Eve of Man: Eve of Man Trilogy

by Tom Fletcher

  Run, Bram.

  I bolt as fast as Holly can be projected, ignoring every obstacle in her way, moving through the table and chairs, through the Mothers and Ketch’s security team, taking full advantage of being made of light. My kinetic suit pulses and vibrates, indicating the objects and people I’m running through, but I ignore it. This is no time for illusion.

  I reach the hallway in time to see the lift doors closing on Eve and her guardian.

  My heart stops at what I’m seeing. Everything about this is wrong. Eve backs into the edge of the small, spherical space, terror on her face.

  The security officer is staring at the doors, visibly willing them to close faster. His eyes flick up and lock with my own.

  In that fraction of a second I read his thoughts. It’s as though all his inner demons scream at me, revealing the true intention of his rescue.

  The doors close on them as I bolt towards the lift, arms reaching out for Eve. I’m two feet away when it begins to descend, a deafening shriek from inside making the walls vibrate.

  ‘Holly!’

  11

  Eve

  Her name rings in my ears as my voice reverberates around the lift, my throat hoarse from terror as I stare at the closed doors between us. I’m too disoriented to tell which direction we’re moving. Up, down – it makes no difference as we barely have time to travel anywhere before I see his hand reach out for the emergency stop lever, halting us. We’re suspended between floors. We’re alone.

  I cower. Squeeze myself into the lift’s wall and will the metal to absorb me. I shouldn’t be here. I should still be in the meeting, hearing all about the Potential they carefully selected for me. I should still be in that room.

  That room.

  Diego.

  Mother Nina.

  My body convulses, jerking me forward as I gag.

  No time to dwell. No time to think.

  Not now.

  I look at the black boots as they turn in my direction.

  It’s him. The one from before. The one I looked at. The one who looked at me. He grabbed me round the waist. Dragged me out of that room. Pulled me to safety.

  Safety.

  When his hands first found me I thought that was the case. I thought it was part of another plan I’d not been briefed on, but there was too much going on. Too much commotion, too much confusion. I was veiled, blended. Some of them might’ve thought she was me, but he knew where I was as he peeled me away from my friend and the bloody chaos.

  My eyes slowly travel over his boots, his uniform to his heaving chest.

  ‘Take off your veil,’ he says, swallowing hard, his fingers clenching.

  ‘No,’ I whimper, my voice barely audible.

  His hand reaches up and snatches it away, causing the fabric to rip.

  I look up at him then. The relief, delight, pleasure and horror crossing his face tell me he wasn’t part of Diego’s plan, that he acted spontaneously, but also reveal that it wasn’t part of anyone else’s plan either. Not Ketch’s or Vivian’s, the company’s or even his own.

  He looks as surprised and confused as I feel, which frightens me.

  ‘What are you going to do to me?’ I’m trembling with fear – hoping the imploring look on my face will stop him spoiling me, stealing the part of me that’s not meant for him. Vivian has told me of men’s natural instinct. It’s their weakness. I used to have special classes with her. I’ve known of our physical differences for quite some time, and of what our bodies will have to do to bring about the rebirth. It’s a sacred act, yet one that men yearn for through no fault of their own. It’s why we’re kept apart, why I’m never put into situations like this. They want the rebirth, but it must be done in the correct way.

  I stare at the man before me. He doesn’t look evil or deviant, although right now it’s hard to see any softness. He’s big. He’s strong and solid. I felt the tightness of his grip when he pulled me from the chaos, and I’m aware that he could hurt me. I’m not sure I have the power to stop him.

  He frowns at me as his tongue wets his lips. Perhaps, I think, he’s still torn between logic, duty and his human desire. His apparent doubt spurs me on.

  ‘It’s not worth it,’ I say, my voice quiet. I try to remain calm and composed, even though I can feel my heart pounding frantically against my ribs.

  ‘Isn’t it?’ he growls, rocking on the heels of his feet.

  ‘You saw what happened up there.’ I wish I could create some distance between us so that I can’t feel his hot breath hitting my face. ‘You saw what they did to him. They’ll do the same to you. Eventually.’

  He gives me a quizzical look.

  He lifts his hands slowly, his fingertips moving over my clothes. They stop below my throat. For a split second I think he’s about to complete Diego’s mission and throttle me, but instead I hear the pop of a clip and the fabric around my head drops. I stop breathing when his hands move to cup my face and he leans closer, his eyes shutting as he breathes me in, releasing a sound of pleasure.

  ‘Your smell. It’s so –’

  ‘You shouldn’t be doing this,’ I interrupt.

  ‘Doing what?’

  ‘This. You shouldn’t be here with me. They forbid it.’

  ‘I was protecting you.’

  ‘Were you?’

  ‘Yes. Of course.’ His face is ashen as he lowers his head, his hands moving away from my face and down to the uniform of the Mothers, which he fingers in distaste. ‘You shouldn’t be in this.’

  He releases each button with deep concentration. He sucks in a new lungful of air when the dark khaki material falls away, revealing my dress.

  I am Eve.

  I stand a little taller and he bows his head, although I’m uncertain whether he does so out of habit or respect. Maybe it’s a bit of both.

  ‘What’s your name?’ I ask, his action making me feel more confident.

  ‘Turner,’ he replies, his face seeming kinder than before, the hardness in his eyes dissipating.

  ‘Your first name?’ I push. I know the Mothers by their given names and it occurs to me that this was probably because it seems more familiar and caring.

  ‘Michael.’

  ‘Michael,’ I repeat. ‘How long have you worked here?’

  ‘Years.’

  I nod. ‘Thank you for keeping me safe during that time. I know –’

  ‘I wouldn’t have hurt you,’ he interrupts. His forehead creases in concern as his eyes search mine. ‘I swore an oath to protect you. I meant it. I would never – could never … I had to get you out of there.’

  My breathing becomes a little easier. For years it’s been drummed into me that this is wrong. That I cannot look. Must not look or interact. They told me nothing good could come of it. They made me fearful of the devil within our ranks …

  ‘Thank you,’ I breathe, deciding to believe him. ‘I’m glad you did.’

  And there she is in my mind, surrounded by everything that crashed into my life mere moments before I got into this lift. Mother Nina, Diego and that room flash before my eyes. Grief and horror consume me and I feel powerless.

  ‘What’s going on?’ I whimper. A sob escapes. A cry. A wail.

  Michael puts an arm around my shoulders and guides me into his embrace. I don’t feel fearful of the action. I want it. I need it. I’m thankful for it. I gain comfort from it.

  One thought echoes through my mind. Mother Nina is gone, and it’s all because of me.

  I failed her.

  12

  Bram

  I’m running. No, I’m sprinting. I’ve never moved so fast in my entire life. Hartman can barely keep up as we fly through the locker room. I rip the visor from my face and cast it to the ground where it skitters across the metallic hallway outside the studio.

  Sirens are screeching. Emergency lighting casts deep red streaks across the smooth walls as we round the corner towards the lift shaft. I can still see that last image of Eve reaching out to Holly, to
me, before the doors closed on her … on them.

  She’s inside the metal ball with that guard. That soldier. That man . Alone.

  All at once I think of every possibility. Every outcome. Every eventuality.

  I need to get to Eve.

  I feel a tidal wave of adrenalin roll through my body.

  I must get to Eve.

  My eyes see only the lift. My body slams against the cold, metallic and glass doors but I feel nothing. I push my fingers into the thinnest crack between them, the metal frame ripping through the pressure gloves still covering them. These doors are designed not to be breached.

  ‘You won’t get them open like that,’ Hartman yells, as he arrives next to me. I ignore him and keep trying to prise the doors open with my fist.

  ‘They’re magnetically sealed, Bram!’ he continues, as he unravels wires from something small and electronic. ‘Do something useful and unscrew the cover –’ He stops mid-sentence, interrupted by the sound of me tearing the metallic front panel off the wall like it’s made of cardboard. ‘Or that works too.’

  He begins to replace the wires with more from the device in his hands. As the last clicks into place, he punches a button on the box in his hands and we hear the lift spring to life behind the thick, transparent doors.

  Hartman and I catch each other’s eyes, both trying not to think about what we might find when those doors open.

  I bounce on the spot as my mind tries to analyse the situation.

  An armed soldier has kidnapped the most precious human on the planet, is now trapped in a confined space with her – and we are about to confront him. The very future of our species depends on what we do next. We are unarmed and I’m wearing skin-tight Lycra. If he’s hostile we’re screwed.

  ‘Where is it?’ I snap at Hartman, looking through the sheets of glass, waiting for the spherical chamber to appear. It’s taking for ever. He looks at the display on the device he wired into the wall.

  ‘Three floors away. Two … one …’ He stops as we hear the soft swish of the approaching lift. Then we see it descend on the other side of the doors, its chromatic outer walls distorting our reflections as it halts in front of us.

  There are no voices inside.

  No screams.

  My heart stops as my brain flashes horrific images of the worst possible outcome. I shake them out of my head.

  The doors open and instinct takes over.

  13

  Eve

  Michael is yanked away from me at a fearsome speed before I see a fist fly into view, impacting on his jaw. He’s knocked out cold, his masculine body splayed lifelessly across the floor.

  ‘Don’t hurt him,’ I yelp, holding out an arm to stop the attacker as I crouch next to Michael on my knees, instinctively becoming a barrier between him and the other while I check that he’s okay. I brush my hand across his face, careful not to touch the painful-looking welt that’s already forming. It was quite a punch. ‘He was trying to help,’ I scold, sounding like one of the Mothers.

  ‘He’ll be fine,’ a voice says, sounding irritated.

  I turn, and see two men – boys, rather – they must be my age or close to it, both red-faced and out of breath. One wears the familiar uniform of the guards, although it’s blue and has what I assume is his name stitched into the fabric across his chest – Hartman. The other wears a shiny black sports suit that highlights his athletic frame – he’s the one who threw the punch.

  I’m wondering whether I’m in danger at someone else’s hands when I take in the second guy’s features and my eyes lock with his.

  Hers.

  I gasp. I’ve looked into those eyes almost every day for as long as I can remember – I know their almond shape and the soul that lies beyond them. I’m gawping as I take in the alien features that surround the familiar. I’ve often wondered what she looked like in her true form – of course, there was always the possibility that she was one of the Mothers and I had considered it but reasoned against it: she just seemed younger.

  I’m struck by how different he is from Holly, my blonde-haired, green-eyed companion, with her delicate frame and beautiful face. He, too, is beautiful, but in a very different way. His dark blond hair is clipped short in what I’m guessing is their uniform style – he and his companion both sport it. His smooth skin has a subtle olive tone. I notice little beads of sweat on his wide nose and across his cheeks. His eyes are enchantingly dark – a rich, velvet brown that glistens in the light. The colour may be different from Holly’s but those eyes are the same.

  He’s nothing like her, yet he is her.

  He averts his gaze and shifts, his bare foot nudging Michael’s leg. There is no response.

  ‘Are you okay?’ he asks, without raising his eyes to meet mine.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ I say, thinking of everything that’s happened since I woke up this morning.

  ‘He didn’t hurt you,’ he says quietly. It’s more an observation than a question.

  ‘No – I thought he was going to, but no. He was confused,’ I tell him, feeling protective of Michael even though I’m aware the outcome could have been different. If Vivian’s words held some truth it should have been. Or maybe Michael is unique in his willpower and more dedicated to the cause than other men.

  ‘Right,’ he says, in a disbelieving tone, a frown forming as the muscles in his jaw tighten.

  ‘It all happened so fast. Mother Nina. She’s dead,’ I tell him, the words spilling from my mouth.

  He winces but, of course, he isn’t surprised. ‘I’m sorry,’ he says.

  ‘You didn’t –’

  ‘No, but I should have –’

  ‘Maybe,’ I conclude.

  ‘You couldn’t have,’ his friend cuts in.

  I look up at him and study his face, wondering if he’s another of my Hollys, but I don’t recognize anything about him. I wonder what he’s doing here and what his connection is to her.

  A groan from the floor shifts my attention. Michael stirs, putting his hand over his face.

  I start to go to him but an arm is raised to prevent it.

  I give ‘Holly’ a withering look.

  ‘Don’t, Eve.’

  ‘I don’t think he had any intention of hurting me,’ I tell them.

  ‘It didn’t look like that,’ he says.

  ‘You saw,’ I say slowly, remembering that she was there as the lift doors shut, that I was shouting for Holly to help. I was terrified of the unknown and hysterical over Diego.

  He’d shed himself of Holly’s form and run to help me. I hadn’t needed him. I might’ve thought it at first but Michael wasn’t a threat. If the opposite were true, though, if Michael had been trying to take advantage of the situation, I would’ve been saved. Helped. Rescued. The words circulate in my brain. I don’t like the sense of fragility that’s crept up on me today. Yet, in reality, I am weak. Weaker than I’d thought.

  ‘I …’ He’s shaking his head, as though he’s finding the situation as bizarre as I am and doesn’t know how to react. There’s clearly no protocol for meeting me away from his disguise, away from her.

  ‘You are Hol–’

  ‘He just needs some ice,’ he says quickly, cutting across me. ‘And to sleep it off.’

  ‘It was quite a punch,’ grumbles his friend, rolling his eyes as he crosses his arms, assessing the damage in front of us.

  ‘I could’ve hit him harder,’ he mutters under his breath.

  We hear the sound of feet hammering on the floor before Ketch and his team sprint into view, swarming along the corridor, accompanied by several of the Mothers, their faces frantic and fearful.

  I note the absence of Mother Nina and my chest tightens.

  ‘Hartman. Bram.’ Ketch nods at them, gesturing for them to step aside while the area is secured.

  Bram.

  His name is Bram.

  ‘Are you all right?’ wails Mother Kimberley, throwing her arms around me with such force that I’m almost winded. ‘He
didn’t …’

  ‘No,’ I say, my cheeks reddening. ‘He. They. They just helped.’

  ‘Of course that’s all we did!’ Bram scoffs, bemused that they’d think anything different.

  Mother Kimberley exhales with relief. ‘Let’s get you back upstairs. Vivian will be coming to see you shortly.’

  I’m crushed at the prospect. She is the very last person I want to see. Not one part of me wants to hear what she has to say about what has happened and my involvement in it.

  Within seconds Michael is removed from the lift and I’m ushered back in, flanked by the Mothers.

  As the doors close I search him out and find those eyes once more.

  Bram.

  His name is Bram.

  Sitting on my bed, I wait. Not only am I waiting for Vivian to come in and reprimand me – somehow making out it was my fault – I’m waiting to become submersed in feelings. Guilt. Fear. Grief. Despair. Anger. Hope. Delight. Anything.

  Nothing comes. I thought it would and feel it should. I was full to the brim with overwhelming emotion while I was in that lift, but now there is a big black gap where I ought to be feeling something.

  I am numb.

  My body is an empty void.

  My brain is frozen.

  I can barely move.

  Hardly think.

  My eyes are drawn to my dressing-table, the bags of make-up and brushes Mother Nina had packed away just a couple of hours ago when we’d been talking affectionately. I remember the warmth of her fingers as she touched my face and am haunted by what happened a short while later. The same action repeated, but this time so violent. I see her wrinkled face in Diego’s hands and the numbness intensifies. I’m unable to make sense of the horror I’ve witnessed. I should have been the victim. Instead he stole my old friend’s life. What was the point?

  This room. This space. I used to feel safe here. Oppressed, trapped and controlled, perhaps, but I have a great responsibility and they’ve been here to help me do all I can to save our race. This sanctuary has given me support, kindness and security while I’ve been growing up. They’ve given me comfort, stimulation, an education, and friends. Mother Nina.