Dark Metropolis

by Jaclyn Dolamore

  He revived the remaining five without trying to question them.

  A man in a plain uniform showed Nan to a room that he said was hers. Everything felt both familiar and wrong at once. A girl was springing off her bunk just as the door opened, and she threw her arms around Nan.

  “Oh, Nan, are you all right?”

  “I know you, don’t I?” Nan clutched her head, which didn’t ache, exactly, but was definitely out of sorts. She was sure she’d been here before, but she couldn’t fit anything to an actual memory.

  “Yes! It’s Sigi! I decided to take your room while Helma’s being punished. She’ll be happy enough to have my room when she gets out. It’s known as ‘the party block’ because there’s a deck of cards.” She shut up abruptly as Nan looked blank. “They erased your memories again? So soon?”

  “Who’s ‘they’?”

  Sigi groaned. “The people who run this place!”

  “What is this place, anyway?”

  She groaned louder still. “Those beasts! Come on, sit down. I can’t believe they’ve done this to you. I don’t know what you could have done to deserve it in just a few days’ time. You’re in the old subway tunnels—”

  “Oh, yes.” Nan remembered this, once Sigi said so.

  “—and you work in a factory every day.”

  “That’s right.”

  “It’s extremely dull and there are no days off. Well, actually, there are two holidays a year. I don’t think I told you about that yet. They’re holidays mainly because we get cake.”

  “I do something with levers,” Nan said.

  Sigi’s brows lowered. “Have you lost your memory or not? It seems like everything I say, you’re nodding and remembering.”

  “I start remembering it as soon as you say it,” Nan said. “But until then, I have no idea.”

  “Hmm,” Sigi said. “Makes you wonder how good their memory spells really are, doesn’t it?”

  “But everything you’re telling me happens here,” Nan said. “Even if we can remember things as soon as we have them explained to us, it’s no use if no one here remembers anything that happened before.”

  “I guess.” Sigi sighed.

  “Tell me more. Why are we here?”

  “We don’t know that,” Sigi said. “But the food is awful. And every morning we have to take a serum.”

  “Except me.”

  “No, everyone does.”

  It suddenly occurred to Nan that she must have been keeping this secret from Sigi. Only Sigi couldn’t tell her that, of course.

  Sigi had a distressed look on her face, fingers pressed to her lower lip in a gesture that seemed oddly ladylike with her unkempt curls and drab work suit. “Or…maybe you’re right. I never have actually seen you drink it. But everyone needs it.” She blinked up at Nan. “There is something different about you, isn’t there? Like you’re alive and the rest of us are…dead, or at least sick.”

  “I don’t know,” Nan said. “I think it would be bad for me if anyone found out. I don’t think I meant to tell you. This is so—disorienting.”

  “Oh, Nan, I won’t tell anyone, of course I won’t,” Sigi said, grabbing her threadbare pillow and hugging it against her. “In some ways, I really hope it’s true, because you keep talking like you’re going to do something about this place. And if you don’t need the serum, maybe you really will. Maybe you could get us back to the real world.”

  “The real world,” Nan murmured, trying to capture what that looked like. She tipped her head back against the wall and stared at the framework of her top bunk. All her memories seemed to dance before her, just out of reach.

  It was not until the next day at work, among the clamor of machines, that one fluttered close, and she caught it.

  Nan had served Arabella von Kaspar before. Her name was well known in radical circles. Nan had never spoken to her, beyond taking her order. Until tonight. Tonight Nan heard the term bound-sickness cross the woman’s lips, and she stopped.

  “What is it, dear girl?” Arabella asked, her voice soft and yet cold. No matter what she said, her voice rested on a bed of steel. Nan supposed a notorious revolutionary like Arabella could never let down her guard.

  “‘Bound-sickness,’ you said. I know someone with it.”

  Arabella waved her closer. She was sitting with a younger, scruffy-looking man. “Tell me. Perhaps I can help.” She reached for Nan’s hand, but Nan drew back. She didn’t like to be touched, particularly by strangers. And this woman was an intimidating figure; even Nan recognized that, although she was rarely intimidated. Dripping wealth from every diamond at her neck, secure in her beauty even though she was certainly past forty, Arabella looked more like an heiress than a revolutionary leader.

  “The mother of one of my friends,” Nan said. “And she keeps getting worse. I get this sense that something is wrong, beyond a spell gone awry. I want to help her, but I don’t know how.”

  “You sound like a good candidate for joining us.”

  “I’m not usually a group person….”

  “Maybe you’ve just never found the right group.”

  “Maybe.” Nan wondered at that moment why she was not with the revolutionaries. She liked to work alone, but what good was working alone when you didn’t know where to begin?

  “I’d love to speak with you further.” Arabella opened her small purse and fished out a card. “Maybe we could talk more easily about it elsewhere.”

  Nan pocketed the card, noncommittal.

  Later, as she walked home from work, she heard a pair of heels behind her and turned. Arabella was following her. Nan’s hackles rose.

  “I hoped to catch you,” Arabella said. “I ask to have you as my waitress every time, you know. You’re usually quiet, but there’s something about you.”

  She was far from the first person to say this. Nan got a lot of “There’s something about you.” As if others saw something special, not the awkward, antisocial creature she often felt like on the inside.

  “You don’t have magic you’re hiding, do you?” Arabella said.

  “No.”

  “But there is something, isn’t there?”

  “It isn’t special at all. I can’t see colors. Or hear music correctly. My guardian took me to an oculist, but we were told there wasn’t anything wrong.”

  “That is curious,” Arabella said. “I might be able to help you, and perhaps your friend’s bound-sick mother as well.”

  “How? Tell me. I’ll help if I can.”

  “You’re like me.” Arabella smiled. “A fighter. And I’ll tell you exactly what we’re fighting. But not here on the street. Come visit me at home.”

  The vision was disturbed by a guard marching a new worker in. It was a man with one arm amputated above the elbow, still bandaged. The guard sat him down and told him what to do, and he started pulling the levers.

  In Nan’s old life, she never would have stared at a man with a missing arm, but he was sitting beside her, doing just the same task; it was almost like looking in a mirror.

  He glanced at her. “They had me working with machinery, and it got the better of me,” he said shortly. “I’m glad to be here.”

  “Don’t talk like that,” Nan said. “Don’t say you’re glad. This isn’t fair work. We’re slaves.”

  Her panel buzzed. She yanked the lever hard.

  “Don’t end up like me, kid,” he said. “Pay attention. Could be a lot worse.”

  “But it could be a lot better,” she retorted. She did have a purpose in coming here; she felt sure now, remembering Arabella. Arabella and the revolution…there was something there. If only she could remember everything, maybe she would know what she had to do.

  Nan waited a few nights before attempting an escape, to be sure she didn’t need the serum. Each day without the serum, more little
memories of her daily life before trickled back into her mind, and she felt sure that Valkenrath must have some of the memory potion slipped into the serum, too.

  She also felt sure now that she didn’t need it, that she was different not just in her mind but in her body. They couldn’t scare her with the threat of decay.

  When she heard Sigi breathing softly, she lifted the covers away and put her feet on the floor. She grabbed her boots and tugged them on in the dark. Slowly, she crept to the door and turned the knob, slipping out into the quiet hall.

  The lights were still on, but the only sound was a distant thrum; now the hall almost reminded her of a school after hours. No guards to be seen. Still, she knew there might be a few making rounds.

  She had seen some of the workers who were on cleaning duty using a broom closet in the hall. She slowly coaxed the door open wide enough so she could grab the mop inside.

  Behind her, a door creaked. She glanced back, heart thumping.

  “It’s just me,” Sigi whispered. “Are you going down to the tunnels?”

  “I want to do a little poking around. Don’t worry about me,” Nan said, praying Sigi would just let her go without protest. She didn’t want to feel responsible for anyone else’s fate.

  “Can I come with you? You might want company. It would be safer with two of us.”

  “Sigi…” Nan hesitated, looking toward the stairs. She didn’t want to spend much more time talking, in case a guard did come prowling. “I can handle it on my own. I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

  “But the underground is dangerous. If you run into some trouble, I bet we could take care of it between the both of us.”

  “True.” It would be good to have a companion in the dark, rat-infested tunnels. “But I—I feel like I should do this on my own.”

  “Because you don’t need the serum,” Sigi said, her face falling. She understood. “I thought you might say that. I just—I want to see the sunshine again. So badly, I…” She shook her head. “And I don’t want you to go.”

  Sigi would be nice to have around in a cold tunnel. “All right,” Nan said. “I might not try to escape tonight, anyway. This might just be a scouting mission.”

  They moved to the stairs. It was a constant balance between moving swiftly and silently in their heavy boots. At least the floors and stairs were solid here—all metal and concrete, no creaking wood, but still plenty of echoes. The hall led to the cafeteria one way, to the men’s dorms another. They headed down the stairs toward the subway track, keeping their ears pricked for guards.

  The lights were still on in the subway station. The signs still hung on the walls: B-2 NORTHBOUND TO WALNUT HILL.

  They passed the gutted remains of a newsstand, with broken glass windows and empty racks that had once held magazines. Some papers were scattered across the floor of the place, but the roof leaked, and they were yellowed, sodden, rotting away.

  No guards to be found. Nan knew she ought to be relieved, but instead the lack of guards was disconcerting. They really weren’t afraid anyone would try to escape here.

  Nan knelt and brought her legs over the edge of the platform, noting the live third rail. It was far enough away that she didn’t think they needed to worry about it, but she reminded Sigi just in case.

  “Oh, I know,” Sigi said. “I’m more afraid of it not killing me than killing me. One guy tried to kill himself that way and he couldn’t, but I heard it was awful.”

  Nan kept the mop close, the nearest thing she had to a weapon. The electric lights continued until the track split. Signs posted on the wall marked the dark offshoot as the B track, while the lights of the B-2 continued to shine.

  “This is where the adventure begins, isn’t it?” Sigi said. She seemed to be trying valiantly to remain cheerful. It almost made Nan grin.

  “I’ll lead the way with the mop.” Luckily, the tracks provided a relatively predictable walking space, and although the handle of the mop wasn’t an ideal tool for probing their way through the shadows, if she held it out in front of her, it served as an additional warning against anything dangerous. Nan doubted this track was live, but she still kept close to the wall, just in case.

  They walked for a time in increasing darkness. The only sounds were moist and inanimate—a chorus of occasional drips that echoed with different tones, some near and some far. Sigi gasped when one fell on her cheek.

  When all light was gone, they heard a shrill rat noise. Not too close.

  “How big do you think the rats are?” Sigi whispered.

  “Oh, tiny. No bigger than your thumb.”

  “Thanks for lying.”

  The track curved. How long had they been down here now? Time seemed meaningless. Nan guessed it was an hour since she’d left the bedroom.

  “I was so tired I had to force myself out of bed to go after you,” Sigi said. “Funny, now I’m wide awake. I feel like I’ve had three cups of coffee. And a cocktail besides. Do you remember cocktails? The little olive? I almost wish the memory loss was more thorough. Sometimes I feel like I’d give anything to have a cocktail.”

  “Yes, I remember those very well.”

  “I’d love to have an olive almost as much as the cocktail itself. So salty. They never give us anything salty here.” She sighed and then said, “I’m sorry to prattle on. I do it when I’m nervous.”

  “I like your prattling. I certainly prefer listening to you over the rats.”

  Sigi laughed nervously. “It is always a goal of mine to be more interesting than rats.”

  A rat suddenly raced right past them; Nan felt it jar the mop. She froze, and Sigi bumped into her from behind. Sigi didn’t scream, but Nan could almost feel them share the sensation of strangling their own voices. Both of them went completely still, pressed together in the dark, breathing hard.

  Sigi was trembling. Nan found her hand. “It’s all right. It’s gone.”

  “Oh…I’m—I’m fine.” She was still breathing terror, leaning against Nan. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  “You wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t followed me.”

  “I know, but I’ve always wanted to explore down here, and I was too scared to do it on my own. I think about escaping every day. It’s so much better to be free. Even here. I don’t want to die there.”

  Nan spoke as soothingly as she could. She felt the waves of panic rippling through Sigi’s body. “You won’t.”

  “I have to see the sunrise one more time.”

  “I promise you won’t die here, either,” Nan said softly, feeling a sudden protectiveness toward Sigi.

  “Okay,” Sigi said, hushed. Her fingers slowly uncurled from Nan’s.

  There was a faint source of light ahead.

  Nan hoped against hope it might be a window. She dreamed of finding a window to some remembered sunshine world. But no, it was only a single, dim electric light. It illuminated a ladder that led to a door above the tracks. Nan climbed up to investigate, with Sigi just behind her.

  “It’s probably just an old power station,” Sigi said. “Maybe they have to service it or store things here or something.”

  She was right. The door opened onto some massive, dusty machinery, barely made visible by the electric light shining outside. Nan scuffed her feet along the floor, and something crunched under the soles of her shoes. Bones? She knelt to touch them. No, just the hulls of some hazelnuts.

  “What’s that?” Sigi hissed.

  When Nan went still, she heard faint footsteps. Shuffling. Unnatural. And headed right toward them.

  Nan tugged on Sigi’s pajamas, urging her to get down in the corner of the power station with her. They were beyond the dim glow of the electric light, hiding behind some squat construct made of cold metal.

  The footsteps took a long time to reach them. Or maybe it just felt that way. Sigi’s breathing was ver
y loud beside her. The anticipation heated Nan’s skin.

  A figure moved past the doorway. Nan smelled death.

  And she could see it, the sunken eyes and the emaciated limbs, moving awkwardly, wearing workers’ pajamas with a rip in the knee and dried blood staining the shirt brown.

  Keep moving, she inwardly begged the thing. Just keep moving.

  But it had stopped in the doorway, and now it sniffed.

  It could smell them, just as they could smell it.

  It spoke. “What is that? Who is there?” The voice was scratchy and strained.

  Nan and Sigi remained utterly still, not even breathing.

  The thing reached into a pocket and brought out an object. Sudden light blazed in their faces. A flashlight! There was no hiding anymore.

  Sigi was on the outside of Nan, closer to the awful thing, and she let out a wild scream, as if she could repel it with her voice, while she sprang to her feet and struck it like a barroom brawler. The flashlight clattered to the floor, its light whipping around wildly, and Nan dove for it. She switched it off and stuffed it in her own pocket. She didn’t want to look at this half-alive thing wandering free in the dark tunnels.

  It reeled from Sigi’s punch, stumbling back out the door. Sigi lunged after it, Nan just behind her.

  The creature made its own sound, a strained shriek, and pushed back at Sigi, who howled in pain. She clutched her hand. Blood trickled down her palm. “It’s got a knife!”

  Nan could see the blade now, a small one, flashing in its hand. The being couldn’t move very fast or well. She swiped at it with the mop, and it reeled, trying to dodge her. She could see now that it was a man—or had been a man. It was hard to think of him ever having been a person. Somehow he’d gotten free to wander, without serum.

  “Stop,” he rasped. “Don’t hurt me. You’re one of us….I’m one of you.”