by Tom Fletcher
My heart stops.
As they continue approaching I slide my hand discreetly behind my back and feel along the cold panel. It’s smooth, nothing there as I run my hand along, but then …
It’s here! I feel it.
An emergency-exit chute.
I don’t have to see it to know exactly what my fingers are touching. A small glass box with a red handle inside. Above it there is writing: Pull to activate chute. Emergency use only. They line the walls of every floor at regular intervals, my father’s office being no exception. Thank God for health and safety regulations.
The blue beams of laser light on my chest burn hotter, as the team loom closer.
I don’t waste another second.
I pound the glass with my fist, open my mouth and pull the handle as hard as I can.
I feel the air freeze instantly as the seal to the chute entrance cracks open. The difference in air pressure blows the wall panel out and sucks it down the chute. The squad drop to their knees, grabbing at their ears with their hands, their eardrums having burst the second I opened a hole in the side of the building. Opening your mouth allows the pressure to disperse. Simple but effective.
Their pain buys me a few seconds. I use them to glance at my father, who is scrambling back to his feet behind the desk, fear, anger and pain on his face.
Our eyes meet, and in that moment he knows I’ll come back.
I’ll come back for Eve.
I lean backwards and let the air take me through the chute, over the edge of the building and down towards the world below. The world outside the Tower.
The real world.
34
Eve
When I regain consciousness the Mothers are looking around the room frantically. At first I think it’s because I passed out, but the speed with which Mother Tabia yanks at my arm and gets me to my feet tells me it’s something else. Slowly I become aware of the sirens blasting from the speakers in the hallway, calling us all into action as they alert us to some unknown danger.
‘What’s going on?’ I whisper, feeling frail, weak and fearful.
‘We need to get you to safety,’ says Mother Kadi, widening her eyes at Mother Tabia, as though confirming a plan. Then she gestures for us to follow her. Mothers Tabia and Kimberley’s arms loop mine protectively, taking most of my weight, as we exit the room. We run down the corridor and through the garden zones. Several other Mothers join us, each one looking as perplexed as I feel. They gather around us, with me in the centre of the group, their eyes darting around the space, as though they’re seeking out any hazards. The way they sidestep obstacles and squeeze through gaps belies the fact that they’re all well into their sixties and beyond. Right now they’re able and determined.
I try to question those around me so that I can understand what’s happened, where we’re going, or what we’re running from, but there’s no answer. They don’t even look at me. Everyone is focused on getting where we need to be.
To my surprise they lead me towards my bedroom. Once we’ve all clambered up my spiral staircase, the glass door is shut behind us. We hear the lock slam into place as the thick panel frosts over, separating us from the rest of the Dome.
The women around me, all of whom are out of breath, sigh with relief. I’ve never seen any of them move so fast.
‘What’s going on?’ I repeat, with more determination than before.
Mother Kimberley turns to me with troubled eyes. ‘I’ve no idea,’ she whispers, apprehension in her voice.
I catch Mother Kadi’s eye. Perhaps she can offer some clarity. But she looks at Mother Tabia.
‘No sitting down, come on,’ Mother Tabia calls to Mother Caroline, who’s perched on the side of my sofa. I feel for her as she hurls herself back to her feet. At ninety-six she is the oldest Mother here. That doesn’t usually hold her back, but she’s not normally sprinting through the building.
I turn to see Mother Tabia muttering nervously to herself while her trembling hands reach out and swipe a handful of books from the shelf on to the floor. She places her wrinkled hand on the white wall, which suddenly glows. The edges of the shelf unit hiss as the whole thing swings forward and I realize that it is a door, not simply a place to store my few possessions.
‘What? How? … When?’ I’m asking the backs of the women’s heads as everyone makes their way towards the newly exposed doorway and along a narrow corridor lined with steel.
We walk for a hundred metres or so before Mother Tabia pushes open another door and we enter a room. The brightly lit space is filled with a few dilapidated sofas, several bunk beds, a shelving unit, containing books and ancient board games, a little kitchen area and a bathroom. As far as I can tell there are no windows or exits, apart from the one we’ve walked through. There is a black telephone and a shimmering screen on the wall, showing nothing but three letters, EPO, rotating continuously.
‘A safe room?’ The surprise in my voice doesn’t come from there being one. I’ve been in many over the years, usually with Holly to keep me company. These little areas are dotted all around the Dome, but I’ve never been aware of one branching off the room I’ve slept in for more than a decade and thought I knew like the back of my hand. Understandably I feel a little duped and cheated. I haven’t been lied to, but they have kept it a secret from me until now.
The phone rings, causing the Mothers to fall silent, knowing this call will offer us some answers.
‘Mother Tabia speaking,’ she says, picking up the receiver, in a voice that seems perkier and more pleasing than her own. I watch as she listens intently to the person at the other end of the line while her fingers grip the cable. She sighs. She frowns. She bites her lip and nods. Her eyes glance up at mine, then down to the floor. ‘Of course. We’ll stay here until we know more. Thank you.’
As soon as she’s hung up, the rest of the Mothers ask all the questions I’m wondering.
‘What has happened?’
‘Are we in danger?’
‘Where are we?’
‘How long will we be in here for?’
‘Who was on the phone?’
‘Calm down, calm down,’ Mother Tabia says, waving her hands to shush us. ‘It was Ketch. There’s been a situation downstairs.’
‘What sort of situation?’ asks Mother Kimberley.
‘I’m not sure.’
‘Well, what did he say?’ demands Mother Caroline, impatiently, her hands rubbing her hips.
Mother Tabia glances at me and they fall silent.
Ah. They have decided this matter is not for my ears.
‘What’s happened?’ I ask, aware that my voice is louder than I mean it to be.
‘Everything is fine. This is only a precaution,’ Mother Tabia says calmly.
‘A precaution from what?’
‘I’m not sure.’
‘Then what was said on the phone?’ I’m letting her know that I’m not going to leave the matter until I’m told more.
‘Someone has threatened our security,’ she reveals, pressing the palms of her hands together, as though in prayer.
All the Mothers start talking at once, asking more questions or muttering their concerns to themselves.
‘Now, now,’ Mother Tabia calls over them. ‘We’re safe here so let’s not panic until we know more. For now let’s just sit tight. We won’t be in here long, I’m sure.’
‘I’ll pop the kettle on,’ Mother Kimberley says decisively, scuttling off into the kitchen area, while the other Mothers congregate in groups to continue speculating – some just standing in the middle of the room, others getting comfortable on the red sofas lining the walls. As awful as it is, I take some comfort from the fact that I’m not the only one being kept in the dark.
‘You should have a lie-down,’ says Mother Kadi, her hand gripping my elbow as she leads me towards a lower bunk bed.
‘I don’t want to,’ I moan.
‘Well, you will,’ she says, handing me my Rubik’s Cube, which she must
’ve picked up from my room. I place it on the bed next to me. I’m glad she brought it but I’m not about to tell her that. ‘And you’re going to eat something too.’
The firmness in her voice stops me answering back.
I crouch on to the bunk as asked and almost feel relieved as my tired body melts into the mattress. I am beaten, both mentally and physically. I’m exhausted.
Satisfied that I’ve listened to her, Mother Kadi pats my shoulder before turning away. I watch her exchange a few words with each of them, eventually reaching the mini kitchen area where she rummages through the cupboards and starts pulling out tins, each one hitting the counter top with a loud clank that makes my head throb.
I rub my temples, wondering how my life could’ve flipped so dramatically in the last forty-eight hours.
While Mother Kadi dollops food on to a plate, Mother Tabia approaches and stands beside her. As they have their backs to me I can’t make out what’s being said, but their hushed tones make it all the more intriguing. The conversation goes back and forth, Mother Kadi nodding in agreement. Apparently satisfied, Mother Tabia busies herself with sorting through the books while Mother Kadi snatches up some cutlery and the plate, then heads over to me.
I shuffle backwards, making space so that she can perch on the side of my bed. She puts the plate beside me and offers me the knife and fork. Even though I’m not hungry I sit up and put a spoonful of cold baked beans into my mouth and chew. My tummy growls. I shovel in spoonful after spoonful until I clear the plate. I instantly feel heavy and sick.
‘Thank you,’ Mother Kadi whispers, her hand resting on my wrist before she picks up the Rubik’s Cube by my pillow and plays with it – treating it like a ball.
As I look at her I remember Vivian’s threat to evict her and the others. But if the outside world is as pleasant as they’ve made me think it is, then what would be the issue? To live out there, to have that little stream to sit beside would be a blessing. That’s why I’m here, surely: to ensure future generations get to enjoy that beauty.
Vivian spoke of the world outside in much the same way that she told me of the guards all those years ago: that I had to hide myself and avoid eye contact with them so that I didn’t get spoiled .
And Mother Nina admitted that women stopped going to bars. I don’t think she would’ve lied to me about such a thing. In a time of no hope, I can almost understand things changing to protect the last generations of women. But that was before I was born. Before I gave them the opportunity to ensure that our race survived.
If the public really are looking to me for hope, surely they wouldn’t hurt me. And if that is so, why do I need Vivian to dictate things? Surely there’s a way for all of this to happen naturally.
I’m sure that, just as Vivian said, the world outside contains cruel and barbaric people but others may be full of compassion. Living up here in confinement means I have no way of knowing.
‘Feeling better?’ Mother Kadi asks.
I nod and smile. ‘What’s happened?’ I ask, keeping my voice low in the hope that she’ll confide in me.
‘Eve …’ She sighs, putting my toy back beside me as she realizes that the main reason I’ve complied with her requests is to gain information.
‘I want to know why we’re in here.’
‘There was an incident,’ she mutters, glancing at the other Mothers, who’re talking among themselves.
‘Keep going,’ I whisper, picking up my Rubik’s Cube, as though we aren’t even talking to each other.
‘Your friend.’
Bram.
‘Did anything happen?’
‘Your friend has left,’ she says.
I run the words over in my head and try to make sense of them, wondering if they’ve kicked him out or whether he’s fled, because surely he would’ve stayed if that were an option.
‘Gone where?’ I ask slowly, still twisting the toy in my hands, as my brain churns through possibilities and panics at the thought of life without him. ‘Is he okay?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘What happened?’ I sit up so that I can hear her more clearly.
‘I’ve not been told exactly but there was a concern that you might be the target of an attack.’
‘He’d never hurt me,’ I say, feeling the blood drain from my face at the thought of someone I care about so much possibly being capable of such a thing.
‘Eve. Not all people are good,’ she says.
‘I know that.’ I frown, annoyed that she considers me so gullible and naïve. I encounter the wrath of Vivian on a daily basis, and witnessed the murder of the kindest woman I’ve ever known: of course there are bad souls, but I’m certain Bram is not one of them.
‘Do you?’ she says, her voice calm and kind as she pulls her fingers through my ponytail. ‘Sometimes I wonder if they’ve done you a disservice by allowing you to remain so sheltered here.’
‘I’m not sheltered.’ My jaw tenses.
She opens her mouth to say more but stops herself.
‘I know there are bad people in the world,’ I tell her adamantly. ‘He’s not one of them. He’s nothing like Diego.’
‘Maybe not, but there are also people who think they’re good, but can’t distinguish whether their actions work for good or evil. Their views are wonky, their trust misplaced.’
‘How do you know yours aren’t?’
She gives me a stern look as she takes a long, slow breath.
‘I made a pledge to protect you, as has every woman in this room,’ she says. ‘We love you as though you were one of our own children.’
‘Did you have any other children?’ I ask.
‘I miscarried several times – all girls – but birthed eight boys,’ she says, her tone unwavering.
‘And where are they now?’
The wooden beads around her neck bash together as she shrugs. ‘I made a choice when I came here. You. You were my choice.’
‘But your boys?’
Her expression is unabashed.
‘So they made you disown your own flesh and blood?’
‘It’s not that simple or heartless. We want a future for our children.’ She sniffs, looking around the room before bowing her head into her chest. ‘We believe in you, Eve, so we have given you our all.’
‘At such a cost?’ I ask, hearing the pain in my own voice.
I’ve always been drawn to Mother Kadi. There’s something about her that’s enchantingly unique. She seems full of wisdom and a certain worldliness. Perhaps it’s the colourful beads, or the age-blurred tattoos that tell of a cultured life before she came here. She’s petite, but she’s fearlessly strong in spirit. I don’t understand how such a woman could walk away from her family for someone she didn’t know. It doesn’t make sense to me.
‘That’s not for you to worry about,’ she says, getting up and ending the conversation. Before she leaves me she turns and places her mouth against my ear: ‘For what it’s worth, I don’t think he’d hurt you either. But they don’t want him near you.’
I watch as she straightens up and takes my plate to the sink, then accepts a cup of tea from Mother Kimberley.
Closing my eyes, I pretend to sleep, but all I can focus on is a tightening sensation in my chest and an overwhelming feeling of loss.
He’s really left me.
35
Bram
I’m falling head first, upside down along a slim carbon-fibre tube. Emergency strip lighting flashes past, blinding me.
I try to glance back up the chute. Has anyone followed me? It’s impossible to move my head due to the G-force holding me against the wall as the chute rounds out, following the contours of the exterior of the mountain-shaped Tower. My body slows from terminal velocity to a slightly more comfortable speed.
I can move again. Just. The forces from the fall are diminishing as I approach flood level. I need to move fast. I need to think fast. Ketch’s team will be making their way to wherever this chute ends. I won’t ha
ve long.
I lift my head and peer along the miles of tube I’m leaving behind. I never thought I’d be using one of these things. I’d rather this than a Gauntlet, though.
Something hits me. A freezing cold force slams into the top of my head, shooting down my neck and back like lightning. I want to scream with pain but my breath is taken away from me as the icy temperature engulfs my entire body.
The next panel of emergency lighting flashes by in a burst of yellow and I see that the chute is half full of water. This is not normal.
This is not good.
My whole body burns as I submerge in the liquid, my descent slowing rapidly. There’s no going back: this chute is a one-way trip with only one exit. Like the Gauntlets, not all chutes on the Tower were operational after today’s drill. Some were declared unsafe and scheduled for maintenance. I guess this is why.
The water is up to my chest as I continue sliding downwards. My ears submerge and I feel my body slowing even more. My heart pounds. How far is the exit? How long can I hold my breath? Is this tube big enough to swim in? I’m about to find out all those answers.
It happens fast. The chute drops again, winding around the Tower, and I’m totally submerged. Completely upside down. My body slows as I sink into the water.
I pull my arms up and try to swim but my elbows hit the walls of the tube. I can just about kick my legs to give me some forward motion. It’ll have to be enough. It’s all I’ve got.
I open my eyes and the pain is intense. Excruciating. It feels like the fluid inside them wants to freeze.
I kick. I know my body is using oxygen fast but I’m not going to die without a fight.
I use my fingers to grip the walls, assisting my restricted legs by pulling myself downwards along the tube, clawing chunks of ice out of my way.
I can hear my heartbeat. It practically echoes around my head, like a drummer inside my skull. It gets faster. Faster. Booming down the tube ahead of me.
I must go down. It’s against every instinct: when you’re submerged in water you want to go up, but if I turn back I’ll never get out. They’ll leave me to rot in here. I must keep moving. There are only two options for me now: either I make it out or I die trying.