Eve of Man

by Giovanna Fletcher

  I nod.

  “Tell me, who speaks about these stories in here?” he asks.

  I pause. He’s trying to distract me with this question, pretending he wants to discover the source of my knowledge while he prepares his true attack.

  “Everyone,” I say simply, shrugging it off like it’s no big deal.

  “I see, and everyone assumes that because you are my son you must know something. That you must be in on it?” he says, almost smiling.

  “Something like that, yeah.”

  Why is he laughing? Am I losing the game he’s playing, or is this a bluff?

  “Funny, isn’t it, how people assume the importance of a relationship? How much stature you are bestowed because I chose to bless you with my name.” He places the tips of his fingers together, his index fingers grazing his lips as they curl into a smile. “The truth, Bram, is that you were spared due to simple necessity.”

  My turn to use silence to dare him to continue.

  “When your mother joined the millions to fail to produce a female, you were to be disposed of along with the countless other boys that this planet had no room to accommodate.”

  His words cut more than I expect them to. More than I think even he realizes. Did my mother agree to that?

  “I had no objections. It was nothing unusual. But your mother had other plans.” He slips comfortably into his chair and crosses his legs casually. He’s enjoying this. “She hid you. Kept you secret from me until you were past the age when anyone respectable would…deal with you.”

  My heart pounds at this new information about my existence. It aches at the thought of my mother fighting for me to live.

  “Of course, I was totally wrong.”

  Did he just say that?

  “I thought you were just another male to join the endless list of missing boys, or whatever they call them these days. It was so obvious, but I failed to see your potential. Until she came along.”

  “Eve,” I say.

  “No.” He laughs. “Miss Silva.”

  He stands abruptly, becoming more animated as he reminisces. “She pulled me from the depths of that hellhole and saw the potential in my work. She had the resources to allow my imagination to run wild.” He moves to the window. “Of course, I never wanted to bring you here.”

  If the window wasn’t just a realiTV screen, I’d be tempted to push him through it.

  “Vivian needed a young female companion for Eve, and my ideas were the answer. That was when the pilot technology was conceived, and I just so happened to have the perfect guinea pig for my innovations.”

  “Guinea pig?” I repeat, the words catching in my throat.

  “I think we both know that I’m not a model father. Even by today’s abysmal standards,” he says.

  “Is that an excuse or an apology?” I ask.

  “Neither. It is simply the truth.”

  “And what is simply the truth about Eve’s mother and father? Were they model parents?”

  “Unfortunately, I assume they would have been, yes,” he snaps.

  “Unfortunately? Was that a problem? Were parents never part of the plan for Eve?”

  “Corinne and Ernie were too much of a risk. Their presence in her life made the future unpredictable. Vivian could not accept unpredictability—” He stops himself. His cheeks are red and a vein in his forehead pulses with his breath.

  I’m silent.

  He’s silent.

  My heart is pumping so hard I swear I can see the zipper of my uniform jumping. I have to give myself a moment to absorb the information he just delivered. To figure out what this means.

  “Vivian did do something to Corinne.” The words tumble out of my mouth—I’m speaking more to myself than to him.

  His eyes slide up carefully, like they’re slicing me in two.

  The rumors are true.

  My father knows.

  33

  BRAM

  His breathing remains short. His eyes are fixed on mine and his body is rooted to the spot, but inside his brain he is frantic. Passion made him weak. He has made a wrong move.

  “So it’s true?” I whisper, at first with disbelief. “Something more did happen…” As I speak, I realize how obvious it is. “And you knew about it. You’ve always known.”

  I head for the door, but a firm grip restrains my wrist. I look down to see my father’s pale hand grasping it.

  “Son,” he growls.

  I snatch my arm away and move around the distressed-leather chair, putting it between us.

  “Let me explain. You’re confused and your emotions are clouding your judgment,” he says.

  “No, Father. I’m thinking clearly. Perhaps for the first time in my life I’m seeing things as they really are.”

  “And how’s that? What are you seeing?” he asks.

  “I see that it’s not just Eve you’re keeping under this cloud of illusion. It’s all of us. It’s everyone in this place. We’re all being fed lie upon lie, and the real kick in the teeth is that it’s all to keep this lie alive,” I say, spreading my arms wide in realization at the real purpose of this place. My head is sprinting. “It’s a perfect system. Completely screwed up, but perfect.”

  My father has backed away. He’s listening to me, watching me as my mind opens to the reality of the world I’m living in.

  “So where is he?” I ask.

  “He?”

  “Eve’s father. Where is he now?”

  “Oh, he’s somewhere safe. Somewhere he can’t hurt Eve.”

  “Stop lying!” I scream. “I know now, Dad. I know the truth.”

  “I see,” he says, leaning on his desk. “But if you were right, if the rumors were true, if the EPO purposely eliminated Eve’s parents from her future, how come you’re the only one to work it out? How come there haven’t been others?”

  “Oh, there are others,” I say as I walk to his realiTV monitor. “There are hundreds of thousands, maybe millions, of others who worked it out long before me. Who’ve been screaming it, marching against it, protesting it for years.” I point out at the flooded city, hidden by pollution. “I never thought I’d say this, but the damn Freevers were right.”

  “Then why hasn’t anyone in here done anything about it? Why haven’t we been stopped?” he asks, and I notice that small, malicious smile twitch back onto his face.

  My heart starts pounding.

  “People have worked it out. They’ve been figuring it out for years. But whenever someone gets too close to the truth they—”

  Suddenly, red emergency lighting engulfs the room, and the piercing screech of a siren vibrates inside my skull.

  I see shattered glass on the floor by my father’s feet. Glass from the emergency alarm. My dad has pulled the security alarm on me.

  In the pulsing red light, I catch a flash in the reflection of my father’s glasses as his head whips up from the top drawer of his vintage desk. Something glistens in the light. It’s heavy in his hands as he raises the long barrel in my direction.

  I dive behind the chair as he pulls the trigger of the antique weapon. The explosion blasts a hole twice as big as my head in the leather.

  My body slides across the polished hardwood floor and I’m stopped only by the wall.

  “I should have done this the second you were born.” He pulls the trigger again. The wood at my feet splinters into a thousand shards. His inexperienced aim and the age of the gun are the only reasons I’m not plastered all over the wall.

  “Dr. Wells?” Woo calls from the other side of the door.

  I take advantage of the distraction and bolt toward it. My father doesn’t hesitate. He wants me dead. I’m too dangerous now. I know too much.

  He shoots.

  The glass shatters, revealing Woo’s cowering figure.
I leap through the now-empty frame and don’t look back.

  Woo freezes on the spot, paralyzed with her programmed fear in the center of the hallway. I hurtle through her as though she’s nothing but air, disturbing the flow of light as I sprint down the corridor as fast as my boots will carry me. I don’t stop to see where the next shot lands, but the shower of wood splinters and chippings suggests that it was the wall to my right.

  My feet feel the smooth poured concrete under them as I land after hurdling the steel desk, the lights making everything red, then pitch black.

  Red.

  Black.

  Red.

  Black.

  Ketch.

  His squad exits the elevator, armed and ready.

  “Arrest him!” my father calls as he rounds the corner, his gun nowhere to be seen. “He is a traitor and a liar and not to be trusted. He is now to be considered a threat to Eve’s safety. You have my orders to arrest him using any methods necessary.”

  I look Ketch in the eye. I can see his confusion.

  “Bram,” he says. “Let’s calm this down, shall we?”

  I may know these guys, but my father owns them. From now on they cannot be trusted. I can’t assume they’ll go easy on me. Their eyes have not been opened yet. They are still part of the lie. This is what they are trained for.

  “You don’t have to do this, Ketch,” I say, keeping my eyes on all five members of his security force as they reposition themselves to get the advantage over me. “Don’t trust him, guys. We’ve all been lied to.”

  “He has been brainwashed. Do not listen to a word he is saying. Arrest him at once,” my father demands, standing behind the steel desk.

  “You know the drill now, Bram,” Krutz, second in command, says as he approaches me. “Take my hand and we won’t have a problem.”

  He reaches out to me, spreading his gloved fingers wide. His fingertips glow blue and emit a soft, steam-like haze. A Pacify Glove: designed to induce a peaceful, unconscious state in whoever takes the hand of the wearer. The action of taking someone’s hand symbolizes compliance, surrender, when all options have been exhausted and there’s nowhere left to run.

  “Bram?” He steps a little closer. Spreading his fingers wider.

  Tiny blue dots appear on my chest in my peripheral vision. I sense more than see them. The alternative way to use the Pacify Glove: half a million volts pulse through the subject’s chest and into the heart. Not quite as peaceful as the first option, but far more common.

  “Don’t make me do this, Bram. I like you, man,” he says as the squad edges a little closer. They create a semicircle in front of me, blocking my path to the elevator. The route to my father’s office sits to my right, a dead end—literally. Behind me, a solid wall, unimaginably thick, acts like the sixth member of Ketch’s team, boxing me in.

  I scan my surroundings, searching every surface, every object. I feel adrenaline rip through my veins as my body switches to fight-or-flight mode. Fighting is not an option. Flight?

  My back hits the wall as I take the last step away from them.

  My heart stops.

  As they continue approaching I slide my hand discreetly behind my back and feel along the cold panel. It’s smooth, nothing there as I run my hand along, but then…

  It’s here! I feel it.

  An emergency-exit chute.

  I don’t have to see it to know exactly what my fingers are touching. A small glass box with a red handle inside. Above it there is writing: Pull to activate chute. Emergency use only. They line the walls of every floor at regular intervals, my father’s office being no exception. Thank God for health and safety regulations.

  The blue beams of laser light on my chest burn hotter as the team looms closer.

  I don’t waste another second.

  I pound the glass with my fist, open my mouth, and pull the handle as hard as I can.

  I feel the air freeze instantly as the seal to the chute entrance cracks open. The difference in air pressure blows the wall panel out and sucks it down the chute. The squad members drop to their knees, grabbing at their ears with their hands, their eardrums having burst the second I opened a hole in the side of the building. Opening your mouth allows the pressure to disperse. Simple but effective.

  Their pain buys me a few seconds. I use them to glance at my father, who is scrambling back to his feet behind the desk, fear, anger, and pain on his face.

  Our eyes meet, and in that moment he knows I’ll come back.

  I’ll come back for Eve.

  I lean backward and let the air take me through the chute, over the edge of the building, and down toward the world below. The world outside the Tower.

  The real world.

  34

  EVE

  When I regain consciousness the Mothers are looking around the room frantically. At first I think it’s because I passed out, but the speed with which Mother Tabia yanks at my arm and gets me to my feet tells me it’s something else. Slowly I become aware of the sirens blasting from the speakers in the hallway, calling us all into action as they alert us to some unknown danger.

  “What’s going on?” I whisper, feeling frail, weak, and fearful.

  “We need to get you to safety,” says Mother Kadi, widening her eyes at Mother Tabia as though confirming a plan. Then she gestures for us to follow her. Mother Tabia’s and Mother Kimberley’s arms loop mine protectively, taking most of my weight as we exit the room. We run down the corridor and through the garden zones. Several other Mothers join us, each one looking as perplexed as I feel. They gather around us, with me in the center of the group, their eyes darting around the space as though they’re seeking out any hazards. The way they sidestep obstacles and squeeze through gaps belies the fact that they’re all well into their sixties and beyond. Right now they’re able and determined.

  I try to question those around me so that I can understand what’s happened, where we’re going, or what we’re running from, but there’s no answer. They don’t even look at me. Everyone is focused on getting where we need to be.

  To my surprise they lead me toward my bedroom. Once we’ve all clambered up my spiral staircase, the glass door is shut behind us. We hear the lock slam into place as the thick panel frosts over, separating us from the rest of the Dome.

  The women around me, all of whom are out of breath, sigh with relief. I’ve never seen any of them move so fast.

  “What’s going on?” I repeat with more determination than before.

  Mother Kimberley turns to me with troubled eyes. “I’ve no idea,” she whispers, apprehension in her voice.

  I catch Mother Kadi’s eye. Perhaps she can offer some clarity. But she looks at Mother Tabia.

  “No sitting down, come on,” Mother Tabia calls to Mother Caroline, who’s perched on the side of my sofa. I feel for her as she hurls herself back to her feet. At ninety-six, she is the oldest Mother here. That doesn’t usually hold her back, but she’s not normally sprinting through the building.

  I turn to see Mother Tabia muttering nervously to herself while her trembling hands reach out and swipe a handful of books from the shelf onto the floor. She places her wrinkled hand on the white wall, which suddenly glows. The edges of the shelf unit hiss as the whole thing swings forward, and I realize that it is a door, not simply a place to store my few possessions.

  “What? How?…When?” I’m asking the backs of the women’s heads as everyone makes their way toward the newly exposed doorway and along a narrow corridor lined with steel.

  We walk for a hundred meters or so before Mother Tabia pushes open another door and we enter a room. The brightly lit space is filled with a few dilapidated sofas, several bunk beds, a shelving unit containing books and ancient board games, a little kitchen area, and a bathroom. As far as I can tell there are no windows or exits, apart from the door we�
�ve walked through. There is a black telephone and a shimmering screen on the wall, showing nothing but three letters, EPO, rotating continuously.

  “A safe room?” The surprise in my voice doesn’t come from there being one. I’ve been in many over the years, usually with Holly to keep me company. These little areas are dotted all around the Dome, but I’ve never been aware of one branching off the room I’ve slept in for more than a decade and thought I knew like the back of my hand. Understandably, I feel a little duped and cheated. I haven’t been lied to, but they have kept it a secret from me until now.

  The phone rings, causing the Mothers to fall silent, knowing this call will offer us some answers.

  “Mother Tabia speaking,” she says after picking up the receiver, in a voice that seems perkier and more pleasing than her own. I watch as she listens intently to the person at the other end of the line while her fingers grip the cable. She sighs. She frowns. She bites her lip and nods. Her eyes glance up at mine, then down to the floor. “Of course. We’ll stay here until we know more. Thank you.”

  As soon as she’s hung up, the rest of the Mothers ask all the questions I’m wondering.

  “What has happened?”

  “Are we in danger?”

  “Where are we?”

  “How long will we be in here for?”

  “Who was on the phone?”

  “Calm down, calm down,” Mother Tabia says, waving her hands to shush us. “It was Ketch. There’s been a situation downstairs.”

  “What sort of situation?” asks Mother Kimberley.

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Well, what did he say?” demands Mother Caroline impatiently, her hands rubbing her hips.

  Mother Tabia glances at me and they fall silent.

  Ah. They have decided this matter is not for my ears.

  “What’s happened?” I ask, aware that my voice is louder than I mean it to be.