Caged (The Idyllic Series Book 1)

by Amy Johnson

  “You blended two words together,” I explain. “You said ‘I’m.’ It’s a blend of ‘I’ and ‘am.’ That’s called a contraction.”

  “And I don’t use contractions?”

  “Not normally, but you just did it again.”

  His upper lip curls, and he squints at me. I shake my head, deciding it isn’t worth explaining. That one simple word, mashed together in a rush of breath, makes him sound human. Other times, when he talks, if I look away from him, I forget that he’s alive. Now, though, if he’s molding into a more human way of talking, I won’t be able to forget.

  If anything, the small action only builds the empathy that resides in my chest.

  He’s always been on my list of people to save, but now he’s moved to the top, right under Cyrus.

  “They chained you up,” he points out, like it’s not the most obvious thing in the world. “Why?”

  “Because they know how I broke out of the room. If I can’t get to the keypad, I can’t do it again.”

  He doesn’t respond, but his shadow on the grate shifts as he sits down.

  “That isn’t the worst of it, though,” I continue, running my unbound hand through my hair.

  “That is hard for me to believe, considering how much you despise being imprisoned,” he says, a hint of amusement in his voice.

  I glare at him, but my face softens quickly.

  Ten thousand, eighty seconds. One hundred sixty-eight hours. Fourteen times the door will open and close. Seven days of sitting under the dome.

  One week until I’m mutilated by the service machines, cut apart by the precise hands of the cybernetics, and laid out like meat for sale, only to be pieced back together like a jigsaw puzzle. Except none of the pieces will match like the enigmatologist intended.

  I’ll be an unnatural blend of two different substances--a mixture, not a solution.

  Half of me will be human, and the other half… I have no idea. That alone makes everything a thousand times worse.

  Right now, I’m know what I’m made of.

  The skin covers muscle, which covers bone filled with marrow. Veins fill the spaces in between, pumping blood through my body like water sucked through a straw. Protein, tissue, fat, carbohydrates, and DNA make up the rest of my body according to the anatomy book in my collection. Half of me is water.

  When I’m a machine in seven days, what will I be made of?

  “Eden, what else is wrong?”

  I glance up at Knox, chewing on my lip.

  “They’ve scheduled my assembly,” I say, all in one breath, rushed, like it can’t be held back for another moment.

  Realization slides over his face, and his eyes go wide.

  “They are going to assemble you?”

  I nod.

  He runs a shaking hand through his hair, and his eyes fall to the ground. I can’t see where he’s looking, but he doesn’t look back up.

  “They’re turning you into one of them?”

  “Into an Idyllic, yes,” I say, using the term Knox has heard me use several times to describe Eins and Zwei.

  “When?” he asks, moving something around in his lap.

  “A week from today.”

  The silence stretches between us like a rubber band, pulled to its limit on both ends. I pluck at the threads of my shorts and weave my fingers through the heavy chains. The thread comes loose, and I ball it between my fingers to flick it across the white carpet. It disappears into the snowy sea, lost.

  The rubber band snaps as Knox says, “What about your poems?”

  I narrow my eyes at him.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Will you be able to remember your poems?”

  I open my mouth to answer but close it again quickly. I don’t know. I’ve never thought about it. Do cybernetics keep their memories from their time as a human? I wouldn’t think so, since the machines remove their brains.

  Yet, the Idyllic are different. I think they can feel emotion. Zwei receives joy from my pain. My muteness enrages Eins to the point of punishing me through the metal cuff. Do they remember when they were human?

  Were they even humans in the first place? Well, they had to be, if they’re going to turn me into one of them.

  Their capability to feel emotions means they have brains, though, not computer chips. The image of Baylee comes back, slamming into my stomach like a battering ram. Her skull had been emptied and filled in with the wires and tubes. They weren’t turning her into an Idyllic. She would wake up as a cybernetic.

  “I don’t know,” I admit, clutching the hem of my shorts.

  “What about all of your other memories? Your parents? Linux? Your brother?”

  A hand wraps itself around my heart, squeezing, and I clutch my chest and gasp for breath. I blink back the lava threatening to pour out of my eyes.

  What if Eins and Zwei don’t actually have their memories? What if they were able to keep their brain but it was wiped clean like a dirt-covered window, and the filth of their human existence was replaced by a hatred so deep that it fuels every move they make?

  I choke back a sob. They’re going to do the same thing to me. Maybe I will remember my Luddites, but the machines will have discolored the happy memories. They will force me to hunt down my own family, equipped with the knowledge of their greatest weaknesses and hide-outs.

  “Eden,” Knox says, pressing a hand against the window. “What about your personality? Will you be the same person?”

  I laugh--a choked sort of sound that explodes out of my mouth.

  “Of course I won’t be,” I say, shaking my head. My hair swings back and forth like a whip and stings my eyes. “Do you honestly think Eins and Zwei were that monstrous when they were humans?”

  Knox shakes his head, gripping both sides of it. His eyes clench closed as he presses on his temples.

  “All I know is that I have seven days,” I whisper, crawling towards the window. The chain holds me back, but I stretch that arm out behind me and reach for the window with my free one. My fingertips graze the mesh covering, feeling shards of Knox’s warmth through the gaps.

  My mind runs laps around itself, tiring itself out with all of the ‘maybe’s’ and ‘what-if’s’. I am surrounded by cold, by emptiness, and by loneliness, feelings I thought I wouldn’t face again after leaving the testing cell. Underground, there is always someone just around the corner. In the dome, Knox is two steps away at all times. In this room, even, he is just on the other side of the window.

  Now, though, my arms don’t reach. I can’t hold his hand.

  When I actually want to, I can’t.

  The cold spears itself into the gaps between my ribs, splits open my lungs, and freezes me from the inside out. I shiver, grasping the empty air between us, and pant as my movements get faster and more desperate.

  “Eden, calm down,” Knox says, but his voice strains.

  The ice in my ribs explodes, freezing my muscles, and I fall flat on the carpet. I pull myself into the fetal position and let myself cry.

  “Please, stop!”

  His screams echo around the room.

  It’s an impossible situation. I can’t fix this.

  “I will help you,” he says, in one breath, much quieter than before.

  The ice begins to melt, and my heart beats. I glance up at the window.

  “You’ll help me?” I stutter through my sobs.

  The mesh distorts Knox’s face, but what I can see is wet. Tears?

  “Eden, I am not going to let them hurt you. You are the first friend I have ever had. What kind of human would I be?”

  I let out a strangled sort of laugh, pushing off of the carpet.

  With help, I have a chance. That’s one thing I’ve learned from being a Luddite: everything’s easier with the right teammates.

  “A terrible one,” I answer, wiping my nose with the back of my hand. “What time is it?”

  Knox looks towards his door.

  “Almost time for them to
lead us out. Will they put you on display after last night?”

  I shrug, but the sound of the door’s lock beeping answers him.

  The cyber from before sweeps in the room, flanked by an Artificial. Its white protective outer layer reflects the lights from the hallway. Paralyzer pointed towards me, the Artificial stands motionless while the cyber kneels down and unlocks the lock on my chain with his thumb.

  He walks back towards the door, jerking me along behind him. The cuff, once lined with soft fabric to prevent me from harming myself, cuts into the tender skin of my wrist. I wince against the pain, tripping over my feet to follow. The hum of the Artificial’s weapon dances past my ear as it moves to nestle into the small of my back.

  Am I that much of a threat?

  Knox stands out in the hallway, completely unattended and unguarded. He gapes at me, stepping back as I’m escorted across the hall to the Eyes door.

  The cyber opens it and motions for the Artificial to lead me in.

  The metal of the paralyzer meets the bare skin of my back, and I inch forward, leading the parade through the glass tunnel. As always, I graze one wall with my free, unchained hand to feel the warmth of the air outside and the glass from the shrouded sun overhead.

  Just a few hours ago, I was out there. Freedom was in the palm of my hand.

  I pull my hand away from the glass, watching the cyber walk past me and attach my chain to the metal bench.

  “We have a new rule for you,” he says, watching me jerk at the chain to test the stability of the bench. It doesn’t move a centimeter, no matter how hard I pull. “No speaking to one another. You may only talk to your assigned cybernetics.”

  I glance back at Knox who is standing at the mouth of the tunnel, arms crossed and eyes narrowed.

  “Subject 23, do you understand?” the cyber asks, and the Artificial takes a step towards me.

  I nod.

  I rub my wrist at the slight jolt that comes from the cuff.

  “Yes, sir, I understand,” I say, looking at him.

  “We will be watching you much closer over the next week. That is your warning.”

  With that, he turns and leaves, followed by the Artificial. Knox sits down beside me on the bench, opening and closing his mouth as if considering talking.

  “Go ahead,” I whisper. “Say whatever it is you want to.”

  “You are going to get yourself in trouble,” he whispers back.

  “Come on, they can’t-”

  I wince as the shock reverberates through my arm and I scoot away from him.

  “Hear me,” I finish, sighing.

  Today may be my longest day under the dome.

  Fewer Anthros workers appear today than any other day. They watch me from a distance, typing on their tablets and asking me only basic questions. Each of them eye Knox and me carefully before shuffling on.

  The cybernetic that requested physical contact from Knox and I stops by.

  For a moment, I see Cyrus in his almond eyes, through the sunflower lashes.

  No. I’m going insane.

  I shake my head, looking down at the grass. I miss Cyrus so much that I’m starting to see his features in the machines.

  Yet, when I look up, I can’t ignore the broad shoulders, the strong jawline, and the arching eyebrows. He looks like my brother. No, he looks like my father.

  I rub at my eyes, clenching them closed.

  My mind is exhausted. It’s seeing things. That’s impossible, in more than one way.

  Isn’t it?

  The dismissal bell fills the dome with its minor tone, and when I look up, the cybernetic is gone.

  Knox walks towards the tunnel, eyes drifting and unfocused as he chews on his bottom lip. The door opens, and my handler enters, trailed by the Artificial from before.

  I’m led back to the room, chained to the floor, and left alone.

  Knox doesn’t appear in the shadows that cast themselves through the window. The sound of his bed creaking as he lies down eases into my room, but he keeps his distance. So, I wrap the blanket around myself, eat the bland, colorful meal, and lay on my back on the carpet.

  I count the bricks on the wall to my left, one at a time. Then, I thread my fingers into the carpet, untangling the individual strands. When I’ve cleared an area around me, I decide to connect the scars on my legs with a sharp fingernail, leaving trails of white across my skin.

  “You cannot leave wearing the cuff.”

  Knox’s voice makes me jump, and I dig the nail into my skin, drawing blood.

  “What?” I snap as I wet my fingertips with my tongue and brush the bright, red liquid away.

  “They trace you using the cuff,” he explains as he speaks louder. “If we are going to escape, we need to get it off of your wrist.”

  “And how do you suppose we do that?”

  I feel guilty for being so short with him, but the image of the cybernetic from before is still at the front of my mind, giving me a headache.

  “I have no idea,” he says with a sigh. “Give me some time to think over it.”

  “Hurry. I only have six days left.”

  The words bridge the space between us--a tightrope where our breaths are acrobats.

  The lights click off suddenly. I recoil back to my cover, waiting for my eyes to adjust.

  “Is it safe to assume that we will not be continuing with our deal?” Knox asks, through the inky darkness.

  I nestle my face into the plush blanket, eyes darting around the room. The silence scares me, but what story is there to tell tonight? I can’t keep my head straight; the nerves wrestle in my stomach. The walls come into sight, inching closer to me the longer I stare at them.

  “I have a headache,” I blurt, swallowing. I pinch the inside of my thigh, trying to distract myself from the anxiety attack welling in my chest. My breath disappears, snatched out of my lungs by the gaseous being lowering itself all around me.

  “Do you still want me to sing to you?”

  His voice drives itself between my spine and skull, and beams of pain light up my vision. I gasp for breath and shake my head.

  “Please don’t.”

  The anxiety melts into exhaustion, and my muscles relax. They’re sore, tight from all the electricity they’ve faced. Yet my mind lights up like a burning fire in the middle of a hollow, empty room.

  I know I have to get out of here. I can’t give in to the machines. That would be too easy, and I’ve never been one to take the easy route. Yet, I feel even more trapped than before. With two pairs of eyes on me at all times, how am I supposed to break out of this room?

  I drift to sleep, lying on my side, cocooned in my blanket.

  ✽✽✽

  In my dreams, light filters through the mesh of the window and casts shadow art of rabbits and dogs onto the carpet. Hushed voices give them life, but I can’t decipher the words. Occasionally, one of them will laugh--a sound that resembles a twinkling of metal against metal, high pitched, and familiar.

  A door slams, and I jerk upright, looking at the window through the strands of my black hair. There’s no light, no voices, and no laughter. I lie back down and put the pillow over my head. They’ve taken my freedom and my pride; they can’t have my sleep, too.

  The dream returns, waking me up over and over with a door slamming. Each time, I squint at the window. How likely is it that I’m having a recurring dream? Is someone coming to visit Knox in the middle of the night?

  The lights click on sometime after the fifth dream, and I’m sprawled on my back with all four limbs stretched out away from me. My chest rises high with every breath, pulling the tank top tight. My eyes have been open for a few minutes, but they are struggling to stay that way.

  “I have an idea,” Knox says, appearing at the window. I glance over towards him, not moving anything except for my head. His lips turn up at the sight of me, but he withdraws the smile as fast as it appeared.

  It’s too bad, because I could use something as comforting as his
mist of a smile.

  “Do tell,” I mumble, looking back up at the ceiling.

  “What if we make it so that the machines have to remove your cuff?”

  “Why would they have to remove it?”

  “Well, if it becomes an obstruction to the research. If the cuff hurts your skin, they will take it off.”

  I look down at my chained wrist, red from the metal rubbing against it. They removed the soft inner layer, but it is still seamless, edgeless steel. I tug at it, wincing at the pressure the action puts on my wrist bones.

  I think about Subject 12, sitting in the grass of the exhibit soaked in her own blood. Was she not tarnishing her image? Maybe it’s a matter of hurting my eyes. They’re the product- not my body.

  “What ideas do you have?” I ask, hoping his train of thought is opposite of mine. I can’t handle many more eye issues.

  “Maybe a rash. Are you allergic to anything?”

  I shrug, listening to the lock on the door turn. We are out of time.

  “Give me time. I will figure it out,” he whispered, voice receding from the window as he moves back towards his bed.

  My watchmen sweep in, the same two as the day before, and pull me towards the door and straight out into the tunnel.

  No bathroom break.

  Thankfully, though, I don’t need to go. They must’ve changed my diet to accommodate the change in schedule. The cyber attaches my leash to the bench and leaves me alone with Knox without saying a word to me.

  Knox, instead of sitting next to me, wanders away to the other end of the dome, crosses his arms over his chest, and stares out of the glass. I watch the side of his face, shocked by the seriousness. He loves mornings under the dome the most, because the dew settling on the glass reminds him of bubbles. I’ve never seen him stare outside so unforgivingly.

  Throughout the day, he averts his gaze whenever he walks past me. He picks at his fingernails and bites at the inside of his cheek. Even when we have our slow periods, he sits on the grass instead of the bench, clasping his hands together and running his fingers through his hair.

  I watch for the familiar cyber to return, but he doesn’t. Instead, machines I’ve never seen before point their pencil fingers at me, asking me to step closer to the glass. They huddle in groups like animals and fill the air with heat that fogs up the glass.