Clover

by Lisa Jade

  CHAPTER THREE

  I wake up drenched to the bone. It’s rained in the night – and not just a late summer shower. It’s the type of heavy, torrential rain that hammers on the rooftops and bounces off the floor. It must have been falling sideways last night, because it hasn’t just fallen on Nel. I lift my thin pillow and squeeze it, grimacing as rainwater streams out.

  The other girls sit up too, their beds and blankets sodden and stinking. A few complain loudly, but most just heave a sigh and start shaking out their belongings. It happens often enough that we’re used to it – though apparently, not often enough for the Guards to do anything about it. As we hang our bedding up to dry, I know it’ll probably be fine by the time we return tonight. If it’s anything like last time, the whole bunker will smell like mildew for a few days, but that’s all.

  Nel pouts and throws her blanket to the floor. Her bed always gets soaked the most, so I toss a spare blanket her way.

  “Did you manage to get any sleep at all?” I ask. She rubs the blanket over her face.

  “Of course I did. At this point I could sleep in a thunderstorm.”

  I smile.

  “Well, at least we’re clean. No ice shower this week.”

  She licks her thumb and rubs at my cheek. I cringe a little, but she just shoots me a motherly look.

  “What? You had dirt on you.”

  I wipe the spot with the back of my hand.

  “I always have dirt on me. I live on a farm.”

  She pokes her tongue out at me.

  I turn away and start tugging my clothes on. The usual – jeans, grey vest, and my grey hooded jacket. I pull it on, half wishing it had longer sleeves. The ones I have barely reach my elbows and flap around as I move, letting the cold air in. I shudder, but none of my other clothes are dry enough to wear.

  For a brief moment, I attempt to create some kind of order in my hair. You’d think it would be easy enough to maintain, but it seems to never lie flat. I rake my finger through it like I’m tying it back, but it’s too short. Come to think of it, I don’t think I ever cut it to this length. It just doesn’t grow. I settle for pushing it behind my ears.

  I glance back; Nel is still trying desperately to dry off some clothes before heading out.

  “Need help?”

  She shakes her head.

  “Nah, I’m fine. I’ll only be a minute. You go ahead.”

  The rain has stopped by the time we reach the crop field. That’s a small relief, but it’s been raining for hours and the ground has turned into mud under our feet. One girl takes a particularly large step, sinks into the muck and loses her boot – much to the entertainment of the people around her.

  “Here.”

  I turn to see Kane reaching up to his shoulder in the hole, pulling out the girl’s shoe. It’s caked in mud but she pulls it back on regardless. She blushes a little as she meets his eyes.

  “Oh. Thank you.”

  He gives her a thumbs up, spots me and jogs over.

  “Morning.”

  “That was pretty nice of you,” I tease, “You like her or something?”

  “Never seen her before. Don’t even know her name.”

  “Then why did you do that?”

  He shrugs.

  “Someone needed to.”

  He turns his head, clearly looking out for something. I don’t ask what. It’s none of my business. But as we take our places in the field, he keeps catching my eye. His body shudders with something akin to excitement and I start to feel uneasy. He’s been so doing so well lately. I don’t want that to change.

  A few hours later, Wirrow calls for volunteers to take some loaded carts back to the storage unit. Instantly Kane’s hand goes up, and a second later I feel him grab my hand and lift it, too.

  “We’ll do it!”

  I wrench my hand from his grip and glare.

  “What was that for?”

  “Trust me.”

  I stare the cart down. I really don’t want to do this. But there’s no point in fighting it, so I put myself in front of the cart, where the horse used to go back when we had horses, and lift. It’s surprisingly heavy and takes a couple of adjustments to steady my grip. Kane stands at his own cart, a smug look on his face.

  “Take them back to storage,” says Wirrow, “then get back here. If you don’t come back soon, I’ll send a Hoverbot after you.”

  I nod; I’ve done this job before. Even if I hadn’t, the thought of those strange, drone-like contraptions following us is enough to make me uneasy. I sneak a sideways glance at Kane. He stands calm, the weight held firmly in his grip as he waits for me to move.

  Like he has a plan.

  It’s at least a twenty minute walk back to the Mill from here. Not too bad until you consider the strain on our backs. I stare at the back of Kane’s head as we walk, my eyes narrowing. What does he want? What could possibly happen on the half-mile of empty road? And what, out of all that, could he possibly need me for?

  An idea presents itself and I push it aside. He might be a kid, but he’s not stupid. It wouldn’t be something ridiculous like a love confession. He knows better than that and besides, he’s just a child.

  But then he stops dead, and I promptly collide with the back of his cart.

  “H-hey!” I snap, rubbing at my nose. He waits for a moment, surveying the area with caution, then lowers the cart. He’s walking toward me now, a strange expression on his face.

  “What are you...”

  But it’s too late. He’s already here. He’s too close for comfort – so close that our noses almost touch and I can smell his breath.

  “I need to give you some advice.”

  I shuffle back in a desperate attempt to generate some space between us.

  “Is that advice anything remotely to do with ‘personal space’?”

  He shakes his head, his expression deadly serious.

  “Noah. Do what I do.”

  My heart hammers in my chest. I shake off the feeling of growing dread and try to seem nonchalant.

  “Why? What are you going to do?”

  “I can’t tell you.”

  I raise an eyebrow.

  “So I have to do what you do, without knowing what you’re going to do or why? Gotcha.”

  He shuffles uncomfortably at that, and I can tell he doesn’t want to tell me. There’s no point, anyway. I’m not going to do anything except my damn job.

  “Just... you’ll know it when I do it. Please. This is important. Do what I do.”

  I stare him down.

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  I sigh heavily.

  “The fact you’re doing this on an empty road means that you don’t want anyone else to know. That you’re not telling me means that you don’t even trust me to know. That tells me you’re about to do something stupid. I’m not about to do something stupid, kid. Especially without knowing what it is.”

  He stamps his foot, sending up a small cloud of dust from the now-dry road.

  “I’m serious. I need you on my side.”

  “Well, I’m not. And if you have any sense of self-preservation whatsoever, you’ll rethink this little plan of yours.”

  Suddenly, I don’t want to speak to him anymore. He’s just dropped in my estimations. I’d thought he was growing up, learning. But he’s still just a reckless, hormone-fuelled teenager.

  I push past him and keep walking.

  We don’t speak a word as we unload the carts. I dare to glance at him just once; but he stares ahead, biting his lip. He’s not even paying attention to the movement of his own hands. A part of me wants to reach out to him. To reassure him that what I’m doing, I’m doing out of friendship. But I can’t. Anger stirs in my chest. I can’t bring myself to show such kindness to someone who’s prepared to do something blatantly stupid.

  I don’t say anything else once we’ve returned to the field, and I keep my head low as I grab a shovel and start to dig in my part of the new seedin
g line. He digs silently beside me. I can feel his eyes on me while we work and every so often his lips part a little, as though he’s desperate to speak to me. I ignore him.

  I can’t really explain why I’m so mad. Nel would say it’s because I care, but something about that doesn’t sit right. I don’t especially care about the kid. Besides, I don’t even know what his moronic plan is yet. I expect it’ll involve trying to steal something he wants, or perhaps creeping about at night. Maybe it’ll involve a daring ‘escape’ plan – all of which will end with him doing double shifts, time in the Mines, or God forbid, on the receiving end of a nasty memory injection.

  “Oi.”

  Wirrow walks over, his stern gaze fixed on Kane. The kid’s just standing there, shovel dumped on the ground, a moody expression on his face. I resist the urge to roll my eyes. He’s sulking, all because I didn’t entertain his little idea.

  Wirrow takes a step forward, fingering the shock baton in his belt.

  “I remember you. Little weakling, right? Been here how long - two months?”

  Kane doesn’t reply. He just stares hard into the distance, like he’s trying to focus on some minor detail on the horizon. Wirrow steps even closer.

  “Brat. I’m talking to you.”

  Still no reply – but I suddenly notice Kane’s hands clenching and then unfurling. The motion is slow and steady, like he’s building up to something. My heart sinks.

  “You trying to be smart?” demands Wirrow, his fury skyrocketing, “or are you playing dumb? Get back to work!”

  Kane turns his head, and his eyes find me. He doesn’t move. His expression barely changes, but his eyes seem to plead with me. I know without words what he’s asking.

  Join me.

  Suddenly his fist balls up and – before I have time to react – he throws his whole weight into a punch aimed squarely at Wirrow’s jaw.

  I jump back, more from surprise than fear. The punch itself is unspectacular, the obvious result of a scrawny teen hitting a guy who’s easily twice his size. He swings again, but this time his knuckles graze air as Wirrow easily steps aside. With one swift movement, the Guard throws his body weight through his elbow and into Kane’s ribcage. It floors him in a second and he rolls in the mud, the wind knocked out of him entirely.

  The whole conflict lasts about ten seconds.

  There’s a brief moment where we all stand motionless. Wirrow glares down at Kane on the ground. I stare blankly at the both of them. Everyone else is frozen, clearly horrified. Kane rolls onto his stomach and stares at me, wide-eyed.

  Pleading.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  My gut clenches, and I consider what would happen if I helped him now. My eyes trace the lines of Wirrow’s body. If I throw myself at him just right, I can probably pin him for a good ten seconds. I’d likely get a few shots in at his ribs or maybe even wind him. But the final result would be the same. I’d be pinned by him or one of the other Guards nearby, and we’d both be thrown into the mines for life – standard punishment for such blatant insubordination. The memory flashes by of dark tunnels and pain all over and for a moment I can’t breathe.

  I stare Kane down for a moment, then take a pointed step back. I can see the sense of betrayal in his eyes. It almost physically hurts, but I know I’ve made the right choice.

  Then the moment is gone. Kane is dragged to his feet and held by two Guards. He fights furiously against them, kicking, biting, scratching. Doesn’t he know it’s useless? The other workers start to shift away, unnerved by what they’ve seen. Wirrow pulls himself up to full height and marches over, grabbing Kane’s face in his hand.

  “I should have known you’d be one to snap. Ever since that first day, you’ve been too weak.”

  He spits the last word, and both Kane and I wince.

  “What do you have to say for yourself?”

  Wirrow squeezes his fingers, pinching Kane’s chin hard enough to make his eyes water. But Kane doesn’t respond with words – instead, he wriggles his lips and spits hard into the older man’s eye.

  The response is immediate. The Guards throw him to the ground and he curls into himself, desperate to block some of their blows. Wirrow wipes the spit from his eye and scowls.

  Panic flits through me. I stare at the kid sprawled on the ground. I wish I could find the strength to form words. What was he thinking?

  They haul him to his feet and Wirrow takes a shot at his nose. There’s an audible crunch as the bone breaks. I cringe; it looks like he might pass out, and I can feel my hands shaking. A part of me wants to run forward and prise them off him. I want to tell them to stop, to explain everything and scold him and try to reason with them. But I’m rooted to the ground by fear, my blood running ice cold.

  “To the Mines.”

  Wirrow leans towards him now, so close that I can no longer hear Kane’s shallow breathing.

  “Say goodbye to the sun, kid.”

  Kane’s face is an image of neutrality. There’s no anger in his eyes, no grief. No regret for what he just did. He stares blankly ahead, totally oblivious to Wirrow’s taunts. They pull at his shoulders but he strains towards me. I step back, unsure of what he might do. Hatred is coming from him in waves.

  “Noah,” he tells me, “you are going to regret this. Believe me. One day, you’ll wish you joined me.”

  I stare at him. His youthful face is now covered in cuts and bruises, his body beaten and broken. The Guards drag him away in the direction of the mines, and we maintain eye contact until he’s gone from my sight.

  Then, silence.

  My stomach swirls. Why would he do that? I thought I had finally got through to him. A large hand reaches around my shoulder. I gaze up into Wirrow’s beady eyes. They’re narrowing at me, suspicion playing on his face.

  But then he smiles.

  “Well now. Noah, was it? I’m sorry you had to see that.”

  I nod.

  “But it’s what has to be done,” he continues, “You know that.”

  Another nod.

  “We can’t allow dissention here.”

  “No, Sir.”

  “But it seems to me like he was up to something. And not just that - seems to me he believed that you were part of it. Any idea why he would think that?”

  I can feel my body shaking all over.

  “No.”

  He leans down close to me, until I can feel his breath on my face. He stinks of sweat and booze and especially strong cigarettes.

  “Are you sure? He didn’t tell you anything?”

  My lower lip trembles. Why bother lying? He’s already been punished.

  “He told me… he told me to join. But he didn’t say what with, what he was going to do, or why. I swear I had no idea.”

  He hesitates, but then he seems to decide I’m telling the truth.

  “Alright. If you’re sure, then you wouldn’t mind if I carry out a small precaution, would you?”

  I close my eyes and try to think of the mines as a pleasant memory. It doesn’t work.

  “No, Sir. Go right ahead.”

  He pushes me through the office door and I stumble, catching myself on the wooden doorframe. I look around. I’ve seen the tiny building out by the fence before, but haven’t ever given any thought to what it was like inside. It’s cramped and dirty-looking, but warmer than I would have thought. Desks and bulletin boards line the walls, and the far corner is crammed with large blocks of computer-like contraptions. I can’t even imagine what most of it does.

  “Rian,” says Wirrow, “got a guest here for you.”

  Suddenly, I notice another Guard on a nearby chair. He’s wearing the familiar black uniform, but he seems somehow different from the others. He’s younger, smaller. He has a pointed face and dark hair, and as I watch he puts on a pair of round spectacles and looks me up and down.

  “Oh, great, another one. What did this one kick off about? A broken nail?”

  I cringe. From the way he’s talking, I feel about three inches
tall.

  “Actually, she’s not done anything. Yet. But one of the newbies just had a tantrum in the fields, and she seemed to be in on it.”

  Rian grimaces.

  “So, a stint in the Mines, you think?”

  My reaction is instant. My heart pounds in my chest and my eyes fill with tears. I can’t imagine anything worse. Wipe my memory for all I care – just don’t throw me into the Mines.

  “Nah. I need you to give her a job that keeps her out of the way for a few weeks. Something menial and far away from her usual workmates.”

  I heave an audible sigh of relief. Rian raises an eyebrow, but he doesn’t say anything. He watches me with a strange curiosity. Perhaps it’s because I’ve never been brought in here before. He can tell I’m no newbie – which probably makes me look even more suspicious.

  “Sure, I’ll find something for her. But maybe you should go and see to yourself, Wirrow. Your left side looks a bit red.”

  I glance over. He’s right. It’s only very slight, but I can see where Kane hit him. The area is pink and slightly swollen, and there’s a tiny graze where his fist connected. A small rush of something akin to pride rushes through me, but it’s quickly replaced by worry.

  What are they going to make me do? If not the Mine, then maybe the Power Plant? Shovelling their hard-earned coal into a furnace is physically exhausting. From what I hear, it often involves overnight stays to make sure the fires stay red-hot. Perhaps they’ll have me carrying stuff, loading up the massive trucks that come to collect supplies for Thorne, or working at the Dock filling up the cargo ships. That last one doesn’t sound so bad, actually. I’ve never been beyond the chain-link fence; the ocean might be a nice change of pace.

  Rian sits down, takes off his glasses, and starts to clean them on his uniform. He seems unusually calm for someone who’s now alone with a supposed troublemaker. I stand uneasily, shifting my weight from one foot to the other and tugging at the bottom of my jacket.

  “Ah, sorry.”

  He waves a hand at the empty seat. For a moment I’m unsure of the command, but then he waves again and I sit. I’ve never sat in something like this before. It’s part metal, part cloth, and it seems to rotate under my weight. There are bits holding up my back and even things to the sides, which I assume are for tying peoples’ wrists to. I opt to keep my hands folded in my lap.