Clover

by Lisa Jade

  I glance back at the gate, wondering if maybe they’d be willing to give me a bottle or two to get me across the moors, but it’s sealed tight. Any Guards have wandered away, their attention drawn by more important matters. I briefly consider rapping my fists on the chain-link fence to get their attention, but the move seems too bold. So instead I turn away, my eyes focussed on the horizon, and start to walk.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The sun begins to set much sooner than I’d have expected, and a part of me wonders if I should stop to rest. But I hear something in the distance, a steady thumping, and suddenly the idea of being out here alone in the dark makes my heart hammer in my chest. The rational part of me knows that the thumping is probably just one of the Factories, or something back at the Dock. Maybe it’s one of the Oil Rigs in the distance. There are places like that everywhere. I laugh at my own paranoia. What am I thinking? It’s a noise – not a monster.

  Something roars, louder than before, and I jump. It takes several minutes before I find the strength to move again.

  The sun has well and truly set now. I can just about see the road ahead of me, a dark shadow in a mass of other dark shadows. The cart clanks and thuds with each step and I find a strange kind of comfort in the sound, the way it pierces the near silence. I try to time my feet to the noises, my left foot timed with the cart and my right with the thudding in the distance. It’s mind-numbingly boring, but it keeps me moving.

  I barely register when the sun finally begins to rise. I feel like I’ve barely moved, though I’ve been walking for hours. I’m suddenly grateful for the height of summer – the nights are mercifully short and not too cold. I glance back. The gate is long out of sight, but nothing seems to have changed ahead of me. I slow to a stop, and the moment I do I realise it’s a mistake. Forcing myself on, and detaching from my body was the only thing keeping me going. Now I’ve stopped, the exhaustion catches up with me. My legs burn, the muscles screaming. I move to wipe the sweat from my face and am surprised by how little comes away. My mouth is just as dry, my throat sore and burning.

  Maybe this is the ultimate punishment. Lost in the middle of nowhere, my body stalling and whining at me to rest. Knowing that if I do, it’ll only delay the inevitable.

  Perhaps the Mines would have been better. For all my fear of the dark, there’s something equally awful about this; being somewhere infinitely large that shows no sign of ending no matter how much I walk.

  I try to steady my breathing and lean heavily against the cart. Maybe this was intentional. It didn’t make any sense for the Guard to send me away as a punishment. But sending me out here to die is a good way of making sure I never cause trouble.

  Then, a sound.

  A different sound from before. Not the steady thump-thump of the Factories, or the sound of the wind growling over the ground. No, this sound is familiar. Recognisable.

  I rip free from the cart and dive into the road, staring wildly at the road behind me. It’s an engine. An engine!

  Eventually, it arrives. A heavy grey truck pulling an open trailer behind it, and a dull-faced man behind the wheel. I wave desperately and it slows to a stop. The man leans his head out of the window, cocks his hat and stares.

  “Wow. What the heck are you doing out here?”

  I point at the cart, gasping for air. Relief and exhaustion compound in my head, making my limbs feel heavy and my tongue feel thick in my mouth.

  “I have... a delivery.”

  “Did you walk all this way?”

  I gulp hard and nod.

  “That’s ridiculous,” he gasps, “The Guards at the gate never seem to arrange transport anymore. They keep sending folks out into the wilderness with nothing. Can’t tell you how many bodies I’ve seen on the side of the road.”

  “H-how far is it to Thorne?”

  His head falls back and he laughs.

  “A week, if you’re walking. Only a few hours in the truck though. Hop in, I’ll give you a ride.”

  Today must be my lucky day.

  The man – who tells me his name is Eagen – helps me load the cart into the back of his truck. Despite my shaking limbs I try my best to help out, but I’m half-asleep and probably not much use.

  The moment I’m seated in the cab, he hands me a bottle of water.

  “Reckon you need this. It’s stupid how long you’ve been out here.”

  I take it gratefully and gulp it down. It’s warm and stale, but I couldn’t care less. I save a little and splash it on my face and neck, washing away the dust. It’s a few minutes of silence before I’m finally able to speak again.

  “Thank you. I didn’t know what I was going to do.”

  “Not your fault,” he says, running a hand over his thinning hair. He’s an older man, wizened but strong. He idly chews on an unlit cigarette, letting it stick out of the corner of his mouth. I don’t ask how he got hold of it.

  “What did you mean, the Guards haven’t been arranging transport?”

  “They’re meant to have a load of trucks on hand, just like this one.”

  He taps at the steering wheel, and I feel the vehicle shudder beneath us as we pull away. This truck looks different from the ones I’m used to – he drives with his feet and his hands, rather than by ordering the sleek computer on the dash. Maybe it’s an older model?

  “But they never use us,” he pushes on, “they can’t be bothered with any of the smaller deliveries. Anyway, you seem a little young to be out here alone. Where are you from?”

  “The Farm.”

  “That’ll explain it. You kids don’t last too long out here, though you made it further than most. Actually saw one of you out here last month, you know.”

  “You did?”

  His face falls.

  “Yeah. Poor kid, probably not much older than you. Nobody found him and he gave up the ghost halfway.”

  I feel a pang of sadness. That was probably the person who usually makes this delivery. No wonder Rian was so eager to replace him.

  “I was given a month to deliver this. Why would they say that if it’s only supposed to take a few days?”

  He shrugs.

  “Don’t know. But don’t question it. Just be happy. You’ll have time to see the sights.”

  I stare at my lap for a moment, then up at the road.

  “Have you ever been to the city?”

  “A few times. Gotta say, not my cup of tea.”

  “Why not?”

  “Us Mill workers do all the hard work for them. Everything’s given to them on a silver platter and most of them haven’t worked a day in their lives.”

  “Oh.”

  “At first glance, it’s amazing. But without any work to do, people go a little crazy.”

  I want to ask more, but at the same time I’m not sure I really want to know. I wring my hands together, watching the bend and flex of my fingers.

  “Thanks for telling me.”

  We drive for hours under a blaring hot sun. Initially he tries to make small talk with me, but inevitably we discover that neither of us are any good at it and fall silent. The heat and the comfort and the exhaustion in my body make my eyes feel heavy, and despite my best intentions, I start to drift off. Sleep doesn’t come easily. I can feel my fingers twitching and sweat dripping down the side of my face. I go through horrible phases of awareness and unconsciousness.

  “Noah?”

  Eagen snaps his fingers in front of my face and I bolt upright.

  “Did I fall asleep? I’m sorry!”

  He just laughs.

  “No worries. You were probably exhausted after that walk!”

  I start running my hands through my hair, wiping at my face, trying anything and everything to keep myself awake and looking somewhat presentable.

  “How long have I been asleep?”

  “Don’t know. Few hours. Didn’t want to wake you. You seemed so peaceful.”

  Peaceful? It sure didn’t feel peaceful. But I stretch my arms over my head and
smile anyway.

  “Thanks. I really needed it. But if you don’t mind me asking, why did you just wake me? We’re not in the city just yet.”

  His smile broadens.

  “Not exactly. Just thought you’d like to see this.”

  “See what?”

  “Look.”

  Thorne.

  It’s massive. As wide as the ocean and higher than I could have imagined. I can’t believe how tall the buildings are. They shine in the sunlight – it must be the glass I was told about. It’s miles and miles away, but even from here it looks formidable. Huge. Unending.

  Exciting.

  I put my palms on the windscreen and press my nose against the glass. I look at the city from end to end, drinking in every detail. Some of the taller buildings are darker. Some have massive blocks added to them, and others have walkways or stairs built between them. Blue screens light up every surface, visible even from here. Three skyscrapers catch my eye; they’re taller than any of the others and perfectly, flawlessly circular – like the city itself. I feel a shiver through my spine.

  “That’s amazing.”

  My voice comes out breathy, fogging up the glass. Eagen laughs.

  “You really haven’t been here, have you?”

  The closer we get, the higher and more towering the buildings seem to be. I shrink back from it; I hadn’t expected to be made to feel so small on this journey.

  “Now then,” he says, lowering his window, “When we get close, we’re going to need to unload your cart. See, I’m only able to take you as far as the first checkpoint. After that, since it’s a small delivery, you need to walk the rest of the way yourself. It’s only a couple of miles, mind.”

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  He pauses, one hand resting on the wheel.

  “Kid. Can I give you some advice?”

  “Sure.”

  “Best I’ve got,” he tells me, “is to keep your head down. Most folk are good enough people, but some are only out to hurt you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Just… stay out of the darker corners of the streets. Don’t talk to anyone strange. It’s no guarantee of safety, but you’ll thank me when you get out in one piece.”

  “You don’t make it sound very appealing.”

  “Maybe that’s misleading of me. It’s a great place. Colourful. Bright. So long as you watch your step, you’ll be just fine.”

  Eagen helps me unload the cart about half a mile from Thorne. Here, there are a series of smaller gates. They’re unmanned, which strikes me as odd, but it’s nice to not have to worry about it.

  I strap myself to the cart as Eagen climbs back into the cab. He doesn’t say a word as he starts up the engine, only raises a hand in farewell as he vanishes from my sight. I look at what’s left of the journey. I suppose I should just be grateful I didn’t have to walk all the way.

  My feet seem to find purchase more easily on the road leading up to the city. It changes here, from a dirt track to something black, made of many tiny stones stuck together with something shiny. A single blue line is painted down the centre of the road, splitting it cleanly. I imagine it’s so the trucks don’t collide, but I have no idea which side I’m supposed to be on, so I just walk in the middle. I can feel my heartbeat in my throat. It seems to pump harder and harder with each passing minute, and I can feel sweat dripping down the back of my neck. I’m not hot. I’m nervous. Every time I learn something new, it sets me on edge. Can I really do this?

  The moment I reach the gate, I find myself staring down a group of Guards. Five stocky men stand in a row in front of me, each clutching a strange device – I recognise them as shock batons, though they’re nothing like the clunky ones I’m used to.

  “Um…”

  “Name. Location. Task.”

  This time, I know what to do.

  “My name is Noah, I’ve been sent from the Farms to bring supplementary supplies.”

  “Who do you need to see?”

  “Um… Pan.”

  They exchange looks, and then one of them wanders off. I bite my lip and swallow hard. I hope Rian told this ‘Pan’ that I was coming. A Guard takes a step towards me, his eyebrows raised, his movement curious. It’s like he’s looking for something, searching my face for tell-tale signs of something much more extraordinary that I’m capable of.

  A few minutes later, the Guard returns. He waves down the others.

  “Confirmed,” he tells them, “Pan’s waiting for the delivery.”

  One of the Guards turns to me.

  “Do you know where you’re going?”

  I nod. No. I have no idea. But I want to get away from you, and soon.

  He signals someone overhead and finally, the gates begin to slide open. I stare straight ahead and try not to step back as the city is revealed to me.

  Of all the things I’d expected from Thorne, I hadn’t considered how loud it would be. I have no clue how that gate is able to keep it all in. It’s deafening. Motors and music and what sounds like the speech of a thousand people fills the air, making my ears hurt and my head pound.

  The second thing I notice is the colour. Growing up in the Mill means that I’ve only know certain colours – browns, blacks, greens. But here, there’s every colour I could imagine. Red banners fly overhead, as bold as the apples in the orchards back home. Blue and yellow Hoverbots trawl after people, beeping their assent at the orders they’re given. A surprising amount of people are adorned in nothing but pure, satin white.

  And there are so many people.

  I stand frozen. I can’t even see the road. There are so, so many people, and judging by the size of the city, this is only a tiny fraction. Panic courses through me – but a hand finds the small of my back and pushes me forward.

  “Come on, Millchild,” says the Guard, “you’re holding up the line.”

  I swallow hard, wanting to point out that there is no line, but it’s too late. The gates start to pull shut, and I’m forced to grab the cart tight and run at the gap between them before they close.

  I barely get through in time, and the gates shut behind me with an almighty clang.

  Wait. Did he call me a Millchild?

  I guess there’s a first time for everything.

  The streets themselves feel claustrophobic. Cramped and noisy and sweaty. I feel like the people who live here probably seek some kind of comfort from it, but not me. I’m terrified. People pass by as if I’m not even there. As I walk steadily down the road, most don’t even stop for the cart. They just stride past, talking to one another or to their Hoverbots.

  We have Hoverbots at the Mill, but they’re Guard equipment. Small, floating, blipping things that seem to obey all sorts of orders. They’re mostly for surveillance, from what I’ve seen – but the people here seem to use them like personal assistants, making them carry hot coffee on thin platforms or map out routes on strange, holographic screens.

  The buildings around me are like nothing I’ve ever seen. Most have no doors to speak of, huge glass windows and a seemingly endless number of floors. I crane my neck to look at the nearest building, but no matter how far back I lean, I still can’t see to the top.

  My knees shudder as I work my way through the streets. Every so often something soars overhead – I don’t know quite what it is, but it’s large and metal and roars as it goes by. I imagine it’s some kind of transport system, only somehow they’ve made it fly rather than roll along the ground. Very unlike the trundling ATVs we use back home.

  I pull out the scrap of paper that Rian gave me. It’s got a rough idea of where I need to go on it, so for now I just head in that direction. Every so often I consider stopping and asking for directions, but then I make eye contact with someone and lose my nerve.

  The people here look so different. At the Mill, everyone is fairly strong. We’re all burnt dark from the sun. We all wear the same shades of grey and russet brown. But here? Everyone is tall, slim, pale. They wear modest clothes in block co
lours, though white is by far the most common. Some women wear bizarre shoes that have spikes at the back, forcing them to walk on their toes. I can’t fathom why anyone would wear something like that. But every so often, someone breaks the pattern. They wear darker clothes, more revealing. They have jewellery in their nose or ears. They have brightly coloured hair that can’t possibly be natural, and what looks like pictures etched into their skin. Others eye them curiously, like they’re unsure what to think. And everyone stares at me like I’m an alien, a strange, short, dark creature they’ve never seen before.

  I suppose it makes sense. We have different priorities at the Mill. Any of these people – these fragile, paper-thin people – would snap under the pressure of a single day’s hard labour. Fashion and vanity simply isn’t a factor back home. You can be as beautiful as you like but that won’t help when you’re knee-deep in mud, trying to capture an escaped bull before it destroys two years’ worth of work.

  Still, it feels odd. Eagen warned me about the dark, told me not to catch anyone’s attention. But that’s easier said than done. While nobody dares approach me, their eyes linger as they pass. They watch me closely, tracing the way my arms and legs shift, how my muscles tense. I suppose I must seem pretty strange to them. I wonder if they’re even half as scared of me as I am of them. I tell myself they’re more scared. That they see me as a threat. Like a spider afraid of a bird.

  The streets are complicated. I had assumed it would be like the corn fields where, though you can’t see where you’re headed, there’s at least a clear sense of direction. But here – nothing. The buildings are too tall and look too similar, and when I look up I can’t even find the sun to follow. This is strange. I can feel it in every step, every breath. My little outburst on the boat has worked to ease my nerves, to distract me momentarily from the concern twisting in my gut, but now that worry has been replaced by an unusual sensation. Something akin to curiosity, intermingled with fear and resentment. I want to know everything about this place; but I also want to run away and never come back.