Skeletal

by Emma Pullar

  I can’t help but feel I’m the cause of all this stepped-up activity. My mind has a tug of war with the idea. I go on the run, taking a Morb with me, killing guards, and screwing up the system and now security has been increased. How can one girl cause all this hysteria? I’ve always fantasised that I would one day bring the city to its knees, but never really thought that I could. Cara chews at her bottom lip nervously, she’s fearless but not stupid, Ruinous scare her. She picks up Bunce’s right arm and I resume my place on the left. We continue trudging.

  Even though Cara shoulders half of the weight and Bunce is looking thinner, he is heavier than ever. I hold his lank arm draped over my shoulder and every so often I check for a pulse. He’s hardly breathing.

  We edge around the side of the building but there’s not enough shadow; daylight exposes us. Two Skels, carrying what could be mistaken for a High-Host male whacked out on glory. That is dodgy enough. Two Skels, dragging a sick, twenty-year-old Morbihan. People would freak out. Bunce’s bright shirt is like a beacon saying here we are, come and get us! I’m surprised we haven’t been spotted already, but perhaps Clover is still watching me, allowing me safe passage, hoping I’ll lead him to Bullet. I won’t. I’m never going near that psycho again.

  ‘Here it is,’ Cara drops Bunce’s arm, ‘come on.’

  I buckle under the weight. Bunce groans. The ex-maid leads us down a narrow flight of stone steps, I look down at my boots to assure my footing. Each step has smooth edges. I imagine water rounded the steps, floods during monsoon season. I hitch Bunce up, my arm around his waist. He clings to me.

  Cara stops dead and my face collides with the back of her curly head. I back up, lean sideways and peer past her. There’s a line of Skels in front of us. At the bottom of the steps is a secure door. Cara turns around to face me.

  ‘Jump the line?’ she asks.

  The lined up Skels look pretty downtrodden. Frail, stooped over, and broken. Skels don’t like confrontation, elders especially. I’m confident we can skip to the front of the line without incident. I nod to Cara and she goes to step past the first Skel, an elderly man.

  The city speakers crackle to life, not with the siren this time but with an announcement. Cara stops advancing. I cringe at the merry jingle I know so well and soon the chirpy voice of Delia Gold springs forth in an echo of sickly sweet optimism, spouting the usual greetings.

  ‘Citizens of Gale City, good day to you. I hope this announcement finds you in good health and high spirits. Workers are the backbone of our beloved city and we at Central want you to know how much we appreciate your hard work and dedication.’

  No one moves. Even though we have somewhat broken our programming, neither Cara nor I move a muscle. When an announcement is made, no one ever moves. Everyone stops work and listens. The city holds its breath and waits for Delia’s shrill voice.

  ‘We want to assure you once more, that the deployment of the GDU is to protect and serve you in this difficult time of gangs and Glory Runners’.

  GDU stands for Guard Dog Unit, they should call it RDU: Ruinous Death Unit. The voice with no face suddenly becomes deeper and Delia’s counterpart, Chester Stout, chimes in to deliver the next part of the announcement. The insanely smug tone in his voice always manages to grate on my nerves no matter what words come out of his mouth.

  ‘Delia and I hope you will feel safe under GDU protection and enjoy carrying out your daily duties as normal. Once again, our gratitude is given for the splendid job you are doing in ensuring the city is run efficiently. We want you to know your safety is paramount to us. You are the heart of Gale City. Never forget.’

  Both announcers’ voices sing out in unison, ‘The system works!’

  Cue irritating jingle, followed by the crackle of the station break. So, Central are telling Skels the Ruinous are there to protect them. Skels will believe this, too. I’ve never believed the announcements, there’s always some underlying angle, and this one is us, the dogs are to find us, not Bullet or Glory Runners, they have always operated in the city. The guards have to be seen to be doing something about them but many are doing back alley deals with Runners. Some guards are dodgy as hell.

  Like clockwork dolls fully wound again, the Skels start to move. The elders in front cough, and shuffle from one foot to another. I sidle down the steep incline, dragging Bunce, excusing my way through while Cara barges past without a polite word. The elders, as expected, remain quiet. Cara reaches the secure door and it swishes open, a warden steps out, Cara darts backwards, narrowly avoiding collision. The High-Host is dressed in long, flowing, plum-coloured robes, her hair of the same colour is straight like vertical blinds. Four purple butterflies flitter from the corner of her right eye down her cheek; a hologrammatic tattoo, the glittery wings flutter every few seconds. The purple woman glares at Cara.

  30

  The Verity

  ‘Next!’ she shouts past Cara.

  ‘We’re next!’ Cara says in a cocky tone.

  The warden tilts her head gracefully towards Cara, letting her unnaturally straight purple locks fall down her right shoulder.

  ‘You’re not Mr Sprinton.’ Her eyes flick up to me and Bunce. ‘Isn’t that the missing Morb? He’s all over the news.’

  She points at Bunce. The Skels turn their heads to us, worried. I shake my head.

  ‘You must be mistaken,’ I say.

  ‘Wardens don’t make mistakes, dearie,’ she says to me and then smites Cara with a narrow stare.

  ‘Well,’ Cara says, stepping forwards, ‘let me explain … oh to hell with it!’

  Cara shoves the warden through the doorway. The purple High-Host stumbles backwards and is about to protest when the door swooshes shut.

  ‘Don’t kill her!’ I yell desperately into the thick slab.

  The Skels mumble to each other but no one intervenes. Not one tries to stop us. There’s a scuffle behind the door. Whispers. Silence. The door slides open.

  ‘Next!’ Cara hollers.

  I step inside the holding chamber. Bunce steps in too, clinging tight to me. The warden lies on the floor. Feet and hands bound with strands of Cara’s woven belt. The purple princess goes to speak, Cara lifts a finger to her lips.

  ‘Remember what will happen to you if you speak.’

  The warden purses her lips and lies in infuriated silence.

  ‘Go through,’ Cara raises her hand towards a second door. ‘I’ll stay and keep an eye on her.’

  We slip past Cara and walk over to a small sanitation station. I rub sanitizer over our hands and drag Bunce through a second door which is open. A coldness, like crashing through a wall of ice, startles me. Bunce is rejuvenated by it and manages to hold his head up, relieving the pressure on my sore shoulders and aching back. He pulls my arm from around his waist and staggers forwards. I instinctively wrap my arms around my shivering bones and scan the room. I don’t know what to concentrate on first. The curious chamber overflows with trinkets, amulets, crystals and spices. It’s as if the market has been compacted and stored inside this underground cavern.

  Whimsical music flitters around us as we move further in and I get a strange sensation, like we’re surrounded by tiny fairies, fluttering about wearing tiny bells. The walls are draped in purple silk and every shelf is overloaded with fetishes. A sparkle of silver catches my eye. I lean closer to a round table where a silver and white glistening tree looks to have grown up through the middle of it. I reach out, fingertips about to brush one of the crystal branches.

  ‘Don’t touch that.’

  A silvery voice with a spike of warning drifts towards us. I search for its owner. Find her. An old Morb, with jewels in her long flowing hair, sits on a podium in a hover-chair encrusted with gemstones. She has a regal air about her.

  ‘Welcome, Bunce.’

  ‘Good morning, Mistress Lyca.’ Bunce croaks.

  Lyca? A bell rings in my head.

  ‘As in Ask Lyca?’ I say.

  She doesn’t answer me. I fo
llow Bunce to the podium and notice Lyca’s eyes have no pupils or lenses, just large white spheres in a large white face.

  ‘It’s a pleasure to finally meet you,’ Lyca says to Bunce in a warm voice. ‘Though I sense you are a little unwell, my boy.’ She wheezes. ‘I really think the hospital is best.’

  Her face points towards Bunce, but with no pupils shifting around, I wonder if she’s blind.

  ‘Mistress, the pleasure is all mine,’ Bunce steps up to the hover-chair and shakes Lyca’s hand, then he kneels. ‘Please, can you help me?’

  ‘You’re hungry. Help yourself to the bowl before we begin. My other clients will wait.’

  Bunce bows in thanks and takes a handful of grapes and two pears from a golden bowl beside the Morb queen. He avoids the wrapped meat products. He passes me the pears and I put one in my pocket for Cara.

  ‘It is possible that being out in the elements has harmed your health,’ Lyca says, stifled by her overworked artificial lungs. ‘Your family are worried about you. Morbihan should not be outside.’

  ‘That’s your opinion,’ I say, biting through the skin of the pear. I bring my hand to my mouth, to contain the juices as they run down my chin.

  This time she answers me.

  ‘And it is a good one. Maybe you should keep yours to yourself.’

  ‘And maybe you should get on with it,’ I snarl, stepping up beside Bunce. ‘Can’t you see how sick he is. Help him!’

  ‘You should learn to hold your tongue. I’ve been more than hospitable to you, Skel,’ says Lyca. Raising her painted-on eyebrows, she draws a sharp breath. ‘Maybe I should alert Central to your presence?’

  ‘Do what you want,’ I shrug, sucking the sweetness from the pear. ‘Maybe then Central can tell you a few home truths. Like what’s in your food, for a start. You wouldn’t be so cosy with them then!’

  ‘Skyla!’ Bunce says.

  ‘I’m curious,’ I say, dropping the pear core on the floor and kicking it under a round, silk-covered table, ‘what’s a highly respected Morb of your skill level doing working out of a dingy cluttered pit like this?’ I mock. ‘Why aren’t you in a luxury boudoir inside the complex?’

  ‘Verity cater to all who need us,’ she rattles. ‘Morbihan don’t often need us, but guards,’ she takes a breath. ‘Skels,’ another breath. ‘And sometimes even outlaws like yourself, come to me. Now,’ She clasps her meaty hands together, ‘speak out of turn once more, outlaw, and I’ll bind your tongue.’

  ‘You can sense illness and disease but can’t sense you’ve been digesting human flesh all these years?’ I scoff.

  ‘How is it that you know about that?’ Lyca says, amusement playing on her purple lips.

  Why isn’t she shocked at my admission? I open my mouth but no words come. Lyca softens her tone and talks down to me as if my IQ is lower than that of a Mutil.

  ‘I’m a healer, child. We know everything about the body.’

  ‘But it’s cannibalism!’ I yell.

  Bunce coughs.

  ‘You said it wasn’t, because we weren’t eating other Morbs.’

  ‘Shut up, Bunce!’

  ‘Our bodies need meat,’ Lyca rasps. ‘Not enough grows in a desert city to sustain us. The choice is, eat the meat available or die.’

  ‘I’d rather die!’ I shout.

  Lyca clutches an amulet around her neck with her thick fingers. Her eyes close. I wonder what she’s doing, but then my tongue starts to swell, filling every corner of my mouth. I’m choking! I fall at her feet, clutching my throat; tongue twice its normal size hanging out of my mouth. Bunce shoots an alarmed look at the Verity. She lets go of the amulet.

  ‘Yes,’ she says, resting her laced fingers over her huge stomach. ‘You used to believe that.’

  My tongue shrinks back like a salted slug and I cough, gasping for air. I stare up into the Verity’s white eyes. They say the eyes are the windows to the soul. I can’t see into hers, like I can’t see a bird inside an egg but I feel her eyes are looking right inside me. I get to my feet and take a few steps back, fearful she might try to suffocate me with my own tongue again, or worse. She’s right, I no longer hold death as a desire.

  Lyca beckons to Bunce and he leans closer to her hover-chair. She places her oversized hand on his chest and closes her eyes again. It looks like she’s listening to his heart through her palm. She snatches back her hand.

  ‘So, is he dying from that gash in his arm or a lack of human flesh consumption?’ I ask, less cockiness in my voice.

  ‘Neither, my dear,’ Lyca says, breathlessly. ‘Bunce is cured.’

  ‘What?’ Bunce and I say, in unison.

  I can’t believe it. Is she telling the truth? But then, why would she lie?

  ‘His body has been in shock. It had to partially shut down in order to cope,’ Lyca says.

  ‘But he can’t be cured,’ I say.

  ‘Skyla drank the serum, not me,’ Bunce explains.

  Lyca gestures for my hands. After what she did to me without touching me, I’m not sure I want to get any closer to her. I reluctantly step forwards and place my hands in hers; they feel like silk, she’s never worked a day in her life. Her eyes close for a third time. After a few seconds, the warmth of her thick fingers pass into my cold bones. Her eyelids spring open and the white eyes stare at me. She smiles warmly.

  ‘My goodness! This is a first.’

  My cheeks flush, Bunce looks away.

  ‘What is?’ I ask but I think I know.

  ‘Morbihan linking with a Skel.’

  I gasp.

  ‘But how did you …’

  ‘I know, because Bunce is cured, yet you drank the serum. Somehow it was transferred and at the front of your mind is a connection with Bunce on a level deeper than friendship. It can only mean one thing, you transferred the cure in an act of passion …’ I stare wide-eyed at Lyca as she continues, ‘but you no longer have the power to cure another, only Bunce does. I assume that because he is Morbihan, unlike you, the serum has stayed in his system. He could cure everyone, if he so wished.’

  Lyca winks at Bunce.

  ‘Are you asking to be cured?’ Bunce says plainly.

  ‘Oh child,’ Lyca laughs and her entire body wobbles. ‘You know we do not have those hungers. Libido is something Morbihan lose once through puberty, scientists are still trying to figure out why, at twenty-one, it’s gone. It’s probably why we are such peaceful people.’ She takes a breath and smiles. ‘We have no need to chase after each other to fulfil sexual desires.’

  ‘So why do those desires develop in the first place?’ I ask, confused.

  ‘My guess is, and I am not a scientist, but I think it’s to do with procreation.’

  ‘If young Morbs have sex they can produce offspring, naturally?’ I ask.

  ‘It’s possible and probable,’ she nods.

  ‘So why take Skels as hosts?’ I say, irritated. ‘If those under twenty-one can keep the Morb population going, you don’t need us.’

  Lyca fixes me with her white-hot stare.

  ‘One so young could never make the permanent decision of choosing the right link partner, so we encourage them to stay as pure as possible.’ Her artificial lungs groan. ‘Never to risk pregnancy with someone that may end up as incompatible. In addition, we don’t know what problems a post-childbirth body could face, research into the change is ongoing. There was talk of a young Morbihan who was poisoned by her pregnancy but there aren’t any records to support this. Better to err on the side of caution.’

  ‘But it’s okay for young Skels to be abused in this manner?’ I say hotly.

  ‘I’ve never heard any Skels use the word “abused” to describe becoming a host,’ Lyca frowns.

  ‘I’m not just any Skel,’ I say, crossing my arms.

  ‘I can see that,’ Lyca says, her voice saccharine. ‘But my dear, you must understand that only a fully-grown adult can make such decisions about the future. Young minds are flooded with hormones, they aren’t equip
ped.’

  ‘I disagree,’ I say coolly. ‘This city is run by ‘fully-gown’ adults and it’s a mess. Why don’t you show a little faith in young people? Let them make their own choices and see what happens? And how about telling them the real reason behind Skels becoming Mutil.’ I lower my voice, trying to keep my emotions under control. ‘Why don’t you fill the news channel with the truth, rather than lies?’

  Lyca stares at me like it’s me that has Martian DNA in my genetic makeup.

  In a rush of air, Lyca is beside me, she can’t move her hover-chair much further for the trinket stacked tables blocking the way.

  ‘Look at me, young Skel …’ she says soothingly. I meet her white eyes. ‘You cannot change your role in the system. You can only change the system’s role in your life.’

  The words open in my mind like a lotus flower opening to the sun, and a smile is at my lips before I can stop it. With these few words, Lyca has gained my respect and diminished my hatred of her.

  ‘Thank you,’ I say, and I mean it. ‘You’ve answered all of my Ask Lyca questions in one sentence.’

  ‘Go quickly, my dears,’ she says, ‘The city’s future is in your hands. Embrace change, for without it we’d be forever stuck in a timeless place, and if change stops, life stops.’

  Lyca bows her huge head. I bow back and follow Bunce out of the small room, handing Cara the pear as we walk past her.

  Cara unties the warden’s arms and legs and whispers, ‘sorry about that.’

  Bunce strides tall and strong up the stone stairs, face tilted to the sun. Cara and I hurry after him. He looks better, skin glowing golden, blond hair shimmering.