by Amy Cross
Finally I manage to look at him, and I see that he's an older man with scars and wrinkles on his face. One of his eyes is completely black, but the other is pale blue and a moment later he smiles, revealing stained and chipped teeth.
“You're not the first,” he continues, “and you won't be the last. You're lucky, though. You've come out in a decent neighborhood. There are places just a few blocks from here where someone like you wouldn't last five minutes.” He pats an empty stool. “Come on, sit down. Soak up the atmosphere for a few minutes. You can always take a long, hot shower when you get home. Wash the grime away.”
There's still a part of me that wants to rush out of here and go back to the dorm, but I force myself to accept the man's offer. As I sit down, I realize that it's wrong of me to feel so uncomfortable here. These are good people and I should learn to relax around them.
“What'll it be?” the barman asks.
I turn to him, but I don't know what to say.
“Give her an elixir,” the man next to me says. “A weak one, mind. She's not gonna be used to anything strong.”
“Thank you,” I stammer, but I'm becoming more and more aware that the bar's other patrons are watching me. I feel like an animal who wandered into the wrong enclosure at the zoo.
“Patrick,” the man next to me says suddenly, reaching out a hand.
“Asher,” I tell him, before I have a chance to realize that maybe I should have lied.
I shake his hand, and I can't help noticing that his fingers are covered in some kind of crusty substance. My first instinct is to pull away in disgust, but I manage to contain myself. After all, these people are good, hard-working human beings who just happen to be living down here in the abyss. I have to treat them with respect.
“You were limping when you came in,” Patrick mutters. “Not much, but enough for me to notice. And you were trying to hide it, which means you're not after sympathy. Also means maybe you don't want to show weakness. Your guard's up. Let me guess, you're just back from either training or the war itself.”
“I was in the war,” I tell him.
“Who were you fighting?”
I pause for a moment. “I don't know,” I say finally, feeling a little foolish. “They never really told us. All I ever saw were silhouettes in the distance.”
“You were fighting yourself,” he replies. “Or rather, you were fighting people just like you. Raw recruits, scared boys and girls. You do realize, I assume, that the two sides of the war are controlled by the same people.”
“That doesn't make any sense,” I point out. “It's not -”
Suddenly he starts laughing, and I realize quickly that most of the other people in the bar are laughing too. In fact, as I look around, I can't help but notice that I seem to be an object of fascination for many of the locals in here. Again, I want to turn around and run out, but a moment later the barman comes over and places a glass of dark liquid in front of me, and I realize this must be the 'elixir' that was mentioned a moment ago.
“Don't worry,” Patrick says as I stare down at the drink. “It's perfectly safe.”
I open my mouth to tell him that I'm fine, but then I tell myself that I can't afford to be rude. Finally, even though I really don't want to touch a drop of this stuff, I take the glass and -
Suddenly Patrick pushes the glass out of my hand, sending it smashing to the floor on the other side of the bar.
“Hey!” the barman hisses. “What the hell do you think you're doing?”
“Teaching the girl a lesson,” Patrick replies, keeping his eyes fixed on me. “What was your name? Asher?”
Startled, I nod.
“There could've been anything in that drink. Poison, a sedative, anything at all. You can't trust anyone down here in the abyss, not until you know them. And if you go around drinking to be polite, just accepting whatever you're given, then you'll end up dead or raped or worse. Do you understand?”
I nod.
“Naivety will get you killed,” he adds.
“I'm not naive,” I tell him.
“Your actions just now beg to differ.”
“I was just being polite!”
“Yeah, well...” He sighs. “Polite and naive aren't mutually exclusive. Then again, I doubt they teach you stuff like that, not where you've been living your whole life. You are from up there, aren't you? From up in one of the towers?”
I nod.
“They call this place the abyss, don't they?” he continues.
I nod again.
He chuckles.
“Shows what they know,” he mutters finally, under his breath, before nudging my arm as he climbs from his stool. “They're scared of us, and that's a fact. Every year they build their towers higher, to try to get a little further away from this place, but they never feel safe. And they never will, either, 'cause we'll always be here.”
Heading to the door, he stops for a moment to look out at the street. A moment later, he opens the door and turns to me.
“Come on,” he continues, “I want to show you something. You'll be safe with me. I want to show you something that'll change the rest of your life.”
Chapter Seventeen
Iris
Today
“The illustrious Doctor Phillips didn't tell me anything at all,” Ripley says as we sit around a campfire. Daylight is fading fast, and Steadfall is preparing for another night. “I'll say one thing for her. She's not easy to spook.”
“There's no way to break into this thing,” Jon Wallace says, having been tapping at the tablet computer for the past couple of hours. “I used to know a few tricks, but these things have advanced since I came to the island.”
“But it's fully-functional, right?” Ripley asks.
“As far as I can tell,” Wallace replies.
“So if Phillips wanted to use it, she could?”
Wallace nods.
“We could force her to unlock it,” Ripley continues, turning to me. “In fact, I think I might quite enjoy holding her eyes open while somebody held the scanner up to her face.”
“She'd also have to input a voice code,” Wallace points out. “If she's smart, she'll have two codes. One to open the device properly, and one to open it in a secure mode, in case she's ever forced to do something like that. We'd never know the difference.”
“She's lying to us,” Ripley says with a sigh. “I mean, what was all that stuff about Asher being alive? Where did she get that from?”
Hearing footsteps nearby, I turn and see that Nissa is coming over to the campfire. Glancing at Ripley, I put a hand to my lips, just so he knows not to mention too much in front of the kid. The last thing I want is for Nissa to hear about the claims Phillips has been making. In fact, as Nissa sits next to me and leans against my shoulder, I can't help thinking that we really need to come up with a way to keep her as far from this situation as possible.
“How are you holding up there?” Ripley asks her. “Have you recovered from your -”
“I'm fine!” Nissa snaps.
He smiles. “Sure, but -”
“Why do people keep asking me that?” she continues with a huff, getting to her feet and storming away again.
“What's up with her?” Ripley asks. “I was just being polite.”
“You'd never think she's only nine,” Wallace mutters. “She looks a lot like Asher, though, doesn't she? In the eyes, I mean.”
“Every time Doctor Nicole Phillips looks at me,” Ripley continues, “I feel like she's laughing at us all. I want to go right back into that hut and teach her a lesson. Sure, she thinks she's in control right now, but trust me... I can make her talk. I just need to use my fists a little.”
He waits for me to respond, for me to tell him to go ahead. To be honest, I want to get information out of Phillips no matter the cost, but at the moment I'm not quite ready to sanction a full-on beating. I might, however, get to that point later.
“This might sound crazy,” Wallace says cautiously, “but
I've got an idea. What if we put everything back in the boat, how we found it, and then we let her go?”
I turn to him.
He sounds crazy.
“Hear me out,” he continues. “She won't be expecting it, which means she won't have a plan for what to do. If we can make her think that we didn't find anything hidden on the boat, we can watch her and see what she does.”
“She'll realize that's our plan,” Ripley points out.
“So?” he replies. “At least we'll throw her off. We'll make her think on her feet, and she might make a mistake. At the very least, if we can observe what she does, we'll have a better idea of her limitations. Maybe she'll contact someone. Maybe she'll panic. But we can throw her out of town and see what she does next.”
“No way,” Ripley mutters. “I can get the information from her. I just need a few hours.”
I pause for a moment, trying to decide what to do, and then I point toward the east.
“You're giving me until sunrise?” he asks.
I nod.
“Sometimes,” he says with a sigh, “I find it hard to remember why we listen to you so much, Iris. But then I remember you've gotten us out of some tough situations in the past. Well, you and Asher, anyway.”
“And if brute force doesn't work by sunrise,” Wallace adds, “we'll try my way?”
I turn to him, and after a moment I nod.
“Then I guess I'd better get to work,” Ripley says, standing and brushing his hands clean before stepping around the fire. “There's a good seven to eight hours before the sun comes up, and I'm going to enjoy teach that crazy bitch a thing or two. She might think she's good at keeping her mouth shut, but she's never been on the receiving end of my approach before. I'll have her singing by the time the sun comes up.”
“I don't think she will,” Wallace says, tapping the computer's screen again. “The login page is for someone pretty high up. That means she's probably been trained to resist interrogation techniques. Whoever this Phillips woman is, she's not your average grunt. She has, or had, status in the government.”
I pause for a moment, before getting to my feet. Now that night is coming, I need to find Nissa and make sure she's okay.
Chapter Eighteen
Asher
Many years ago
“That look on your face,” Patrick says as he glances back at me, “is priceless.”
I don't even know what to say to him. In truth, I'm so far beyond being shocked by the sight of life here in the abyss between buildings, I honestly don't know how to react.
For one thing, there's life here.
Lots of life.
Sure, most of the other people are lurking in shadows, or scurrying from dark doorway to dark doorway. Nobody seems happy to be seen out, but there definitely are people here. Even now, as we pass the gateway that leads into a pitch-black yard, I look through and at first I don't see anyone. After a couple of seconds, however, I spot shapes moving in the darkness, and I quickly realize that there are twenty or thirty people crowded into the narrow space. I can hear them whispering frantically to one another, and it's not hard to believe that I'm the cause of their fascination.
After all, most of the people down here are dressed in rags, whereas I'm wearing the standard off-duty tunic of a soldier.
“Don't worry,” Patrick says with a smile, “you're safe. Like I told you before, you're still in one of the better zones. Now, if I were to take you about three blocks that way -”
He points along a side-road.
“Well,” he adds, “let's just say that there are people who'd squeeze every last drop of use out of you. First while you're alive, and then after you're dead. Your organs alone would fetch a pretty price.”
Feeling a shudder pass through my chest, I look along the road for a moment. After a few seconds, however, I spot a hint of movement in the distance, and I realize to my horror that there are people moving down there.
“Come on,” Patrick says, and I turn to see that he's a little way ahead now. “Don't fall behind. I've got something to show you, remember? I'm sure you want to see it before you go back up to your safe little room in your nice big tower.”
Looking up, I'm momentarily shocked by the sight of several vast towers rising up toward the night sky. In fact, the towers are so huge and so brightly-lit, I'm not even sure I can see the sky at all. Turning, I'm mesmerized by the sight of such vast structures, and a moment later I step back and trip on a broken section of the sidewalk. I try to catch myself, but I'm too late and instead I fall, landing hard on my ass.
“Yeah, try not to look up too much,” Patrick continues. “You might end up with vertigo.”
I struggle to my feet, but I'm starting to think that this whole experience is making me more and more dazed. Turning, I look back the way we came, but I'm already not sure that I know my way home. I'm sure I could figure it out, although I'm starting to feel a little out of breath.
“Keep your head clear,” Patrick says suddenly, and I turn to see that he's come over to fetch me. He holds a hand up and snaps his fingers right in front of my face. “Are you okay in there? You're not freaking out on me, are you?”
I shake my head.
“Are you sure, honey?”
“I'm sure.”
“That's not very convincing,” he mutters. “Listen, maybe this is a mistake. Maybe I should just take you back to the door you came out of and -”
“No!” I say firmly. “I'm not some kind of precious thing that can't exist in the real world.”
“You call this mess the real world?”
“I want to see it!” I continue. “I've spent my whole life in the towers, at least as far back as I remember. I've heard stories about the abyss, but I've never been down here myself. I want to see it all.”
“And you're sure you're not romanticizing it?”
“I want to see it,” I tell him yet again. “I want to know what life is like down here. Maybe I can even help.”
He laughs.
“What's so funny?” I ask.
“Is that why you're here?” he replies. “Are you trying to find meaning in your own existence by helping the poor and needy?”
“No, of course not,” I tell him, although deep down I know that maybe there's an element of truth in what he said. “I came down here to see the things that they don't want me to see. We're always told that the abyss is a kind of hell, that it's the worst place anyone could ever end up. Worse than the war, even. I want to know if that's true. I want to know if I've been swallowing propaganda all my life and -”
Suddenly he starts laughing, and a moment later he pats me hard on the shoulder.
“You're so earnest, kid,” he chuckles, as we start walking along the sidewalk again. “Allow me to make an educated guess here. You'd just back from fighting, aren't you? Like, maybe just a few weeks?”
“Something like that,” I reply.
“And I bet you've seen some things,” he continues, steering me over to a low doorway that's set into the side of a small, squat little building that looks to be several hundred years old. “You don't have to tell me what, but I can see from the look in your eyes that you've seen terrible things.”
He knocks on the door.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“Patience, girl.”
Turning, I look up at the vast, brightly-lit tower again. No matter how much I want to pretend that I'm enjoying seeing the depths of the abyss, I can't deny that there's a part of me that wants to go home right now.
“Do they know you're here?” Patrick asks.
I turn to him. “No.”
“And how do you think they'd react?”
For a moment, I imagine Doctor Phillips screaming at me and telling me I'm a fool.
“I'm not sure they'd be that pleased,” I point out. “But if they really didn't want anyone coming down to the abyss, they'd have sealed off the chamber a long time ago.”
“Maybe it's a test,” he replies
. “Maybe they want to see what you do.”
“Maybe.”
Before I can say anything else, I hear the sound of chains on the other side of the door. A moment later the door swings open, revealing a pitch-black interior. I can hear voices in the distance, echoing through the darkness.
“You want me to go in here?” I ask cautiously.
“I can always take you back to where you came from,” Patrick replies. “If you're scared, that is.”
“No,” I reply, taking a deep breath, “I'm not scared. I'm never scared.”
“Well that's a lie. But if you're going in, then get moving.”
I hesitate for a moment, before ducking and stepping into the dark interior. I'm immediately struck by how cold the air feels in here, and by the fact that I can hear lots of voices in the distance. There's a very faint light at the far end of what seems to be a corridor, but suddenly I'm startled by the sound of the door slamming shut behind me. Turning, I'm just about able to make out Patrick's face, and then I hear a couple of footsteps nearby.
Somebody else is in here with us.
I'm terrified, but I can't let that show.
“Do you remember that drink I offered you,” Patrick says, “back in the bar?”
I pause, before nodding.
“Do you remember how I knocked it out of your hand?” he continues.
I nod again.
“Well,” he adds with a sigh, “that was my way of being fair. 'Cause now, you can't ever claim you weren't warned.”
“Warned about what?” I ask.
“About what happens in a place like this,” he continues, “when you're a goddamn naive idiot.”
I open my mouth to ask what he means, but suddenly I hear footsteps over my shoulder. I start turning to take a look, but a hand clamps tight over my mouth and I feel a needle sliding into my neck. I try to fight back, even as I feel myself losing consciousness, and finally I slump down into a pair of waiting arms.
“You were warned,” Patrick whispers into my ear. “Whatever happens next, it's your own damn fault.”
