by P. S. Lurie
That gets us nowhere.
Selene’s situation is different but no better as I’d hate to know if her mother is worried or elated. I am clueless as to whether selfishness or selflessness is a better position to take tonight.
It’s nearly nine, which takes me by surprise because the on-going Surge is disorienting and the light makes me not feel as tired compared to other nights that are cut short with no electricity, with nothing to do than sit by candlelight and stay warm. The threat of the night is not going to let me sleep. Then it hits me like a bolt of lightning.
Night. Of course, I realise. It’s why this announcement happened as the sun went down. The broadcasts have always been at specific times but were never random. One came the morning after a storm that helped to raise the water levels at an unprecedented rate, which ensured our fishermen still set off to catch fish despite the lethargy that set over our community. Another occurred just before lunchtime one wintery day when we were told to hold off on eating too much as stocks were low and we were starving ourselves before the Upperlands finished their provisions. The middle of the night when the Fence was refortified and kept us away, so that no one had enough stored electricity or energy to protest. Each time there was an announcement we were tired or anxious or in the middle of sleep but this evening we were fuelled and hopeful. The timing ensured every family was congregated together in their homes, which has made orchestrating our interfamilial destruction simpler. Had the Surge happened during the day we’d be dispersed and the Upperlanders wouldn’t have been able to keep us in our cages as easily as if we were running amok or strengthening our numbers to oppose them.
But I am astounded that if I am right that the timing was specific then the explanation runs even deeper and for a more sadistic reason than rounding us up in small groups alone. It explains why the Upperlanders are willing to expend so much electricity during the continuous Surge. Why tonight is bright. Why the light will continue till morning. It is not a goodwill gesture. There is a secondary gain to the wastage of electricity and it’s not just so that the policeman can restrain us without fuss.
The evilness is more calculated and it’s so obvious I’m impressed.
The lights are on so we can see into each others’ houses and take inspiration from the spread of death.
Theia
I slip in through the kitchen door. I have been in this house many times but it’s different now that its elderly owners are dead, smaller somehow as if the walls have narrowed in on themselves, a coffin with no breathing space. Speaking of enclosed spaces, the fridge buzzes in working order and this surprises me as there is nothing of value inside so the Ethers must have turned it on for the duration of the Surge, perhaps a final reminder of their service to the community.
I begin to creep through the rest of the lower floor but I haven’t prepared myself to spot the bodies so I hesitate in the hallway. The first dead body I ever saw was at the hospital. The only other was long before tonight but I shudder to think about it and wipe the memory from my mind. I wonder if tonight has reminded Henry of what happened.
I needn’t be so quiet but a feeling of disrespect washes over. I remain taciturn and enjoy the silence as I enter the dining room. It sickens me that all this space was reserved for a couple but the Ethers were good people and the dilemma of opening up our houses was solved by locking the doors to everyone for fear that we would be overrun. I know that’s an appalling state of play but it was easy to agree on when the majority in our neighbourhood voted for that, under the illusion that when it was our turn to be flooded out of our houses we would leave with no complaints.
The spacious dining room is a luxury in this neighbourhood but the house is sparse and my father often described it as a poor substitute for no children. I smell the food before I see it. A marvellous spread has been laid out, untouched as with more money to go around and fewer mouths to feed there is just as much food as at my house but it seems like more. I wonder if my mother sits anxiously at the table finishing her meal or whether she has excused herself again, and then I wonder if anyone realises I am gone.
The vibrancy of the food steals my attention. Although it is untouched there are so many varieties and colours of fish that I have never seen before, presented next to garnishes that are again rare, that I know the Ethers aimed for an exuberant meal. They must have also suspected tonight would be memorable but the announcement had obviously stolen their appetites from them.
It is not only the rarity of this food but the presentation that reminds my stomach that I am starving, having skipped lunch to focus on my errand and not eating with my family following the Surge. I take the chair I always sit in when I am here as I feel awkward enough to eat this food and it would be a step too far to sit in Mr or Mrs Ethers’ seats. I serve myself a full plate and tell myself they would not want it to go to waste before tucking in and learning just how hungry I am.
I eat ravenously, barely digesting the new flavours and textures before stuffing more in my mouth. I only stop to gulp down water, careful to avoid the wine which I’ve been warned clouds judgement. Wine here too; the prelude to the announcement really riled people’s excitement up. My stomach stretches to its limit and I sit back, rub the protrusion and allow some of the discomfort to settle.
Overcome with hunger, I cast my mind to the gunshots. I can’t believe I haven’t searched for the bodies. The temptation to eat surpassed my fear and I curse myself for now feeling sick from the copious portion that will only make coming across the Ethers that much more difficult to stomach. I force myself to leave the dining room and walk towards the front door where the staircase to the upper floor begins. As I turn around I yelp as I catch sight of a pair of eyes staring at me.
Only they’re not staring at anything. They’re part of a lifeless upside-down grim-looking face with a bullet hole straight through the woman’s forehead.
Mrs Ethers’ limp body slopes downwards, spread across eight stairs, her head struck back with trails of blood lining the carpet either side of her. Only when I tilt my head do I recognise the raised eyebrows and the emotion they convey: fear.
The scene doesn’t make sense. Logically, Mrs Ethers should be in a comfortable chair or tucked into her bed so why did she agree to be shot on the stairs? And why does she look scared rather than sad? And then there is the ultimate question of why she is alone. And where is Mr Ethers? My heart pounds inside my chest before my brain catches up and logs that something is not right.
I think back to the gunshots I heard. One, two, three, I count in my head. Three seconds. That’s not enough time for Mr Ethers to get any distance between himself and his wife. I scan her body once more and my stomach doubles over when I realise my glaring error. There is not just one gunshot wound but two.
My mind races to come up with a plan – Run Theia, it finally screams at me – when my fear is verified. I am too late to escape because I see a pair of feet move their way around the upper hallway and reach the top of the stairs. Mr Ethers stands above me and looks down with hatred. He points a gun at me with his finger on the trigger and I know that I am about to be killed.
9 P.M. – 10 P.M.
Theia
I’m back in the past, sitting in the hospital behind the reception area that is strewn with paper since electronic records are unreliable and any electricity in surplus is stored for the most complicated of surgeries. And I’m in my own body, ten again and helping a nurse alphabetise some files in eerie silence, a calm before the storm that is my mother and Dr Adam Jefferson who burst through the doors to our right with a man on a stretcher, shouting instructions at one another. I’m frozen to the spot and unable to do anything but watch as they rush past. The nurse too is motionless but snaps out of it quicker than I do and returns to her task. ‘That’s what they do,’ the nurse says. My hands take a few minutes before they return to organising the paperwork confidently.
On the walk home I look in awe at my mother who explains it to me. ‘There are two w
ays to deal with panic, one is to fight it and the other is to freeze.’
‘But why don’t we all react the same way?’ I ask. She is braver than me and I know that fearlessness is needed to survive in this world. Still, there must have been a time when she was not as quick-witted and I wonder what the turning point is.
‘I’ve had longer to master it but it doesn’t come easily Theia, but when you’re confronted with life and death situations on a daily basis you soon get used to it.’
Mr Ethers stands at the top of the staircase, a few steps above his wife. He holds the gun at me and I can’t move from fear. Enough time has passed for me during the flashback that contains the lesson from my mother for him to react but he hasn’t shot me yet. Already tonight I have frozen three times: at the policeman outside Henry’s, watching the girl kill her family across the gardens and at the double gunshot that turns out wasn’t from a suicide pact but a murder. And now this. My mother would be disappointed I haven’t mastered the fear yet.
To Mr Ethers I am an intruder and dangerous and he has the upper hand, whilst I don’t have the strength to flee so instead I brace myself for the pain of death. As much as my body is incapacitated my mind races and tells me that now my parents have no option but to focus their efforts on Ronan. Then I think of Henry and all the unsaid things between us.
I must have regained control of my body because someone speaks and it is not Mr Ethers. ‘It’s me, Theia Silverdale,’ I catch myself saying. I raise my hands up slowly to show I am unarmed. ‘From next door.’
‘Don’t go near my wife.’
‘You used to babysit me. You still sometimes look after Ronan and Leda, my brother and sister.’
‘What did you do?’ I watch his gaze flit between his wife and me and he doesn’t understand this any more than I do, as if he has just now found her dead. How could that be?
‘Mr Ethers, please,’ I start to beg but I stop when he shakes the gun at me and places his finger over the trigger. He crouches down and with his free hand he reaches for his wife’s ankle. He keeps his gun fixed on me as he feels for a pulse.
‘What did you do?’ he asks again, slower, taking in the fact that she is not coming back.
‘Nothing,’ I stutter. ‘I didn’t do anything.’ I fumble over my words and know I should run, that his confusion may distract him long enough from reacting, but running would make me look guilty and I don’t even know if I have the energy in my legs to move away fast enough. I work out how my presence must look to him: I must have broken in and killed his wife. Yet that can’t be right because he holds the weapon and a shiver runs down my spine when I realise there might be an alternative explanation, which terrifies me even more. What if neither one of us killed her and there is a third person hiding in the house? More adrenaline shoots through me.
‘We could both be in danger.’
‘We agreed,’ he replies but the words don’t follow on from my warning.
Mr Ethers sits on the stairs and his eyes glisten with sorrow. He lowers the gun but I’m not reassured because I’m still not in the clear. I muster the strength and think I could sprint to avoid injury but he is unstable and I can’t risk it. I feel dizzy so I shift a foot to regain my balance and he perks up. He raises the gun back in my direction so I stand still.
He continues on with a calm tone. ‘We watched the announcement. It was clear what we had to do.’
My heart beats against my chest and I am now certain that Mr Ethers killed his wife during some sort of mental break. If the Ethers were unable to trust one another there must be many more loved-up couples across the neighbourhood dying miserably.
‘Neither of us were hungry given the news. Joyce wanted to disperse the food to other families but she tried to leave and a guard stopped her. He threatened us. Not that it really mattered but there’s a difference being killed and choosing how to die.’ His voice breaks as he struggles with his confession. ‘We agreed to end our lives together, in our house, on our terms. Joyce was scared for my soul if I was to pull the trigger and she pleaded with me to take charge. I don’t know what happened next. She panicked.’
I think back to when the Ethers babysat for me. I was happy here. As far as could be in the circumstances they spoilt me, and I remember being taken aback by their generosity. They were good people and I don’t doubt it is the circumstances that now make me question Mr Ethers’ sanity rather than his disposition alone. But there’s nothing I can say to help calm his distress and nothing can take back what has been done. He begins to fondle the gun. He is unstable and I am still in danger. Finally my senses come to me. ‘You can help.’
Mr Ethers looks up at me with surprise.
‘Now you can be Rehoused. Who knows what we’ll find behind the Fence but you can look after the orphans because god knows there will be plenty come morning. You are great with children. You can make the new world an easier place.’
‘How could I live with myself?’
‘By helping others. People will need support.’
He slowly nods as he takes in my plea and begins to stand. ‘You’re a smart girl.’ He smiles as he lifts the gun to his temple. ‘But I can’t.’
‘No,’ I cry out, but before Mr Ethers can pull the trigger, the front door bursts open behind me. The lock shatters through the force and the door is knocked off its hinge. In the split second this happens, and before I can turn around to see who this uninvited guest is, a bullet screeches past my ear and smacks Mr Ethers in the stomach. My neighbour looks at me for an explanation, a confused wreck of a man in the process of seeking forgiveness, but taken out before he can kill himself. His expression is not necessarily that of a man looking for an explanation of who killed him but it is bigger than that, he is searching for how this abhorrent night spiralled out of control. Mr Ethers drops to the floor and his body bumps down several stairs, coming to a halt when he is side by side with his wife.
I tense my back ready to also be shot but nothing happens and I turn around to find myself face to face with the policeman from outside Henry’s house, donning a full-length uniform, a helmet and the same sunglasses. The door swings back on itself behind him but doesn’t line up with the frame and bounces twice before coming to rest. Why he hasn’t killed me yet is only explained when the guard removes his glasses and lifts off his helmet. It is not the same man as the policeman from beforehand. He is tall and has a handsome face but looks only a few years older than me, too young to be killing people, still a boy. He looks past me unable to take his eyes off the bodies on the stairs.
‘You’re safe Theia.’
Henry
I wince in pain as I cut my upper gum on a fishbone at the sound of a distant third gunshot but this is much delayed after the first two and I don’t imagine they are related.
‘I thought I removed all of them,’ my mother says crestfallen, having noticed my accident.
‘It’s delicious,’ I say. When she looks away I push my tongue against the side of my mouth to stop the bleeding.
My mother places her knife and fork together on the table and clasps her hands together as if she has let us down. ‘Our last meal as a family.’
‘It’s fine.’ I use the bone as a toothpick. ‘Look.’
‘Henry stop that,’ my father says with annoyance. ‘It’s impolite.’
My father has been more irritable than usual tonight but it’s understandable so I don’t take it personally. I look to Selene to diffuse the tension but she stares vacantly towards a wall. My father swallows his mouthful and his nostrils flare, which is his warning sign for a speech.
‘We have brought you up better than that.’ He continues to eat.
I’m surprised by this. I was expecting something more profound or helpful and all he can do is keep reminding me to consider my manners. Stopping himself from talking about our decision must be driving him mad and if he’s not willing to strike up the conversation then maybe it will fall to me to do so.
I consider how to broach
discussing our deaths when it dawns on me that tonight will have repercussions for all of us, even those who survive. Discipline has no place in tonight’s proceedings when killing is accepted. But my father is right because my parents have brought me up better than to be rude, despite the circumstances. My mind is a mess. If anything I’m trying to make sense of tonight but my thoughts are rambling chaos. ‘Sorry,’ is all I manage to say and I sheepishly return to my meal.
I catch sight of my father who flickers his gaze towards Selene and wonder if he is waiting for her to leave before talking to me, but I’m stopped from considering what leaving would mean for Selene when a thud at the door disrupts the short-lived calm.
‘My mother,’ Selene says. She is out of her seat before I can reason with her. Never in a million years would her mother risk her life by braving the guards to fetch her. Selene’s reaction is heart-breaking and it’s not the first time I’ve witnessed that under her cold exterior she just wants to be loved.
Selene opens the door but I put my palm out to stop it. I give her a look that says it’s dangerous to proceed but I won’t be able to stop her if she uses brute force to push me aside.
Before she can try again I call out, ‘Hello?’ and raise my eyebrows at her.
There’s no answer so I lean in and look through the peephole but I can see nothing on the other side except shadows along the street that have come out to play as the day settles into night and the streetlamps scatter their glow around.
‘Mum?’ Selene asks.
And then we hear the sound. The whimper, of an animal.
Theia
The man knows me and I recognise details in his face as belonging to someone my age: Ruskin Peters, Henry’s good-looking friend. But the guard is older and some features slightly different. It’s not Ruskin, it’s his brother.