by Amy Johnson
I raise a hand and rub at my face. The metal cuff weighs it down and pulls at my cheek like putty. He sighs and turns to sit on the bench, folding his hands in his lap. He’s put himself in a vulnerable position; I could easily hurt him. A quick elbow to the back of his head or a chokehold would do the job.
He’s human, though, I think.
Any human is my ally. Property of the Anthros or not.
I take a deep breath and join him on the bench, squeezing myself as far away from him as I can. He smiles at me, revealing two shallow dimples in his cheeks. For a toothless, minuscule smile, it is beautiful and pure. Like Cyrus’s laugh when he’s cooking, like Linux’s snore, like Mom’s blue-black hair, and like Dad’s emerald eyes, it’s entirely human, unique and unreplicated by the machines.
I sigh and return his smile with my own one-sided smirk.
“Where are you from?” he asks again with a burning curiosity in his eyes.
I dig my toes into the fake grass and pick at the paint peeling off the metal bench. The chips fall on the white fabric of my shorts, and I flick them off, one at a time.
“You do not have to tell me,” he whispers, leaning in a little. He pats my knee, and I jump and pull away. I glare at him, and he pulls back, eyes wide. “I just thought we might get to know one another, since we will be in here together for a while.”
Is he the person I’ll be forced to breed with?
“Then tell me where you’re from,” I snap.
“Okay,” he says as he leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “I am from inside the Anthropological Park.”
I squint at him. He chuckles at me first, then nods.
“I know,” he says. “Strange, but it is true. I have always been here. Now, I am part of the Eyes Exhibit.”
My mouth falls open; I suck in as much air as my lungs can hold.
“You’ve never been outside?” I ask. The shock comes quickly, and I grab the arm of the bench, closing my eyes. When I open them again, he’s looking at me with his head cocked sideways, eyebrows furrowed.
“Wrong question,” I whisper, breathless. “You’ve been here all your life?”
He nods.
“Since I was very little, yes.”
“And you’ve never tried to escape?”
I brace myself, knowing the shock will be harsh. It is, ricocheting up my arm and back down to my stomach. I feel nauseous and my head is spinning. My other arm aches where my stab wounds were-- now nothing but round, pink scars. I don’t regret asking the question though.
Knox sighs.
“No, I have not,” he says, stretching his arms out in front of him as he sits back up. It’s then that I notice he’s not wearing a cuff. “What is out there that I cannot have in here?”
I gape at him and shake my head.
“You’re kidding, right?” I ask. He stares at me, so I continue, “Fresh air? Rain? Real grass? Other humans? Freedom?”
Knox meets my eyes and turns very serious all of a sudden.
“Freedom?” he asks. “Running from your inevitable fate of capture is freedom? At least in here, I do not have to be constantly afraid.”
His comment makes my blood run cold, and I hold my breath to weigh those words. Is it freedom if we are always on the run? I’ve always considered myself free, but that was compared to the humans trapped in the Anthros.
Are there different degrees of freedom?
I open my mouth to respond, but the twinkling of a bell sounds through the dome. We both look up towards the white columns in the distance.
“That signifies that all subjects scheduled to be outside are in their respective places,” he explains as he stands up to walk around the dome. “The cybernetics will start their rounds soon enough.”
“What will they be looking for?” I ask, thinking back to my training. Are they expecting me to perform?
“I do not know,” he mutters. “They mostly just look and take notes. It is part of their research.”
“So, this is less like a zoo and more like a museum.”
He cocks his head to one side, and I sigh.
“Forget it. When do we go back inside?” I want to be as far away from their eyes as possible.
“Do not be so anxious to be contained again,” he says. “Enjoy the fresh air.”
I snort at the word ‘fresh.’ It smells stale in here--anything but fresh.
He looks back at me and shoves his hands in his pockets. With a short exhale, he turns to stare out of the glass and watch machines pass by us.
None of them pay us much mind at all. Instead, they stare down at devices in their arms. One dressed in bright pink under her white coat pauses and scans Knox’s face with her mechanical irises.
“Good morning, Subject 3,” she says as she looks down to type.
“Good morning!” Knox says, beaming at her. Pure ecstasy replaces the calm face that greeted me, shown in the smile that stretches from ear to ear and tugs at the corners of his bright eyes.
She doesn’t bat an eye at him, instead turning to me.
“Step closer to the glass, Subject 23,” she says, “or we cannot see to take notes on your appearance and behavior.”
I push up off the bench and walk to stand beside Knox. He watches me with dimples showing in his cheeks.
“State your name for the records,” she says, holding out her device towards the glass.
“I am Eden, Subject 23, inhabitant of the Eyes Exhibit,” I say, loud and clear, just like I was trained. There’s no point in fighting these machines. Cybers aren’t worth my time or energy.
“It is no wonder you were chosen for the Eyes research,” the machine says, tilting her head to take a snapshot of me. “Those eyes are a wonderful color.”
So much for being unknown. I’ll never be able to leave the underground without a disguise again.
“Thank you,” I say, quickly before I’m shocked for not being grateful.
She stands up then and leaves.
I pass the hour by walking around the dome and feeling the grass crunch between my toes. No more machines come by, but Knox waits anyway, standing on the balls of his feet. He starts to hum some random tune, and I smile despite the nerves eating my stomach into nothing.
“Mom, don’t let Eden sing the rainbow song anymore,” Cyrus had said one cold winter night as we huddled together under the old American Flag. Dad was reading a book; Cyrus was poking a fire with a long metal rod.
I was ten at the time. Cyrus was thirteen.
“Why, Cyrus?” Mom had asked, tucking the flag around me.
“Her voice is terrible.”
Dad had laughed, not even glancing up from his book.
“That’s true,” Mom said, much to my horror, “but there are other things your sister can do. Don’t be so mean because you’ve found one thing you’re better than her at.”
“Like reading!” I chimed in, glaring at Cyrus. He made a face at me, sticking his tongue out. I continued, counting on my fingers, “And math and gardening and fighting and-”
Cyrus had lunged at me, then, resorting to tickling me until Dad pulled us apart and made us both go to bed.
From then on, Mom sang us to sleep. Every night.
I blink back tears at the memory.
“Hey.”
Knox’s whisper in my ear catches me off guard, and I jump.
“Crying will not get you anywhere.”
I glance sideways at him and bite my bottom lip.
“Be tough, little angel,” Knox says, tapping my nose with his index finger. Then, he walks away, back towards his spot in the grass. It’s worn out from his feet, showing the black surface beneath. For a moment, I just watch him and imagine everything he’s been through. A lifetime in this prison, probably tortured and tested on since birth. Yet, he still waits for them. He’s so eager for another machine to walk by.
How is he not broken?
A bell sounds through the park, a darker version of the twinkling entry bell. Knox stands up and stretc
hes his arms in front of him.
“It is time to go inside,” he says, walking back towards the glass hallway. I follow, back into the hallway where I’m surrounded by white again, facing the two doors that have ‘3’ written on them. Two cybers are waiting for us there.
The first one lets Knox into his room, using his body to shield the keypad from sight. I listen hard for the beeping of the buttons to get some idea of the code, but it’s silent. When Knox is gone, the other cyber turns towards me.
“You did well today,” it says, nodding.
I’ll get shocked for not responding, but I don’t feel like saying thank you to this machine.
“Are you not going to respond?”
I swallow, staring into its silver eyes.
That’s when the shock comes, and I clench my eyes shut against the pain, tasting copper on my tongue.
“Your food is inside the room,” the machine continues. “You will eat, and then you will rest.”
It turns, typing in the code to my room. It takes about half a second longer than Knox’s, which means mine is longer.
“Go,” the machine barks, shoving me into the room. The door slams shut behind me, making me jump.
I lean against the now closed door and close my eyes.
I have to get out of here.
This room is different from the other two white rooms.
There are no machines, no padding, and no two-way mirror. The white walls are solid, cold to the touch like stone. The floor is a soft carpet, also white. Unlike the padded room, there’s a bed here--a mattress with a single blanket and pillow.
I tiptoe over to the bed and run my hands along the blanket. To my surprise, it’s soft--luxurious almost. I’ve never held anything this soft in my life. The closest thing I can think of is a rabbit, but the rabbits in the city are coarse, dirty from the water pollution and filth of the streets. Mom found a stuffed rabbit once in the landfill, and she said it was as close to the real thing as I would ever be able to witness.
Sitting down on the mattress, I pat the pillow that’s just as soft as the blanket.
The other Luddites would kill to have something like this to sleep on. It beats the hard ground and folded up clothes we use as pillows. Yet, it’s not worth being in here. I shake my head and run a hand through my hair.
Otherwise, the room is completely empty.
In the testing cells, I had been forced to empty my bladder on myself, washing off in the frequent cold showers that rained down from the heavens. In the training rooms, I held it.
Will I be allowed to go to the bathroom in here?
Already, my stomach aches from holding it too long. The white medicine stops it from making me sick, but I still feel bloated and cramped.
I search the corners of the room for a camera or a microphone, but instead, I find a single square cut-out across the wall from my bed. It’s a foot off the ground, low for a window. On my hands and knees, I crawl over and look through the metal bars, into the room beside mine.
What I see is Knox, humming to himself, stretched out on his own white bed, shirtless.
I look away, embarrassed, but he didn’t seem to see me. Repositioning myself, I lay flat on my stomach, propping myself up on my elbows to stare at him. A few minutes pass this way, with me just staring at him as he looks up at the ceiling and hums a tune that I don’t recognize.
“Are you enjoying yourself?”
I yelp, eyes going wide as Knox speaks.
“Do not worry,” he says, glancing over at me with a smirk. The dimples in his cheeks only make my face redder. “There is nothing to be ashamed of. I forgot about the window.”
With that, he stands up, joining me at the window.
His face is slightly wet, hair dripping beads of water onto the carpet below. He smells faintly of vanilla, a scent I know from our coveted kitchen supplies.
“Did you eat?” he asks, tilting his head sideways like a puppy.
“Not yet,” I answer through closed lips.
“You should.”
“Why?”
“To avoid the punishment,” he says in a matter-of-fact tone.
I glance over my shoulder at the food tray sitting on the floor.
“I’m not hungry.”
Knox just shrugs, and his smile disappears. His eyebrows turn down towards the middle.
“We have a conversation to finish,” he says, swallowing.
“Can’t they still hear us?” I ask in a whisper.
“No. There are no microphones or cameras in these rooms.”
I don’t even care to ask why; I’m just glad to have a little privacy.
“So you’ve never been outside?” I ask, scooting closer to the opening.
He shakes his head.
“And you’re perfectly content living in captivity?”
The question comes out dripping with venom. It’s so strong that Knox recoils for a moment before meeting my eyes and nodding.
“Eden,” he says slowly. “I went through the testing and training, but things got better. Now, I am fed. I am bathed. I am loved, even. I do not struggle for anything that I want, and when I reach the age of twenty-five I will become immortal--one of the machines.”
“And that’s what you want? To be one of them?”
“So you are from the outside?” he asks, ignoring my questions.
I nod, and he takes a deep breath.
“Prove it,” he says.
I scrunch my nose up at him.
“Prove what?”
“That the outside is better than the Anthropological Park. I know this park better than any other subject, and I know what you want. I can see it in your eyes. You want out.”
I breathe in and hold that breath. He continues.
“Prove to me that there is something worth escaping for and I will help you.”
I watch him for a long time, observing the rise and fall of his shoulders and chest as he breathes. His pupils dilate as he searches my face; mine do as well, I’m sure. He breathes out of the part in his lips, knuckles turning white from the weight of his chin on his palms.
How do you prove that life is worth living? Was there a moment in my childhood where I felt that? No--there were many. If I were to write it all down, the world couldn’t contain all of the pages. How do I tell this stranger what love feels like? Pain? Happiness?
“What if I show you?” I ask with a shaky voice.
He squints at me, exhaling.
“I’ll tell you a new story every night about my family outside,” I say. “Maybe over time, you’ll understand. I can’t answer that question all at once.”
Knox nods.
“And in return, you can…”
My voice trails off as I try to think of something I want from him. He’s already offered to help me escape.
“I will sing you to sleep,” he blurts out, smiling.
“What?” I ask, surprised.
“I saw you watching me hum earlier, and the goosebumps on your skin were unmistakable. Music means something to you. If there is anything that will help you sleep at night, it will be music. The first few weeks are always hard,” he says, nodding. His hair bobs up and down as he does so, like a shirt blowing in the wind.
“Okay,” I say as I bite my lip. “We have a deal.”
I stick my hand through the bars and he grasps it in his own large one. His skin is soft compared to my own rough hands. The machines scrubbed the callouses down as best they could, but as I shake his hand, the difference is as clear as the water outside.
“So, Eden,” he says as he lets my hand go. “Tell me a story.”
I take a deep breath, leaving my hand on his side of the window.
In order to prove that being outside is better, I need to tell him about the happiest moments of my childhood. I need to divulge my private moments with my parents--the moments of irreplaceable love and tenderness.
“Have you ever seen snow?” I ask, glancing up at him. He nods.
“Just from under the dome.”
“Okay, well, when I was little, there was this giant snow storm. The factories had increased production that year, and the smog was horrible. So when the winter hit, there was no sun to help keep the temperature up. It was already freezing when the snow came. It shut the entire city down for a solid week because the river froze solid and stopped the hydroelectric energy grid.
“I remember it was so cold that we were using fire to melt the ice on the walls for drinking water. My family bundled under one blanket that winter and my mother made me some gloves out of an old pair of shorts.
“The best part, though, was the fact that the city was basically asleep. The cybernetics stayed inside because their bodies weren’t made to handle such low temperatures. They couldn’t run the cars because of the power failures. On top of all that, the Artificials had no way to charge themselves, so they were shut down.”
I pause to laugh.
“We went out on the river and attempted to stand on the ice. My brother kept falling on his face, and by the end of the day, he had a bloody lip and was miserable.
“But it was so much fun. We had snowball fights and sat around a fire to watch the sun set. Winter was always my favorite season.”
I look up at Knox to find him staring at me.
“My parents were good at finding the beauty in empty moments,” I whisper as the knot rises in my throat. “I was never really alone, even if we were a part of a dying race. Even if we were always running and moving, we always had each other.”
Knox takes my hand and rubs the backs of my fingers with his thumb.
“Eden,” he says, softer than the blanket behind me.
“Yes?” I ask.
“What happened to your parents?”
I swallow down the knot in my throat and blink hard.
“They were harvested,” I say, picking at the peeling paint of the wall with my free hand. Holding his hand feels awkward, but at the same time, I don’t want to pull away.
“I am sorry,” Knox says with a squeeze of my hand.
Right then, the lights click off and leave us in darkness so thick I can’t see the wall in front of me. I can feel it, though because my hand is still dangling through the window. It can’t possibly be night, because the sun was high in the sky when we came in.
“Your eyes will adjust in a minute,” Knox says, letting my hand go.
