Eve of Man

by Giovanna Fletcher

  39

  BRAM

  “It’s Frost,” the scarred man calls as I hear him pull alongside us in a separate boat. From the chugging engine, I’m assuming it’s another inflatable dinghy. “Open up.”

  Frost. I make a mental note of his name.

  I scrunch up my face to widen the gap between my cheek and the itchy blindfold. A thick wooden door opens in what was once a glorious glass clock, its enormous hands now hanging limp, a reminder of a time gone by. This face, which once looked down on a city, now has its chin in the water, gazing up at the new era of cloudscrapers that ignore it.

  “Take the pilot to the Deep,” Frost barks, and Fatty kicks me to my feet. I’ve yet to hear his real name, but if he kicks me again, Fatty might stick.

  I play blind, not giving away my few millimeters of sight as I scramble out of the boat and into the clockface.

  The air inside is thick and stale. Still, it’s nice being out of the chill. As I’m nudged forward I sense harsh white light on the lower half of my face. The kind that gives you a headache if you’re in it for too long. Peering down, I see steps that descend into dark water, which ripples with the soundtrack of drips falling from every surface. Somehow they’ve contained a portion of this tower, separated it from the flood so that the water level within is a few stories lower than that of the river outside.

  “Down,” Fatty orders, and pushes me in the back. I start walking down the steps, guiding myself with the freezing metal rail beside me. It gets warmer with each step and I come to a stop when my feet splash in the water. It’s as far as I can go.

  “Where now?” I ask.

  “Quiet. You’ll speak when spoken to.” He leans over me and I see his chubby, wet arm reach to the wall on my left. I tilt my head and see a switch. He flicks it, and a red light flashes on.

  The decaying stone steps rumble under my feet. The water around us begins to bubble.

  “Step back,” barks Fatty, tugging at my soggy uniform, pulling me toward the wall.

  I twist and contort my face to see through the slit: something is rising up through the water from below. Blue lights illuminate the deep hole in the center of the building’s iron frame. As the lights approach the surface, the water hisses and splashes. A large iron sphere breaks the surface next to us, and the switch on the wall flashes green.

  “Surface!” Fatty shouts, using a hook to secure the iron ball floating next to us. I hear the deep boom of metal knocking on metal and the screech of something turning.

  “Evening, Chubs.” A new voice greets Fatty from inside the now-open iron submersible. Chubs. I was pretty close.

  “Got an extra passenger tonight,” Chubs says as he pushes me toward the ball.

  “Watch your head,” the voice says, and I instantly like him more than Chubs.

  I duck as I lift my feet off the stone staircase and into the ball. I feel a hand around my arm guide me inside. The ball dips and lurches.

  “Jesus, Chubs,” the new guy says as we grab the side to steady us while Chubs climbs into the craft. “Okay, all aboard? Door closed and locked.” I hear clanks and screeches as the ball is prepared. “Clear to dive?” he asks.

  “Clear,” a crackly voice replies through some sort of onboard speaker.

  The iron ball bounces up and down, and bubbles knock on the curved walls around us.

  “I think we can take this off now,” the kind voice says, and unwraps my blindfold. My eyes adjust instantly to the dim yellow light and I can’t believe what they see.

  “Saunders!” I say, recognizing his crooked nose and long face.

  “Bram?” Saunders greets me with a hug. “I don’t believe it!”

  “Neither do I! What the hell are you doing here? I thought you were arrested!” I say, baffled as to how this ex-pilot has found his way down here.

  “I was! Arrested, sentenced, imprisoned, escaped!” he says proudly.

  “Rescued,” Chubs says.

  “Well, yeah, technically these guys broke me out, but we certainly wouldn’t have got away if it weren’t for me. It helps having retinas registered on the door systems.” He winks and taps his large nose.

  “So, what? You’re a Freever now?” I ask with a slight laugh.

  “Ha, yeah, I guess I am. Well, once your dad decided I was a hazard to Eve, and Miss Silva put me behind bars, it kinda changed the way I saw things. I suddenly realized that Eve might not have bars but she was locked up in that place the same as me. Once these guys got me, they showed me things I never knew, Bram. You don’t know what the EPO is, what it’s doing to this place.”

  “To Central?” I ask.

  “Central? The whole world, more like! This rabble down here, they don’t look like much compared to life in that tower, but this is real. It’s honest. I had to help them,” Saunders explains. “Wait! What the hell are we talking about me for? What are you, the Wonderful Wizard’s son, doing blindfolded by this numbnuts?”

  “Wait a sec, you’re Dr. Isaac Wells’s son?” Chubs asks. “Wait till Frost hears this!” He rubs his fat hands together.

  Our descending vehicle comes to a sudden halt, and a muffled ringing from outside announces our arrival.

  “Saved by the bell!” Saunders says. “You can tell me all about it later. Welcome to the Deep!”

  Someone twists the hatch open from the outside and I feel the hot, thick air rush inside the small iron craft.

  I wait for Chubs to climb out, then Saunders and I follow. We step through the small sealed chamber into an adjoining room, then descend another flight of stairs. The walls are lined with a thick layer of rubbery fabric, spattered with drops of condensation. We fall out into a long, dark corridor, lit dimly by sparsely positioned LED lights.

  “This way,” Chubs grunts, and trundles down the corridor. We hit a dead end, and Chubs lifts part of the waterproof lining to reveal a door. It’s old, part of the original building, and the wood is chipping away, rotting from the damp. As we step through and into what appears to have been a waiting area, I hear voices in conversation from the room beyond.

  “Good luck,” Chubs says with a cocky smirk as we step into a mighty chamber. The ceiling towers over us, and the original beams keep it in place, now lined with the same waterproof material and reinforced with steel to hold under the pressure of the water outside. The place feels like a makeshift army headquarters. Rows of tables are arranged lengthways down a narrow strip of floor in the center of the room, tiered rows of benches looking toward them.

  The walls are thick and sealed. Dozens of Freevers already surround the tables and fill the rows of seats, and more are pouring in from the far end of the room and above us, spilling out onto a mezzanine level. Not just men but women too, far more than I’ve seen in one place inside the EPO Tower. They fall into the chamber, talking excitedly to each other, to the men. I’m instantly reminded of the Mothers in the Dome, except the Freever women aren’t dressed in any uniform designed to disguise their femininity. There is no separation, no segregation. These are powerful women among powerful men, and the energy here is electric. Contagious. I watch as one soaking-wet Freever I recognize from outside the Tower is greeted by a woman. They kiss and embrace as the crowd welcomes the team home. Judging by the streaks of gray in her hair, she’s older than he is. The women are older than most of the men.

  My eyes dart away from the couple to the flickering lights of the electronics wired up on the tables. Their setup is impressive. Far more advanced than anyone in the EPO knows.

  Holo-displays project stolen classified images of Eve into the air. Maps and blueprints of the Tower line the tables, covered with scribbles and pins.

  We walk through a gap in the tables as the Freevers stare at me, all studying my uniform. The room is noisy, with deep voices bouncing off the high ceiling.

  “All right, cool it, fellas, cool it
.” Frost’s booming voice calms the room as he steps through the rabble to a table in the heart of the chamber. The men and women surround him.

  “So, before we start breaking down tonight’s events, I want to address the matter I’m sure you’re all talking about: our new guest.” Frost reaches a hand in my direction. Heads turn.

  “You blindfold all your guests?” I ask, projecting a confidence I’m not sure actually exists.

  “When they wear that uniform we do,” Frost replies, nodding at my navy jumpsuit emblazoned with EPO mission patches. “So, let’s hear some more about you. Bram, is it?” He reads my name badge.

  “He’s Dr. Wells’s son,” Chubs blurts.

  There is an eerie stillness, like someone pressing pause on life.

  “Is this true?” Frost asks, brushing his damp gray dreadlocks over his shoulder, his dark eyes looking into mine, trying to read me.

  I nod.

  “Well, it seems the catch of the day is turning out to be quite the trophy.”

  “It’s easier catching a fish that wants to escape the river,” I reply.

  “Bullshit,” Chubs says, with a slight lisp from where I kicked a couple of his teeth out earlier. “No one wants to leave that place willingly, especially not the doctor’s son, not from what I’ve heard about you. You’ve got it pretty cushy up there. He’s got spy written all over him.”

  Eyes are glaring at me from every direction. I feel the suspicion, the nervousness, the hate. Beads of sweat form instantly and drip down from my forehead to my eyebrows.

  “Please, enlighten us as to why you were escaping. Got yourself into trouble?” Frost asks, his poker face not giving away his judgment on me yet.

  “I’ve spent my whole life inside that place. The Tower—it’s like living life wearing a blindfold. I guess I was just ready to open my eyes,” I say.

  “And I’m assuming your father wasn’t best pleased with your awakening?” Frost asks.

  “That’s one way of putting it,” I reply. “Another way would be that he tried to kill me, failed, then set his security force after me. I escaped. A few minutes later I was being ripped apart by your men, and now I’m here.”

  “It’s been quite an eventful evening for you, then,” says Frost, combing his beard with his fingers.

  The benches surrounding us are silent with apprehension as the Freevers await Frost’s orders.

  “Do you know who we are? What we stand for? What our mission is?” Frost asks, taking a seat at the head of the long table.

  I nod. “You want to free Eve.”

  The room rumbles with laughter.

  Frost holds up his hand and silence falls. “Yes, that is part of what we wish to achieve, but only a small part. This isn’t just about freeing your precious prisoner.” He gestures to the army-like battle plans around us. “It’s about justice.”

  “Justice?” I ask.

  “Yes. Justice for Eve, justice for us, and justice for the millions of people living under the rule of the EPO and every like-minded organization on what’s left of this planet. Destroying them is justice, removing the unelected powers before their grip tightens even more on the precious little that is left of this planet while hiding behind their unwilling human shield, using her to disguise their true objective.”

  “True objective? What true objective?” I ask.

  Frost gets comfortable in his seat and starts playing with a small replica of the Tower in his solid, grubby fingers. “How do you become the most powerful organization on the planet? More powerful than governments, than royalty, than armies, even than God? By controlling the most important person on the planet. Eve. They only care about Eve because she brings them unlimited power. Take Eve out of the equation and what do they have?” He topples the model onto its side. “Once we take Eve, once we destroy the EPO, we will bring back order. The first step is reclaiming Eve.”

  “Reclaiming her?” I ask.

  “Yes. She is the savior of humanity. It’s time that humanity took her back, and with your help, we now stand the best chance we have ever had.”

  40

  BRAM

  Chubs, my newly appointed chaperone, shows me to a room where I can rest. It’s small and damp, but the moment my head touches the boarded floor, I feel a strange, alien sensation drift over me.

  Sleep.

  I’m woken by fists thudding on the temporary door. “Breakfast,” Chubs says through a mouthful of something. I stand and put my jumpsuit back on. It’s relatively dry now, but I guess nothing ever gets truly dry down here, judging by the smell of damp.

  I open the door and follow him down the narrow hallway. Low-watt bulbs throw a warm orange light over the walls, which are made from every kind of material you could imagine: wood, metal, plastic, whatever they could scrape from other buildings, I guess. Every so often a hole in this inner layer reveals a shiny waterproof surface behind, with drops of water running down it.

  I start to wonder how deep we are and how much water surrounds us. How many gallons are pressing in on these walls and this ceiling? The thought makes my chest tighten.

  “Breakfast ain’t great down here. There’s plenty of it, though, so eat as much as you can handle. You look like you need a good meal,” Chubs says.

  It’s the kindest he’s been to me, so I hold back the obvious reply. “Thanks.”

  “Food’s better up in Central, but too many eyes up there. Can’t get away with all this,” he says, pointing through a doorway to another large room, like the one we stood in the day before. In this one the tables are laden with guns and ammunition, body armor, and weapons of varied levels of technology.

  “Why not? Doesn’t everyone feel the same as you?” I ask.

  “Oh, sure, ’course they do! We all despise the EPO. I mean, just look at the state of this place.”

  “And that’s the EPO’s fault?” I ask.

  Chubs chuckles. “Mate, you haven’t got a clue, have you?” he says. “ ’Course it’s the bleedin’ EPO’s fault. Who do you think cuts off our power generators to fuel the Tower in high storms? Who manipulates the water flow to ensure that the city floods before the Tower ever would? We’re just bloodsucking leeches to the EPO.”

  “So if everyone feels the same, why hide down here?”

  “It’s them we hide from, the EPO, not our kind in Central. It’s your folk and the patrols they send out,” Chubs explains. “Once a day we get scanners over Central, searching for any rebel activity. That’s how we ended up here. The iron keeps the scanners out—can’t get through it.”

  “I see,” I say, genuinely amazed by their setup and that the EPO scans this place daily. I never knew that happened. I guess there’s a lot I don’t know about the company I work for.

  Worked for.

  “Plus, everyone built on top of these sunken buildings. They don’t expect anyone to be down here, inside ’em. They think they’re all flooded. We’re pretty safe.”

  We enter their dining hall, where I’m served a plate of some sort of brown vegetation.

  “Homegrown goodness, that.” Saunders slaps me on the back as he sits next to me with his own plateful. “Floodweed, comes from right here on the riverbed. Full of nutrients!”

  “Tastes like shit, though!” the chef calls from the open kitchen, comically holding his nose while stirring a boiling pan.

  “Not much grows out here anymore, so we make the most of what we can get. When we excavated this place and flushed the water out, we found tons of this stuff growing. It’s a Freever secret. We don’t share it with Central—not enough to go around.”

  I put a forkful into my mouth and instantly regret it. I gag. Cough. Spit.

  The Freevers around me crack up laughing.

  “You get used to it. Like everything in this place,” says Saunders.

  “You like it do
wn here?” I ask, having managed to swallow a little.

  “Well, I guess you have to look at the alternatives. I could have carried on working for the EPO, pretending I didn’t care about the way they were treating the planet, the way they were controlling Eve. I could have refused to go with this bunch of misfits when they broke me out of my cell at the Tower, and stayed there to serve my sentence, or I could live down here with people who share my beliefs and are willing to fight for them. So, yeah, I guess out of those options this is the one I like best.”

  After breakfast I’m shown around. It’s too much to take in in one go. So many rooms. Rooms off other rooms. Small ones made into private sleeping quarters, large halls with bunk beds from one end to the other, kitchens, medical facilities, an armory. They have everything they could ever need to be completely self-sufficient.

  There’s enough going on in my mind to keep me busy after they escort me to my room and leave me. It seems that I’m not trusted to wander around unaccompanied yet.

  I reach out and run my hand down one of the planks of wet wood that is nailed to the walls. A small piece splinters into my finger, sending a jolt of pain through my hand.

  “I’d get that washed out if I were you,” Frost says from my doorway.

  “Sorry, I didn’t realize you were there,” I say as I stand up.

  “No, no, sit,” he says as he enters the tiny space and sits down next to me. “Splinters are painful little buggers, considering how small they are.”

  I stare at the tiny piece of brown wood protruding from my finger and watch my skin swell and flare around it as my body tries to reject it.

  “It only takes one tiny piece like that to strike the skin at the right time, at the right place, and it can break the surface, penetrate your body’s defenses. If you don’t eliminate the splinter it will become infected, and if the infection is aggressive and spreads, you could lose your hand or your arm, all due to that seemingly insignificant splinter.”

  As I pull it out with my teeth and suck the drop of blood away from the top of my finger, I notice Frost smiling through his gray beard.