by Lisa Jade
So why does it feel so terrible?
We sit for a while longer, watching as others spar. They really are a step above; many seem to twist and hit and manoeuvre together, as though in sync. Like they’ve fought one another a thousand times before and by now, they can predict one another’s movements.
Jay said his parents started the Clover. That would have been about sixteen years ago. It would make sense that these guys would be so flawlessly in sync with one another. When we chop wood back home we often fall into the same pace, swinging our axes in perfect harmony. That’s what happens, given time.
Still, it’s hard to hide how impressed I am. For the first time since I got here, it’s finally starting to sink in what these guys do. It’s easy enough to want to protest, to talk about it in theory. But seeing them practice makes their cause seem that much more real.
Nate and Jensen wander over to us at some point in the evening, and suddenly I’m pulled on a leisurely stroll through the Atrium. As we walk, I suppress a chuckle at the sight of Atlas and Atticus twirling together like birds. It’s surprisingly cool in here – as I glance up towards the glass ceiling, though, I frown.
“What’s wrong?” asks Pan.
“No stars.”
“Huh? Oh, that. There’s too much light pollution. It blocks out all the stars. Sure, they’re there, but I’ve never seen them. I imagine you have.”
“Yeah,” I breathe, “they’re… good.”
Jensen snorts.
“Is that all? Just ‘good’? Wow, artists and poets have sure exaggerated the night sky.”
I smirk in response, inwardly cursing myself. Words can never really express how the night sky looks to me. I’ve never cared about beauty, sure – but there’s something about a starry sky that screams ‘home’ to me. They wouldn’t understand.
“I don’t know how to describe it,” I say, “but it’s nice to see them. They’re kind of out of place, though. Like they don’t belong at the Mill.”
He seems bemused by my answer. I shrug off the embarrassment and glance around. The Atrium’s quiet now, most people having gone to sleep hours ago. I’m not sure what time it is – but judging by the chill in the air, we’re deep into the early hours.
“So, tell us about the Mill.”
Nate glances back at me with a warm, encouraging smile. I hesitate. I don’t really want to talk about home. I’m having fun right now, imagining this is some kind of fever dream that I could wake up from at any moment.
“There’s not much to tell. It’s split into sections. Fields, Forests. There are some places nearby, like the Plant or the Mines. Factories, Oil Rigs. Further out you reach the Docks – they’re part of the Mill, too.”
“Sounds pretty big. How many of you are there?”
I shrug.
“No clue. Thousands. Maybe tens of thousands. That’s just what I’ve seen, though. There are a lot more.”
Nate and Jensen exchange stunned looks. It’s becoming clear to me that city folk know as little about us as we do about them.
“And they’re all your age?” Jensen asks, suddenly curious despite himself. I shake my head.
“No. We’re all teenagers when we leave Homestead – that’s where we’re raised and taught farming theory. Then you work until you drop. We have some older guys who’ve been there for decades. They’re kind of amazing.”
Even now, hundreds of miles away, I feel that small rush of respect for the old guys at the Mill.
“Amazing how?”
“They’re just… strong. People don’t live very long at the Mill – hard labour does that to you. It’s everyone’s dream to make it to that age.”
My voice changes a little, and I’m surprised to realise that I’m smiling. Even now, that’s the dream. Live long enough to earn that additional shred of respect. Power through the hardest years.
Jensen narrows his eyes at me, but says nothing. Nate, on the other hand, laughs.
“What do you guys do for fun?”
I simply stare. Fun? How stupid is he? It’s a Farm. It’s for labour. Sure, the Guards play cards and drink whiskey, and sometimes on a cold night they’ll take some rather questionable company back to their barracks – but for the rest of us, it’s not that simple. I don’t want to tell them that, though.
“A better question would be, what do you guys do for fun?”
Aha. Turned the question around. It’s hard to hide my pleasure at having successfully avoided the subject. Beside me, Pan smirks.
“It’s mostly about enjoying each other’s company,” she explains, “we play a lot of pranks, mostly on the three leaders.”
“You do?”
“Yep. They’re always trying to think of new ways to alienate or scare us, so we try to get our own back where we can. Just last month, they aired the video of Jay’s parents being executed. The idea was to scare us into submission by showing us what could happen. It didn’t work, of course. We’re past the point of being frightened.”
“So what did you do?”
It’s Jensen who answers.
“I hacked into their live Feed,” he chuckles, “and we pieced together clips of all the leaders’ lies and contradictions. Broadcast it non-stop across the city for three days. The aim was to encourage people to see through the lies – but as usual, it didn’t work. Funny, though.”
“Wouldn’t that make them angry?”
“Oh, it did. They came after us more viciously than ever. But we’re faster than them, even though they outnumber us. Not to mention, we work smarter. We have spies and supporters across Thorne. We can wriggle our way out of anything.”
He laughs – and something inside me is weirdly comforted by his words. I’d found it difficult to understand how they’d survived so long. Drawing the attention of their leaders seemed like a bad idea. But it’s slowly becoming clear. They’re smart. They know how far to push.
I guess losing your leaders would force you to learn.
The others settle down by the man-made river as the night grows darker overhead. For a brief moment I wonder why there are no lights, but then I remember. If there were, then those above ground might be able to see. Their cover might be blown.
As the others chat, I find myself perched at the edge of the water. My feet dangle into the flow, and even though the water is icy cold and moving quite quickly, there’s a strange sense of comfort about it. As a kid, I’d looked at the murky river at the Mill and wish I could jump in and play. This isn’t quite the same; the water here is crystalline and perfect, a far throw from the muddy embankments back home.
Pretty soon I’m able to tune out their voices, and suddenly the evening is calm. The world around me is blue and soft, and though there are no stars overhead I can at least hear the familiar chirping of insects in the grass around me. How they got down here, I’ll never know. Frankly, I don’t care. I close my eyes against the darkness. This is heavenly.
But when I open them again, I see it. The same statue from earlier, in the corner of the ornate garden. The same one that Pan wouldn’t tell me about. Something stirs in my chest when I look at it, unsure what to think or how to feel.
What am I doing? Am I really here, knee-deep in an artificial river miles underground? Have I really been enjoying this so much that for a moment just now, I forgot all about home? Guilt pangs in my chest.
For the tiniest moment, I find myself thinking what it would be like to stay here. For every day to be filled with the same laughter and movement and camaraderie as today. It’d be nice, no doubt. To be part of something bigger. Helping fight for a cause is exactly what Pan mentioned earlier. A higher calling. My lips tighten, ready to smile, but I hold them still. No. I’d be no good in a team. After what I did to Kane, I know better. I won’t allow myself to get so attached again. I won’t ever put myself in that situation where I’m forced to choose between what I know to be right, and a friend. It’s an impossible decision.
“Hey.”
Pan and the othe
rs are suddenly beside me, stripping off their shoes and socks. They yelp as their feet touch the icy water, and in spite of myself I start to laugh. I don’t think I’ve ever laughed so much in all my life. It’s a pleasant sound. Low and throaty, with the occasional hiccup. It’s the kind of sound that I’d likely find annoying if it came from someone else. But for me? It’s oddly fitting.
An arm finds my shoulder for the hundredth time today, but this time I find myself leaning into Pan’s embrace. Her hands are warm and her face is flushed from the cold water – but as I lean on her, she seems pleased. She doesn’t say anything, though. Perhaps she’s frightened of breaking the peace of the moment.
I am, too.
CHAPTER TWELVE
I’m awake before dawn again. This time, though, I manage not to wake Pan. She’s still snoring, lying half-naked across her bunk, mouth wide open. We’d stayed out for a few more hours last night – much later than I think she’s used to. I just don’t have the heart to wake her.
Still, I can’t sit around and do nothing, so I tug on my clothes and decide that it might be worth it to break the rules, just once. I shoot a small glance at Atlas. It’s woken with me and is now scanning me for temperature, heart rate and a bunch of other dull, innocuous details. I don’t care about that – but Atlas is supposed to be guarding me, right? As long as it’s with me, I can be alone.
The Atrium is still dark when I enter. One or two people wander idly around, but it seems like most are still fast asleep, like Pan. Nobody seems to notice as I make my way down to the crop field.
It’s not huge, all things considered. The fields back home are enormous, dozens of miles wide at least. This is merely a patch in comparison, only a few acres. Instantly I recognise the plants; potatoes, tomatoes, green beans. Basic stuff.
It’s all so familiar to me that suddenly, I just can’t help myself. I step into the field and start to work.
The sun’s still not shown itself by the time I’m done. Harvested, reseeded, dug up – work so familiar to me that it took barely any effort at all. It’s nothing compared to the endless hours of work back home. I hope they don’t mind me doing it. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch sight of something else. Stacks of logs – for firewood, I imagine – but they’re uncut. An axe lies nearby, gleaming in the dim light as though beckoning me forward. I sigh.
I swing the axe high overhead and breathe, then swing it down in a single, swift movement. The log splits cleanly, a cut more perfect than I’ve ever achieved before. A smile plays on my face – for once, I’m actually enjoying myself. I swing up again.
“Ahem.”
I jump and the axe slips from my hand, hitting the tile below with an almighty clang. I whip around. There’s a figure standing just beyond the reach of my swing, watching me with an intense curiosity.
“Jay.”
He stares at the crops, then at the wood behind me. His face lingers on my sweaty face and the dirt on my hands – but he manages to keep his face surprisingly neutral.
“Did you do all this?”
“Was I not supposed to?”
“No, that’s not it. You’re welcome to do it if you want. I’m just surprised – this is normally enough work for a ten man team.”
“Sorry. I guess old habits die hard. I couldn’t resist.”
Even as the words come out, I question them. I’ve never felt an uncontrollable desire to chop wood before. It’s never been fun. If I’d been told to stop, that I’d never need to do it again, then I doubt I’d have refused the offer. But there’s something of home about the work, something comforting in the feeling of wood snapping under my touch.
Luckily, he doesn’t seem displeased. Again, I can’t help but notice that he fights to keep a straight face. Like he’s worried about showing weakness. That’s a feeling I can understand.
“Why are you up so early?” he asks. I shrug.
“Like I said, old habits. I’m always up before the sun. Why are you awake?”
He sets his jaw.
“I couldn’t sleep.”
“Oh.”
The world falls silent around us, and I inwardly kick myself. Oh? Is that all you have to say? Say something, anything. Something funny or charming or observant. Heck, just something polite. Nothing comes. We just stare at one another, awkwardness building.
Finally, I choke out a question.
“C-can I ask you something?”
“Go ahead.”
“Why…” I hesitate, “why is there a garden down there? Towards your room, I mean.”
At that, his expression changes. It’s a tiny, almost imperceptible difference – but it transforms his face. He suddenly looks much younger.
“It’s a memorial garden.”
My heart sinks.
“I see.”
“Have you been down there?”
“No. I’ve been to the river, but not up there. Not up close.”
He steps back, then beckons for me to follow.
“Come on. I’ll show you.”
Morning’s barely starting to break overhead as we step into the garden. Somehow the grass is dewy underfoot, and the flowers are still curled tightly into their brightly coloured buds. It’s too soon for them to bloom.
That statue looms over the garden, making it just a little darker than it should be. I hesitate as we near, but Jay doesn’t – he steps up close, shoulders back. Idly, I wonder how much time he’s spent standing here. He said it was a memorial garden. I don’t even need to ask who it’s a memorial to.
“So this statue…”
“Yeah. It’s them.”
The dancing figures are carved smoothly into the stone, twisting around one another. Jay’s eyes are transfixed on it. They don’t look a thing like the people on the photograph Nate showed me; but that’s beside the point. The bland, expressionless faces on the statue obviously mean a lot to him.
I watch it for a moment, then bite my lip.
“What were they like?”
He chuckles.
“You really don’t remember, do you? They were wonderful. I know that everyone would say that about their parents given the chance, but they really were. Even before they spoke out, they had this real passion for life. They loved art more than anything.”
“They did?”
“Yeah. Personally, I’ve never been able to appreciate it. It never made much sense to me. But it meant a lot to them, so when they started to fight back, they used art. They’d paint controversial things on public buildings, scatter inspiring sculptures across the city. They wanted to convince people to their side, but they wanted it to be a choice. I think they hoped to sway people’s opinions with their artwork.”
I glance back at the statue, my heart filled with trepidation. When I finally gather the courage to speak, my voice is a little too loud in the silence.
“That sounds like a lot to live up to.”
“It is. And I could never do what they did. They were really wise – but all I know is brute force.”
I roll my eyes.
“I know how that feels.”
Suddenly his eyes meet mine, and I can sense the first, tiny strand of trust forming between us. It’s unnerving. I swallow hard and shove my hands in my pockets.
“I have to say, I like it here. It’s different from what I expected at first.”
“What did you expect?”
“I’m not sure,” I say slowly, “I guess I thought it’d be scarier. People don’t fight back where I’m from. You just take whatever punishment is given to you. You learn to ride it out.”
I’m staring at my hand now, turning it over. I never noticed how many scars I have. They litter my skin, marring the deep tan there.
“But here… everything’s different. You don’t just deal when something bad happens. I always thought that was a bad thing, but now, I’m not so sure.”
He says nothing, just watches me with a hesitant glare.
“In any case,” I push on, “I’ve had a lot
of fun lately. Thank you… for letting me stay here.”
“That’s fine. But it’s not my doing. Pan’s the life of this place, as you may have noticed.”
“She sure is. But you built all this, didn’t you? I think your parents would be proud.”
I bite back on the words, regret filling my chest. What am I saying? I don’t talk like this. He’s a perfect stranger; why do I care how proud his parents are? I never even knew them.
“Sorry. That was out of line.”
Again, he says nothing. But as he walks forward, passing me, and his hand rests on my shoulder. It’s only for a moment, so fast I don’t have time to react, but as his footsteps fade behind me a smile plays on my lips.
That’s the first real bit of kindness he’s shown me since I got here.
It’s another few hours until Pan finds me. She scolds me, both for leaving her to sleep and working when I didn’t need to. But when I tell her about Jay and our talk in the garden, she softens. Her face is suddenly wistful and gentle, like she’s remembering something from long ago. I don’t question it; let her believe what she likes.
We spend the afternoon at the river, dipping our toes into the water and chuckling as it bubbles around us. It’s surprising how easy it is to laugh now, even if it has only been two days. I feel strangely light.
At some point, I ask about my job.
“What job?” she asks, clearly confused.
“Nate said I need to work to earn my keep.”
“Oh, that! I was going to ask if you wouldn’t mind helping with the crops, since you know all about that stuff. But you already did it. Plus everyone’s work for a week.”
I gulp. Whoops.
“Sorry. I didn’t think.”
“Don’t worry about it. Thanks to you, nobody has to work that patch for a while. It filters down, so that means everyone has a little less work to do now. You’ll find people are very grateful for that. We’re always so busy trying to win this fight, so chores like that are a nuisance.”
And to my surprise, she’s right. As we walk around the Atrium, I’m suddenly greeted by people who spent yesterday glaring at me, or shrinking back as though afraid I might bite them. Suspicion gives way to friendly smiles and cheerful hellos. I do my best to return them, trying to hide how unnerved I am by the sudden change. Even more oddly, I find myself smiling back. Waving. Grunting greetings at the same people who frightened me just a day ago.
