The Biggerers

by Amy Lilwall

  CHAPTER 20

  Jinx and Bonbon had gone to bed early the night before. While the others discussed the plan, the two of them wished that it would stop getting later so they could enjoy cuddles without feeling sleepy.

  Now Jinx climbed from cage to cage, climbing inside of some to give cuddles and stopping only to wave into others. Bonbon lay at the back of their cage in silence, getting up to curl herself around Jinx whenever she came back to check on her.

  ‘It’s alright, Bonbon. We’ll see each other this afternoon and then we’ll be together forever!’

  Bonbon frowned, her lips pressed into ridges and shadows as her gaze tumbled over Jinx. When the shutter came down, Bonbon flopped against her, folding her arms over her shoulders and losing her hands in her hair.

  ‘Make this work, Bonbon. Make this plan work,’ Jinx said as she hugged her back. ‘Then you can come and rescue me.’

  ‘I will!’ sobbed Bonbon, telling herself that when the shutter went back up, she would refuse to let go of Jinx. If the worst they could do was stab her with the metal insect then they could do that as often as they wanted, as long she could stay with Jinx… The shutter started to lift. A purple light-ribbon came into the cage and held Bonbon so that she couldn’t move. Two fingers entered the cage, unhooking Bonbon’s arms as easily as if they’d been brushing dust from Jinx’s shoulders. Bonbon’s head was fixed at an angle. She stared at Jinx from the side of her face. She too was locked into a purple ribbon of light and pulled from the cage, her arms stuck, outstretched towards Bonbon. The cage door was shut and the ribbon deactivated. Bonbon ran to the front of the cage where she fell onto her bottom, her mouth trying to scream Jinx’s name.

  * * *

  ‘Pick up, pick up!’ she whispered to herself. The lab had called her in again and there was no one at home to take her… Again. After a couple of minutes, she hung up. They hadn’t even left a note today; ‘Just got up and went,’ she said to herself, stabbing at a number on her keypad with each syllable.

  They knew she worried. That’s why they always left a note. Or picked up.

  Maybe they were at the cinema? She took her earpiece out for a moment. Watty had had her phone designed by an anti-smartphone company. Isabel had been a fan of their cause: smartphones alienated people from, well, people. She was thrilled to bits when they managed to get her a mini handset, custom-made. It was about the size of a full-human thumb. This was still an enormous thing to put against her ear, but she couldn’t ask Watty to send it back… Especially as Drew thought he’d taken a bit of a risk in having it made. ‘Things like that can be traced,’ he’d said. Watty had gone a bit quiet after that, eyeing the thing uneasily every time Isabel jabbed out a text message. Most of the time, she wore it in a bum-bag, preferring to use the teeny-tiny hands-free kit that was way less clompy. Now, she frowned at the glossy black handset lying in her bum-bag, still and lazy like a mini hippo. They knew she worried… Why did they do this to her? She pressed the ‘call’ button again and waited, tapping her foot as she stared through the window at the sky. At this rate she’d never get there. Not that she even cared about ranting any more. All she wanted was to know that…

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Drew?’

  ‘Hello, lazybones; finally out of your pit, are you?’

  ‘Where the hell are you?’

  ‘Oh Quail… You were fast asleep. Did you not see the note?’

  ‘No! Where are you?’

  ‘We’re at that pick-your-own organic we told you about.’

  ‘What about your mobiles?’

  ‘Mine’s in the car. I’ve just found Watty’s in the grass.’

  ‘What’s the point in having them if you’re never…’

  ‘I’m sorry, darling.’

  Isabel pouted into the phone.

  ‘Did you want something, Quail? Do you want Watty to pick you up?’

  ‘No… Actually I’d almost forgotten what I was calling for; I’ve been called into the lab.’

  ‘Again?’

  ‘Yes. Apparently they want to start a new round of tests.’

  Drew paused, then: ‘What for?’

  ‘I don’t know. Some new product they’d like me to “work with”.’ Drew scrunched his face right up and skipped his gaze across the rows of strawberry plants towards Watty. ‘You’re not going on your own, are you?’

  ‘Well, yes… They called me at short notice.’

  ‘I’m on my way.’

  ‘No, Drew… It’s too late. They’re sending a car.’

  ‘Not on your own, Quail. Please.’

  ‘I’ll be fine. I’m not frightened. Honestly.’

  ‘Well… I’m coming anyway.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Yes, young lady. I mean it.’

  Isabel was quiet for a moment, then: ‘Fine. But only if Watty comes in with me. I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to see Hector.’

  ‘I’m not worried about him. He must be getting on for seventy now—’

  ‘I have to go,’ she interrupted. ‘I haven’t had a shower yet. Promise me you’ll wait outside?’

  The line went dead. Drew tapped his mobile against his chin; what on Earth did Hector want with her? He heaved himself up from his row of strawberries and watched as Watty reached into the depths of a sprawling tomato plant, his face screwing up as he felt around for the fleshy globes. Neither of them was getting any younger. He wondered if Watty would look across and notice that something was up. ‘What does he want with her?’ he said to the tip of the phone, now resting on his lips, his unblinking eyes idled over the rows of berries and bent-over backsides.

  ‘I’ve told you a gazillion times not to put the phone in your mouth.’ Watty stood in front of him with gardening gloves in one hand and a basket of tomatoes in the other. ‘What’s going on in there?’ he nodded towards Drew’s forehead.

  ‘Isabel’s been called in to the lab.’

  Watty tutted. ‘Always at such short notice.’

  Drew shrugged. ‘Will you drive us there?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ Watty nodded, pulling off his gardening gloves.

  * * *

  Them again. What were they planning on doing to her today? The metal insect, probably. Well, fine… The worst thing they could do would be to put her into the Next Room. And that was exactly what they were going to do…

  Jinx felt her stomach dent as if someone had poked it. Planning the plan had helped her to take her mind off, well, the rest of her life, and in fact, that was the problem. If the plan went well then the rest of her life would be as lovely as the first part. They would come to rescue her, then they would all take the lift to the top floor and run away from the building. She blew out her cheeks and held them like that; there were a few problems with the plan. None of them knew how to work a lift; in fact, most of them didn’t know what one was until they’d arrived here. And even if they did manage to make it move, they didn’t know how to find the Next Room, or the way out; how silly was that? And Lewis probably carried something on him, just like Moira’s talky thing, so he could call someone in an emergency. Jinx felt her shoulders curl over and realized that her cheeks were still puffed out.

  ‘Are you going to answer us today or not?’

  ‘Did you hear the first question?’

  Jinx let her pupils float towards their gaze and started to chew her finger.

  A hand came in and clipped something to the back of her head. ‘Let’s see what’s going on in there, shall we?’

  ‘Do you remember where you lived before you lived with your owner?’

  ‘—.’

  ‘Okay. Have you ever communicated vocally with your owner?’

  Jinx sat on the floor and started to squeeze one of her feet with both hands. This was very easy; the worst thing that could happen to her was going to happen; what did they expect her to do?

  ‘Do you have a friend called Chips?’

  Her eyes snapped upwards.

  ‘Ah! Did you se
e that?’ said one.

  ‘That’s nothing. You should see her brain activity!’

  ‘Love?’

  ‘Oh yeah. Big time.’

  ‘Are you in love with Chips?’

  Jinx glared as the one who was looking at the screen whooped at what he could see. ‘I think we’ve got her!’ he cried.

  ‘Would you like to see Chips?’

  Jinx folded her arms and scowled, hardly realizing that she’d jumped up, and strode to the front of the cage.

  ‘Well, would you? All you have to do is say so.’

  Maybe she should just clap. They would just keep hassling her until she did; and this wasn’t for nothing, this could be the last time she’d ever see her Chips. Surely she should just clap. Her future would be the same whether she clapped or not, but if she did clap, at least she’d get to see her Chips.

  ‘Maybe she doesn’t believe us. You’d better show her.’

  A square of wall illuminated behind the two white heads. They stood aside to let her see. It was like a, sort of, black window partly filled with orange light. It reminded Jinx of the thing that the She-one used to make things hot. In the middle, a littler slept on a ledge. Jinx squinted. It seemed a little fatter than Chips. Its closed eyes slept above white skin instead of purple smudges; and it lay still and peaceful, not twitchy or panicky. But she knew even before she’d noticed all these different things, it was her Chips. As the hairs on her body rose towards him, lifting her arms upwards with them, her eyes seemed to rub out the lines of the cage that blocked her view, then make a hole in the window with the funny light and hover over her Chips.

  ‘Would you like to touch him? Would you like to give him a cuddle?’

  Jinx’s eyes felt squeezed as they hovered over her sleeping Chips. Tears plopped from her nose and her own arms wrapped themselves around her own shoulders. A hot feeling started at her toes, like when she accidentally pissed on her own feet, yet rather than hammering down on them, it seemed to be filling up her ankles and legs, getting angrier as she wouldn’t move them, as she wouldn’t let it run her legs from the cage, through the air and to her Chips. Instead she let it fill up her tummy, and chest, and arms; maybe she would use them to fly herself to Chips. She didn’t. The feeling got angrier, rising to her throat, and as her mouth opened, she lifted her hands and bashed them together once.

  ‘Right,’ said one of the men as he turned to switch off the window. Chips disappeared. Jinx gazed up at the men. What would they do? Would they get him out? Or would they take her to him?

  The cage door opened and a hand came in holding a tube. The hand pressed the end of it and the insect bit her belly. As she tried to scramble away it was pressed again on her thigh, and one last time on her shoulder blade.

  ‘That’s what you get for holding out on us,’ said one.

  ‘What was the point? We knew you could clap! Just like we know you can speak,’ said the other.

  ‘I’ve never known any of them to refuse like that.’

  ‘But even from her brain signals!’

  ‘Oh, I could tell that there was more to her from the brain signals.’

  ‘Yeah, but she’s obviously a bit of an actress.’

  Jinx heard them talking but didn’t listen, not knowing which part of her to try and make better first. The skin on her tummy was so soft, she was sure that the insect had bitten her right the way to her insides; and it had bitten her leg in the same place as yesterday. She covered her mouth with one hand and tried not to be sick on the floor. The pain from her stomach pulled both her arms back around it and she dropped down onto her side and cried. The two technicians talked about how they weren’t paid to resolve this kind of behaviour and they’d almost certainly make a ‘special services’ claim. Why weren’t the mentally ill ones weeded out from the beginning by Len? They had never, ever seen anything like that before. She was obviously defective… Jinx imagined herself pulling her arms from her arms as if they were coat sleeves, her head from the hat that was her own head, and pulling her legs up and out of her own legs as if they were trousers.

  ‘Why did you get her on the stomach?’

  ‘I don’t know… She was struggling and… I just had to get her where I could.’

  ‘And on the shoulder? Jeez! Never above the legs!’

  ‘I’m sorry, like I say she was… she was trying to get away.’ He paused for a moment. ‘What do we do now?’

  ‘We’re going to give her a warm bath then send her to the silent room.’

  ‘No more questions?’

  ‘No more questions.’ He shook his head and turned away. ‘If she’s only clapped twice in seventy-two hours, she’s not going to speak.’

  Jinx imagined herself curling up under the bones in her chest, away from her ears, her eyes and the bite in her stomach. She thought about the plan. Pulling it over her like a curved, green leaf.

  ‘Um… Did you take him out?’

  ‘No, why?’

  ‘The box is empty.’

  * * *

  One, two, three, four and… one, two. Four up, two across. When Isabel was only an embryo, Drew would run from the bus stop every morning to see her. For some reason, his legs were never fast enough. He would count the windows on the lab building; one, two, three, four up; one, two across; letting his mind do something while it waited for his slow legs to take him to the other side of Isabel’s window.

  Now, in the car, he counted again, the same feeling blowing out his chest, as if someone had stuck a foot pump in his heart. So many seconds would tick by between shifts; had he missed the very one, because it only took one, for death to scurry in and snatch his little egg while nobody was around to shoo it away. He felt the sweat under his arms from where his body remembered itself running; the smell of morning London, exhaust fumes, fried breakfasts, perfume and bad breath, swirled around his nostrils. One, two, three, four and… one, two.

  Watty’s legs walked towards the car. Were they Watty’s legs? Drew looked up the body; they were indeed. And, he was holding Isabel! That was unusual. He didn’t often pick her up these days… He got out of the car and waved. Neither of them waved back. Watty’s face was serious.

  ‘What’s happened?’

  Isabel was crying. He ran towards her. ‘What’s happened, Quail?’

  ‘It’s alright,’ said Watty. ‘Let’s just get into the car.’

  ‘Tell me. What’s happened?’

  ‘In the car, Drew.’

  ‘Why? I’ll bloody knock him out, Watty! What’s he done?’

  ‘That’s precisely why you’re going to get into the car.’ Watty put Isabel in the front passenger seat, then pushed Drew into the back seat of the car. ‘Mind fingers,’ he said, before shutting the door.

  * * *

  At one o’clock they were ready for him. It was just a case of waiting, as he could come at any time. Every cage door rested against its lock not quite closed. Every ball of flakes had been moved to the twelve central cages at ground level; six on one side, six on the other. Lips moved quickly, shaping words that remembered the role of each person; over and over again. Every now and then someone would shout a question: ‘Do I stand on Lamb’s shoulders or will Lamb stand on mine?’ and the answer would come back immediately: ‘You, then Lamb, then Fola, then Bonbon because Bonbon’s the littlest.’

  ‘Me, then Lamb, then Fola, then Bonbon. Because Bonbon is the littlest…’ would echo back in a whisper.

  At three o’clock, Windy heard the lift and knew from the sound of its approach that it had skipped the room above, where it would occasionally stop, and come straight to their floor. ‘I think it’s Lewis,’ she said. ‘But hold fire; it might just be Moira.’

  The lift doors opened. The first sign that it could be Moira, the vacuum bot, did not come scooting out as it usually did. This was it. This was Lewis.

  Lewis walked out of the lift, checking that it had stayed open as it was supposed to. These underground corridors were creepy. He liked to be sure that the l
ift hadn’t malfunctioned and buzzed away to another floor while he was busy installing the littlers. For a successful company, the technology in the underground corridors was very ropey. Almost primitive. He didn’t trust it one bit. He always programmed the lift to take him to the floors that he absolutely had to stop at; the less time spent down here, the better. He checked the number on the cage to see where this new littler, Video, would be placed for the next week or so. She was actually quite cute, he thought as he took his first steps into the corridor; hot even. He would probably have a little think about her later; obviously the life-size version. Why was it so quiet down here? Jeez they could be weird sometimes. All standing at their doors, looking at him like that. Yuk! So creepy. At least it smelled better in here now.

  He heard a noise; a cage door opening. Such a simple, normal noise that he didn’t realize he shouldn’t have been hearing it until all of the cage doors were opening and littlers were on his shoulders and his head and pulling at his legs trying to knock him over. He lifted his arms; littlers hung from them, wrapping themselves around his wrist as he tried to lift it to his mouth to shout for help: what the hell was happening? His eyes were pulled shut and his nose pinched closed; he gasped and something was thrown inside his mouth. Sweat and cheese and strong vinegar dissolved into his tongue. He opened his mouth again to spit it out but more was thrown inside, this time burning the tip and sides of his tongue. Tiny hands pulled at his trousers and sleeves. Several littlers now hung from his wrist as he tried again to raise it into the air and across to his mouth; his toes were pushed upwards and he rocked on his heels. He opened his mouth to shout and more of whatever that stuff was landed inside. He tried to spit again to make room for air, more stuff was thrown in and pushed to the back of his tongue. The hands pinched at his nostrils, tightly, forcing Lewis to swallow. Tiny bodies threw themselves against his shins; he toppled and fell on his back. Winded, he shook his head to free his pinched nose, it worked, he breathed one deep breath before his nose was stuffed with the vinegar-smelling cheese. He spluttered, his throat contracted; his mouth tried to gag. His eyes still held tightly shut by sharp little fingernails.