Islanders

by John Barlow

  “Well, take it from me. They exist,” said Tah, somewhat disgruntled.

  “You’re not serious!” Silver snorted. “They can’t exist!”

  “Does this girl never stop contradicting?” Tah said, slapping his forehead with his palm. “Been here two minutes, and already an expert about the mainland!”

  “But she’s right,” interrupted Terra. “She’d dead right. Earth patches don’t exist! It’s all a myth.”

  “Ha! Listen, children! Listen to wise old Terra,” Tah cried.

  Terra didn’t even bother to reply. She’d heard it all before, and just shook her head.

  Tah sulked for a few seconds. Then, suddenly, he had an idea.

  “Okay,” he said, smiling at Silver. “Storm clouds are wet. Yes? Are they wet?”

  “Of course they are!” she said.

  “When did you last touch one, Einstein?”

  “I... I...”

  “Another: volcanoes are hot. You agree?”

  “I guess...” and by now Silver was getting nervous.

  “But, what is this? Been up a volcano, have you? Dipped her toes in that red hot, molten lava?”

  “No, b... but others have,” stammered Silver.

  “So! You believe what other people tell you, eh?”

  “I suppose... No, wait! Wait! This is a trick. I’ve never touched a volcano, ergo I can’t know for sure whether...”

  “Ergo schmergo, Miss Philosophical Fancy Pants!” cried Tah, sensing victory. “Just ’cos you haven’t seen something doesn’t mean that it can’t exist, see?”

  Silver tossed back her head and snorted. “That’s not a philosophical point. That’s wrapping me up in words. Don’t listen, Coby, earth patches cannot exist.”

  “Hear hear!” Terra added, and the two women high-fived.

  “But,” Coby said, in utter confusion. “Are storm clouds wet, or not?”

  “Doh!” said Silver, and turned away in disgust.

  Tah, exasperated by the cheeky blond-haired girl, said goodnight and wandered off towards the emu-lator camp outside the village.

  “What impudent children the Survivors have!” he mumbled to himself as he stomped out into the evening dusk. “I hope the Settlement’s not full of kids like that! An island, overflowing with know-alls! Pah! It’s not so bad here,” he muttered.

  As he passed the last derelict cottage, on the edge of the village, an enormous flabby hand came out of the dark and wrapped itself around his face, covering his mouth completely. He felt himself being dragged backwards. Somebody wanted to speak to him.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  “So, you’re name is Ben?” Sullivan said. He wore a black uniform, its buttons shiny, and his long black hair was tied back in a ponytail. As he spoke, he stretched his arms above his head, leaning back in his chair, whilst Ben stood right in front of him in the middle of the control room.

  It was hot and stuffy. Ben felt the trickles of sweat run down his back. Beneath his feet the bare concrete floor hummed with a low, constant vibration, and the light in the room was so strong that at first his eyes hurt.

  Around him on the walls a dozen TV monitors flickered with gray images of corridors and strange-looking machines. On one screen he could see the fun-fair, completely deserted. Below the monitors, a control desk occupied two sides of the small room, its vast array of buttons and knobs glowing with a warm orange light, the hi-tech heart of a power station that belched stinking, filthy coal fumes out into the air day and night.

  “Ben, eh?” Sullivan’s voice was deep but strangely soft, and Ben’s mind raced in a thousand directions as he stood there and listened. “Well, Ben, tell me about yourself. Where are you from?” Sullivan smiled, and raised an eyebrow. “Come on, no harm in telling me, you know. In fact, Ben,” he said, lowering his voice, “I need to know. This is a high security place. Got to be careful who we let in here.”

  “I ran away from home,” Ben said, nervously scanning the room. His eyes were drawn to the bright yellow door behind Sullivan, DANGER: HIGH VOLTAGE. DO NOT ENTER, it said in huge black letters, and below them a cross.

  “Ran away? Brave little fella!” Sullivan whispered, breaking into a grin. “And where is home?” He took a gun from its holster on his hip and held it up to his eye, squinting down its strange, plastic barrel.

  “North,” Ben said, hoping it was a believable lie.

  “Not much up there!”

  “No, that’s why I came here.”

  “I see. Very good, yes,” Sullivan said as he continued to play with the gun. He spoke softly, until Ben could hardly hear his voice above the low rumble that came through the floor. “So, you’re an unfound... You heard of emu-lators?”

  Ben shrugged. “I’ve seen them about, a few times. Bit stupid, aren’t they!”

  Sullivan liked this. “Ever met a melted man?” he asked. “We don’t send ’em up north much.”

  “I saw one in a black car on the way here. He was big, really fat.”

  “They’re all really fat!” Sullivan said. “During the war, out west. They grew big and strong, incredibly strong. Stronger than commandos, to begin with. Then, somehow, as they kind of melted, just turned fat and useless. That’ll teach us to tamper with human genetics!”

  “What!” Ben said, unable to conceal his astonishment.

  Sullivan made a gesture as if to dismiss the whole thing. “Not important, Ben. Just a few oversized slobs that got infected. It was a long time ago. By the way, how old are you?”

  “Thirteen.”

  “And you come from the north?”

  “Yes.”

  “Not the east? You sure about that?”

  “Er... yes...” Ben said, pretending to look confused.

  “Your parents?”

  Ben looked at the floor. He thought of his mum, tough, brave, all those years on the Island with no one to help her. His stomach churned. He was going to have to lie, and he hated himself for doing it.

  “They’re both dead.”

  He looked at Sullivan, trying not to cry. But he knew that the more he lied, the better his disguise was. Far better to lie than betray his mum and everyone on the Island. So, he continued:

  “An old man and woman brought me up. But then they decided to come here and look for work. Said it was a lot safer in the Complex, they did...”

  “Very wise!” Sullivan cooed, nodding as he listened.

  “I stayed on my own for a while. But it was boring, and...” he gulped, as if to make the story more convincing, “I was scared. Really scared. That’s why I came here.”

  Sullivan looked up. “You did well, Ben!” he said, and put away the gun. “Come on, I want you to meet somebody.”

  He stood up and put an arm around Ben’s shoulders.

  Jason Sullivan was playing Tomb Raider, one of the games that everyone had played before the war, apparently. He was doing it badly, hardly watching the immense plasma screen as he flicked the controls with his thumbs.

  “So you’re the new kid,” he said, brushing his long black hair out of his eyes. “Well, come here then!”

  Sullivan seemed pleased with his son. Ben did as he was told and walked slowly across the lush, red carpet to where Jason was sitting. The room was enormous, three or four times the size of his mum’s house on the Island. One side of it was all glass, from top to bottom, and there were several giant plasma screens around the room, all switched on, with DVDs running, or games paused half way through. Then there was a pool table, an old Wurlitzer jukebox, a mini-bowling alley against the far wall, a few computers on desks in various places, all purring quietly... And everywhere he looked were CDs and DVDs, scattered right across the thick carpet. This kid had everything.

  “Amazing,” Ben said.

  “Is it?” Jason said, remaining where he was, in front of the screen. “Suppose.”

  With that, Jason got slowly to his feet, tossing the playstation’s control down on the floor. Ben could see that Jason was a bit taller than him.
But his body looked weak and fragile, and he wore a thick pullover, despite the sweltering temperature inside the building, which was enough to make you light-headed.

  “You wanna play something?” Jason said.

  “Ye... eh,” Ben said. “I’m called Ben, by the way.”

  “Whatever. Just ask before you touch anything, right?” For a moment he stared at the carpet, hands thrust deep into his pockets. “I’m Jason,” he said, as if it was painful. “Dad calls me Jase, but I hate it.”

  Ben looked up at the door, but Sullivan had gone.

  “Jason it is, then,” he said.

  Ben had never seen anyone with less energy. Even the adults on the Island were livelier. He wanted to give Jase a kick up the backside. But instead he decided to take advantage of where he was for a while, before getting on with trying to find his own dad. “Can I have a go at Tomb Raider?” he asked.

  “What level you wanna start at?” Jason asked, talking like a little baby, as if every word was too much effort.

  “The beginning?”

  “Oh great!” mumbled Jason, and flopped down onto the carpet to reset the game.

  Sullivan returned to the control room, examined various TV monitors, then sat down. He rubbed his chin. A thin smile crept across his mouth.

  “Well, Ben, whoever you are,” he said to himself, “I know one thing: you’re a liar. We’ll find out all about you, little boy. We always do, in the end. Then we’ll see what you’re hiding. Or who.”

  He got up and shouted for Harman, his personal stun commando.

  “Yes, Sir,” said the soldier, appearing instantly at the doorway, his enormous frame filling it.

  “The new playslave,” Sullivan said, as if it was nothing very important. “Make sure he doesn’t escape.”

  “Sir!”

  “If another one escapes, you’ll be working down the coal mines within an hour. Understand?”

  The big stun commando prickled with anger. That blond-haired boy, the last playslave, had just slipped through his fingers, disappeared. No one knew what had happened to him. An infiltrator, they suspected, from the Underground. They’d never found him. And they had looked everywhere. They had scoured the land.

  “I understand, Sir,” Harman said, nodding resentfully.

  “This one,” Sullivan continued, “there’s... I don’t know, there’s something about him. Something in his face... in his eyes...” He snapped out of his rambling thoughts. “Just you make sure he doesn’t get away, or else you’ll be shoveling coal fourteen hours a day.”

  Harman backed silently out of the door and walked down the corridor, to stand guard outside the private apartment of the Sullivans.

  This time, no one was gonna escape.

  *

  Three hours later, and Ben was stuck on level four. Lara Croft looked a bit like Pol, he thought, only prettier and, well, more developed. Actually, she looked more like a young, sprightly version of Terra, without those stinking cigarettes.

  He played without much concentration, and when he lost he didn’t mind, he just went back to level one and watched Lara start out again, that alert expression on her face, the sleek prowl as she began to make her way through the labyrinth of chambers and tombs. Jason sat nearby, lazily playing the same game on another screen, easily making it through level 14 for the fifth time that afternoon.

  Outside the sky was black. But the flashing lights of the fun-fair emitted a sickly, pink-yellow radiance into the night sky, and the whole Complex glowed with strong, artificial light. Up at the top of the Control Tower, the faint rumble of heavy music from down below could be heard. Night music, Ben guessed. The music would go on all night. Just like the power plant. All day and all night.

  “You hungry?” Jason said, his first words for ages.

  “Yes!” said Ben, unable to act casual.

  “Harman!” Jason shouted, as if he was already annoyed that the food hadn’t appeared magically in front of him the moment he had wanted it. “Oye! Harman!”

  The door opened, and there stood one of the commandos that had seized Ben on the carousel. They hadn’t been violent, they’d just grabbed him, visors down, no part of their faces showing, and led him into the big concrete building and up five flights of stairs to the top. Now, though, Ben could see that Harman had a large square head with the hair cut close to the scalp; his nose was crooked, as if it had been broken about a dozen times, and he only had one eyebrow, which ran all the way across from one eye to the other and moved like a hairy worm when he screwed up his forehead (which he did most of the time).

  “Get us something to eat!” Jason said, not even bothering to look up from the screen.

  Harman glanced at Ben, who was looking right at the commando, not quite believing that a man like that was going to take orders from a spoilt kid. But that’s how it was. Jason could say what he liked. But Ben could tell that he ought to show Harman a little more respect.

  “What would...” the commando began.

  “Just anything. We’re busy!” Jason shouted, irritated.

  Harman disappeared through a door that led off from the main room. It was the kitchen, and Ben heard the commando opening cupboards and preparing the food. You lazy slob! Ben thought as he watched Jason playing his game. He tried to get back into Tomb Raider, but he had lost interest. Lara Croft was getting impatient with him. Enough playing! she seemed to say. Pol, Terra, Lara... all rolled into one. This is not a game!

  “Hey,” Ben said, quietly. “That yellow door?”

  “What?” Jason said, still goggle-eyed in front of his screen.

  “You know, in the control room.”

  Jason turned, abandoning his game. “You stay away from that!” His face looked suddenly very young and innocent. “You’d better...”

  “Why?” Ben said. “Does it lead to the power plant?”

  He sighed. “You can’t. You just can’t!”

  “Is that where the last boy went?” Ben said, risking everything.

  Jason scrambled to his feet. “What do you know...”

  At that moment the kitchen door opened and Harman came through it. Jason’s head snapped up, and he stopped talking.

  “Here you are, boys,” said the commando, a tray in his massive hands.

  He put it down between them on the floor, and stood right over Ben.

  “Are you getting on all right?” he said, staring down.

  “Yes... thank you...” said Ben, as he saw the commando’s expression harden.

  “We’re fine,” Jason said, flopping back down onto the carpet, ready to eat. “Go on! Leave us alone.” He looked up at Harman. “Go on, I said!”

  The commando flashed one last malicious look at Ben, turned, and left.

  “He’s such a pain!” Jason said as he grabbed a hunk of bread from the tray and crammed it into his mouth.

  Apart from the bread, there was cheese, slices of ham, a jar of honey, two big pieces of cake... A feast. Seeing that Jason had no manners at all, Ben did the same: he filled his mouth with cheese and bread, then added a handful of cake even before he’d swallowed the bread. He couldn’t help it. He was starving, and he forgot Jason completely, stuffing his ravenous mouth until the carpet was covered in crumbs, and the tray was empty.

  “You were hungry?” said Jason, turning his nose up at Ben.

  But Ben ignored him. He was determined to get some answers.

  “So,” he said, as he picked bits of ham from between his teeth. “The last boy vanished, right?”

  “I thought you were an unfound,” Jason said, looking dejected, “I thought you wouldn’t know about... that.” He shook his head. “God, I hate this place!”

  “Did the last playslave go through the yellow door?”

  “Hey!” Jason said, his wining voice getting unsteady, almost tearful. “What do you know about it?”

  “Nothing! I just heard...”

  “He was... I mean, they said he was looking for something, that he was up to no good. Just l
ike you are! I’m gonna tell my dad.”

  He stared at Ben, but Ben held his ground. Then another lie:

  “Jason,” he said. “I’m here because I’ve got nowhere else to go.”

  “Yeah, well I’ve got nowhere to go either. Look, I can’t even go out there anymore,” he pointed to the window, “because they all hate me. Everybody hates me now!”

  “Because of the boy?”

  “They all think it was my fault. After the last boy disappeared, no one wanted to know me. They’re all hiding. The fair’s deserted.”

  Ben saw Jason’s face begin to quiver. For a moment he felt sorry for him. But there were more important things than Jason Sullivan.

  “That boy?” he said. “Was he blond? Blond, and blue eyes? Was he, Jason?”

  Jason sniffed, long and hard. “Yeah, did you know him?”

  “No,” Ben said. “Someone told me.”

  Jason wiped his sleeve across his face. Suddenly, his expression turned nasty. His face went red, and his eyes narrowed.

  “Don’t ever mention him again, you understand? Because if you do, you’ll go the same way. Got that, have you?”

  Ben nodded.

  For the rest of the evening they hardly said a word, playing mindlessly at whatever games they fancied. It didn’t matter, Ben told himself. He was making progress.

  That night he was given an incredibly comfortable bed in one of the spare rooms in the Sullivan apartment. He lay there, watching the faint pink glow from the fun-fair on the curtains.

  He closed his eyes and thought of Lara Croft.

  Chapter Thirty

  There was a knock at the door. It was dark outside, and they weren’t expecting anyone to come calling. The twins had gone off somewhere with the chunk-hens, and only Silver, Terra and Coby were there. Especially Coby. You couldn’t have coaxed out of the house at any price, not with a pack of chunk-hens and the twins on the loose. He stayed right where he was, his ears peeled for the slightest cluck.

  Terra moved over to the door and opened it cautiously. It was Tah. And behind him stood a melted man. Sawyer.