Forgotten City

by Michael Ford

  Kobi was aware of the landing pad descending behind him, and the shouts of the Guardians, but he didn’t have any inclination to move. He touched the asphalt of the roof with his fingertips. If this was a dream, it felt very real. He could feel the breeze on his face, and hear a thousand tiny noises coming from the city below.

  Every second of every day of his conscious existence he’d believed the Waste was all there was.

  Everything he had thought was a lie.

  A glance at Asha told him this was no hallucination, and she was as surprised as he was.

  “Did you know about this?”

  She didn’t answer. Her mouth was hanging open, and she walked past him, closer to the edge.

  And as the sense of wonder throbbed through him, he felt like a fool. Because, really, the clues had been there all along. He’d spent so long petrified by the Snatchers, he’d never stopped to think how strange they were—how otherworldly—their technology way in advance of any of the detritus left within the Waste-ravaged city. The CLAWS weapons, their transport—all of it several years ahead of anything he’d come across in the ruins. It should have been clear—the world outside his green bubble had moved on.

  He felt a piece of fabric being draped over him and a hand rest softly between his shoulder blades. Two Guardians ran forward and took hold of Asha’s arms. She didn’t protest. Her expression was one of pure bewilderment.

  “It must be . . . a shock,” said Melanie Garcia. Kobi turned to look up at her. She too was staring across the cityscape, the gust catching a few stray strands of hair.

  Kobi stood up slowly. He had on some sort of robe and pulled it tighter around him. The remainder of the Guardians had stopped back near the hatch, their weapons lowered. The man called Krenner stood slightly forward, his arms folded and a fierce look on his face.

  “Welcome to New Seattle,” replied Melanie.

  “New Seattle?”

  Melanie pointed off the rooftop, to their left. “The old city is that way, about two hundred miles. It’s surrounded by a quarantine zone twenty miles wide—they dropped so many nukes, nothing will grow there for half a million years.”

  Kobi shook his head to try to clear it. “So the Waste is contained in the old Seattle?”

  Melanie laughed bitterly. “I’m afraid not. The Waste is everywhere—every continent. It’s a war on a thousand fronts that we can never win. But we have our enclaves, like this one. Places built by the survivors. And even if we can’t win, we don’t have to lose!”

  Asha began to pull away from the Guardians, her focus sharpened on Melanie. “You lied to us!” Though she struggled, they held her firmly. “Let me go!” she said. “I’m going to tell them all.”

  “We had to limit your knowledge,” said Melanie a little desperately. “If you’d known, you’d want to leave.”

  “You don’t say!” said Asha. “So we’re prisoners.”

  “You’re patients,” said Melanie firmly. “We’re trying to make you better. The Waste hasn’t killed you. If we can find out why, we can save the human species.”

  “Patients or guinea pigs?” said Asha.

  Melanie’s skin flushed a little.

  “That’s what I thought.”

  “CLAWS develops medicines that have helped millions of people,” said Melanie. “You make that possible. And you”—she turned to Kobi—“you might be the miracle we’ve been looking for.”

  Kobi understood, sort of.

  “Because I’m immune?” he said. “That’s why you wanted to find me.”

  “Correct,” said Melanie. “You can help us, Kobi. Help the world.”

  Kobi frowned. “I’m fed up with being lied to.”

  “You’re not the only one,” grumbled Asha, glaring ahead at Melanie. “You should have told us.”

  The director nodded. “Yes.” She nodded to the guards. “Let’s go inside, shall we?”

  Back in Melanie’s office, in clean jumpsuits, he and Asha sat side by side as Melanie had her back to them. She’d persuaded Asha not to say anything yet, but Kobi could feel her bristling, ready to explode. The window, which he now knew was nothing more than a projection, showed a beautiful mountain scene. A stag strutted under a glade of trees, and a waterfall tumbled into a sparkling pool.

  Melanie touched the corner of the window and the view changed in a blink to the modern city. Cars zipped past, hundreds of feet up. Kobi saw a holo-ad displayed from some kind of drone. It showed a family facing each other at a table while they ate from cardboard cartons with chopsticks. The sight made him, for a split second, unbearably sad.

  The director folded her arms and faced them. “Asha has a point,” she said. “We should have told all our patients about the real world a long time ago. The longer you live a lie, the harder it is to tell the truth. You were all babies, at first, then toddlers. It never seemed the right time. And later, we weren’t sure of the damage it might cause to pull the curtain away.”

  Asha grunted, clearly unconvinced.

  The director continued to speak. “The work we do here is all that keeps this city alive,” she said, waving a hand toward the outside. “We create all kinds of anti-Waste products. The sprays that kill Waste-carrying spores that are used on any goods coming into the city on trains or planes. Medicines that help stop Waste entering the body. We help treat those infected, extending their life spans, quarantining them in areas at the edge of the city. We produce detergent with anti-spore chemicals; we help protect food supplies. We help the government manufacture drones that sweep for contamination in our streets. We quarantine the Wastelands like Seattle, New York State, Louisiana and most of the South, Michigan. . . . We are everything! The research we carry out with our patients makes it all possible.” She looked imploringly at Asha, who turned away.

  Kobi really wasn’t sure that made the lie okay either, but he didn’t know what to say. He kept looking outside. A week ago, he’d thought he was alone. Three days back he’d found out there were some others. And now . . .

  “How many people live here?” he asked.

  “Just under three million,” said Melanie.

  Kobi sucked in a breath. He couldn’t even imagine what such a number looked like.

  Again, Melanie addressed herself to Asha. “We were worried that if you found out, the psychological burden of knowing how important you were, it might be too much.”

  “Whatever,” said Asha. She nodded at the outside world. “Do they all know about us?”

  Melanie pursed her lips. “A few,” she said. “It’s sensitive information.”

  “You don’t say?” said Asha. “You need to be honest with the other kids. With everyone.”

  Melanie wore a pained expression. “Ask yourself, Asha. What would that gain?”

  “The truth?” said Kobi.

  Melanie’s jaw tightened. “Perhaps you don’t understand,” she said. “Telling the other patients is one thing. There’s no chance they can ever leave. They’d know what was out there, but they could never experience it. But if the general population knew about you, about actual Waste-infected individuals, in the heart of their supposedly safe city . . .” Her eyes flashed dangerously. “There’s really no saying what might happen.”

  “Is that a threat?” said Asha, half standing.

  “It’s reality,” said Melanie. “Fear and ignorance are just as dangerous as any disease.”

  Kobi watched the shifting emotions on Asha’s face.

  “But,” said Melanie, suddenly more brightly, “if Kobi’s blood samples confirm that he’s as resilient as we suspect, this whole subterfuge might be academic. We could—and I pray it’s true—we could be near to eradicating the Waste completely.” Her gaze went over their heads. “Speaking of which . . .”

  A woman in a lab coat knocked and entered, carrying a touchpad. She barely looked at Kobi. “Dr. Garcia,” she said a little breathlessly, “I’ve got those results you wanted.”

  “And?” asked Melanie.

 
; The scientist looked meaningfully at Kobi. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather talk in private?”

  “No need, Ruth,” said Melanie. “I think Kobi deserves to hear. Asha too.”

  The scientist nodded, and tapped her screen. At the same time, the desk display changed. There were several graphs that Kobi didn’t understand, with incomprehensible units on the axes. The header read: “Epidemiology. Samples from Subject S374.”

  “As you’ll see,” said Ruth. “S374’s blood shows no ill effects whatsoever from the Waste infection.” She glanced at Kobi, then flicked onto a new page, with close-ups of what looked like blobs. “However, cell cultures show that he does carry a mutated form of the Waste proteins in his DNA, which forms a barrier against Waste. It looks like his immune system has metabolized them, rendering their carcinogenic properties impotent. He retains the benefits of infection—able to harness the same strength and enhanced abilities of other subjects—but without the detrimental effects.”

  “Fascinating,” said Melanie, but without much enthusiasm.

  Ruth moved to a file that read “S591”—which showed an up-to-date image of Fionn.

  “Hales did some remarkable work,” she said. “He managed to isolate Kobi’s antibodies into a solution that would be accepted by any host body. The antibodies effectively wipe out Waste from a subject’s body. It seems it lasts only as long as the antibodies stay in the bloodstream—a few days—after which recontamination is possible. We’ve carried out routine analysis on S591—his Waste count is negligible. We’re only in the early stages of investigating how that can be, but it looks like the anti-Waste cleanser Hales developed is a long way in advance of our own. It is entirely effective.”

  “So Fionn’s going to be okay?” said Asha.

  “Better than okay,” said Ruth. “If he avoids contamination, he is entirely cured. No need for repeat doses or any kind of prolonged drug program.”

  “So one dose, and everyone will be better again,” said Melanie. “As long as they stay in the quarantined city. One step away from a permanent cure, when we won’t have to worry about Waste at all anymore.” Her eyes flicked, lizard-like, from the screen to the other scientist.

  The scientist’s hands were shaking. “It’s appears so, Doctor.”

  Melanie Garcia seemed to be in shock, glued to the spot like a statue, but finally she blinked a few times. “As you said, a . . . remarkable achievement.”

  “We’ll need to run more tests—a lot more tests.”

  Melanie nodded and grinned widely, showing perfect white teeth. “Let’s take this slowly. And strictly confidential for the moment. No one outside your team is to know. Kobi, I’m afraid we’ll need to take some more blood. Enough for some continued testing. Is that all right?”

  “Of course,” said Kobi.

  Melanie touched her lapel. “Assemble a medical team on the infirmary level. Omega protocols. Ruth, I can take things from here.”

  What does that mean?

  “Wait a minute . . . ,” said Kobi.

  “Kobi, don’t you see?” said Melanie as Ruth left the room. “You’re the key to all of this. It’s your antibody capabilities at the heart of everything. We’re not taking any chances with your welfare. We need to wrap you in cotton wool.”

  “I guess so,” said Kobi. “How long will it take?”

  “Twenty-four hours, tops. Just until we’re sure what we’re dealing with.” She gripped his shoulders firmly. “How does it feel to be the most important person on the planet?”

  “Three days ago, I thought I was the only person. Along with my dad.”

  Melanie laughed for the first time since he’d met her, and it sounded as brittle as broken glass.

  A few minutes later, Kobi was back in the elevator, this time with Melanie and the man called Krenner and one other Guardian. No one spoke at all. He really wished Asha were there too, but she was back in the dorms, having promised to keep her new secret under wraps. Kobi felt like there was a weight pressing down on him—now that he knew the truth, all of it, he realized how much they were relying on him.

  The doors opened onto the infirmary floor, and Melanie took him past the room where Fionn stood behind the glass. Kobi managed a brief wave. He thought at first they were going all the way to Dr. Hales’s chamber, but they stopped and entered a ward on the other side of the corridor, with four beds. Inside, a team of three doctors, their faces covered in masks, had already gathered around a gurney. A trolley stood beside the bed, with the glint of tools just visible beneath a covering sheet.

  “Make yourself comfortable,” said Melanie.

  Kobi climbed slowly onto the gurney. She sounded businesslike, but there was an urgency in her voice. Almost like fear. Why wouldn’t she look at him?

  “What are we doing again?” he asked.

  One of the doctors lifted a syringe. “We’ll be injecting a dye marker into your bloodstream first,” he said. “It will help us to find what we’re looking for when we extract the antibodies.”

  “Will it hurt?”

  “Not at all,” said the scientist. “Just lie back and relax.”

  Kobi did as he was told but looked away as the doctor approached. “Don’t like needles,” he said.

  “Who does?” said Melanie.

  He felt the prick, and then an icy feeling coursing up his arm.

  “Ooh!” he said. “It’s cold!”

  “It will be,” said the doctor.

  Kobi began to relax—the gurney bed was actually comfier than it looked.

  “So, what will you do with the wolf?” he asked. “Can you cure it too?”

  “I expect so,” said Melanie. Again, her voice sounded off—like she wasn’t really listening properly.

  “It saved our lives,” said Kobi.

  “So I’ve heard,” said Melanie. “A remarkable story.”

  He tried to lift his head to look at her, but he couldn’t. His neck felt . . . heavy.

  “Something’s funny,” he said, and he heard that his own voice was slurred. He was drooling.

  “Nothing to worry about,” said the doctor.

  “You can go now,” said Melanie.

  “Yes, Director,” said one of the doctors. A pause. “Someone should monitor the drip though.”

  “We’ll take care of that,” said Melanie.

  “Would you like us to—?”

  “I’d like you to leave,” said Melanie curtly.

  “Yes, Director.”

  Kobi heard instruments being put down, then the suction of the door. His head flopped sideways. He tried to move, but everything was a dead weight. His heart rate quickened.

  “What are you doing?” he said, but it came out “Wharardin?”

  And he couldn’t straighten his head at all. He watched helplessly as an IV tube was taped to the inside of his elbow, then Melanie appeared, crouching beside the bed. Her face was grim, and he saw the future in her emotionless eyes.

  “Don’t take this personally, Kobi. But CLAWS is doing very nicely providing drugs to keep people healthy. A cure doesn’t really fit into our . . . corporate strategy.” She stood up and moved out of his eyeline, but he could still hear her perfectly clearly. “Can I leave this in your capable hands?”

  “Of course, ma’am,” said Krenner.

  Kobi wanted to scream and thrash and attack. He wanted to run. But as he tried to speak again, it was like pushing against a door that wouldn’t move. Whatever drug the IV was feeding him kept him in a permanent state of paralysis, a limp body on the gurney. And though he was completely motionless, his mind raged with such turmoil it felt like his brain might explode. Who was lying to him, and who was telling the truth? He just wanted to be away, back at the school with the man who was not his father but who had never shown him anything but love.

  Back when the world made sense.

  He realized now. His father—Hales—did love him. He was protecting him. Protecting him from these people. From CLAWS and Melanie.

  A
nd Kobi had failed him.

  22

  KRENNER’S HANDS GENTLY STRAIGHTENED Kobi’s head so he was looking straight up at the ceiling. The Guardian moved in and out of his peripheral vision.

  Kobi knew he was going to die. He thought of Asha and the other kids, continuing their lives upstairs, and wondered what Melanie would tell them. That his immunity had been compromised, perhaps? That some sudden, unforeseen complication had arisen and there was nothing they could do? Asha and Fionn would probably be upset, but they’d seen others die. They’d forget in time. And CLAWS would continue to produce drugs to keep the Waste at arm’s length and maintain their profits.

  Kobi heard an electronic buzzing and the back of the bed he was lying on began to lift, raising his upper body into a half-seated position. His fears were confirmed—it was just himself and Krenner in the room. He was alone with his murderer.

  The security guard raised his eyebrows and sighed. “Hales never liked the way we did things around here,” he said. “I think he thought he was better than the rest of us—more noble in some way. I tried to warn the others that he was untrustworthy, but no one listened. Even after the others betrayed us, I knew he was behind it. They all said he was the most gifted scientist. They took their eyes off him.” Krenner picked something up from the wheeled trolley, and Kobi’s whole being flinched as it drifted into his line of sight. A bone saw. But as he panicked, he thought he felt a tingle of actual sensation in his right foot. Could it be that the drip was wearing off? Or maybe his body was fighting it. . . .

  The security guard replaced the surgical tool, walking closer to the bed. He looked into Kobi’s eyes with an unflinching gaze. “You look like him, even if you’re not his son. Maybe it’s because he brought you up. You’ve got the same sneaky look in your eyes.”

  Kobi stared back, hoping Krenner was paying attention to the rage boiling in the glare and not the slight movements of his foot, then his knee. He was definitely getting control back, but it was painfully slow.

  “Determined too, I see,” said Krenner. “Not that it’ll do either of you any good.” He disappeared, walking somewhere around the back of the bed. Kobi realized he could wiggle his fingers too. “You know, in the early days, I longed for a cure,” Krenner continued. “As my parents died. My sisters. Friends. It happened so fast. I was lucky, in a way—the Marines kept me away from home in that first wave. But I felt so helpless. The Waste didn’t seem to care who it took. The good and the bad. But as time went on, as we built this place, and as the new city grew, I began to see the positives. At least now we have order. People line up for their pills. We dish them out. Life goes on. It all makes a sort of sense. See what I mean?”