by JT Lawrence
"Good work, partner," said Seko. Simpson nodded. She liked being undercover; enjoyed acting different parts — mechanic, shopkeeper, accountant, temp teacher.
“Come on,” Simpson said, cuffing Monica’s hands behind her back. “Let’s go.”
Monica struggled against her. “I can’t go to jail. I can’t be alone!”
“Don’t worry,” said Candice. “I’m sure the Hollow Man will keep you company.”
6
The White Mouse
Akeratu
Silok, 2051
Jana stood outside, surveying what remained of her garden. She picked a leaf from the gnarled plum tree and examined it. The perforated paper flag was scorched by the acidic ash that snowed endlessly down from the toxic fog above. The veins of the leaf were still intact, creating the illusion of a delicate skeleton made of only dried brown costa; a transparent butterfly's wing. The rain would eat pretty patterns into anything it touched. Gazing at the garden sometimes felt like a sinister version of hunting for pictures in the clouds.
Jana knew there was a certain beauty in destruction, but not in this. She released it, and the leaf fluttered down to the yellow grass while she dusted her fingers of its residue. The apple trees were the first to go, then the fig. The plum had held out for the longest but was now also succumbing to the sour air that swirled around it. Jana needed no further reminders of death.
She closed her eyes to remember the taste of the syrupy purple plums, and how the yard used to look: a lush jungle with not a brick nor patch of plaster showing—as if someone had painted it a verdant green. It was not uncommon in the 2030s to have a forest in one's backyard. The community of Silok had taken up their spades in response to the mayor's plea to plant carbon-trapping food gardens. The suburb had exploded with shoots and leaves and vigorous climbers. The community swapped slips and saplings and eventually bartered produce: carrots; coriander; compost. Rosy apples and jade plants. It had brought them together in a way technology never had, but the invading silver soldiers had subverted that. The State of Shengdu had pitted neighbours against one other, and those neighbours fed whispers to the enemy in the empty hope their families would be safe. Now they passed on suspicion instead of seeds.
Jana had never expected to be a wife—and certainly never a mother—but life had a way of surprising her with gifts as much as it did by taking them away. She never guessed she’d have two small children. Few people knew that before the occupation of western Akeratu, Jana had been an SOE for the resistance movement. In a seemingly different lifetime, they nicknamed her The White Mouse because of her ability to evade capture. The meek moniker had been at odds with her personality. At that time, Jana had been a hard-drinking, foul-mouthed blonde bombshell. But the nickname resonated on a deep level because no matter how hard she tried to forget it, she remembered growing up with the mousy girl in the mirror; the raggedy-ann dresses, the limp plaits and hunger pangs. In the quieter moments of her life as a high-society hostess and Special Operations Executive, her nickname reminded her how far she had come, and for what she was fighting.
Jana saved fellow resistance fighters and downed airmen. She passed on classified information gleaned from late-night drinks with Sheng officials to the rebel intelligence. Once, she'd ordered the execution of a female spy working to undermine their resistance, and it hadn't even put her off her breakfast. It was a different time, bold and exploding with the sparks of danger, and maybe that's why she had fallen so hard for Kino when he was introduced to her by a fellow rebel.
It wasn’t Kino’s dark, handsome face that made her heart beat faster. He had a way about him: tender, funny, authentic, and an excellent shot with the customised pistol he’d taken off a silver soldier in an unsuccessful raid. Kino refused to file off the silver swastika that decorated its handle; said it brought him luck. Jana told him it attracted trouble.
Kino had grinned. It’s the same thing, isn’t it?
It was the unborn baby who saved the rebels’ lives. As Kitsune grew in Jana’s womb, Kino was moved to propose by candlelight. He painted a picture of how they could remove themselves from the relentlessness of the rebellion. Jana held the belief she would die progressing the resistance movement; couldn’t see a different ending to the mission she had accepted when the Sheng State began sending its toxic tendrils into her homeland. But Kino described an alternative vision; one free of constant peril, and she took the ticket he offered her. They would make an attempt at an ordinary life—or as ordinary as the State allowed—and spend a few years loving each other and the child before the inevitable happened.
Their comrades were not bitter. Perhaps they were too exhausted for wasteful emotions, or maybe it gave them hope that one day they could also return to a normal life. Soon Jana and Kino were married and living together in a small house with a young blossoming plum tree in the backyard.
As the blossoms turned to fruit, Jana's taut body softened and swelled. When Kitsune was born after a long, dark labour, Jana and Kino wept in each other's arms. Crashing rapids of hope and despair overcame them. As they cradled the sleeping baby, their eyes said the same thing: What have we done?
The future was bleaker than it had ever been, with silver soldiers banging their rifle butts on the neighbour's doors at midnight. It was a terrible, terrifying sound. The chorus of catastrophe would haunt Jana's dreams. They heard snatches of stories of how soldiers dragged families from their beds to be separated, or shot. Any hint of suspicion was enough to warrant being "collected" by the State. Jana and Kino knew it was just a matter of time before the invaders came for them. The plan had been to leave the resistance movement, but after Kitsune was born, and then his little sister Milla, Jana and Kino realised they had more than ever to fight for. Kino never spoke about his operations, he never had. His biggest fear was Jana being tortured for information. Jana could no longer be the glamorous hostess she had played before, but she still had contacts. She drafted pamphlets which would then be copied and distributed to fellow rebels. If anyone asked, she called herself a freelance journalist.
The stories were an essential part of fighting the indoctrination of the Shengdu propaganda. The State would have you believe that everyone East of the Fiume river was living in a State-sponsored Shangri-La. Of course, this was not true. The people there had access to medical care, clean water, and fresh food, but it came at a cost. The citizens' thoughts were censored; their bodies policed.
On the day Jana was writing up a new story about a schoolgirl who had been raped and impregnated by a fellow student, and she felt the danger humming in her veins. In the Silver State, abortion was punishable by death, and the rapist had been granted visitation rights, including being allowed to attend the birth. Jana's jaw ached, and she realised she was clenching it as she typed. She imagined herself in that situation, and then her daughter, and bitterness climbed up her throat. There had been a slew of shameful stories leaking that month, including smuggled pictures of dull-eyed children kept in cages. Jana stopped writing and stood up. Her idea was to get some fresh air outside, in the garden, but the state of the plum tree just highlighted her despair. Specks of grey floated down from the sky. What kind of life were they living?
“Mama?” came a voice from behind Jana, and she spun around.
"Don't come out," said Jana, walking up to the toddler and lifting her small body into a hug. She thinks of the brown leaf shot through with holes. "Don't go outside, okay?"
When did the weather become something to be feared? As if there wasn’t enough to worry about.
With the last of the flour ration, they baked some bread together, and when Kitsune ambled in, hands in pockets, he smiled hopefully at the aroma. Jana took the loaf out of the oven, and as they waited for it to cool, the doorbell rang. Jana cautiously opened to three smudge-cheeked children. "Food," they muttered. There was no room in their desperation for please.
Jana told them to wait, then cut the loaf in half and bundled it up in a faded tea towel.
>
Kitsune blocked her way. “You can’t give that to them,” he said. “The cupboards are bare. We won’t get more rations till Friday.”
A gaping hole of three days stretched before them. Jana forced words past the lump in her throat. “They’re starving.”
“So are we!” said Kitsune, tears in his eyes. “What about your teeth? And you said yourself that Milla isn’t growing.”
Jana bit her lip to hide her shock. What else had he overheard? She lowered herself, balancing on a knee, and pulled his face towards hers so that their foreheads were touching; her arm wrapped around his small frame. "They're starving, Kitsune," she repeated. "Their parents are dead."
Mouth down-turned, he blinked forcefully, trying to get rid of the tears. "Yes, Mama," he said and moved out of her way. Her tongue moved involuntarily to her loose molar, testing its attachment. It would be the third tooth she lost to poor nutrition and pollution. The doorstep children grabbed the chunk of the warm loaf and ran away. They did not say thank you. When Kino arrived home, his face a thunderbolt, the kitchen still smelt like freshly baked bread.
“What is it?” asked Jana, wiping her hands after putting the children to bed, trying to put out of her mind the smallness of Milla’s body under the faded blue blanket. Kino just stared out the kitchen window. She moved towards him and touched his back, and he startled.
His expression chilled her. “Kino?”
Her husband looked at her, then rubbed his face. “I got the note today.”
“No,” she said. Jana’s insides were ice water.
Kino nodded.
I got the note today.
The phrase was their emergency flare, fizzing between them, asserting its ugly truth. Their family were to be collected that night—or perhaps the next—but they had finally made the list everyone in Silok feared. They had discussed this day, planned every detail, but still, it didn't feel real. Their emergency bags were packed and hidden in the crawl-space under the wooden floor. Jana's stomach roiled.
"It was one of the pamphlets you wrote," he said. "It got into the wrong hands." There was nothing accusatory in his tone. They were rebels when they fell in love, and they always knew they would die for what they believed. The children, however, made it almost impossible to bear.
A part of her, the hopeless part, made her want to give up. She didn't want to put her children through the terror of running for their lives. Some parents had taken a hot iron to the back of their children's necks to burn the barcodes off, hoping it would save them. It hadn't.
“We will not panic,” said Jana, more to herself than anyone else. “We know what to do.”
"Yes," said Kino. His eyes were soft; his touch tender. That happens when you know you only have one more night with the love of your life. He fetched an old bottle of plum brandy from the kitchen. Alcohol hadn't been available to buy since the Sheng shut down the industry, but Jana and Kino had distilled some from the fruit of their tree before it stopped producing. They had been saving it for the day the war ended; a victory drink. He wiped the oily dust from the bottle and set out two scuffed glass tumblers on the kitchen counter, pouring them a syrupy shot each. They settled in the living room, looking out into the skeletal branches of the dead garden, sipping the brandy while Kino massaged Jana's feet. They had revised the plan hundreds of times and were never satisfied. There didn't seem to be a plan that wasn't cruel.
“You leave at midnight,” said Jana. “You take Milla with you.” Tears rushed, but she blinked them away. “I leave in the morning with Kitsune.”
If the silver soldiers found all four of them on the streets, they'd realise they were running, scan their barcodes, and put them in detention. It's why they had to split up. The plan was to reunite somewhere on the other side of danger, but unfortunately, they didn't know where that was.
“What if we never see each other again?” asked Jana.
“Then at least we’ve given our kids a chance to survive.”
"What kind of life is that to live? On the run, scared, not knowing where you'll sleep or if you'll eat?" She imagined Milla being hungry, and it broke her heart. Her frame was already so tiny. "What's the point?"
“They’ll be alive,” said Kino. “That’s the point.”
“Maybe being alive is overrated,” said Jana.
“You don’t believe that.”
“I do,” said Jana. “I don’t want the kids to suffer.”
He sighed. “Nor do I.”
“So why not end our terror, and theirs?”
Kino stopped rubbing her feet. “What are you saying?”
“You know what I’m saying. We have cyanide.”
“No,” Kino said, shaking his head.
“We can end the terror tonight. Wake them up, eat whatever is left in the house. A farewell feast and a special drink. Then we can all cuddle up together and fall asleep and never again have to worry about tomorrow—”
Kino pulled his wife towards him and crushed her in a hug. She stopped talking. They wept into each other's arms, touching their faces together, their palms, their chests. Kino's stubble scraped Jana's cheek, and she cried from the familiar comfort of it; the scent of his warm skin. He inhaled her hair. Impossible to believe it would be the last time they were together, they made love slowly, carefully, exalting each other's bodies; the skin they knew so well. It was not about pleasure—although there was that, too—it was instead the most intimate of goodbyes.
Afterwards, they poured one last drink. There was little point in trying to sleep. They sat folded into one another and spoke softly. Jana’s loose tooth niggled her as her tongue found it over and over again.
“Your tooth bothering you?” asked Kino.
Jana nodded. “I should just pull the thing out.”
It had horrified her when she lost a tooth a year ago. Every time her tongue touched the residual bloody gum recess, she got a little shock. There were no longer dentists in Silok; not that it would have helped. The doctor would have prescribed fresh fruit and vegetables, or supplements, but those were not available either. Eventually, Jana had to resign herself to the fact that she would slowly lose her teeth just as the plum tree dropped the last of its acidic globes. It was the price you paid for not being born on the "right" side of the river; of not betraying your people by defecting and joining the Sheng.
Some former neighbours had done that; had been brainwashed by the Sheng to believe that life was better in eastern Akeratu, where your every move was recorded, measured, evaluated—social engineering masquerading as public health. Where you'd thank the State for their provisions, forever dependent on their daily rations of food and water. Jana couldn’t imagine living like that. She grimaced at the feeling of her errant tooth.
Kino stroked Jana’s hair. “Would you like me to pull it out for you?”
She shook her head. It would be a relief to get rid of it, but her memory of their last night together was more important to her. Jana pulled her hair back with an old rubber elastic band and wiped her face. Kino’s eyes bored into her, making her feel self-conscious.
“I’m a mess,” she said.
“Nonsense,” uttered Kino, catching her hand. “You’ve never been more beautiful. Rebellion has made the best of you, and motherhood has made you bloom. I’ve never admired you more.”
When Kino was ready to leave, Jana wrapped Milla Mouse in a blanket and tied her to Kino’s back. She draped a thin rubber rain jacket around his shoulders.
"Go well," she said. There were no tears in her eyes, but she could feel herself breaking. Watching Kino leave with apple-cheeked Milla was the very worst moment of her life. Her heart ached so hard she clutched her chest and wondered if she was having a heart attack. Jana sunk to her knees and then collapsed on the floor, cheek-to-floorboard. Only then the tears came.
“Mama?” asked Kitsune. “Mama?”
Jana started, her body stiff from hours of lying on the hard floor. She opened her stinging eyes. The sun was rising. "Wh
at time is it?" she asked. "We've got to go. We've got to go."
“Milla’s not in her bed,” said Kitsune. “I can’t find her.”
Jana swallowed hard, took his soft hands in hers. "They've already left. We'll meet up with them."
“What?” he asked. “Where?”
Jana removed her necklace with the locket from around her neck and clipped it around Kitsune’s. “We’re going on an adventure, just you and I.”
They were about to leave when they heard it. The deafening noise of the silver soldiers smashing the butts of their rifles on the door, ready to break right through the timber. Jana grabbed Kitsune's small shoulders and whispered: "Go hide in the kennel!"
The boy tried to argue, but she hissed at him and shoved Kitsune in the direction of the courtyard. She watched as her son scurried away, then turned to face the silver soldiers who had just splintered the door. She began shouting at them, and they returned her words with bullets. Milla and Kitsune were on her mind; Kino’s scent was still on her cheeks and lips. After the bullets hit, Jana expected relief, but there was just pain as her chest exploded like a blooming flower, arching and opening its blood red petals. With a final shout and a raised fist against the Silver State, Jana fell, and her soul splashed out of her body.
7
The Patron Saint of Children
Father Sanderson's foot vibrated silently against the floor. He ran his index finger between his neck and priest’s collar, which felt too tight against his skin. The air was stale and scented as always by incense holders, balding velvet, books and candle wax. If only he could stop his heart from beating so fast. The bishop glared at him from the visitor's chair across his mahogany desk, the warm light above them highlighting the silver in his hair and his unswerving nose. Father Sanderson hoped that bishop Francis could not smell the sweat that stained the shirt he was wearing beneath his cassock. No longer able to sit still, the priest rose and made his way to a nondescript cupboard near the filing cabinet. A small key unlocked the door and travelled back to the priest's pocket. He brought out two small glasses and a bottle of dry sherry, which he offered to the bishop without speaking. Bishop Francis was able to nod and look disapproving at the same time.