The Lost Savior

by Siobhan Davis

  Last year’s massive subway crash cost thousands of lives, but the government stubbornly refuses to extend the Velo network to the Outer Sectors. Lack of finances was spouted. A likely story. Irrespective of protests to the contrary, the lower classes are more than expendable and don’t we know it. I’d bet my miserable life the government arranged the crash themselves.

  That’s one unique way of tackling the mounting overpopulation crisis.

  I round the corner into Sector Seventeen. Three more to go but my legs already ache. Squinting up at the Commi-Reel, I clock the time and mentally calculate the distance. Twenty-four minutes until curfew. Two miles to run. If I can maintain this pace, I might make it. If I’m lucky.

  But Mother Luck never shines on me.

  Wiping my hand across my moist forehead, I stumble sideways as my body slams full force into an Imposer. Landing unceremoniously on my ass, I wince as a dart of pain shoots up my spine.

  A metallic hand is extended and I’m pulled to my feet. “Wrist, please,” he commands. This one talks in a human voice, so I know he’s part of the Robo-Police force—part-human, part-robot, and not one of the pure cloned kind.

  Flipping my arm, I reluctantly obey, thrusting my wrist upward as the Imposer scans my skin. “Sadie Owens. Seventeen years of age. Sector Fourteen. Medi-Tech employee number 133779. It’s twenty-three minutes to curfew. What are you doing out on the streets?”

  I’m reluctantly impressed. He said all that without drawing a breath. “Um, I … I felt sick,” I lie, glancing at the dwindling time ticking away on the digital clock. I need to get out of here and fast. “So I had to get off the subway and make it home on foot.”

  “Two infractions already this month.” He scans the holographic report skimming over the film of his eyes. “Don’t make it a third. Move on.”

  I maneuver around him and start sprinting. I’m never going to make it now. Mom will be furious. I’m mentally preparing myself for a tongue lashing when the latest government news bulletin blares out from the Commi-Reel.

  The announcement is typical. Updates on the political talks between the Sovereign Northern States of America—our ruling government—and the newly Unified States of West and South America. The Independent Republic of Central America and the Eastern Seaboard States have yet to throw their hat into the ring.

  I zone out. Same old, same old.

  None of the proposed reforms will do anything to change my life or alter my fate. I’m stuck right where I am until I die. Unless …

  My mind wanders and I drift off into La-La Land. I dream about Thalassic City. About opportunity. And second chances. About actually living.

  The sound of gunfire breaks through my reverie, and my eyes dart to the screen. Screeching to a halt, I blink twice in case my eyes are deceiving me.

  PRISON BREAK.

  The words flicker in and out on the screen, and I stand there with my mouth agape as I watch the recording of the daring convict escape.

  Six men. Five days on the run. All orchestrated by one prisoner.

  Something like this has never happened before. At least not in my lifetime.

  Wow.

  ARMED AND DANGEROUS. WATSON MANLY ELEVATED TO NO.1 ON MOST WANTED LIST. IF SPOTTED, DO NOT APPROACH. CALL 1-899-201-304. REWARD FOR INFORMATION LEADING TO HIS CAPTURE.

  I wonder what this Watson Manly person did to deserve a spot in the penitentiary and how he managed to escape. Although I don’t know him, and I’ve no idea what crime he’s committed, I’m already rooting for him.

  Not sure what that says about me.

  A loud peel of laughter travels up my throat. Something out of the ordinary has finally happened, and it sends a spark of electricity directly to the dull lump in my chest.

  I start to run but stop mid-jog. Nineteen minutes to curfew. I’m screwed now anyway, so I might as well give my lungs and my legs a break. I stroll forward at a more leisurely pace, ignoring the panic waiting in the wings.

  As I approach the next Sector, I’m half-watching the rest of the news on the screen and half-lost in my obsessive inner monologue, when a hand snags my elbow and I’m yanked sideways.

  I scream as a hand clamps down over my mouth and I’m hauled backward against a solid form. I’m dragged roughly through a door, my feet trailing the ground in front of me. Adrenaline surges through my veins, and I twist and turn in my captor’s arms.

  “Dammit. Stop squirming. I won’t hurt you,” a gruff male voice says.

  Raising my legs in front of me, I swing back and kick him in the shins. He cusses but his hold doesn’t loosen.

  Of course, it doesn’t; a kick in the shins from me is probably akin to a feather-tickling.

  Tugging me down a darkened passageway, he lashes out at something on the ground, and the sounds of telltale scurrying fill the air. I emit a muffled scream.

  “Keep quiet or he’ll find you.”

  My frantic breathing echoes in the quiet space.

  “I’m going to release you if you promise not to scream. I repeat. I will not hurt you. Tap my arm in agreement.”

  Reaching up, I land my hand briefly on his arm. Bunched tendons strain under my fingertips.

  Slowly, he releases me and I try to get my errant breathing under control. I’m only short of a full-blown anxiety attack. “I want to show you something. Come on.” He acts as if he’s my new best friend; as if this is totally normal. Straightening up, I risk a peek at my captor. Long, shaggy, dark hair falls to his broad shoulders. Warm, brown eyes meet mine and I swallow, hard. He towers over me.

  Then again, most people do.

  In my head, I weigh up my chances of a successful escape as my eyes dart to the door.

  “Don’t run.” He astutely assesses the situation. “I promise I won’t hurt you. It’s not safe to be out there right now. If you follow me, I’ll show you why.”

  Biting down on my lip, I’m dubious, but realistic enough to know that I can’t outrun him.

  “This way.”

  Wary, I follow him, taking small, tentative steps. The room is large and dark and visibility is poor. My feet crunch on litter and debris as I walk across the space toward the window. A damp, squalid smell fills the air, and I slap my hand over my mouth. A few shapes are huddled over a makeshift fire in the center of the floor. Hushed voices talk lowly. Intense shuddering rocks my body and I drag in a gulp of air.

  This was a bad, bad idea. I hover uncertainly.

  “Look,” my captor says, beckoning me. He stares out the dirty, blackened window.

  I inch toward him, careful to keep a reasonable distance. Peeking out, I spot the black and amber Police Autovee parked across the street. A formidable figure steps out, clad in the official State Police uniform. His jacket buckles under the myriad of shiny buttons adorning the front.

  “That’s Commissioner Williams,” I acknowledge, recognizing him instantly. His face is always plastered over the Commi-Reels, and I feel as if I know him on a personal level. “Why is he in the Outer Circle?” I wrinkle my nose. Few dignitaries grace our shores for fear of being heckled, mugged, shot, or worse.

  “Watch.”

  Gulping, I watch the scene unfolding across the pavement. A police officer appears in the doorframe clutching two clearly frightened young girls. The girls are flung roughly into the back of the Autovee, and the Commissioner climbs in the front passenger seat, glancing surreptitiously around him before the door closes. The vehicle glides away and I slump against the window. Remembering my surroundings, I flinch back and scrub my hands down my arms.

  “What’s going on?” I eyeball my captor.

  “I’m not quite sure, but from what I’ve gleaned so far, they show up in one of the Sectors of the Outer Circle on a nightly basis, and it’s always the same deal. Two girls taken away from their families. Never to be seen or heard from again. I saw you walk by and I was afraid they would notice you.”

  “How do you know all this?” I pin him with a probing look.

  “
Let’s say I have certain contacts who are very well-informed about the goings on in our society. And, um, certain skills that enable me to find out things that I shouldn’t be able to.”

  My eyes sweep his face, noting the layer of dirt sticking to his skin, the tiny amber fleck in his chocolate brown eyes, his strong masculine nose, and the advanced discoloration of his teeth. There’s a softness to his features.

  He won’t hurt me. I’m certain of it. In fact, I think he just saved me.

  The last vestiges of my stress flee. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” He rocks back on his heels. “What’s a pretty girl doing alone on the streets at this hour? You do realize it’s almost the eight p.m. curfew?”

  A rosy red flush blooms in my cheeks. Self-consciously, I tuck my wavy, silvery ash blonde hair behind my ears. No one has called me pretty before. Dumb, selfish, idiot, fool, and freak are more the types of sentiments I’m used to. “Um, I know.” I shift from foot to foot. “I better get going. My mom is going to string me up.”

  Booming music blares from the Commi-Reel attracting both our attention. I lean into the grimy windowpane—earlier disgust forgotten—as the image of Thalassic City appears on the edge of the screen. It could be my imagination, but I swear my captor sways toward it too.

  President Bane addresses the nation. “Today we stand on the cusp of stupendous change.”

  I snort and my captor chuckles. That man always sounds like he’s ingested a dictionary along with a box full of silver spoons.

  “Our evolutionary journey takes the next logical step forward with the imminent announcement of the commencement of ‘The Experimento.’ Those selected will be contacted within the next hour. Thank you to all those brave souls who registered their interest. Your willingness to support your government as we attempt to tackle the problems, which plague our society, is more than admirable. On behalf of the government of the Sovereign Northern States of America, I thank you for your commitment and loyalty. And to those individuals chosen, I wish you the best of luck. Know that you carry with you the hopes, desires, and aspirations of the nation.”

  The President’s broadcast cuts out; however, the Commi-Reel continues to display image after image of the Thalassic City experiment. I’m spellbound as I stare at the magical new city under the sea.

  “It’s the coming of the end. You mark my words,” a gravelly voice says at my ear, and I swear I jump ten feet off the ground.

  “John,” my captor says to the bedraggled older man standing in front of me. “Not this again. You’re scaring her.”

  “It’s not me she should be scared of.” He drags dirty fingers through his straggly, coarse, gray beard. “They’re coming and there isn’t a damn thing any of us can do to stop them. I couldn’t stop them. They took everything. This is the beginning of the end. We are all doomed.” He waggles his finger in my face, and I step back, alarm clearly evident on my features. He stares at me a moment longer before shuffling off, muttering to himself.

  I stand rooted to the spot, too freaked out to move.

  “Sorry about that.” My captor shoves his large hands in his pants pocket. “Don’t mind old John. He’s a bit delusional these days.” He taps a long finger against his temple. “But he means no harm.”

  Self-preservation kicks me in the butt, and the need to flee propels me into action. “I need to get home.”

  “Of course. Come on.” He lifts one shoulder and gestures for me to follow. “I know a few shortcuts. Curfew has nearly expired, and you don’t want to be found wandering the streets now.”

  I hesitate, fear welling inside me again. While I don’t know him, and technically, he’s kidnapped me, if he wanted to harm me, I figure he would’ve done so by now. And I’ve already accepted that his motivation was to protect me from capture, so it’s silly to be hesitant now.

  Decision made, I shadow him as we walk farther and farther into the abandoned building. “Which Sector do you live in?” he asks when we emerge onto an empty sidewalk. Streaks of navy, gray, and black hover over our heads as nighttime stealthily creeps up on us.

  “Fourteen.”

  “Right. This way.”

  We move from one derelict building to the next, dashing across back alleys and crumbling passageways. I’ve no idea where we’re going but I’m not afraid. A small part of me actually wishes I didn’t have to leave him.

  That I didn’t have to return to a life I hate.

  Thoughts of Thalassic City waft through my mind, and I let my imagination wander. How amazing would it be to trade this life for one with so much promise, and the prospect of a different future? For a split second, I allow myself to imagine that I’ve been chosen, and my heart swells with joy at the prospect.

  I recall my most recent tarot session and the hope it instilled in me. While I try not to exercise my talent for reading the cards too often—my grandma always advised against it—I couldn’t help it after I registered my interest in Thalassic City. I was too eager to see what the cards would predict. The three cards I’d pulled were major arcana cards, which are indicative of a life-changing event. It points to something transformative in my future, and since my reading, I’ve done little else but think about what it means, hoping it means what I want it to mean.

  Please pick me. Please pick me. Please, please, please, PICK ME. My thoughts are a silent plea, a cherished inner mantra the whole journey home.

  “What you thinking about?” he asks, a few minutes later. He lowers his chin and his eyes penetrate mine.

  “Thalassic City,” I blurt out, in a moment of unusual transparency. I normally keep things close to my chest.

  It comes naturally.

  The consequence of living in a family where I’m virtually invisible. Where little regard is given to what I think, what I feel, and hardly anyone asks whether I hope or what I dream.

  “Did you enter?” He speaks quietly.

  I nod, biting down on my lower lip. I haven’t told anyone that, and now I’ve blabbed my secret to a total stranger.

  It’s weirdly exhilarating.

  Hope swarms through me and my silent mantra starts up again.

  “Me too.”

  We stare at each other, unspoken words passing between us. Wouldn’t it be great if we were both chosen? It would be nice to go in there semi-knowing at least one other person. That’s what I think but I don’t verbalize it. After all, I am the queen of keeping things locked up inside.

  “What’s your name?” He steps out of the shadows, and the glow of the rising moon lights up his face.

  I get a proper look at him for the first time—he looks so young! Not that much older than me. “Sadie. What’s yours?”

  “Um.” His face contorts and he looks away.

  I frown.

  Schooling his features carefully, he stares at me, as if he’s contemplating the weight of the world. His eyes search mine expectantly, and the image resurrects in perfect clarity in my mind.

  “Oh my God,” I exclaim, stepping back. “You’re him! You’re Watson M—”

  He fastens his hand over my mouth. “Shush, not out here.” His head whips around as he scouts the area. Removing his hand, he drags his fingers through unkempt hair. “Are you going to turn me in?”

  “No.” The word shoots out of my mouth with urgency. Despite the fact that my family could use the substantial reward money, there’s no way I’m turning snitch for the State. I don’t care what he’s done or alleged to have done. I just know he isn’t a bad person. I couldn’t do that to him.

  “Why not?”

  It’s a perfectly reasonable question. One I’m not quite sure how to respond to. “I don’t know,” I answer honestly.

  He looks at me anxiously.

  “You’re not a bad person. And I’m not a snitch,” I add, hoping it conveys my sentiments adequately.

  Air whooshes out of his mouth and he smiles. “You’re a good person, Sadie. I hope you get picked.”

  We enter the bac
kend of Sector Fourteen five minutes later. “I’ll have to leave you here, Sadie,” Watson says.

  “Thank you. And good luck.”

  “You too.” He holds my two small hands in his larger ones and squeezes. “I hope we meet again.” And with those parting words lingering in my ears, he ducks back down the alley and disappears.

  Leaning against the wall, I crane my neck and stare up at the dark sky. Today had started out like every other mind-numbingly boring day. But boy, it sure didn’t end up like that. Caught up in the adventure of the absurdly abnormal, I can almost deflect my growing hysteria.

  Almost.

  I’m over twenty minutes late now, and I know I’m in for it the minute I step foot in the apartment. But I actually don’t care.

  It was worth it to feel truly alive if only for a fleeting moment in time.

  As soon as I walk through the door, the onslaught starts. Mom screams. Dad shakes his head in disappointment, and my elder brothers take turns throwing scathing remarks at me. Only my sister, Ella, remains quiet. She shoots me a “grin and bear it” look. They only stop when the screen flares to life and the official announcement of my curfew breach is confirmed.

  Mom curses as one hundred Nuvis are deducted from our family currency account. I sit down in the only vacant chair and zone out. Ignoring the shrieking voices and hate-filled faces, I stare blankly in front of me.

  Every second that passes, I die a little more inside.

  I deploy my usual strategy. Throwing up my imaginary shield, I visualize a thick, solid brick wall laced with barbed wire on top in my mind’s eye.

  Please pick me. I make one last silent, solemn plea to every deity known to mankind as a solitary tear escapes my eye. Quickly, I brush it away. I never lower my defense or show any signs of weakness in front of them. My family doesn’t falter and the horrific verbal insults endure.

  One would think I’d be well used to this by now.