by P. S. Lurie
I’ll never learn this woman’s name or her story before she drops to her knees, leaving a man standing behind her. “Who’s next?”
“Back in the room,” Harriet says.
“No,” I shout over her. “We’ll be trapped. Run.”
1 P.M. – 2 P.M.
Ruskin
“Ruskin?”
Jack sounds weary but he recognises my voice and reaches an arm out to me.
“It’s me. You’re ok. You’re ok,” I say twice, once to him and then once reassuringly to me. He’s battered and bruised and I don’t know for sure that he’s not injured beyond repair but it could have been far worse if I had found him even a second later. All my attention is on Jack and I don’t pay any notice to the others in the room or who is coming for us. Right now, focusing on Jack is all that matters. What did I say in the field a few hours ago? One step at a time. Being back in the cell definitely helps with that.
I imagine the day Jack and I should have had. Our imaginary celebration. Counting a year’s worth of scratches on the wall. Wondering if food would be delivered. Going to sleep as hopeless as ever but with the same security as every other night. We’ve been given a chance but there’s so much to get through first.
One step at a time.
I rub my fingers over Jack’s scalp, brushing the hair back and forth to check for wounds and he winces as I brush past where the guard hit him. His crown is matted with blood but it has already dried and scabbed over. Nothing as severe as the boy in the other cell. Apart from the bruises to his abdomen, he should be alright.
“I heard the announcement. You came back for me.”
“Of course.” I kiss his forehead.
“I’m sorry kid,” the man says.
I ignore him, angry that he hurt Jack but also irritated that he’s witness to this moment. But he does remind me that there’s immediate danger. I turn to Erica. “Who did you see?”
“I don’t know. At least four people coming up the stairs. Not Darren.” She looks confused. “You said we were hiding.”
“I’m sorry. I had to find Jack.”
“I had no idea,” the man says.
I turn to him. “No idea about what?”
“That he was important to you.”
“We’re all important to someone,” I reply, but from his expression I realise I’m wrong because so many people lost everyone a year ago and they’ve been left to waste away. Considering Jason’s death and losing my parents this morning, if it wasn’t for Jack then I’d be alone. Still, I’m angry that we’re fighting one another, our vengeance turned inwards rather to the people who have allowed this. “What’s your name?”
“Marcus.”
“Well, Marcus. This is Jack. You almost killed him. He was defenceless.” I stand up tall and, even without the bar, feel my fists tense as I think of Jack being punched.
“Stop,” Jack groans. “No more violence or you’ll be as bad as him.”
His pacifism is meant well but if only it was as simple as walking away because there will be people who will kill us without a second thought. If we want to survive longer then we will have to resort to violence. I look at the boy who’s about my age on the floor. More violence.
“I think they’ve gone,” Erica says, looking under the doorway.
“Good. Marcus, how’s your friend?”
“He’s not my friend.” Marcus bends down to check on the boy. “Out cold but still breathing.”
I should feel guilty that I almost killed him but I don’t because he was trying to kill Jack. “You two moved around picking off individuals.”
“Don’t play high and mighty with me kid.” Marcus lurches forwards and I jolt, then I lash out with my fists, but he steps back, avoiding my reach, and smiles condescendingly. “You’re no better than me.”
He’s right. I want to live so I will have to play this sadistic game. The only way to be better than him is to refuse and wait to die but it’s out of the question now. I don’t have to reply but I do. “Maybe not.”
“Do we stay in here?” Erica asks.
It’s the best plan in terms of waiting for more people to fight around the prison but Jack could do with something to clean his wounds. “We need to find medical supplies. Jack, do you think you can walk?” I look at the state of him; it’s wishful thinking to think he’s mobile.
“Yes,” he says anyway. He tries to sit up but groans again and barely has the energy to argue his case. “I just need... one... minute.”
I think about the building. We were never let out of our cell so there might not be common areas for prisoners but the guards must have had facilities. There must at least be places where they prepared food and kept clothes and bed sheets. I rack my brains to work out the layout of the prison, thinking about any clues I’ve encountered so far. Erica said she ran upstairs to find me and we’ve only seen men on this floor and the one below. Then there’s the ground level with the exit. Six floors, that’s what the elevator said. No, that’s not right. The elevator came from B, whatever that is.
“The basement.”
“Huh?” Marcus asks.
I don’t know for sure but it would make sense. “That’s where we need to go. Erica?”
She nods in approval, and I suspect she’ll go along with whatever I decide.
I direct my stare at Marcus. “You have to help me get Jack down there.”
“I think I’ll pass but thanks.”
I check my watch. “You have two hours to keep fighting. Or you can come with us. Jack deserves it. You can make up for all the death you’ve caused so far.”
“What about my friend?”
“He’s your friend now?”
“I use the term loosely.”
“Unless he comes to in the next few minutes we leave him. We can’t carry more people. What do you say?”
“Me, you, an unconscious kid and a child? Sounds like I’m signing my death warrant.”
“Help us get to the basement and then you can leave any time. If you help me we forget what you did to Jack.”
Marcus sighs. “You remind me of someone. I’m sorry about him. It wasn’t personal.”
I don’t know who he’s referring to and I’m no longer sure if he’s talking about Jack or not.
Jack grabs my arm. “It’s dangerous. People will try to kill us.”
“I won’t let that happen to you.” I think back to being dragged out of the cell this morning, taken to some unknown room and agreeing to let my parents die, and now have managed to find my way back to him. I’ve worked too hard to lose Jack now, even if he is right that people will try to kill us. “But I need to tell you something. I’m so sorry Jack but your mother is dead. I’m sorry. I won’t let that happen to you,” I repeat.
Theia
I watch in horror as everyone turns and runs, sensibly, in the other direction, except for Mad who either misunderstands my instruction or doesn’t want to miss her opportunity for a fight. Instead, she rushes towards the man who just killed someone in front of us. I found Selma and Harriet and all I need to do now is find Ruskin; I owe Mad nothing but, despite my better judgement, I make a rash decision and sprint after her, not wanting to leave her to fight this man alone. The others will wait when they realise we’re not behind them. I guess violence came to me quicker than last year, and this time around I embrace it head on.
Mad screams as she dives at the killer, taking the opportunity to catch him weaponless before he can pull the metal leg out of the dead woman. She leaps over the body and hits him but he’s strong and doesn’t budge, so they grapple. I go for his legs to try and take him down, and watch on as Mad brushes the knife against his neck but his wrist stops her and the edge slides across with little impact. I manage to punch him in his stomach and go for a second hit but he kicks me back.
“Hey,” Mad says on noticing me, too nonchalantly for a fight that will see one or more of us dead. “You want to do the honours?”
She swipes her eyes
towards my pocket. The chunk of porcelain. I reach for it. I’m going to kill him.
The thought stops me in my tracks. In a flash, my mind rewinds to last year when I fought my father, which I never believed I could do. He was trying to suffocate Leda and I had no choice but to end his life. Fortunately, my grandfather intervened. Unless Mad stabs him I don’t have that luxury.
“I’ll kill you and then your friends.”
Mad manages to bite his arm and he yells.
“Bitch.” He shakes her off and punches her. He sweeps a fist in my direction but I manage to duck and head-butt him in the stomach. I don’t have to kill him. I just need to...
Shove him. I force him backwards into the cell but he pushes back and I trip over myself. Mad throws her hand out and catches his ankle with the knife, this time cutting into his skin, and his leg gives out under him.
I pull myself off the floor and drag the door shut, with the man inside. “Help me,” I say to Mad, my hands clutched around the handle, as I can feel his strength overpower mine. “Take over.”
“Let’s kill him.”
“No.”
She concedes to my plan and grabs the handle. I go for the porcelain but notice something disconcerting. Mad’s sleeve has rolled up her arm and I see scars on her forearm. She notices this too and pulls the sleeve down, and then lets the door go slack for a moment.
“I want to kill him Theia.”
“Fight me you cowards,” the man shouts from behind the door.
“He’s too strong,” I say, convincing Mad to pull the door once more. I take the porcelain and hold it against the keypad. “If this doesn’t work then we’ll have to kill him.”
“Fingers crossed.”
I slam the chunk of sink into the keypad three times until sparks fly outwards and the electronics short circuit. A mechanism kicks in and I hear the bolt lock into place.
Gasping for breath, I grab Mad’s shoulders and pull her away from the door. We can hear the man trying to get out but he’s trapped.
“You fucking bitches.”
Mad may be disappointed but I’m relieved; we might not have to kill anyone now that I know this trick, although it means I’m locking people away and leaving them to drown; if they have to die one way or another then wouldn’t a quicker death be kinder? I don’t know if I have the strength to fight more. I hear the man screaming at us, telling us we’re cowards. He will drown in a matter of hours. I can’t worry about that for now; I’ll just add it to my ever-growing list of sins and process it later.
“You ok?” I ask Mad.
“Peachy. You?”
“Yeah.” I rub my hip, which took a beating. “Let’s find the others.” We rush down the corridor the way Selma, Melissa and Harriet ran, to the sound of the man yelling, his promises of killing us quickly turning to cries of despair that we’ve left him to drown.
Selene
The market is dark and smells putrid. Around me are empty stalls, which a few hours earlier contained clothes and fish, and all I focus on is the family in front of me. The girl can’t be older than four or five. Her face is so clear even in the lowlight but I can’t make out her parents’ faces except for the expressions of fear, as if that’s all that my mind can recount of them. Four or five years old; she’s not allowed to be Rehoused. The family fled their home and I’ve disturbed their hiding spot.
Worse.
A light shines on us as I learnt that I’ve led someone dangerous towards them. The man removes his helmet. It’s... not who I imagined it would be. It’s Nathaniel. “Six to one, princess,” he says, as he aims a gun at me. I look down at the gun I’m holding, turned in the direction of the child, with my finger on the trigger.
“Time’s up,” Nathaniel says, as he fires and the echo of the gunshot around the corrugated shed deafens me, the blast of light blinds me and I feel my stomach explode...
I wake up and look around. “No,” I scream out as I realise where I am, and there’s no prolonged adjusting to coming out of my collapse because I need to escape Nathaniel’s apartment. I sit up, ready to run. The family gave me up and Nathaniel has captured me once more. My body must be exhausted from the adrenaline come-down and whatever medication he has been feeding me.
Wait, I tell myself. The door is on the wrong side of the room. The room has been packed up, except for the furniture that I don’t recognise. The apartment is in reverse, a mirror image of Nathaniel’s bedroom.
I slide my legs off the bed and stand up. I walk through the apartment that is built the other way around and find I’m alone. The front door has been closed and I guess the family didn’t give me up but left for the Utopia after I passed out; better for them to ignore drama that might hinder their chances to board the ship.
“Hello?” I call all the same, just to check, but there’s no reply.
I return to the bedroom to change out of the wedding dress that not only disgusts me but has hindered my strides, but all the clothes have been taken. I cuss this in my head and then enter the kitchen; the layout so familiar yet backwards and things are not where I expect them to be. I locate the cutlery and crockery in different drawers to where Nathaniel kept them and grab a leftover knife.
I stab the wedding dress on the right side, just below my thigh and drag the blade downwards through the material, until I have made a slit large enough to give it some leeway. The woman in the boutique would be horrified but I couldn’t care less; if I can’t get out of the dress then I will make it easier to run in because that’s where I’ve come undone so far.
I drink some water from the tap, finally removing the taste of vomit and quenching my parched throat. I catch my distorted reflection in the tap and then go to the bathroom to look in a mirror. I am dishevelled, my hair has fallen out of place, the dress is stained in parts, and there’s a slight welt on the side of my face. I smile, remembering the girl I used to be, rather than the vulnerable weakling I’ve been for the past year. For the first time in forever I genuinely like how I look.
I need to get to the prison. That means leaving this building but I have no idea where Nathaniel is. There’s a clock in the living room and tells me it’s past one o’clock in the afternoon, which gives me only a few hours and I’m not sure it’s enough. I can’t dither because I not only have to find the prison, but also rescue my mother and Theia and then find a way onto the Utopia. I remember the great cull – no, just a cull, I correct myself, there’s nothing great about it – and how I was too late to save Henry and gave up on Theia and her siblings. Once I realised we could escape on a boat I ran so fast from the sea but was still too late and turned my back on Theia. This time I won’t fail her.
The recurring vision of swimming is no longer confused in my mind: I really was in the sea last year, floating, when I brushed against dead bodies. Whatever Nathaniel and his father did to me, a part of my mind wasn’t lost; the memory was there all the time, waiting for me to reclaim it.
I keep hold of the knife in case Nathaniel is waiting and move to the front door. I step out into the corridor, half hoping Nathaniel has left me alone and half hoping he hasn’t.
Ruskin
We’re a pitiful group. Marcus, Jack, Erica and I don’t stand a chance if we come face to face with anyone else so our best bet is to move as fast as we can to the elevator and ride down to the basement, hoping no one stands in our way. But I’m fed up of hoping because that’s all I seem to do. I count the number of wrongdoings I have encountered today – Jack being attacked, learning about Jason, my parents being killed, hearing about Jack’s mother’s death, and then being told we have to kill one another – and the fortunes that have come my way – being returned to the prison, finding Jack alive – and know that hope is not all I have left because it is up to me to make my own fortune; I have perseverance and determination rather than just hope. Hope was lost a year ago when the Upperlanders started this chain of events and was replaced with the fight for survival.
Marcus and the boy we left be
hind killed off a string of prisoners in this corner of the building so the place is devoid of life but that doesn’t mean anyone won’t be lurking or accidentally come across us. I have no idea how many of us are left in total but it’s wishful thinking to imagine there are fewer than ten; until the prison doors are unlocked it will be impossible to know. Even if there are fewer than ten, I am disturbed by the depravity of having to fight the remaining prisoners even though there would be no need.
I sneak a look at Marcus just out of my field of vision. I’m in front holding the bar, with Erica behind me, and then there’s Marcus, supporting Jack single-handedly with their arms around one another’s necks. Jack is trying to walk but his feet give up and drag underneath him every few steps. So far, there’s no one and the elevator is in sight.
I remember what Marcus said: I remind him of someone. I guess that since no family was allowed to live on except for a few of us, and look what happened to mine, it’s likely he means a loved one. I wonder how the person died and what part Marcus played in it. It’s hard to feel continued anger towards anyone in the same predicament as me but I can’t extend sympathy to everyone in here because they’re all still a threat.
We reach the elevator but, before I hit the button, I watch as the numbers on the digital screen go up. Two. Three. Four. Five...
...I brace myself...
It passes us and stops at Seven. There’s a floor above us but I didn’t see a button for it. Odd.
“We can’t risk it,” I say, because I don’t know if someone has just stepped out or called it and will be travelling down, not that I imagine the stairs are any safer. Jack splutters; he needs medication. We can’t hide and I have to believe that there will be something in the basement for him.