by Sara Etienne
“You’ll be all right?” Dad’s voice dragged me back. He sounded desperate for me to absolve him.
Now I understood why Mom hadn’t come along on the trip. She’d explained that they’d only been able to bargain for enough gas to get Dad and me to the school, without her added weight. But that wasn’t it. She hadn’t been sure that she could stab me in the back and walk away. So she’d stuck my father with the job. Sucker.
Well, he could leave me here, but he couldn’t make me stay. No one could.
“I think Faye and I can go it alone from here,” Dr. Mordoch said, giving my dad a way out. Her voice was sweet again. “We have a lot to catch up on, and it’ll be easier with just us girls.”
My dad shuffled toward me with outstretched arms. I stepped back, holding the suitcase like a shield between us. Unsure, he turned the hug into an awkward sort of hang-in-there-champ arm pat and headed to the car.
Well, Mom had certainly picked the right man for the job. The engine roared into life and he pulled away. What was going through his mind as he wound his way down the endless driveway back to the road? Was he glad to be alone now, driving by himself through the night? I pictured him fiddling with the radio, bobbing his head to the music. Had he rolled down the window to savor that extra rush of freedom?
As his taillights glimmered through the trees, a small breeze lifted the oppressive heat of the night. The wild sharpness of pine trees clashed with the salty breath of the ocean, and I was sucked back ten years. I felt awkward and alone, like I was six again. Old memories fluttered in their cages and then vanished again as the air stilled. Then the taillights blinked out into nothing, leaving me in the dark with her.
“Let’s get you settled.” Dr. Mordoch took my arm and led me uphill, into the dark forest. It seemed impossible that there were this many trees left anywhere, let alone in one spot. The woods closed ranks, hiding the driveway and the off-kilter Compass Rose behind us. My throat tightened, and I lost my bearings as the path wound through a dense tunnel of leaves.
Which way is the driveway? How will I get back to the main road later?
I’d only been in a forest once before, and I remembered the same disorienting panic. My fifth-grade class had taken a field trip to Raccoon Creek State Park. It was only a year or so after the oil had peaked out, and people were still trying to act like nothing had changed. Before the Peak War. Way before the rangers started carrying guns.
We were there to “commune with nature.” But it wasn’t lovely and pristine, like our teacher had said. I remembered how I’d felt out there under all those trees, all those tangled, twisted branches reaching for me. The wind crashing through them, howling at me. I couldn’t breathe.
It was the same way now.
The woods blotted out the sky and I hunched low, wishing I could reach up and smash through the overhanging branches. Finally, the trees broke open and we stood looking up at the dorms. The graphite-colored stone and slate roofs squared off in a practical, U-shaped building.
“These dormitories are more than eighty years old. In fact, the buildings on campus are the oldest structures left on the island. The locals tore down the last of the old houses for firewood last winter. We’re lucky that Holbrook Estate is an official historic landmark . . . and that the Compass Rose and dormitories are made of stone.” Dr. Mordoch winked at me like she’d made a joke.
But it didn’t add up. No official designation would protect all these trees in January when people were freezing to death. What’s Dr. Mordoch leaving out of her history lesson?
As we followed the path into the courtyard, Dr. Mordoch gestured at the dorms, the wings of the building stretching out on either side of us. “This is part of an old monastery built after the Holbrooks lived here. Of course, we had to make a few improvements.”
I didn’t think she was talking about flowered curtains or rainbow wallpaper. No, the monks might have called their rooms cells, but I didn’t think they were the ones who put bars on the windows.
With a jangle of keys, Dr. Mordoch unlocked three sets of bolts on the front door. I guess I won’t be leaving that way. Fluorescent lights flickered on, and I blinked. It wasn’t the dank, barren hallway I’d expected from the outside, but a living room with pasty-green linoleum and bright plastic chairs bolted to the floor.
“Most of the other students will be here by tomorrow morning. There’re a few other early birds, like you, who came up with their parents. The student nurse is down the hall, so don’t feel too lonely.”
Translation: We’re keeping an eye on you.
Up the stairs. Third door on the left. The bedroom had the same sterile decorating theme as the living room. It felt like a hospital, except the furniture was all secured to the floor or walls and there was a definite lack of balloons.
“I’m so glad to have you back with us, Faye. You were too young when we had our sessions together. We never had time to dig deep enough.”
Dr. Mordoch walked to the tiny connecting bathroom. I heard the faucet running, and she came back out with a cup of water and a blue pill.
“You need a good night’s sleep.” She smiled sweetly and held it out to me.
Like that would even be possible in this place. I shook my head.
“Standard procedure for the beginning of the semester. It’s always hard to adjust to a new place. And we want things to go smoothly.”
Go smoothly for who? Her smile tightened, and I remembered how she’d pinned me on the floor earlier. But I wasn’t just going to roll over and play dead. I took the pill and a gulp of water and swallowed.
“Show me your mouth.”
My stomach clenched and I opened up just a little.
“Wider. Under your tongue.”
I moved my tongue to the side, trying to sweep the hidden pill along with it, but the traitorous blue must have peeked out.
“I know all the tricks. You can play this game, Faye. But know this now: you’ll lose. So you might as well swallow the pill and go to bed.”
Defeated, I maneuvered the pill to the top of my tongue. Bitterness spread through my mouth, twisting it with distaste. I swallowed for real this time and opened wide again as ordered.
“Sweet dreams.” She smiled and shut the door. The lock snapped into place.
3
I DIDN’T WRESTLE with the knob or slam my fist against the door. It wasn’t going to open that way, and I couldn’t afford the extra attention. Not if I was going to find a way out.
They’ll feed me pills and propaganda until I’m all fixed. Until I have nothing but empty, fluff-filled dreams.
No. I dreaded the visions and nightmares, but I craved them too. The landscape of my life was painted in browns and grays, but the visions brought a rush of intensity that hinted there was something more. No matter how much I hated being shunned and ignored, I wasn’t willing to sacrifice the only part of my life that felt important.
How long did I have till the drugs kicked in? Five minutes? Fifteen? A half hour?
I scanned the dimly lit room. A bathroom, two beds, two desks, a girl in front of the window—
“Shit!” I almost fell down in shock. A sallow girl stood facing me, her black eyes glaring out from behind dingy, dark hair.
It was just my reflection. The world fell into place again, bringing cold reality with it. Even I was afraid of the girl mirrored in the window. Did she really see secrets in people’s minds? Did waves really come for her? It was terrifying to think it was all a delusion. But even scarier to believe that it wasn’t.
I should smash her into a million shards.
I took a deep breath and walked toward the window, blurring the reflection. They’d left that girl behind. But I wouldn’t. I wasn’t going to let her stay here.
I’d been wrong about the windows. There were only bars on the first floor, not the second. But the window wouldn’t budge. There was no knob or bolt or lock. It just wouldn’t open.
I yanked hard on the handle at the bottom of the fr
ame, jarring my whole body with the force. Nothing happened. Resting against the wall, I noticed the sheen of the paint continued seamlessly from sill to window. It was painted shut. I banged on the frame, and small cracks formed in the seal. Will the nurse hear me?
I didn’t care anymore. The room was too hot and musty. I couldn’t breathe. Raking my fingernails along the edge, I clawed at the congealed paint. Years flaked away in a flurry of paint chips. Cream. Mint green. Lavender. The colors blurred together, and I could feel the pill dragging at me. I had to get out of here while I still could.
I pulled on the window again. It groaned and muttered.
I was suffocating. Panic pumped through my veins. Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh. Pushing my forehead into the wooden frame, the smell of cedar caught at me, and underneath it, a hint of the salty night air. I breathed in the tantalizing scent and it anchored me, focusing my mind. I needed to get out of this stifling room. To get out of here.
I grabbed the handle with both hands, my whole body concentrating on that one thought, that smell, and pulled with everything I had. The window let out a tiny sigh and flew open. Fresh air hit my face, and I laughed as my head cleared a little.
A metal ladder glinted in the faint glow of the dorms. Probably an old fire escape. It was a few rooms away, near the corner of the building. A narrow, decorative ledge ran right beneath the windows, between me and the ladder.
I crawled out and stepped onto the tightrope of stone just as the lights in the whole building went out, like someone had thrown a switch. The dorms were plunged into darkness. I couldn’t see the window, the ledge, or the ground beneath me. I fought to keep my balance.
What am I doing here? The drugs were definitely kicking in. My thoughts inched their way through my brain, trying to come to some sort of conclusion. I clutched at the rim of the window, letting the solid stone steady me.
You have to get off this ledge.
Yeah. I know that.
How?
My eyes adjusted to the night, and with it came a little clarity. By the lopsided moon and the spotlights lining the courtyard, I could make out the ladder again.
Yes. That’s right.
Very carefully, I pulled off my boots, knotted the shoelaces together, and hung them around my neck. My bare feet gripped the warm stone and my mind cleared a little more. I turned and hugged the wall, inching toward the ladder. Not looking down. Not thinking about how stupid it would be to die like this.
Then my fingertips touched the rough grit of metal and I grabbed on, swinging myself onto the ladder. The iron rails smelled like monkey bars, and a kid’s thrill of danger tingled through me.
My feet gonged softly on the rungs as I climbed down. I just needed to make it to the ground and head for the road. From there I could walk to the dock. Or maybe hitch a ride. If there were any cars still running on this island.
The stench of cigarettes interrupted my thoughts. I froze. A dull glow floated in the dark, about sixty feet away, near the ground. A man, cigarette in one hand, leaned against the front door of the dorms, puffing smoke into the air. He clicked on a flashlight and scanned the courtyard and the surrounding woods. Security.
I knew I needed to worry about him. To be careful. But my fear was remote. Like watching a horror movie and yelling, “Don’t open that door!”
I tried to focus my thick mind on the guard as he puffed another big cloud of smoke into the air. Willing my feet to be silent, I went back up the ladder. My damp palms slid on the rungs as I climbed all the way up.
He couldn’t stay there all night. I’d wait. Avoiding the gutters, I pulled myself up onto the roof and my breath caught in my throat.
I’d never seen anything like it. Standing there, at the edge of the roof, the world opened up to me. Trees . . . No, a forest, a real forest, swarmed across the hills. The ocean curved in around the coast, embracing the cliffs. Welcoming me. Out on the horizon, the mob of oil rigs blazed in the hot night. Pinhole stars peeked through the hazy air, glittering against the inky sea. Like broken glass on asphalt.
It was beautiful.
Below, the lights of the castlelike Compass Rose shone from a hollow at the bottom of the hill. Far across the grounds, another light flickered in the dark. Smoke reached my nose, and my throat cinched tight as I remembered last summer’s riots down in Pittsburgh. When the whole city lit up the sky, and armed helicopters buzzed back and forth over the South Hills Cooperative.
Calm down. That fire had stunk of burnt tires and charred flesh. This was different.
The air was filled with the earthy smell of singed leaves and tree sap. Maybe the woods weren’t as protected as Dr. Mordoch thought.
I climbed to the crest of the roof to get a better view, my feet feeling their way up the smooth slate tile. Standing on the flat ridge that ran along the peak, I saw that it wasn’t a forest fire either. A bonfire burned on a cliff on the other side of the Compass Rose. Flames jumped into the sky, licking at the stars. Tall shadows stood black against the firelight.
There’s other people out here.
Then the music started. It was soft, just a sigh in the muggy night. Then it grew into a groan. The sound was mellow and rich. Not a flute, but something like it. The strange instrument seemed familiar, like something I’d listened to a long time ago on one of my parents’ worn-out, wobbly tapes.
A drum joined in. Then a second and a third. They matched the rhythm of the ocean, echoing the insistent waves. The music drifted across the valley, from the people around the bonfire. I counted them. Seven dark figures ringing the fire. Were they more security guards? Other students? Locals? But the night was hot; why would anyone waste the wood?
Who, then?
The smell of burnt pine needles stung my nose, and I fought against its overwhelming scent. Against the smoke and questions filling my head. Then one of the shadows stepped closer to the bonfire. A figure stark against the orange brilliance. Eclipsing the flames.
Fear pricked my temples and I dropped behind the ridge of the roof. They’re too far away to see me. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being watched.
Creeping back over the peak, I eased myself down the other side of the roof to get a closer look. A tile broke away under my feet, skittering, skritch-scratch down the slope. My feet slipped out from under me, following the tile down, slamming my chin against the slate. I caught at the slick roof, trying to stop myself as I slid down it, but I just gained momentum. Any second I would fly off the edge. I squeezed my eyes shut just as my feet hit the copper gutters and stopped my fall.
Under the music, under my breathing, the tile smashed on the ground. A thousand pieces on the concrete.
Lying there, heart pounding, I tried to make the world stop spinning. Below me, on the ground, footsteps rounded the building. The guard.
I pressed myself flat. The beam of his flashlight skidded along the gutters. Can he see me?
I held still, the sharp taste of blood filling my mouth. I held my breath as my heart pounded out the rhythm of the drums. I held my thoughts steady while the light made woozy circles along the rooftop.
Then I heard the flick of a lighter. I craned my neck to see what was going on. The guard sucked in on a new cigarette, kicked the broken tile and his cigarette butt into the bushes, then disappeared back into the dark. A ways off, I heard a door slam.
I crawled, panting, back up to the ridge. My legs wobbled under me as I stood again. The bonfire and the blazing silhouette were still there. The drums still pulsed with the hungry tide.
The ring of black shapes seemed to leap and fall in the flickering firelight. The silhouetted figure threw up its arms and a wailing song split the night. The voice sliced at me. Digging at my mind.
I tried to shut my thoughts to the song’s steady beat, but my feet obeyed anyway. I danced the sea’s rhythm out across the slippery ridge. The music throbbed in my bones. Now you, the drums chanted. It’s time. For you.
The wind rose. Flaring up the flames and rus
hing at me.
I leaned into the wind, letting it hold me up. Its warm arms wrapping tight.
The trees around me came alive, their dark leaves quaking. Their branches waving in time. I gave in to the music, stomping my feet. I gave in to the drugs, thrusting my hands in to the sky. Even the stars cried out as they blazed their fierce arcs of light.
My arms spread wide, and I spun too. Tracking their orbit. The drums raced and my body crescendoed into delicious, dizzying circles. Like a roman candle waiting to blaze.
The music soared and I soared up with it. I towered over the insatiable ocean. Feral shadows danced far beneath me. The moon was just a chunk of ice at my feet.
Then the song died. Hovering at the edge of the roof, the sea splayed below, I whimpered in the empty silence. A sliver of memory cut its way out of the fog. A rushing wave of froth and ice ripped through my mind. Screaming, I was dragged down into the darkness.
4
“WHERE DO YOU want this one? Zach Watson.” A man’s faraway, gravelly voice filtered into my sleep.
Everything hurt. The side of my face throbbed, and my shoulder felt like someone had tried to wrench it out of my body. The air tasted thick and sticky, with a twinge of rotting fish. My right arm came into focus, dangling off the edge of the roof. The rest of me was just inches away from joining it in midair. Not good. I eased my aching body away from the edge, trying not to throw up.
It was barely light, but the shadowy courtyard was already in motion. Hulking guards strode in and out of the yard. Some of them hauled sagging teenagers across the lawn, jerking them around a little harder than necessary. Others just circled around the sidewalks, their hands hovering right above their belt holsters. As if they were eternally ready for a shoot-out. Tell me they don’t use guns against a few messed-up kids.
At home, there were security teams to protect the food and gas rations from scroungers, but they were never this twitchy. And there were never this many of them.
