Pandora Jones: Admission

by Barry Jonsberg

  Pan was surprised when Morgan abruptly put the machine away. She looked at the clock and saw it was six-twenty.

  ‘Definitely enough for today’s session,’ said Dr Morgan. ‘Especially as you are on the early dinner shift.’

  ‘So what’s the verdict, Doctor?’

  ‘We are a very, very long way from reaching a verdict, my dear. Come on, I’ll walk you to the steps.’

  Pan groaned.

  ‘It’s a lot easier going down, trust me,’ Morgan added.

  ‘What’s the point of having a hospital in the most inaccessible place?’ asked Pan as they walked along the corridor. ‘Isn’t it inconvenient?’

  ‘Not for me,’ chuckled the doctor. ‘I like to be away from the hustle and bustle of The School proper. And the view is fantastic.’

  ‘But if anyone gets hurt, they have to be brought up those steps. That can’t be efficient.’

  ‘You sound like The School Council. No. It’s not efficient. But this is the way it was set up when we arrived. Beds and equipment already here. Maybe the military had their reasons for having a hospital in such an inaccessible place, but there’s no one to ask anymore. And don’t forget we have some exceptionally fit stretcher-bearers among the student body. You’d be surprised at how quickly they can get a patient here.’

  He pushed open the swing doors. The Garden on Top of the World was to their right, shrouded in twilight. The first of the stone steps could just be seen off to their left. The cold had intensified now. The sky was dotted with hard pricks of light. They were too far from the edge of the cliff to see anything of The School below. But Pan could just make out the sea in the far distance. Lights flickered in the village that nestled on the shore. The wall separating it from The School was a wedge of darkness, though in the towers along its length bright lights burned.

  ‘Answer me one question before I go, Doc,’ said Pan.

  ‘Of course, my dear.’

  ‘The most basic resources are missing in this place. From what I can see, we need energy, food, educational material, tools, livestock. A whole bunch of stuff that would make life here much easier.’

  ‘Correct,’ said Morgan. ‘We are desperately short of almost everything. But, as I’m sure has been explained, we have limited means of transporting things here. We try to build things up slowly, while the number one priority is still searching for survivors.’

  ‘Yes, I was told that. So my question is how did you get a shuffling machine?’

  Pan felt, rather than saw, Morgan stiffen in surprise. There was silence for a long time and then he laughed.

  ‘You’ve caught me out, my dear,’ he said. ‘You’re absolutely right. I should never have got such a thing. But . . . let’s say I know one or two of the people who go out on their boats to get supplies. And let’s say also that one or two of them owe me a favour. It’s reprehensible, my dear, and I would be grateful if you didn’t spread this around. But it’s the way the world has always operated. I scratch someone’s back and they scratch mine.’

  Pan nodded, but inside she was shaking her head. The answer was wrong. Not the basic idea that he might have persuaded someone to do a favour and source something outside the official requisition lists. But who in their right mind would want a shuffling machine, of all things? Pan hadn’t had time to think all of the implications through, but she knew two things. Dr Morgan had secrets and she didn’t trust him. He wants to learn about me in these personal development sessions, she thought, but they will also give me the chance to learn more about him and The School. If I do have intuitive gifts he may find that they could rebound on him.

  ‘One other thing,’ she said. ‘How is the survivor doing? We saw the helicopter land here yesterday. We assumed someone had been brought in.’

  Morgan sighed.

  ‘Indeed. A boy, not in good shape, I’m afraid. In fact, at the moment it’s looking unlikely he will make it. But we do our best with what we have at our disposal. Trust me, we are working hard to get him through.’

  ‘The virus?’

  ‘Maybe. In part.’ Morgan spread his hands. ‘Though our main concern is to do with something altogether more basic. I’m afraid he suffered a serious bullet wound to the chest.’

  ‘He was shot?’

  ‘The pilot spotted him a few days back,’ said Morgan, ‘and because there wasn’t enough room to land in that particular location, we sent out a team of students to locate him, bring him back. That happens, Pandora, when circumstances dictate. When they got there, they found he had been badly wounded.’

  ‘How did that happen?’

  ‘If he recovers, he may be able to give us the full story. But we do know that there are some survivors who . . . how can I put this? . . . have reverted to a state of barbarism.’ Morgan rubbed at his forehead. ‘It is sad, but a part of human nature. Though now, more than ever, there is enough for everyone, some will always not want to share and will protect what they consider their property by any means at their disposal. When law and order breaks down entirely and life and death is at stake . . . well, there are dangerous people out there, my dear.’ He patted Pan’s shoulder. ‘That’s another thing The School is meant to prepare you for.’

  Pan would have asked more, but her attention was drawn to a flickering light that appeared at the top of the steps leading down to The School. The light resolved itself into a flaming torch, its fire dancing in the breeze. Shadows swarmed over the silhouette of the person holding it. Then the torch was lowered to illuminate the figure’s face.

  ‘Nate,’ said Pan.

  ‘I will see you tomorrow, Pandora. Four-thirty sharp,’ said Dr Morgan, and he was gone before she had a chance to respond.

  Nate stepped forward a few paces.

  ‘Hey,’ he said.

  ‘Hi,’ said Pan. ‘What are you doing here?’

  His face was wreathed in dancing patterns from the torch.

  ‘Oh, you know. Had some time to kill.’ He laughed. ‘Thought it might help if I brought some light for your journey down. The flame torch that Wei-Lin mentioned. I love them. So medieval.’

  Pan smiled.

  ‘Well, thank you. I must admit, light will be a comfort. At least it’ll make it easier to avoid thinking about the drop.’

  ‘You afraid of heights?’

  ‘Terrified.’

  ‘In that case, I’ll go first. Should make it easier for you to see. Just keep on my heels, though I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tread on them.’

  They set off down the steps. This time there was no great rush, so Pan could choose her path carefully. True, they were going to be late for dinner, but provided they got there before the second sitting there would be time to eat. The canteen was not a place where people lingered, and it didn’t take more than ten minutes to be served and finish your dinner.

  The steps themselves were broad, and they kept to the cliff side. After a few minutes, Pan almost forgot about the drop to her left. Almost. Nate threw remarks over his shoulder.

  ‘So what were you doing with the Doc?’

  ‘He wants to team up with me for personal development,’ she replied. ‘It seems that just as you were head-hunted by Miss Kingston, Dr Morgan wants to work with me.’

  ‘Ah, it’s good to feel wanted,’ he said. ‘So what is it then? Don’t tell me. You’ve always had a burning ambition to be a surgeon.’

  ‘Not quite. Apparently, he wants to test whether I have psychic ability.’ She felt embarrassed just mentioning it.

  ‘Seriously?’ Nate stopped and Pan almost trod on his heels. He turned to face her. ‘That is so cool. Like that thing you did today, finding Wei-Lin’s watch? Wish I’d been there, Pan. That is serious X-Files shit.’

  ‘Did you mention it to Dr Morgan? Or anyone else?’

  ‘Me? No. I wasn’t even there, remember. Why would I mention it?’

  ‘He knew about it. So either someone told him, or . . .’

  ‘If you’re psychic, you should already know.’
>
  ‘Ha, ha. Funny guy.’

  Nate smiled and turned back to the steps. Pan thought they must almost be at the bottom but the light from the torch, although illuminating a small area, had the effect of making the darkness close in around them. She continued to take one step after another.

  ‘How did your session with Kingston go?’ she asked.

  ‘“People listen to you, Nate, and are prepared to follow.” What a crock. But part of the program is improving my fitness levels, so that’s okay. I don’t mind that. We had a race.’ He laughed. ‘A two-hundred metre sprint and she kicked my butt. That’ll change, trust me. I cannot allow someone ten years my senior to beat me at running. It’s unacceptable.’

  They completed the rest of the descent in silence. At the base of the cliff, The School was spread out before them, shrouded in darkness, but pinpointed with moving sparks of light as students returned from the canteen to their dormitories. Despite the cold, it lent warmth to the scene, the reflection from the flickering torches giving the buildings a fairy-tale quality.

  ‘We’re late for dinner,’ said Nate, holding the torch up to his watch. ‘If we stand any chance of eating we are going to have to run.’

  Pan groaned. Her legs were so tired and the last thing she felt like was yet more exercise. But she was also starving. They set off running, side by side, down the path towards the canteen.

  Chapter 11

  During dinner, everyone denied saying anything to Dr Morgan about Pan finding Wei-Lin’s watch. It was difficult to tell who might be lying, but the group’s puzzled looks seemed to indicate a genuine innocence. The only member of the group not at their table was Cara, who was serving food behind the counter. But given that Cara had barely said two words to anyone at all in the last couple of days, the odds of her being the informant were low.

  I do not know who to trust, thought Pan. And that means I can trust no one.

  She bent her head to her bowl. It might simply have been her imagination, but the food this evening tasted better. Not good, but better. Maybe Cara was making a difference in the kitchen.

  ~~~

  The dream took up where it had left off.

  Pan entered the alleyway five metres ahead of the chasing men. She dimly understood that this was an alleyway she had already run down. And with that realisation, the first fear returned. That the space ahead, the mouth of the tunnel seventy, eighty metres ahead, would fill. A man in a dark suit. A man with sunglasses. Blocking her exit. And as the image filled her head, so it happened.

  Had he stepped out ten seconds later, Pan would have run straight into him. As it was, she barely broke stride. She veered to the side and, throwing her right hand onto the top of the wooden fence that bordered the alley, leaped as high as she could. Her school skirt ripped as her right hip snagged painfully on the fence. The pain blossomed so that, for a moment, it filled the entire world. She almost passed out as she fell onto her side. But she had cleared the fence. Pan hobbled to her feet again and looked around. Someone’s back garden. A Hills Hoist, underwear fluttering. A garden shed. A kid’s sand tray. No one around. No place to hide. She heard footsteps on the other side of the fence. She didn’t wait for hands to appear at the top of the railings. She ran to the low fence bordering the next garden. This was easier to get over. Easier for those following, too. A small dog yapped at her, made darts for her ankles. She screamed for help.

  Pan made it to the third garden before looking back. The men, three of them, were jumping into the second. One aimed a kick at the yapping dog, which yelped and cowered. Pan ran round the side of the house towards the front garden. Where was everyone? How could an entire neighbourhood be so deserted? All she needed was for someone, anyone, to come out of their house to find out what all the noise was about. Just one person. This thought was running through her head as she came around the side of the house and ran straight into a fourth man. A man with a suit and sunglasses. The collision staggered both of them.

  She tried to run. But he grabbed hold of her shirt, pinned her to him. One arm clamped around her waist, a hand smothering her mouth and nostrils. She couldn’t catch her breath and panic surged. Pan kicked back at the man’s ankles, felt the satisfying clunk of shoe against bone. But his grip tightened and he dragged her back towards the garden, away from the road. Her lungs ached to take in air, but there wasn’t any.

  Pan fumbled in the waistband of her torn skirt. She wrenched a canister from her hidden pocket, almost lost her grip, found it again. Her fingers fumbled for the nozzle. He had her leaning backwards now. Her shoes were dragging against the ground, vision filled with tumbling images of sky, and brickwork to her left. She brought her hand up to her shoulder, pressed the button and sprayed. She couldn’t aim. All she had was instinct.

  The man let out a thin scream and his arms relaxed. Pan twisted, regained her footing and kicked back once more. This time his grip fell away and she spun to face him. His sunglasses were askew, one arm dangling from his ear. He was rubbing at his left eye with the palm of a hand. Pan stepped in closer and sprayed his right eye. He screamed again, crumpled to his knees. She didn’t hesitate. Already she could hear footsteps approaching. Pan turned and ran to the gate, pushed through it, stumbled again, but her feet fell into the rhythm of running once more. Pan turned right down the road, and ran along the centre line.

  The police car swung left onto the road about a hundred metres ahead, its lights flashing, sirens silent. It sped towards her. Pan couldn’t quite believe it. She tried to blink away the sweat from her eyes, get the car in focus. It swam towards her, misty with refracted light. She ran faster, straight into its path. She wasn’t aware of waving her arms over her head, didn’t stop until the car slewed to a halt right in front of her, didn’t stop screaming even when a police officer took her in his arms. All the strength left her, then. She slumped and a realisation of pain flooded in.

  ‘It’s okay, love. You’re safe now.’

  The words seemed to come from an enormous distance. Pan struggled to control her legs, which felt rubbery and like they belonged to someone else. She wiped the tears from her eyes. The officer was tall. He had a handlebar moustache. It reminded her, bizarrely, of a main lead in an old American TV series. She couldn’t remember what it was called. His arms felt reassuringly strong. She concentrated on her ragged breathing, calming herself consciously, feeling the air draw in, controlling the exhalation. She fought for power over her body and gradually won.

  ~~~

  Pan sat up in bed, her face slick with sweat. For a moment, the dream was so real that she had difficulty dissociating from it and realising where she was. Then the night sounds returned, the muffled sobs and cries that filled the dormitory, even through her earplugs. She rubbed at her eyes and took deep breaths. Her hands came away wet. Breathe, she thought. The night is filled with terrors, but they can’t be real. Can they?

  She took out her earplugs and scrambled around in the bedside drawer for her torch. She hadn’t used it last night and she vividly remembered the sense of horror when she couldn’t find her way out of the dormitory. This time she would take whatever help she could find. And, judging by the cries of her fellow students, it would be a relief if the light woke them. She found the switch and turned it on briefly to get her bearings. The beam lit up Cara’s bed. It was unoccupied, the sheets crumpled and thrown back.

  Pan found the door easily this time, using the torch sparingly. The night was cold, the sky clear and fretted with stars. She shivered. ‘Cara?’ she whispered. ‘Are you out here?’ The only reply was the faint whistle of the wind. Pan turned on her torch once more and explored the immediate surroundings of the dormitory but there was no sign of the girl. She might have come out for fresh air, but it wasn’t likely she would wander far, not at night when the absence of flickering torches lent The School such a sinister atmosphere. Pan turned off the torch again and spotted a thin band of light coming from the shower block. She walked towards the door, picking her steps caref
ully. She put her ear against the shower door and heard the faint hiss of running water. The light beneath the door must have been a torch beam.

  Pan waited. She sat on a rock about ten metres from the toilet block. She hadn’t knocked on the door for fear of frightening Cara and she turned the torch on for the same reason. Pan considered returning to her bed, but sleep was terrifying. Perhaps she could have a conversation with the quiet girl. Reassure her. Reassure each other. So she sat and waited and tried to ignore the night chill.

  Cara stiffened when she opened the shower door and saw the pool of light around Pan’s feet.

  ‘It’s okay, Cara,’ said Pan. ‘It’s only me.’

  Cara’s eyes darted away and she pulled her camouflage jacket closer to her, an instinctive act of protection. She didn’t say anything.

  ‘Late for a shower,’ Pan remarked.

  ‘It’s quiet.’ Cara spoke so quietly that Pan had to strain to hear her.

  ‘I guess.’

  Cara lifted her head and met Pan’s eyes.

  ‘I like my privacy,’ she explained. ‘It’s too crowded at any other time.’

  Every student in The School is in hell, thought Pan but those who are sensitive and insular suffer the worst.

  ‘Fair enough,’ Pan replied.

  Cara said nothing. She shifted from one foot to another, looking like a child who was waiting for permission to be excused.

  ‘Feel like talking?’ Pan asked.

  ‘What about?’

  ‘Anything at all. Just talking. You know, like girls do.’

  Cara remained silent, but she walked over and sat on another rock about two metres to Pan’s right. She shivered and hugged herself tighter.

  ‘You’re a quiet one,’ said Pan.