Caged (The Idyllic Series Book 1)

by Amy Johnson

  Finally, I reach an entry point and kick the manhole cover to the side, jumping down into the darkness below. My feet land in an inch of ice water that splashes up my pants legs. The cold wakes me up, though. Without shutting the lid, I continue walking.

  It won’t matter if they find the tunnels. We’ll be gone before morning comes.

  First, though, I have to give Cyrus a proper burial, and I have to carve his name in the wall. I want him to be immortalized in the concrete. Everyone should remember his name in respect and fondness. Everyone should know how he grew up too fast to fill shoes that were too big for him.

  He was just twenty years old, and every single day, he worked his hands to the bone to feed and care for fifty people who didn’t thank him often enough.

  The lights that once hung overhead have been busted. The darkness in the tunnels hangs low and thick like the smog above ground. I zero in on the walls, focusing on every notch and dent. The paths come back to me like the poems have, and I navigate through with ease.

  A small yellow dot in the distance tells me that other humans are near.

  I’m not ready to join them, though.

  I’m still saying goodbye.

  So, I turn down an adjacent tunnel, making my way toward the river.

  Burying him isn’t an option; the lack of soft ground makes it impossible. If I leave his body, the machines will find it and recycle his body parts for cybernetic repair or maintenance. I won’t burn him, even though it’s a funeral fit for a king like Cyrus.

  That leaves me with floating him down the river.

  A rush of cold night air washes over me, and I step out into the opening.

  Memories come flooding back as my shoes sink into the damp sand. Cyrus taught me how to skip rocks on this riverside. He directed my wrist as we practiced over and over again on a still, windless spring morning. We fished here for Charlie, dozing off in the summer humidity. Cyrus would always catch more than me but lie about it when we carried our haul in, praising ‘my’ hand at the sport.

  The river gave us light, life, and happiness. Now, it’s time I give that back.

  I wade out into the water, until I’m immersed up to my armpits. All of Cyrus rests below the water except for his misshapen head.

  “Wherever the water takes you,” I whisper, using a free hand to close his eyes, “I hope you get to see tulips and a clean sunrise.” My voice catches in my throat as I begin to cry again, squeezing him against me. “Rest,” I continue, choking on the word, “and don’t worry about me. I promise to protect them or die trying.”

  I place a gentle kiss on his forehead before letting go. The water envelops him, cradling his body as it pulls him away from me. His arms spread on either side of him, and his jacket puffs up with air. The blood that once coated both of us trails away in curling lines until it becomes nothing more than hints of pink in the shades of blue.

  Tears stream down my face as I watch him disappear.

  Loneliness couples with the water, tugging at my chest and stomach. I sink into the water and let it take me over. What do I have left but darkness and loneliness, failure and uncertainty? I don’t even have a plan for where to take the humans, but the weight of their expectations pushes me further into the water.

  I could drown here and let the water take me along with Cyrus.

  I would just be running, though. As much as I want death, it wouldn’t be that easy. My single weakness is a piece of metal no bigger than the tip of my pinky, not water.

  After everything I’ve been through in order to save them, I can’t stop now. This mission is just beginning.

  I pull myself out of the water, standing on the riverbank as the water drips off of me. My clothes plaster themselves to my skin. Pink-tinted water pools around my leather shoes. I kick them off and stand in the sand barefoot. This way, I can feel the vibrations of the water and the humans inside behind me.

  With one last longing look at the river, I turn and walk back inside, heading for the wall.

  Past the meeting place lies one of the most secluded sections of tunnel, given away only by a white cross finger-painted on the directories. Moss coats the walls. Stalactites of calcium buildup stretch toward the floor and drip cold water on my shoulders and head. Under my feet, thick mud gathers, forcing me to trudge through it.

  The tunnel opens up into a large empty cavern with tall ceilings and elaborate archways. My guess is that it used to be a subway station for the underground trains. The machines never used it, and now the beautiful paintings on the ceiling tell a story of neglect and depression. Wooden benches lean against each wall, falling apart from age and moisture.

  Names cover the walls, carved in with a hammer and a sharp tool. The letters turn at crude angles, as if the people who did the carving had no control over their hands. The oldest names at the top are larger, taking up narcissistic amounts of space. When they were carved, life was easier. Fewer humans died every day.

  At the bottom of the wall, the names press together, fighting for space. Initials replace full names, leaving the memorial looking more like a cryptic alphabet than a list.

  I run my hand along the wall, searching for my parents' names.

  Cyrus deserves to be put to rest beside them. That way, they’ll never be apart.

  Finally, my eyes find the square letters driven into the wall.

  Lydia and Alaric Cavalleri.

  I clench my fists at my side.

  Would they really be proud of me? Their daughter has turned into a machine, when they spent their whole lives fighting them.

  I take a deep breath and press an open palm against the ragged canyons of the letters.

  I didn’t bring anything sharp, but my razor-thin fingernails might do the trick.

  Crouching down, I carve Cyrus’s name into the wall right below our parents’ names. With a puff of air, I blow the dust away and look at my handiwork.

  Cyrus Cavalleri.

  A sound echoes around the room, and I freeze, balling my hands into fists. A heartbeat breaks through the silence, quick and afraid. Someone breathes in rapid succession like they’re panting. The sound of metal rubbing against skin confuses me. The hum of a paralyzer tops it all off, and I give up trying to guess what’s coming.

  I stand to spin around right as the mystery joins me in the room.

  “Eden?”

  Linux blinks in confusion and lowers his weapon.

  “Linux,” I reply in a whisper.

  Linux runs across the room and throws himself at me. His arms wrap around my neck, and I stumble backwards into the wall. His body shakes with violent sobs. I cling to him while his back muscles shudder.

  His skin against mine feels unnatural--sandpaper on silk. Every movement sends chills up my spine. Yet, his scent surrounds me and reminds me of Cyrus. It’s such a strong feeling that I can’t let go of him.

  “I thought you were dead,” he mumbles into my neck. His lips vibrate against my skin. It bores down into my core, shaking the lining of my stomach.

  “I didn’t mean to scare you,” I whisper back, closing my eyes and taking a deep breath.

  He pulls away and searches my face before his drops.

  With a jerk of movement, he unravels himself from my arms and lunges for the handmade paralyzer stick. He holds it out in front of him, narrowing his eyes.

  “Who are you?” he hisses as he backs toward the exit.

  I hold a hand out, grimacing.

  “It’s just me, Lin,” I say, gently.

  “No. You’re not Eden. Eden is short, and she has really ugly skin,” he snaps. “Your eyes are different, too. Plus, all that.” He waves the stick over my body.

  I glance down and groan.

  I’m still soaking wet and covered in a pink tint. Blood stains the white button-up shirt I wear, joined by streaks of mud. Dried blood covers my hands, making it look like I’ve dipped them in red plaster.

  I look like I’ve slaughtered someone.

  While it’s not
far from the truth, Linux sees it from a different perspective.

  “What were you doing on the wall?” he asks, craning his neck to see around me. His eyes go wide at the sight of Cyrus’s name. “Did you--”

  “Don’t even suggest it,” I snap, pointing a finger at him. “Do you really think I would kill my own brother?”

  “Eden wouldn’t! I don’t know about you, though.”

  “That’s insane! I’m the same person.”

  “No, you’re not. I can see the plating through your shirt.”

  I glance down at myself again and grimace.

  He’s technically correct. I’m not the same person. Not on the outside, at least.

  “It’s a long story,” I mumble, running a peeling, bloody hand through my hair. The bits of bodily fluids flake down my face like dandruff. “Ask me anything. I’ll prove it to you.”

  He narrows his eyes at me before taking a step forward. The weapon sings as he moves it to his side.

  “Fine. What’s your favorite book?”

  I scrunch up my nose at him.

  “That’s not fair,” I snap. “You can’t ask me to pick just one.”

  “Try,” he hisses, stepping towards me again.

  “Fine,” I say, glaring. “It’s my copy of A People’s History.”

  He nods.

  “And at what age did you start memorizing poems?”

  I dig through my memory bank, reaching as far back as it will allow.

  “I was seven. Three years before my first mission. Eight years before my parents were killed.”

  “Which one is your favorite?”

  “There Will Come Soft Rains.”

  “What was Cyrus’s favorite book?”

  “Easy. His tulip book. Cyrus never bothered to learn to read.”

  “Favorite color.”

  “Mine? Black. Cyrus’s? Blue.”

  “Favorite song.”

  “I can’t sing, Linux. You know that.”

  He smiles.

  “But what is your favorite song?” he repeats.

  “Something about rainbows. Mom used to sing us to sleep with it every night.”

  He points the stick at me.

  “What’s the first thing you ever said to me?”

  My face drops as I pull memory after memory out of my mind.

  We stood in the middle of an alley, dirty and bruised from fighting the machines. He was weak and malnourished. The image of me with my hands spread in front of me appears at the front of my skull. I mirror the stance, painting a calm and gentle face over my frustrated one.

  “‘I’m not a machine, nor will I ever be. I’m a human, just like you, with dreams, emotions, and fears. You can trust me. I promise I’ll keep you safe.’”

  The words tumble out of my mouth like I have pressed play on a recording device.

  Linux’s face softens, and he says, “‘Pinky promise?’”

  A smile breaks out over my face. I was right.

  “‘Let me take you home, kid. Everything will be okay. I’m here to help.’”

  “How do I know you’re not just reciting Eden’s memories?” he asks, narrowing his eyes.

  The question perturbs me. That’s exactly what I’m doing, but Linux is smart enough to see through it. He knew it wasn’t a sure-fire method before he started asking questions. He’s testing my patience, which is running very thin.

  “Fine. Did the other Luddites come back?” I ask, switching gears.

  Linux nods.

  “I haven’t talked to them, though. Haven’t even seen them. Knox is in there.”

  I raise my eyebrows and nod in surprise. After Cyrus showed back up on the steps of the administration building, I just assumed Knox left the Luddites to fend for themselves. Why else would he let my brother come back? Surely Cyrus didn’t slip under his radar.

  Linux takes a shaky breath and continues.

  “And I don’t recognize all the voices.”

  “That’s because they aren’t all Luddites,” I say. “Some of them are exhibits.”

  His mouth drops open.

  “Knox freed the exhibits?”

  A dry laugh escapes my lips.

  “No. That misled fool couldn’t free anyone. Not on his own. I freed them.”

  Confusion twists his face up, and he runs a hand over his short, dark hair.

  “How?”

  “Broke the glass.”

  “With your bare hands?”

  I nod, shrugging. “It wasn’t too hard.”

  Linux digs through his pocket and pulls out a small book. It’s no bigger than his palm, ragged around the edges. He tosses it to me, and I flip through the yellowed pages.

  “Tear it in half,” he orders, resuming his defensive stance.

  “Lin, this is a book!” I exclaim. “I can’t rip it.”

  “Do it, or I’m leaving. For good.”

  I analyze his face, listening to his strong heartbeat in his chest. It pounds rhythmically in fear. His eyes hold mine just as firm as when we stood like this in the alley two years ago.

  I can’t lose him, too.

  I look down at the tiny book and grip both sides with my pale hands. Dust from the concrete joins the red coating to give my hands an ashy appearance. The book’s brown, cracking leather cover complements the earthy tones.

  Without giving it another thought, lest I change my mind, I twist my hands in different directions. The pages tense up at my touch but tear apart with ease. Bits of lost feathers flutter to the ground, leaving me with two handfuls of ruined paper.

  “What a waste,” I whisper as I let the rest go. The pages coast down, gliding on the air. They cover the ground between us like a lake of lost words and life. “All that proves is that I’m strong, and you know that.”

  I look at Linux, letting the frustration show on my face.

  “It proves you’re capable of what you’re suggesting you did,” he says, lowering his weapon. “I’ll have to ask the Luddites if you really helped them.”

  I scowl at him but agree. At least he’s being cautious.

  “What did they do to you, Eden?” he whispers, meeting my eyes.

  “They turned me into an Idyllic,” I say, taking a step toward him. I expect him to become startled and move away, but he just stares at me. His heart thumps against his ribcage, and I listen to the blood rushing through his veins. He rubs a thumb across the side of his closed fist, and I can hear his eyelashes crash into the lens of his bent glasses.

  “An Idyllic? Like those two machines in the alley?” I nod. “You look like them but less scary.”

  I chuckle, reaching down and taking his hand. It’s cold in mine, and his coarse skin scratches me.

  “I’ll tell you all about it when we’re safe,” I say, squeezing his hand. He winces, and I drop it.

  “What happened to Cyrus?”

  The temperature drops by ten degrees, and I stare at Cyrus’s name on the concrete. Taking a deep breath, I recount the fight between Null and Cyrus, telling him how Null killed him for being my brother. I leave out the specifics of his death, how Null crushed his head like a porcelain bowl between his hands and how Cyrus’s spine-chilling screams filled the air like fireworks. I also leave out how it was almost my doing.

  “So, he’s really gone?” he asks, kneeling by the freshly carved name. I nod and bite my lower lip. “I’m sorry, Eden.”

  His words bring the emotions back to the surface, and I clamp a shaking hand over my mouth to stop the sob from escaping. Tears sneak down my face, unwelcome and uninvited. Linux’s face softens, but he doesn’t reach out to me.

  His shoulders shake, and before I know it, he’s crying, too.

  We stand within feet of one another, each too afraid to console the other.

  “He loved you so much,” Linux whispers, wrapping his arms around himself.

  That was the problem. He loved me too much, and I was too stupid. I should have run when I had the chance and followed him underground. Why did I hav
e to stand up to Null? What did I prove? He could still be alive if I hadn’t been so prideful.

  I just didn’t want to keep running.

  I was just as selfish as Knox. I was only thinking about me.

  At least we had been alive when we were running. I would spend an eternity running if it meant Cyrus would be by my side again.

  “He loved you, too,” I reply.

  Time passes slowly as we sit on the floor of the memorial hall, staring at each other and knotting our hands in our laps. We shiver together and listen to the rats scurry by, armies of tiny claws against the concrete. Water drips in the distance, blending seamlessly with my ragged sniffling.

  I could cry for days; my emotions are endless.

  Linux breaks the silence first, looking up at me.

  “We can’t stay here forever, Eden”

  I wipe my cheeks with a dry corner of my shirt and push myself up off the floor. He stretches a hand up toward me, and I pull him to his feet as if he weighs nothing.

  “The other Luddites are gathered in the sleeping area,” he says, walking ahead of me. “Is Knox with you?”

  “Yeah, he volunteered to help me, but he’s leaving after this. I figured I could just kill him if he did something wrong. I’m stronger than him.”

  Linux nods.

  “Of course you are. Just be careful. Trusting him got you into this situation.”

  How right he is. When did Linux become so wise?

  This time around, though, Knox’s emotions and tells appear like red flags every time he opens his mouth. If he lies, I’m going to know it. Neither of us will be able to keep a secret from one another.