Skeletal

by Emma Pullar

  ‘Of course, I do!’ Kian yells, running his adrenalin shaky fingers through his wavy hair. ‘But there’s nothing I can do about it.’

  ‘It has to be stopped. We have to think of a way!’ I say, fists clenched.

  Kian grabs my shoulder with one hand and touches my face with the other.

  ‘Yes, we do need to think of a way,’ he says, ‘but not today. Today you need to get away.’

  I hold his hand to my face and close my eyes to stop the tears. He does understand.

  ‘Skels don’t think,’ Bunce suddenly pipes up, waving his hand dismissively. ‘They do what they’re told to do.’

  All three of us glare at the Morb, who quickly shoves his hands in his pockets and shuffles his feet, raising the dust.

  ‘I’m going,’ Kian says, turning his back on me. ‘They’ll notice I’m missing.’

  ‘Wait!’ I grab Kian’s hand, he closes his fingers around mine and brushes my skin with his thumb. I blush. ‘When will I see you again?’

  The words I speak don’t match my thoughts. We might never see each other again is what I want to say. I miss you is what I want him to know. But I don’t say those words, even though I fear this could be the last time I see my best friend. Why can’t I be honest with him? Bunce and Cara are staring at us. Bunce is calm, no longer struggling to breathe in the suffocating humidity, but his eyes tell a different story. Normally they’re filled with mild amusement, as if every day is a celebration. Not now though, they’re filled with despair. I drop Kian’s hand and he walks away, towards the chiselled rocky steps that lead up and inside Rock Vault.

  ‘We’d best get going before it gets dark,’ Cara says.

  Her eyes droop, she looks as if she might vomit again. She stands as far away from Bunce as possible, as if he’s poisoned or impure.

  Cara heads in the direction of the mountains, her body slowly disappearing down the hillside with every step, Bunce in her wake. I glance over my shoulder. Kian is gone. Rock Vault towers over me like a rock monster bearing down on its victim. How did we escape so easily? No one escapes. I hurry out of the shadow of the prison and back towards freedom. Bunce walks head down, awkwardly quiet, probably trying to avoid making another faux pas. I want to know his thoughts. Is he regretting his decision to come with me? Did he know about the meat? The cold corpse covered with plastic comes back into my mind; smooth and clean. No one would eat me, I think to myself. I’m covered in dirt and grime. Irrational. What’s wrong with me? Stop thinking about it, Skyla. But I can’t. The meat. How many people have I fed into the grinder? How many of them did I know? I find myself searching the databanks of my mind for faces I no longer saw at work, or at the market or in passing. I’ve been grinding people up for years, holding bits of their bodies in my hands. I feel dirty, I want to scratch off my skin. I want to go home.

  ‘I have to stop by my cube,’ I tell Cara.

  ‘Nope,’ Cara says, dismissively.

  ‘But I need clothes, I need to wash!’ I protest.

  ‘It’ll be crawling with guards, you know that.’

  I do know that but I still want to go home.

  On the horizon, the last rays of sunlight sink behind the mountains and a blanket of darkness drops over the city like a death shroud. The sun is gone. The danger doubles. Cara struts out in front, stick thin arms swinging. Strong enough to move a heavy door with me but otherwise weak, anyone could overpower her, so why the confidence? I don’t have my knife, my security, and I’m increasingly nervous about it. I suppose Cara has nothing more to lose, except her life and that, by Gale City standards, isn’t worth much.

  Bunce shivers. The extreme change in temperature with the setting of the sun must be too much for his body, or else he’s mentally damaged by the horrors he’s seen inside Rock Vault. Either way, it seems he isn’t coping. I place my hand on his shoulder. He flinches at my touch, stops walking, and throws his arms around me, burying his head into my neck. I’m taken aback, but decide to hold him. His shoulders relax, I push him to arm’s length and stare into his chubby face. He’s tired but not broken … yet.

  ‘It’s gonna be okay.’

  I tug Bunce by the shirtsleeve to catch up with Cara.

  We walk in silence, past cube after run-down cube. Every second window is smashed, walls cracked, paint faded and peeling. This side of town makes me think of nightmares. Deserted streets, abandoned cubes, the ones who couldn’t leave hide away from an unspeakable curse – venture outside and be struck down by it. Blinds twitch, residents watch as we walk towards the danger. That’s how I feel right now, exposed, an outsider about to be sacrificed to the monsters and ghosts of this side of town.

  Bunce flinches when doors slam shut either side of us. Lights out isn’t for a few hours but it doesn’t matter, I’m guessing lightbulbs are in short supply, turn on a light and have the bulb stolen. Nearly every streetlamp is smashed. This must be Drift Side. I never come to this part of town, ever, and for good reason. Every blind on every cube is closed. Cara’s steps leave no sound on the pavement. I tread gently, following her example, the ex-maid has learned to be light-footed – a breeze no one notices until it has already gone by. Bunce’s sneakers have a soft sole, which I’m thankful for because he walks heavily.

  ‘Does she have it?’ Bunce whispers, his shoulder bumps against me as we walk side by side.

  ‘No,’ I shake my head. ‘And that’s good. If she had, it would be in Central’s hands now, and her head would be on the line.’

  ‘Oh,’ Bunce sighs.

  We walk in silence for a few minutes. I open my mouth to explain about Bins but Bunce gets in before me.

  ‘I’m tired,’ he groans, dragging his feet.

  ‘I know you are.’

  ‘I’m hungry and dirty too,’ he whines.

  ‘I know!’ I snap.

  ‘It was too hot, and now it’s freezing.’

  ‘Will you stop moaning!’ I growl.

  ‘I’m not moaning, I’m …’

  He’s struggling to breathe again. His white skin is grey, eyelids drooping. No, no, don’t black out. Stay conscious. He’s too heavy, I can’t carry him. I link my arm with his and try to prop him up a bit.

  ‘Do you want to talk about it?’ I whisper.

  I don’t, but I need him to let go of some of it. He needs to unbottle his worries.

  ‘Which part?’ Bunce whispers back, miserably.

  I’m not sure what he has seen, and I don’t want to drop something on him that he doesn’t already know and freak him out even more.

  ‘What’s bothering you most?’ I say, softly.

  ‘Hmm, let me see …’ he says, tapping a finger to his thin lips. ‘Apart from the constant growling of my stomach, the lack of sleep, and heat exhaustion. I thought the inside of the cell was pretty bad, that is until they started manipulating my mind to the point that I violently vomited and they had to stop. Then your friend took me past a room full of instruments and a dirty, blood-encrusted operating table which left me gagging again and just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse, I find out …,’ Bunce gulps. ‘I have … in fact … been eating…’ He sighs deeply. ‘Morbihans are cannibals. Cue more VOMIT!’

  ‘Shhhh!’ Cara hisses over her shoulder.

  Bunce’s chest heaves with anxiety but he doesn’t relinquish my arm. I’m not sure what to say. Then when I do say something, I wish I hadn’t.

  ‘If you think about it, you haven’t been eating other Morbs, so it’s not really cannibalism.’

  ‘Oh, that makes me feel a whole lot better!’ Bunce hollers, bulging cheeks flushed pink. ‘Eating other people is absolutely fine as long as you don’t eat your own race! Have I got that right?’

  ‘Will you shut up!’ Cara is facing us, hands on hips, curly head tilted to one side. She hisses at Bunce. ‘If you keep ’ollering like that, you’ll have every Mutil within a mile over ’ere and they won’ hesitate to shove a stick up ya piggy arse and roast you over a fire!’

 
‘Sorry, Cara,’ Bunce hangs his head.

  An unexpected smile tugs at the corner of Bunce’s mouth. I send back a smirk. He has never heard Cara speak this way. She would have barely talked while in his sister’s service and when she did, it would have only ever been politely. It seems she’s as mad at Bunce for ruining her life as she is at me.

  We pass an alley and a tingling runs through my ponytail, then a tug. I whirl around, there’s nothing for my hair to snag on. I double back and flatten my back to the cube on the other side of the alley. Bunce stops and opens his mouth, about to call out, I touch my finger to my lips. He flattens his back to the cube on the other side of the black void and watches me. I peer around the brickwork. I can’t hear or see anything. A rat darts out from the darkness with a squeak. Bunce squeaks like a mouse and clamps his hands over his mouth. Cara waits for us, hands on hips again. Bunce walks towards me.

  ‘That rat nearly gave me a heart – arrrgghhhh! Skyla!’

  Bunce’s legs dangle above me. A giant of a Mutil holds the Morb by the scruff of his shirt. The Mutil is almost completely naked, a scuffed metal plate where its genitals should be. Almost half the monster’s body is metal, but he isn’t ticking. No moving parts, no sounds of organs inflating and deflating. A Mutil without the warning sounds. No wonder so many Skels are killed this side of town. Bunce’s face turns purple as the collar of his shirt cuts into his throat. I need a weapon. I search the streets for a broken bottle, shard of glass, anything. There’s nothing.

  I tug at the huge filthy arm. Hang on it with all my weight. The Mutil tilts its head, trying to work out what I’m doing. Quick footsteps and Cara is beside the monster. She kicks it in the shin and then yelps, recoiling from the pain of her foot impacting with the metal limb. The monster lets out a war cry. More will come. Bunce coughs; he’s choking. The Mutil moves one heavy step after another, carrying his meaty catch in the direction of the park. I lose my grip, fall from his arm and collapse onto the road, landing in a pothole. I’ve got to get the lumbering thing off its feet. Back of the knee. The one that isn’t metal. I run up and drive my boot into the decaying flesh behind its knee. The beast buckles. Cara is quick to react, she reaches down and using both hands, pulls the metal leg out from under the creature. The big stupid animal falls back and slams into the ground.

  Bunce is released. He gasps and scrambles away, holding his red-ringed neck. Cara strides up to the skin-covered side of the Mutil’s head, lifts her foot and stamps on the Mutil’s fleshy throat, crushing its windpipe. She does this several times, letting out a grunt each time her foot connects with the monster’s neck. Bunce gawps at Cara like he’s seeing her for the first time. Seeing the real her. Once the ex-maid has stamped the monster’s face into a bloody pancake, we each offer Bunce a hand and haul him to his feet.

  ‘Thank you,’ he says in a small voice.

  Cara nods, steps over the large, blistered feet of the dead Mutil and walks on as if nothing has happened. I follow her lead, Bunce close behind me. I glance over my shoulder at the corpse. I’ve never killed a Mutil like that. I always run from them rather than engage them in a fight. Most aren’t quick enough to catch me. Sure, I’ve had to stab a few but I don’t ever go for the kill. Cara stamped on its face and neck with such spite, as if she had a personal grudge. It unnerved me a little. To kill without a direct threat to your life seems almost evil. He was down. She could have maimed him and walked away, but she didn’t. Bunce is keeping his distance, choosing to stay as close to me as possible and as far from Cara as he can. When we catch up to her, she acts as if nothing out of the ordinary has occurred.

  ‘Okay, listen up,’ she says, in a tense voice. ‘My uncle’s cube ain’t far, he won’ turn us in but he won’ let us stay long. My cousin linked into a High-Host family and so my uncle might ’ave some less …’ She looks Bunce up and down. ‘… weird clothes that’ll fit you.’ She turns to me. ‘I have some clothes there too. Just so ya know, Glory Runners are as deadly as Mutil round ’ere, stay close and keep him out of trouble.’ She jerks her thumb at Bunce.

  We follow Cara around a corner and through an alleyway, which is dim but not pitch black, the rising moon expels the shadows. The ground is thick with a carpet of rats running over each other, no longer in the sewers, probably forced out by the same slurry of death I encountered in the bathing block. I think back to the exploding toilet. They must be dumping unusable body parts in the sewer. Nasty. Behind me, Bunce squeaks like a frightened mouse. I look back to see him side-stepping through the alley, trying to keep his feet from coming into contact with the scurrying rodents. Where’s Cara? There’s knocking, then a mumble of voices, one Cara’s, the other a deep slurring. Cara’s curly head appears from around a wall.

  ‘All good, come in.’

  I turn the corner and almost trip on what could be mistaken for a pile of rubbish. Bunce is so close behind me he nearly falls over me. We walk around it, both staring down at the loathsome creature.

  ‘Anana,’

  The pile of wreckage groans.

  ‘Anana, anana.’

  I crouch down to take a closer look. It’s an old Mutil. Ancient. Sun spots on its bald head, grey hair migrating down sprouts from its ears and chin. A lens hangs from a wire protruding from its eye socket. Its slumped against the wall, small triangular breasts sagging, nipples pointing down. The female Mutil doesn’t move when rats run over her lap like she’s part of the ground. Her wrinkled lips part.

  ‘Anana.’

  ‘What?’ I ask her. ‘What are you trying to say?’

  Cara appears.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘What’s this Mutil doing here?’

  Cara picks up a banana skin from the floor and throws it at the old Mutil. It hits the side of her face and her decrepit hands go into a frenzy, feeling around for the skin.

  ‘Anana!’

  Shaking fingers bring the rotting peel to her toothless mouth and she pokes it in with one finger, sucking on it like a baby sucks its thumb.

  ‘My uncle feeds it,’ Cara explains. ‘I’ve told him to stop but he won’t. He’s lonely, and a brain-dead old Mutil for company is better than nothing, I guess.’

  The sorry creature chews on the banana skin oblivious to everything around her. Beside me, Bunce is more interested in dodging scurrying rats. Jovial yet menacing voices travel towards us, echoing through the streets.

  ‘Quick, get inside before we’re seen.’ Cara beckons.

  18

  Running from Runners

  Inside her uncle’s cube is disgusting. The walls are streaky, floor crunchy underfoot, and it smells like stale vomit, piss, and shit. Cara wedges the door shut behind us. The air in the room is hazy. It’s more than nauseating. The blinds at the window are closed and stained. The only light source comes from a single lamp on a small table beside the single bed. A round of light from beneath the lampshade illuminates a silver tray, which is piled with empty glory sticks. The pencil-thick, black sticks with the clear liquid measure in the centre makes my skin crawl.

  Glory looks like orange sand. Some Runners have tried to dupe people by selling them sand in place of glory, but sand doesn’t burn – or melt into a liquid like glory does. I don’t really know what it is or where it comes from. I’ve never tried the stuff, not even a puff. Seeing what it does to people over time is enough of a deterrent. An arm brushes up beside me. Bunce stands with his nose and mouth buried in the crease of his elbow. Cara’s uncle sits on the bed, slouched against the wall, eyelids drooping over protruding golf ball eyes. He’s not asleep but he doesn’t look awake either. His tight, grey t-shirt is stained with what can only be vomit, and there are rings of sweat at the armpits. Though a Skel, he is not thin. He looks a similar size to Bunce. How has he been feeding himself?

  ‘Ere.’

  Cara throws black cargo pants and a shirt at Bunce. He catches them, holding them by the tips of his fingers.

  ‘I’m not wearing your uncle’s clothes. He clea
rly hasn’t washed in months!’

  Cara raises an eyebrow.

  ‘Don’t worry, precious. These are me cousin’s clothes. They’re clean.’

  Bunce brings the clothes to his nose. Satisfied they’re clean, he darts behind the cupboard and into the kitchen area to change. Cara throws a red dress at me. I raise both eyebrows at her.

  ‘Where’d you get this?’ I ask.

  ‘Me cousin gave it to me. Ain’t never worn it. Thought it’d look good on you,’ she winks.

  I frown. Is she kidding? What’s her game? The dress feels like rose petals in my hands. I’d love to feel the material against my body. I stop daydreaming and hand it back.

  ‘Do you have something a little less “sell your body” and a little more “stay alive”?’

  She laughs and hands me some knickers, a bra, (a size too small but it will do) black pants and a shirt. She also hands me a couple of facecloths and a slither of used soap. After a quick stand-up wash in the kitchen, which is dark enough not to feel uncomfortable handwashing our bodies in a tight space, though Bunce washes with his back to me, pants on, bending to reach between his legs and scrub his undercarriage, we’re dressed and ready to go. Cara’s uncle is still in the same spot and hasn’t said a word.

  ‘This is my cupboard,’ Cara tells me as she dresses. ‘When you’re employed as a maid, they take ya cube and give it to someone else, like they do with hosts. I wanted somewhere private to keep me stuff, can’t take much to the Morb complex, not that I’ve ever ‘ad much. Me cousin gives me things he don’t need, good for bartering, you know. It’s ‘ow we keep me uncle alive, coz he don’t work or nuffin.’

  ‘Don!’

  A male voice shouts from outside and a fist slams against the door.

  THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!

  ‘Open the door, ya filthy old waster!’

  The woman’s voice is followed by the man’s laughter.

  ‘Shit!’ Cara whispers, and pulls me into the tall cupboard with her.

  ‘Bunce,’ I say in a strained whisper. ‘Get under the bed.’