Kymiera

by Steve Turnbull

‘Why would someone kidnap teenage girls?’

  ‘Prostitution?’ said the image of Lament in the screen beside the elevator.

  ‘Possible.’

  ‘Body parts.’

  ‘Was there anything interesting in their DNA?’

  ‘Nothing in the most recent check-ups. All perfectly normal. Perhaps for deliberate S.I.D infection?’

  ‘What for? They would be useless in the fights.’

  ‘If you deliberately selected the DNA to infiltrate?’

  ‘Okay, I’ll give you that one. What else?’

  ‘Sadistic pleasure,’ said Lament as the elevator arrived and the doors slid open jerkily.

  ‘Could be, but both those would require someone with considerable resources,’ said Mitchell as he stepped inside and hit the button for the car park in the basement. ‘Blackmail?’

  ‘None of them have any connection with anything or anyone significant,’ said the screen in the elevator car.

  ‘Maybe it’s just murder,’ said Mitchell. ‘Perhaps that’s the best we can hope for them.’ He lapsed into silence as they headed down.

  The doors slid back but Mitchell stood there. ‘Any other ideas?’

  ‘Making a cheap wirehead?’

  ‘Would that work with someone unwilling?’

  ‘They didn’t ask me,’ said Lament.

  Chapter 11

  Chloe

  The school day had been weird. Everyone was on edge. That girls had been disappearing was bad, of course, then to have it happen in her own school was worse. But for it to be someone she had known all her life made it the hardest thing she thought she had ever had to bear.

  She tried to concentrate but she was distracted by the fact she had missed the clues: All the times Melinda had been down and not talking. All those times she’d failed to help. It was easy to rationalise that it had nothing to do with the abduction; it was easy to think that there was nothing she could have done. But they were just thoughts. It did not make her feel any different.

  She had let her friend down.

  People kept asking her questions. Students, most of whom she barely even recognised. On more than one occasion she got the idea that even the teachers wanted to ask her about Melinda—but they couldn’t, and you could see the look in their eyes.

  Chloe was glad that the weird extended hearing effect she’d had the day before was gone. She couldn’t imagine what it would be like listening to all those conversations. The bullies had had a field day with their vicious speculations. One idea going around was that Melinda had been killed by a freak; or that she was a freak and had sprouted weird appendages and disappeared into the city. Some bright spark even suggested Melinda had caught S.I.D from Kavi or Ashley, failing to note the obvious flaw in the argument.

  The lessons had gone slowly. Her back had ached a bit but no attack like before. She had an appointment with her chiropractor on Saturday but that was still two days away. She hoped she would be okay until then.

  She was grateful as the last minutes to five o’clock ticked away and the alarm—an electronic facsimile of an old-style hand bell—sounded through the school to mark the end of lessons.

  The rush to the door left her alone. She packed away her books and slung the bag across her shoulder—her back protested a little but not much. She would have gone to her Jujitsu lesson this evening but there was no point with her back in this state. Sensei wouldn’t let her train even if she went.

  A few stragglers were leaving the lockers by the time she arrived. She unlocked hers and glanced across at Melinda’s. There was no personal ornamentation permitted on the outside, or even names. Just the locker number, but she knew Melinda’s as well as her own. And she knew the code for the lock.

  The police would already have been through it. If there was anything important they would have taken it away.

  Chloe unlocked her locker, exchanged books and removed her lunch box, which she stuffed into her bag. She snapped the door shut and turned the code dials a couple of times. They could have had lockers coded to their riffies, but that would have been expensive. Mechanical locks did the trick well enough.

  She glanced at Melinda’s locker again. It was as if she had decided the moment she first had the idea. There was no question; she was going to look.

  The dials turned easily and she pulled the door open. It looked the way hers did. A few school books stacked up, including copies of the ones that Chloe was now taking home to work on. She frowned; there was a book she didn’t recognise. She lifted up the text books and slipped out the hardback. It was old, not only pre-plague but well before that.

  She read the title: The First Men in the Moon and Other Stories by H. G. Wells. She didn’t recognise it.

  ‘Chloe Dark!’ Miss Kepple’s voice echoed around the empty space making Chloe jump. Chloe stared at the open locker that was not hers. Opening other students’ lockers was a crime. ‘Did you forget?’

  Chloe turned with a look of horror on her face. Forget? Forget what? Oh, she was supposed to be meeting Miss Kepple to talk about the Purity.

  ‘I see you did forget.’

  ‘Sorry, Miss, had some things on my mind.’

  ‘Things?’

  ‘Melinda Vogler.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ Miss Kepple seemed slightly mollified, ‘well, I still need to talk to you.’

  ‘Right away?’

  Miss Kepple smiled. ‘Oh yes, right now.’

  Chloe shoved the storybook into her bag, shut Melinda’s locker and spun the dial. Nobody could expect to remember which locker belonged to which student; as far as Miss Kepple was concerned Chloe had been looking in her own. After all, why wouldn’t she?

  Chloe entered Miss Kepple’s office and the teacher closed the door. The room was not large but the fact she had her own, separate from the teachers’ staff room, was a reflection of the importance of her job.

  ‘Would you like a drink, Chloe?’ she asked. ‘Tea, coffee, orange juice?’

  ‘Orange juice?’ Chloe could not remember the last time she had had it.

  ‘There are some perks to being in the Purity,’ said Miss Kepple. ‘We may as well take advantage of them.’

  She even had a refrigerator. It was small and floor standing so she had to squat to reach in. She pulled out a glass bottle containing the precious orange liquid.

  ‘Sit down, Chloe,’ said Miss Kepple as she walked across to a cabinet on which was a kettle and some crockery.

  Chloe looked around. There was Miss Kepple’s desk with a hardback chair on this side and a padded one on the other.

  ‘Use the sofa; this is not formal.’

  The two-seat sofa, a wooden frame with floral embroidered cushions to sit on and lean back against, was at the end of the room furthest from the window where it just fitted with enough room for the door to open.

  Chloe tried to decide which side to sit when Miss Kepple came up beside her. ‘Put your bag behind the door and sit there.’ With a hand holding a glass containing an inch of orange juice, she indicated the place nearest the exit.

  Chloe did as she was told and crammed herself hard against the armrest to give as much space as possible to Miss Kepple, who sat next to her and held out a glass. She had an identical one in the other hand.

  Orange juice was so expensive Chloe could not imagine the value of what she was about to drink. Miss Kepple had a reputation among the girls but Chloe hadn’t heard of anyone being offered anything like this before. She wasn’t sure if this was a good sign, but she did like the teacher, so it couldn’t be all bad.

  ‘Cheers,’ said Miss Kepple with a smile and lifted the glass to Chloe.

  Chloe felt uncomfortable—despite being slim Miss Kepple seemed to fill the space available. She had very long legs that she stretched diagonally across the room. Chloe felt trapped but she raised her glass as well and took a sip. The taste was heavenly.

  ‘There, good, now we’re comfortable.’

  Chloe’s smile in return was a lie.
/>   ‘So, what really happened between you and Hancock yesterday?’

  Of all the questions she had been expecting, that wasn’t one of them.

  ‘I ... he was being a bully.’

  Miss Kepple smiled and showed her perfect white teeth. ‘It’s all right, Chloe. You’re not in any trouble, not with me certainly. I’m just interested to know your side of the story now that the fuss has died down.’

  But what about Melinda? thought Chloe. Doesn’t she care at all?

  ‘He and his friends were bullying a red-haired kid—’

  ‘Price.’

  Chloe looked confused.

  ‘His name is Price.’

  ‘Oh, yes, well, he shouldn’t do that. I mean there’s enough things wrong in the world without adding to it by making stuff up.’

  ‘So you stopped him.’

  ‘Yes,’ Chloe surprised herself with the amount of emotion in her voice.

  Miss Kepple nodded. ‘Quite right too. Your father is the chairman of the local community PurityWatch, isn’t he?’

  We call it FreakWatch. ‘How did you know?’

  Miss Kepple took a sip of her orange juice. ‘It’s my job to know everything about everybody.’ She must have noticed the worry creeping across Chloe’s face. ‘The good things as well as the bad.’

  But she has no idea that I opened Melinda’s locker and have a stolen book in my bag.

  ‘I think, Chloe, that your father has managed to give you a very clear sense of justice. Not only that but you act on it. You know, very few people have the courage to live up to the principles they claim to have. I admire you for that.’

  She raised her glass again as if she were toasting Chloe and took another sip.

  ‘Yes...I mean, thank you, Miss.’

  ‘There are too many Hancocks in this world, Chloe,’ said Miss Kepple. ‘They are ignorant. They have no idea how far things are from what they used to be—how we’re trying to rebuild it all. But the Purity understands this and is taking steps to correct it.’

  Now that she had started Miss Kepple seemed to be unstoppable and, in some ways, Chloe had the feeling she was no longer talking to her.

  ‘Yes, Miss.’ Chloe took a large swig of orange juice, wondering where this was all going.

  Miss Kepple drew her legs in and sat up straight. She leaned in towards Chloe. ‘The Purity are starting a young people’s group called the DN-Cadr-A and we, Purity-appointed teachers, have been tasked with setting it up.’ She looked at Chloe as if expecting something but when nothing was forthcoming she added. ‘I want you, Chloe, to be my first recruit.’

  ‘Oh.’

  Miss Kepple put her fingers gently on Chloe’s arm. ‘I want you to be the leader.’

  Chloe didn’t know what to say; all she could think about was Melinda, Kavi and Ashley. What would they think? ‘I’m not sure.’

  ‘I am, Chloe.’ Miss Kepple ran her hand down Chloe’s arm and held her hand. ‘I know you are exactly the right person for this job.’ The teacher did not remove her hand as she drained her glass. ‘You think about it. And just remember that with the power of the Purity behind you, you could do the things you know are right and no one could stop you.’

  Chloe drained her glass and wondered how she could extract the hand Miss Kepple was clinging to without appearing rude. She was saved from having to make the decision as Miss Kepple leaned back again, letting her hand drag along and then off Chloe’s forearm.

  ‘Some things may have to change, of course.’

  ‘Change?’

  ‘Those girls you hang around with?’

  ‘Kavi and Ashley?’

  ‘Your friendship with them is very noble, of course, admirable. But their family connection with S.I.D infectees has tainted them. They would not be acceptable material for the DN-Cadr-A.’

  Chloe’s admiration of Miss Kepple took a nosedive. She climbed to her feet. ‘I have to be going, Miss. I’m expected.’

  Miss Kepple got up and opened the door while Chloe gathered up her bag and put the glass on the armrest.

  ‘I’ll see you tomorrow then, Chloe,’ she said.

  Chapter 12

  Melinda

  The cold was the first thing Melinda was aware of and she was shivering. She was on her back. Her right arm ached from being stretched above her head. She tried to move it and found her wrist was encased in a metal strap. She shook it and it rattled.

  Using her heels she pushed herself up the bed—she wasn’t sure, it seemed like it was a bed, but there was no light. She blinked just to be sure that her eyes were open, but the darkness was complete.

  She rolled over to her right and felt the edge of the bed with her left hand. Pain lashed through her ribs—she remembered being kicked. She pushed herself up until she was sitting and leaning against the metal of the bed-head. There was no pillow and only a sheet stretched across the mattress, but now that her right arm was no longer stretched above her head she felt a great deal more comfortable.

  The place smelled of damp but there was the clinical scent of antiseptic underlying it all. It reminded her of the month in quarantine, but even the Purity cells had not been like this. They may have been no more than a prison but at least they were dry and had light. The amenities were crude but she understood.

  Here she had been dressed in a single shift, nylon, and nothing else. In quarantine she had clothes and at least some privacy.

  She had imagined that her younger brothers had been terrified; they were too young to truly understand. And afterwards they had been very quiet, even months later they were scared to leave the house and cried when they went to school. In quarantine the whole family was separated and contact with anyone else was forbidden, except for the staff. And they were not friendly.

  She understood. Everyone was scared of the S.I.D infection. There was no cure and once infection had set in there was nothing that could be done. It entered your cells just waiting for the foreign DNA so that it could bind it into your genetic make-up and turn you into a monster.

  No, the staff were not friendly. She did not blame them; she understood. Every five days they were tested. Under anaesthetic, of course. The pain afterwards, where they had drilled into the bone marrow, was bad but the painkillers were strong.

  She rubbed her hip absently. There was a permanent scar where they had repeatedly made a hole.

  But this wasn’t the Purity. She did not understand this.

  She felt the tears welling up but rubbed them away. Crying wasn’t going to help.

  Who could have done this? The ones who had taken the other two girls, that much was obvious. What did they want?

  ‘Why can’t you put the lights on!’ she shouted. Her words fell dead around her. She could get off the bed and find out at least on one side. But she was afraid: afraid of the dark; afraid of what might be underfoot; and afraid of monsters in the dark beneath the bed.

  She touched her ribs and winced when she found the bruises. She wrapped her left arm around her legs and pressed her right hand into the bed. She rested her face on her knees and let herself cry.

  Then there was a light beyond her eyelids, and the slightest feeling of warmth in the air made the hairs on her right arm prickle. She raised her head. The dark was still absolute. There was no light.

  What had happened? How long ago? She had been going to the doctor for the check up. The men had attacked her; they had grabbed her.

  The silence was broken by a gentle buzzing. She turned her head trying to locate the sound but it seemed to be all around her. Then she saw the glow in the wall.

  There was a line of light running from the ceiling down the wall. It branched about halfway down. One line headed off along what she took to be the wall and disappeared further along. The other went down to what must be almost floor level and stopped.

  She looked up. There was a line running across to what might be the centre of the ceiling above the end of the bed. In the far corner there was another light, much thinner and le
ss hot, again rising from below. At its top, the same height as the other lights, it spread out into a blob that seemed roughly cuboid.

  It was strange. With so many sources of light she could still see nothing. The light seemed to give no illumination at all. She closed her eyes and shook with fear. The lights did not disappear. Worse, they seemed clearer and she perceived all of them simultaneously.

  She opened her eyes again and the effect reduced. Even though her eyes did not seem to ‘see’ the lines of light, having them open focused her attention. She preferred it that way.

  But still, she did not understand. What could the lights that were not lights be? Was she just hallucinating? Had they given her drugs? Well, she knew they had done something to knock her out. But something else?

  She lifted her hand and put it where it should block out the lights. It made no difference. It must be a hallucination. The EEG had looked hot to her and then it had stopped working.

  One of the men had tried to burn her. She had seen the double ionising beams paint across her. She remembered the jolt, as the beams had shone brilliantly white. She had not collapsed; she had not even noticed. Perhaps they missed. And then, in the van, something had happened to Jake, whoever he was.

  Then the light came on. She blinked and the images of the lines in the walls vanished. But as she looked around the plastered walls, she could see the size of the room directly corresponded with the impression she had got. Where the line had run down to the floor level there was a power socket. In the further corner there was a wire running up to a camera.

  There was movement beyond what she could now see was a plain wooden door and the sound of bolts being drawn.

  Chapter 13

  Chloe

  Chloe wandered along the dark lanes of the park towards home. The clouds were turning black as the sun crawled past the horizon. There had been a brief moment when its rays shone up through a break and illuminated the underside of the clouds in broad red beams, but it hadn’t lasted.

  She kept her eyes on the path and the surrounding trees. To her right she could just make out the edge of the ornamental lake with a low fence round it. The water reflected the mottled grey above.

  The park had been here for nearly two hundred years. The path had been resurfaced with tarmac a long time ago but the weathering of the passing years had caused it to break up. In some places the Victorian cobblestones came through. It was easy to get the edge of a shoe caught and trip.