Watershed

by Jane Abbott

  Jeremiah frowned, mutinous. Everyone elth wath doing it, he told her.

  Everyone else. His new friends, just as she’d told him he’d find, though he didn’t appear to favour any one of them. There was safety in numbers; how well he’d learned that lesson. He never talked about Ethan, never wondered aloud what he might be doing, or how he was faring; it was as though he’d taken every memory and, packing them tightly into some part of his head, had locked them away. And if ever Sarah or Daniel spoke of Rachel and Cutler, of Ethan or the new baby, wondering themselves if their friends were safe and well, Jeremiah would turn away, or leave.

  But now she had to focus on what was important. So? she said. Just because everyone else was doing it, doesn’t mean you have to follow. You know that.

  And he knew why too. The danger of the wall was worrying enough. Built as it was, with no real structural support and the piled up sand sinking underfoot, kids who dared to climb risked more than broken arms and legs. And the guards were intolerant, quick to punish, the stories of their wrath just as quick to circulate.

  She tousled his hair. He’d been lucky this time, she told him. But hadn’t he always been lucky? she thought. Too lucky, taking more than his share, and Sarah knew how fickle luck could be. It was only a matter of time before there’d be a reckoning.

  He shrugged and edged off the chair, keen to avoid another lecture, eager to get back to his friends and push those boundaries further. That was how he’d learn: the hard way.

  Could he go now? he asked. Sarah sighed. Yes, he could go.

  6

  Darkness is more than just a shade. There’s the empty shadow of the night, and the soft grey veil of sleep; there’s the deep dry gloom of the compound, and the violent purple of the Sea. And then there’s plain old dark. No shades, no shadows, no veils. Dark that’s no light. Dark that’s black and thick and real, a physical thing, endless and cold; a wall that encloses and suffocates. It’s loneliness and it’s fear and, sometimes, it’s pain.

  There was no way of knowing how long I’d been sitting in that room, strapped to a chair, knees spread, each ankle bound separate, arms stretched behind me, the leather ties around my wrists just tight enough to needle my fingers; not enough to stop the blood. It could have been hours, or maybe days. Coz when it’s that black and you can’t see shit, you lose all sense of time. The only thing I knew was that I wasn’t dead. But death might have been kinder, because my head felt as though it was coming apart, cracked and aching, wedged wide and every nerve exposed. Garrick could’ve taken lessons from Alex.

  My shirt and vest were gone, my feet bare. Even my trousers felt loose, like they’d been cut, the pockets ripped open, the seams exposed. Whoever it was had done a thorough job, stripping me of any advantage and taking every weapon. And I sat in that blackness, shivering and half-naked, cursing my stupidity, and my dick. But mostly, I cursed Alex.

  She’d played me so well. That first urination, loud enough to wake me, making sure I saw. All those little things I’d thought were giveaways, the changes in her voice, her pointless questions, pretending I had the upper hand; the night she’d slept next to me, prodding just enough to arouse my interest. Oh yeah, she’d seen me coming a mile off. And I’d been too stupid, and way too cocky, to realise it.

  Next time that voice inside your head tells you to be careful, Jem, you’d better fucking listen.

  If there was a next time. But I hoped there would be because if it was the last thing I ever got to do on this fucked-up planet, I was going to make Alex pay. Closing my eyes, swapping black for black, I dreamed of ways to hurt her, all of them good.

  A loud groan, the creak of a heavy door being opened, and I ducked my head, squeezing my eyes tight. Even behind the lids, the blackness brightened to grey with whatever light was being carried in. A sting, bringing tears, making my head ache more, but relief too, that I wasn’t blind as I’d first feared, that I’d see again; then a scuffle of boots on stone, behind and in front, before heavy hands grabbed my hair and yanked my head back. I struggled, but oh fuck, the pain!

  More hands gripped my jaw, forcing my mouth open, and there was a splash of water, cold and wet. I spluttered and gulped, drinking it in, suddenly parched. And then it was gone, my head shoved down again, the fingers releasing their tight hold.

  More noise: scraping, and a tattoo of short steps. But no voices. Just a faint whisper of breaths, the pulsing light, and a single sigh. Slowly, I opened my eyes, blinking and squinting. A pair of boots in front of me, between the legs of a chair. Further back, on either side, two more.

  ‘Good morning, Jeremiah.’ A deep voice, low and confident. ‘How’s the head?’

  I raised it slowly, and saw a squarish body topped by a squarish face, brown-skinned, almost affable. The man’s eyes were light, his hair too, and he wore the uniform of a Guard. He sat relaxed in his chair, lounging comfortably. Widening my gaze, I took in another Guard to his left, big and broad. To the right, smaller and slender, but wearing no uniform, stood Alex. The woman of my dreams. If only she knew.

  ‘Nothing to say?’ the man asked.

  ‘Hey, Alex,’ I said, testing my voice and finding it wanting. But her eyes narrowed. ‘Next time you invite a man to stick his tongue in your mouth and his fingers up your –’ I didn’t get to finish. The force of the Guard’s fist rocked my head back and my mouth filled with the iron salt of blood. Groaning, I tongued my teeth, feeling for breaks. My head couldn’t take much more.

  ‘Careful, Jeremiah,’ he warned, too late.

  I spat a glob of blood and saliva to the floor, between his feet. ‘So I guess that makes you the brother.’

  He swivelled to look at Alex. ‘Thought you said he was stupid.’

  There’d been a hundred reasons to hurt her before. Now there were a hundred and one.

  The Guard unfolded a sheaf of papers, smoothing them on his leg, taking his time; I spat some more blood and waited.

  ‘Jeremiah. Other names unknown. Age unknown. Tag number, Cee five Em eight one two three five. Family deceased. Given to the Watch after killing a Guard. Spent six months in training. Two recorded disciplinary actions for insubordination, another just before your first assignment. None since. No recorded failure on assignment. Total kills, one hundred.’ Pausing, he stared at me. ‘How am I doing?’

  ‘Okay. Except no one calls me Jeremiah. It’s Jem, or it’s nothing.’

  ‘Fair enough. Jem it is.’ He shuffled the papers some more. ‘Preferred weapons, bow or crossbow. Also skilled with knife and sword. No known use of gun. Says here you’re currently the youngest, and one of the longest-serving, members of the Watch.’ He looked up again; another long stare. ‘Those bows are very impressive, by the way. The staff too. You’ve got quite the arsenal, haven’t you?’

  ‘Not any more.’

  ‘No,’ he agreed. ‘How do you feel about that?’

  I forced a shrug, but even that hurt. ‘Unburdened. Thanks.’

  No smile this time. He leaned in and poked my chest. ‘Do you know what these marks represent?’

  ‘Bad art?’ I was trying to be helpful; he didn’t seem to appreciate the gesture.

  ‘Each one of these means the end of dreams. Dreams that you’ve stolen. Taken away with one of your darts, or your knives, or your arrows. Without dreams, we’re nothing.’

  ‘Well, shit. And all that time I thought I was making the world a better place.’

  He pulled a knife and held it up. ‘But I think these marks are your dreams too, Jem. I wonder, if we cut them out, will you be nothing too?’

  I felt the sudden slick of sweat, hot then cold. A good man, Alex had said. How wrong could a person be? Coz, so far? No good.

  I managed a shaky smile. ‘Never been much of a dreamer,’ I told him. And fuck you.

  He pressed the knife tip to one of the marks, one of the new ones, still crusty and red around the edges, then gave a quick twist and flicked off the scab. Trying not to flinch, I stared at Alex. She was
watching her brother, her blank gaze giving nothing away. The other Guard shifted on his feet, bored maybe, impatient for a better show. But I wouldn’t give him one.

  ‘And just when it was starting to heal so well,’ I said.

  The first Guard didn’t reply, just picked at the next mark, popping off that scab as well, exposing the raw flesh and the black stain below. More blood. Then again, and again. All nine of them stinging and burning, itching and leaking. Son of a bitch! But I smiled while I still could, stretching my mouth wider with every scrape, giving no quarter. I was waiting for the first real dig. That was when I might stop all the smiles, and scream.

  Finally he sat back, and I breathed deep, jaw throbbing, chest burning. But worse was the pounding in my head, like someone was wringing it out, squeezing then releasing then squeezing again, and I felt my eyes glaze over. Blinking hard, I focused on the knife.

  ‘D’you know who we are, Jem?’ the Guard asked.

  ‘You’re the Guards I’m s’posed to rescue. Ballard and Tate.’

  His eyes warmed again, and he smiled. ‘That’s right. Ballard,’ he said, then jerked his head at the other Guard. ‘And Tate.’

  ‘Not captured,’ I said.

  ‘Not captured, Jem.’

  He might’ve been hoping for more questions but I was too sore, and beyond exhausted. So I closed my eyes, willing him to finish what he’d started. Maybe, if he dug deep enough, he’d actually kill me and that’d be a relief.

  But there was no press of the knife, no gouging. Just the scrape of his chair and his deep voice: ‘That’s enough for today. Alex, clean him up.’

  I opened my eyes in time to see him disappear out the door, Tate in tow, and I was left alone with my nemesis. But the door stayed ajar. I watched Alex set the lantern on the floor next to my chair and pick up the jug of water and a cloth. Wetting it, she sponged my chest, not gently, and I hissed.

  She raised an eyebrow. ‘You don’t make a sound when a knife cuts you, but you cry at a bit of water?’

  ‘Shut up,’ I muttered. She wiped harder then, and I closed my eyes, sucking in air.

  ‘There, that’s the best I can do,’ she said finally, and I looked down to see the blood gone, the wounds glistening and angry. Rinsing the cloth, she held it to my face and wiped at the blood around my mouth. I watched her eyes; they were light like her brother’s, a kind of grey-green. Strange that I’d not noticed their colour before. Holding my chin with one hand, she traced the cloth over my lips.

  ‘Open your mouth,’ she said, before sliding her fingers inside and feeling along my jaw. Her fingers were smooth and they tasted clean, almost sweet. I could’ve bitten down, breaking every bone, but that would’ve earned me another clout to the head, or worse, so I let her do her thing. When she wiped her fingers on her clothes, they left a stain. ‘No loose teeth. You’re lucky.’

  Yeah. Lucky Jem.

  Tugging my head forwards, she prodded at the wound, and I jerked away. ‘Shit!’

  ‘You’ll live,’ she said. But even she didn’t sound entirely convinced.

  ‘What the hell did you hit me with anyway?’

  ‘A rock. A big one.’ No remorse, and no sympathy. Tough as nails. She held the jug to my mouth. ‘Drink. It’s all you’ll get until tomorrow.’

  I hated having to obey her, hated that I was at her mercy. That hurt more than everything else. But I drank because I wasn’t stupid. Not this time, anyway.

  Picking up the lantern, she walked to the door, only turning when I called out, ‘You should’ve hit me harder, Alex. Coz I’m gunna kill you. And I’m gunna make it hurt.’

  She smiled at me, and for a moment she almost looked sad. ‘No, you won’t,’ she said, before closing the door to leave me in the dark.

  Before the rains stopped, there was the rule of threes: three minutes without air, three days without water, three weeks without food. When the water disappeared, people learned to extend that second rule, eke out the time, stretching it to four days or more. I’d gone five days before, but it wasn’t something I was in any hurry to do again.

  And it was possible to go longer without food as well, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to try that either. Water was good, but I was hungry too. I had no idea how long it had been since Alex had smashed that rock into my head, but I could feel myself weakening, the cold of the room sapping any strength. Every muscle was cramped, my hands numbing, my feet frozen. And, always, there was that stabbing ache in my head, making rest difficult, sleep impossible.

  I was trying to doze when they came in for round two. Again there was the hard grip of hands, the sharp pain, the cool wet water and then silence as they settled themselves and waited for me to look up to see them in the same positions as before. Quite a routine they had going.

  Ballard didn’t waste any time. ‘Alex told me about that game you played. Three for three, she said. We’re going to play that now, you and I. You’ll ask me three questions and then it’ll be my turn. Understand?’

  I nodded, real slow because it felt as though any minute my head might fall off my neck and roll away across the floor.

  ‘Go ahead,’ he said. ‘And take your time.’

  ‘Where are we?’ My voice sounded more hoarse.

  ‘In an old mine, about two hours north of the settlement.’ He gave a thin smile. ‘You weren’t where you were supposed to be, Jem. Nor had we counted on Alex having to deal with you so decisively. Getting you here was a little problematic.’

  ‘Damned shame,’ I said.

  Frowning at my flippancy, Ballard said, ‘Next?’

  ‘What was Alex carrying in that pack?’

  He looked a little disappointed by that one. ‘Supplies, mostly medical. And maps.’

  I didn’t waste my third question trying to find out what sort of maps. Or why he needed medical supplies. That was his problem. I could sense his growing anticipation, impatience for me to ask what he was desperate to answer, and if I’d felt any stronger I might’ve toyed with him a bit, dragging it out. But really, I was too fucked for any games.

  ‘Why the charade?’ I asked, and his wide smile almost made me regret the question.

  ‘Because we needed the Tower to send their best Watchman. And the only way we could be sure they’d do that was if they thought we were prisoners with important information. Simple, but effective.’

  ‘And wrong,’ I pointed out. ‘I’m not the best.’

  ‘You’re exactly who we wanted,’ he replied, easily. ‘And now it’s my turn.’

  Shrugging back his cloak and straightening his arm, he pulled back his sleeve to reveal one of my own bows strapped to his arm; I watched with growing alarm as he hooked his thumb into the trigger pull.

  ‘Never played this version before,’ I said.

  ‘Everything can be improved upon, Jem. Let me explain the rules. Every time you don’t give me the answer I want, I’m going to shoot you. I’m probably not as good with this as you, but we’ll just have to hope for the best. You ready?’ He smiled again, all sick joy and happiness, and I swallowed.

  Straightening as much as my bindings and my aching head allowed, I tensed every muscle. The darts would hurt more, but hopefully they wouldn’t bury themselves too deep.

  ‘What goes through your head when you make your kills?’ Ballard asked.

  I was confused. What sort of question was that, and how the hell did I answer it? ‘Nothing,’ I ventured. ‘I just do it.’

  I felt the pain before registering the click of the release, and cried out in agony. The end of the metal shaft protruded just below my shoulder, the rest buried in flesh and I felt sweat bead my body, oozing fear.

  ‘You son of a bitch!’ I snarled, jerking forwards, trying to get at him. But the chair was anchored to the ground, and my wrists and ankles burned against the restraints.

  He held up his arm and made a show of studying the bow. ‘Very accurate. Or I’m just better than I thought. Now, try again. This time, think before you speak.’


  Groaning, I tried to do just that but all I could think was that he was one sick bastard. A Guard through and through.

  ‘I shoot to kill. Instant. Over. I don’t fucking torture them!’

  There was the longest pause before Ballard said, ‘Better. Give him some more water.’

  Alex pushed the jug to my mouth, forcing the liquid down until I choked. I stared up at her face, but she kept her eyes lowered. Coward.

  ‘Next question,’ Ballard said, aiming at my other shoulder, and I tensed again, my body heaving. ‘How did you feel after your first assignment? Remember that one, Jem?’

  I dropped my head. No! Not that.

  ‘Come on, think carefully,’ he said. ‘I have plenty of time and, thanks to you, a lot of darts.’

  ‘Nothing,’ I muttered. ‘I felt nothing.’

  ‘Wrong,’ he said, and this time the pain was hot, burning a hole in my flesh, burrowing to the bone.

  ‘Fuck! Oh fuck! I felt nothing, okay? Just dead inside. Just fucking dead!’

  ‘Okay,’ he said, his voice low. ‘Take a minute and calm down. You’re doing well. Only one more question and then it’s over.’

  ‘Go fuck yourself.’

  I was close to passing out, prayed for it. He could hammer darts into me all he liked then, just so long as I was out to it. But it didn’t happen, and I watched him lean in, elbows on knees, and point the bow at my crotch. There was a sharp tightening as I felt myself shrivel and I squirmed on the chair, desperate to pull my knees together, trying to escape.

  ‘Better get this one right, Jem,’ he said, but his voice was beginning to fade and there was a ringing in my ears. ‘Why did you kill that Guard all those years ago?’

  My head snapped up and I glared at him through a reddening haze. ‘That’s easy. Coz he was a sick, sadistic son of a bitch like you, and he deserved to die!’

  Ballard’s hand hovered inches away, his thumb twitching. I’d told Alex I didn’t expect to survive my job, but I’d never imagined this. C’mon, you fucker. Do it!

  ‘Well done, Jem,’ he said, leaning back and unhooking the trigger. But I don’t know what happened next, because the room swam as I finally got my wish and fainted.