by Sarah Fine
I spent a moment trying to calm down, squinting up at the strange carvings on the ceiling of the dimly lit lobby. They squirmed—undulating shadows. What if they were coming to get me?
My feet slid as they tried to gain traction on the slimy floor.
Breathe and get up. Get up.
I stopped flailing, forcing myself into more deliberate movements. I slowly rolled to my stomach and got to my hands and knees. I was covered in blood and slime. I sat back, frantically wiping my hands, desperate to scrape it off. But the memories hung from me in sticky ropes. They webbed my hands, caught between my fingers. I couldn’t get away from the smell.
Then his weight was at my back, pressing me into pink sheets, buckling my arms and trying to force my face into my own pillow.
It’s not real, I chanted as I pushed back and got up unsteadily, limbs shaking, teeth chattering in the warm, humid air. Keep walking. I barely lifted my feet as I slid along the squishy organ of the floor, gelatinous ooze squishing between my toes. This will not beat me. Memories cannot kill me. I am stronger than that. I clenched my teeth. I am stronger than that, and that is why I am here.
I walked, back stiff against the assault of his hands, his body. Ah, Holy Mother, I wanted to lash out, just as I had the night I’d finally fought back. I wanted to smash his face, to kick, to tear, to destroy him. My muscles cramped with the desire to attack. But he wasn’t really there, and if I gave in to that instinct, I’d lose my balance and end up on my back in the slime again. Keep walking. You’ve already defeated this ghost.
The sound of Rick’s voice dropped me to my knees. “This is your fault for flaunting it in front of me. Keep quiet, you little slut.”
Rick’s voice droned on, telling me all the reasons I deserved it. All the reasons I wouldn’t tell anyone. All the reasons it was my fault. All the reasons I’d asked for it. And no one would care because I was just a throwaway, a disposable girl.
My fingers curled over the veined floor. It bled.
Rick’s voice got louder. It was coming from inside my skull. He was in there with me.
I clutched at my head, hair tearing loose under my fingers.
I had to dig him out.
Look around; find the way out, a different voice said.
Malachi’s voice.
I froze, searching the gloom. Had he followed me in? Was he coming for me?
No, I was alone, but I clung to his voice desperately. Something about it eased the pain in my head a little, enough for me to get to my feet, holding my arms out for balance.
Find the way out. Keep walking. This isn’t real.
It got worse, every touch sinking in, every shove and pinch and push and grab and twist and I fell to my knees again a few steps later, surprised my head wasn’t splitting open. I can’t, I thought. I can’t take this.
Yes, you can, whispered Malachi, his voice sliding beneath the nauseating rhythm pulsing inside my skull. It’s not real. You are strong enough. Get on your feet. You’re almost there.
I screamed again, this time in anger—a battle cry. I stomped against the slick skin of the building, driving my heels into its flesh.
With every lift of my foot, I chanted, I am strong enough.
With every breath, I repeated, This is not real.
Up. Down. In. Out.
When my voice failed me, Malachi’s filled in, completing the sentences, adding the missing words.
But with every step, more of the building’s tissue stuck to my feet. It got harder to lift them. The floor was sucking me down, breathing me in, swallowing and digesting me. I wanted to give up. I suddenly knew that if I stopped struggling, everything else would stop, too. If I didn’t fight anymore, I could just lie there forever, entombed in silence.
This evil building was offering me a choice: all the horror would end if I lay still and let it have me. It was tempting. I was so tired. And the assault, more than memory now, seemed like it would never end. I didn’t know how much more I could take without breaking completely. It would be nice to rest. To sleep.
To be done with everything.
With that wish, it was like my eyes were opened for the first time. I looked at the walls, the ceiling, the floor…and I saw. Thousands of people, interwoven, eyes closed, at rest. Backs and fronts and arms and legs and hands and hair. They were the squishy surface beneath my feet, all melded together and smoothed over by a sticky membrane. They were the undulating shadows on the ceiling and walls. They were the reason the building was so immense. They were its conquests, its sustenance, its backbone. Sleeping for eternity, no more pain, no more…anything.
And instead of being horrified, I was drawn in. A wave of sleepiness rolled over me and I fell to one knee and welcomed it. My heart beat sluggishly, ready to fall silent forever.
Don’t give up, pleaded Malachi’s voice, cracking with desperation. Please don’t give up. I’m right on the other side of the door. I want to see you again. I need to see you again. Please.
Somehow, it was enough to draw me to my feet one more time. Just the idea he might need me to make it through. I could see him again if only I kept moving.…My face smacked against a hard surface.
A door.
I ripped it open and fell through it, nerveless and panting.
Malachi caught me in his arms and carried me away from the mouth of the building. He sat down on the curb, holding me against his chest. He wasn’t wearing his armor anymore. His smell, leather and clean, warm skin, filled my nose, replacing the choking stench of Rick. I sucked in deep lungfuls of it, unable to get enough.
His hands ran over me, and as they did, I noticed I wasn’t wearing that terrible too-tight, too-short nightgown after all. I was wearing the Guard uniform. My clothes and armor were clean and intact. I’d thought I was covered in the building’s saliva, but I was completely dry.
Malachi gasped, and his fingers closed around mine. Silently, he pulled away several long, curling strands of hair tangled around my fingers. He touched my palms gently, running his fingertips over the bloody divots left by my fingernails. He put his hand on my cheek and tilted my face up to his.
I stared at him shamelessly, sinking deep into the black-brown depths of his eyes. They were filled with concern. For me. I can’t describe how that felt to me. I almost burst into tears but managed to cling to my cool with white-tipped fingers.
Malachi searched my face, as if he wasn’t sure I was all there. “Can you hear me? Are you all right?”
“That really sucked,” I mumbled hoarsely.
“Yes, I think that just about captures the experience.” He squeezed me tighter. It felt incredibly good.
My brain came back online, and I started to process what I was seeing. He was very pale. “Are you all right?”
He nodded. “Yes. I’ve been through there hundreds of times, so it’s not as bad as it once was. I get through pretty quickly. But I almost didn’t make it out the first few times.”
“How did you get past me? I went in first.”
“I probably walked right by you without either of us knowing. You are always alone in there, left to fight your own worst memories. It’s why the Mazikin are so terrified of this place. They can’t handle both their own memories and those of their human hosts. They never make it through.”
I looked up at the menacing black silhouette of the tower, imagining what Malachi might have seen as he walked through the building. For me, the Holocaust was history. For him, it was memory.
I wrapped my arms around him and pressed my face against his neck, wishing I could chase away his memories and keep him safe. His pulse raced against my cheek, and his breath rushed out in a huff.
He froze for a moment, but then put his hand on the back of my head. He held me there, comforting me, maybe comforting himself.
“I was getting worried,” he said. “I went in after you. I tried to call you back and explain more about it, but you were already gone. I’m so sorry I didn’t explain it earlier. I should have tac
kled you when you bolted for the door.” He drew in a shaky breath. “It took you a long time to get through.”
“I almost gave up. And I saw…” I didn’t want to describe what I’d seen.
He stroked my hair for a moment, then seemed to catch himself and pulled his hand away. “I know what you saw. Some cannot bear to re-experience the worst parts of their lives. They lie down and give up. The building, it…”
“Eats them?”
“Well, yes.” He looked down at me. “I don’t think it hurts.”
“No, it looked like…nothing. Like not existing. It was really tempting for a few seconds there. I wanted all of it to stop. But then I heard you talking to me.” His eyebrows shot up, and I paused. “You weren’t talking to me?”
He shook his head. “You heard my voice? You’re sure it was mine?”
“Yes. It’s what got me through. You told me to keep walking. And you…” I trailed off, not sure I wanted to tell him the rest, as it appeared to be a figment of my imagination.
He shivered against me. “Never mind,” I said quickly. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m better than I was, now that you’re through. I guess I should be honored that you came up with my voice to help you do it.”
I ducked my head, totally embarrassed. “Sure, anytime.” I looked around. “Where’s Ana?”
“She always runs through and then needs some extra time to clear her head. She’ll be back soon.”
I was becoming increasingly aware of how close we were to each other, of how his arms were tight around me, of how little effort it would take to close the distance completely. Heat pooled in my cheeks.
“I think I’m all right now,” I said quietly. He raised an eyebrow in question, as if the intimacy of our position hadn’t occurred to him. Then his gaze fell to my cheeks, and he noticed my blush.
“Sorry,” he mumbled as he set me down on the curb and got to his feet, like he suddenly needed the distance. He walked over to a pile of gear heaped on the sidewalk and put his armor on again, all smooth, efficient movement. His body had a grace all its own; every motion had its purpose. I sighed and wiped my mouth, wondering if the drool was visible from a distance.
“Ah, Lela made it through. Good girl,” Ana called out as she approached. Her face looked a little raw, like she’d been scrubbing at it. What had she seen as she went through the tower? She saw me looking and swiped a hand across her cheek, like she thought there might be a stubborn tear still clinging there. She gave me a tense smile. “Glad to see you’re not fatally damaged.”
I winced at her description. For some reason, I wished Malachi hadn’t heard it. He pretended he hadn’t and appeared entirely focused on getting ready to resume our trek through the city.
Ana held out her hand, offering to pull me from the curb. “It’s always hardest the first time. Now you know what to expect. And you know you’re stronger than it is.” I accepted the help and rose to my feet. Ana looked me over. “We’ll have to rebraid your hair tonight, girl. You did a number on yourself in there.”
I put my hand to my hair, abruptly understanding that I probably looked like a total freak show. I hadn’t thought about it while Malachi held me. The way he looked at me made me feel…beautiful. Now I felt anything but.
Almost frantically, I pulled the rubber band from the bottom of the braid and ran my fingers through my hair. I bent over and shook it out, letting it fall heavily around me. It bounced happily around my face, delighted to be released.
When I raised my head, Malachi was watching me. The look on his face took my breath away and brought the heat back to my cheeks…and everywhere else.
He turned away quickly. “Ladies, let’s go. We’ve got to make good time if we’re going to get to Harag tonight.” He shouldered his pack and walked up the street.
NINETEEN
WITH ANA’S HELP, I removed the armor I’d worn all day. It had become more flexible as I walked and turned out to be pretty comfortable. By the time we got to Harag zone, I’d almost forgotten I was wearing it. But once it was off, I felt the difference. Newly freed, I slumped onto the couch with a sigh.
Ana laughed at my boneless sprawl. “Toughen up, girl. Today was easy.”
“Piece of cake,” I agreed, looking around our temporary home. We were in an apartment building a few blocks into the zone. Apparently, Malachi spent so much time in Harag lately that he’d claimed this apartment for himself. Although there were a dozen far-flung Guard outposts within the sprawling city, he and Ana also had several apartments, places where they could stash extra equipment and supplies, nurse wounds that didn’t require immediate attention, and rest safely after long patrols.
This apartment looked no different from the one near the Station, where I’d spent those few days with Malachi. It had one bedroom, which contained a narrow cot and a chest of drawers. The small living room held a couch, a coffee table, and, sitting atop a squat table against the wall, a television.
I went up to the heavy, square TV and peeked behind it to see how it was plugged in. I hadn’t actually seen any electronic or mechanical devices in the city yet. The streets and all the buildings were lit with gas lamps, and I hadn’t seen any light switches or outlets. When I saw the back of the TV, I shuddered and nearly fell backward. It was attached to the wall by a cord, all right.
An umbilical cord. At least, that’s what it looked like to me.
I warily backtracked to the couch, really, really glad I hadn’t had anything to eat recently. I spent the next few minutes trying to fool myself into believing I was not sitting in the sparsely furnished stomach of a living, breathing creature.
Ana sat down next to me on the couch and followed my gaze to the television.
“Reruns,” she said. “The Brady Bunch. And lots of commercials for hair products.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes. At least, that’s what it’s been in recent years.”
Malachi walked in from the bedroom, armor still on. He looked too big for the apartment when he was wearing it. He saw us staring at the television and laughed.
“I was completely puzzled when they first appeared in these apartments and replaced the radios. I never turn them on, but Ana is a Brady Bunch addict.”
I eyed Ana with suspicion. “I thought you might have better taste.”
Ana sniffed. “It’s sweet. I used to watch telenovelas only, but I decided to branch out as my English got better. I don’t even want to know what you would see when you turn it on.”
“What, you mean it’s different for different people?”
“Sure,” said Malachi. “It’s whatever you want to see. But the reception’s not that good.”
“And they never show my favorite episodes,” Ana complained, tossing a throw pillow at Malachi.
I rolled my eyes. Of course. Whatever you wanted to see, but you couldn’t see it very well, there were lots of commercials, and it never quite hit the spot. Television in hell.
Malachi snapped his baton to his belt and looked at me. “I’m going to do a quick patrol to the east to see what kind of Mazikin activity we’re going to have to deal with. We’ll use this as our base and start searching the zone tomorrow, all right? We’ll go door-to-door if we need to.”
“Thank you,” I said quietly, touched by his consideration.
He smiled at me, nodded at Ana, and walked out the door.
Ana got up and went into the kitchen. She opened a bread box on the counter and, with a shudder, closed it quickly. She rummaged through the pantry, removing a can of vegetables and some tinned meat. After a few futile seconds spent searching for a can opener, she whipped out a knife and tore into the cans. The sickening plops of food chunks hitting the bottom of a bowl made me turn away. I didn’t want to make Ana feel worse about having to eat that stuff, so I took my churning stomach into the living room.
I parted the curtains in time to see Malachi walking down the street, headed deeper into the zone, his strides smoo
th and assured. I set my forehead against the filmy glass, clinging to the sight of him for as long as I could.
“He won’t be gone long. Don’t worry about him,” Ana said blandly. I turned to see her, spoon in hand, digging into the brown mush in her bowl. “He knows how to keep out of sight.”
“They all seem to know who he is. They call him by name,” I said. It seemed like that would make him a target, and he was out alone with no one at his back.
“Of course they do. He’s like the Mazikin bogeyman. He’s been their worst nightmare for decades and succeeded in keeping their population pretty small until recently.”
“But what about you? How come they don’t seem to know you as well? They wanted to recruit you, so obviously they had no idea you’re a Guard.”
Ana paused in the midst of her methodical scooping and chewing. “Malachi made sure of it. No one who’s seen me has survived. He does all the interrogations himself. He goes into all the worst places by himself. It’s better that way because I can serve as bait. It’s all ruined now, of course, because Sil got away.”
I closed my eyes to shut out the guilt. “I’m sorry, Ana.”
“It couldn’t last forever. Mazikin have a weirdly collective memory. I’m surprised it worked as long as it did. Anyway, there’s a flip side to the Mazikin knowing Malachi by sight. It makes them cautious. Even if they spot him, which is unlikely, they wouldn’t attack unless they had him very outnumbered.”
My stomach did an uncomfortable jackknife, and I threw her a sour look. “Oh, good. Thanks for that image.”
“Lela, that boy can take care of himself. Why is it your job to worry about him?”
Because I care about him much more than I should. “It’s not—but shouldn’t it be yours?”
Ana shook her head stiffly. “No. Way. We’re colleagues. If he gets himself killed, it’s because he was stupid.”
“Now I know you’re lying.”
Ana poked her spoon at me. “Girl, you have no idea what we’ve been through, so I suggest you keep your mouth shut.”
I didn’t risk more words. Instead I rolled my eyes and turned back to the window. Malachi had disappeared. I stared at the place he’d been.
