by Lisa Jade
In a flash I remember the look of pain in Mom’s eyes on that video. The intense sorrow she’d felt at the thought of someone – anyone – being taken away. I consider how hard they fought after their child was taken. How much harder would they fight for the one that remained?
I inhale sharply and shake my head, trying to force the tears back. I don’t want to cry. Crying will mean accepting he’s gone. It’s not fair. I’d been so happy. I’d finally found the strength to fight, only to have all the power snatched from beneath my fingers.
What do I have left?
Three mill workers who barely understand what’s going on. One woman so distraught at losing her lover that she’ll be unreachable for days. And one computer whiz with a shattered lower leg.
I’d told Jay I’d never felt lonely before I returned to the Mill. Who’d have guessed that, mere hours later, the same feeling would be building inside me again?
I throw the frame back in the drawer, hearing the glass shatter, and slam it shut.
When I finally return to Jensen’s room, he’s awake. He seems more alert than before, though he’s still bedridden. I glance at his leg as I enter. Still bound, still bloody. I clutch the med kit from Jay’s room a little closer to my chest. I don’t know what good it will do, but I’ll try.
Sara sees me approaching and shrugs.
“It’s about time. I want to see what’s goin’ on, too.”
“Sorry about that. You head out, I’ll take care of things here.”
She obeys immediately, relief apparent on her face. Clearly she felt uneasy at being here alone with Jensen, and I can hardly blame her; to her, he’s still a perfect stranger. It can’t be comfortable to be sitting in here with him.
As the door slides shut, an uneasy silence settles over us. I can feel Jensen’s eyes on me, tracing the lines of my body. I heave a sigh and sit near the end of the bed, beckoning for him to move his leg closer.
I pull back the bandages, trying to hide my disgust. The wound is terrible. I’m sure there are several patches of bone showing through. But as I dab it with a clean cloth, he just sucks in a lungful of air and remains remarkably still. As I work his eyes are still fixed on me, but I ignore it. It’s not that I don’t want to talk to him. I just don’t know what to say.
Finally, he speaks.
“You look awful.”
It shouldn’t strike me as funny that he said that. But it does. Perhaps it’s because he’d say it any other time, if none of this had happened. Maybe it’s just a hint of normality in the chaos of this day.
“You don’t look great, yourself.”
“I feel better now. Painkillers have kicked in.”
“Good. There are more here when you need them.”
He bites his lip as I finish wrapping his leg.
“Noah. Have you treated your face?”
I shrug. The cuts are clean enough and my nose has been pushed back into position – beyond that, I don’t care.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Yes, it does. Come here.”
He reaches into the med kit, and presses some kind of cold pad onto my face. It smells vaguely medicinal and I doubt it’s helping at all, but I let him do it. Whatever makes him feel better.
Already I’m wondering how much he remembers. How aware was he when the others dragged me into the room? When Jay left? When did he go from dazed to unconscious and back again?
There’s something strange in the air as I close the lid on the med kit. I haven’t moved from the foot of Jensen’s bed. He’s still sitting forward, his face only a few inches from mine. In any other situation, I’d back away and complain about the closeness. I’d feel discomfort squirming in my gut, base desire warring with everything I’ve ever been taught about intimacy.
Now? I don’t care.
Several minutes pass in silence before he finally speaks again.
“He’s gone, isn’t he?”
“Which one?”
“Jay.”
I nod.
“Did he leave willingly?”
Another nod.
“I thought so. Sounds like something that idiot would do.”
“Hmm.”
I look away, but he doesn’t.
“Listen, Noah. I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine.”
I intend for the words to seem nonchalant, full of bravery – but my voice cracks a little, betraying me. I clear my throat.
“It… it had to be done.”
“I know. That doesn’t make it easier, does it?”
He reaches out and places a hand on my knee. It’s a tiny motion, meaningless for the most part, but when I meet his eyes, pure compassion smiles back at me. It’s remarkable, the change between us. When Jensen first set eyes on me in the tunnels, he’d regarded me with as much respect as one might grant a spider, or a cockroach. Now, there’s a tenderness in his face. An undeniable goodness. Something pulls me inexplicably towards him, – but I tear my eyes away. There’s no point.
“I heard about Nate. Kind of. What happened?”
“Gunshot,” I reply glumly, not wanting to relay the whole story again. His face settles into a grimace.
“I’m sorry. That must have been awful.”
“Yeah. It was.”
He clears his throat, then pulls his hand away.
“Have you checked to see what’s happening now?”
“No. I think we’re all a bit nervous about heading up to the surface.”
“You don’t have to. Just switch on my computer. I’ll show you how to check the Feed – if they’ve got Jay, we can find out.”
My stomach swirls at the thought. I’m not sure I want to know what’s happened. But that’s not fair to anyone, so I give a small nod.
“Okay. Let me get the others.”
As I boot up the computer, I can feel several pairs of eyes on my back. The same trepidation I can feel in my chest is filling the room around me. Nobody really wants to see. Nobody really wants to know.
Jensen leans over, wincing from the pain of remaining upright. He taps at the screen, instructing me in a low voice. I obey without thought. I’ve never understood computers; feeling the metal and plastic shift and click under my fingers is alien, almost unpleasant. Any other day, I might have let Pan or even Sara do it. But they’re both watching closely, barely concealed panic in their faces. I have to at least act like I know what I’m doing.
Darus leans by the door, his expression grim. He’s supposed to be on lookout, ensuring no stray Guards find their way to us. It’s unlikely, though, so his attention is mostly turned to us.
“What makes you think this will tell you anything?” he asks.
I swallow hard.
“The three leaders are awful, but Maynard in particular is an ego-maniac. It was her Guards who ransacked this place, so if Jay’s still alive, she’ll have him.”
I glance back at him, mirroring his glumness.
“Trust me, if Maynard has him, she’ll want the whole damn world to know.”
He gives a small nod then turns away, looking back into the tunnels. There’s nothing he can say to comfort anyone; all he’s ever been able to do is be there for people, and right now, that’s not going to help us.
For a brief moment, I catch Pan’s eye. She’s standing in the centre of the room, close to where Jay stood earlier. But unlike him, her hands aren’t clenched into fists. They’re hanging loosely at her sides, as though she’s already given up. Her expression is somewhere between carefully indifferent and utterly bored. All the sweetness I’ve grown used to seeing from her has dissipated into nothing.
The computer finally flickers to life and I tap the buttons I’m told to tap. After a few minutes of Jensen’s frustrated growls, the static on the screen comes clear. The Feed’s showing live. A familiar face graces the screen.
Maynard stands atop the steps of her tower building, an arrogant smirk playing on her lips. Her face is so smug and self-assured that I find myself wis
hing I could punch that smarmy mouth of hers; but then the camera pans out and another figure comes into view.
My blood runs cold.
“Jay!”
Pan darts forward, pushing us aside and leaning into the screen. Seeing him alive seems to grant her a moment of clarity – but then she sees the state of him, and her face falls.
“Why…”
My brother is chained and bound, on his knees in a crowd of Guards. They sneer at him as he looks up at Maynard – but to his credit, he’s keeping a calm exterior. I can tell he’s fighting to keep his face neutral, looking fed up by the whole thing. There’s rain coming down overhead, no doubt sending a chill across the patches of his skin that are still exposed, but he seems bored by it. I’m not sure if that’s the best course of action, but he can’t really be so calm. I know him better than that. He’s likely just as scared as I am watching him.
Maynard’s talking, brandishing a shock baton as though it’s some kind of trophy. Every so often she glances at Jay, wiggling her eyebrows. Rubbing it in. Rubbing his nose in her victory. It’s infuriating. There’s a painful ringing in my ears; I shake my head hard and try to focus on her words.
“…following some traitors from the Mill, we were able to locate the Clover’s headquarters. Buried underground, if you can believe it. They must have thought they were safe there.”
She chuckles at her own sick joke.
“Well, we soon put an end to the whole operation. May I introduce to you, my citizens, Mister James Young. The so-called ‘leader’ of the treacherous group known as the Clover.”
The Guards jeer loudly, nearly drowning out the crowd of citizens nearby. Several let out a half-hearted cheer, but even more remain utterly silent. Nobody boos. Nobody cries out in his defence. My gut clenches at the thought. People are still so afraid.
Jay doesn’t react to any of Maynard’s words. He’s got the same look about him as he did when he left. He’s sad and frightened, but defeated. He’s resigned himself to his fate. Heat builds in my stomach at the thought. Anger. Hatred. I tear my eyes away from his face, instead focussing on Maynard.
She’s pacing the length and breadth of the little platform, reaching out a long, skinny arm to touch the tall glass doors of the building. In the other hand, she twirls the baton. She’s taking far too much joy from this moment. From tearing down the last vestige of freedom in her crumbling city.
“Nearly seventeen years ago, I was forced to do the same thing to poor James’ parents. They, too, decided that their own personal wants should come over the needs and safety of everyone in Thorne.”
The briefest flash of sympathy crosses her face.
“Don’t mistake me for a villain, James. I’m not the bad guy here.”
He simply glares.
“I mean it,” she pushes on, “everyone else seems to understand. Why can’t you?”
She addresses one of the many Hoverbots now, and I notice they all have cameras embedded into the front. This must be how she’s airing her manic speech. As if on cue, Atlas beeps beside me.
“The world beyond our borders is in chaos,” she explains, “war has overtaken everything outside of our safe bounds. We have immunity, our own brief reprieve, based purely on our self-sufficiency. Those beyond our walls won’t seek to destroy us unless we prove that we can’t manage ourselves. The Cull is just a symptom of that. A difficult truth.”
She’s plastered a serious expression on her face, but somehow it still sounds like taunting. I can feel the hair on the back of my neck standing on end, like a wild animal sensing a predator nearby.
“There are too many people. As unjust as it may seem, our choices are either the Cull, which is a humane system of control, or…”
She takes a moment to breathe in deeply, as though she’s about to cry. I don’t buy it.
“…or we can hand over all control to those outside our borders. If we do that, I won’t be able to protect anyone. Not a single soul will be safe. That’s why I need to do this, James. I can’t have you speaking lies to the innocent folk of Thorne. I can’t have you messing with their heads, filling them with untruths. I have to destroy you tonight, and I have to make it clear that traitors are to be dealt with swiftly in my city. Your comrades are stored within my private cells. Once you’re out of the picture, I intend to make a public example out of each and every one of them.”
Suddenly, I can’t stand it anymore. I tap a button and the screen turns black, immersing the room in a silence that’s punctuated only by Pan’s unsteady breathing.
“Tonight, she said. She’s going to kill him tonight.”
I glance at the clock. It’s just turned five. Assuming she’ll be aiming for the evening, that doesn’t leave much time. Much time to prepare the others for what will be coming. Much time to prepare myself for losing the only family I’ve ever known.
There’s blind rage fluttering in my chest, burning through my veins. I hate this. I hate her.
“Is there nothing you can do?” asks Kane, turning his attention to me.
“I… I don’t know. There aren’t enough of us to fight back. People’s perceptions are going to be shaken, too. I don’t know if we’ll be able to rebuild.”
“Maybe if we left Thorne? She said there are people out there. Maybe they can help.”
It’s Jensen who replies, his voice hard.
“That won’t work.”
“It won’t?”
“No. A few years back, we ventured out on a hunch. We had a theory that the whole ‘war’ story might have been a lie concocted by Maynard to keep people down. It wasn’t. We went to the next city over, according to some old maps… but when we reached the site, there was nothing but a crater. Still smoking, but it couldn’t have been recent.”
“So the war’s still going on?”
“No. I hacked into their scanners a while back – they’ve not traced any activity for over a decade. The war’s over. Has been for years. They just haven’t told anyone.”
“Why not?” I ask.
“It could be a way to keep people scared. It could be that the system relies too heavily on the Cull and the Mill to keep the city afloat. I don’t know. But she’s lying through her teeth every time she mentions the ‘danger beyond our borders’.”
I click my tongue.
“So we need to do this on our own. Without any citizens, any outsiders. Just the six of us.”
Until now, I’d been working on the basis that there was something I could do. Some way that I could stop this, or even just delay it. Some idea that would pick at the weak spots in Maynard’s plan. But there’s nothing. It’s starting to dawn on me just how impossible this task is. My hands tighten on the edge of my seat.
“So it’s useless?” Kane asks, and his face is a picture of sympathy. He may not understand the way things work here, but he’s not stupid. He can read the look of defeat on my face. He knows there’s no way out of this. Jensen chews his lip for a moment, then nods.
“It… looks that way.”
There’s a sudden crash from behind us – I whip round just in time to see Pan darting from the room. One hand is clapped over her face to keep us from seeing the tears in her eyes, but she’s always been bad at faking. Sorrow flits through me and suddenly I’m on my feet, chasing her down.
“Pan!”
She ignores me altogether, instead racing into the Atrium. She runs down the steps, towards the little underground river and garden. This time, I hesitate to follow her. It’s not like her to reject company or comfort. Maybe I shouldn’t force myself on her.
But then I notice rain pouring from the hole in the ceiling and realise I can’t leave her. She’ll catch her death of cold if I let her hide out here. For a brief moment, I ponder my next action. She’ll be crying, no doubt about that. I don’t blame her. I would cry, too, if I were her. It’s all I can do to bite back on my own tears.
I find Pan standing motionless by the shattered statue in the garden. She’s drenched th
rough entirely, her normal shock of red hair now a burgundy mess plastered to her forehead. She doesn’t look up as I approach; perhaps she doesn’t hear my footsteps in the downpour.
She’s crying. Maybe she thinks I won’t notice her tears if her face is already soaked. But there’s no mistaking her reaction. For the briefest of moments, she reminds me of Nel. I remember that night in the bunker, how she’d wept about the cows. They’d reminded her, oddly, of the importance of a family she couldn’t even remember. At the time I’d been slightly irritated by her reaction. I’d wanted to scold her and tell her she was being stupid. But I’d been able to rein myself in just enough to show a sliver of compassion.
“I wish you’d never come here.”
Pan’s voice is measured, deceptively calm. She glances at me.
“If you hadn’t come here, things would be okay. We wouldn’t have taken this so far.”
Her eyes narrow. Her mouth twists into an uncharacteristic scowl.
“If you’d just stayed at that Farm, nothing would have ever changed. This place would still be home. Nate would still be alive. And Jay… he wouldn’t be about to die.”
She inhales deeply.
“Why couldn’t you have just stayed dead?”
Her words hurt; but what she’s saying is true. If these words were coming from anyone else, I’d likely be distraught. But instead, they glance off me. It’s true that Jay would still be safe if I hadn’t come here – or if I’d done any number of other things to avoid this situation. If I hadn’t come here, Nate would still be pacing the Atrium with a broad smile on his face. But there’ll be time to hate myself for that later.
I step into the downpour and place a hesitant hand on her shoulder.
For a brief moment, we stare at one another. Surprisingly, I’m not angry. Instead, I’m sad. Pan never had much before she met Jay. He was the one who gave her a home. In her eyes, he’s the embodiment of everything good in the world – and he’s been snatched away. It might not have been my doing, but I’m a convenient fall guy. I’ve done just enough to justify her hatred of me.
