by Seth Fishman
“I didn’t get the monkeys,” Jimmy says.
“I don’t think it’s about the monkeys, Jimmy,” Odessa says, pointing at the BIOHAZARD LEVEL 4 door across the hall. It’s been sealed by a mean-looking steel wall. Above the door is another spinning light, flashing in their eyes. “I think Veronica sent us here to save us. To lock the doors behind us. The monkeys were a stupid trick to get us here.”
“What, why?”
“To protect us, obviously. I caught the door because I didn’t want to be locked in, but maybe she’s right. Maybe we should ride this out.”
Jimmy looks at her. Her eyes are wide and blue behind her mask. She wants this all to end. The cart, next to them, groans against the weight. There’s still a few feet free beneath the door. If they want to leave, they have to go now.
“That’s not how it works, Dess. Mia needs our help. If we don’t help, then she’s going to come back from wherever the hell she is and find ten guns pointing at her face.”
“We need to take care of ourselves,” Odessa says, having a fit that surprises him. The door groans.
“Dess,” he says gently, “we have to help them. We have to get out of here.”
She’s crying. He can hear it.
“You know that if Sutton wins, we aren’t going to be safe here. How long can we stay? What do we eat? It’s just as dangerous here as it is out there, only the danger will take longer to get to us. You need to trust me, Dess. We have to go.” Jimmy feels something in his voice, a conviction stronger than anything he’s ever felt in the huddle at a football game. Odessa sees this. She stares into his eyes, and finally she takes his hand and he knows she’s with him. She’s always been with him. He realizes then that she didn’t object to save herself. She wanted to save him.
He grins, about to help her through the opening when he hears something. A soldier walks into the junction and immediately checks out the closed BIOHAZARD door across the way. Jimmy pulls Odessa back frantically, and they slide behind the cart, out of the gunman’s view.
Jimmy’s breathing too hard, his suit’s fogging up. He wishes he had a needle or scalpel or something useful he could actually expect to find in a lab.
The soldier comes closer; Jimmy can see his black combat boots peeking underneath the door. The soldier crouches, the tip of his machine gun coming into view, and with no other plan in place, Jimmy lunges past the cart, grabs the barrel of the gun and pulls as hard as he can.
Maybe it’s the surprise, maybe it’s leverage, or maybe it’s his newfound strength, but Jimmy hears the soldier’s face smash into the other side of the door, and watches him fall flat on the floor, gun glittering with him. Jimmy takes a fistful of the man’s shirt and tugs him under, then, with his enormous padded fist, slams him once, twice in the face until the soldier’s nose bursts bloody and his eyes roll back.
“Did you kill him?” Odessa asks. Jimmy blinks. Of course he didn’t, but he’s surprised he knocked him out so easily.
“Get under the door, Dess. Be careful. Make sure there’s no one else out there.”
Jimmy unstraps the machine gun from the unconscious body and searches him. He finds a canteen. Flashlight. A handgun. A knife. A radio. He takes the handgun, and then slides under the door. Jimmy gives the trembling cart a kick and the door slams down, locking the soldier inside.
And them out.
Jimmy doesn’t say a thing while Odessa unzips him from the suit. Soon she’s free too. She holds his cheek for a moment, her palm against his newly grown scruff.
He smiles. Then hands her a gun.
7
WE STEP INTO A BANQUET HALL. THE ROOM STRETCHES out fifty yards straight from the door, with banquet tables, two of them, that run almost that entire length. The tables themselves are made of a swirling pattern of rock and crystal, and under them, there’s a wide carpet of blue and yellow; every ten feet gas chandeliers hang from the ceiling. Keepers stand against the wall like Praetorian guards, silent and statuesque. They guard doorways that lead elsewhere in the tower.
And on the far side of the room, in an engulfing chair, sits a tall and regal Keeper. In front of him there’s a small desk, which he’s writing away at, dipping his pen in ink as he goes.
The Keeper looks up and beckons eagerly with his pen. Closer, I can see that the chair is a deep blue and shining. If I thought it were possible, I’d say it was a solid carved sapphire. The Keeper sits on what resembles a draped white down comforter. What do I know? Maybe it’s stuffed with goose feathers. It looks remarkably comfortable, something you’d need on your sapphire throne. The desk, too, is not a desk but a clever contraption that swivels aside when the Keeper pushes a button. The Keeper’s hair is long and dark, and falls gently down his back, over a formfitting shirt of glittery silver that reminds me of chain mail. He’s wearing blue leathery pants adorned with patterns of gold, starbursts and circles. He looks like a rich raver.
It seems wrong to speak. Behind him is a glass window, stretching across the entire back of the room, but it’s too dark and hard to make anything out to call it a view.
“Do we bow?” Rob whispers.
“No way,” Jo replies, her voice fierce.
The Keeper smiles, his teeth a dazzling white. His lips, though, are pale and thin and his mouth opens up almost too much when he smiles. I can easily see the gums surrounding his teeth. It’s not the most welcoming of expressions.
“Long have we known of the Topside, and our sisters and brothers who live there. It is an honor to see you, after all these years.”
He seems to expect a response, but what do you say to that?
“I am Randt,” he says, indicating himself and speaking slower, louder, as if our silence has made him distrust his English. “The water spoke of your arrival.”
“The water told you,” I repeat, dubious. “But I drank the water. It didn’t tell me about you.”
He shakes his head, looking at Straoc in amusement. “You are right to think as you do, young Mia, but the source speaks only to the Three, we who the source has chosen.”
“So if you knew we were coming, and you knew our names,” Rob says, “why did your man Straoc here have to be all sneaky to get us away from those other guys?”
Randt looks at Straoc questioningly.
“Little Rob tells true,” Straoc replies reluctantly. “Arcos’s men were there first. They came back after they took the other one.”
“My dad!” I burst out, unable to help myself.
“Disappointing,” Randt says, looking at me thoughtfully. His pupils go wide. I feel strange, my skin tingling. Like he’s doing something more than staring. When he smiles, I can’t help but think it’s about something he’s learned from me, something I didn’t want to share. “You are the daughter of the Topsider who came this morning? I saw of him this morning and so did Arcos, but you three were not so clear. You were merely a haze, a feeling. Three, four shapes and words and newness coming. The water speaks in riddles as often as it speaks in color and I sent Straoc to the gates just in the case others came, but apparently so did Arcos. For such a hefty one, he moved quite fast to secure your father.”
“And Feileen’s people approached us at the Exchange,” Straoc says. “They are becoming angry. They want a member of her clan to take her place at the Three.”
“Of course they do,” Randt says. “They have been holding quorums in their towers, attempting to choose a successor from their clans. Though no Keeper comes to mind. There has never been a succession, and there are no rules or traditions to stand by, so they move with confusion.” He taps his cheek with a slender finger, thinking. “You see, young Topsiders, we three used to rule Capian quite effectively. Keeper Arcos, who took your father, he has long been the voice of balance, with Feileen on one side and me another. But Feileen is gone in such a tragic manner and the axis is tilted; how far will Arcos go to preserve that fami
liar order? Will he attempt to shift the dynamics after all these cycles? He wonders the same of me, which is why he moved so quickly to take your father. Having a Topsider as a pawn is important. He can play the judge, gather Feileen’s clan to his side and then, I’m sure, he will install a puppet on the Three that he can control. Capian will be his.”
I’m tempted to ask about my father but Randt stands up and heads to the glass wall behind him. He’s even taller than I thought. Seven four, seven five, I don’t know. He’s a basketball giant. He’s not as big as Straoc, but his movement is so sinuous, so graceful that it’s way more intimidating.
“Come with me,” he beckons, and then presses his palm against the glass, which swivels open along a near-invisible crack, creating an exit.
Randt leads us out and the first thing I notice is that there’s no real change in air temperature; it’s like we’re in a bubble. There’s a railing, and room for twenty or thirty people. Above and behind us arcs the dome of this building, glistening in the gaslight. We’re in one of the tallest buildings in Capian, high enough that it’s surprising to find only darkness when I look up—I’d expect the rocky ceiling to be close; instead, it’s like looking into a completely cloud-covered sky on the night of a new moon. We’re high enough that we’re level with the mountain we saw on the way in. I can even make out the glow of the gates beyond the lip of the crater the city nestles in.
From here, I’m reminded that Capian’s cramped and crowded. Other buildings have similar domes, and looking down on them makes the city appear like a collection of sparkling kaleidoscopes.
“This is our world,” Randt says, waving his hand. “You must be wondering how we are here, and why. Just as we sometimes wonder the same. And why not? It is our nature to question existence.”
He sounds like Rob, when Rob’s stoned. And Rob, stoned, can go on and on. I don’t have time for that. I want to know about this place, about everything, but I also want to find my dad, save Fenton from the virus, and stop Sutton from taking over the Cave.
“I’m sorry, Randt?” I say his name, stumbling over the pronunciation. “I appreciate how beautiful this all is. But right now we need help. I need to find my dad and to get back home.”
“Yes, of course, young one. There is a terrible disease rotting away the Topside and you feel the need to hurry.”
My skin crawls.
“You know about the virus?” Rob asks.
“Of course,” Randt replies. He closes his eyes, as if contemplating something far away. “I can feel it.”
“What are you talking about?” Jo asks, skepticism written across the lines on her forehead.
Randt glances at Straoc, who shrugs. “I had always thought that when the first Topsider came, he would come for the source, but not you three.” Randt muses. “Now your father—I sense the desire in his heart like a beacon, the want of the source, of its gifts.”
“Like knowing about the virus, reading minds?” Rob asks.
Randt laughs, an oddly musical sound. “I cannot read minds, young Rob. I can only feel what’s going on in that head of yours. I admit, with practice, it becomes a similar thing. But were you to pick a number, could I guess it? Probably not. The source is different to each who have taken of it. I, for instance, feel further than Arcos can. But his visions are clearer. When Arcos, Feileen and I combined our gifts, we could know most of what anyone was thinking in Capian. But long ago are the days when the Three worked together.”
“But you know we have to get back to help,” I say, my voice rising.
“And you will, you will,” Randt says assuredly. “And perhaps some of my people will join you.” I start, caught off guard, but Randt keeps going, growing excited, getting to his point. “But I must know, what brought you here? Did you come by accident? Did you follow your father?” He pauses, his eyes locked onto mine, the strange feeling in my head going on again. “Or did something point the way?”
He’s talking about the map, I’m sure. I glance at Rob but Randt just follows my eyes. Almost immediately the odd sensation in my head stops as the Keeper shifts focus. Rob’s hand drifts into his pocket, probably touching his phone. I feel an odd sense of selfishness take hold. I was the one who found this place. It’s my answer to give. “The map told me,” I say.
“You say the map told you? What map? Describe it.” Randt says, taking an eager step forward. He looms over me, and I can feel the railing press into my back.
“You didn’t put it there?” I reply, puzzled. “Didn’t you make it so that we’d come? If you can see what’s going on in my world, how can you not know about the map?”
“I know of the map, yes, but no matter how hard I have tried, I cannot see what is on it. Where did you find it?” Randt says, speaking through clenched teeth, as if to contain his eagerness.
“It was a painting on the wall, near the well that brought us to you. My father found it, cut it out of the wall and studied it for years.”
Randt eases back slowly. “I can see you speak the truth. When was this?”
“Thirty-four years ago,” I reply. Crazy that I just learned that yesterday. That it was exactly double my age that dad found the well.
“Two cycles,” Straoc says, counting out loud.
“Yes,” Randt agrees, as if they’ve just figured something out. “That would make some sense. It is when I first began to feel the map, when I first knew of its presence.” He turns back to me. “And you have memorized this map?”
I shake my head. Not completely true of course, but apparently true enough to pass his mental lie-detector. The images I remember are seared into my mind, but I don’t know what’s on the rest of the map. I wish I had had more time with it. “No, but dad has. If you let us speak to him, he can tell you what’s on it.”
Randt’s thoughtful. “If only it were that easy. A tension swells the city. Keeper Feileen’s brutal death calls for a successor. There will be conflict for the first time in memory, if I do not act quickly. Clans divided. More death. We are not used to that word. It represents a horrible waste of water.”
“I thought you ran this place?” I ask, confused. “Straoc said we’d get to go to the Lock. So why can’t you speak to my dad?”
“Capian is at arms, young Mia,” he says, motioning to the buildings below. “Your father is held out of my reach by Keeper Arcos, who is as strong as I am. He knows of the map as certainly as I do, perhaps even sees it better than me, and he will gather everything from your father before he dares allow me near.”
“I thought you were part of the decision-making. I mean, don’t you have to consult one another over decisions or something?” Rob asks, his nose wrinkled in confusion. It’s still distracting to see him without his glasses.
“I am one of the Three, yes,” Randt replies, with a wry smile. “One of the Two, now. But I have no power over him. What we see, what we interpret, is of our own abilities.” Randt grabs the railing and looks over Capian. We’re quiet for an awkward moment.
“Keeper Randt,” Straoc finally says, “if this Topsider knows the map, and Arcos gathers from him, then all of this . . .”
Randt raises a hand, silencing Straoc. The big Keeper cringes at the chastisement.
“You are right, of course.” He turns back to us, a smile in place. “Now, you three, you will stay here with us? Our guests until we resolve the order of things?”
“What?” I say, incredulous. It’s strange, him asking. Like we aren’t already at his mercy. “We can’t just stay here. We have to get my dad.”
“I agree,” Randt replies. “We do have to retrieve your father. And you, with no knowledge of this city, of the people here, you will only get in the way. Straoc, here, will go for your father. And you will stay.”
“No,” I reply firmly. “We’re coming.”
“It is not your choice,” the tall Keeper’s eyes flash, and for the fi
rst time I see a glimpse of real anger in his face.
“We don’t want to be your prisoners,” Jo says fiercely, her teeth clenched.
Randt calms himself, raises an eyebrow. “I assure you, young Jo, that I could make you feel like a prisoner. Instead you will merely not be allowed to leave. Every other luxury I can offer is yours.”
“Remember the Exchange?” Straoc adds. “We Keepers, some of us want to know you, to learn what it’s like Topside. But most are very hurt. To have had one of the Three die . . . It would be dangerous for you. You must stay here.”
“It’s the same thing,” Jo presses, now speaking to Randt’s back—the Keeper has walked to the balcony door, our meeting apparently over. He turns his neck, his profile like a statue chiseled of marble.
“Perhaps. As long as Mia’s father tells us everything he knows about the map, when we find him, you will not feel like a prisoner at all.”
“But I still don’t get why you don’t you know what’s on the map,” I say again. This seems key.
Randt looks at me as if he’s deciding whether the answer’s worth sharing. “There was a time when there were ten Keepers who had drunk of the source, not three. We could see most everything. We could do most everything. The source flowed through us and we built this city and watched the Topside, keeping the water safe. But as the time passed, we grew restless. There were no trials. There was nothing to keep the water safe from. There was no purpose. Why were we set on this task? It became too much. So, many, many cycles ago, seven of my sisters and brothers left to find their way Topside, and we three remained to keep. The seven were supposed to return after the first cycle, but they did not. Not ever. Over time, their clans absorbed into ours. We have not heard from them or felt them or caught a glimpse of them since, and if not for the source, which tells me so, I would not believe them still alive. I cannot see what my brothers and sisters have put before me, the seven who have left, or know their purpose. But two cycles ago I began to sense something. I began to feel the map through your father and his friends the moment they found it. That is how the water works, through you, through us, through everything that drinks it.” He grows quiet, lost in years of thought. “I can only sense the map, but last cycle Feileen and Arcos united against me in judgment before all of Capian, forbidding me to leave. If the map is truly of the lost Keepers, it must show us why they have been gone for so long, and where they are now. If there is a greater threat to my city and the source, I must know. If there is a greater purpose, I must discover it. That was the entire function of their journey. And if my sisters and brothers found out what it is we keep from, why we were put here, then it is worth as much as the source itself.”
