by Lisa Jade
I consider that. When I think about how much dirt is caked onto my skin and clothes, it’s probably a good idea to do something about the cut. The pain’s faded a little now, reduced to a dull throb that aches when I move too much.
“Yeah. That sounds good.”
I fight to sit still as she wraps a length of unclean bandage around my side. She leans in close and I draw back – Mill workers don’t do this. It’s embedded in our minds from childhood that touching is bad, that contact is dangerous. But Sara seems blind to my discomfort as she reaches round me. I suppose that, to her, the teachings of the Mill have long since stopped mattering. She strikes me as someone who dances to the beat of her own drum, with little care for the ‘proper’ way of doing things.
When she’s done, I thank her and lean back against the wall. To my surprise, nobody’s asleep yet. Despite the exhaustion of the day and the heavy bags under everyone’s eyes, everyone’s laughing and talking. There’s a strange sense of energy in the air. Still, it does little to comfort me. I pull my knees up again, like it’ll somehow make me feel better. Perhaps it’s the feeling of being smaller that helps.
Sara eyes me curiously, those wild eyes looking me over.
“If you don’t mind me sayin’, you don’t look like the type we normally get down here.”
“That’s fine,” I mutter, “I’m not really the type to fight back.”
“You got shot at. Sounds like a fightin’ type to me. Wanna tell me about it?”
I watch her for a moment, chewing on my lip. If I still had the remote transmitter, this could be a perfect opportunity. Sara seems like the type who’d be willing to test it out, even just for the hell of it. But now? Nothing good can come from telling her. All it’ll do is risk the news reaching the Guards, and I can’t take that chance. I may be done for, but for whatever it’s worth, I need to protect the others.
I shake my head.
“Not yet. Sorry.”
“Nah, I get it. You ain’t ready. Wanna hear how I ended up here? Not a dramatic story, but it might be worth it just to get you laughin’.”
I watch her for a moment. Sara seems to be different from anyone else I’ve met, more similar to Pan or Jensen than anyone at the Mill. There’s a roughness about her – a readiness, like she’s prepared to get her hands dirty at a moment’s notice. She seems totally at ease around me, too. I should probably give her a chance. If I’m going to rot here anyway, I may as well try to find some company.
“Sure,” I smile, “I’d love to hear your story.”
As we nestle into our relative bunks, yanking the blankets as high as we can against the cold air, Sara glances my way.
“Are you sure you wanna hear this now? You seem tired. Don’t want you fallin’ asleep on me.”
“I want to hear it,” I say, surprised by my own eagerness, “if you want to tell me, that is.”
“Can’t say I ever get tired of tellin’ this story, if I’m honest. But I love a captive audience, me.”
I glance at the darkened cavern around us. In one corner someone’s passing out bread – but beyond that, nothing’s happening. A distant thud shudders through the ground, causing the gate to rattle and a clump of dirt to fall on my head.
“Well, you won’t get any more captive than this.”
Sara just smiles.
“Don’t you mind the thumpin’. We can’t get through rocks without using explosives, but they’ll be used deep in the tunnels. Right now we’re in the core, so there’s no chance of a cave in.”
I gulp.
“Do cave ins happen a lot?”
“Not so much, not anymore. See this?”
She flicks at something on her ear; a small, yellow tag with some kind of code etched into the plastic.
“What’s that?”
“Trackin’ tag. If we get lost in the tunnels, the Guards can find us. If there’s a cave in, we know exactly who’s been crushed and who’s still movin’ around on the other side. Not that there’s much we can do when that happens – if you’re stuck behind the rock, that’s curtains.”
I nod, hoping she doesn’t notice the beads of sweat suddenly breaking out across my forehead. The last time I was here, I was so focussed on the weight of the pick and the pull of the cart on my shoulders that I never even noticed the explosions. The thought makes me physically sick.
Sara seems to find it funny, though.
“Don’t worry so much! Explosions are controlled, we aren’t stupid. Besides, I’m in your group. I’ll make sure nothin’ happens to you!”
She seems so confident that for a moment, I forget that I’m the older of the two of us. I do feel a little childish as I rip into my little lump of bread and cower from the shuddering in the walls around me. So I flash a warm smile her way in some small attempt to recover my dignity.
“Tell me this story, then. I’m dying to hear it.”
She seems satisfied with that response and leans back, stretching her hands overhead with a sigh.
“First thing you need to know is that I’m a Plant worker. Or was, anyway. I loved it. It was actually kind of fun. The Guards always seemed a little less strict with us. The furnaces are tough, but where I was, it was less physical. More computers than shovels. And man, I love computers.”
I open my mouth to tell her about Jensen – but she shoots me a look and I draw it closed again. I probably shouldn’t tell her about Thorne. Not until I trust her a bit more.
“That doesn’t sound too bad,” I eventually say.
“It wasn’t. But one day, we had word from up top. City population’s boomin’, they said. More demand than ever on power. Suddenly we had more coal brought up, more of a push. At one point, the Guards told us to double our output.”
She looks me up and down, bemusement in her eyes.
“It’s pretty clear to me that you ain’t a power plant worker, so I’ll just tell you. Doublin’ the output is near impossible. So they started pushin’ us. Double time. Triple time. You know the drill. Eventually, they were pickin’ off the weakest of us and trying to convince them to work even more. Sometimes days at a time. It got to the point where people were droppin’ like flies.”
My chest tightens and she eyes me curiously, but I motion for her to continue.
“Anyway, I couldn’t deal with that. Workin’ is one thing, I don’t mind doin’ my fair share. But I’ll be damned if I’m gonna be treated like a second class citizen.”
“What did you do?” I ask, already dreading the answer.
“Just set some of the plant equipment off. Put some combustible material in places I shouldn’t have. Made sure it wasn’t traceable. I blew up one of the big pieces before anyone found out.”
I don’t mean to, but suddenly I’m laughing. I can’t shake the thought of the Guards scratching their heads at the debris, wondering what happened.
“So how did they figure out it was you?”
Suddenly, I really want to know this story’s outcome.
“They didn’t! I managed to cover my tracks pretty well – but when the Guards were demandin’ that someone step forward and confess, I slipped up. Started laughin’. To this day they can’t prove it was me who did it, but they threw me down here for insubordination!”
She joins me in laughing now, like her permanent incarceration is just some trivial inconvenience. But it’s not, and we both know it; when I think about the damage she caused that day, it’s almost physically painful.
Blowing up part of the Plant would mean less power. That in turn probably led to a bigger Cull – anything to pull the population down to a manageable level. She’ll never know it, but she played right into the hands of Maynard and the others. Momentarily I consider telling her, but then think better of it. She seems proud of herself; I don’t want to ruin that.
But then the laughter dies a little, and I can feel her gaze shifting as she looks me up and down.
“You sure you don’t want to talk about it?”
“I’m sur
e. Try me again tomorrow, though. You never know.”
As others settle into sleep around us, I stare up at the rocky, muddy ceiling.
It’s not as pretty as the stars, nor as meaningful as the riveted ceiling in Pan’s room – but it’s what I’ve got. I suppose I’d better get used to it.
I’m woken after what seems like only an hour or two – and in an instant, someone grabs me by the collar of my jacket. As the Guard tosses me aside, I realise I’m not the only one. They’re pacing the room, tearing each person from their bunk and shaking them awake. To my surprise, the workers just compose themselves and carry on like they haven’t just been torn from their slumber. It takes a moment to find the strength to move. I feel like I’ve not slept much at all, and as I reach up to my face, I can feel small creases forming in the purple circles under my eyes.
Sara offers me her hand.
“C’mon. You’d best hurry – sittin’ around is just askin’ for a beatin’.”
I take her hand and she pulls me up. She’s deceptively strong in spite of her thin frame and short stature; I make a mental note to remember that.
“What time is it?” I yawn.
“Probably early mornin’. I can never keep track of the time down here.”
My stomach grumbles, reminding me that a chunk of bread doesn’t really count as a meal. For a moment, I remember Pan’s cooking. She might have whined about her lack of talent, but it had been enough to impress me. I’d had a tough time adjusting to the lukewarm sludge when I first returned to the Mill. Still, I get the feeling there’ll be no more food incoming for at least a day. There’s no point complaining.
As we leave the room, someone presses a rusted pick into my hands. As if on cue my shoulders begin to throb, and I realise I’m once again becoming accustomed to the familiar weight in my arms. Great.
After a few days, it feels like autopilot. Wake up, work, eat, sleep. Maybe slot in an hour or so of conversation, if I can. But for the most part, it’s just digging. There’s a strange sense of structure that comes along with it – if I hadn’t known life outside the Mill, I’d probably feel some small degree of satisfaction. Even now, there’s something mildly enjoyable about it, even though at the end of each day I collapse into my bunk and try to ignore the screaming in my muscles.
Talking to Sara helps. How she managed to remain so perky and happy down here, I’ll never know. But when I’m aching and sore, she always offers to sit nearby and talk to me, even when I’m not in the mood to talk back.
She really does remind me of Pan, which is strange in itself. How can two people raised so differently have so much in common? But it’s there – they share the same endless optimism, the same unyielding patience.
There’s something else with Sara, though. While Pan does things because they’re the right thing to do, Sara has an undeniable taste for chaos. On my third day in the mines she plants a small amount of explosive down the tunnel from us. When it detonates and sends the Guards running, she takes the chance to lounge against the tunnel wall.
“Why did you do that?” I ask, my voice harder than intended.
“For a five minute break. It’s not a big deal – not unless they find out what happened, anyway.”
“They’re going to know one of us did it. That wasn’t a smart move.”
She just laughs.
“Oh, please. You think I don’t know how to cover my tracks?”
Her lips pull back into a broad smile – but there are already footsteps in the tunnel behind us. The Guards are back already; and though Sara leaps to her feet and tries to look inconspicuous, it’s clear they heard what she said.
“That’s the one. Hey, you!”
In an instant she’s pinned against the rock of the tunnel wall, a shock baton held to her face. For a moment my breath catches in my throat – but there’s no shimmer of electricity around the tip of the baton. He hasn’t switched it on.
“Did you do this?” he snarls, his face only a few inches from hers. Suddenly, Sara’s bravado is gone. She strains against him, pulling back from the baton with wide, terrified eyes.
I can’t move. This is just like what happened with Kane – only then, I didn’t stop it. I’d been powerless to help. I recall crying on Darus’ boat, sobbing in his arms like a toddler with a scraped up knee. I’d felt pathetic; I still do.
The Guard jumps back as I lay my hand on his arm.
“W-what the…”
“It was me,” I lie, “I was playing a prank. I’m sorry.”
He glares, his gaze flitting from me to Sara and back again.
“B-but she…”
“I helped to cover it up,” Sara gasps, “I was scared she’d be punished for it.”
His anger seems to dissipate a little at that.
“You stupid brats. You could have blown up the whole tunnel.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, “I swear – I didn’t mean any harm by it.”
“That doesn’t matter,” he snarls, his hand closing around my arm, “I can’t let this go unpunished.”
Sara and I exchange nervous glances. I half-expect to see anger in her eyes, but to my surprise, there’s none. Instead, she shoots me a sheepish smile as we’re dragged away.
In the depths of the furthest tunnel, far away from the others, she turns to me.
“Why did you do that? I’ve been caught before, you know. It’s nothin’ new for me to get thrown in here for a while.”
“I couldn’t stand to see you get dragged away,” I confess. She seems pleased by that, if nothing else.
“Well, I’m kind of happy you did. Punishment up top is gettin’ thrown down here, but if you’re already down here, punishment’s a week or so of hard labour.”
I glance at the tunnel around us. It’s tighter and darker than any of the others. The enclosed space makes my heart thump – but it’s not so bad. Sure, it’s claustrophobic, but there are no Guards this far in. Instead of carving out one of the other caverns, trying to excavate more of the known minerals, we’re down here. Creating new tunnels, trying to find some more valuable stuff embedded in the dirt. It’s harder work than I’d have thought – normally, every few hours will yield a small lump of something potentially worthwhile, and though it’s a pathetic reward for the work, at least it’s something. Down here, it’s just solid rock and clay-like soil that jars my shoulders and fills the air with a rank scent.
“So it’s this for a week?” I ask, half-hoping I heard wrong. She just shrugs.
“It’s not so bad. Hard work, but at least there are no Guards. As long as you make a little progress each day, it’s fine. We can relax a little.”
I can’t help but smile at that. I haven’t relaxed for a very long time – in fact, the last time I felt calm was that sunny afternoon when I dozed in the long grass of the Atrium. It’s a little harder to breathe down here than I would have thought, but if they’re giving me even a minute to myself, I’m going to take it.
“I hope your little trick was worth it,” I tell her. I suppose I should be feeling some resentment towards her for doing it, but oddly, there’s nothing. I don’t mind at all.
“It was. It meant everyone could stop, even if it’s just for a minute. Plus, it’s always funny to see the Guards trippin’ over themselves in a panic. I carry out tricks like that every couple of months. It usually makes for a bit of interest.”
“You’re crazy. Blowing things up just for the hell of it.”
“What about you? You confessed to somethin’ you didn’t even do just to protect little old me!”
“Yeah… don’t read too much into that, okay? It won’t happen again.”
She smirks.
“Oh, it will. You’re one of us, Noah. We just do this stuff. Sometimes just for a laugh, but usually because it’s right.”
My chest aches at that. Thanks to the influence of my friends, I can appreciate Sara’s love of chaos – but I don’t want to be lumped in with her as a do-gooder. Not when I think about ho
w often I’ve screwed up. My guilt must show on my face, because she narrows her eyes at me.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Don’t lie to me. I’m not stupid. What’s eatin’ you? Other than the rats down here, I mean.”
I bite back a laugh; it’s been a long time since rats have bothered me. But as I meet Sara’s eyes, gleaming in the dim light, I feel like I can trust her.
So I tell her. We sit cross-legged in the dirt and I tell her the whole story, from Nel crying in the bunker to Kane being dragged away. I tell her about finding my brother, and raiding Maynard’s tower. When I tell her why I came back, her jaw drops.
“No wonder they shot at you. Did they figure out what you were tryin’ to do?”
“I don’t think so. But they knew it was something bad. It was enough of a reason to punish me.”
She shakes her head.
“I can’t believe it. You’ve had really bad luck, haven’t you? And all this about a Cull, and about us… the idea that we might all be other people. It’s incredible. Almost too incredible.”
“I know it seems impossible.”
“Oh no, I believe you. It’s just a horrible story. You had everythin’, and now you’re stuck down here with me.”
“There are worse places to be stuck, I guess…”
“It sucks. If I’d been up top, you can bet I’d have helped you out. But everyone who would is down here.”
“I know. Every so often I think about Kane. I’m sure he would have helped me if I’d asked him… but thanks to me, he wasn’t even there. I didn’t help him out when I should have, and now he’s down…”
I trail off, wondering how I hadn’t realised this sooner.
“…here. Kane is down here in the Mines.”
“Well, duh. Didn’t you figure that out?”
I scratch my head, unnerved by how easily the thought slipped my mind.
“I guess I didn’t think about it. But he is down here, right?”
“Of course he is,” Sara chortles, “he’s one of the carvers in the Northern tunnels. On punishment like we are.”
There’s a lump in my throat. Is she serious? Kane’s alive – and not just alive, but here, in the tunnels?