Bleeker Hill

by Russell Mardell

  ‘Frank?’

  Behind him Mia was raising her head, looking to the source of the sound, the figure approaching, growing out of the shadows.

  ‘Will you help me?’ Mia asked in a soft and gentle voice, so quiet that it passed Turtle without registering.

  ‘Frank?’ Turtle said again to the shape in the corridor, his eyes squinting to see. ‘That you Frank?’

  ‘Turtle? It’s Sullivan. You okay?’

  Sullivan drew up to them, reading their expressions instantly. ‘What’s the matter?’ He saw the fear and the confusion, and wondered if they saw it too.

  ‘You pass Frankie that way?’

  ‘No. Didn’t see him.’

  ‘Shit.’

  ‘Everything okay?’

  Turtle turned back the other way and started to half walk, half jog down the other side of the corridor. ‘Define okay, man,’ he shouted over his shoulder, and then he was gone, leaving Sullivan and Mia alone.

  5

  ‘Please,’ Mia whispered, now fixing Sullivan with planet sized eyes. ‘Please don’t hurt me.’

  ‘I’m not going to hurt you.’

  ‘I need you to help me. Please, will you help me?’ Her voice was wavering; the whisper was cracked, like a broken phone line.

  He couldn’t place her with the angered, snarling woman that had fought so hard with Maddox just a matter of moments ago. A helpless young girl seemed to have stepped out of that hardened female form and in that moment, from that image, Sullivan’s heart leapt out to her, leaving the rotten void in his soul, left open and exposed by the last touch of his daughters skin.

  Sullivan found himself nodding.

  Mia turned into the light of the doorway and led him by the hand into the room. She perched on the edge of a bed, her hands falling into her lap, the toes of her battered trainers moving together, forming a V shape. She looked so young under that ghostly face, barely a teenager. Her nose was now a reddened lump, raw and angry against the calmed coolness of the rest of the skin but she seemed to pay it no attention. She nodded to the space on the bed next to her and Sullivan sat. For a moment neither of them spoke. Sullivan looked around the room, pushed a palm on to the bed to test its bounce and then offered a glance to the dripping tap further back.

  ‘Your name is Sullivan?’ Her voice was low and gentle, belying what her face showed. ‘My name is Mia.’

  ‘I know. Hello, Mia.’

  ‘You have a first name?’

  ‘Call me Sullivan.’

  ‘Sullivan it is.’

  ‘How’s your nose? Looks sore, you okay?’

  Mia looked confused, quizzical and then absently took a hand to her face and ran an index finger along the crusted blood that sat under her nostrils, as if she had forgotten all about the break at the end of Maddox’s rifle. She dropped her hand back and delicately shook her head.

  ‘He’s a bastard, Mia. That man. I’m sorry.’

  Mia shook her head again and started flashing quick, darting looks past Sullivan, over his shoulders and then down to her side. Agitated, apprehensive, she shuffled closer to him on the bed, slender fingers gripping lightly at his nearest sleeve. ‘I need you to help me. Will you do that?’

  ‘If I can, of course.’

  ‘Why “of course” you don’t even know me?’

  ‘I have outdated sensibilities of what is right.’

  ‘You do?’

  Sullivan shrugged. ‘I hope so. If I can help people, I like to think I would.’

  ‘You clearly don’t belong here.’

  ‘Been thinking much the same thing, Mia,’ Sullivan replied through a slow, wistful smile.

  ‘The Good Samaritan?’

  ‘I wouldn’t go that far.’

  ‘I’ve heard stories about you, Mr Good Samaritan.’

  ‘Stories don’t mean anything.’

  ‘I could tell you stories.’

  ‘I bet you could.’

  Mia gripped his sleeve more tightly, turning her fingers against the cuff of his jacket, squeezing his wrist. Sullivan could see she was desperate to talk to him, to share something and take him into her confidence, but something was holding her back.

  ‘What is it, Mia? Talk to me.’

  ‘You’ve got a sad face, Sullivan. What made you so sad?’

  ‘I thought we were talking about you, Mia?’

  She dropped her face and let her greasy hair fall down against her cheeks. She started to nod slowly and Sullivan could see the rise and fall of her chest as she summoned up the words she wanted to say. ‘I need to get out of here. We all need to get out of here. I need you to help me.’

  ‘I think you’re talking to the wrong man.’

  ‘You’re a Party man though?’

  ‘I’m nothing.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I’m a hired hand, Mia. A convict taking the longer of the two roads offered me. Sorry.’

  Mia raised her head and took in a long and lingering breath. ‘What did you do?’

  ‘Killed someone.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘With a gun.’

  ‘Did you enjoy it?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why did you do it?’

  ‘It was self-defence.’

  ‘Was it?’

  ‘My wife and daughter were in danger. Yes. I had to protect them.’

  ‘Do you regret it?’

  ‘I regret what it cost.’

  ‘A life?’

  ‘Several lives.’ Sullivan bowed his head this time and felt the familiar sting in his eyes. ‘I regret a lot of things, Mia.’

  ‘Do you consider yourself an honourable man?’

  ‘Why all the questions?’

  ‘I need to know who I’m trusting with my life.’

  ‘Why would you want to do that?’

  ‘You’re the Good Samaritan.’

  ‘More likely a great disappointment. You wouldn’t want to do that. I’m nothing, Mia. Nothing.’

  ‘Where are your family now?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘So you didn’t protect them after all? That’s why you have a sad face.’

  Sullivan was taken aback by the coldness of her words, the economy of interest. He felt like he was in a business transaction. The hardened fighter he had first encountered was bubbling back at the surface; the little girl lost was back home, out of sight. He could sense her trying to soften her words, as if she were aware of his unease at the line of questioning.

  ‘I’m sorry, Sullivan.’

  ‘Don’t be.’

  ‘I’ve lost people too. My parents. I understand.’

  ‘What happened to you here?’

  She glazed over, seemed distracted and her hand dropped from his sleeve and thudded gently to the bed.

  ‘You came with your father, right?’

  Mia gazed at her trainers and jumped as Sullivan touched her, his left hand on her shoulder, squeezing lightly.

  ‘How long were you in the forest?’

  She froze, her tiny body seeming to fill with cement, her muscles tightening, eyes widening. Sullivan withdrew his hand and let it flop into his lap. They said nothing for the longest of minutes. Sullivan could see the little girl struggling to the surface, being fought away.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mia.’

  ‘I had never seen a dead body before, not before coming to this place. Even with the way things are in the country, I was always protected from things like that. My father did all he could to make sure we never saw the things that were happening. I heard things. I knew things. I knew what was outside the door whenever he wouldn’t let us out. I’m not stupid. My friends all talked about it. They had all seen corpses. They all said they had anyway. It was like a rite of passage for them. My friend Alice saw five in one day once. Not me. Not any. Not until I came in here. Alice reckoned she saw a transporter van overturned one night. Five people taken for the Wash all covered in hoods. Tied up. Burning up in this van. I think she was lying.’
/>
  ‘You know about the Wash?’

  ‘I never believed it, you know? What people had said about the Wash. I didn’t believe it. Not until my father…not until we came here.’

  She seemed in a trance, the words tumbling out of her as if someone had dynamited her subconscious. She kept her eyes at the ground, at the space between her turned in trainers.

  ‘My father thought there was nothing more evil.’ She laughed. ‘But there is.’

  ‘Depends on the company you keep, I suppose,’ Sullivan offered with a light chuckle. Mia seemed oblivious to his words, to him, and ploughed on.

  ‘He said he couldn’t think of anything worse than robbing people of their memories. He said it was memories that got us through. He said if we didn’t have our memories then nowadays we wouldn’t have anything worth anything. Memories are all we’ve got, he said. As long as we’ve got them then this doesn’t have to be a reality. Not if we’ve got memories.’

  Her hands were clenching into fists, the veins an impossible blue under the snowy white skin, the knuckles looking like they would tear through. He thought of resting a hand on her shoulder again but the crazy emptiness in her face unnerved him. He struggled to think of the right thing to say, fearful that the wrong words would bring that fighter back to the fore, so said nothing and for several minutes she didn’t either. Above them the air conditioner whirred like static wasps, a sharp gust seething through the vents. Behind them the tap dripped away. Beneath them the low thrum of machinery continued to send vibrations up through the floor.

  ‘I wish they had taken my memories. I wish I couldn’t remember.’

  ‘No you don’t.’

  ‘They say…well, my father said, at least I heard him say, he never said these things to me of course…he said that the Wash was all about trying to implant new memories in people. Hypnosis I think. Brainwashing. Something like that. No one really knew. But I heard him say that when they got people here they would wipe their minds. A blank slate, you know? I’d go for that, Sullivan. Really I would. Wouldn’t you?’ She looked to Sullivan and he could feel his heart tear at the utter hopelessness in her wet eyes. ‘Maybe you could choose who you could be? Wouldn’t that be nice, to be someone new?’

  ‘Would it?’

  ‘That doesn’t sound like a question.’

  It wasn’t. Sullivan knew he was betraying his true feelings and he knew she could see it, could see herself in the sadness at his eyes, but he refused to acknowledge it. “Acknowledgment is death around these parts” Wiggs used to say. Damn right.

  ‘Mia?’

  ‘Yes?’ Her voice was suddenly light and child-like; the little girl back on the bed next to him, the scared innocence, the pleading eyes, the hand back at his sleeve.

  ‘What are you so scared of?’

  She looked momentarily incredulous, her pale skin creasing at the forehead, as she seemed to catch on a memory and then let it go.

  ‘You have felt it too. I know you have.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I saw your face when we arrived here. You could sense it, Sullivan. I know you could.’

  ‘Sense what?’

  ‘This place. There is something wrong with this place.’

  His spine seemed to flush with ice water and his head went numb. “Stories, just stories…” He fought to hide the fear on his face, clumsily nodding, stupidly smiling and as he spoke he laughed a broken laugh that sounded as false as it was. ‘Well, I could think of other places I would rather be!’

  ‘Yeah. You can feel it too,’ Mia stated matter-of-factly. ‘You know about this place? You know what they used to do here? You know what they used to do to people out there in the forest?’

  ‘They hung people.’

  ‘They judged people.’

  ‘We’re good at that.’

  ‘Men, women and children too, did you know that?’

  Sullivan nodded. ‘I’ve read the history books. I’ve heard the stories.’

  ‘Stories don’t mean anything though do they, Sullivan?’

  ‘Not nowadays they don’t.’

  ‘It doesn’t bother you what went on here?’

  ‘History is full of the self-appointed good deciding the fate of the rest of us. This was all a long time ago. This place, what happened, it was all so long ago.’

  ‘Why does that matter?’

  Sullivan had no answer. Mia hadn’t wanted one.

  ‘Sometimes, so people say, the convicts necks wouldn’t break straight away and they would take an age choking to death. My father said that they would often leave them on the trees for days after for people to see. Then they would bury them in unmarked shallow graves. You know that they let people come up here to watch? They would bring their families. Their children…’

  Her words drifted away, her lips moving over sounds that didn’t form.

  ‘Look Mia, I know that there are stories about this place.’

  ‘Stories?

  ‘But that’s all they are, stories, there’s nothing to be scared of in stories.’

  ‘I’m not scared of stories. I’m scared of what I’ve seen.’

  Sullivan felt the coldness hug him, icy fingers tickling, digging into his flesh.

  ‘And what is that, Mia?’

  She looked away, slowly shaking her head. ‘We can’t get out through the main door. But there is another way out. The lowest floor has a hatch in the ceiling.’

  ‘Mia, please…’

  ‘It leads up the turret. Did you see the turret? I think it’s a turret, I don’t know what else to call it. It’s a shaft that runs through the building and comes out on the roof. A shaft? Perhaps I should call it a shaft. Maybe that’s the term for it? We can get out that way, but I checked, the hatch is closed. I can’t open it by myself. I need you to help me.’

  ‘Mia…’

  ‘You can help me do that.’

  ‘I don’t think I can do that, Mia.’

  ‘Scared what they might do to you are you, Sullivan?’

  ‘More concerned about what being out there will do to you, Mia.’

  ‘I can’t be here. None of us can. Don’t you understand?’

  ‘No. No, I don’t.’

  ‘We have to get out of this building.’

  ‘So you said.’

  ‘So listen to me then!’

  ‘And where do we go? There’s nothing outside these walls, Mia. There is nowhere else. Have you any idea what it’s like out there?’

  Mia looked up at him with her huge eyes. ‘It’s not what’s out there that worries me, it’s what’s in here.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  Her hands fell on his and she started to squeeze.

  ‘If we leave, if we go now…’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Please, you convince the others before it’s too late. You can do that, Sullivan. You can get us out of here…’

  ‘What are you going on about, Mia?’

  ‘Please! You have to help me get out of here! Please! Help me!’ She was shouting, her hands gripping his, squeezing with an unnatural strength.

  ‘And go where? There is nothing for miles. There is no transport, no food, we are down to the last of the ammo…’ Sullivan’s voice began to rise, breaking as he barked the words at her, instantly regretting the force of them, the fear they seemed to cause her. ‘There is nothing else out there! Don’t you understand that? There is nothing else!’

  ‘It’s not good manners to walk out on someone, you know?’

  They recognised the cocky drawl instantly and at the realisation they found the pungent cigar smoke at their nostrils. Neither wanted to look up to see him. Mia seemed to shrink on the bed, her hands moving from Sullivan’s own and climbing back into her lap. Sullivan bowed his head once more and could see the great big boots walking into the room, drawing up to the bed. He could see the rifle at his side, moving upwards, swinging across his vision and then a hand was at Mia’s hair, gripping tight, pulling
her to her feet.

  6

  Sullivan, the rifle firmly against the small of his back, led them through the maze of corridors, back to Kendrick and Davenport. Maddox’s left hand was wrapped tightly in Mia’s hair and she stumbled along beside him. Sullivan and Mia said nothing as they walked, smothered by the grim inevitability of Maddox and separated by the words Mia had just spoken. Sullivan could feel the truth in her paranoia and fear. “There is something wrong with this place,” she had said, and he knew she was right. The building somehow felt shifted, as if it had been moved just outside the line of reality. The feeling of suffocation, of being trapped, was brimming over the edges of Sullivan’s mind, threatening to breach his imagination and drown it.

  As they approached the room where Sullivan had left Kendrick and Davenport, Turtle came into view from the opposing corridor, scuttling forward with the pistol in hand, looking at them keenly, eyebrows raised, looking for answers he knew they didn’t have.

  ‘Anything?’

  ‘What?’ Maddox’s voice was a loud crack in the corridor.

  ‘You find Frankie?’

  ‘Wasn’t looking, Turtle.’

  The chef glanced from Maddox to Sullivan and caught the troubled expression on his newfound friend.

  ‘You okay, Sullivan? What is all this?’

  ‘Killer here was getting a little too cosy with my date for the end of the world. What’s a man to do?’ Maddox cackled and pulled Mia’s face to his, planting a slobbering kiss on her cheek. ‘I thought you only had eyes for me, darling?’

  ‘Get your damn hands off her!’ Sullivan shouted, turning and then drawing up in front of them.

  Maddox didn’t break stride for him, merely raised the rifle until the barrel was plum in Sullivan’s face, and then jabbed it against his forehead. ‘Seems we’ve been here before. You didn’t come out of that too well, you sure you want to try again? Just give me an excuse, killer, just give me an excuse.’

  ‘Enough of this bullshit. Get in here!’ Kendrick was back in the doorway, glaring at them like a teacher admonishing unruly pupils. He turned beady, angry little eyes on to Mia and then ducked back into the room. One by one the others followed him in.