by P. S. Lurie
“Or they’re dead,” Mad says, before I can finish speaking.
“Or they’re dead.”
Mad points to the mattress, gesturing for me to investigate. “Come on then, we haven’t got all day. Just thirty minutes.”
I move closer as Mad directs me to the end of the bed. Harriet watches on, leaving me to play Mad’s game alone.
“Warmer. Warmer.”
I reach down – “Burning hot.” – and lift up the thin mattress.
“Jackpot.”
Under where she sleeps, resting on the metal slab that is her bed frame is a knife, not particularly sharp but instead rather blunt, used for eating. “Where did you get this?”
“Funny story. Not ‘ha ha’ funny but you’ll like it. See that gap under the door? That’s where the guards slip trays of food. You can’t even really call it food because it’s tasteless and never enough of it and only gets delivered every once in a...”
“Mad.”
“Oh, the knife. They never leave any cutlery so when this knife turned up on the plate I knew it wasn’t an accident. It’s not sharp but with a bit of imagination and perseverance it’s good enough to do some damage. A few hours later I was given a new cellmate.”
“You killed her?”
“That’s right. She bled out in her sleep.”
Harriet winces and I pick up the knife. It’s got some rusted blood on it and feels light in my hand. “It’s a start,” I say, ignoring her story. Mad is who we’ve been lumbered with and I need to focus on what she can offer. Punching me has been the only time Harriet has ever showed anger or outwards physical defiance, which is probably why she was promoted over any of us. Then again, she has been tracking down Selene and that was a risk. Does she have killing in her? Do I? I did in the past but I’m not sure my head has room for any more ghosts to join the party.
One of the things that surprised me about our Rehousing was how few checks were carried out on us. It all happened so fast that when I look back now I wonder what the rush was because the Upperlanders seemed unprepared for our arrival. No one searched our bags, questioned us, or suspected our loyalty, and no one has ever come into the barracks. We didn’t see the Upperlanders again until our identities and health checks were taken the days after the cull and we were given our ID watches. Before that, we were kept in the barracks, with food and showers and fresh clothes and restless sleeps. While it seemed hurried at first, it worked in my favour as it meant I could smuggle Leda in.
I also smuggled in a gun, which is out of reach in the barracks, untouched since.
But I know that I’m resourceful, considering how much I managed to achieve that night last year. The guns, the uniform, the fireworks. But these things came at a price. I picture my mother’s death but for some reason even though I’m trying to play back what happened in the garden I stay in the present moment. I guess I’m already in a nightmare so there’s no need for my mind to punish me further by sending me cruelly back there.
Harriet takes the knife out of my hand but sees the blood and then grimaces. “This is it?”
“Better than nothing,” I say. “Plus, it’s about numbers. We have to hope few people have grouped up. The three of us should be able to scare off solo prisoners.”
“Scare off?” Mad asks.
I ignore her, not wanting to encourage a conversation about killing others. “We just have to avoid any groups.”
Harriet deftly turns the knife over in her hand. Maybe I was wrong. “Until what?”
“Until we figure out what to do?” I say, irritated, because although she’s got a point I don’t want to have to say out loud what we will have to do because this isn’t about waiting out a time; just like with the first cull the deadline is redundant unless we’ve reduced enough numbers down. “Tell me about Selene,” I say to keep our minds occupied whilst we wait.
“Yes please,” Mad interjects. She takes back the knife and sits down, cross-legged, with her weapon in her lap.
“She was in an apartment in the Upperlands as if she’d always lived there. Regular clothes. Nice decor from what I could see. It was obviously her because she looked so much like Selma it was uncanny. But here’s the strange part. She said her mother was dead.”
Mad groans. “This means nothing to me.”
“Quick catch up: Selene is Selma’s daughter. I helped her into the Upperlands but we had no idea if she survived. The two never got on. Harriet, did she say Selma was dead as if she believed it or just wished it that way? Or thought she might have died in the cull?” There are many possibilities for Selene saying that. The girl I knew hated her mother but so much has changed since they saw one another last. I know that Selene never made it back to her house during the cull because Selma was left to be Rehoused alone despite waiting all night for her. I’m still taking in the knowledge that Selene is alive.
“She believed Selma was dead. She categorically was an Upperlander, Theia. Not like I was, in a promoted sense. She looked like she’d always been there. But Selene looked frail, nervous of her own shadow. And there was a man, her boyfriend, I guess. A few years older.”
This is weird. How did Selene integrate herself into the Upperlands? And a boyfriend? “Describe him.”
“Tall. Handsome. He had a slight drawl to his voice. He arrived as we were talking in the doorway and seemed annoyed that she had opened the door to me. I only found her because I overheard a doctor talking about a Selene Keele.”
“That’s not her surname.”
“I know. But it’s all bizarre isn’t it?”
“Unless she used an alias to pretend she hadn’t escaped from the Middlelands and link her to Selma?” Mad suggests, not wanting to be left out.
“Doesn’t explain the man though.”
I scratch my eyebrow, then stop, as something triggers in my head, about someone so unimportant that I haven’t given him any thought for a long time. “You said he had a drawl.”
“Yeah. Patronising. He said something like, ‘What are you doing here, little lady?’”
A shiver shoots down my body as I place him. As the memories of the man come back to me I feel sick to the core. I’m aware that even though he met Selene a year ago the connection makes no sense. He’s the reason Selma has been kept apart from her daughter.
The strangest part is what else the man means to me because, I’m unsure whether it’s coincidental or not but, he’s also the reason I have to find Ruskin.
Selene
My eyes crack open but I’m groggier than if I had just woken up naturally. I take in where I am: sitting upright in the living room. My ears kick into gear and I hear two men talking in a conjoined room. My head hurts but I remember what happened. Nathaniel knocked me out. I bolt upright, my limbs tense, ready to run, but nothing happens. Why? I’m trapped. My arms are tied together behind me and my legs are strapped to the chair. I’m a prisoner, but without even the freedom to move around that I had before.
I look down and my view is filled with white. I’m in a wedding dress. I feel sick.
Not just sick from my circumstances or through the terror of not knowing what’s in store, but something inside my body doesn’t feel right.
“No,” I croak, as I realise what it is.
It’s the same sensation I had after I swallowed the medication for the past year. Nathaniel has drugged me whilst I was passed out. My head feels lighter, my body weaker. I can already sense myself forgetting parts of the past. I hold onto my mother’s face. “I’m Selene Gould.” I know that if the medication takes hold I’ll lose myself.
Without my fingers to aid me, I begin to dry heave, forcing myself to try and empty the contents of my stomach for the second time today. It may be too late but I have to try.
Fortunately, I manage to cough up a bit of white mucus and I turn to the side to spit out whatever I can. I guess it is instinct to keep it from my clothes as hardly any lands on the wedding dress, not that I care. The bad news is that this triggers a chain
reaction in my stomach and I feel the pill rise through my throat but gets lodged. I start to choke.
I try to call for help but I can’t make a noise because my airway is clogged.
Time slows down as I feel my head turn blue and I am starved of oxygen. I tell myself that at least I’ll be free as I surrender to the lack of air.
No. The voice inside my head that I heard last year and this morning returns once more, as it always does at my lowest moments. Don’t give up, it says. You’re not ready to die.
Besides, I have to find my mother.
Selma Gould. Her face is clear as day to me. I remember her. The medication hasn’t worked.
I’m not ready to die. I won’t give up.
I shift backwards and forwards, only slightly at first, tilting the chair until it starts to sway and the legs connect with the floor, not enough to tip me, but each time a bit more powerful until the wood makes a smacking sound.
My movement is loud enough to gain Nathaniel’s attention and I see him turn into the room to check on me from the kitchen. He freezes at the sight but another person, an older man, pushes past him without any delay and moves behind me. I recognise him, the only other person I met in the Upperlands during my time here. Doctor Graft. He’s been supplying Nathaniel with my doping pills. Why?
I feel my hands being loosened and then freed, and Doctor Graft tips my head backwards and grapples with whatever is stuck in my throat, slaps me on the back and I can breathe again. I pant, feeling the life return to my veins, and shake the sensation back into my arms.
I have to think fast or they’ll just supply me with more medication but they still keep an eye on me. I bend over and cover my head with my arms. “Why are you doing this?”
“It’s alright princess.” Nathaniel moves in front of me and leans down. “You’ll feel better soon. Another pill?”
“It’s not a good idea. You’re pushing her body as it is. She’ll choke if she has to swallow anything else. She needs to rest first.”
“We don’t have time for that. We have to leave soon.”
“I have just the thing.” Doctor Graft leaves the two of us alone.
I lower my arms and lift my head up, just slightly, careful not to move it too quickly, fearing I will give myself away. “I will never marry you.” I hold still as I feel a strand of hair loosen and brush against my ear. Has he noticed?
“But we love each other,” Nathaniel replies, as he stands up. “I’m sure you’ll change your mind.” He kisses me on the forehead, and I spit at him but he skips back and avoids it. Nathaniel goes to say something but stops and just bobs his head, before tying my arms back to the chair and then joining the doctor in the kitchen.
A larger strand of hair slips loose and falls over my face but I was undetected. I turn my attention towards the object in my hand, careful not to drop it. I don’t have long and have to work fast.
Ruskin
I tear the sheet lengthways into three strips and tie them together, with the last one hooked around Erica’s waist. She doesn’t resist but I can see her quiver as she dreads what we’re about to attempt. We’re standing on the bed that I have pushed up to the wall so I’m at head-height with the window. We don’t have a lot of length to work with but I hoist her up to the window and she peers outside.
“It’s too far,” she says, as she looks down.
I know she’s correct but any thinner and I worry that the chain of sheets won’t hold. Maybe it’s enough to get her halfway and she can safely loosen herself and jump the final part. I don’t even know what she’d find outside but it must be safer than in here and at least I can tell myself that I’ve helped her, even if I’m not sure what that looks like after she’s out of my sight.
“You should head to the boat and find a way onboard.”
“I want to stay with you. Or we can go together?”
“I can’t fit. Darren might come back at any moment and there’s no way we can protect ourselves against him. I’ve got you, I promise. Here.”
I hand her the iron bar, sad to part with it but wanting to give her every chance of defending herself against whatever she may encounter. Her hand is slippery from sweat and she’s clinging onto the sheet. I worry that she’ll not be able to grip the bar so I fix it between her waist and the sheet until it holds firm. “Just in case you need to use it,” I say, which doesn’t fill her with much confidence.
She leans forward and I see the knots tighten in on themselves. She’s apprehensive to let go from the window ledge and gives me a look that suggests I should change my mind. I don’t. She turns around and starts to lower her feet outside and climb down. I see her look down.
“It’s too far.”
“How about to the next window?”
“They’re barred.”
Of course they are. This room was an anomaly. Even if she could get in I’d be worried about what she’d find.
“Keep going. You’re doing great.”
Erica lowers herself more and then I notice the sheets grind against the brick, tearing at the fabric. The friction is going to cut her loose and she’d plummet, so I put my hand where the corner is and allow the cloth to rub over my knuckles. She’s not heavy and I can support her but I know we’re already over halfway done with the makeshift rope.
I look over to the other bed with the dead body on top of another sheet. It’s bloodstained but might contain enough length in total to help her down to the ground.
Suddenly I feel the sheet tug.
“Pull me up,” Erica screams. I push my head through the crack in the window and look down. Hands have reached through the bars in the cell beneath us and are grabbing at her legs. Erica’s shaking them off but there are several pairs of arms around her, pulling her towards them, stronger than her, grappling all over her body.
I pull with all my might but can’t fight the arms.
“Use the bar,” I shout at her.
I watch as she struggles to let go of the rope but manages to get one hand around the bar, pull it out from the sheet and swing it at the arms. She’s too weak to fight them off for any length of time but the arms pull back in automatic defence, which gives me a chance to hoist her up and out of their reach. I lean away, using my body weight to give me leverage but this means I can’t see what’s going on. My muscles burn as I reel her back. The sheet begins to tear under the strain.
Erica continues to scream. I keep lifting until her hand reaches over the edge and I help her scramble in.
“I’m sorry,” she says.
“It’s my fault. It was a stupid plan.” I guess she’s my problem for longer. We’ll have to move fast before Darren returns.
“No, Ruskin. I’m sorry. I dropped the bar.”
Theia
“You know him?” Harriet asks.
“I think so. He was patrolling our street the night of the cull. He killed Ruskin’s brother.”
“The boy you’re trying to find? This is epic,” Mad says. “I have to say, I really do love you two. So let me get this straight. We have to find the brother of a man that was killed, and we have to find the mother of a girl that was, what kidnapped? And the perpetrator is the same guy?”
I raise my eyebrows in disbelief even though that’s exactly how it is.
“He’s not the doctor that stole your sister?”
“No.” My heart sinks at the mention of Leda. There’s too much going on for me to focus on any one thing. But Selene is alive and that fills me with hope that Selma could be reunited with her, which is what she’s dreamt of for a whole year, although how likely this is going to be is slim. Focus on finding Selma first, I tell myself, because trying to aim for too much will quash my spirits.
“I am tremendously glad I didn’t kill you,” Mad says. “And there’s some excellent news.”
“What’s that?”
“This Selma lady. When she finds out her daughter is alive, she’s going to be a killing machine in here. I cannot wait to grace her presence. I th
ink we’re going to be best friends.”
Mad is a loose cannon. She’s starting to pace the room, getting more frantic. It’s a horrible realisation but the longer we’re caged up in here the more likely she’s going to want to exert her violence on us. I don’t want to be involved in more deaths but I can’t control what Mad does. Like a caged beast thirsty for the hunt, I can’t keep her locked up for much longer when I’m at the end of the leash.
I check my watch. Twenty minutes have passed out of the thirty that I allowed for Selma and Melissa to come to us.
“It’s time,” I lie.
Mad doesn’t argue. Instead she unknots the tie across the door handle and throws the strap to Harriet. “There you go,” she says, and holds the knife up. “This is mine and that is yours. Theia, I’m afraid we’re all out. Ready?”
I look at the sink and then the bed frame, the mattress, the bars over the window. There really isn’t anything I can dismantle or carry easily. Despite the barren room, I drag the bed towards the sink, lift one of the metal legs up with all of my strength and let it drop onto the porcelain. It bounces off. I try again and the sink chips.
A third time and a chunk breaks away. It’s sharp and I’m not sure what I’d do with the rock but slip it into my pocket anyway. Only then do I see the other two watching me. It reminds me of how much I ran around trying to save my family whilst they waited passively. I’m nothing if not resourceful.
“Ready,” I say.
Selene
A few minutes later, they reappear. It’s not quite long enough. I stare at the two of them defiantly, willing them to keep in front of me, not wanting to reveal anything, especially not a panicked expression until I see the syringe in Doctor Graft’s hand, which causes me to instinctively shudder.
“It’s alright, princess. Just something to help mellow you through the next few hours.”
“Mellow? This’ll knock her out cold. She’ll wake up on the Utopia.”