by Tom Fletcher
I wonder what could possibly have happened. It’s been two days since we had our moment on the Drop and I don’t believe it’s taken this long for him to be reprimanded.
He cared too much to leave me. I know he did. I don’t believe he would just have left without saying anything, without giving me an inkling that he was thinking about it. But I’d been pushing him more and more with each visit to show me himself. Maybe they deemed him too much of a risk. Or maybe he found out something and threatened to tell me. Perhaps they wanted him to do something he was uncomfortable with and Vivian sacrificed him as an example of what happens if you don’t obey orders. Or maybe he’d had enough of life up here and just felt like getting out.
Even I don’t believe that, but the possibilities are endless and, unless someone is willing to give me answers, I guess I’ll never know the truth.
This is how my time has been spent: I’ve been worrying about Bram and dreaming of all the things I don’t know about life in the Tower and the world outside, and how I can find out what’s being kept from me.
A trio of musical notes sounds loudly, causing the women around me to hush their conversations and focus on the screen as it flickers from its usual logo to Vivian’s face.
I move to the other side of the bed to get a better view. She looks as stern, cold and unperturbed as usual, her eyes squinting through the screen as though she can see each and every one of us. Maybe she can. I’ve no doubt they’ve got cameras on us here too. She sits there, as still as stone, waiting to ensure she has our full attention.
It looks as though she’s linking in from her office, although I doubt she’d have remained in there with all of us herded into this little bunker. I imagine the thought of being here with us was too much. I’ve no doubt her office is just as protected as this room and more practical: she can still control everyone from there. And we all know how much she loves control. She’s an important woman, after all. I’m sure anyone of such stature has enemies regardless of their behaviour, but as she’s heartless I’m sure she’s more hated than anyone else. But maybe I’m wrong: it was the people who put her in that position of power. I think back to the Vivian I used to know and the woman my mother talks about in her letters. It’s hard to believe they’re the person I’m watching on the screen now. They’re worlds apart.
This Vivian is so driven, determined and focused she’s forgotten how to be human. How can such a woman be in charge of mending the human race?
‘Hello, ladies.’ She sighs, acting exhausted while slowly tilting her head to one side, as though she’s trying to empathize with us cramped in here while she’s still out there. ‘We trust you’re comfortable. Well done for getting in there so quickly and without panicking – we’d never drilled for this scenario but you coped with utter professionalism. Thank you,’ she says, bowing her head slowly. I look around and see many of the women nodding and smiling, finding joy in her praise, but I don’t buy it. I don’t think it’s genuine, either her words or their reaction to them.
‘Now,’ Vivian continues, ‘I know you’ll all be wondering what’s going on, but it’s for your own security that we keep certain matters classified. They do not concern you up there as we’ve ensured you’re safe, as is Eve. That is all that matters and that alone must always be at the forefront of your minds. Rest assured, we are dealing with the situation and things will be back to normal soon. The intolerable problem will be eliminated promptly. Thank you for your cooperation.’
Vivian’s face fades back into the logo as the same trio of notes rings out to let us know the message is over. We have learnt nothing of the situation downstairs. The low grumbling that follows tells me some of the Mothers feel as I do, that they’re frustrated at being kept in the dark and cooped up in this room.
I wonder if any are worried about Bram. He’s one of their own, a friend in the Tower whom they’ve worked with regularly. They’ve grown to know him through Holly. I wonder if they’re afraid of him and glad to be in here, or feeling betrayed. Or, like me, just scared for him and what might happen if he’s caught.
I saw what they did to Diego when he threatened my life. So although my heart is heavy at the thought of never seeing Bram again, I’d rather he escaped unharmed.
As a tear drops on to my cheek, I slide under my duvet so that the Mothers can’t see me. I bury myself and close my eyes, willing the thoughts and fears looping through my brain to stop.
Seconds later a hand lands on my arm and I feel someone lean over me, then plant a kiss on my cheek.
‘Please don’t cry, little one,’ Mother Kimberley’s voice whispers, with a quiver. ‘I’m so sorry we left you, Eve. We were wrong. We’re here for you. We’re yours.’ Her cheek rests on mine for a few seconds longer. Then she leaves me on my own once more.
They’re scared, I realize.
At least when Vivian threatens me I know she can’t do anything to me. Yes, she can take away my possessions, my food and lock me in my room, but she said I’m a ‘small cog’. I know I’m a vital one. Without this little cog, Vivian’s infrastructure would fall apart and she knows it.
The Mothers, however, are in a more precarious position. I know Vivian wouldn’t think twice about making an example of one. If I’m a ‘small cog’, then I can’t imagine what she calls them when I’m not around.
I think of my mother feeling like a failure after losing her sons, and of the many others who felt worthless because their natural ability to procreate no longer existed. Women haven’t had an easy ride. Those in charge have been working so mindlessly on the rebirth, fighting to bring a new generation of women into the world, they’ve forgotten to look after the ones who are here. They’ve been enslaved to Vivian, and I’m not sure she deserves that control any longer.
39
Bram
‘It’s Frost,’ the scarred man calls, as I hear him pull alongside us in a separate boat. From the chugging engine I’m assuming it’s another inflatable dinghy. ‘Open up.’
Frost . I make a mental note of his name.
I scrunch up my face to widen the gap between my cheek and the itchy blindfold. A thick wooden door opens in what was once a glorious glass clock, its enormous hands now hanging limp, a reminder of a time gone by. This face, which once looked down on a city, now has its chin in the water, gazing up at the new era of cloudscrapers that ignore it.
‘Take the pilot to the Deep,’ Frost barks, and Fatty kicks me to my feet. I’m yet to hear his real name, but if he kicks me again, Fatty might stick.
I play blind, not giving away my few millimetres of sight as I scramble out of the boat and into the clock face.
The air inside is thick and stale. Still, it’s nice being out of the chill. As I’m nudged forward I sense harsh white light on the lower half of my face. The kind that gives you a headache if you’re in it for too long. Peering down, I see steps that descend into dark water, which ripples with the soundtrack of drips falling from every surface. Somehow they’ve contained a portion of this tower, separated it from the flood so that the water level within is a few storeys lower than that of the river outside.
‘Down,’ Fatty orders, and pushes me in the back. I start walking down the steps, guiding myself with the freezing metal rail beside me. It gets warmer with each step and I come to a stop when my feet splash in the water. It’s as far as I can go.
‘Where now?’ I ask.
‘Quiet. You’ll speak when spoken to.’ He leans over me and I see his chubby wet arm reach to the wall on my left. I tilt my head and see a switch. He flicks it and a red light flashes on.
The decaying stone steps rumble under my feet. The water around us begins to bubble.
‘Step back,’ barks Fatty, tugging at my soggy uniform, pulling me towards the wall.
I twist and contort my face to see through the slit: something is rising up through the water from below. Blue lights illuminate the deep hole in the centre of the building’s iron frame. As the lights approach the surface, the water
hisses and splashes. A large iron sphere breaks the surface next to us and the switch on the wall flashes green.
‘Surface!’ Fatty shouts, using a hook to secure the iron ball floating next to us. I hear the deep boom of metal knocking on metal and the screech of something turning.
‘Evening, Chubs.’ A new voice greets Fatty from inside the now open iron submersible. Chubs . I was pretty close.
‘Got an extra passenger tonight,’ Chubs says, as he pushes me towards the ball.
‘Watch your head,’ the voice says, and I instantly like him more than Chubs.
I duck as I lift my feet off the stone staircase and into the ball. I feel a hand around my arm guide me inside. The ball dips and lurches.
‘Jesus, Chubs,’ the new guy says, as we grab the side to steady us while Chubs climbs into the craft. ‘Okay, all aboard? Door closed and locked.’ I hear clanks and screeches as the ball is prepared. ‘Clear to dive?’ he asks.
‘Clear,’ a crackly voice replies, through some sort of on-board tannoy.
The iron ball bounces up and down and bubbles knock on the curved walls around us.
‘I think we can take this off now,’ the kind voice says, and unwraps my blindfold. My eyes adjust instantly to the dim yellow light and I can’t believe what they see.
‘Saunders!’ I say, recognizing his crooked nose and long face.
‘Bram?’ Saunders greets me with a hug. ‘I don’t believe it!’
‘Neither do I! What the hell are you doing here? I thought you were arrested!’ I say, baffled as to how this ex-pilot has found his way down here.
‘I was! Arrested, sentenced, imprisoned, escaped!’ he says proudly.
‘Rescued,’ Chubs says.
‘Well, yeah, technically these guys broke me out but we certainly wouldn’t have got away if it weren’t for me. It helps having retinas registered on the door systems.’ He winks and taps his large nose.
‘So what? You’re a Freever now?’ I ask, with a slight laugh.
‘Ha, yeah, I guess I am. Well, once your dad decided I was a hazard to Eve, and Miss Silva put me behind bars, it kinda changed the way I saw things. I suddenly realized that Eve might not have bars but she was locked up in that place the same as me. Once these guys got me, they showed me things I never knew, Bram. You don’t know what the EPO are, what they’re doing to this place.’
‘To Central?’ I ask.
‘Central? The whole world, more like! This rabble down here, they don’t look like much compared to life in that tower, but this is real. It’s honest. I had to help them,’ Saunders explains. ‘Wait! What the hell are we talking about me for? What are you, the Wonderful Wizard’s son, doing blindfolded by this numbnuts?’
‘Wait a sec, you’re Dr Isaac Wells’s son?’ Chubs asks. ‘Wait till Frost hears this!’ He rubs his fat hands together.
Our descending vehicle comes to a sudden halt and a muffled ringing from outside announces our arrival.
‘Saved by the bell!’ Saunders says. ‘You can tell me all about it later. Welcome to the Deep!’
Someone twists the hatch open from the outside and I feel the hot, thick air rush inside the small iron craft.
I wait for Chubs to climb out, then Saunders and I follow. We step through the small sealed chamber into an adjoining room, then descend another flight of stairs. The walls are lined with a thick layer of rubbery fabric, spattered with drops of condensation. We fall out into a long, dark corridor, lit dimly by sparsely positioned LED torches.
‘This way,’ Chubs grunts, and trundles down the corridor. We hit a dead end and Chubs lifts part of the waterproof lining to reveal a door. It’s old, part of the original building, and the wood is chipping away, rotting from the damp. As we step through into what appears to have been a waiting area, I hear voices in conversation from the room beyond.
‘Good luck,’ Chubs says, with a cocky smirk, as we step into a mighty chamber. The ceiling towers over us, and the original beams keep it in place, now lined with the same waterproof material and reinforced with steel to hold under the pressure of the water outside. The place feels like a makeshift army headquarters. Rows of tables are arranged lengthways down a narrow strip of floor in the centre of the room, tiered rows of benches looking towards them.
The walls are thick and sealed. Dozens of Freevers already surround the tables and fill the rows of seats, and more are pouring in from the far end of the room and above us, spilling out on to a mezzanine level. Not just men but women too, far more than I’ve seen in one place inside the EPO Tower. They fall into the chamber, talking excitedly to each other, to the men. I’m instantly reminded of the Mothers in the Dome, except the Freever women aren’t dressed in any uniform designed to disguise their femininity. There is no separation, no segregation. These are powerful women among powerful men and the energy here is electric. Contagious. I watch as one soaking wet Freever I recognize from outside the Tower is greeted by a woman. They kiss and embrace as the crowd welcome the team home. Judging by the streaks of grey in her hair she’s older than he is. The women are older than most of the men.
My eyes dart away from the couple to the flickering lights of the electronics wired up on the tables. Their set-up is impressive. Far more advanced than anyone in the EPO knows.
Holo-displays project stolen classified images of Eve into the air. Maps and blueprints of the Tower line the tables, covered with scribbles and pins.
We walk through a gap in the tables as the Freevers stare at me, all studying my uniform. The room is noisy, with deep voices bouncing off the high ceiling.
‘All right, cool it, fellas, cool it.’ Frost’s booming voice calms the room as he steps through the rabble to a table in the heart of the chamber. The men and women surround him.
‘So, before we start breaking down tonight’s events, I want to address the matter I’m sure you’re all talking about: our new guest.’ Frost reaches a hand in my direction. Heads turn.
‘You blindfold all your guests?’ I ask, projecting a confidence I’m not sure actually exists.
‘When they wear that uniform we do,’ Frost replies, nodding at my navy jumpsuit emblazoned with EPO mission patches. ‘So, let’s hear some more about you. Bram, is it?’ He reads my name badge.
‘He’s Dr Wells’s son,’ Chubs blurts.
There is an eerie stillness, like someone pressing pause on life.
‘Is this true?’ Frost asks, brushing his damp grey dreadlocks over his shoulder, his dark eyes looking into mine, trying to read me.
I nod.
‘Well, it seems the catch of the day is turning out to be quite the trophy.’
‘It’s easier catching a fish that wants to escape the river,’ I reply.
‘Bullshit,’ Chubs says, with a slight lisp from where I kicked a couple of his teeth out earlier. ‘No one wants to leave that place willingly, especially not the doctor’s son, not from what I’ve heard about you. You’ve got it pretty cushty up there. He’s got spy written all over him.’
Eyes are pushing on me from every direction. I feel the suspicion, the nervousness, the hate. Beads of sweat form instantly and drip down from my forehead to my eyebrows.
‘Please, enlighten us as to why you were escaping. Got yourself into trouble?’ Frost asks, his poker face not giving away his judgement on me yet.
‘I’ve spent my whole life inside that place. The Tower, it’s like living life wearing a blindfold. I guess I was just ready to open my eyes,’ I say.
‘And I’m assuming your father wasn’t best pleased with your awakening?’ Frost asks.
‘That’s one way of putting it,’ I reply. ‘Another way would be that he tried to kill me, failed, then set his security force after me. I escaped. A few minutes later I was being ripped apart by your men and now I’m here.’
‘It’s been quite an eventful evening for you, then,’ says Frost, combing his beard with his fingers.
The benches surrounding us are silent with apprehension as the Freevers a
wait Frost’s orders.
‘Do you know who we are? What we stand for? What our mission is?’ Frost asks, taking a seat at the head of the long table.
I nod. ‘You want to free Eve.’
The room rumbles with laughter.
Frost holds up his hand and silence falls. ‘Yes, that is part of what we wish to achieve, but only a small part. This isn’t just about freeing your precious prisoner.’ He gestures to the army-like battle plans around us. ‘It’s about justice.’
‘Justice?’ I ask.
‘Yes. Justice for Eve, justice for us, and justice for the millions of people living under the rule of the EPO and every like-minded organization on what’s left of this planet. Destroying them is justice, removing the unelected powers before their grip tightens even more on the precious little that is left of this planet while hiding behind their unwilling human shield, using her to disguise their true objective.’
‘True objective? What true objective?’ I ask.
Frost gets comfortable in his seat and starts playing with a small replica of the Tower in his solid, grubby fingers. ‘How do you become the most powerful organization on the planet? More powerful than governments, than royalty, than armies, even than God? By controlling the most important person on the planet. Eve. They only care about Eve because she brings them unlimited power. Take Eve out of the equation and what do they have?’ He topples the model on to its side. ‘Once we take Eve, once we destroy the EPO, we will bring back order. The first step is reclaiming Eve.’
‘Reclaiming her?’ I ask.
‘Yes. She is the saviour of humanity. It’s time that humanity took her back, and with your help, we now stand the best chance we have ever had.’
40
Bram
Chubs, my newly appointed chaperone, shows me to a room where I can rest. It’s small and damp but the moment my head touches the boarded floor I feel a strange, alien sensation drift over me.