by Lisa Jade
“Don’t forget about us, okay? Promise.”
“Promise.”
I start walking, and a moment later, the garage door rolls shut behind the cart. As it does so, it crashes with a kind of frightening finality. The glories of the Atrium and the warmth of my friends fall away behind me as I step out into the stranger-filled streets of a city that’s out to get me.
I slip through the main gates without being stopped or questioned. Apparently, the Guards care more about those trying to get into Thorne than those trying to leave. I’m waved through without a second glance, and feel rather grateful for it.
The truck Pan arranged for me is unlike Eagen’s. This one is vast and black, made of some thick, matte metal. There are a half dozen Guards watching as I load the cart into the back – briefly, I wonder how many of them know who I am.
It seems strange that Pan would be able to arrange this ‘favour’ without telling them the truth. But the way they look at me is strange. It’s stern and unyielding, like they either don’t know why I’m here, or frankly don’t care. I suppose they think the same as the Mill kids; that sometimes, it’s easier not to ask the question.
“Sit in the back with the goods,” a Guard tells me. His voice is hard, like he’s biting back on his dislike for me. I can understand that. They don’t normally regard those from the Mill as people deserving of basic respect, much less worth doing favours for. Still, they begrudgingly allow me into the back of the truck, where three step up next to me and sit down against the cold, metal insides. I open my mouth to question why I need three Guards plus a driver – but they’re not looking at me. They’ve turned their backs on me entirely, in fact, and are now talking amongst themselves about some dock transfer. I see. The favour isn’t a truck to get me back. It’s my being permitted to catch a ride with the Guards already headed that way. I suppose that makes sense.
As the engine roars into life under me, I feel a pang of terror. Despite the bravado I’d shown to Jay and the others, I’m terrified to go back. I’m scared to be alone again after so long. I’m absolutely petrified of this weight on my shoulders.
Still, it’s too late now. I stare into the distance as we speed away. Within just a few minutes, the gates are out of sight. Even Thorne itself seems to be oddly dimmed, like there’s a half-layer of dust between the gleaming structures and my own eyes.
I can still feel the gaze of the Guards on me. While they talk between themselves, lounging in most of the available space, their gaze flits my way every so often. No doubt they’re wondering why a Millchild has been added to their journey, negating the need for a car or other, more comfortable mode of transportation. It’ll be a long journey with this tension in the air; but luckily, I’m past caring. I pull my knees up to my chin and lean against the back panel, eyes fixed on the city. I’m not going to move until it’s well and truly faded from my sight.
Night’s falling overhead. The bright, clear sky is turning periwinkle, and to my small delight I can see the first few tiny stars beginning to glimmer through. Despite the conflict in my chest, I can’t deny it’s nice to see the night sky again. It’s the only good thing about this journey.
It doesn’t take long before the Guards fall asleep, sprawled in the back of the truck like drunkards; I inhale deeply and sure enough, the stench of cheap whiskey hits me. But that’s fine by me. With them asleep, and the cart blocking the driver’s view of me, I’m able to steal a few minutes of precious privacy. I’ve grown used to being on my own; if I needed it, wanted it, I could take it. I remind myself that privacy doesn’t exist at the Mill. Someone’s always watching, even if they don’t know it. I shiver in the cool evening air and suddenly miss Atlas’ warning beeps. It would always alert me to a drop in body temperature, or a spike in adrenaline. But Atlas is back in Jensen’s room, tucked away in the pile of computers. Only silence greets me.
As the sky darkens even more, I wonder what the others are doing. It might be too soon to sleep – but no doubt they’re planning. Coming up with the perfect plan for whatever outcome I provide.
Hey, here’s something. Nel will still be awake.
Suddenly, I feel myself smiling. I’ve missed her. Life at the Mill is hard enough; but she was the softness. She was the kindness and the understanding, even when she didn’t mean to be. Without her around, who knows how I would have ended up. I wasn’t angry like Kane, but I wasn’t sad and wise like Nel, either. I guess I didn’t really have much to me. Just work, sleep, work. Nothing else mattered.
Even though the notion frightens me, I still reach out to try and embrace it. I need to think like that again. It’s hard to survive when you’re distracted. If I want to go back, if I want to convince them that I’m the same as I ever was, then I need to hack back into that feeling. It was nice, I guess, to feel like I had a purpose, even if it wasn’t what I might have chosen for myself. I never had to question anything, never had to worry – that may not have been a good thing, but it’s how I survived for eleven years. If I go back like this, I’ll either get caught or I’ll snap like Kane did.
So I lean back, rest my head against the wheels of the cart, and watch the last glow of evening light vanish from the horizon.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
It’s several more hours before we finally reach the Docks and when we do, I find myself gaping. How could I have forgotten how beautiful it was here? The sun’s rising on the horizon, tinting the ocean red-gold. I close my eyes, revelling in the soft hush of the tide. A deep breath and the sea air hits me hard, filling my head with memories.
It’s odd. I’ve lived at either end of this peculiar journey, and yet my favourite part has always been the middle. The sight of the ocean is stunning – it glimmers gently under the sunrise, flashing bright white occasionally as the light hits it just right. Just below are the Docks. They’re as busy as ever, with an alarming number of Guards milling around. As the truck passes through several people stare, perhaps unnerved as to why I would be here. I suppose a Millchild looks somewhat out of place riding with a couple of mid-ranked Guards.
Still, the moment I step down, tugging the cart with me, they’re gone. As soon as I click the rear of the truck back into place the driver hits the gas, veering out of the Docks and turning back towards Thorne. It’s been a long journey; I don’t blame them for wanting to head back.
For a moment, I feel small and lost amongst the crowds. But then I remember what Pan said. She’d already arranged a route back for me. I quickly locate the boat in question, and when I give my name at the door I’m allowed on board. Again, nobody bothers to engage me in conversation. It’s a far cry from the warm reception I received from Darus and his Dad the first time round. The thought occurs that I should try to look for them, see if I can speak to him one more time – maybe even run Darus through my transmitter. I’m sure he’d let me.
But then the boat shifts underfoot, and it’s too late. We’re off.
I spend the day perched at the front of the boat, ignoring the goings on around me. Several of the Guards are drinking again, but despite their inebriated calls my way, I don’t move. Perhaps before, I’d have been feared a beating if I didn’t obey, but I’ve become surprisingly good at knowing when I can push things. I guess that’s Jay’s influence.
The ocean is just as wonderful as ever. It’s still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen – growing up I believed that nothing was lovelier than the sun setting over a well-worked field, or that sliver of moonlight breaking through the cracked ceiling of a bunker. In Thorne, I’d grown to love the underground glow of the Atrium, or the shadowed comfort of an empty alleyway. But nothing compares to the subtle shimmer that surrounds me.
I try to remember the last time I did this journey – how I’d eaten a peculiar meal of fish with Darus and his Dad, and tried to rest in a hammock. How I’d burst into tears for the first time in my life. How I’d rushed into the arms of someone who could never understand, but still wanted to help.
My heart hu
rts. I rest a hand on my chest as though I can soothe the pain there, but it’s too late. I miss him. I miss everyone.
I’ve never been the type to need constant company. As far as I’m concerned, a stolen moment alone is precious. But suddenly, I feel very, very alone. Maybe it’s the miles of water between us. Maybe it’s the realisation that I’m nearly back at the Mill.
Tearing my gaze away from the ocean, I hang my head.
The walk from the Docks to the Mill is more tiring that I’d expected it to be; is it possible that just two weeks away has sapped me of my strength? Sweat runs off me in streams, and there’s a burning in my legs I thought I’d outgrown years ago. Still, habit takes over. Muscle memory kicks in and I’m walking just as fast as I ever did, regardless of the new, fresh pain it creates.
There it is. The Mill looks strange from this angle – but then, I suppose I’ve never seen it like this before. Two Guard towers outside metal gates, and chain-link fences as far as the eye can see. I spy rolling hills of crops, and several large buildings I recognise as storage and where we keep the animals. In the distance, something thumps. Just beyond the Farm are the Mines, and beyond that, the Plant.
I didn’t want to come back here. Even now there’s trepidation in my heart, and a tiny voice is asking if there’s any way I could go back to the city. Whatever anger I felt towards the three leaders is now mirrored onto the Guards; as I near and their hands find their batons, I feel like snarling. Someone steps down to meet me, and I measure him up. Note his weak spots. Estimate his weight. Yeah, I could pin him without much trouble.
“Where are you coming from?” he demands.
“Thorne. Rian sent me.”
He looks me up and down now, perhaps not fooled by the dust in my hair and the mud on my clothes.
“That was weeks ago. What the hell happened?”
“I… I made the delivery. Got stuck on the way back. There’s a long walk between the Docks and the city – I didn’t expect it to take so many days extra.”
His eyes narrow at that; clearly, he doesn’t believe me. Nonetheless, he signals for them to open the gate.
“Come with me. You need to report to Rian.”
“Ah, I remember you.”
Rian’s pacing the room, mild amusement in his eyes. I’m held fast by the first Guard and am desperately trying to maintain what little dignity I can while sprawled on the dirty office rug.
“So you did send her out?” the Guard asks. Rian nods.
“I did. Took a bit longer than I expected, but hey. The last one didn’t even get there. Thanks for bringing this one in, Rod. I’ll take it from here.”
His weight shifts off me, and a moment later the door opens and shuts behind us. I can feel Rian’s eyes on me as I sit upright, fighting to gather my composure. He shakes his head sadly.
“Oh, Noah. What are you doing back here?”
I wipe the dirt from my face.
“You told me to come back. After I’d made the delivery.”
“Seriously?”
He sighs, pacing the room and spinning on his big office chair.
“Honestly,” he whines, “I thought when Pan asked for more people that she’d got everything figured out. Clearly, they didn’t even bother to test you!”
“They did.”
“Huh?”
“We figured it out.”
He watches me for a moment before opening a desk drawer and pulling out some matches and a box of cigarettes. Lighting one, he flicks the burning match onto the ground at my feet.
“Then my question still stands. If you figured it out, then why the hell did you come back?”
I bite into my lip, suddenly unable to meet his eyes.
“I… have my reasons. More importantly… you knew, didn’t you? That’s why you sent me. How did you figure it out?”
He shrugs.
“I’m familiar with Jay, so I had an inkling as to who you were. The two of you look so similar. Of course, I had no way of proving it – we don’t know what happens after the Cull, really. As for our workers, only those at Homestead know what happens. We just get given an annual supply of slightly dazed kids.”
“You never asked the question?”
He scoffs.
“Of course not. I might be a sympathiser, but I’m in no position to help Jay out. If I step out of line, I draw attention to myself.”
“But you’re a Guard,” I point out.
“Yeah, and that doesn’t mean much. I still have bills to pay and rules to follow, you got that? I came up with the same theory you probably have, but figured I wasn’t able to do much without getting in trouble. So I decided that when you next stepped out of line, I’d just send you into Thorne.”
He takes a deep drag and narrows his eyes at me.
“But you didn’t want to act out, did you kid? You were perfectly well behaved. In the end, I took whatever chance I could to send you out. Happy to see that worked, at least. I am surprised you’re back, though. Was my theory wrong?”
“No. I’m Ada.”
“Hey! Shush with that. There might not be cameras in here, but Guards are nosey assholes. Whatever you do, don’t say anything. Not to me, not to anyone. In fact, whatever little plan you’re working on, don’t tell me. I want plausible deniability if you fuck it up.”
I hesitate at that. My initial opinion of him was right. He’s not a rebel like Jay, Pan or Jensen – just a sympathiser, like the dozens of others who spend time in the Atrium. Yet another person who understands their cause but is too afraid to actually fight for it.
Just like that, I lose a shred of respect for him.
“I guess I should thank you for sending me there,” I mutter, “or we’d never have known.”
“Don’t thank me yet. Don’t you dare underestimate the leaders. You might be happy now, sure, but give it time and you might be wishing I’d let you carry on being ignorant.”
I open my mouth to tell him no, that I’m never going to regret what’s happened, but Jay’s voice rings in my head.
You don’t understand.
There’s still a lot going on that I’m clueless about. Besides, Rian seems so solemn in his warning, those dim eyes even dimmer in the smoke of his cigarette, that I can’t help but take him seriously.
“Thanks for the warning. But I’ll be okay. I know what to do.”
“You say that, but you still came back. Whatever you want to do, kid, you do without my blessing. I won’t help you out any further, no matter who you are.”
He fixes me with a stern gaze, and I meet it.
“Sounds fair. Should I go back to work now?”
“Yes. You’re in the fields. Enjoy your stay.”
Evening is already falling overhead; the others will be clocking off soon. So instead of sending me straight to the fields, Rian orders me to unload the cart and go to the bunkers. No dinner tonight, he says warningly. That’s only for those who’ve earned it through a long day’s work.
I obey politely enough, agreeing to his terms without argument. But inside, I boil. He might be a sympathiser – he might be soft and sweet inside – but when the outside is this much of an ass, it’s hard to be impressed.
I enter the bunker just as the other workers are leaving the fields. I take a deep breath, expecting to enjoy the musk of dozens of familiar bodies – and gag. Apparently, it’s easy to romanticise a scent. There’s nothing ‘musty’ about the stench that hangs in the air around me. It’s sweat and dirt and two dozen mouths worth of stinking breath.
But my bunk. My bunk’s still there, with that little ray of evening light breaking through the hole in the ceiling. I take a seat on it and nearly fall through. Was my bunk always just a scrap of cloth stretched over a square of metal? Maybe I’ve gotten too used to the home comforts of the Atrium. It won’t do to spend my time whining that things aren’t up to standard. Two weeks of luxury don’t outweigh the eleven years spent living here. So I fall back against the rough canvas of and fix my eyes on
the tear in the metal overhead.
It’s with immense relief that I finally start to hear the others. They bustle in after dinner, heaving familiar sighs. A few rub their aching muscles as they slump onto their camp beds. To my surprise, none of them look at me. Either they don’t notice I’m here, or they’ve already forgotten about me. I wish I could feel offended, but I’m starting to realise just how little impact I’ve had.
I stare at everyone in turn as they enter, searching their faces for anything I might recognise as hers. That long nose, those dark eyes, that patchy orange hair. The smattering of freckles across her cheeks and forehead. Longing builds in my chest as I wait for her. When I see her, I don’t know what I’ll do – my instinct is to run up for an embrace, but I hold back. That’s not allowed here, remember?
But the final handful of girls trickle into the bunker, and she’s not among them. I turn to the closest girl, a lanky brunette who’s scraping sawdust from under her nails.
“Where’s Nel?”
She stares blankly.
“Which one’s Nel?”
“You know, freckled, red hair? Shaved head?”
“I’m not sure who you’re talking about.”
I point at her abandoned bunk.
“She sleeps there!”
“Oh! I remember now. Yeah, she’s not here anymore.”
My blood runs cold.
“W-what? What do you mean, she’s not here anymore? You don’t mean she’s…”
The girl narrows her eyes at me, clearly confused by my attitude. I bite back on my words, but panic is still welling in my chest. Oh no. Please don’t let her be dead.
“It’s alright.”
The girl rests against the metal wall and heaves a deep sigh, like she’s already fed up of my questions.
“She’s not dead, if that’s what you’re worried about. About a week ago the Guards came by, remember? Took her away. How do you not remember that?”
Relief floods through me.
“I… I guess I wasn’t here for that. Why did they take her?”
She shrugs.
“Beats me. Wasn’t just her, though. They took a bunch of people. They’ve been talking about needing supplementary workers in other areas, so maybe it’s that.”
