Z 2134

by Platt, Sean

  “Fuck,” Red Beard said, looking down for only a moment since a moment was all he had for mourning.

  “OK, three down up here, and Scout says there’s two more Watchers on the way. You all have to split. I’ll get Duncan out.”

  “Thank you,” Liam said, and pulled Red Beard’s fist toward his own in an embrace.

  Then they split, and Liam led Ana through two doors in the back of the church to a long alley that led to the back of several small stores on one side and tall apartment buildings on the other.

  Liam searched the sky for orbs. None were there — yet. But Ana knew if they waited around, it was only a matter of time before the sky was full of the things.

  “Come on!” Liam said, shoving Ana forward until they reached a manhole.

  Liam bent and pulled the thick metal cover aside, and pointed down a rung of ladders in the wall, which led to darkness below.

  “Ladies first.”

  “The sewers?”

  “Unless you wanna take your chances on the streets,” Liam said with a sarcastic grin.

  She ignored his attitude, kneeled down, and climbed into the sewers.

  Liam followed and pulled the cover over them, plunging the tunnel into darkness.

  The sewer was dark and smelled of waste. A stream of filthy water ran over their shoes.

  “Oh God,” Ana gasped. “This is disgusting.”

  “It gets worse when it rains; goes right up to your chest. Just keep moving. Up ahead, there’s a manhole that leads to a crash pad we’ve got. You can shower there and change into some clothes. But then you have to get back to the orphanage before someone comes looking for you.”

  The “crash pad” was a row of tiny apartments hidden in the basement of another apartment building. The rooms were cramped and the denizens shady looking, but a safe harbor was a safe harbor, and for that, Ana was grateful that The Underground had planned for such events.

  Though the shower was cold and the bathroom small and dingy, they did have plenty of soap, which helped to cleanse away the stench of the sewers.

  As the water rushed over her, Ana couldn’t wash away the memories of the dead child.

  The Watchers had killed two people in cold blood.

  They would have killed all of them if given a chance.

  What the hell is going on?

  And what does my father have to do with this?

  After the shower, Ana dried off and looked at the clothes Liam had left on the sink — plain black pants, white underwear two sizes too big, and a black shirt. Plain enough to blend in with other people, but different from other clothes she owned. She hoped nobody at The Rock would notice.

  As she finished getting dressed, Liam rapped on the door.

  “Come on,” he said sharply.

  She opened the bathroom door, surprised to see him glaring, angry. His eyes were red, as if he’d been crying.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “You have to ask?” he said, his eyes wide.

  She stared at him, and then it dawned on her.

  “What?” she asked. “You’re blaming me for this?”

  “You should never have come to the church!” he said.

  “I came because Duncan asked me to! After you got arrested at The Social.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t have gotten arrested if you had just kept your mouth shut!”

  “Me? Me?” she said, shocked. “Don’t blame me! You’re the one who started the fight. You’re the one who had to go all macho and pick a fight with a girl.”

  Liam glared at her, like he wanted to say something else. Or maybe even wanted to hit her.

  His fists shook, and he looked down, closing his eyes.

  “She was just a kid,” he said. “She died because of us.”

  Ana wanted to fight the accusation, but then let out a long sigh.

  “You’re right,” she said. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Sorry’s not gonna bring her back. Now get out.”

  Ana wasn’t sure if he was crying or holding back an angry scream. Either way, she heeded his advice and left, heading back to The Rock, knowing that nothing would ever be the same again.

  CHAPTER 6 — Anastasia Lovecraft

  Inside The Walls of City 6

  Ana wandered through the next few days in a fog. Concentration was impossible, though still easier than forgetting the massacre in the church and the million truths it unspooled into the haunted hallways of her reality.

  The second day was a pale echo of the first, long and lingering, as Ana moved as mechanically as the factory machines she handled at her job. Hours blurred with memories that felt as real to Ana as her first memory of ice cream — not the “taste” you could buy at The Arcade, but the real stuff she ate on her birthday. She thought of her mom painting, walks with her parents in the park, her first fight with her mom, and her first, and last, kiss with Bobby Long — the only boy she had allowed herself to like, until he turned out to be a big jerk.

  These memories blurred with that of her father standing over her mother’s dead body.

  They seemed no different. No less real. But if one was a lie, how could she know that all of them weren’t? If the truth wasn’t memory, then the truth was a lie. If memory could be faked, then what else in her life was false?

  Ana found no solace, no matter where she went. Every eye was on her, even when they weren’t. She had no clue whom to trust, or worse, what to do. She was no longer confident of where the line stood between fact and fiction and had no idea where in her world was a true window to truth.

  She wanted to go back to the church, or even the secret apartment, to see if Duncan, Red Beard, and Liam were OK. But she didn’t dare go near any of them. Chances were good that all three men had gone wherever fugitives went while hiding. Or perhaps they’d even been arrested already.

  She watched the news on TV every morning and night, waiting to hear anything about the incident at the church. But there hadn’t been a single word. Nothing.

  Something about that scared Ana more than if the news had run a story about a terrorist group being broken up but covered up the murders of the innocent. They weren’t whitewashing the story.

  They weren’t reporting any of it.

  She couldn’t help but feel like that was an ominous sign that Watchers were still investigating, and they might come banging on her door at any minute and drag her off to some dark cell for interrogation.

  If The Watchers had already got any of the men, she wondered how long would it be before Liam or Red Beard told The Watchers where they could find her? She didn’t see Duncan giving her up. He’d already stood his ground in the church basement. But she didn’t know Red Beard. And Liam…

  Well, Liam was pissed at her. She couldn’t imagine him protecting her, the same person he’d called a “brat.”

  If Liam or Red Beard gave her up, The Watchers would come for her next. Because now it wasn’t about just finding members of The Underground. Now it was about burying the truth. And getting rid of anyone who knew it.

  If they could do it to her father, they could do it to her.

  IF they had done it to her father.

  Because despite everything that happened, Ana couldn’t ignore her memory’s architecture. Too many of the ceilings and moldings and floors inside her mind were of her own design, making it difficult, and in weaker moments impossible, to truly believe that a lie could be holding the whole house up.

  Just because a pastor — who might have been crazy and was definitely a criminal, at least according to The City — said it was all a sham implanted in her brain, and her dad was innocent, didn’t make her memory a lie.

  She wished she could talk to Michael or Adam; either one might help her untangle the situation, but she couldn’t be sure until she was certain that Duncan was either right or wrong. While she was uncertain, there was no point in muddying everyone else’s reality.

  Though she and Michael both worked at the same factory, and on the
same floor, Ana was stationed in D-Section and he was in F, so their work paths rarely intersected. Sometimes, on rare occasions, they were able to eat lunch together.

  On the third day following the church incident, she had to clock out early to make sure she could take lunch with Michael. She wouldn’t tell him, of course, or he would worry that she’d get in trouble. But she had to see him. And had to talk to him. She had to say something. Though what that something would be was still a mystery even as she sat down across from him.

  “What’s gotten into you?” he asked, scooping a spoonful of what the kitchen called oatmeal into his mouth. “I’m happy we got lunch together today, but it won’t be nearly as fun if you’re gonna be all mopey. You’re not still thinking about that Liam jerk, are you?”

  Ana wrapped her lips around her spoon, hoping it would trap the tears. She shook her head, nursing the spoon, then after a minute of breathing, when she felt strong enough to maybe speak, she popped the spoon from her mouth, plopped it into the bowl, then leaned forward and whispered.

  “I think my dad might have been set up!”

  “What?” Michael dropped his spoon and peered at Ana, almost as though he were angry. “Who have you been talking to?” he glared at her. “And why have you been listening to their lies? You saw your father with your own eyes! How can that be a setup?”

  “What if they can implant false memories in your brain?”

  “They can’t,” Michael said. “That’s impossible.”

  “Says who? There are already chips inside us for tracking and scanning, so The City can do that weird people inventory they do. Why couldn’t they do other things, too?”

  Michael said nothing, chewing on the thought like unfamiliar food. Finally he said, “I guess it’s theoretically possible, but still, doesn’t seem all that likely. Besides, why would anyone want to mess with your memories or set up your dad? Sounds like a wacky Underground conspiracy.” He scooped another spoonful of oatmeal into his mouth, narrowing his eyes at her as if to suggest she’d been talking to Liam.

  “I don’t know, Michael.” Ana’s voice dipped even lower. “I saw things.”

  “What things?” Michael narrowed his eyes. His expression started to shift as he leaned closer, though not by much, and whispered, “I’m not sure I like where this is going.”

  Ana didn’t know where to start, and she knew she wouldn’t be able to finish even if she did. It was only minutes until Michael’s lunch was over, and she was eating on stolen time.

  “Awful things, Michael,” she whispered through gritted teeth. “Just terrible.” She shook her head. “I don’t want to tell you here. Not now, and not with only a minute or two left.” She brought the spoon to her lips again, but only for a second before lowering it back to the bowl and leaning all the way forward across the table. “After work, meet me at The Social, OK?”

  Michael said, “OK,” though he looked more angry than anything else, including concerned. They finished their lunch in silence, then took their trays to the counter, said goodbye, and returned to work.

  Ana trudged through the rest of the workday, wishing she’d never brought anything up to Michael, at least not without being able to finish. Now he was probably worried sick about her. She hoped he wouldn’t say anything to anyone.

  She didn’t think he’d ever betray her confidence, but she didn’t know what he might do in efforts to protect her — what damage he might inadvertently cause.

  Like the bar.

  And Iris and the lady in the church.

  Ana shook the blame from her mind before it poisoned her.

  As the day wore on, Ana found herself wanting to spill her guts to her brother, whether what Duncan said was true or not. She’d have to wait until after dinner to get him alone. But what would she say? Adam wanted to believe in their father’s innocence so much, he would easily buy a City setup. But then he might blame Ana for testifying against their father and sending him to die outside The Wall.

  Ana would have a better idea about what she thought after speaking to Michael. He would be harder to convince than anyone she knew. Convincing him would give her the confidence to speak with Adam.

  Ana kept her nose down, counting minutes until she finished her shift so she could finally ditch the factory and get to The Social. She’d try another Red Bomb, work up some courage, and then go home and tell Adam everything.

  When Ana’s scheduled workday ended at 6:14, she powered down her station, set her thumb on the scanner to clock out, then heard the voice of Section-D Supervisor, Trudy Giff, behind her.

  “Sorry, Ms. Lovecraft,” she said, “but you’re going to be working overtime tonight since you left early for lunch this afternoon — 22 minutes early means 44 minutes of overtime, due immediately.”

  Ana boiled with rage, though Trudy Giff probably couldn’t tell from behind Ana’s fake smile and syrupy sweet voice. “But I worked my entire shift,” Ana insisted. “And I didn’t take any extra minutes. I just left a few early, then came back and finished everything for the day. I’m even ahead with my work and have already started on tomorrow’s.”

  It was true. Ana’s sorrow made for a high level of efficiency.

  Trudy Giff shook her head. “I’m sorry, Ms. Lovecraft, but you took off mandatory work so you could eat with your friend without prior approval. That’s never permitted. You’ve let me, yourself, and everyone else in D-Section down.”

  Trudy Giff turned without another word and disappeared from the factory floor. Ana powered her machine back on and began to feed material through.

  After her 44 minutes of punishment were over, Ana returned her thumb to the scanner. It cleared her to go, then she stiffly rose from her seat, stretched her back, grabbed her bag, and headed for the door, hoping Michael wouldn’t be even madder at her when she finally got to The Social than he seemed to be at lunch.

  The elevators retired each evening at 7:00, so Ana went straight for the stairs, racing to the bottom floor — two stairs at a time — spilling from the factory and out onto the City 6 streets only a few minutes later.

  She would get to Michael, gain some perspective, go home to Chimney Rock for a good night’s sleep, then wake in the morning and tell Adam everything after breakfast. After that, she would figure her next move and maybe deal with the possibility that she had betrayed her father.

  It was a reasonable plan, but none of it would ever happen.

  Two blocks from The Social, a rough, gloved hand fell onto her shoulder from behind as a synthesized voice filled her with dread. “Anastasia Lovecraft,” it said. “You’re under arrest by authority of City Watch.”

  CHAPTER 7 — Anastasia Lovecraft

  Anastasia felt like little more than luggage.

  Her arms were yanked behind her back, her hands roughly cuffed, and then her body was tossed into a large, unlit cargo hold in the back of a black, windowless van. The van’s door hummed with the same unsettling electric warble that hummed around The Wall, or even the invisible “gate” surrounding Lookout Gardens, where citizens could stare outside The City, eating open-faced sandwiches while watching grazing zombies.

  The front of the van slid open, then closed, followed by a muffled thwap behind the solid wall between cabin and cargo box. A second later the engine purred, and Ana pictured the giant tires of the raised van peeling from the City curb.

  She kicked at the van walls and screamed, “Let me out!” and “Help!” but she was answered by nothing but silence as the van gained speed.

  The Watchers had come to get her, maybe even kill her.

  Ana had seen what they could, and were willing, if not eager, to do. She raced through the scenarios in her mind. Why had they come to get her, and what were they going to do now that she was in their custody? Had they discovered she was at the church and that she knew what The Watchers had done to several innocents — that they’d killed a child for nothing?

  If so, Ana was sure she was as good as next.

  She struggle
d against her handcuffs, the thin humming magnets biting deeper into her wrists as she pulled harder at her restraints, tugging with all her strength against them, not stopping until they felt like they might slice her hands clean off if she kept at it.

  Ana wanted to scream or cry, but kept everything inside instead. Emotional control was her only shield, and she had no sword to speak of. She had to stay strong, prepare for whatever would happen when the van stopped and the doors opened.

  Maybe she could save herself if she was smart enough to see opportunity’s arrival.

  Ana closed her eyes, trying to calm her thoughts, and turned her mind to Adam — how sweet he was, and how she would still think that even if he weren’t her brother.

  When Adam was five, they used to lie outside together, under the stars, on the top of their roof. There was one stretch when they didn’t miss a single night for nearly a month. The clouds were always too thick and dark, but there was a two-month period back then when much of the sky went clear for some reason. It looked like the atmosphere was getting better, but then it got bad again and hadn’t been clear since. Now, the only time Ana saw a clear or sunny sky was when watching a City 7 promo.

  Those nights when she and Adam stared at the stars together were magical. Every wish made then was a wish never forgotten, even if it was a wish that would never come true. He spent much of the time asking her questions — the normal stuff that kids ask a million times and a million different ways. But while many kids were annoyed by their younger siblings’ endless questions, Ana loved being a big sister and having him look up to her. She had all the answers back then.

  But now, as she lay helpless in a van, she had none.

  She thought of Adam. If she were locked up, or worse, killed, he would be truly lost.

  The pain formed a knot in her throat, and she wanted to cry.

  But she had to be strong.

  For Adam.

  Ana was leaving the horrible scenarios behind and turning her mind to possible solutions when the van finally slowed, then stopped. The doors opened.