Clover

by Lisa Jade

  “Like where?” I urge. She looks closely at me now, suddenly suspicious.

  “I don’t know. Do I look like a Guard to you?”

  “No. Sorry.”

  “Listen, I don’t know how long you’ve been here – you don’t look like a newbie – but I’d try to stop this behaviour if I were you.”

  That sounds familiar. I meet her dull eyes, frightened of how much they remind me of my own.

  “I mean it,” she warns, “if you keep digging around and asking stuff, you’ll get a beating from the Guards. Just keep your head down and get on with it, okay? Quit asking questions.”

  At that, my heart sinks. Nothing’s changed for the people here, even though everything’s changed for me. They still don’t know what’s going on, and many don’t want to. I remember that day in the field, when I warned Kane against the same thing. Don’t fight back. Don’t stand up for yourself. And most definitely, most vitally, never ever ask questions.

  The room is quickly filled with the soft breathing of scores of Mill workers as they fall asleep around me. Some small voice tells me I should lie down too, that tomorrow will be a long and hard enough day without making myself tired. I fall back obediently, eyes fixed on the hole above me.

  But then my eyes are drawn to Nel’s empty bunk. Her scrap of a blanket is still screwed up like she always leaves it, only I can now see tiny specks of mildew showing through. With nobody around to air and hang it every day, her bunk is starting to rot away. The sadness wells in my throat. This was going to be the only good thing about coming back here. The only highlight to this horrible journey. I’d been looking forward to sitting together in the darkness, barely able to see by the light of the single bulb. I have so many stories I want to tell her – but now, I don’t even know where she is. She could be in the Plant, perhaps. There’s a chance they sent her to the Mines, but that’s less likely. The Mines are a punishment, not an allocation.

  Still. If I don’t know where she is, then the chance of finding her again are slim to none. Even when this is all over and people can move freely again, I probably won’t be able to hunt her down amongst the thousands of Mill kids from this section alone.

  The last time we saw one another was unremarkable. It had been the start of another day, nothing special. We’d waved goodbye as we’d headed in different directions; though at the time, we hadn’t known it would be a goodbye at all. It was more of a ‘see you later’.

  I reach out across the small space between our bunks, trying to imagine my hand clutching hers like it did before. When she was so upset and I couldn’t think of a thing to do to comfort her. At the time, all I’d been able to do was be present.

  I wish she could do that now.

  Daybreak comes far too quickly for my liking. The jolt that hits me as the bunker door flies open is unpleasant – somehow, I’d even romanticised that rude awakening. I groan as I sit up. My back hurts from the bunk and I’m freezing cold and damp to boot. I can only imagine the chafing I’ll deal with later.

  Still, there’s no point in whining. I lace up my work boots and throw on my grey hoodie, noting yet again that the sleeves are too short to keep out the chill. As I push my arms through, I check that Jensen’s remote transmitter is still securely hidden in my pocket. Everyone else piles out, and I find myself slipping into the masses. Nobody talks to me – and while I know that I should try to corner some of the more rebellious types to talk them round, I’m simply too fed up. Being back here is disheartening enough; but not seeing Nel makes it worse. I’m just going to work. Whatever happens today, I’ll just take it. No point fighting.

  I trudge towards the field and briefly, my mood brightens. Here’s one thing I hadn’t romanticised – the sun is rising over the rolling hills, bathing everything in soft golden light. It’s as lovely as I’d remembered. I pause to take in the sight, but a Guard walks by and pushes me back in line.

  “Back to work,” he sneers, turning his back. Hatred wells in my chest, but I push it aside. I have my priorities.

  I strap the seeding bag to my hip, lining up behind my line’s plough. I’m pleased I’m not the one pulling it. Years ago, we had oxen to do it for us. But then came an extra push from the city, an increased demand for meat. So we lost that, too. Now I realise that push was probably the result of a particularly lean Cull. More people, more problems. I wonder if Jay’s thought of a solution to that particular issue yet.

  As I walk, scattering the seeds into the soil, I try to make a mental list of everyone I could speak to. Jensen said he needed five minimum, right? There are tens of thousands of workers here – surely I can find just five willing to take a chance. But as I search the faces around me, I come up with nothing. I don’t know anyone.

  I’d been hoping that Nel would help me. She’s always so friendly with everyone, even the Guard. I’d been sure that she would know who to talk to. Without her around, I’m starting to realise just how little I actually interacted with the other workers. Even that lanky girl from the bunkers. She sleeps two bunks down from me and is easily my age or older, but I don’t know her name. Her face wasn’t even familiar to me.

  I can’t risk just approaching someone – if I get reported to the Guard, I’m done for. They won’t take kindly to a worker encouraging rebellion in their presence. If I want to find five people I can trust, then I need to talk to people. Sounds easy enough, right? But then I glance to either side. The workers are staring straight ahead. They don’t even notice as I stare at them each in turn; they’re all too focussed on what they’re doing.

  Suddenly, this task feels much bigger than before. It’s not as easy as getting five samples and breaking out. As much as I hate to say it, this might not be a ‘few weeks’ kind of job. I’m on my own here – no friends, no family, nobody else on my side.

  The thought physically hurts.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  It’s been three months.

  Sometimes, I can’t believe that’s true. But then I recall the sorrow felt with every new moon, the notches I’ve tirelessly carved into the sides of my leather boots. In a way, it feels like a day or two. In another way, it’s like I’ve never been gone. The days blend together in an unnerving way, so much that I risk losing track of time entirely. I never bothered to count the months before; I tracked the years by the seasons, and even then I didn’t count too closely. It had only been Nel and her constant commentary on the changing weather that kept me in check.

  She hasn’t come back yet. Neither have any of the others they took away, and though I’ve asked the question many more times, nobody knows exactly where they were taken. If I had even an inkling of where she was, I could try to get transferred, too. They let me visit the mines all those years ago. I’m a well behaved worker, for the most part.

  The work no longer means anything to me. It’s not hard anymore, not a struggle to get going, nor to do a good job. But any trace of satisfaction is long gone – there’s no pride in a hard day’s work. Not now that I know it’s all for nothing. Even the sight of the sun over the fields has long since failed to please me.

  My memories are fading. What happened in Thorne often feels like some kind of fever-dream, some particularly lucid hallucination I might have once had on a hot day. Sometimes, I go a whole week without thinking about them. The realisation’s usually followed up with sadness and anger, but there’s little I can do to ease it.

  More than once I’ve considered scanning my fingertip and begging with them to come get me. I’m sure they could find a way if they really tried. But when I think about it, I always change my mind. I haven’t failed yet – not technically. I’m still looking for people to help me. I now realise how much I’d underestimated this place. The people here aren’t just hard workers, motivated by a sense of daily satisfaction. They’ve been brainwashed and buckled, forced to only look ahead and never, ever question things. The few people I’ve spoken to about my device have seemed frightened, even angry at me for owning it; I’d though
t it would be easy to find someone who was willing to fight back, even if it’s only in the tiniest way. Apparently not.

  It’s a particularly dark evening when the sirens sound, telling us to leave the field. Good. I’ve been chopping wood all day and the muscles in my shoulders burn, and despite the floodlights, it’s getting hard to see more than an arm’s length away. Winter is getting closer; there’s a distinct chill in the air, and as people move around me I can hear leaves crunching underfoot. I shoot a bored glance at the sizeable stack of chopped wood next to me. I’ve done a good job. Very productive. Before, that would be enough reason to be cheery. Not now, though. Now, I scowl at the pile as though it’s to blame for all of my problems.

  Why did I ever agree to this? I’d urged Jay to trust me, but that wasn’t fair. I can’t do this alone. I’m constantly walking the edge between snapping and being found out – and the punishment for both is the same. A sharp jab in the back of my neck, and a forced ‘fresh start’.

  “Not bad.”

  Wirrow. He’s standing behind me in the now-empty field, smugness playing on his twisted face. As I turn to face him, I know my expression is grim. He doesn’t seem to notice.

  “You’ve been pretty productive since your trip to the city, ain’t ya?”

  “I suppose so.”

  I know I shouldn’t speak this way. Logic and experience warn me to stay on Wirrow’s good side. Though he may not be a high-ranking member of the Guard, he’s certainly one with a lot of sway. Thanks to the cruelty in his voice and his vicious reputation, he can practically steamroll anyone who disagrees with him.

  But he looks me up and down, regarding me with some modicum of interest.

  “You seem unhappy, girlie.”

  “Of course not, I love it here.”

  I strain to sound believable, but it doesn’t work. I just sound sarcastic.

  “Is this still because of your buddy? That bratty little kid?”

  Kane. Something clenches in my stomach, but I manage to straighten my body slowly; even though I’d much rather throw myself at the Guard’s throat.

  “What about him?”

  “He attacked me, you know. You were there. Trust me, I take no joy from throwing people into the Mines.”

  He says it – but just like me, he’s a terrible liar. There’s a twinkle of pleasure in his eyes right now. He just adores taunting me. It takes all I’ve got to respond calmly.

  “I know.”

  “You did well not to join in with that behaviour, girlie. I can’t say I like you, but you’re a hard worker. Noticed that before.”

  I don’t say anything to that; there’s nothing to say. He steps forward, and suddenly his hand is on my back. He’s so warm I can feel the heat from his fingers through the back of my shirt.

  “Um…”

  “Take it from me, kid. Keep working. Your attitude’s gone downhill lately, and if you step out of line I’ll have no choice but to beat you myself. But if you behave…”

  His hand sinks a little, grazing the base of my spine. I bite back a yelp.

  No. Don’t touch me.

  But I can’t say the words, and he leans in a little closer. His voice is barely more than a whisper.

  “Good behaviour gets you rewarded. Remember that.”

  I can’t breathe. My head is filled with the stink of his breath, all booze and gingivitis. My eyes are locked on his, that sharp, vicious gaze burning into mine. I swallow hard, my head swimming.

  “I-I’ll keep that in mind.”

  Wirrow departs soon after, tasking me with dragging the carts back to storage. It’s going to rain tonight, he says. Can’t have the wood getting wet.

  As he heads back I shudder all over, as though mimicking a dog might shake some of the grossness off me. We’re taught not to touch people, and his hand against my spine definitely felt wrong. Which is strange in itself; he wasn’t threatening me. He didn’t tell me anything I don’t already know. There’s no reason why I should feel so shaken.

  I dutifully stack the logs into the cart, but by the time I’m done the handles are soaked from the incoming rain. I whip off my hoodie to pat them dry, then toss it over the logs in hopes of keeping them somewhat protected from the rain. It’s not much, but maybe it’ll help a little.

  It’s practically night now. I’ve missed dinner altogether, but I no longer care. If my stomach grumbles, then the sound is well and truly lost in the thunder rumbling overhead. I blink hard a few times, unsure if the flashes are lightning or just my imagination. Could easily be either.

  There’s mud building up underfoot, turning the dirt tracks into a slalom. I clutch at the cart to hold myself upright, as even my heavy work boots can’t gather grip in the mess. I step into a particularly large puddle and promptly sink, slipping knee-deep into the muck. Fantastic.

  I remember that this happened before. Not to me, though; some random girl had lost her boot in the mud, and while those around her had found it funny, Kane had hurried over to help. He’d reached shoulder-deep into the mud to recover her boot – and he hadn’t even known who she was.

  It’d be nice to have him around now. Or Nel. Or someone. Anyone.

  But as I look up, casting a glum eye over the horizon, I see nobody. Sure, there are distant lights emitting from the Guard towers, the occasional Hoverbot on the perimeter, and a vague haze left over from the floodlights; but no people.

  I heave a long, pained sigh and reach down to pull my leg out.

  It takes a while to reach the storage unit, and by the time I’m done the Mill has fallen silent around me. Even the evening chatter of the Guards has died down, the only signs of life being the dull attentions of those on the towers. Even they seem to be dozing, though; as I strain my ears, desperate for a sign that something is happening, nothing reaches me.

  Finally. A snippet of privacy. Sure, it’s nothing compared to relaxing in Pan’s room or sleeping in the grass of the Atrium’s garden. There’s nothing particularly pleasing about stealing a moment to myself in this way, hunched and gasping in the darkness of the Mill’s storage.

  I settle onto a pile of boxes and sigh. Everything hurts. It’s not so bad when I’m moving around, but as I examine my hands in the dim light, I see scratches and scars that I’m certain weren’t there last week. I run a hand through my hair. Despite Pan’s best attempts to tame it, the new style makes little difference now. It’s a frazzled, chaotic mess. There are even little twigs knotted into it. A glance at my clothes reveal a half-dozen new stains and tears, the kind of which I’d never get away with under Pan’s watchful gaze. I know without looking that there’s dirt smeared across my cheek.

  Suddenly, misery wells in me.

  Why am I here? I’d been so sure of myself when I first came back. It had seemed so easy; two, three weeks max. Then I could go home. Instead, I’ve slipped back into my old life without any trouble. Those two weeks spent with the others simply weren’t enough to rewrite eleven years of instinct. My attempts at getting samples have not only failed, but nearly resulted in my capture. More than once I’ve had to lie to the Guards, acting as though my fellow workers were insane for their allegations. I don’t know what else to do.

  I think of the others. I promised Jay I’d only be a few weeks – but as I count on my fingers, I grimace. Thirteen weeks. I wonder if he’s worried about me yet. I scoff. Who am I kidding? He was worried before I even stepped foot outside the city boundaries. I’ve been gone too long.

  Some tiny, childish voice pipes up inside me. They’ve forgotten all about you, it says. You didn’t come through when they needed you, so why should they wait? You’re a forgotten relic to them now.

  Over the past weeks, I’ve grown accustomed to hearing that tiny voice. Though Jay asked me not to forget them, I’m painfully aware that they never promised to remember me. I haven’t even kept my promise – though I cling to whatever memories I have, the finer details are starting to slip away. I don’t know when the Cull is anymore, if it’s alrea
dy been or if it’s still to come. I’ve already forgotten the particular echo of the Atrium. The colour of Pan’s eyes has faded from my mind.

  But that doesn’t change anything. Because I may not remember the exact shade of green, but I remember that they’re pretty and clear and bright. I remember how they filled with tears and happiness and hope and pity. I remember how those eyes gleamed with trust as I’d strapped myself into the cart.

  I need to come up with a plan. I can’t let them down. They’re counting on me.

  A gentle breeze brushes through the storage unit, sending chills through me. I whip my hoodie off the cart and wrap it around myself, but the thin cloth does little to comfort me.

  My mind swirls with half-formed plans that make little to no sense. I could demand Rian’s help. He may have refused before, but maybe I can change his mind. But no. Each time I see him he walks by blindly, treating me like I’m not even there. I suppose he has to. He believes I’m working towards some ultimate plan. I could try to figure out where Nel was sent and go there, too. But nobody’s told me despite all the times I’ve asked, and I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve been warned not to mention it. If I push too far, I risk being reported by the more zealous among us.

  What else is there? I hit my palm to my head, once, twice, again, like I can knock some sense into myself and finally figure out how to get out of this mess.

  I could just give up. I’m alone now, and it’s a quiet night. I could slip over the fence and be gone before they notice. It would be easy. But that would mean returning to Thorne with my tail between my legs, and admitting to the others that not only could I not do it, but that they should never have placed their trust in me to begin with.

  No. I have to find a way to get those samples. Even if it takes eleven more years. I either return with that data, or I don’t return at all.

  A sudden flash of pain accompanies the stress as multiple thoughts compound in my head, each one screaming out for my immediate and unyielding attention. I hate this. I hate this place. I hate these people. Jay’s face flashes in the darkness, all faith and belief, and my hands curl into fists. I have to at least try, right?