Poison

by Lan Chan

  I drag my gaze upwards towards the fluorescent dome of the Forgotten Garden. Do I have it in me to destroy the one thing my mother died trying to return to this world? If I’m honest, it probably won’t matter anyway. Aiden and the guards will get me long before the smoke sensors in the dome trigger. It’s possible my plan to set the garden on fire and poison everything else won’t have much of an effect at all. But if this is my final stand, I want it to count for something. The Seeders can’t go on fooling the regions forever if they have nothing left to clone from.

  The garden is on lockdown as it always is when there’s a threat, but I’m betting Tom has access to everything, and I’m hoping there’s been no time to reset his pass. My hunch proves fruitful, and in less than a second, I’ve swiped his pass on the access pad and left the chaos of the streets behind. As I step inside the protective dome, I’m struck once again by how incredibly fresh the air is. My resolve to destroy the trees wavers, but the panic throbbing in my veins keeps me on task.

  There’s nothing to do but make a run for the utility shed. I keep to the tree line, skimming across the grass as lightly as I can. The shed’s door is unlocked when I arrive. Inside, I make out a neat room furnished with two industrial workbenches on opposite ends. Stacked on the hive of shelves above the benches are garden tools, nails, rodent traps, and all manner of plant nutrient supplements.

  I try not to gag on the stench of mouldy dirt and fertiliser as my eyes roam the wooden bench tops, searching for something to use to start a fire. In a drawer marked dining supplies, I find exactly what I’m looking for. A dozen long, white tapered candles, several boxes of matches, and a handheld gas fire lighter tucked next to napkin rings and bottle openers.

  I follow my nose to the adjoining room that houses a trove of open bags of pelleted animal manure, big drums of liquid fertiliser, and smaller tubs of ammonium nitrate. It’s these little white crystals that I’m after. In a matter of minutes, I’ve emptied the entire contents of the tubs all over the floor and the furniture.

  In a smaller room are enough bottles of the fluorescent yellow poison the Seeders use during their undesired plant eradications to take out half of the plants in the dome. Which is exactly what I plan to do. I race back and forth between the shed and the surrounding beds, carrying as many bottles of poison as I can. Some of the bottles I stockpile for later. Others I empty around the drip lines of the trees. Where the poison splashes on the foliage, it starts to shrivel and burn.

  My immediate reaction is to stop what I’m doing. It goes against everything I believe in. In fact, it goes against everything this world should believe in, and I can’t help wondering how Papa would feel about it. His dying request was for me to help save this world. Instead, I’ve chosen to use the wealth of my mother’s knowledge to hold the Seeders to ransom. I don’t know if it’s the act itself that scares me more or the fact that I don’t care as much as I thought I would.

  Back inside the shed, the floor has become a minefield of pelleted fertiliser and ammonia. I pull the collar of my suit over my nose to keep the poisonous vapours from overwhelming me. Out of greed, I look to the poison room, wondering if I have enough time to keep stealing bottles. That’s when I hear it. The soul-shrivelling roar of the sabrewolves. Aiden is coming for me. Time to go.

  Steadying myself against the doorjamb, I play explosive chicken, lighting candle after candle, as many as I dare, before I slam the door shut and sprint away towards my poison stash. For a moment, there’s nothing but the sound of my ragged breaths and the soft thud of my feet. In my rush to escape, I don’t notice one of the poison bottles has rolled away from the supposedly neat pile I made. My foot lands directly on it and rolls backward. I fall to my knees and hear the snapping of the underbrush.

  Half a dozen blinking red lights appear at my eye level. My heart seizes as they slowly advance, materialising as rolling shoulders and sharp claws. The one closest to me paws at the ground in a calculated, unnatural way. Almost as though it’s fighting with itself to keep the distance and not tear my throat out. Optimistically, I reach for the poison bottle.

  “I wouldn’t if I were you,” Aiden says.

  Before I spit out a reply, a light behind me flashes. Then the shed and its surroundings explode in a fireball of heat and revenge.

  Forty-Two

  I wish I could capture the expression on Aiden’s face. I want to remain still and savour the utter shock that rages over him. Instead, I sacrifice my satisfaction and leap to my feet. Cowered by the inferno, the sabres don’t react quickly enough, and before they can stop me, I have two bottles tucked under my left arm and am using my right to climb the closest tree.

  I make it less than three metres before I realise the burden of the poison is too much. Reluctantly, I twist the caps open and throw the bottles as far as I can into the thicket of trees. The sabres snap at me and use their bodies as battering rams against the tree trunk. Each thud sends vibrations through me, but it’s not distracting enough to make me lose my grip.

  The explosion acts like a guard magnet. In no time, the entire area is crawling with guards shouting at each other, trying to get the blaze under control. I’m surprised at the size of the blaze until I remember the hot air balloon and the bottles of gas used to fuel it.

  Guards work furiously, trying to make a firebreak, but it’s not just the fire anymore they should be worried about. It worries me too. The toxic fumes funnelling directly into the canopy and then trapped by the dome threaten to smother us all. I hadn’t stopped to think of this by-product of my plan. Up this high, the effects are much worse, and soon I find myself growing faint. Suddenly, my head spins and it feels like the dome contracts so it’s barely big enough. I can’t breathe. This space is too small. I imagine I can feel a drop of water on my lashes. This mirage calms me. Aiden knows I’m struggling because his sabres are no longer frantic. When I look down, he’s leaning with his back against a tree, arms crossed over his chest, as though he doesn’t have a care in the world.

  “If you weren’t such a coward, you could come up here and get me,” I say.

  He shrugs.

  “Why bother when you’re about to come back down anyway?” He’s right. Why should he bother when one way or another, I’ll be out of this tree soon enough. Some of the guards are less patient. The vapours make my brain sluggish and I don’t realise they’re aiming for me until it’s too late.

  A shriek tears through me as I clutch at the first bullet wound. Then I’m rocked backwards by another volley. I fall from the tree. The sound of Aiden yelling surrounds me, but all I can hear is my own hysterical laughter. Water cascades from the sky. The dome’s fire defences have been activated. The water will carry the poison to the roots of the trees, where it will burn and kill them. I am dying, but at least in death I will leave my mark.

  ***

  I know I’m alive by the bundle of warmth against my left side and because someone is clutching my hand. My chest aches, but it doesn’t hurt to breathe and when I tense, there’s no stabbing pain, which means I’ve been through surgery again.

  Whoever it is at my side must feel me stir because their grip becomes tighter. Even if that wasn’t a dead giveaway, I know something is wrong from the tremor of metal against my spine and the thrum of a turbine engine.

  “Pretend you’re still asleep,” Dory whispers. Her voice shocks me so much my eyes instantly open. I should have listened to her. It’s as though my memories and nightmares have coalesced into this fresh hell. I am sitting on a bucket seat inside the cargo hold of a small military plane, surrounded by Seeder guards. Just as I was the day the Seeders taught me to fly. Only this time, instead of quivering child companions, the seats opposite me are occupied by the other aerialists. Although Skylar is conspicuously missing. All of them look like they’ve been crying. Some of them still are. There is a heavy lump in my gut. I squeeze Dory’s hand in return and pull her closer, though at this point, I can’t tell if it’s to comfort her or myself.


  One of the guards notices I’m awake and taps on the cabin door. Of course it’s Sheila and Harlan who emerge, followed by Aiden. I take in Harlan’s unblemished skin and flawless ease of movement. There’s not the tiniest sign that he’s suffered any trauma. He’s impeccable from the tips of his slicked-back hair to the toes of his black loafers. In stark contrast is Shelia with her skin covered in dark sores. I don’t bother to mask the all-consuming hatred, and I know Harlan sees it because his smile gets that bit brighter.

  “Good to see you so spirited, pet,” he says. “Shame about the rest.” He inclines his head towards the other aerialists, and they sink in their seats. I have to turn away to stop myself from rushing at him and smashing his head against the window. Unfortunately, it’s Aiden my gaze falls on. He’s too busy thumbing through Tom’s journal to notice I’m throwing mental daggers at him. Or is he perhaps trying to take his mind off the fact we’re so high above the ground? If a hot air balloon ride scared him so much, being in this aircraft is probably killing him. I hope it does kill him.

  “Any thoughts, Captain?” Sheila asks.

  “It sounds like the scratching of a mad woman to me,” Aiden says. He hands the diary back to Sheila.

  “I knew you were more trouble than you were worth,” Sheila says, finally turning in my direction.

  “Tom didn’t think so,” I say.

  Her eyes narrow at the mention of her brother and she looks like she’s about to slap me. Instead, she strides up to me, hauls Dory away, and presses her bruised face so close to mine our noses almost touch. I hold my ground, though my shoulders shake and my forearm aches from where she’s got hold of me in a debilitating grip.

  “My brother was a dreamer and you took advantage of that,” she says. “But it was all for nothing. Just the same lies and deceit the Wanderers have spread for centuries.” Her jaw is tight and a vein in her temple jumps. All my words dry up and I can’t utter a response. It’s as though she doesn’t understand the concept of hypocrisy. Behind her, someone starts to cry again.

  “Tom used to call you our best hope,” Sheila says as she paces back and forth past the aerialists. Their eyes swivel to follow her movements. “She’ll know the location of the seed bank, he said. But you don’t know, do you? Well, I do. There’s no such thing. It’s just a made-up story like the rest of the Wanderer nonsense.”

  I begin to see where she could be going with this rant, and my heart hammers in my chest.

  “Well, no seed bank means no need for a Wind Dancer. No need for any aerialist, in fact.” She stops in front of the girl I threw off the rotating wheel first during the circus show. The girl’s eyes are wide, and she visibly trembles until Sheila moves away towards the other end of the hold. Harlan joins his mother, though his attention doesn’t leave me. So do all but three of the guards. Sheila presses the intercom on the bulkhead between the cargo hold and the cabin. “Open the door,” she instructs. A curtain of transparent green light surrounds the Warden and her group. I’ve experienced enough of Micah’s tinkering to know a force field when I see it. “Captain, I suggest you join us unless you feel like going for an unscheduled flight.”

  “Good-bye, Rory,” Aiden says. His words are slow and deliberate. “Too bad Evelyn couldn’t have told you a story that was useful, huh?”

  I barely hear what he says or notice him retreating to safety because the hold’s door is slowly retracting. With each inch the door gives way, more of the pressure is leached out. I reach for a static line, but I’m not tall enough to unwind it. Instead, I latch onto the rails lining the sides of the hold. The others do the same. The guards who remain in our section attach the static lines to their harnesses.

  Golden sunlight filters through the opening door, bouncing off the metal walls and casting a warm glow over my nightmare. I focus on a beam aimed above Dory’s head. The colour is so bright it hurts my eyes. This is the last sunrise I will ever see. The door opens farther, making the light shift in other angles. I watch the display like a child witnessing fireworks for the first time.

  The pressure of the hold is almost gone. Around me the other aerialists struggle to maintain contact with the rails and to each other. Fierce winds lash around us, calling us to our deaths. Always, though, our attention flies to the door as it inches open. Sheila grows impatient. The force field isn’t soundproof because I can hear her clear as day. Even over the howling wind.

  “We’ll save our Wind Dancer ‘til last, I think,” Sheila says. Then she does a sweep of the hold and points to the blond girl she stopped in front of before. “Her first.”

  The girl screams and thrashes as a guard forces her fingers from the railing. She starts to cry, but the guard doesn’t pay any attention. She’s stronger than she looks and manages to kick him in the shin. Another guard moves to assist. By now the others are crying and screaming too.

  “Stop it!” I yell at Sheila. “It’s not their fault. They’ve got nothing to do with it!”

  She shrugs, indifferent to me. I let go of the railing, intending to jump on the guards, when they lift the hysterical girl and toss her out the door. The wind takes her willingly, blowing her from the hold and tossing her like a leaf. Her cries echo and then die, and the sound is replicated by those remaining.

  I frantically latch onto the railing again as waves of dread roll over me. I’d thought I was ready to die, but nothing could have prepared me for death by the one thing I’m so confident at doing. Inside, I’m still a frightened child, and I have to bite my tongue again and again to stop from begging for mercy. Though, I doubt it would make any difference because the others are doing it and they receive none.

  After my first safe landing, despite how terrified I was, I couldn’t help but sneak glances at the mangled corpses of those who had fallen before me. That same morbidity takes hold now, and I peer out the door, trying to see if I can make out the girl’s body. It was a stupid thought—there are too many clouds. They’re bulbous grey clouds that threaten rain, and the wind plays with their edges, making them seem like delicate candyfloss. I wish I really were a Wind Dancer. To be able to take on the disguise of anything I want, to dance across the earth and be part of it only when I choose, to be away from the Seeders forever.

  Just as this thought passes through my mind, something clicks into place. The words in Tom’s diary play over in my thoughts. A plane of land where the wind blows red. A place only the Wind Dancers can access. I think of every time I’ve been caught in wind so strong it’s impossible to see in front of my own face. Of the time I’ve jumped off something high. My thoughts never dwell on what anything looks like. All I can remember is how I felt and what way to angle my body. The only way to really notice the colour of the wind is when it picks up colour from the surrounding area and you see it from far away. Like say from an aircraft. Or from the top of a gorge or valley. Somewhere only someone as small and agile as an aerialist can access. It can’t be a coincidence that this red plane the diary speaks of sounds very similar to the setting of the story of Weebil and the Red Rock.

  I smirk at Aiden, wanting to throw it in his face because none of my mother’s stories are useless. But I don’t because there’s still a minute part of me that’s thinking maybe his jibe was his way of helping me. It can’t be though because just look at where he’s standing.

  Tom was right all along. I do know where the seed bank could be. Most likely, all Wanderers know where the seed bank is. They just don’t have Tom’s diary to confirm it.

  Sheila gives the go-ahead for the next aerialist, one of the sandy-haired boys, to be thrown overboard. Suddenly, I let go of the railing and move towards the door without even thinking. The force of the wind comes from all directions, making me sway precariously. Still, I inch forward.

  “Stop her!” Harlan shouts.

  “Stop me from what?” I shout back.

  The guards let go of their previous quarry and move uncertainly towards me.

  “Isn’t this what you want?” I say. “I’ll jum
p and I’ll die.”’ The guards come closer. “And I’ll take the secret of the seed bank with me to my grave.”

  I stare at the Chief Warden and see uncertainty reflected back. Despite her declaration, I know she must still have an inkling of belief that the seed bank exists. Otherwise, Skylar would be here with the rest of us.

  Delight mixed with utter terror rages through me. I distinctly remember Harlan telling me that a player doesn’t bluff unless they’re willing to be called out on it. Am I really going to jump? I have to jump. For everyone who has died for me and because of me. For the people whose lives I will no doubt have ruined because I burned the last remaining heirloom garden. For my friends who made the same journey but weren’t lucky enough to survive. To show the Seeders they don’t own me. And most of all, because I am willing to bet my life the Seeders won’t let me die.

  “Tom was right. I do know where the seed bank is,” I tell Sheila. “And now you’ll let his legacy die. Along with everyone in Australia.”

  I jump.

  My training holds for a fraction of a blink, and then it gives way to instinct. My chin untucks from my chest and my arms desperately flail about. The opposing forces of the air batter at me from all sides. I’m chilled through in an instant and the pressure on my lungs makes it almost impossible to inhale. The oxygen is too thin up here. The Seeders aren’t coming after me. There would have been time for the guards to jump after me and be pulled back on their static lines. They’ve called my bluff.

  Even though I can’t hear it, I know I’m screaming because my throat is hoarse and dry. Then suddenly, something solid wraps around me. The air still rushes all around, but I’m no longer falling. I feel the rough cord beneath my fingers before my eyes open and I see the net surrounding me. The net comes from a second aircraft that has uncloaked in the sky. Triumph bubbles in my chest and then gives way to uncontrollable tears. I’m still crying when the rough hands drag me back into the cargo hold. This time I don’t care that they see me cry. Weak as I may be, I have still defied them.