Pandora Jones: Reckoning Page 7