Halfskin Boxed

by Tony Bertauski

  Something new.

  The archetype shuddered with pleasure instead of fear. Paul expected more of a fight, perhaps for the man to even disappear wizard-like. He wasn’t sure any of this would work. If it didn’t, he was sure to be tortured again. But this was why Mother had fabricated him.

  Did she see this far into the future? Did she know I would sacrifice everything?

  Maybe she’d tried this before with others, stood by passively as the archetype sent illusions of fiery ants over their bones, watched them collapse in a heap of agony that only death could absolve. Paul wasn’t fool enough to believe he was the only one in the universe to save… to save what? All of existence?

  Maybe she had fabricated him many times already, sent his clones out into the world like Marcus. He just didn’t remember.

  With the archetype in his arms, he spun the dial and began to bridge through countless realities, searching for the one place that was inescapable, the one place where nothing existed. The place where the wealthy men sent the identities of children. A place the archetype would know. One he deserved. A nowhere.

  And Paul would deliver him.

  Real sacrifice is a lonely endeavor.

  All those years he thought he had been hallucinating, was he really bridging into another reality? Those times the monitors couldn’t find him, those times he saw Cali in the trees, saw her on the farm… had he really been somewhere else?

  Paul and the archetype flipped past mountains and deserts, sea and sand. As realities fell like cards, there was a long pause on a hillside that overlooked a farm where horses were in a pasture and a woman in tall rubber boots was hauling buckets. The hesitation stretched out; doubt quivered in Paul’s resolve. A moment longer, he might have let go and run down the long gravel road, hopped the split-rail fence.

  He plunged forward.

  Realities blurred together like smeared pastels, blazing in a long stream of endless existence until they were enveloped in a never-ending cloud of swirling gray, of endless despair. A place created by the forefathers of foreverland, the precursor to biomites and dreamlands, where the souls of children were disposed to empty their bodies. This was the place of nothingness, of absolute inertia.

  Nowhere.

  Paul and the archetype dissolved into the roiling static, their memories diluted, the particles of their existence pulled further apart until the fray consumed them. Unknowing. Unbeing.

  Inescapable.

  The last memory of their existence was of a barn and a pasture.

  Jamie

  Jamie jerked awaked.

  The sudden movement bit her leg with an odd sensation, the slide of her bones that wasn’t quite right. Grimacing, she glimpsed the cell door through welling tears. She slid onto her elbows and shivered, afraid to wipe her eyes and find out she was dreaming, that the iron bars were still in place. She had lost track of the nights, sleeping through most of them, waking long enough to chase painkillers with long swallows of water.

  But the pill bottle was empty, the water nearly gone. She was shivering with fever, infection setting in. She didn’t want to die alone.

  He promised.

  The morning she woke to find Paul’s makeshift bed empty, there was a bottle of water and a few items of food. She woke later that night to find more water and food.

  How many days ago was that?

  All her memories were washed in a drugged haze. She had come in the cell for… something. The door slammed on her leg and Paul swore he’d get her out. Where is he?

  She rubbed her eyes to find the cell door was open. And she was awake.

  “Paul?” she called. “Paul?”

  Blood pounded her temples when she shouted. She squeezed her head with both hands and then with methodical effort, used the bars to pull herself up. Gravity flooded her legs; blood slammed into open nerves and ignited raw pain. She clung to the cage, eyes closed.

  She managed to drag herself into the aisle, periodically stopping to breathe. A blanket had been neatly folded and placed in the doorway. Next to that was an aluminum crutch.

  “Paul?”

  She stood in the doorway, shivering. The morning sun was warm and welcome. The dewy grass was silver, a long pair of footsteps dragging through it.

  The path through the trees was webby and dripping. Several times she stopped but found that restarting the trek was too difficult. She crossed the grassy field in one long stretch, tracing the trail of dewy footsteps past the sundial. The dorm was locked. The window Paul had punched out was too high for her to reach.

  The footsteps led around the building.

  Jamie found herself in the thick jungle behind the dorm, the path narrow. She came to the foot of the tower, condensation steaming off the walls, sunlight flashing off the reflective panels. The footsteps ended where a glass wall had been shattered. The furniture was trashed, the monitors dark. The elevator doors were open. She hobbled to look inside, cautiously keeping her distance.

  A wheelchair.

  Jamie wedged the crutch between the doors and lowered onto the wheelchair. The sudden relief was tear-worthy. Once her leg was in the support, she considered rolling out of the building but wouldn’t get far, certainly not down a path. For now, she needed to sit.

  She would need food and water if she wanted to survive. That meant getting back to the dorm. She would also need medicine. Assuming she could get all the above, she might survive long enough to die a long, slow death.

  When the doors began quaking, she rolled to the back wall of the elevator. It stopped. The second light was glowing. The elevator was being called up. That was where they woke up.

  She leaned over to grab the crutch. If the old man was still up there, the crutch might be a good enough weapon to keep him off her. He couldn’t be much of a threat. Last time she saw him, he could barely move.

  The doors opened on the second floor. The smell was foreboding—a rich, clayey funk of death seeped from the hallway like an infection. Someone was talking. She sat and listened, recognizing the dialog as a newsfeed.

  “Paul?” she called. It was hopeful but not loud enough.

  She cruised down the corridor, the smell coming from the left. That was the room where they woke up. She peeked inside and saw the beds and computers. Monitors were flashing. The floor was littered with syringes and plastic tubing, vials, boxes, and debris.

  The newsfeeds poured over her.

  Tragedy had struck the mainland. Over half of the human population had been wiped out, some estimates as high as sixty percent. The apparent cause was the sudden collapse of biomites.

  All of them.

  Every single biomite in existence, preliminary reports suggested, had been deactivated. Only people with a minimal amount of biomites survived. Or those who were clay.

  Biomite technology faced a terminal fate.

  Where’s the old man?

  He was up to something, but what? Again, her memories were sun-bleached objects, faint glimmers that warned her to be careful.

  The monitors that weren’t spewing dire newsfeeds were projecting views of the resort on the other side of the island. Paul had mentioned that building, said it was massive. He was right.

  As she rolled closer to the nearest monitor, she saw the bodies on the back lawn. There was a group of them near the dock, dumped into randomly splayed positions of death. They were dressed in uniforms, some of them wearing white gloves. They seemed to be surrounding a wheelchair that contained an equally limp body that was bald and helpless.

  The old man.

  Furthermore, the servants resembled him with bald scalps and fringes of white hair. Remembering the voice activation, she began calling for the views to enhance. There was a quick zoom of the bodies.

  A ship eased onto one of the monitors.

  She wheeled back and watched it pull into an empty slip. It was more of a yacht with slow-spinning antennae. Someone was arriving to find an island full of dead bodies. They’d find Jamie, too. And I’m fabricated.<
br />
  She wasn’t going to the Settlement.

  She would fight with her very last breath before surrendering to that life. Years ago, Paul thought it was wise if they went peacefully, that they would be treated fairly. But there was no justice on the Settlement. If he had to do it all again, he would hide.

  That was exactly what she would do.

  The crew leaped into action and secured the yacht. There was no movement behind the tinted windows that ringed the ship’s bridge.

  Jamie was feeling faint and found water in a small refrigerator in another room. When she returned, two more ships had appeared, these less luxurious than the first. They looked more like cargo ships and entered the two remaining slips.

  The crew disembarked from all three of them.

  There were quite a few men and women on the second two ships, all dressed in plain clothing. They appeared to walk with purpose, just short of marching, and dispersed toward the resort. In small teams, they entered various doors.

  A small group exited the yacht.

  A woman led four others. She listened as the crew appeared to be giving updates as they entered the back of the resort. There was a lot of activity, boxes carried into the resort, items carried out to the back lawn. Some things were loaded onto the ships.

  And then there were more bodies.

  The first one was carried out of the resort between two men, the arms dangling, head nodding. Jamie called to the monitor, asking it for a close-up. The dead man was wearing a servant-type uniform like the other bodies on the lawn (most of which had been already loaded). The servant looked a lot like the old man. She assumed Marcus was in the wheelchair, but that was him being carried off the portico.

  But there was a second body hauled out, and then a third. Both of them looked like the old man, taken to one of the ships, each of them limp and lifeless. All of them bald.

  All of them Marcus.

  “What the hell?” she whispered.

  The crew cycled in and out of the resort, bringing out boxes and other items, but mostly bodies, some lugged in the open while others were in brown vinyl bags. Movement caught her eye on one of the other monitors.

  Someone was approaching the tower.

  It was the small crew led by the woman with short hair. They were followed by other men and women and marched around the tower. Some continued toward the dormitory like orders had been given. The yacht crew, however, paused outside the tower.

  Jamie spun the wheelchair and pushed into the hall.

  The crutch was still in the elevator. She jammed it between the doors, gasping with effort. When she got back to the lab, the crew was walking around the first floor. They had spread out and sifted through the wreckage, occasionally lifting a finger to their ear like they were listening to a call. Jamie cringed.

  Are they clay?

  The elevator doors tried to close.

  They rattled against the crutch. The woman’s face filled one of the monitors, looking down, perhaps waiting for the elevator. When it didn’t arrive, she looked directly at Jamie.

  The elevator stopped making noise.

  “Jamie? Are you all right?”

  Jamie wheeled back. Her image must be projecting to the first floor.

  “Arrangements have been made to take you to safety, Jamie. You have nothing to fear. I know about your leg and I know it must be very painful. I’m here to help. This island is finished and we want to take you back. Can you hear me?”

  Jamie looked around. She needed space, needed time to think. How do they know I’m here?

  “Do you know why your leg isn’t healing, Jamie?” The woman offered a sympathetic smile, a slight head tilt. “Do you know why you can’t sense any thoughts or control your nervous system? It’s because you’re clay, Jamie. Your body contains no biomites.”

  “Who are you?”

  “I’m a friend. You can trust me.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “You’re not going to the Settlement, Jamie. I promise you.”

  She shuddered. “How… how do you know that?”

  “I made arrangements for this day. I know all about this island, Jamie. All about you. Your body is a clay incubation, not a biomite fabrication. The person responsible for bringing you here is no longer. All of them.”

  All of them? “I want to see Paul.”

  “He’s not here.”

  “Where is he?”

  The woman was distracted, listening to an urgent message with her finger to her ear, nodding as she did. She gave curt orders then returned to the monitor.

  “Jamie, can I come up?”

  “Not until I see Paul.”

  “You’re safe. Do you understand that? You’re safe now. Be here and let me help you.”

  Those were things Paul would say, things he had said to her in the past. But there was no Paul, only a stranger on a strange island. And if Paul wasn’t there, no way was she opening a door.

  She began wheeling away from the monitor. They couldn’t get to her without the elevator. She would stay until Paul arrived.

  “Jamie.” The woman sighed. “The sooner we get up there, the sooner we can help you. Your leg is broken; you’re dehydrated and malnourished. Infection has set in. If you want to wait, I can’t help you. But we will be clearing the island and I want to bring you with us.”

  “Where are you taking me?”

  “Back to the world.”

  She wanted to believe that, wanted to think they would just drop her off at a port and wish her luck. But these people had lied before. As soon as they had her, she’d find out that she was biomites and not clay.

  And the Settlement was the only stop.

  “You’re not going to the Settlement.”

  “How are you—”

  “You have an apartment waiting for you back in New York City,” the woman said. “In addition to a sizeable inheritance.”

  “Inheritance? What are you saying? Are you saying Paul is dead?”

  “I’m saying that arrangements for this day were made long ago, Jamie. I can explain more if you just let me up.”

  “Who?” She wheeled closer. “Who made arrangements?”

  “There’s nothing I can say that will convince you, Jamie. You will have to trust me. The island is not sustainable and there’s nowhere else to go. Paul wants you to come with us. His footsteps led you here, did they not?”

  “How do you know that?”

  The woman was interrupted by one of the crewmen. She turned her back and mumbled. Jamie called for more volume but couldn’t make out what they were saying. The crew was now returning from across the grassy field, each of them stopping briefly for a word. One by one, they took the path toward the resort.

  There were footsteps that led her to the tower, but that didn’t mean it was Paul. But she’s saying everything Paul would say, everything Paul would want.

  Jamie checked the other monitors. The lawn had been cleared. One of the cargo ships was easing out of the slip, but the other two were firmly docked. There was nothing to trust on the island. She would stay in the tower, starve if necessary. Self-medicate to control the pain.

  I can’t control the pain because I’m… because I’m clay.

  Yes, that made sense; it would explain why she couldn’t control the agony, why she couldn’t accelerate healing.

  This is a dream. A mad, mad dream that won’t let me wake. And I’m damned if she’s getting anywhere near me. Someone killed Raine, killed the old man. And Paul is missing.

  I’m not going anywhere.

  For a moment, the woman was gone. It was just a second, but then she was back, like the monitor experienced a hiccup or an empty splice. The woman was alone, hand held above her head. An offering was intertwined in between her fingers, dangled in clunky measure. Jamie wiped her eyes, leaning closer because it looked like…

  The elevator rang.

  Her heart thudded in her throat. Her hands shook on the rubber wheels as she steered toward the doorway,
almost driving her broken leg into the wall. She edged into the hall, facing the elevator in time to see the doors ease together.

  The crutch was gone.

  It was there. It was keeping the doors from closing and now it was just gone. She had no time to search for it. There would be no use in finding out where it went or how it could’ve moved from between the doors. All she could do was watch the lights above the door switch from the second floor to the first.

  She backed down the hall until the wheels bumped into the glass wall that overlooked the island. Another bell rang and the doors opened again.

  It was her.

  The woman observed her down the long corridor before stepping out, her pace even and careful. Jamie wanted to shout, wanted to protect herself. But her leg was broken and the glass was at her back. Alone, she watched the woman slow, something clattering in her right hand.

  Jamie had the sudden urge to ask for her name. Had she seen her before?

  The woman cupped the object in both hands as she approached, an offering once again.

  “It’s nice to finally meet you, Jamie,” she said.

  “Do I know you?”

  The woman knelt in the glass enclave, coming eye level with her. She took Jamie’s hand and poured a necklace into her palm. The shiny rocks clattered quietly.

  Rocks smoothed by a river.

  Rocks drilled and strung together so many years ago.

  Rocks to never forget.

  A necklace long lost and buried was now pooled in her hand.

  “Who are you?” she whispered.

  “An old friend.”

  “What does this mean?”

  “Paul never left you, Jamie.”

  The colors of the stones bled together. Her eyes misted. She tried to say something, but sobs filled her throat.

  “Where… where is he?” she finally asked.

  The tears played tricks with her eyes. When she looked up, the woman looked older, her hair closer to white than gray. She was holding her finger to her lips, a pose that suggested deep thought.

  “You’ll see him,” she said, “the next time you dream.”