by DeVere, Taya
“Maybe we don’t need the young ones. What if I got something much better?”
Enyd can nearly hear Nurse Saarinen frowning as she waits for her to elaborate.
“How does a seventeen-year-old pregnant girl sound? Would that boost the donations?”
CHAPTER 2 — THE LONDON EYE
She taps her knuckles against the wooden door. A young girl calls out for her to come in. Kinship Care used to have a no-closed-doors policy. But Enyd quickly learned that the less time the children spend together without supervision, the better. And with only four adults under one roof and over a hundred children and teens, supervision is a limited resource.
Enyd opens the door and steps in. Two bunk beds on each side of the small room hold four girls. The youngest—Owena, five years old—gets up and abandons her book. The girl’s big for her age, strong too. She’s known to wrestle with the older boys, sometimes winning and leaving them puzzled by her strength. Owena makes a beeline for Enyd and takes her hand. “Sister Enyd, can you read to me?”
Enyd squeezes Owena’s shoulders. “Not right now, my child. I need to have a word with Ava.” She stands up and looks around the room. “How about you go pick out a new storybook from the library. Once you’re back, I’ll read the first chapter to you.”
Marie and Sarah, both ten years old, jump out of bed and hurry to the door. Owena claps her hands together and jumps on the spot. As the three girls bound out of the room, Enyd hollers after them, “No running! If you see Sister Margaret, or Brother Oliver or Thomas, let them know I sent you. And just go to the library and back. No detours!”
Enyd closes the door behind her. Ava sits on a bottom bunk bed, her arms hugging her long legs. She’s wearing winter gloves, maybe because it’s still chilly inside. Maybe she’s hiding the consequences of her recent theft.
When Enyd gets closer, Ava’s whole body starts to tremble. Is it out of fear—or rage?
Ava looks up and says, “Sister Margaret said she’d give me my shot later.”
“Oh, I’m not here because of your diabetes, Ava.” Enyd sits down on the wooden stool by the writing desk between the bunkbeds. “I’m here because we need to talk about what happened last night.” Enyd nods at Ava’s gloved hands. “Wearing gloves is not going wipe away your sins.”
The girl hesitates but then pulls the gloves off. Ava twists her hands as she hides her black fingertips and closes them inside her fists. “You’ve already punished me for those sins.”
“I know I did, my child. But something tells me you don’t regret what you did. Not really.”
Ava’s eyes drill into Enyd’s. “It’s my phone. My mother bought it for me. It belongs to me. Not you, or anyone else.”
Enyd leans forward on the chair. She reaches for Ava’s hand and squeezes it between hers. “Even so. Who are you to call? Your mother is gone, Ava. They’re all gone. What use is that phone to you at this stage of life? What were you doing with it anyway?”
Ava pulls her hand away. She hugs her legs tighter and buries her head between her knees while Enyd reaches for the reddened skin of an infected wound on her head. She’s surprised when the girl doesn’t shy away from her touch. “You’re having nightmares again?”
She doesn’t reply.
Enyd gets up and digs around in her pockets. A small bottle of alcohol in one hand and a clean tissue in the other, she sits down on the bunk bed next to Ava. Carefully she cleans the dried blood around the wound. Ava doesn’t wince, though Enyd knows the antiseptic stings. The girl’s tougher than most.
“I don’t think my mother is dead.” Ava stays bundled into herself. Enyd’s hands stop for a split second. Then she pours more alcohol on the tissue and finishes cleaning the wound. As soon as she’s ready, she reaches for Ava’s chin and lifts it up so she can see her watery eyes.
“Oh, my child. Just because she’s not on earth any longer doesn’t mean she’s not with you. Your mother’s watching over you every single day. One day you’ll meet again. You’ll just need to work to earn your place in heaven until that day comes. But enough with these shenanigans. Smartphones and hacking into the Chip-Net. You’re better than that.”
Ava’s eyes become stern suddenly, wiping out her look of desperation and sorrow. Her eyes dart between Enyd and the AI-camera. She lowers her voice and hisses, “But I don’t have to hack anything. I just open the browser, and the phone connects. If you let me use the phone for just fifteen minutes, maybe half an hour—”
“Absolutely not. You can’t trust the information you find on the Chip-Network. A lot of it is taken over by the rebels. Fake, hearsay… all lies.”
Ava leans closer to whisper. “But I know she’s out there. I found a picture of her. Pedaling an electric bicycle in a blue city. That’s the City of Finland, isn’t it Enyd? If my mother’s out there, she can help…”
“That’s enough.” Enyd stands up and shoves the alcohol back into her pockets. “For fools speak folly, their hearts are bent on evil…”
Ava jumps up from the bed, screaming, “I don’t give a fuck about your devil! Or your Jesus! Your evil spirits and angels are just a bunch of bullshit!”
The piercing sound startles them both: Owena, crying. Enyd turns to see that the girls have returned from the library. Marie holds a thick storybook with an Abominable Snowman on its cover. Sarah kneels down and wraps her arms around Owena.
Ava hurries to Owena. “Shit, shit, shit.” She kneels down to pet the crying girl’s head. “I’m so sorry, Owena. I didn’t mean to yell that way. Or say those nasty words. I didn’t know you were back already. It’s okay. It’s all good.”
But the little girl cries even harder. Enyd gets up from the bunkbed and walks over, shoving Ava aside. With one hand, she grabs the little girl’s shoulder gently. With the other hand, she lifts up the crying girl’s chin, fixing her posture.
“There, there. You’ll be okay. You know why, my child? Hmm?” Enyd nods toward Ava, gathering her breath, kneeling down a few feet away.
Enyd clears her throat and smiles. “Because you would never do such things. Say such words. You would never sin, my love. Not the way Ava has.”
Owena sobs quietly but stands an inch taller. Rubbing her eye, she turns to look at Ava, then turns back to stare into Enyd’s eyes. “What did she do, Sister Enyd?”
“From the fruit in the garden of Eden. To machines that control minds.”
“What does that mean?”
“She stole something.”
“What did she steal?”
“The devil’s device. Something that lovers of self, lovers of earthly temptations, and proud, arrogant, abusive, and disobedient children seek. Tell me, Owena,” Enyd glances at Ava, “Do you know what a smartphone is?”
The little girl has stopped crying. She pouts and sniffs, her fist glimmering with wiped tears. “A thing from our past. A reminder.”
“That’s right. And what do they remind us of?”
“That we must stand against evil.”
“And would you ever touch one of these phones?”
“Or AR-glasses,” Ava murmurs quietly. As Enyd’s cold gaze pins Ava’s mouth shut, the teenage girl crosses her arms on her lap. Her gaze wanders around the room.
“I wouldn’t touch one. No.”
“And why is that?”
“Because anyone who does is possessed by Satan.”
“That’s right, my child. You’d know such a person is a devil in disguise. Now, if you ever see someone with one of those devices, you know what to do. Don’t you, Owena?”
The little girl’s eyes widen. Her mouth makes a small letter O. Her nod is nearly invisible, but it leaves a stern look on her round face. A wrathful look. She’d know what to do with the devil. She knows not to bend and break in front of evil. She’d put an end to it.
“Good.”
Enyd gets up and shoves her hands deep into her pockets. With a few slow steps, she makes her way to the hallway. One nod and the rest of the girls hurry bac
k into their bedroom. Ava looks up and blinks rapidly. “Sister Enyd, I didn’t mean to say those things.”
Enyd stares down Ava. Her face is calm.
Panic rises on the girl’s face.
“Enyd, please. I didn’t mean it.”
Lips pressed into a hard line, the old woman keeps staring. The girls in the room hold their breath.
After a gesturing nod from Enyd, Sarah hurries to a shared wardrobe. Then she walks to Ava, carrying a small, red fabric bag. Everyone who lives in Kinship Care knows what’s inside: a change of clothes, two red blankets, and a small travel pillow. All the children have a bag identical to this one. And they all pray they’ll never need to take it out of the closet.
Sarah drops the bag next to Ava. With a weak voice, she says, “Out of the same mouth come praise and cursing. My sister, this should not be.”
Tears running down her face, Ava picks up the bag and stands up. Without looking at Sarah, or Owena, or anyone, she walks to the staircase. Her head hangs low. With resigned steps, Ava starts her way to the basement.
***
The heavy door creaks loudly as Ava pulls on it with both hands. The smell of mold and mouse nests tickles Enyd’s nose. The smartphone burns against her hand, as she checks for the fifth time whether she’s remembered to bring it with her. Her sweaty hand grips a box of blockers.
In a room right below, the furnace makes a whooshing sound as they continue toward the basement. The sound makes Ava stop and squeeze the red fabric bag against her chest.
“It’s just the furnace, Ava. Keep going.”
The girl is stalling. She turns and looks at Enyd pleadingly. “But I haven’t got my shot yet, Sister Enyd. Maybe we should go back upstairs.”
“No need.” Enyd lifts the blockers in her hand. “I’ve got it right here. I’ll do it once we’re down there.” Silently, she curses the bad-quality syringes the City of Finland keeps sending. Everything the drone ship drops on the premises is a second quality product: food, clothing, even medicine.
One careful step at a time, they walk further into the depths of Kinship Care. A steady pressure at the back of Enyd’s head makes it hard for her to focus on the dimly lit stairs. Someone’s tapping her. Margaret, she’s sure. But Enyd doesn’t have time for Margaret’s protesting and pleading. What she’s about to do is bad enough without the woman criticizing her every word and move. What’s to come is inevitable.
It must be nice to be in Margaret’s goody two shoes. Cooking, pampering, caring, and then reaping all the benefits the Chip-Charity has to offer. Kind and soft—that’s how the children would describe Margaret. And Enyd? She doesn’t need to know what the children think of her. Because at the end of each day, it does not matter. Cuddles and kisses on the forehead will never make the world go round. The CC’s collected, that’s what keeps them all fed, clothed, and alive. Enyd. That’s who has to do the heavy lifting. And Enyd alone.
Enyd shakes her head and hopes Margaret will stop harassing her. For a second, Enyd doesn’t look down, and her foot slips on a step. She loses her balance. One hand grabbing onto the metal railing, she’s able to support herself well enough to land on her buttocks and stop her body weight from rolling down the steep stairs.
“Motherf…”
Enyd catches herself cursing just before Ava turns around. If the girl has heard her slip, she doesn’t let on. Quickly she climbs the stairs that separate them and reaches for Enyd. But Enyd shoos her away.
“It’s okay. I just slipped. I’m fine.” Enyd pushes against the brick stairs, trying to get up. Stabbing pain in her ankle makes her give in and sit back down on the step. “You go ahead, Ava. I’ll meet you down there.”
The pressure around her temples worsens, forcing Enyd to hold her head. Blocking someone is not something she’s used to doing. Ava doesn’t know about the ability she has, and Margaret isn’t what one would call a chatty personality. The reverend only checks in for the charity score once a week.
“Did you hit your head, Sister Enyd? Maybe we should get back…”
“It’s just a headache, Ava. Now go. I just need a moment to collect my bones.”
“But Enyd, I…”
A stern look is enough for Ava to swallow the rest of her objection. Pressing the red bag against her chest, she turns and continues down the dark stairway toward the basement room.
Enyd groans and reaches for her ankle. She rubs the joints gently, hoping a few minutes of rest will help her get going again. She could tap Margaret and ask for help, but then she’d need to tell her what happened.
But the pressure only gets worse. Annoyed and tired, Enyd opens the connection.
“Margaret, now is not a good time.”
No reply. The deaf woman is slower than usual today. It happens. Usually after a new video, whether Margaret had to witness the bruising or not.
After a minute of silence, Enyd stops rubbing her ankle. She focuses on the person tapping her more closely; it’s not Margaret, after all. It’s not the reverend either. It’s no one she’s ever met or spoken with before.
“Who is this? Now is not a good—”
“You don’t know me. Yet. But I think you know the person we’re looking for.”
Enyd doesn’t know this woman, but she’d recognize the accent in her sleep. It immediately brings crispbreads and a blinking set of AR-glasses to her mind.
“Are you from the headquarters? One of Doctor Solomon’s little Unchipped puppets? If this is about the donations, we’ve agreed all communication must happen through AR-calls, and they should be scheduled—”
“I know Laura Solomon, but I definitely don’t work for her. Quite the opposite.”
Enyd’s frown deepens. She digs deeper into the connection to see through the Unchipped eyes that tap her for the first time. A red glow reflects on buildings, billboards, and road tiles. She’s surrounded by people. In a lit-up city. They’re right by the old main street, where Enyd used to live. Before the tiles, before the world became restless.
This Unchipped woman is in the City of England. Right now. Walking. Talking. Alive.
“What is this? Who are you?”
“My name is Kaarina. I’m looking for a young girl, Ava. Her mother is—”
Enyd quickly blocks the connection. She sits in silence, stares into space. Ava has made her way down to the basement room, where she’ll be spending the next seven days. Why are the rebels searching for Ava? How are they not dead? The woman, Kaarina, didn’t wear a gasmask, nor did the people she travels with. Why isn’t the deadly city killing them?
Dizzy and nauseated, Enyd closes her eyes. She must have seen something wrong. Has her damaged brain pulled a trick on her? She focuses on remembering what it was she saw through the Finnish rebel’s eyes.
Red tiles zigzagging around concrete parks.
High buildings and fake trees with neon-red leaves.
Empty but lit billboards.
A blinking Ferris wheel: The London-Eye.
But something’s missing. What?
She’s heard of this woman. Nurse Saarinen has mentioned her several times during their AR-calls. Kaarina—the Unchipped rebel who unbalanced the order of City of Finland, the Chipping headquarters. The uprising she started by recruiting a bunch of Chipped people to leave the city ended up stirring up cities all around the world. This chaos is the reason the plague videos are needed. Why Kinship Care still exists. Why Enyd is about to follow a teenage girl down to a basement where she will be punished for breaking the rules that Enyd came up with. All based on memorized phrases and sentences that Enyd has read in the white-covered Bible.
And now, the rebels have made their way to the City of England. Alive. Unharmed.
She shakes her head, forcing her shattering mind to focus on the task at hand. She pushes the thought out of her head, refusing to believe its possibility. She’s too far gone, everything is. It’s too late to turn back now.
With two hands on the railing, Enyd pulls herself up on the
staircase. As she follows in Ava’s footsteps down to the basement, the neon-red images keep flashing through her mind. She stops at the last step.
That’s what’s missing. That’s why the main street looked so eerie and wrong.
No bodies on the roads.
No bodies by the London Eye.
No bodies in the plague-ravished city Enyd has been forced to run and hide from.
***
It’s hard not to look at: the red blanket with a matching pillow, set in the corner of a cold and moldy basement room. The sound of the old furnace fills Enyd’s ears. Water drips somewhere nearby, down the stone walls and onto the concrete flooring. Drip. Drip. Drip. Enyd presses her fingers around the box of blockers.
It’s also hard not to look at the shivering girl. She stands by her cold hard bed, reluctant to sit down but too anxious to stand still, either. So she hovers, hugging her arms tight around her petite body.
“Time for your shot,” Enyd says.
Ava turns around. The look on her face sends chills through Enyd’s exhausted body. The girl could easily attack her. Run up the stairs and find Margaret. Start a little rebellion of her own. Just like that She-Devil, Kaarina.
But Ava rolls up the sleeve of her sweater. Slowly, she sits down on her red bed and reaches for the small travel pillow. She squeezes it against her chest like a teddy bear. The gesture makes Enyd wince.
It has to be done. For the greater good. For the children.
But her mantra doesn’t ease the pressure rising in her chest.
While she places a clean needle into the syringe, she brings to mind something Reverend Marić once said to her. As for you, you plotted evil against me, but God changed it into good. To bring it about that many people should be kept alive, as they are today.
It’s from the Bible. She’s taken upon herself to memorize as much of it as she can. Most of the time, when repeating what she’s learned, Enyd doesn’t know what the words actually mean. But Samuel had known. And he had never been wrong about a thing.
Her hands shake slightly as she pierces the rubber seal of the vial. Mockery. Pity. Abasement. That’s what it means, when the City of Finland sends them this supply of second-rate materials. Kinship Care has never seen 3D printed band-aids, medicine capsules, or implants.
