Shield

by Rachael Craw

  “I don’t know,” Jamie says, leaning drunkenly for the bowl of fruit, his shoulder brushing down my arm in a tingling sweep. He sits up, wobbling slightly, and stares cross-eyed at the grape before slipping it in his mouth. He groans a little as he chews. “Wow … that’s good.”

  I can’t take my eyes off his mouth, marvelling at the symmetry of his full lower lip until I realise I’m hungry too. Really. Hungry. I reach for the largest, reddest strawberry in the bowl.

  “Is this real?” I lick it and the skin is sweet. When I bite into it the juice floods my mouth and I moan because it tastes heavenly and it’s just not enough. I mow through four more, juice spilling down my fingers.

  Jamie watches me, transfixed, then he gently takes my juice-stained hand in his. My full attention shifts from the fruit bowl to his eyes, inky pupils expanding in deep wells, the lamplight dividing his face, gold and shadow. He licks the juice from my fingers, sucks it from the back of my hand, his mouth so warm and tender my head swims. “Is this real?” I ask again.

  He flicks his tongue over the inside of my wrist. “What if it is?”

  “What if it isn’t?”

  He stops and lifts his head. “What if it isn’t?”

  “Jamie …” The look on his face takes air from my lungs. I reach with trembling fingers to graze his cheek, gentle over the stain of bruising. He closes his eyes and I wet my lips. With a whisper-light touch, I trace his jaw, his neck and shoulders, relearning his musculature, the shape of his bones beneath his skin. It’s not enough.

  “Take off your shirt.”

  His eyes spring open, dark and full of knowing. His breathing quickens and he doesn’t delay. I help him pull the fabric over his head, a whimper at the spectacle of his body, the increase in heat. It’s not enough.

  “Help me.” I pull at the hem of my tank top and his hands are already there, the soft upwards brush of cotton and warm air on my skin. Jamie blinks, his lips parted like he might speak but the words have caught in his throat.

  It’s not enough.

  Slowly, I bring my body to his … atoms and cells and electric pulses. As we finally meet, skin to skin … a shared sigh. He lets me ease him back into the V of the sofa and our legs twine together. I slide my fingers up into his hair as he strokes my back and the swell of my hips. Our sweet breath mingles. We gaze fuzzily at each other and his wide, warm hands tighten on my waist. He brings his mouth to my ear and murmurs, “Everton,” his voice husky with longing …

  Our signals hum home, safe, mine … like nothing bad can happen … nothing bad …

  A crash and the doors burst open. Jamie and I struggle up and gawp stupidly over the back of the couch, our bodies still tangled. Ethan, Davis and Lane spill into the room. Ethan’s rage falters and he sways like he’s been hit by an invisible wave. Davis and Lane stagger against each other. Davis squints like he’s trying to clear his vision then his eyes fix on me.

  “Get her out,” Ethan barks, a hand to his head as he makes for the sideboard.

  Davis stalks towards us and Jamie’s arms lock around me. “Don’t you bloody well try it, mate.”

  I grab my shirt and cover my bra.

  “Break it up.” Davis weaves like a drunk around the couch. “She’s coming with me.”

  “I am not.”

  “Boss says you are.” He fumbles, trying to hook me beneath the arms, copping a handful of my left boob.

  “Whoa!”

  “Shit. Sorry. I wasn’t–”

  Jamie grunts, swinging his fist like it’s almost too heavy to lift. Davis ducks, loses his balance and collapses onto me, his weight driving me into Jamie’s chest, pinning him to the couch. The immediate clash of signals erupts inside my head. The hard press of male bodies, aggression and arousal, confronting, heady. I buck to get free.

  A string of German cursing behind us. “It needs a code.”

  Jamie reaches around me, grabbing Davis. Davis chokes and gasps for air against the back of my neck, slapping at Jamie’s wrists.

  “Hey!” Lane stumbles against the couch, adding more weight to the crush as he leans over the writhing hump of our bodies to pry Jamie’s fingers from Davis’s throat. Jamie jerks beneath me. Lane cries out. Jamie grunts, his body straining with effort, a brief crush of weight into my spine then release and a crash. I manage to turn my head and there’s Lane lying in the remains of the glass coffee table, the perfume of splattered fruit rising from the mess.

  Davis finally scrambles off me. Jamie heaves up, performing a drunken acrobatic flip that lands him in front of me, the angel on his broad back now my only view. I fumble my tank top over my head. Panting, he stretches his arms out towards Davis and Lane. “Touch her again and I’ll–”

  “Scheisse,” Ethan mutters.

  A crash.

  I twist behind Jamie, trying to see.

  Ethan drives his boot into the wreckage of the monitors scattered on the floor. An electronic pulse moves through the room and it’s like a heavy blanket lifts from the atmosphere. Davis hauls Lane to his feet. They seem to have full control of their balance and faculties. Jamie doesn’t move or lower his arms. I stare around me, confused to find myself relocated in time and space. What just happened? Where are we? A hotel?

  Footsteps in the corridor and Juno Thurston strides in. “What is going on?”

  “Knox set the amplifier to maximum,” Ethan says.

  Juno shakes her head, taking in the carnage, finding me in the middle of it. “They heard crashing down in the Nexus. People are asking questions. I notified you, Ethan, so you could handle this discreetly – now everyone is talking. They saw these two with Knox. They know what’s up here.”

  Ethan swears under his breath. “Can you escort Evangeline to the lower barracks? Lock it down.”

  “Lock it down?”

  “If Knox has confirmed his suspicions he will come for her.”

  “Come for me?” I croak, finally finding my voice.

  “You need to go now, Evangeline.” Ethan steps towards the couch and reaches for me. Jamie reacts in a chaotic lunge, catching the edge of Ethan’s jaw. Ethan reacts so fast his body blurs, flipping Jamie and driving him into the concrete floor. Ethan’s knee punches air from Jamie’s stomach and he pins him by the throat. “You know who I am, Jamie,” he says, low and rough. He grabs Jamie’s jaw and turns his face. “You know.”

  DARKNESS

  The elevator to the lower barracks is smaller than the tank-sized ones that come from the transport bay. This one is more like a hospital elevator, room for a bed and a wheelchair. With only two of us riding in its belly you wouldn’t expect it to feel so claustrophobic, but I find myself holding my breath and counting as we descend. The shaft rumbles. Juno Thurston says nothing.

  My slowness and disorientation is only beginning to ease. My brain feels like it’s been attacked with an eraser. I stumble on fragments of memory, surprised by each one, struggling to piece things together in rising panic. I know I was in a fight this morning – that’s why my face aches and the little finger on my right hand is strapped and bandaged. But what happened just now? My body feels … I blush and steal a glance at Counsellor Thurston. Jamie’s hands have been all over me. How on earth did we get so …?

  Knox.

  His face lights up like a strobe in my head then a rush of new fragments. The Director of Residence. The frogmarch to the control room. Knox’s memory of his brother. The honeymoon suite. Syringes and bliss and strawberries and Jamie’s mouth and a bandwidth throbbing with intent. I scrabble behind my ear and tear the gauze sensor from my skin. It doesn’t blink.

  “You’re out of range,” Juno says. “They won’t pick it up this deep.”

  I drop it on the floor and it disappears through the grating. “He drugged us … he wanted us to …”

  “Knox is so far over the line he doesn’t know where he is any more.” She purses her lips. “You need to tread carefully. The loss of the Proxy, the embarrassment of it in the sight of the World C
ouncil … they censored him for incompetence. He blames Ethan. He blames you.”

  “So this was payback?”

  “That rather oversimplifies almost two decades’ worth of grievances and ideological differences. Ethan was part of the Reform that Robert vehemently opposed. He’s outraged the World Council would allow Ethan to spearhead the Initiative in the light of recent events. And you can imagine how Knox feels about curing Strays. He’ll take any chance he gets to undermine the Initiative – to undermine Ethan – and he won’t hesitate to use you to do it.” She gives me a narrow look. “What did he say to you?”

  “I don’t remember. He smiled a lot and droned on and on in this cheerful voice. I couldn’t take any of it in.” I shake my head and rub my face but bending my arm hurts the tender skin on the inside of my elbow. I run my fingers over the needle tracks. A storm of panic howls into my mind and I clamp my hands to my forehead. “Oh … oh my – Ethan’s in trouble.”

  Juno frowns and the rumbling elevator slows. “The affiliation equipment can be replaced.”

  “No. Knox took my blood.” No, no, no! I have no idea where Juno’s loyalties lie, no idea what she’d do with the information. I shut my mouth.

  “Counsellor Tesla can take care of himself.”

  It doesn’t strike me as the right reply. Shouldn’t she demand to know what I mean? Or does Knox taking my blood not surprise her? Does she already know about Ethan and me? Before I can think of what to say the elevator shudders to a halt and the doors slide open. I have to stop myself from gasping for air or letting panic suffocate me altogether. How deep must we be below ground? I can’t stay down here. I have to warn Ethan.

  Worse still the corridor is narrow, low ceilinged, and the ancient fluorescent lights buzz and flicker, making me duck. I follow Counsellor Thurston to the only opening at the end, my mind in chaos. It’s as dark as a mine shaft ahead. No light in the room beyond. She pauses at the threshold and feels along the wall. A click, a delay, a soft but weighty boom in the ceiling and the lights crackle on. “Counsellor Thurston … listen–”

  “I suggest you rest and let the drug wear off. Your memories will return.” She gestures into the long, narrow room before stalking back up the corridor. “You’ll be safe here.”

  I follow on her heels, my throat boa-constrictor tight. I force air through my larynx, not even ashamed of the break in my voice. “Please, I – I need to talk to Ethan – Counsellor Tesla. Sorry. I can’t explain but it’s urgent.”

  She doesn’t respond. We’re back at the elevator and she steps in, swivelling, unmoved, to face me. “There’s nothing you can do about Knox and nothing you can do to help Counsellor Tesla.”

  The doors begin to close. I jam my arm in the gap, shaking, panting. “Please – please … you can’t just leave me. Down here. Alone.”

  Juno presses the button and the shaft rumbles. “Face your demons, Evangeline. No one else will do it for you.”

  Stung, I pull back, catching a parting glimpse of her face before the doors close, her calcualting eyes lit from within. “Wait,” I choke, leaving a moist handprint on the cold steel. The sound of the elevator rising rumbles through the walls. I stab at the old-school button panel and the tiny digital readout lights up ACCESS DENIED. I consider trying to wrench the doors open but I can’t hope to pull it off one-handed and my broken pinky throbs.

  The lights blink out with a fizzle, plunging the corridor into darkness, leaving only cold grey light in the room at the end. I hurry towards it like I’m being chased but the open room is little comfort. It’s rectangular with enough space for narrow beds against the walls, six either side to my left. The wall at that end opens on a glimpse of dimly lit utilitarian bathroom. Directly before me is a metal table with bench seats like the ones in the mess hall, a small open kitchen beyond it. The far wall to the right has heavily studded metal doors. I gravitate towards the doors on trembling legs, hoping for another escape route or a larger space than this low-ceilinged barracks and its musty air. Awkward with my damaged hand, I try my best to push, pull and wrench them open; nothing happens. There’s no electronic access panel. Stumped, I can’t think past my internal chaos for a logical solution.

  My heart trips, sweat makes my tank top stick to my body, my breathing gets shallow, my peripheral vision collects stars. A panic attack? Claustrophobia? It’s in my head, that’s all. Nothing can really hurt me. There’s more room here than there was in my tiny dorm cell. Tonnes more room. It’s nuts to lose it now. But the dorm room was easily six floors above me, six floors nearer the surface. The sky. Air. Down here, there’s nothing. An oubliette.

  I sink to the floor, my back against the metal doors, an icy trickle of air breaching the gap beneath. It must be another way out. My ears are singing now, reaching quickly for the blinding pitch that shatters glass and my panic whines upwards with the crescendo. If I blow the light bulbs I’ll be in total darkness. I clamp my hands over my ears and press my forehead to my knees. Calm down. You’re safe. Ethan will come. But thinking of Ethan makes everything worse. Knox has my blood. The key to all my secrets. Ethan’s secrets. I picture a small girl lowered into the Isolation Tank, a vertical tube of thick glass filled with saline. She slips beneath the surface, her hair fanning in a pale halo as she floats, eyes open, mouth slack. I imagine the rush of fluid into her immobilised body, the terrible burn of suffocation as her organs fight for air. It could have been me. It might be yet.

  The ringing reaches a peak and the long fluorescent tube above me sings with it. I sob and the glass pops. I cover my head, the ceiling raining hot splinters. I think of April, my first mom, but missing her winches the knot in my chest. I think of Miriam, lost in stasis. Aiden, bleeding out on the floor. Jamie, his urgent touch. Ethan …

  The next fluorescent cracks its skin, a pause and the tinkling of glass on concrete. Suffocating darkness. Only the faint grey light from the bathroom at the far end remains. I press myself back against the metal doors, forcing myself to draw long breaths in through my nose and out through my mouth, my head between my knees.

  Dizziness makes cut-outs in my vision. I curl on my side and the cold leeches up into my bones. Let it cool the fire in my spine, douse the pins and needles. I close my eyes as though I can fool myself into thinking I’m choosing darkness, going to sleep, not hiding from panic. Not trying to save my only remaining source of light.

  Replace the lies with the truth – that’s what they say on the psych ward – when you’re feeling overwhelmed or out of control. Trouble is, I’ve never been very good at it. How could I be when the so-called lies are cold hard facts? My brother is dead because of me – my weakness, my susceptibility. The Proxy couldn’t have used Benjamin without usurping my signal. That’s the truth. Miriam is in stasis because of me. If I’d stayed out of it instead of trying to rescue Aiden, Knox would have had no excuse to torture her for information. That’s the truth.

  So what lie is undoing me here?

  There isn’t one.

  I’m afraid because I’m a coward. I’m panicked because I’m weak. I’ve ruined lives and I’m terrified of living with the consequences: being alone. Truly alone. No mother. No brother. No father who can claim me. No love I have a right to. I am alone. And Knox will find out what I am – my blood will tell him – and I’ll get what I deserve.

  That’s the truth.

  My whole body shakes with it.

  That’s the truth.

  My eyes stream tears with it.

  That’s the truth.

  TRUTH

  I stay like this for long minutes, maybe a half-hour, reciting my silent mantra. Eventually, the words become meaningless syllables in my head, a cycling pattern to blend with the rhythm of my outwards breath. Each exhale a release, a slow unknotting in my chest. Then, fraction by fraction, the shaking eases, the ringing in my ears recedes, the valve closes on my tears. I decide to sit up. The panic stays down. Still hugging my knees, I try spooling my breath in long ribbons, in then out, in then
out.

  Enough. Like pulling down heavy steel shutters, I make a choice. “That’s enough.”

  I wipe my face and blow through my lips, stretching my legs out before me. Ignoring the ache in my ribs, the stiffness in my joints, I haul myself to my feet. Glass falls from my sleeves and hair as I shake it out, catching nicks in my fingers. I look around, taking in the shadows, the low ceiling, the pale light in the bathroom. My vision adjusts. You can’t stop Knox. You can’t warn Ethan. You can’t undo what’s been done. So, deal with what’s in front of you.

  A tall cupboard sits at the end of the kitchen unit. I crunch my way to it. There’s a broom. With methodical sweeps I work my way back and forth across the room forming little white mounds of glass dust, collecting the evidence of my meltdown. I find a brush and pan under the kitchen sink and a trash can by the grill to clear away the mess. No one has to know. I take a deep breath and turn my attention back to the metal doors.

  Latches hold the bottom hinges; I missed them in my initial panic. They’re rusted but each one gives with a screech. I pull the doors open, heavy and reluctant unoiled steel, and breathe a gust of cold stale air. Something about the ambient sound gives me the impression of vast space. It’s pitch dark. I step into the room and my hands bump a rail, the clang echoes outwards, reinforcing the sense of swooping space.

  I grip the rail to steady myself. “Hello?” The sound expands and echoes. “Hello!” A boom that makes me flinch as it reverberates.

  Feeling the wall for switches, I hit a protruding metal box on the left. There’s a lever. I hold my breath then yank it down. A rattle and hum from the box, a flicker of light above me then a blinding brightness as floodlights crackle overhead.

  I’m standing on a viewing platform overlooking a gym. Not quite as big as the one back on level six and nowhere near as modern. In fact, it has a vintage vibe. There are canvas-sewn medicine balls and equipment down on the floor that look like they’ve been left out and no one has bothered to tidy up. There’s a dusty tumbling mat, climbing frames that reach all the way up to the ceiling almost thirty feet above me. Climbing ropes dangle down. A box-shaped room.