by Eliza Green
‘There will be an auction here tomorrow!’ he shouted for the benefit of those who looked on. ‘Tell your family and friends to bring all the money they have.’
The female got mouthy and wrestled with the chain, so much that Marcus had to talk himself out of hitting her a second time. She could fetch more if he didn’t completely kill her spirited attitude.
Marcus and Carl bound the pair to the obelisk and activated the electrical current. He nodded up at two guards on the top floor of one building. They had been ordered to fire if the pair tried to escape. They got back into the car.
As the vehicle pulled away, Marcus looked back at them one last time.
Carl said, ‘Are you sure Enzo won’t want these two at HQ?’
Marcus saw red. ‘I don’t give a fuck what that shitbag wants. I don’t work for him. I work for his father.’
Carl nodded. ‘Can’t say I thought much of the seven we sent there. These two seem stronger than the rest.’
‘One’s a cook, the other’s a teacher. How do you think Gaetano’s gonna react if we rock up with that pair?’
Carl flashed his uneven teeth at Marcus and ran a finger across his neck in a cutting motion. ‘I’d say you’d look great with a second ring to match the one on your neck.’
Marcus jammed his Buzz Gun into the side of Carl’s head. ‘Keep talking, you dipshit.’
Carl laughed and Marcus slid the gun from his head. ‘Always was easy to rattle you, Maaarcus.’
13
Isobel watched as Johan searched for a way to loosen the wire around their bodies. In its current position it kept them elevated off the ground. He leaned back to look at the other side of the stone structure. ‘There’s an extra piece that the wire is partially looped around. If we can work it down, it should give us some breathing space.’
Isobel and Johan tugged on the tight wire. Pulses of electricity nipped at her hands. She gritted her teeth against the pain and pulled the extra piece up far enough to loosen the rest of their binds. The move added enough slack to allow them to sit on the ground.
Isobel squeezed her eyes shut against the tiny shocks as she shimmied down. On the ground, she didn’t move.
It was night and the square was quiet. Isobel could hear nothing, except for Johan who panted beside her. She saw no sign of the residents in this strange neighbourhood. When the car had pulled up to the square, those she had seen had looked fearful.
She’d noticed a clock above the gated entrance to Waverley counting backwards when the car drove in. Maybe the place was under curfew.
‘Marcus mentioned an auction tomorrow,’ said Isobel.
Johan’s breathing had returned to normal. ‘Yeah. He’ll attempt to sell us to the residents here.’
‘Why?’
‘Because we’re useless to him. We won.’
Isobel looked around her. ‘I’m not sure I’d consider this winning.’
Johan snorted.
‘At least it will be overcast tomorrow,’ said Isobel.
Johan closed his eyes. ‘Yeah, at least.’
Isobel turned to face him. The electricity stung her. ‘Best not to move much,’ said Johan.
‘I hadn’t planned on it. But since we’ll be here all night and not likely to get much sleep with this thing around us, how about we talk?’
Johan opened one eye and looked at her. ‘About what?’
‘What were you before you were altered? What was your human job?’
Johan closed his eyes. ‘I was a cook.’
It was Isobel’s turn to snort. ‘And I was a teacher.’
‘You got me.’ He heaved a sigh. ‘I’m not telling you. I don’t even know you.’
But Isobel persisted. ‘Who did you leave behind?’
Johan gave her a wary look. ‘Why do you want to know so badly?’
‘I suppose at some point it won’t matter where you came from.’
‘Do you really believe that?’
Isobel shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I’m being optimistic. I’ve no idea if I’ll ever be accepted here.’
Johan shifted his position. ‘What about you?’
‘You know my story.’
‘Saying you have a husband doesn’t tell me much. You wanted to talk, so talk. Tell me about your husband.’
Isobel cleared her throat. She wasn’t sure she wanted to talk about Alex to a stranger.
‘I didn’t think so.’ Johan shifted again. His movements sent jabbing electrical impulses through Isobel’s skin.
‘Could you please stay still?’
‘I’m trying.’
‘We’re stuck in this neighbourhood with no idea what will happen after we’re auctioned off. How do we get out of this?’
Johan shifted again. ‘How about we just concentrate on staying out of the criminal HQ? From what I understand, that place is worse than anywhere else on Earth.’
‘Why? What goes on there?’
‘Forced starvation, beatings, light aggravation. Take your pick. That’s where the others from our spacecraft have gone. Honesty gets you nowhere on this hellhole when you look like we do.’
The criminals’ torture methods sounded similar to those she’d endured with Anton and Bill Taggart. They’d tortured her to give her an early taste of life with the criminals and she’d just had a lucky escape.
Johan drifted off to sleep while Isobel lay awake thinking about the one person who mattered in this: Alex Sinclair.
The parties, the gowns, the good food; the important people who attended the parties and Alex’s status in these circles. It all meant something once. Then there were men like Charles Deighton who noticed her when she entered a room on Alex’s arm. She remembered most of her old life now: the apartment in a nice neighbourhood in upstate New York with an inside garden. Artificial intelligence embedded into every object and every borrowed aspect of their lives. Strange welts on Alex’s arms as if he’d cut himself. The arguments that ensued when she’d asked him about them.
‘It’s nothing,’ he’d said. ‘Just leave it.’
‘Why are you self-harming?’ She couldn’t think of another reason for the cuts: short, horizontal strokes.
‘I’m not. They’re just scratches. A work-related injury. Drop it.’
Alex had gotten so angry when she brought up the injuries. Over time it became easier to ignore her husband’s increasingly strange mood than to confront it.
She and Alex had continued to go to their parties after she’d discovered the first set of cuts, but something had changed between them. She didn’t think he’d fallen out of love with her but they’d reached a blockade in their marriage. Finding Alex after eight years apart was her priority now. She hoped he was still alive. What had happened to him? Was there still a chance for them?
14
After a night of fitful sleep, Isobel startled awake to find the square crammed onlookers who surrounded their location. The people kept their distance from her and Johan. She had no idea how many Indigenes these people saw, but she imagined the presence of one that looked half human, half Indigene, and Johan who still looked Indigene, must have been a shock.
The sun’s glow was faint through a cloud-obstructed sky. The temperature remained chilly, something that pleased Isobel. She had no idea if she could tolerate the sun in her new form and she was sure her captor didn’t care. A land vehicle approached and Isobel heard every tiny stone kicked up by the tyres. At least her hearing still worked. The black car roared into view, narrowly missing a few people who stood at the edge of the square. It skidded and squealed as it came to a stop beside the obelisk.
Marcus climbed out, followed by the red-haired man. He pressed a button on a handheld device, deactivating the electricity flowing through the wire. Isobel released a soft breath and some of the tension to keep her body still. The metal shackles still bound Isobel and Johan’s wrists and ankles. Marcus clipped a length of chain to their ankle restraints and used a shorter length to bind Isobel and Johan to each other.
Marcus pulled them both to their feet using the chain.
Isobel considered making a run for it, but the red-haired man pointed a Buzz Gun at them as he’d done on the way here. She still had her strength and she sensed Johan did, too, but to use it against an unknown crowd didn’t appeal to her. Isobel glanced down at the World Government uniform she’d been forced to wear. Memories of her original alteration still eluded her, but she recalled enough to know the uniform represented the people who had forced change on her. Isobel cried out in pain when Marcus jerked the chain suddenly.
‘You two gonna behave or do I have to make ya?’
Isobel faced away from Marcus, where a gap in the crowd had opened up.
‘No trouble,’ said Johan.
Isobel looked back and away from her potential escape route, wishing she could read Johan’s thoughts. She cursed the dampening chip in her neck that prevented her from using her telepathic abilities.
Marcus’ black eyes watched her, as though he waited for her answer.
‘Yes.’ What else could she say?
She studied the faces in the crowd and sensed a quiet excitement among them. The feeling was different to what she’d sensed from Marcus or his associate; the residents of Waverley were far more subdued. How did Marcus keep them on such short leads?
The residents flung verbal insults at her and Johan.
‘Bottom-feeders. What the hell are you coming here for? We can barely feed ourselves.’
‘We don’t want you here. Go home.’
‘Quiet,’ said Marcus, and the crowd fell silent.
Isobel began to understand the hierarchy in this strange neighbourhood. She wondered if all ‘devolved humans’ or Indigenes were treated this way on Earth. Were they on equal footing with the humans, or considered of lower rank in other neighbourhoods? Isobel noticed an older man on the edge of the circle, watching her. His clothes were caked in dirt, his hair unkempt. She shivered when his eyes travelled from her face to her breasts, then to her legs. She didn’t need to read the man’s mind to know his thoughts. She heard someone call him ‘Old Pete’.
A lanky teenager with messy black hair caught her eye as he pushed to the front with another older man in tow. The teenager had called him ‘Albert’. The old man looked to be around eighty. Average height, with grey-black hair and wrinkled skin. A long grey raincoat covered his slightly stooped posture. His shoes, made from some type of woven material, weren’t as tough or hard wearing as the boots Marcus wore. Albert didn’t seem as threatening as Old Pete.
Marcus started the bidding on Johan, and set his own price. Albert countered too low which attracted some laughter from Marcus. ‘What’s he good at, skills-wise?’ said someone.
Marcus looked Johan up and down. ‘Fetching and carrying.’
Isobel swallowed back a hard lump in her throat. Is this what her life had become? Were she and Johan destined to be slaves? Marcus yanked the chain again and it unsteadied her. She was too weak from the electricity and lack of sleep to fight him. She looked down at her feet and willed the tears away. Again, she considered running, but where would she go? She was surrounded by people who thought nothing about auctioning her off like a commodity. The outside could be worse.
‘Sold to the man in the back.’ Marcus agreed a price for Johan and unhooked the length of chain that connected the ankle restraints. She glanced at her own restraints. The time for escape had come. She could grab the chain from Marcus and wrap it around his neck. It would only take a few seconds now that Johan couldn’t impede her.
Marcus started a new bid for Isobel. Her breathing became ragged as she worked through the plan in her head. Marcus didn’t notice. He was too busy laughing at Albert and the teenager as they bargained a price for her. Her eyes flitted across the crowd as she calculated her best shot out of this place. She didn’t care if they caught her. She had to find her husband. Then everything would be okay.
She remembered Serena’s request.
Ask for Jenny Waterson.
Why should she care about some woman she’d never met? Serena had no idea what this place had become, how, from the get-go Isobel had to fight for her life. Her gaze found the small gap in the crowd again. When should I make my move? Before or after they agree a price for me?
Marcus continued to talk, but she couldn’t concentrate on what he said.
Her bare feet twitched on the cold ground, yet her legs wouldn’t move. Someone watched her from the crowd, an older woman with a dirty face. She wore a grease-covered purple World Government uniform similar to hers. The woman levelled a stare at her. Then Isobel saw her lift her hands, as though she warned her to stay put. She followed with a quick shake of her head. It was enough to make Isobel hesitate. Before she knew it, the auction was over and Marcus was removing her restraints. He held what looked like a compass in his hand.
‘Bidding’s closed.’ Marcus tossed Isobel’s chain at the teenager. ‘Time for you to take your pet home. Leave out a bowl of water so she doesn’t go thirsty.’ He pushed Isobel toward the lanky teen and the man called Albert.
Isobel sought the woman again who ignored her now. Had the woman just played her, distracted her long enough for her escape route to disappear?
‘All right, show’s over,’ said the red-haired man. ‘Everybody, clear outta here.’ The crowd dispersed at the man’s command. Isobel’s move towards the crowd shifted the lingerers.
But Marcus stayed put, staring after the human who’d bought Johan. He strode over to Johan and threatened him with a Buzz Gun. Johan didn’t flinch. ‘I’ve changed my mind. You’re coming with me.’
She saw Johan’s calm facade slip as Marcus switched his focus to the human. The human dropped to his knees and begged for his life. Marcus shot him at close range, leaving a smoking hole in the side of his head. Then he tore the gel mask from the fallen man’s face and took his canister. He led Johan to the car then stood by the car, surveying the place.
Isobel stared at the stationary vehicle. Johan would soon go to the one place he feared most, and the one place she was glad to have avoided. He’d known about the criminals’ torture methods. Isobel hoped Taggart and Anton had also prepared him for life there.
The old man pushed her and the lanky teenager away from the square. The boy said something to her but she didn’t hear a word of it.
A trail of people followed them. The insults picked up a new head of steam, mostly aimed at Albert.
‘What the hell do you need one of those for, Albert?’ said one.
‘I thought you hated those things,’ said another.
‘You’d do well to shut your mouth, Tom. I need a barkeep. I can’t keep relying on two sixteen-year-olds to run my place, can I?’
Albert’s hand on her arm was gentle. She wanted to rip his arm off. ‘Please, just keep moving. We’re almost there.’
She wanted to ask where they were taking her, but the auction and seeing Marcus take Johan had shocked her into silence. She was alone. It was better if she trusted nobody.
‘I’m Ben, and this is Albert,’ said the teen. They walked her down a straight dirt road. ‘What’s your name?’
She found her voice. ‘What’s it to you?’
‘I want to know what to call you. I know this isn’t what you expected, but maybe we can make the best of things.’
He smiled at her and Isobel felt her hard shell soften a little. She would play along until she could find a way out of this neighbourhood, out of this prison. The restraints bit into her skin.
‘Isobel.’ She looked around, absorbing every detail of her environment. ‘What do you plan to do with me?’
‘Don’t worry. We’re the good guys. We’re here to rescue you.’
She could sense no deception from Ben, but Albert remained cautious. Isobel tuned out of the rest of Ben’s chatter as she scanned the neighbourhood for any means of escape. She etched each crumbling facade, each misplaced stone and each pothole in the unpaved road into her memory. To figure a real way ou
t of the neighbourhood, she’d have to wander on her own. The entrance to this place was guarded. She could still run fast and she still had her strength, but she didn’t feel as strong as she had before the reversal treatment.
What was she now: Indigene or human? She had her human memories and she remembered things about her life with Alex. But the auction made it clear she was no longer considered human on this planet, no matter how much she’d reversed. Her instincts were Indigene: her desire to escape, her dislike of the residents here, her need for blood and meat. Would meeting Alex again change that, make her feel connected to her old home? How would her husband react to her new form?
Ben and Albert brought her to an old red-bricked building. An ancient sign hung from rusted chains. Lee’s Tavern.
A bound Isobel shuffled inside to a sparsely decorated tavern. The stench from the hops in the beer hit her as soon as she walked through the door. It was not the strong brew she remembered being served the night of one of Charles Deighton’s parties. The beer and wine had been plentiful. This brew had been watered down, and if she were to guess, to a fraction of regular strength beer. A bottle of whisky sat on the shelf behind the bar. A fifth of the pale yellow liquid was missing. Albert went upstairs and returned with a screwdriver, a crowbar and a hacksaw. He gestured to the chains.
‘Before I take these off, I need your reassurances that you won’t harm us,’ said Albert.
Isobel looked away. ‘I will make no such promise.’
He put the tools down. ‘Then the chains stay on.’
Ben pleaded with her. ‘Just promise and we can take them off.’
She would promise for now; she’d make her mind up about these humans later. Isobel’s breathing laboured in the oxygen-rich environment
‘Are you all right?’ said Ben.
‘My lungs will adapt.’
‘How is that possible?’
‘Genetic reversal.’ She closed her eyes waited for the pressure in her lungs to subside. ‘My lungs are now part Indigene, part human. And, yes, I promise not to kill any of you. Now take off these chains.’