by Amy Johnson
A smile lights up his face, and it’s contagious enough that I smile too.
“What’s a teepee?” he asks, as he puts the shoes on his feet.
“It’s a type of tent made of animal skin that the Native Americans used to use.”
“What are Native Americans?”
“The people who lived in North America about seven hundred years ago.”
“What’s North America?”
The questions continue on our walk back to the meeting place. I answer each of them in a monotone voice, fighting the growing urge to roll my eyes.
“What’s a country? A president? Sovereignty? Democracy?”
I’ve just finished explaining what a government is when we step into the meeting place where Emory sits, eyebrows furrowed as she studies a large piece of paper. It’s yellowed with age, and the edges curve at unnatural angles like someone has ripped it instead of cutting it.
I clear my throat and she glances up at us.
“Hello, Eden,” she says, standing up and laying the paper on the ground before her. I walk up to it and glance down.
“It’s a map,” she says, even though she doesn’t need to. The blue ink that shapes the river along the left side of the paper has told me that. The rest of the paper shows a maze of black and red lines. Blue circles on the right side of the paper are labeled ‘Anthros’.
“Where did you get this?” I ask, looking back up at her.
“We’ve been working on this for awhile,” she says. “The other Elders and I. It is finally complete. The black lines are the tunnels under Druxy. The red lines are the streets above. We’ve labeled all the warehouses that we know of--thanks to you.”
“What is this?” Knox asks as he points at the blank space at the edge of the paper.
“The end of the paper,” I snap, pushing his hand away.
“Well, yeah, but what is out there?”
“Nothing,” I say. “More city.”
He scrunches up his nose and my resolve cracks. The little bit of annoyance in my chest dissipates, and I look away before I do something stupid in front of the Head Elder.
“I didn’t call you in here to show you the map,” Emory says with a laugh, “but I’m glad you saw it.”
“Then, why did you call us in?” Knox asks. I gape at him, horrified at his lack of manners. My hand closes on his upper arm, and I squeeze until he winces.
“Well, I wanted Eden to tell me about the day she was captured,” Emory says, rubbing the base of her neck. Knox glances at me and raises his eyebrows. It’s a story I haven’t even told him. She wants to match Linux’s story to my own.
Emory takes a seat and I pull Knox to the ground with me to sit on my knees in front of her. I recount each detail with precision, telling her first how we stopped by the residential area and found the rooms empty. Then, I tell her how we picked the cybernetic that talked to us in the Anthros and how we trapped her within the alleyway between exhibits.
When I tell her how I found the chip, she holds a hand up to stop me.
“And this is where Linux’s story falls apart,” she says, leaning forward on her knees.
“Well, he was pretty scared. The machines that caught us were different than anything I’ve ever seen, Emory. They weren’t cybernetics, but they didn’t look like Artificials.”
“Explain,” she says, staring at me.
“Well, they didn’t follow the speech patterns of cybers,” I say, low, “but they still looked like them. When I shot the male’s arm off, he was actually enraged. I could see it in his face. These machines, Emory, they’re capable of emotion, but they possess all the strength and precision of the Artificials. They breathe and think like humans.”
“What are they, Eden?”
“I don’t know,” I admit. “Maybe a new type of machine? All I know is that they’re horrifying. With the modifications they have, we won’t stand a chance.”
“Then we need to hurry up and get Linux’s plan in motion. Has he figured anything out yet?”
I want to tell her that only one day has passed and to give him more time. Instead, I shake my head and say,
“Not that I know of.”
Emory runs a hand over her hair, pressing down flyaway gray strands. She rubs her eyes before sighing.
“The Elders are meeting soon,” she says, picking up the map and folding it with precision. I follow her hands, itching to get just one more glance at it. “You will need to tell them about what happened in there. Your story may just motivate them to stop hiding and start acting.”
When I stare at her without replying, she continues, tucking the map under her arm.
“I may be Head Elder, but your brother has made it very clear over the past few weeks how little control I have. In the end, it won’t be me that declares war against the machines. It’ll be the whispers of the Luddites and whether or not they decide to raise arms.”
I nod to myself, and she leaves to find the others.
“War?” Knox asks, cocking his head to one side.
“It’s like a fight,” I whisper, tracing my finger through the dirt on the floor, “but on a much larger scale. The Luddites want to destroy the machines.”
“But you are outnumbered.”
I draw a hill and use my fingernails to sketch tiny flowers along the surface.
“That’s why we would like to avoid a fight,” I mumble, outlining the shape of Knox standing on the hill, “because we know it would be our extinction. It’s why we’ve been laying low for so long.”
“But Linux has a plan?”
“In theory, he does. We’ll just have to wait and see.”
“Why would you want to destroy the machines?”
“Isn’t that obvious? They’re picking us like fruit off of low-hanging branches.”
“Yes, but only because they have to. You won’t come willingly.”
I scowl at him.
“Because they have to?” I repeat, stunned.
“Yes,” he says, clearing his throat. “The cybernetics need humans.”
“And why is that?” I prod.
“Well, I don’t know. They have told me before, though, about how much they need humans.”
“And why exactly should I ‘come willingly’ to my death?”
“It isn’t death, Eden. It is empowerment.”
A laugh sputters out of my lips.
“I thought I changed your mind,” I whisper.
His silence raises goosebumps along my neck and arms.
I thought I had changed his mind.
Voices fill the hallway behind us and I blow away the dreamscape I had created in the dirt. Knox turns to watch the Elders enter the room. Cyrus falls last in line, stretching his arms over his head. His eyes are only open halfway and he stumbles into the wall as he comes inside.
When the Elders have sat down, Cyrus weaves past the two of us and pats me on the top of the head. He flops down into his seat, bringing his left ankle up to rest on his right knee. As his arms stretch across the arms of the chair, he radiates royalty, like a relaxed lion sitting on his throne.
The other Elders cross their arms and close us out, narrowing their eyes in caution.
“Eden, will you please tell us what happened to you in the Anthropological Park?”
As always, Emory speaks first, crossing her legs and leaning back in her chair. Her shoulders relax, and she gives in to the slump of her old age.
Knox reaches across and finds my hand, but his eyes never leave the woman in front of him. I knit my fingers through his, willing my body to stop quivering.
I have nothing to fear. I am safe here. The machines aren’t coming after me.
I open my mouth and destroy the dam that holds back the pain.
I start by explaining the cuff and the testing process. I detail how I was trained using positive punishment. Keeping my eyes trained on Emory, I find strength in her solid, unwavering demeanor as I lay out a few of the countless times I was shocked.
A gasp esca
pes Cyrus’s mouth as I tell how Eins and Zwei attempted to get me to talk. I clutch my arm and swallow tears. If I allow myself to look over at Cyrus, I won’t keep speaking.
I stop at my first escape attempt, leaving out the explicit details of Baylee’s body that still haunt every moment of my waking life. The pause gives me a chance to catch my breath.
The Elders say nothing, letting the tension in the room drift around us like a balloon waiting for someone to pop it. Cyrus pants in his seat, but I still can’t look at him. I take a deep breath and start talking again, but a voice interrupts me.
“That’s enough.”
Breaking Emory’s gaze, I turn to Cyrus.
I expect to see tears. Yet, my older brother isn’t crying.
He holds both arms of his throne in a death grip, squeezing the metal until his knuckles turn white. A vein in his neck throbs as he looks down on us and sweat beads form across his forehead.
“I’ve heard enough,” he repeats, in a threatening voice I’ve never heard him use before.
“What happened to Eden isn’t the worst thing happening in the Anthropological Park,” Knox says, making me jump. He has kept quiet through my entire story by rubbing circles with his thumb on my hand.
“Don’t you dare belittle what she experienced,” Cyrus growls, pointing a quivering finger at Knox. It doesn’t phase Knox, though, and he looks at each one of the Elders in turn.
“I was born in the park,” he says. “My mother was part of the Eyes exhibit, just like my father. They were forced to breed so that the park could expand. My parents reached the age of 25, and they were both harvested. I was raised in the training rooms by the same machines that tortured her. I underwent the tests.
“Subject 12 tried to escape not long after she was brought in. She was caught, of course, and she screamed for days. Whatever they did to her had to be horrible. Now she’s put on exhibit everyday attached to a metal rod so that she can’t move.
“The Body Modification subjects are subjected to regular skin testing and spend long hours chained down to tables while the machines attempt to recreate their imperfections. Last year, Subject 16 was killed when they ripped his skin from his bones to explore if skin would graft to metal.
“There are horrors happening every second in the Anthropological Park. Eden saw only a glimpse of the truth.”
No one speaks--not even Cyrus. I watch their statuesque faces mold into unique expressions. His history is new to me, and I realize in this moment just how big of a mistake I’ve made. I know nothing about Knox.
And yet, I’ve trusted everything to him.
It’s Cyrus that shatters the glass, sending spiderweb cracks towards us.
“How do you know all this if you were just another subject?”
I turn to look at Knox.
Cyrus speaks from the back of my own mind.
While I don’t doubt he’s telling the truth, I’m curious about where this is all coming from. Knox can’t just be a subject with all of this excessive knowledge.
“I told you. I’ve been there all of my life. I have been in the park for eighteen years, Cyrus. In that time, I found ways to know what was happening.”
Ways? Could he be any more vague?
Just as I open my mouth to ask him to elaborate, Emory raises her hand in the air.
“How many humans are currently being held in the Anthros?” she asks, her face set in resolve. Her signature smile is long gone, replaced with an unnerving stare.
“As test subjects or permanent breeding residents?” Knox asks.
I didn’t know there was a difference. I’ve been both.
“Test subjects.”
“Hundreds,” he says, “but of the five dome exhibits, there are less than ten.”
Emory takes a deep breath and lets her hand fall on her lap.
“Then, I think we know what we must do.”
“Surely you aren’t going to suggest we attempt to rescue them?” another Elder says.
“We can’t just let them rot in that prison!” Emory snaps, jerking her head toward the balding man. His eyes go wide and he sits back in his seat. Emory takes his reaction as a chance to drive her point home. “If we leave them behind, we are no better than the machines that did this to them in the first place. Bystanders are not innocent, Matthew. Can you rest at night knowing that humans are being tortured?”
Matthew shakes his head, lowering his gaze to the two of us.
“Can we count on your help, Eden?” he asks in a mouse-like voice.
I bite my lip to fight back the boiling anger I feel bubbling up. I don’t want to go back. That’s not fair considering everything I’ve been through. Yet, what kind of example would I set for everything else if I cowered now?
They’re using me, and I just keep dancing for the puppeteer.
Resentment lingers past the anger, but I still nod.
“I’ll do anything I can.”
“Even go back?”
Fear wrenches through my abdomen, clenching my muscles together. My heart rate rises, pounding against my ribcage in quick succession.
“Of course,” I say, sitting up straighter than I was before, just like I was trained to do in the park. It gives me an appearance of fake strength and bravery, even when every breath I take chips away at the lining of my stomach.
“You can’t be serious!” Cyrus roars as he throws himself out of his seat and toward Matthew. Emory hurries to stop him, holding him firmly by the shoulders as Cyrus continues his tirade. “If you think I’m going to let her ever leave again, you’re senile.”
Matthew stands, swelling to record height as he begins yelling at Cyrus in return. Their words blend until I can’t decipher them and they press their chests against one another and squeeze Emory out of the middle.
Emory stares at the two of them in exasperation, like this is a normal scene. Except it isn’t. The Elders I knew never argued. Especially not Cyrus.
“Leave,” she barks to me, “and take him with you. I’ll call you back when we figure something out.”
As much as I want to stay behind, calming Cyrus down becomes more impossible if I’m present in the room. So, I clamber to my feet and drag Knox by the sleeve out into the hallway.
“You have some things to explain,” I growl at him, checking the directory before I head back to the river, craving for something other than echoing screams and my own voice in my ears. Knox’s shadow on the ground tells me he’s following, even as I swat his hand away from mine and stomp through the water to find my solace.
Chapter 15: Exposed
Eden
We sit on the edge of the river, thighs touching as our bare feet stretch toward the water. Vehicles cross the bridge overhead, pushed along by the magnetic grids suspended over the water. The two of us are nothing but ants to them--insignificant specks of dirt.
Artificials fly overhead every few minutes, scanning the water before they disappear
Knox and I slip under their radar as the river crawls by in front of us, safe under the mouth of the pipe.
“Why didn’t you tell me about your parents?” I ask, plucking the question out of the jungle of information in my head, despite the millions of other questions slamming into one another. This seems like a good place to start.
“I was going to,” Knox says, gazing up at the rainbow of lights created by the bridge. It smears across the gray sky, vibrant against the otherwise bland clouds. “When the cybers started telling us to show signs of affection, I thought a story about me being a product of forced breeding would scare you.”
“It would have terrified me,” I admit, “but now, it feels like I know nothing about you.”
“Ask me anything,” he says, reaching over to graze my thigh. I tense up at his touch but don’t push him away. The panic reaching a crescendo in my chest calls out for him like it has so many times before. It wants to bury itself in his warm chest and inhale the familiar vanilla scent of his skin.
Right now, th
ough, my mind says I would be snuggling with a stranger.
“What were your parents like?” I ask, rubbing my upper arms.
“I don’t remember. I was taken away from my mother as soon as I was born.”
“Then how do you know she’s your mom?”
“The machines told me when I wouldn’t stop asking.”
I smile, imagining him as a toddler grabbing cybers by the leg and asking them a million questions, just like he did to me earlier.
“How do you know about all the other exhibits? I don’t even know all of them, but you do.”
“My patrons and guards talk about them,” he says in a matter-of-fact tone that reminds me of when we first met.
“And all that stuff about Subject 12 and Subject 16? The machines told you that, too?”
He nods, running a hand through his messy hair.
“Look, I knew what I wanted. I was raised as a machine, Eden. From the moment I was born, I was designed to be like them one day. But in the meantime, I was just another product.
“Then, you showed up, and you had this energy. You were so determined to get out. All those stories you told me about the people you wanted to go home to made me fall in love with the concept of freedom.
“I couldn’t change what I wanted, though. The fact that I am supposed to be a machine is ingrained in my being. I don’t want you to be scared of me; so, I keep my secrets.
“Do you have any idea how horrified I was when you came back chained up after your first escape attempt? You were another horror story unfolding in the place that I called home. That’s when I knew I had to help you--that I had to get you out.”
His words fire into the sky as he tilts his head back, closing his eyes against the sunlight filtering through the storm clouds. They rain back down on me and coat my skin in ice. I suck in deep breaths to thawing my lungs out.
“I never want to see you hurt,” he says, opening his eyes but not looking at me. “I just want you to be free.”
I want to believe him. His voice crashes through my head with all the strength of a grenade, flattening my willpower and anger towards him. Tears pour down his cheeks, and his shoulders shake as he begins to sob.
