by Sarah Zettel
“I won’t tell.” Chena strained her wrists, even though she knew it wasn’t going to do any good. The straps felt like leather. They were certainly too wide and thin to be rope.
Silence from the kid, then a scrambling sound, followed by a hiss and a pop. Flickering light shone from a lamp clamped to the wall and touched Chena’s eyes, making her wince.
When she could see, the pale light showed her rough red stone walls, stacks of crates, folded metallic trees, and a small boy.
He crouched on top of a stack of plastic crates, watching the space behind her. She couldn’t turn her head far enough to see what was so interesting. Maybe there was a door there. Maybe a camera, or another person who hadn’t spoken yet.
We must be in the caves near Stem, thought Chena. We must still be with the tailors. Hope stirred inside her. The tailors were just villagers. Their resources were limited. She could get away from them. Especially if she had help. She turned her gaze toward the boy again.
He looked wobbly somehow. Chena squinted. She was seeing him through a layer of something, like plastic. Her eyes searched the air in front of her, found the dark line that was the seam, and traced it.
They had her in a box. A clear plastic box. Her chest spasmed as her brain told her she was sealed in, but a few frightened, shallow breaths told her the air was good. Whatever her prison was made out of, it had to be gas-permeable.
I can breathe. I can breathe, she repeated to herself until she calmed down.
Which was good, because it meant she would live, but it did not tell her how she would get out of here.
Whatever the boy saw, or did not see, behind her, he jumped off the crates and trotted over to her box. He was small, maybe five, maybe six years old at most. He crouched down beside her head, so she had to strain her neck against the collar to turn to see him.
Her heart faltered in her chest and it was all she could do to keep from crying out.
She was looking at Teal. This boy had her sister’s wide eyes, delicate bones, dusky skin, and straight black hair that hung down his neck and fell into his eyes.
“Who are you?” she croaked.
The boy shrugged. “Are they going to keep you?”
“Who?”
“Lopera. The others. The black and white people.”
That could only be the hothousers. God’s garden. Chena swallowed. I’m boxed up and sealed to go back to the hothouse.
And that was a long way from being all of it. Chena made herself look at the boy again. His dark eyes reflected the lamplight, as if he had stars inside him. There was only one thing he could possibly be. She did not want to speak, but she had to know. “Are you Eden?”
“I guess.”
He sounds like Sadia. Like Sadia in the involuntary wing. Chena closed her eyes. She couldn’t stand to look anymore. They killed Mom to make this thing, this mindless thing. Her muscles clenched against the straps that held her down. She wanted to rise up, to strike out at that thing, beat on it until it bled and fell and sprawled across the floor, just like Mom had. She wanted all the hothousers to find her standing over its bloody corpse so they’d know who’d done it.
She wanted…
She opened her eyes and saw Teal’s face again.
“Why’d they put you in a box?” Eden asked. “Are they testing you? Are they going to put me in a box?”
“I… I don’t know.”
“Oh.” He sat back on his haunches and watched her for a moment, as if he were waiting for her to do something interesting. Looking at him, Chena’s mind slithered so quickly between confusion and fear, she couldn’t hang on to any single thought.
Eventually Eden stood. “I have to go.”
Leaving her alone. Leaving her for the hothousers.
No, no, no…
“Wait,” she gasped. “Eden, do you want to get away from the needles?” Sadia in involuntary had taken any suggestion Chena gave. If Eden was a mindless thing, she could put ideas into its head.
If Eden was a little boy, she could still put ideas into his head. She had done that with Teal all the time.
Eden scratched his backside for a minute. “I’m not supposed to leave. They say don’t leave.”
What would Teal want to hear? Think, think. “But have you ever played hide-and-seek with them?” tried Chena. “Lopera and the others?”
“I hide sometimes.” Eden shrugged. “They find me.”
“What if I told you I know a really good hiding place?” Chena hoped her voice sounded conspiratorial instead of desperate. “Someplace they’d never think of looking. You could keep them going for days.”
The boy crept closer. “Lopera turns red when she can’t find me. It’s pretty funny.”
Despite herself, Chena grinned. “Let me out of here and I’ll show you how to make her turn purple.”
Eden hesitated, but just for a second. “Okay.” He jumped up and ran to the foot of the box. Chena pressed her chin hard against the collar so she could see past her own toes. She heard something rattle, clank, and then snap. A section of box swung free. The boy grunted, and Chena felt herself slide toward him.
They’ve got me on a gurney or something. Slide in, slide out for easy storage. It was almost funny.
“Okay,” said Eden. “Now what?”
Chena swallowed. “Now see if you can find a buckle or a catch on these straps so I can get up.”
Eden scratched his backside again. “They really didn’t want you leaving, did they? They only ever shut me in my room.”
“I’ve been a bad girl,” muttered Chena.
Eden stared at the space over his head again. “Maybe this isn’t a good idea. Maybe I should put you back.”
Chena bit her lip. It’s Teal, she told herself. What would you say to Teal?
“Okay, if you want.” She rolled her eyes toward the rough red ceiling. “But then you won’t get to ride in the boat.”
“Boat?”
Chena tried to nod, but the collar choked her. “That’s the best part. I was going to go up the river in a boat. I was going to show you the forest and my house, but if you’re too scared, that’s okay. Put me back.” She sighed and waited, not looking at him.
Silence from Eden.
“Come on, come on,” urged Chena. “If you don’t want to ever see anything new again, just put me back. I’m getting cold out here.”
“Well…” Chena looked down again and saw Eden squirm. “Okay.”
Chena started breathing again. “Okay. If you can get one of my hands loose, I can help you and we’ll just vanish. They’ll be looking for us for hours.”
Now that Eden had made his decision, he moved quickly. He scuttled around to her right side. She felt him tugging ineffectually at the strap, but after a moment’s fussing, the binding came loose and she was able to lift her hand to fumble at the collar around her throat. Eden giggled and took her hand. His fingers were small, slender, and warm. He placed her hand on the buckle.
Trying not to think of anything but getting out of here, Chena worked the buckle and tore the collar from her neck. In another minute, she was free and on her feet, towering over Eden.
“Come on,” he said, grabbing the hem of her tunic. “If we don’t get out, they’ll see us.”
“Okay.” Reflexively, Chena pulled his hand from her hem and held on to it. Held on to his hand, this Teal impostor, this thing that killed Mom.
Her brother. Was this really her brother? No. That was not possible. There was nothing of Mom in him. He was purely the hothousers’ thing.
Then why did he look so much like Teal?
“Take us out to the lake,” she said. “I’ll get us to the river from there.”
Grinning at the prospect of a new game, Eden scrambled up on top of the pile of crates. “Through here,” he said, and vanished.
Chena, stiff from captivity and clumsy from whatever they had drugged her with, managed to clamber up after him. Time and water had carved a ragged oval hole through the st
one. The lamplight penetrated it just far enough that she could see Eden’s heels disappearing into the darkness.
Chena stayed where she was for a moment, her heart hammering. Would the tunnel be big enough for her? What if she got stuck?
“Come on!” Eden’s voice floated up the tunnel.
No choice. Chena hoisted herself into the tunnel and started crawling forward. Rough stone bit into her elbows and knees. Her scalp scraped hard against the tunnel’s roof. She bit her tongue and ducked down onto her forearms. She crept along slowly until her forehead brushed against another outcropping. Cursing under her breath, she dropped onto her belly and began to pull herself forward with her elbows. The stone scratched long, painful lines down her torso. More stone scraped against her shoulders.
“Come on!” rasped Eden from somewhere ahead. “They’re going to be looking for us.”
“I can’t,” Chena gasped, wincing as she felt her tunic and the skin underneath it tear open. “It’s too small!”
“It opens up. Just a little farther.” She heard scuffling. Eden’s small hand groped at her face, found the collar of her tunic, and pulled. “Come on!”
Gritting her teeth against the pain and all the fear, Chena dragged herself forward another few inches. The stone pulled back from her shoulders and after wriggling another foot, she was able to push herself back onto her knees. Then, she saw Eden grinning at her, and she realized she could see him. Light leaked around the boy from somewhere up ahead.
“Is that the outside?” she breathed.
Eden shook his head. “We’ve got to go through the needle room, and then there’s another tunnel. Then there’s the outside.”
Eden reversed direction so that his buttocks were practically pressed against her nose, and scurried forward. Torn between laughter and frustration, Chena crawled after him.
The tunnel ended high in the wall of another cave. Eden crept out onto what looked like a wooden shelf. Chena squeezed herself through the tunnel’s mouth and saw it was the top of a cabinet. Scooting forward on his rear end, Eden stretched out his entire length until the tips of his toes just touched the counter beside the cabinet. From the counter, he jumped easily down to the floor.
The cabinet wobbled under Chena’s weight, but stayed upright. Thanks to her height, she had an easier time than Eden lowering herself down to the counter and then the floor. As she straightened up, she realized she recognized the cabinets and the shape of the cavern. A small spasm of fear shook her. This was the room where the tailors had tested her to see if she’d been damaged by the fences. The drastic tools of surgery filled the place. Knives lay in sterilizer trays, ready for cutting. Beside them stood lasers on long, flexible stems. In the cabinets, saws and pliers waited to dismantle bones and joints, along with shelf after shelf of needles—needles for stitching, for injecting, for probing. Here was the other reason her captors were called tailors.
“Let’s get out of here,” she whispered to Eden.
An environment lock blocked one end of the cavern. Eden stood on his tiptoes to reach the command pad. Chena moved to help, but before she reached him, a woman’s voice called from the other side.
“Eden!”
Eden froze, one hand against the wall, fingers poised over the command pad. “That’s Dans.”
“Eden! Come on, game’s over!”
“Let’s hide,” suggested Chena cheerfully. Inside, her heart pounded out of control. “I bet you know all the good places. I bet she walks right by us.”
Eden squirmed. “I don’t know,” he said. “She sounds mad. Hiding will make it worse.”
“So, we should hide until she calms down.” The words came out in a rush. Chena felt her nerve beginning to break. “Back in the tunnel? If she finds us now, we’re both going to get it.”
It worked. “She knows about that tunnel.” Eden dove for the shadows, squeezing himself between one of the glass-faced cabinets full of needles and the cavern wall. Chena sucked in her stomach, pressed her back against the wall, and forced herself in beside him. Rough stone tore her already ruined tunic and the raw skin underneath. She had to bite her lip to keep from yelping.
“Eden! Come out! I mean it!”
Chena inched her hand across to touch Eden reassuringly. Something clicked and slid back heavily. Hinges creaked. Shoes slapped against the cavern floor.
“Eden?” The voice was in the room with them. “Eden, I’m giving you till the count of three to come out here.”
Eden wiggled under Chena’s touch. She tried to grab hold of him to keep him in place, but she could not quite reach.
“Eden, you come out here right now or I’m giving you to the black and white people today.”
Eden squeaked and the footsteps slapped toward their hiding place. Desperately, Chena slid her hands up the cabinet back, tightened her muscles, and pushed.
The cabinet teetered forward and crashed down. Dans’s scream rang out over the splintering of glass and wood.
Chena scrambled out over the corner of the fallen cabinet. She glimpsed Dans’s head and arm protruding from under the shattered wood. There was blood. She did not want to see.
“Come on!” She grabbed Eden’s hand and pulled, but Eden didn’t move. “Come on!”
“No.” Eden yanked his hand out of hers and scuttled to Dans’s side. “She’s hurt. We have to get Lopera.”
“She’ll be okay,” lied Chena. She might not be. There was blood, and it was on her skull. There was no time to check whether it was just a cut or whether Chena had just killed someone new. “We need to go.”
“But she’s not moving!” Eden shook Dans’s shoulder. “That’s bad. I know that’s bad!”
Chena scooped Eden off his feet and turned to run.
“No!” screamed Eden at the top of his lungs. He struggled under her arm, pushing at her. “No!”
“You don’t understand,” panted Chena, clasping him tightly to her. “You can’t stay here with them. They’re going to hurt you.” They’re going to give you away, put you in a hothouse. I’m trying to help you. You have to understand.
“Put him down!”
The tailor, Lopera, stood in the doorway, and just behind her stood the hothouser Dionte.
“Lopera!” Eden threw himself toward the tailor. Chena only just managed to hang on.
“No.” Chena wrapped both arms tightly around Eden, crushing him against her chest. Eden fought back, punching her with his tiny fists and kicking her stomach, making her gasp for air. “They’re going to hurt you!” she tried to tell him. “They’re going to give you away. Dans said she would!” Why don’t you understand? They’re the ones you need to be afraid of!
“Chena, stop being stupid. You have nowhere to go.” The tailor strode forward. “What are you going to do? Hurt your brother?”
Chena backed away, kicking aside glass and stumbling over something soft. “He’s not my brother.”
As she spoke, she knew it was true. If he really was her brother, he wouldn’t be trying to run away from her. He would know who she was, and that she was trying to help him. Eden was only one of the hothousers’ things, like the jaguars they’d used to track her in the rain forest, like the ants that had killed all those colonists. This was the thing they’d used to kill Mom.
“Be careful!” cried Dionte. “Don’t let her hurt Eden.”
“I’m working on it.” Lopera took another step forward. “And by the good green Earth you better hope Dans is still alive or I’m skinning you myself!”
Nowhere to go. Nowhere to go. Eden struggling in her arms until she could barely hang on.
“Stop, stop it!” She ducked sideways toward one of the sterilizer tables. Lopera froze again. Without taking her eyes off the tailor, Chena fumbled at the table until her hand came up with a scalpel. She held it out toward Lopera. “You’re going to let me go.”
“She might,” said Dionte calmly. She stayed in the doorway, blocking the only way out. “But I’m not. We need you as well, Ch
ena Trust.”
Dionte’s words drew Chena’s gaze to the doorway for just a split second, but it was enough. Lopera lunged. Her hand clamped around Chena’s wrist, forcing the knife up. Eden shrieked and struggled and Chena could not hold him anymore. Eden fell and Lopera shoved Chena backward, slamming her hand against the wall. Chena grabbed a fistful of Lopera’s hair at the base of her neck and yanked down hard. Lopera screamed and her grip loosened. Chena slashed the scalpel down, slicing through the flesh at Lopera’s throat.
Blood. Blood everywhere. In Chena’s eyes, down her face, all over her tunic and hands. Lopera gurgled and fell, clutching at the scarlet fountain welling from her. Chena backed away, unwilling to believe what she was seeing, what she had done. But Eden shrieked and Chena looked up in time to see Dionte fleeing through the door.
Chena launched herself after the hothouser. She tackled the woman, sending them all sprawling, and knocking the air from her own lungs. Eden scrabbled out from under them as Chena and Dionte rolled over, and Chena realized she did not have the scalpel. Silver flashed in Dionte’s hand and Chena threw herself sideways. Not far enough. The hothouser grabbed her tunic and hauled Chena backward. Chena struggled, her heels peddling uselessly against the floor, seeking purchase, but Dionte knelt on her chest.
“Maybe I don’t need you alive that much,” said the hothouser slowly, as if it were a revelation coming over her. “I already have your sister’s eggs. Your womb should keep for a few hours while we get your body to storage.” Her teeth gleamed in the lamplight. “I see it now,” she panted. “I see everything. This is what we should have done with your mother.”
Chena screamed and smashed her free hand against the base of Dionte’s nose. Dionte screamed and fell backward. The next thing Chena knew, she knelt over Dionte with the scalpel in her hand and she drove it into Dionte’s belly, drove it deep, drove it hard, slicing the hothouser’s flesh, burying her hand in hot blood, muscle, and offal. She screamed, the hothouser screamed, someone else screamed, and the screaming would not stop. Then the smell hit her, the sick, acrid, coppery smell of her mother’s death.
Chena choked and pressed her bloody hand against her nose, scrambling away from the smell until her back pressed against the stone. She tried to breathe, but she just choked until finally all she could do was vomit.
