Pandora Jones: Reckoning

by Barry Jonsberg

  This time she was in a car, travelling at speed through busy city streets. She glanced down and saw hands on a steering wheel, flicked her eyes to the rear-view mirror, then the passenger seat. The girl with the red hair was laughing. Flashing lights bathed her hair in a kaleidoscope of changing hues. The car’s engine shifted in intensity and they picked up speed, weaving through lanes of traffic. It appeared impossible they wouldn’t hit one of the cars they passed. A siren wailed. Pan thought of water, the deck of the boat they had stolen, the gentle rhythm of waves and the rocking beneath her feet. She saw Jen at the boat’s wheel. Somewhere a car’s engine was screaming, mingled with sounds of blaring horns, but she tried to block that out. Think of the water, stretching from horizon to horizon, the deck, the masts and Jen at the wheel.

  Darkness and a sense of falling. Pan looked down, but she could see nothing. She glanced up and there was an arm clinging to a metal strut, a trail of torn fabric fluttering above. Then the wall, its six watchtowers sweeping towards her. Another sound of ripping, a violent lurch. They couldn’t make it, they couldn’t possibly make it. Streets sweeping underneath, the roofs of houses, too close, too close. Water.

  There was a boat with white cursive script on its side. The Adventurer. Everywhere, on every side, the ocean stretched to infinity. She had a wheel in her hands and when she turned there was Pan, an orange lifejacket in one hand, a backpack in another. She looked at the deck and it was awash. The water filled her boots, but she knew she didn’t have boots on. She flexed her toes and the water was up to her ankles. She would have to jump.

  She was floating, but she couldn’t see far. The ocean swell was gentle, but even small waves cut off her line of sight. Another head bobbed a few metres off to her right. She was going to die. She had faced death before and she wasn’t afraid. Worse things had happened. A buzzing sound. A dark shape above and whirling blades.

  No. That wasn’t right. There is only dirty clouds hiding a weak sun. Just the sky and water. It was all the world. The buzzing cut off and the dark shape melted away. Dirty clouds. A weak sun. Water, water. Two girls in a world of water.

  Another boat. This time a hand reaching out. She took it, the hand gripping her forearm. Men in the boat. With questions. She couldn’t understand them, but their words were life, the boat beneath her was safety.

  Pan opened her eyes and gasped at the pain in her head. She lifted her hands and noticed a knife in one, but she had no idea why it was there. Her other hand dripped beads of red. It took all her effort and control to place the knife on the bed next to her. Then she curled up and closed her eyes. The headache was the worst she had ever experienced.

  When sleep came it was the purest painkiller. She dreamed. She dreamed of Nate, his dark hair plastered to his face, surrounded by a mist that sparkled rainbows. He put his lips to her ear and whispered lies but, in her dream, Pan believed them.

  Chapter 5

  A hand shook her shoulder and words filtered through, gentle at first, but increasing in volume and insistency.

  ‘Pan, wake up.’

  She groaned and turned onto her side, but the voice continued.

  ‘You’ve hurt yourself, Pan. Come on, wake up.’

  It felt like she was moving sluggishly towards the surface of the sea, having been weighed down far beneath the waves for a considerable time. It was peaceful down there and free of pain; she didn’t want to surface, but the voice kept nagging.

  ‘Jesus, Pan. You’ve cut yourself. Come on, open your eyes.’

  Pan’s eyelids felt glued together and a memory of pain made her wary of opening them. But when she did, the pain was concentrated in her hand and her head was clear. Wei-Lin stood over her.

  ‘What a mess,’ said Wei-Lin.

  Pan struggled to sit up. There was something sticky on the bedclothes and at first she had trouble remembering. Then it came to her. The pain in her head. The knife in her hand. She looked at the sheets and fought the urge to gasp. They were soaked with blood. She held up her left hand and saw it was caked with congealed blood. Stroking the blade, getting inside Jen’s dreams. And while she was there the stroking must have continued, slicing skin while she was somewhere else. On a boat in the middle of the ocean. In someone else’s head.

  ‘Let me see.’ Wei-Lin sat beside her and inspected her hand. ‘God, this looks nasty. I think you’ll have to go to the Infirmary. What in the world were you doing, Pan?’

  ‘It’s nothing,’ Pan mumbled. There was no way she was going to the Infirmary. ‘I’m fine, Wei-Lin.’

  ‘You are not fine. You’re a mess.’

  Pan flexed her hand gingerly and the layers of dried blood cracked. She would have to clean the wound before she could see how bad the damage was. Pan sat up straighter and took a deep breath. She was relieved that at least the migraine had disappeared. The pain in her hand she could deal with, but something trying to dig its way out of her skull was unbearable. Pan looked around the empty dormitory. Jen’s bed was dishevelled, the sheets thrown back as if she’d left in a hurry. Wei-Lin followed her line of sight.

  ‘It’s six forty-five,’ she said. ‘Everyone’s gone. Everyone except you. I thought you were in some kind of coma, Pan. It’s taken twenty minutes just to get any kind of reaction from you. Seriously. Are you okay?’

  ‘I’m fine, Wei-Lin,’ Pan said again. ‘I had a bad night. Don’t worry. I’m okay.’

  What had happened to her? She remembered the dream – Jen’s dream – but then things were vague. A blinding headache, a strong desire to curl up inside herself and let oblivion take her. It would take time to process everything, but one thing was clear. Getting inside someone’s head came at a cost. And it was a cost she had no option but to pay.

  Wei-Lin took her to the shower block and gently washed away the dried blood. It stung, but when at last her hand was clean Pan was relieved to see the cut was long, but not too deep. It snaked across her palm. Wei-Lin still wanted her to go to the Infirmary to see if she needed stitches, but Pan was adamant. Eventually, Wei-Lin agreed to bandage the wound with a strip of Pan’s towel.

  ‘You could get an infection,’ said Wei-Lin, but Pan just raised her eyebrows. ‘Okay,’ Wei-Lin continued. ‘Your funeral.’

  ‘Thanks, Wei-Lin,’ Pan said. ‘I owe you one.’ The debt is increasing by the day, she thought. She strapped on her watch and flexed her hand. It was stiff yet serviceable.

  Pan checked the time. Breakfast was over and she felt bad, not for herself, but for Wei-Lin. She had missed out on food, and the one thing The School taught you was that missing food was not wise and there were no second chances. It was a growling stomach until lunch. And probably a growling stomach after lunch.

  ‘How was Jen this morning?’ she asked.

  ‘Jen? Seemed okay. Maybe a little distracted.’

  Pan flexed her hand again. Had she succeeded in planting the truth inside Jen’s head, subverting the illusions The School had sown there? When she had left Jen’s dream they had just been picked up by the crew from the tanker. Would the dream continue to follow that storyline, or would the fantasy take over? If she hadn’t been successful, then she would have to go back in tonight and try again. Whatever it takes, Pan thought. Even the migraines are a small price to pay, if I can get Jen to see the truth.

  ‘Physical activity for the next two hours,’ said Pan. She held up her bandaged hand. ‘Might have to give that a miss.’

  ‘Go to the Infirmary!’

  ‘No,’ said Pan. ‘I’ve got a better idea.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Such as getting to know our team again,’ said Pan. ‘I’ve lost contact since we came back from the island. Maybe I should build some bridges.’

  ‘At least you’ve had one good thought this morning,’ said Wei-Lin. ‘But first we need to get your clothes clean.’

  ‘Is it Sunday already?’

  ‘No. But this is an emergency.’ She pointed at Pan’s blood-soaked shirt and pants. ‘Put your clothes under t
he shower. Better yet, get in there yourself, fully dressed.’ She smiled. ‘You look like you’ve been dragged through an abattoir, and we don’t want to scare the natives. You’ve already scared me half to death.’

  Jen was clearing rocks from the running path. It doesn’t matter how many rocks we clear, Pan thought, there are always more. Did someone come out during the night and replace the ones that had already been dragged to the side? It’s to keep us busy, our hands and minds always occupied with the trivial. The thought struck with the force of truth. The School is always controlling us. She shook her head.

  The red-haired boy, Eric, was beside Jen, but he wasn’t putting a great deal of effort into the manual labour. He wiped his forehead and picked up a stone.

  ‘Hi, Jen,’ Pan said as she approached. She nodded at Eric. He was someone she would have to get to know before too long. But the priority was Jen.

  ‘Hi.’ Jen squatted down to wrestle another rock. This one was huge, at least twice the size of anything Pan could even shift, let alone pick up. Jen took a deep breath, gave a grunt and lifted. Her muscles bunched and her mouth turned down with the effort as she stood, walked to the side of the path and dropped the rock. Pan felt the ground shake at the impact.

  ‘How are you?’ said Pan.

  ‘Good.’ Jen walked back to the clearing and glanced around, selecting another rock. Was there something . . . different . . . in her demeanour? Maybe she was imagining it, but Pan thought Jen was more reserved than usual. Then again, the physical labour didn’t allow much room to express your personality. Maybe she was simply concentrating on what needed to be done. Jen picked up another rock, even bigger than the last and Pan was gratified to note that she staggered slightly before regaining her balance.

  ‘What happened to you?’ Jen nodded at Pan’s hand as she passed by with her burden. Pan raised her arm.

  ‘This? Cut myself shaving.’

  Jen moved away and dropped the rock next to the one she had already shifted, before coming back to face Pan.

  ‘My knife?’ she asked. Pan nodded. ‘God,’ Jen continued. ‘You are such a dork, Pandora. Can’t you even sleep with a blade without nearly killing yourself?’

  ‘Seems not.’

  ‘You should get yourself checked out at the Infirmary.’

  ‘Wei-Lin agrees.’ Pan moved her fingers gingerly. ‘Must admit I made a mess of the bedclothes. Looked like I’d bunked down with a slaughtered pig. Surprised you didn’t see the mayhem when you got up.’

  Jen snorted.

  ‘Too dark. I was up at five. Went for a run to clear my head.’

  ‘Bad night? Bad dreams?’

  Jen put her hands on her hips and regarded Pan for a few seconds.

  ‘That’s the second time you’ve mentioned my dreams, Pandora. Last night you were asking about my nightmares and this morning you bring the subject up again. What’s going on?’

  ‘Just curious.’

  ‘Yeah, you said that last night too.’

  ‘Maybe because it’s true.’

  Jen regarded Pan for a few more moments and then dusted her hands off on her pants. ‘I’d better get back to work,’ she said. ‘At least one of us should be productive. I guess that hand of yours will put you out of action for a while.’

  Pan smiled. ‘I guess it will,’ she said. ‘Bad luck, huh? And before you go speculating, I did not cut myself deliberately to get out of work detail.’

  ‘I believe you, thousands wouldn’t.’ Jen jerked her head to the side, indicating Eric. He stooped and picked up a stone the size of a fist. ‘Don’t go giving that red-haired bozo any inspiration, Pandora. He’d slash his wrists and set himself on fire if he thought it would get him out of a job. He just hasn’t got the brains to come up with the idea.’

  ‘Not a hard worker, then?’

  ‘As much use as a chocolate teapot,’ said Jen. ‘And a smart-arse as well. I give it two days before I punch the jerk.’

  Why did The School select him? Pan wondered. Now that she knew all the students had been hand-picked, she was curious about the criteria used. Sanjit, for example. She liked the boy and he’d said he was good at IT. For all she knew, he was a computer whiz-kid back in Darwin. Maybe he could write brilliant phone apps, but app skills were not going to be vital if The School succeeded in its plan. In less than three months, the world would die. What use would technology be then? And Karl, who looked like he’d eaten too much pizza in darkened rooms while squinting at computer monitors. He’d slimmed down since he’d been at The School, but why was a gamer chosen? Or Sam, come to that – though the ability to find her way around without a GPS might well be a useful skill. And now Eric. The School must have thought a pyromaniac would in some way be useful in a post-apocalyptic world.

  ‘Hello? Pandora?’ said Jen. Pan jolted and snapped her head around. Jen was waving her hands in front of her face. ‘Having a moment? Looked like you’d slipped into a coma.’

  ‘Just thinking.’

  ‘Well, stop it. You’re setting a bad example.’

  ‘I thought I might chat with Eric. I’ve barely spoken a word to him yet.’

  ‘Trust me. That was wise. I wouldn’t bother now if I was you.’

  ‘See you later, Jen.’ Pan moved off and Jen called after her.

  ‘You could always ask him about his dreams, Pandora.’

  Eric turned out to be forthcoming about everything, maybe because talking to Pan meant he could take a break from shifting stones. He didn’t appear even slightly disturbed about the virus, and he waved away Pan’s questions about what he could or couldn’t remember before arriving at The School.

  ‘I heard you were shot,’ said Pan. That, at least, was the story that Dr Morgan and Dr Macredie had offered, and she was inclined to believe it, since they’d referred to it when Pan was hiding under Eric’s bed at the Infirmary. ‘How did that happen?’

  ‘No idea,’ said Eric cheerfully. ‘No memories of it whatsoever. Pity. It would be cool to remember.’

  ‘Cool?’

  ‘Yeah. I mean, getting shot. Like in the movies. Was I facing off a gang of criminals, maybe a shootout?’ He mimed pumping a shotgun. ‘And then, boom.’ He flung his arms back, staggered and clutched at his chest. ‘And then, as I’m lying there in a pool of blood, I reach out and grab my gun, take out two of them. Boom.’

  ‘How old are you, Eric?’

  ‘Seventeen.’

  ‘Really? You seem younger. Much younger.’

  ‘Put it down to clean living.’

  Pan sat on a rock and Eric joined her. Even sitting down he couldn’t keep still, scuffing at the ground with a shoe and drumming fingers on his knees. Hyperactive, thought Pan. I bet he was a real hit with his teachers at school.

  ‘And you like to blow things up?’ she said.

  ‘Oh, yeah,’ said Eric. ‘Or set fire to stuff. To be honest, fire is my favourite. Explosions are pretty cool, but it’s the fire that comes after that really gets my juices going.’

  Yup. An obvious candidate for Head Boy.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Fire is beautiful,’ said Eric. ‘It’s the most beautiful thing. Don’t you think?’ His eyes were bright with passion, and Pan wondered again what qualities The School had identified in him. Maybe it was important to have one psychopath left in the world, if only to keep the rest of the survivors on their toes.

  ‘Didn’t your love of fire get you into trouble?’ Pan asked.

  ‘Oh, yeah,’ said Eric. His tone was reverential. ‘You wouldn’t believe how much.’

  Pan got to her feet and brushed the dust off the seat of her pants. ‘Well, I’d better get going, Eric. I need to get back to planet Earth.’

  ‘Yeah, see you later,’ Eric replied. ‘Hey.’

  Pan turned.

  ‘I hear you and Jen are legends in this place. Bold, bad and dangerous.’

  Pan just stood there.

  ‘You should know,’ Eric continued, ‘that you’ve got competition now. Serious
competition.’ He pointed at his chest. ‘Watch me,’ he said, ‘and marvel.’

  Pan shook her head and walked off.

  Pandora Jones skipped lessons that day. She was down for maths with Professor Goldberg and there was no way she was going to sit through a class with him. In fact, she thought she might not go to another class at all. What were they going to do to her? Or was it better to seem to abandon hope and get back into the same routine as everyone else? Would skipping class make her even more of a target or would it be put down to trauma? No point in second-guessing what Professor Goldberg might think. She had other, more important, things on her mind. She had meant her remarks to Wei-Lin that building bridges with the rest of the group would be a good idea. With luck, she would need them on her side. Eric was something else, though. She couldn’t see how he could be trusted with anything. But she had a hunch that he had a part to play in whatever was coming.

  Of course, the rest of her team were in class and she basically had The School to herself, so building bridges was out of the question until lunchtime at least. A plan was forming. The details were hazy and she couldn’t see the big picture yet, but it was irrelevant if the first part didn’t work out. Something had happened in Jen’s dreams. She knew her friend too well. And the whole conversation about nightmares and dreaming – Jen was suspicious about Pan’s motives, but perhaps that might keep the idea of dreams in Jen’s head, both waking and sleeping. Pan hoped she wouldn’t have to invade Jen’s dreams too many times – not just because of the migraine that followed [would that always follow?], but because of her overwhelming sense of guilt and betrayal.

  So Pan walked and let the sun warm her. She thought about her mother and she thought about Danny.

  But most of all, she thought about Nate.