Sammy grinned, and Antonino looked at me. ‘Yes. You. Sit.’
It was definitely going to be a long session.
As the people piled into the light grey auditorium, I realised a few things. Firstly, everyone here really liked the colour grey. It was on the walls, the columns, and the window frames holding the giant sheets of what I assumed was unbreakable glass. It was on the suits of the men and the dresses of the ladies. The ice-white tile floor, identical to that in my washroom, would be the only salvation from grey in the room, if not for the “Anson Foundation” banner that hung behind me, detailed in red again. I looked around from my front row seat, and felt, rather than saw, the crowds coming in behind me. Despite the cold of the room it got very warm and stuffy exceptionally quickly. I tried to ignore it, and soon the room fell silent as Michael took to the stage.
‘Fellow Capehillians.’ He began, his voice amplified by the two small black microphones built into the podium. ‘Today we welcome a man who needs no introduction... and yet, I will give him one anyway.’ Through the polite laughter, I felt Sammy nudge me with his elbow. I ignored him, and focused on what Michael was saying, and how he was saying it. ‘If any of us were offered the largest single sum of money in existence, we would all like to believe we would do something important and meaningful with it. However, we would probably justify buying one more house, or another luxury car.’ He gestured towards me. ‘This man, however, did not do that. Instead, he began a Foundation. A Foundation to help those most in need. A Foundation to assist in the rebuilding of our cities and citizens. A Foundation for the people.’ He paused and took a sip of water. ‘This man is somebody I am proud to have met and be called a friend... as well as one of the nicest bosses I have ever had.’ He smiled widely, and was met with more laughter, genuine this time as it had to have been known I had never interfered with his running of the Foundation. ‘Today, we welcome him to his rightful place in Capehill as one of the genuinely great individuals who is making the world a better place. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Jason Anson.’
Throughout the applause, Michael beckoned me up to the podium, and grabbed my forearm in a proud handshake. He pulled me close and whispered, ‘Nice haircut, by the way.’ I smiled despite the nerves, and he nodded. ‘You’ll be fine. Got the script?’
‘In my pocket.’ I reached in with my left hand and pulled the index cards out.
He nodded. ‘Great. Just stick to it, pause for laughs, and we’ll have a drink later. And if anyone asks you about the Gnarler problem, direct them to the press office.’ He clapped me on the back. ‘You’ll be fine!’ He smiled reassuringly, letting go with his hand, and sat off to one side.
I recognised nobody, save for Sammy in the front row. I held the index cards in a vice-like grip, the neat copperplate handwriting reading the script I was due to recite. I looked out at the sea of faces and tried to ignore Sammy's huge grin as I knew he was remembering his advice to me: 'Just imagine everyone in their underwear!' He shifted in his seat, suddenly sitting in what, were he just in his underwear, would be a rather obscene position.
I cleared my throat and brought my attention back to the index cards. 'Ladies and gentlemen', I began.
Good start. One line down, five full index cards to go.
'I'd like to thank everybody here for the warm welcome. Although I’ve only been here a short while, I’ve been made very much to feel at home.’ Light applause. One woman at the back, her head dipped down so her face was hidden by a russet curtain, stood up and moved slowly towards the exit. I didn’t think the speech was going that badly. Honestly, the fact someone would walk out in the first 10 seconds made me feel a little uneasy. nevertheless, I pushed on.
‘Capehill has, since its inception, always represented the best humanity has to offer. Whether through the hard work and tireless efforts of the Augmented Humans, Powered Individuals, or the Non-Changed during the war...’ More clapping. I suppose because I mentioned the war? I don’t know. ‘Or today, with the life-changing technologies offered by the companies and conglomerates who have made their home here, there was only one place I could have imagined the Anson Foundation finding a home.’
More applause. I got distracted as the woman who had got up opened up the white door at the back. As she turned to exit, she looked back at me and we made eye contact.
Looking into her face was like seeing the dead rise from the grave. Which, in a way, I suppose it had. So that’s how they knew about my Dad’s office! I realised.
‘Wait!’ I took a step forward to speak to her, and that’s when the world erupted in fire.
Chapter Five
Shockwaves
A rush of too hot, unbearably heated wind slammed into my body, throwing me in the air.
And then
Nothing.
My arm GOD my arm is on fire it hurts so much. My legs are bothering me too but my arm oh Jesus my arm...
Stillness.
Flashes and crashes. Light. And sound. Coming at me all. At once with. Screaming and crying and Sammy shouting ‘oh my God somebody please help him’
Help who, Sammy? You don’t know anyone here well enough to sound that upset. I look around for him but the world’s gone black. Power cut? If the air conditioner has shut down in a power cut that would explain why it’s so goddamned hot and what the hell is wrong with my arm and legs? I try to raise my left arm, to see if I can see even the faintest outline of it through the darkness.
‘Please!’ Sammy’s voice, louder and more desperate. ‘Don’t just stand there...’
Am I standing? I don’t remember standing.
The heat is too much and why is my arm burning and God the pain in my legs is getting worse why does it feel like someone’s wrapped my legs in a tight rope I can’t move them and now I’m starting to panic because through all the screaming and shouting and Sammy crying I can smell cooking meat oh good, I haven’t had anything to eat since we got here I stop and pause because I don’t remember anyone setting up a grill for the press conference and now I can hear metal groaning and complaining and a creaking behind me and then another scream and my throat burns and oh God the scream is me I’m making that scream and I’ve always been screaming and I’m falling...
Coolness.
Black. Soft. Coolness.
My arm doesn’t hurt anymore. It just itches. My legs, too, around the thigh. I try to use my left foot to scratch my right leg, but I can’t feel anything. Just a too-warm itchiness that I can’t ignore.
I sense a presence at my side. Why can’t they turn the lights on here, either? How widespread is this thing?
‘Mr Anson, just rest.’ A warm, elderly voice suggests. Despite my confusion, and the itch, I surrender to the prompting.
I can hear my mother crying.
I want to reach out, to tell her it’s okay, but I’m too tired. I can hear my mother crying, and my Dad is whispering in my ear. He’s telling me that everything will be fine, I’m being looked after, and I’m such a brave young man. He’s proud of me, and they both love me very much.
There’s... something. Some small part of me, some voice, is trying to remind me that this is impossible, that there’s some reason that my parents can’t be there. The larger part of me tells that voice to shut up, and I lay back, listening to my father’s words and my mother’s tears and I draw in comfort I haven’t known in forever, and it lays down over and inside me, enveloping me like a blanket of love and warmth.
I’ve forgotten what it feels like to be loved.
I’ve missed them. I miss them so much. I decide to tell them how I feel, so I shift despite the pain and tiredness, and
I drift away again.
When I became aware of my surroundings again, I became aware of a muted tang of cleaning solution. The type you only really smell in hospitals. A faint beeping noise kept a regular tattoo in my ears, almost drowned out, as it was, by a familiar voice muttering something to me. ‘“No warmth could warm, nor wintry weather chill him. No win
d that blew was bitterer than he, no falling snow was more intent upon its purpose, no pelting...”’ He paused in his recitation of an all-too familiar story, and I could almost hear the smile on his face. ‘You awake, then?’
I nodded, feeling too weak to reply. I heard a shift of paper as Sammy put the book down.
‘I’ll get the doctor. Don’t get up.’ He added, almost as a too-casual afterthought, which made me start to worry. The beeping noise got faster. I looked around but was still unable to make anything out. However, now I realised there was a bandage over my face. I reached up with my dominant left hand to move it, but-
‘Ah! Mr Anson. Back with us again?’ That same elderly voice from before seemed cheery enough. I nodded again. ‘Well, let’s hope it’s for a little longer this time, eh?’
This time?
‘Mr Anson, you’re safe at Saint Cassian’s Hospital, where you’ve been in a comatose state for several weeks.’ The voice (whom I assumed - correctly - belonged to the doctor Sammy mentioned) continued. ‘You’ve woken up a few times, but for not very long. This is a common enough practice with comatose patients, and nothing to be concerned about.’
I wracked my brain, trying hard to remember when I had woken up before. I shook my head.
‘Now, can you tell me how you feel?’
‘Throat hurts.’ I croaked out.
‘Yes, that’s to be expected. You inhaled an awful lot of smoke, and there’s still some damage.’ I felt a small plastic cylinder touch my lips, and I instinctively drew it into my mouth. I sipped at the warm water, desperate to take large slurps, but the elderly voice informed me that it would be a bad idea.
When I was done, I let the straw fall out of my mouth. ‘How long?’
‘Nearly five weeks, Mr Anson.’
‘Yeah, you gave us all a fright, Jay.’ Sammy chimed in. From his proximity I figured he was the one holding the water cup. ‘I was... well.’
I had a flash back to Sammy sounding scared to death, screaming for someone to ‘please help him!’ and realised it had been me he was talking about.
‘I must look pretty bad.’ My voice was starting to sound more like me.
‘You look like crap, mate.’ He said, almost too-jokingly. I knew he was clearly trying to hide something.
‘So. How bad is it?’
‘Are you sure you want to know, Mr Anson?’
‘Yes, Doc.’
‘We can always wait until we know that you’re secure and conscious...’
‘Doctor, just tell me!’ I snapped.
‘Well, alright, then.’ His voice took on a clinical air, as if he were reciting. ‘Your legs were crushed under a metal beam, which passed through your femurs and cauterised the great saphenous and femoral veins as they went, which was highly fortunate as it meant that you didn’t die from any blood loss before you could get here.’
I lay back, stunned. The doctor, however, continued.
‘On top of that your left arm had become too greatly damaged during the explosion and had to be removed later.’
No left hand. How will I sign my name now? I felt myself getting more than a little hysterical. The beeping to my side got faster and faster, and I heard soft footsteps close to me, and felt the hospital gown be lifted from my shoulder.
‘Anything else? Why do I have this bandage across my face?’
‘Jay.’ It was Sammy’s voice this time. ‘Jay, your eyes... you... you lost your eyes, man.’
I felt a long, hard sigh escape me, right about the same time that I felt a scratch and pinch.
‘This will help with your nerves, Mr Anson.’
Nerves. At least I still have some of those left.
I slept again. What else could I do? Doctor McMannus was more than happy that I seemed able to keep myself out of a comatose state this time around, even though I desperately wanted to go back into it. I couldn’t cope. I didn’t know how to begin to deal with this situation. Blind, with one arm and no legs. What was I supposed to do with my life? Thoughts began to bounce back around in my head. The thoughts I had begun to act on before the envelope had dropped through our front door.
I woke up from my standard Emily related dream (now drug enhanced for maximum pain!) and moved my head around, to try to hear if anyone was in the room.
‘Hello?’
‘Awake again.’ Sammy’s voice sounded... different. More strained.
‘Yeah.’
‘Dreaming about the explosion?’
‘No, Emily. Again.’ I tilted my head down. ‘Could you pass me some more water?’
I felt a straw rest against my lips, and as it appeared at my mouth, I sipped thoughtfully. ‘It’s weird,’ I said between sips. ‘All these years I’ve been dreaming about her, I guess I’ve finally snapped.’
‘Oh?’
‘I thought I saw her at the press conference.’ I sighed. ‘It couldn’t have been her, though.’
‘No. Of course not.’ His voice was thick with sarcasm, further away than I would have thought. Closer to me, a sigh escaped. A lighter, feminine sigh.
‘It was me.’ The voice from my dreams admitted, sadness clear in her voice.
‘Emmy?’
‘Hello, Jay.’
The Squaddie... Neil... had died early on in their first sortie, blown up by a passing Chitin. Given that my last clear recollection of the handsome blond was him jamming his tongue down my would-be fiancée’s throat, I wanted to ask if he had known what was happening. I wanted to know he had died in pain, but I didn’t wasn’t entirely sure how Emily would have reacted to that type of questioning.
She should have led with Neil being killed, of course. She should have led with the good news that the guy who came between us had been murdered brutally by the aliens he was so certain he would defeat single-handed. Instead of that, however, she began with an explanation of why she had left: how she had felt like we were “going through the motions”, and how she felt like she couldn’t sit on the side and wait to see what happened.
‘It was never about us, really, Jay.’ She said softly. ‘More about-’
‘Please, Em. Don’t give me the “It’s not you it’s me”. That’s such crap.’
‘But it’s true. I loved you... of course I did! But people were dying, and my Dad had always raised me to do the right thing and defend my home.’
‘We had a home, Emily!’ I spat out. ‘We did! You and me.’
‘Yes,’ she replied, and I could hear the forced patience in her voice, ‘and it was under attack. If I hadn’t had gone, then who knows what would have happened next.’
She told me about how she had bounced from refugee group to refugee group, before arriving in Capehill. She had found work with SabrexTech as an office worker “doing important, classified work Jay! I helped the war effort!” and had worked her way up to being an executive, VP Liaison to Augmented Humans. She had been in charge of helping Auggies get SabrexTech weapons and armour to help fight in the war.
‘That is pretty cool.’ Sammy said, sounding like he was in the corner. I turned in the direction of his voice. ‘Shutting up, now.’
‘Why’re you still here anyway, Sammy? This is a private conversation.’
‘Moral support.’
‘Whose?’ I replied, tasting the venom from my voice as it dripped off my tongue and earned silence from his direction. ‘So.’ I continued. ‘You armed Auggies.’
‘I did my duty and did what I could to help people continue fighting. Now some of those same people come to your Foundation for support and help.’ I could hear a smile in her voice. ‘I’m so proud of what you’ve accomplished.’
I bit back my initial response and mulled over what she had said.
Is she right?
I looked in what I hoped was her direction. ‘Look, I’m... I’m really tired, Emily. Could you give me some room?’
‘I...’ I could feel the hesitation in her voice. Was she worried that I might not want her to come back? Did I even want her to? ‘Yeah. Y
eah, okay. This is a lot to take in.’
I nodded, not trusting myself. I heard her footsteps get quieter, and then...
Nothing. Silence. I couldn’t believe that-
‘Do you know what I can’t stand?’
‘Yes.’ Sammy’s response was automatic, and it took me a moment to grasp his meaning.
‘Hey!’
‘Sorry.’ He didn’t sound sorry at all. ‘Reflex. What can’t you stand?’
‘Just... she just... wow. I mean, that was just...’
‘Right? Can you believe that?’
‘Sammy... she’s back? And here? And she was there on the day of the explosion?’
‘Yeah.’
‘What’re the odds?’
I shook my head. ‘I dunno.’ I felt a headache coming on. ‘Sammy, can you give me some time to myself?’
‘“I...”’ He put on a falsetto. ‘“Yeah. Yeah, okay. This is a lot to take in.”’ He chuckled. ‘See you in the morning.’
‘I wish I could say the same.’ I forced a smile, then paused. ‘Hey, Sammy?’
‘Yeah?’ He had moved to where I assumed the door was.
‘How did she look?’
‘Good. Like, seriously looking after herself good.’
‘How?’
‘I dunno.’ I could almost hear his shrug in his voice. ‘She’s been working out, clearly. But it’s more than that. She’s better dressed. She seems more confident. She was walking taller and more certain of herself. Except...’
‘Except what?’
‘Except for when she left.’ He seemed more hesitant. ‘Like she...you know. Wanted to stay? I guess?’
I think I hid my smile as I nodded, and I heard him leave.
The next day (as far as I could reckon time) I got to meet a more formal side of the city, as I got a visit from the Capehill Police Department. Two polite men asked a battery of questions which I think they eventually got exasperated over the answers for:
Guardian's Rise Page 6