by P. S. Lurie
He starts to walk quicker and I have to trot to keep up with him. He looks behind him and notices others are following suit, also heading in the same direction, the same snap judgement, as if an idea has spread without it needing to be spoken. I’m still in the dark, trying to process anything else, without having this new mystery to make sense of as well.
More than anything, I’m focusing on quelling my desire to run away from him, or better, kill him. It’s too much of a risk to try this out in the open and I know wishing it won’t help me right now. As long as I act as if I’m still my fragile self I can pretend nothing is different, which will buy me some time.
Time, which is something I don’t have much of, if I want to help my mother and Theia before the water floods the Upperlands.
“Shouldn’t we go home and pack? I’m feeling tired.”
“Quick detour. No time to explain,” Nathaniel says, as if he too is on a deadline, which I suppose we all are if we want to board before the afternoon arrives. I continue to pace after him, and feign tiredness, a fatigue that has been with me for months.
But the truth is that I already feel stronger in myself. My energy is returning with each passing minute, along with recollections of the past. Then an image comes back to me.
Charlie.
The dog Nathaniel killed a year ago, one of the first deaths I witnessed on the night of the cull. In the grand scheme of things the loss of a dog is not something I should devote much thought to but it’s where Nathaniel and I first crossed paths; the first hint of this man’s wickedness.
I didn’t have the chance to avenge Charlie then but I sure as hell will make up for it today, as with all the other lives Nathaniel took. For now, I allow Nathaniel to think he’s in control as I am dragged along by him into the unknown.
Theia
The four of us haven’t been together for months but this is not a happy reunion, and there is no opportunity or purpose in asking how Harriet has fared with her short-lived promotion. I remember how we all came to share a room in the barracks and how my anxiety couldn’t last long in trusting them all to keep Leda’s existence a secret. I remember their faces when I opened the suitcase and showed my smuggled possession. And I remember my first impression of Harriet and then how she changed from timid to the most outspoken of us all against the Upperlanders, which is to say not much because she wasn’t stupid and knew that speaking up could put her in danger. Small acts of defiance, especially to her version of Kate, were obvious. Harriet’s promotion came as a shock to us all, considering the lack of a relationship she had to the family she cleaned for, but we figured that this family weren’t as much wanting to promote her than trade her in for a more grateful servant.
Harriet has never told us what happened to her on the night of the cull and, as the one person of the other three I didn’t know before being Rehoused, I never met her family or learnt what she had to do that night to survive. Only once did I hear her murmur in her sleep but we all have nightmares and no one disclosed the contents because that would mean rehashing history when all we have tried to do is convince ourselves that we aren’t villains in our stories; we’re not so much trying to rewrite the past as forget it.
We arrive at the courtyard to the prison, cross through, and enter the impoverished-looking building by swiping all of our watches by the heavy set glass doors at the entrance. Harriet’s has already been updated along with the rest of ours.
“Harriet Cormac. Status: Disloyal and Ungrateful. Imprisonment.” I hear this sentencing three more times, reaffirming that we are now traitors. Only the guards will be leaving this building and making their way to the Utopia. The land has been flat up until this building, with only President Callister’s mansion on much higher ground. The prison is about six floors tall and there is no doubt that it shirks beneath the height of the Fence so even the highest floors are likely to be submerged by this evening.
The inside is surprisingly more modern than the outside suggested, as if the eroding brick-face served as a further deterrent to onlookers, encouraging them to fear stepping out of line. We pass so many impenetrable cells, no windows and only a grate at the bottom of the doors, that it is impossible to count how many prisoners are housed in here. Considering the number of floors and doors we pass just in this one area I’d estimate the total number could exceed a few hundred. Whether or not the prison is at maximum capacity is anyone’s guess.
Being led to a cell reminds me of the first night after arriving in the barracks, finding ourselves sharing a room with four beds, and the irony that at the time we felt like prisoners and we believed we had hit rock bottom. This time around, we really will be imprisoned.
But I’m naive to think that we’re all headed in the same direction; the guards split us into two, with seemingly no rhyme nor reason as to who goes with whom and it just happens to be Harriet and me that are held back as Selma and Melissa are dragged off along the hallway and out of sight, with no time for goodbyes. There’s nothing any of us can do to protest.
I know Selene and her mother had difficulties in the past but Selma has been a source of strength to me, constantly providing encouragement that Leda will be alright and that I will find Ronan. It is the hardest to be separated from Selma than either of the others. Harriet is the one I feel least close to and, if anything, the one I feel most guilty for being here so it’s just my luck that I’m with her.
The guard that kept us back nudges us and we are on the move once more, his gun a good enough reason for us to not make a break for it. Even if we could overpower him what then? I have no idea where Leda or Ronan are, and through the echoes of the corridor I hear my mother’s voice, faintly reminding me that I’ve failed them all. In fact, there’s a white noise that fills the air, something we didn’t have in the Middlelands except during Surges. Since being in the Upperlands, the noise is everywhere and I grew accustomed to it. Kate’s appliances, the train, the lighting and plumbing in the barracks. But back in the Middlelands, apart from the Surges, the closest sound this reminds me of is the Ethers’ walk in fridge. Or the helicopter that hovered over my garden and...
I lose track of time, spacing out as I do, but my legs carry on in autopilot and, while my mother scalds me for losing Ronan and Leda, I come to in front of a door, which the guard unlocks with the keypad. In my haze, he has removed the handcuffs, and I am relieved that I didn’t fight back. Before he pushes the door open and we enter, the guard does the uncharacteristic thing of speaking to us.
“I have been asked to relay a message from President Callister herself. All four women have proven a lack of gratitude and disloyalty to the Upperlands but the two of you acted worst of all. Theia Silverdale, you disobeyed the rules of the Great Cull, believing yourself to be superior to everyone else that had to sacrifice loved ones, as well as those of us in the Upperlands sacrificing resources, which were then shared with your sister and lowered the quality of life for everyone deserving to be here. Harriet Cormac, you too demonstrated an absence of loyalty by allowing yourself to be promoted and not disclosing this child’s existence. You were given resources above and beyond what you deserved and I am disappointed that you abused this privilege.”
I don’t understand what difference telling us this is because surely one cell is the same as another and that we’ll all drown in due course.
Then we enter the room and my eyes adjust to the low visibility; for some unknown reason, the window has been covered over by a sheet and has cut out the daylight. Then I work out why we have been given this cell and that we may not have to wait for the flood to come. There are two beds but on the farthest from us I see a girl sitting cross-legged, sneering manically, unsettlingly grateful for our arrival.
Ruskin
My hands tremor as I turn the still-warm lifeless body over, not caring about dirtying my hands or clothes with blood. Did Jack learn his mother was dead and try to end his life too? Or was he attacked? The boy sports a similar shade of hair to Jack’s but the face is covered in congea
ling dark hues of blood and it is hard to make out if this is him or a different unfortunate victim to the Upperlanders. I watch his stomach but there is no rise or fall. This boy has recently died.
I look up as tears fill my eyes and the room blurs around me but I take a breath and try to regain focus. I turn my attention to the walls, remembering something else that was odd when I entered, or rather, the absence of something odd. There are no grooves in the concrete above this bed. No tally.
This is not my cell.
This boy is not Jack.
I take in the corpse’s features and start to notice the dissimilarities; his physique is that of Jack’s but marginally taller, the hair a tint darker and curlier, chest hair poking through where Jack had none, and the cut on the head is in a different place to where the guard hit Jack.
I should feel sorry for whomever it is that is dead but all I feel is relief. I sit on the other bed and stare at the corpse, not allowing myself to blink or look away. I wipe my tears with fingertips so as not to mark my face with my blood-stained hands until my eyes regain focus and I have a perfect view of this body; the horror today has been unrelenting and I can’t hide from it.
I jump up and, with energy I didn’t know I had, slam my body against the door, then try to force it open. It is shut tight and I know I am not leaving here of my own accord. I am no closer to Jack and instead am locked in a cell with a dead body.
I wash my hands in the sink but the water is murkier than in our cell, potable but unpleasant, whereas we could drink from ours, so the blood will remain stained on my skin. I look around but there is nothing of interest. Both beds look to be used recently so this boy was not alone but there’s no way of knowing how long it has been since he was left in solitary confinement and whether he died alone.
Then I notice the one inconsistency from Jack’s injury, which makes me consider the distressing fact that this may have been self-inflicted: there is blood against several spots on the wall. I can’t prove it but it looks as if this boy has killed himself.
I can imagine several triggers that would cause someone who has survived time in prison to finally give up and all I hope is that it wasn’t because he was left alone. I hope he didn’t feel abandoned when a cell mate was removed because that would mean Jack may have acted similarly and I can’t entertain that thought.
What else could it be? I can’t think because the noise of the static grows louder, penetrating the door, flooding the room from under the grate, filling my mind, and answering the question for me.
Selene
As far as I am aware, I have spent no time in the Upperlands outside of Nathaniel’s apartment, not that I can remember anyway, and I am taken aback by the scale of the shopping mall that we enter. It is not on par with the Utopia, which could house all of the Middlelands on one of the levels alone, but in each direction, for at least eight floors upwards there is no limit of shop fronts. Considering the market in the Middlelands this is luxury beyond my imagination. I feel dizzy by the scale of this place and I can’t imagine how panicked I would be if I hadn’t vomited up the medication that I now realise perpetuated my anxious state.
A crowd bursts through the electric sliding doors soon after us, and we even beat some of the staff who are opening shutters and welcoming customers in. Nathaniel seems to know his way around or at least has a destination in mind and takes us up a moving stairwell. He forgets this is new technology for me and I lose my balance when I step on and have to hold the handrail. I look under my feet at how the stairs appear from a flat state but in no time I stumble off it and wobble as I touch solid ground once more.
“What are we doing here?” I ask him, faux feebly. “Don’t we need to pack?” It’s my way of saying, “Why aren’t we alone so that I can find out what the hell you have done to me and then try to kill you?”
Nathaniel looks at me with a quizzical expression, and for a moment I worry that my tone has been too assertive and has given away my recovery, but instead he speaks with excitement. “I don’t know why others are stocking up as there will be plenty of supplies onboard but I want to purchase one thing in particular to start our new life together and become famous on the Utopia.”
“I don’t understand.”
He ignores me and carries on steadfast. I think back to this past year, even this morning at how much I depended on him and how much I thought I loved him. I want to heave again at the thought of our intimacy, at having him inside me, but my stomach remains empty from a few hours ago so fortunately I dry retch only a little behind his back and he doesn’t notice.
I catch up to him and follow his gaze to the shop front that he is admiring. I take in the displays in the windows of white, oversized and intricately-sewn wedding gowns.
“I want you to wear one of these as we board the Utopia. We will marry tonight.”
Theia
Harriet and I stand side by side, as the door is locked behind us, stopping us from retreating but neither of us is willing to step any farther into the cell because this third girl is staring us down and making it clear that this is her territory. There must be a reason she is smiling but it’s disconcerting because it can only be bad news.
“Hi,” I say nervously.
She raises her eyebrows, expecting more, not letting the smile go.
“I’m Theia. This is Harriet.”
“What brings you here?” she asks, as if it had been our choice. Then I realise she means, “What did we do to deserve this fate?”
I can’t say the words out loud because that would make the loss of Leda real but Harriet does that for me. “She sneaked her sister into the Upperlands.”
“Interesting. I’m impressed.” She looks at her watch. “Five minutes.”
“Sorry?”
“You have five minutes to convince me.”
“Convince you of what?”
“Ah, you didn’t hear it,” she says, tipping her head up, as if listening to the static. “How about you take a seat and wait for the message to play again.”
Selene
It’s all too bizarre to comprehend, and the ten minutes of trying on wedding dresses chosen by Nathaniel go by in a blur of confused compliance. He ignores any reactions I have, which is sensible because all I seem to be able to do is murmur without enthusiasm, but he does listen to the sales staff. I didn’t understand why this woman was in the shop at first rather than packing her house up but then it sinks in that this is her livelihood and if she’s going to have to haul her stock onto the ship she might as well spend an hour or two getting rid of some dresses first. There are a few hours left to pack before the deadline, which everyone around me seems to think is plenty of time. I look past the dresses in the storefront and manage to watch the proceedings of the rest of the shopping mall with its mass spending. I’m still confused by the sudden need to purchase things but maybe this is how the Upperlands functions: mindless shopping. The Middlelands was focused on survival alone so that activities such as buying anything other than food and clothes didn’t exist.
Whether this is a typical day or not in the shopping centre, there is a definite sense of rushing going on around me. We were told about moving onto the Utopia less than an hour ago and were given a few hours to move our lives onboard. No one seems to be questioning the plan but it makes little sense to speed along this upheaval when we could be given days to calmly uproot our lives. What’s the rush?
“Earth to Selene.”
I catch Nathaniel’s eye roll to the assistant, at the same time apologetic and demeaning, as if to say ‘Look what I have to put up with’ and I think to myself ‘Not for much longer’ but I say nothing and smile back into the mirror.
“I asked what you thought of this one.”
Only then do I take in my reflection. The fabric is off-white and shimmers slightly under the light. I’m gaunt and flat-chested but this dress is flattering to my physique and I am temporarily distracted from my disgust by how good I look in the dress. It’s cut low,
coming together at an angle underneath my arms, and I know I will be freezing on the Utopia but this is about fame rather than comfort. Nathaniel has decided that this hurried wedding will benefit him in some way, whether keeping me more fixed in his clasp, or for some sort of advancement in society. Even as a policeman, he seems to have some influence because he must know people who could sort him out with the pills he has been harming me with. I wonder what he had to do for Doctor Graft to acquire them.
The wedding dress is slightly tight around my legs and almost touches the ground and I am pleased that it is sleek and simple rather than flamboyant with lots of added details, so that it is light and doesn’t draw lots of attention to me, although that’s impossible because it’s still a wedding dress. I turn around to see the back in the mirror and a couple walk past the shop and gasp with delight at my appearance. Even my hair has been pinned up in some elaborate style, with some sort of netting and miniature flower buds in it. I have no recollection of this happening but the assistant must have fiddled around whilst my mind was elsewhere. I have to shake myself free of buying into this fantasy because I have no inclination to be married.
“For your feet,” the woman says and holds up a pair of similarly-coloured shoes to the dress, with the slightest of heels, but I have never worn anything with height before. They’re alright to walk in but squeeze my toes, and I notice that actually they’re quite subtle compared to the heels on some of the other pairs on the shelves. I assume this is because if I stood any taller I’d tower over Nathaniel, which I doubt is how he envisages this perfect sham of a wedding.
“Great,” my fiancé says, and I nod.
“Yes, it’s lovely,” I say, convincingly. There’s no point arguing this because I’m not planning on marrying him tonight and, anyway, Nathaniel will have the final say. I want to get out of here so what difference which dress I go for? It’s not like I plan to ever wear it again.