Enmity

by E. J. Andrews

  Darria raises his hand to his reddening cheek.

  ‘He doesn’t care—’

  ‘How the hell would you know?’

  My mother’s scream echoes through my mind.

  ‘Don’t you wonder why he hasn’t come to see you in months?’

  There is a harsh tension in the silence between them. My mother’s eyes are bulging and I am wondering how long it’s been since she last blinked.

  ‘You. You said something to him.’

  ‘I told him this was wrong—’

  My mother lets out an exasperated sigh. I steal a glance at the older Darria; he looks as though he is reliving a nightmare.

  ‘He’s punishing you because of me.’

  My mother now looks around as if she is caged, pacing back and forwards, looking for an escape, but she can only find more binds.

  ‘Take her,’ she says quickly. Realisation has dawned upon her.

  ‘What?’ Darria looks honestly shocked.

  ‘I’ll show him he’s all I want. Take her away; he’ll see I don’t want either of you.’

  If I had anything left inside of me to care, I know that would have hurt, or at least stung. But I feel nothing.

  ‘Take her.’ My mother now looks deranged. ‘Go,’ she says, quietly, calmly. It is almost more frightening than if she had screamed.

  ‘GO!’

  I retract my previous statement. The sound of my mother’s short, barking scream is terrifying, because I have never even heard her raise her voice. I jump as the young Darria does the same. I guess the older Darria saw it coming.

  The young Darria turns to leave and then hesitates.

  ‘You’re going to regret this, you know.’ He uses his factual voice, a family trait. ‘He’s selfish, and he’ll never be able to look after you, he’ll never understand.’

  My mother tries to stare Darria down as he speaks. ‘He’ll never understand like I do. Like your daughter would.’ With that, Darria leaves and the room instantly fades again.

  Darria and I just stand, unspeaking, until the next memory takes over.

  This time, the atmosphere seems lighter. We are in a park, tall trees and green grass around us, and I can hear joyful chatter.

  A little girl holds a young man’s hand. It’s not until he turns around that I see it is Darria, and a three-year-old me.

  Seeing the memory before me almost makes me think I can remember it too. Not the details that I can pick out now, but the feeling of the warm summer air and a tight grasp in mine.

  There is a man standing a few feet away, light brown, almost blond hair and a slight pull in his shoulders. He turns as Darria and the young girl approach, and I see that it’s Caden.

  He looks down at the tiny girl and I can see a small crack of a smile. He has been waiting for this moment.

  ‘Darren.’ Caden greets Darria in the same way he did years before.

  ‘What do you want?’ Darria says without any grace and maximum brass.

  Caden looks down at the tiny girl who indeed does look beautiful. I wonder what happened? I guess it’s life. Life happened.

  ‘She’s turned out so well—how are her readings?’ Caden asks, as though they are just having a run-of-the-mill conversation.

  Caden keeps his cheerful smile as he says, ‘She has my eyes.’

  Darria pulls the girl closer to his side. Even though I could only be three or four years old, I wear the blank, sullen look I still wear to this day, but it doesn’t look as worn into my face yet.

  ‘You have no right to know a thing about her.’ Darria’s words are tiny, pitiful things, but the fact that he tries is at least something.

  ‘As her father, I think I do.’ Caden smiles down to the toddler who cowers away from the attention.

  Darria steps forward in one quick motion and punches Caden square in the jaw.

  Caden stumbles back and then falls to the ground in a wobbly, uncoordinated motion. Darria looks down on him.

  ‘You may have destroyed my sister, but I will never let you do that to her.’ Darria points to the small girl, who stands watching Caden while she latches on to Darria’s leg again.

  Caden spits out a mouthful of blood.

  ‘She’ll always be mine, Darren.’ Caden’s words cut like the fine sting of a knife’s blade. ‘Both of them.’

  Darria turns, picks up the girl and walks away. The girl watches her father from her uncle’s arms.

  The room fades again and I feel a breath leave my chest so heavily that I am almost shocked at the weight that is lifted.

  My eyelids are heavy too; I feel exhausted by the things I have seen.

  ‘Well . . .’ Darria says, a little louder than a whisper. I look up to him and I know my face holds hostility.

  ‘The chip.’ My hand finds the nape of my neck again and I wait for an answer.

  ‘My own design,’ Darria admits with a sigh. ‘Which I unfortunately trusted Caden with some time before the first scene you saw. He promised me he would never use it.’ So my father is a liar. Well, that’s a surprise.

  ‘It latches onto the person’s nervous system—’

  ‘I get it,’ I interrupt. I get it more than he could imagine.

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Was that what he was talking about when he said you two had been working on something?’ I quickly continue.

  Darria looks confused. I wish we didn’t have to stay in this huge, white, empty room.

  ‘Before you were born—’ Darria clears his throat, and then takes a deep breath. ‘I came up with an idea—’

  ‘Darria.’ The door opens and a keeper enters. ‘Sorry, sir. Rence just sent word; there has been an accident with a few of the outsiders, while they were out doing a raid; he hasn’t given much detail other than that Winter is dead.’

  Darria looks stricken, but then he seems to change, to realise that he shouldn’t be so concerned.

  ‘We need to get back straightaway,’ Darria tells the keeper, who nods back and then leaves.

  Darria’s eyes are darting as I can see him making plans. Then he turns to me. ‘I will explain everything to you when we get back.’

  ‘Explain now,’ I counter quickly.

  Darria shakes his head. He starts off towards the door.

  I realise I have missed one important thing.

  ‘Caden is Blake’s brother.’

  Darria looks confused, and then nods. ‘So Nate is my cousin?’

  Darria nods again.

  I already think of Nate as like my brother, so this shouldn’t be such a big thing. I nod. The only thing that annoys me about this is that I feel like I should have known without being told.

  ‘Promise me,’ I yell after Darria. ‘You’ll tell me everything, no matter how unimportant you think it may be.’

  He turns back, holding the door open to walk through it. ‘I promise you, Hermia, everything.’ Then he is gone.

  Nate

  I barely remember getting here, but now that I am confined, lying close to the wall next to my bed, my brain can almost function again. Though the disorientation had one benefit: it temporarily stopped me from thinking about things I wish I could stop thinking about now.

  The thought of Winter still plagues me, taunting me in some cruel and messed-up way.

  I hear the door swing open and instantly cringe at the idea of being in someone else’s company.

  ‘Darria is a complete and utter predominating, dictating . . .’ Pause. ‘Dick.’

  The voice belongs to Hermia, but I have to roll over to make sure.

  She is giving me a bemused look, but what surprises me more is what she is wearing.

  ‘Is that a skirt?’

  Hermia looks down at herself, as though she has forgotten what clothes she put on this morning.

  ‘We have more concerning matters than the fact that you can see my legs, Nate.’

  It isn’t a short skirt, which would be an impossibility for Hermia, but it’s actually very nice and flattering
on her and I know I am just trying to distract myself because I know what she is referring to.

  Winter.

  ‘Why do you look so depressed?’ she asks.

  Well, maybe she doesn’t know.

  ‘Because Winter’s dead.’

  The words sting and are followed by a new wave of nausea.

  Hermia’s face doesn’t change and I realise that she already knew.

  ‘Better her than us.’ Hermia shrugs.

  She walks up and sits on the side of the bed. I can’t help but look at her with dismay—how can she be so blunt? She looks at the blank wall across from us, avoiding my eyes.

  ‘But I know how you feel,’ she says. ‘It’s as though you’re breathing in, but nothing’s really happening, no air really hits your lungs.’

  We sit there, both not looking at each other, just feeling the words Hermia spoke floating around us.

  ‘I found out something . . . interesting.’ Hermia breaks our dense silence and finally looks at me. I just wait for her to go on. ‘We’re cousins.’

  After a long moment, I realise my eyebrows have pulled themselves up.

  ‘Caden is your father, and Caden and Blake are brothers,’ I say. It seems obvious now. ‘Guess that explains our lack of sexual tension.’ I allow myself a small smirk, though I feel the guilt hit instantly. I shouldn’t be joking at a time like this.

  Hermia only lets her smile seep into her eyes. ‘No, that’s purely down to the fact that you’re an arse.’ Hermia stands, looking down at me.

  ‘How was surgery?’ I ask.

  Hermia shrugs.

  ‘Easy. I didn’t do much.’

  I smile again, it is becoming easier now with Hermia back.

  ‘Don’t tell Chase I was here.’ Hermia speaks quickly.

  I don’t understand why she thinks I would tell him, and I don’t understand the concern in her voice.

  All I can do is nod as I hear the door slam and she walks out.

  I go back to lying against the wall, feeling my heart sink deeper and deeper into the crevasse it has made within me.

  I know Winter was horrible, but no one really deserves to die, do they?

  My chest pulls tight as I sit up too fast. I have to stay unmoving for some time to stop the vertigo. Once I’m up and on my feet, I start to make my way down the hall. I find the room I need quickly enough, basically because this shelter is so small that it is almost impossible to get lost in.

  I knock twice. Isaac’s head pops up and he looks at me with the smallest but kindest smile I have seen in such a long time.

  ‘Hey, man,’ he whispers, his voice breaking a little, sounding rough and unused.

  I come over and take a seat next to him on his bed. ‘How are you feeling?’ Isaac shrugs.

  ‘Better than Kane. His leg’s pretty wrecked.’

  I feel bad for Kane; this has been the hardest for him, since I think he actually genuinely liked Winter.

  ‘I never wanted this . . .’ It is a petty thing to say, and a horrible time to say it. But I feel I have to explain myself.

  Isaac shakes his head and looks down with a kind smile.

  ‘I know.’ He looks up at me almost as if he’s confessing. ‘She just wanted to show everyone how important she was to all of this.’ Isaac looks around the room as though it explains his reasoning. ‘I don’t think you’re planning on switching sides.’

  Isaac turns back to looking solemn.

  ‘Stop blaming yourself,’ I try to tell him. I don’t think he’s listening, though.

  ‘Have to blame someone.’

  I shake my head but don’t try to fight with him anymore.

  ‘What do you think is going to happen now?’ Isaac looks truly afraid now.

  ‘Feels like a shift.’ His words are cold as they pass through the air. ‘Like our enemies are close. Close to taking it all.’ I hope he’s wrong.

  Hermia

  There is no way in hell I am going to feel bad about Winter being killed. Not because I didn’t care for her, which I didn’t. But more because I am annoyed that she went to her grave without clearing up the fact that she was being a manipulative bitch and Nate is still the happy-go-lucky, so-nice-it-makes-me-sick guy he’s always been.

  Where can I go now? Not back to the room. That would destroy the amazing exit I just achieved, and I would have to explain things to Nate. And by the look on Nate’s face, I don’t think he really wanted company, either.

  So I decide to head upstairs. Maybe the night air will thaw my fear-frail bones.

  The moon’s light cascades though the broken windows, leaving an eerie presence in its wake.

  I don’t know why I missed this place. It seems idiotic now that I’m back. Maybe it was just the normality that I now feel here. It is as though the normality of my old life is coming back to me.

  Or maybe it was the way Josh looked at me before I went under, before they took the chip out of my neck. I want to be as far away from that look as possible. Fear is contagious. I’m avoiding Chase for the same reason.

  Seeing the way my mother acted back then affected me, though it is only an amplified version of the way she acts now. It made me want to run from her, from being like her—to put even more distance between us than I already have.

  There is a faint smell in the air, like meat that has been left out in the sun for days. I feel my nose crinkle as the putrid odour hits me, stronger now. I wonder how I never noticed it before. I’ve spent hours sitting on guard up here, noticing everything—the old skirt moulding around the ceiling, the light yellow colouring on the walls—and this smell is all wrong.

  I come to the end of the hallway, so I am standing just before the front door. Usually we sit in the left-hand room so that we can see the front of the house though the large bay window. Somehow, I feel as though I should check the right-hand room.

  The floorboards give a light creak as my weight shifts over them. I press my open palm to the door and it swings open easily. I hear it make contact with the wall behind it. But all I can see are his eyes. They are wide and consumed with a deathly fear. The most surprising thing is the soft sheen of the tears that still fill his eyes and glaze his cheeks.

  There is a drumming against my chest; a moment later I realise it is the pounding of my heart. I feel myself move backwards and I move faster and faster away. No matter how fast I run, it seems death is inescapable.

  I hit a wall, or more a body that feels like a wall. And it is the last person I want to see.

  Chase’s brown eyes consume mine and his smile fades. His mouth shapes into the word ‘what’.

  ‘Will’s dead,’ I say.

  His face is blank, and then there is a brief flash of denial.

  ‘Are you sure you don’t mean Winter?’

  Does he think I’m stupid or something?

  ‘No,’ I say. ‘I mean Will.’ Chase’s face is blank again.

  ‘What do you mean, dead?’

  There’s a wire inside me that keeps me functioning as a normal human being. I feel it snap.

  ‘I mean his body is upstairs, decomposing as we speak.’

  My words are harsh, but now Chase starts to believe me. I see grief, and an anger I have never seen before. He turns and heads for the stairs, taking them two at a time, and I follow him. He throws the hatch back and it hits the floor with a low thud. I am careful to close it behind me.

  Chase waits for me to lead him, though I feel his hand on my forearm, pushing me to go faster.

  The place I was running away from, moments ago, I am now running back to.

  I push the door open and, again, it’s his eyes I catch first.

  Chase holds a breath as we both just stand and look at Will.

  I am almost surprised that he hasn’t moved, which is stupid. How could he ever move on his own again?

  Chase makes his way over to Will, as though scared he will startle him. I stay where I am, not wanting to get any closer than I have to.

  Chase checks Wi
ll’s pulse, then he stops and examines his neck for a moment. He returns to my side, but doesn’t look at me, just stares down at the ground.

  ‘I’ve got to grab something, wait here.’

  Before I can protest, he’s gone. And I am left alone in the worst place imaginable, again.

  I try to just look at the wall, but I can’t help my eyes from wandering back to his. The fact that I am here in the middle of the night makes it all the worse; everything seems so much worse at night.

  My heart jumps as Chase returns to the room, holding a small square metal box, just bigger than a matchbox. He takes one of Will’s hands and presses the metal object to Will’s wrist.

  ‘What are you doing?’ I ask, my voice wavering.

  Chase doesn’t look at me, intent on the object in his hand. It has a small screen; I can see numbers ticking away on it.

  ‘We all have flash memories installed in our wrists. They connect to the cornea of the eye and allows us to see the final image of . . .’ Chase’s eyes flicker to me for second, though they just skim my face. It is difficult for him look at me when he is visibly upset. ‘Of the victim, and often their attacker.’

  There is a soft beep, and the screen reads one hundred per cent.

  Chase lets out a sigh. He takes Will’s hand gently and places it back down beside him, then lifts his hand to Will’s eyes, closes his lids.

  I slide my hand into Chase’s free one. He needs me to be brave in this moment, and the only bravery I can show is to let him have this tiny part of me for this moment.

  ‘Go back to your room, wake Nate and tell him what’s happened. I’ll let Darria and my father know.’

  Chase slides his hand from mine and walks out. I feel slightly empty at his disregard, but I shake it off and head back to my room.

  Nate is harder to wake than I first expect. I’m glad Marina is not here right now. She decided to stay with Georgie tonight, since she is taking the news of Winter a little harder than I think she should. It seems truly anything can upset Georgie.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Those are his first words.

  Of course he expects something to be wrong; no one is woken up in the middle of the night for nothing.

  I explain to him about Will and his eyes go wide instantly, all remaining traces of sleep wiped from his face, though exhaustion is still clear in the way he holds his body. Most nights I can hear him writhing in his sleep, even before the whole Winter fiasco.