The Forever Ones (The Iduna Project)

by DeLuca, Marjorie

  16

  We all clean ourselves up as well as we can using the tiny sink. It’s a far cry from the rainbow spas in the compound but I don’t care. I’d rather be free to wash my face in cold water than kept like a pampered slave in a luxurious cage. Carl’s even promised to try and rig up a temporary shower for us by cutting into one of the water pipes.

  “It’ll keep me busy,” he says, watching us as we leave. “But just make sure you get some food for tonight.”

  I look back at him as we head down the street. He looks so sad and shrunken standing there alone and I hope we can help him after all this. He risked his life for us and we owe him big time.

  When we turn the corner the street looks somehow shabbier in the harsh sunlight. Market stalls line the road, their grey canopies shading everyone from the burning sun. The buildings are decorated with wild designs – green and red dragons curl around the side of a clothes store, a giant butterfly spreads its kaleidoscopic wings across a bakery and massive yellow flowers are splashed across a broken brick wall. The whole place is bustling with young people and I’m starving so we head over to the bakery.

  Somehow the food tastes amazing. I bite down on a piece of poppy seed lemon loaf that’s crumbly and buttery and lemony all at once. Coffee wasn’t allowed in the compound so when I take my first sip it’s kind of bitter but so warm and rich I know I’ll probably get hooked. The others are silent, chewing away at cookies or muffins. This is what freedom could be like I think, but I tell myself can only hope for that when we destroy the forever traffickers.

  “We should split up again,” I say. “Try to dig out some recruiters – get an invite to join up – then meet back here in a couple of hours.”

  “You just want to come back for more cake,” says Chale, laughing at the crumbs around my mouth.

  “Exactly,” I say, “but more importantly that’s when we’re gonna catch Edelia, force her out of business and find out where Junius is.”

  “I can’t wait,” says Ida, licking jam from her lips.

  We say our goodbyes and head in different directions. I dive back into the crush of bodies in the marketplace. Looking around I see the costumes are gone and everyone’s dressed in shabby, used clothes. I guess that might be one way to distinguish the ARP’s from the Real People because I remember that Yul’s Barbie lady was wearing an immaculate leather outfit. I ask a fruit seller for directions to the carnival and buy a cupful of sliced mango. I thought the cakes were great but the mango tastes like a piece of heaven – sweet, creamy and sticky all at once.

  The street next to the market is the centre of the carnival and it’s alive with action. Acrobats with painted faces do somersaults along the street, horses with plumed riders prance with fancy steps, costumed stilt men tower above us and music is all around. Clowns hand out ice cream and I suddenly notice that there are children here, hand in hand with people I think must be their parents. I feel a pang of envy. If only I could’ve come to a place like this with Hilda and Johnny holding my hands. I’d look up at them and feel safe, secure and loved.

  “Hey, what’s with the long face?” says a familiar voice. I look up and see Toby smiling at me. In the light I see he has honey coloured skin and pale bluish eyes but the shadowy rings under them are deeper and darker giving him a sad look.

  “Sorry – I’m just being sappy.” I say, wiping a hand across my damp cheeks. “I’m just missing someone I never met.”

  “That’s the weirdest thing I’ve heard today,” he says.

  “Long story,” I say. “Maybe I’ll tell you some time.”

  “Well today you’re going to forget your blues and have some fun.”

  “I know,” I say. “That’s why I came.”

  “I’m glad,” he says, motioning for me to follow him along the street. “Sorry I didn’t say goodnight.”

  “Yeah - I saw you take off on a scooter with some girl,” I say, hoping my hint isn’t too obvious.

  He frowns. “Who – oh – that was business. Just a potential money making opportunity.”

  “I thought you had a job – at the bar,” I say, stopping and looking at some pretty scarves. I don’t want to seem too eager.

  “Yeah – I do,” he says. “But this could be big money.”

  “Really?” I say, picking out a pinkish scarf and rubbing it against my cheek. “I might be interested in something like that.”

  He misunderstands and rummages through his pocket then hands some money to the vendor. “It’s yours,” he says, draping it around my neck. As I thank him I realize there’s something about him that looks so familiar. I just can’t pin it down. I wonder if I’ve seen him in the compound before.

  “Anyway, you’re too young to worry about money yet,” he says. “As for me I don’t have that much time left.”

  “What do you mean?” I say, moving closer so I can hear him over the music.

  “In case you hadn’t noticed everybody’s young here. You’re not welcome once you hit thirty – maybe you can hide it till thirty five – but people don’t wanna look at you here when you’re old – and I don’t want to live in the Sanctuary – it’s a prison there.”

  “What’s the Sanctuary?” I say much too quickly.

  He fixes a sharp look on me. “You sure have lots of questions.”

  “It’s – well – this kind of thing’s starting to happen where I’m from,” I say. “I just wanna know what to expect.”

  He relaxes. “Okay – the Sanctuary’s a place in the woods – like gardens and huts where they send all the old people who are too weak or poor to get away from here.”

  “And all the rich people just get young again,” I say, noticing we’re approaching a stage.

  “That’s about it. Don’t ask me how it got like this. It’s idiotic to be afraid of life’s natural processes, but when were human beings ever logical?”

  There’s a wooden stage set with instruments. People sit cross-legged on the ground as a young girl in white sings to the sound of two bongo drummers. “Sit here,” he says, “and you’ll catch my set.”

  “You’re a singer?” I say.

  “Not exactly. I’m a poet,” he says, smoothing his hair back. “Let me know what you think afterwards.”

  I love poetry. Sometimes Lynette would recite these silly nursery rhymes about spiders and eggs and pigs and I’d laugh until I cried, but that’s one of the reasons I got to know Chale. He could make up the most amazing lines for songs and I’d lose myself in the rhythm and sound of his words.

  By now the girl in the white dress has finished and the crowd is cheering as Toby climbs up onstage. But when he sticks his hands into his pockets and slouches into the microphone I feel like butterfly wings are trembling in my stomach.

  “This poem is dedicated to the memory of my grandfather, W. J May. The greatest poet to come from this coast. He never finished this poem so I did it for him. Here’s to you Grandpa.”

  When I hear the first line of the poem it’s like every little detail about Johnny and Hilda comes rushing back – the slouched figure reciting those words, the tattoo of WJ on Hilda’s arm – and I have to hold onto the chair in front of me to stop myself fainting:

  That time ticks on

  Is inescapable.

  Clock faces

  Moonlike

  with spider hands

  click through seconds.

  Droplets of reality,

  grains of each impulse

  sliding through cupped hands

  which cannot hold

  the hours back

  from their kamikaze dive

  Into nothingness

  I’m not sure whether I’m listening to my brother or my nephew or great-nephew but it doesn’t matter. I’ve finally found someone who is a part of me.

  17

  Toby’s face is flushed when he comes down from the stage and he’s looking to see what I think. I must look stunned because he frowns.

  “It wasn’t that bad was it?” h
e says, taking a swig of water.

  “What – oh – it was great,” I say, trying hard to collect myself. I can’t believe I’m standing next to someone who might be related to me. After all the years of loneliness. And there are so many questions I want to ask him – about Johnny, about my mother – but I bite the words back. I’ll have be cautious for now.

  “Well you look kind of – out of it,” he says.

  “I loved the poem but you said your grandfather wrote the first few lines. Why didn’t he finish it?”

  “I’m not sure. I was too young to ask him. My Dad handed it on to me. Said Grandpa Johnny couldn’t get past the first two lines because something tragic happened when he was young and he spent the rest of his life fighting against some big corporation.”

  “That’s so sad,” I say, turning away from him so he can’t see the tears welling up in my eyes.

  “I’m glad my poem touched you so much,” he says. “I guess that makes it all worthwhile.”

  “Is that what you’ll do when you leave here to live in the country?” I ask.

  “Pretty much – a cabin in the woods, food, water and my thoughts,” he says.

  “Sounds a bit lonely,” I say.

  “Not if you have someone to share it with,” he says looking straight at me. My throat tightens and I wish I could tell him it’s not possible – not the way he’s thinking, but I bite the words back. I can’t tell him until afterwards – after we’ve infiltrated the organization.

  “But I’d still be interested in making some money now,” I say, hating myself for lying. “Maybe you could get me an interview with that girl from last night.”

  “It’s not that simple,” he says, his eyes narrowing. “There’s some pre-screening to go through.”

  “What kind of job is it?” I ask, trying not to push too hard.

  “I don’t know too much about it yet,” he says, “but I’m supposed to meet her boss tonight.”

  “I could come too” I say, tilting my head and trying to look innocent, but just as he’s thinking about it there’s a buzzing noise. He takes a small gadget out of his pocket, checks it and sighs. He looks so weary I feel sorry for him.

  “I gotta go,” he says. “They need me at the Shoshu.”

  “But what about tonight,” I say, determined not to let him go without some kind of commitment.

  He looks like he’s struggling to make a decision and finally he shrugs his shoulders and flips back his shaggy hair. “Meet me outside the club after closing and I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Thanks,” I say as he leans forward and kisses me on the cheek.

  I watch him push his way through the crowded market place and I wonder if he knew my mother. If he did I hope we’ll have time to talk about her and my Dad – sometime when we’re not mixed up in all this lying and deception.

  When I get back to the bakery, Chale and Sileas are waiting outside looking edgy. “Where’s Ida?” I ask.

  “Inside getting food for Carl,” says Chale.

  I steer them away from the busy doorway and share what Toby told me about the Sanctuary and the meeting tonight, then Chale tells us some good news. “I got talking to this girl and I think I know who’s holding Junius prisoner,” he says, twisting his braid, a sure sign he’s anxious to get going with our plan. “This girl told me the ARP’s live in the mountains above the city, somewhere called Golden Heights but she said it’s like a fortress – just stacked with security all around the perimeter. The guards wear red and black uniforms just as Ida described.”

  “We need as much information as possible before we try to get him back,” I say, lowering my voice to a whisper. “Otherwise we’ll all end up trapped as well.” We seem to be attracting some attention from the people around us. Maybe it’s our clothes that look a whole lot newer than everyone else’s or maybe there are spies mixing in with the regular people.

  Ida comes out of the bakery carrying a bag. “I got Carl some macadamia cookies,” she says, smiling. In the sunlight, Ida’s hair is a deep burnished red and her skin glows. I hadn’t recognized how beautiful she is, but when I look around at Sileas I realize somebody has. He’s gazing adoringly at her and she’s totally oblivious. “I have a surprise for all of you,” she says, excited. “Just follow me and we can share all our info in a place that’s so amazing you’ve never seen anything like it before.”

  “Good idea,” says Sileas rushing to keep up with her, “We’ve got a dangerous afternoon ahead of us. Let’s get our plan right first.”

  We all follow Ida through the crowded streets. It’s so different to the compound. So real. Spicy, exotic smells mix with the scents of fragrant flowers and the aroma of cooking. So many layers you can almost taste the air. And the people are different. Back in the compound everyone’s perfect but here imperfections like scars or long noses or plump cheeks makes everything seem more vivid and interesting. Soon we leave the bustle of the market behind and reach a small alleyway. There’s a salty smell in the air and I notice birds circling overhead. Real birds, not fake parakeets!

  Soon we cross a quiet alleyway, then cut through the side yard of a small blue-painted house and I gasp at the sight that spreads out in front of me. We all stop dead. A line of palm trees stands black against the sunlit blue sky and where the pathway ends is a wide expanse of golden sand. Not like the fake little wave pool in the compound – instead there’s sand stretching on every side of us as far as the eye can see and straight ahead is the glorious turquoise ocean, its edges fringed with a lacework of foam.

  “I never believed I’d actually see this,” I say, listening to the sounds of waves washing onto the sand and the screech of a thousand sea birds overhead.

  “Makes Beachside look like a joke,” says Chale. “And to think we actually had fun there.”

  “Seeing what nature created makes you realize how pathetic human efforts are,” says Sileas. “This is a whole ecosystem – all the birds and fish – even the sandflies.”

  “And what makes this even better is the fact that Edelia and the recruiters operate out of a beach house about a mile along the shore,” says Ida. “I got talking to this guy she interviewed for a recruiter’s job. When she told him all about the job he said he wasn’t interested. Now he’s in fear of his life because he knows their secret.”

  “Where did you meet him?” I say, trying not to be distracted by the sight of some kids running across the beach, throwing off their shoes and splashing into the cool waves.

  “At the bus station,” she says. “He was about to catch a ride to someplace in the north. Said he was tired of trying to hide.”

  “You mean you can travel away from Tinsel-town without any restriction?” asks Chale.

  “The buses look pretty run-down but he said as long as you don’t stray into ARP territory you can go as far as the mountains,” says Ida.

  I look at Chale and realize how tempting it would be to just jump on a bus and take off somewhere far from here. “We have a job to do first Chale,” I say gently. “Think about all those people held captive underground in the compound.”

  “That’s true,” says Sileas, “but maybe there’s someone out there beyond this place that could help us. Someone that knows what’s going on and wants to stop it.”

  “It’s hard to believe that nobody knows about Iduna Corp,” says Ida.

  “You’re right,” says Chale. “There’s gotta be someone out there we could turn to – someone who’s not crooked like the rest of them.”

  I hold up my hands to stop them. “Okay – we’re getting ahead of ourselves – first we have to find Junius and Yul before we think about escaping.”

  “I got talking to someone who told me that access to the ARP territory is really tricky because the roads are steep and winding and they mostly have lookout stations on their houses,” says Sileas gazing up to the right where we can see a bluey- green haze of scrub covered hillside with small whitish shapes of houses nestling among the slopes. “We’re
gonna need some kind of telescopic equipment so we can see what we’re dealing with.”

  “OK,” I say, “but first we have to make Edelia talk - and this is how we’re gonna do it.”

  18

  Ida guides us along the beach past a row of sun-bleached beach houses. Edelia’s place is an unusual purple cube shaped house with an entire wall of windows on the upper level. Bright pink flowers spill over the top of a high blue fence and a solid gate stands locked against intruders. Two or three surveillance cameras are visible on the walls and a small lane leads around the side fence of the house.

  “We’re gonna scale the fence and take a look inside,” I say. “Find out if she’s alone.”

  “How are we gonna do that?” says Chale, straining his neck to look up at the top ledge of the fence.

  “Have some trust in yourself,” says Sileas. “You’re more powerful than you realize.”

  He stretches his arms out and we all join hands, clasping each other’s sweaty palms. Ida starts to whisper the Iduna chant and we close our eyes. Chale catches on quickly and soon he’s chanting along with us. Soon I feel the familiar charge surge through my body and we’re linked in an invisible force field. When we let go it’s like sparks are shooting from the tips of my fingers and I could take on anybody that tries to stand in my way. With a burst of energy I take a run at the fence and leap so high I can hook my hands over the top. With one flip of my feet I straddle the ledge and then drop down into the garden below, away from the blinking eye of the camera. The others follow my lead and soon we’re all standing in a tropical garden where the hiss of fountains reminds me of the compound.

  “That was wild,” whispers Chale, a grin splitting his face from side to side.

  “And that’s only a fraction of what’s possible,” says Sileas dusting off his hands.

  A narrow concrete staircase leads up the side of the house to the first level of windows. I motion for the others to follow and soon we’re creeping silently upwards, sweating as the hot afternoon sun beats down on our backs.