Grey

by Kayley Barratt

But I still need to write Nathan a letter. I still need to explain the situation. I need him to have closure because the thought of him banging on my door in several days’ time (demanding to my parents why I haven’t replied to his messages) breaks my heart. He has no idea how far I am.

  Madam Katelyn stops around a corner, and as I curve myself around it, I notice that she has stopped to talk with a tall-built man wearing a grey V-neck shirt and black jeans. He’s a member, that’s obvious, but why is he lurking around the women’s side of the academy?

  “Take this one to group C,” Madam Katelyn instructs. “She’s new, so be sure to stick to the guidelines.”

  The man just nods in response, his hands entwine at his waist as he glares at the ground—afraid to meet Madam Katelyn’s eyes. Is this woman that scary? She can hardly walk. I could push her over and walk a mile away from her before she had even got back to her feet. I quickly vanish that thought, before I break out into laughter.

  She meets my eyes, somehow noticing my amusement like she can read my thoughts. “See you at assembly,” she says.

  “Looking forward to it,” I say loudly as she limps past me back in the direction that we came. I wait for her to turn around the corner and then I stare at the man. “What’s assembly?”

  “This way,” he says, nodding his head forwards and ignoring my question completely.

  He begins walking and it is a pace I’m not yet used to. I genuinely do have to jog to catch up to him. He remains silent, keeping his hands astride his jeans as he trots along the path towards a giant canvas of field in the distance.

  “Is that where we’re going?” I say.

  He doesn’t respond.

  “Do you know where I can get a drink of water?”

  Still no response.

  I sigh, staring at the heavy bags under his eyes from the side of his face. He doesn’t seem irritated that I’m glaring at him, he just looks forwards, not daring to prize his eyes away from the destination in his mind. He looks to be in around his twenties, but his face is so dry and musty that it’s unclear.

  “Hello?” I say, waving a hand in front of his eyes. “I know you can speak and I know you understand English.”

  Still nothing. Not even a flinch. Every human’s reaction is to flinch when something comes close to their face unexpectedly, it’s not only a natural instinct but it’s a type of defence mechanism. The brain sends a distress signal issuing a response that can momentarily protect us, so we’re more expectant and less likely to be surprised if it happens again.

  Annoyed by his mysterious self-control, I reach out and I grab his arm, twisting it around—forcing his eyes to finally meet mine. His eyes glare into me, solid and straight. But I notice the piercing green of them, the shattering bedazzlement leaps from his pupils like electrifying waves. He’s amazed that I managed to break his attention, even if it was just for a second, I’ve got him.

  “You’re human,” I say. “You can speak. Talk to me.”

  “You shouldn’t do that,” he says. “We can’t touch.”

  My eyes flick down to my hand that is still gripped around his strong, athletic arm and I pull it back quickly, gently placing it beside my leg. “Okay,” I say. “What else can’t we do?”

  “Speak.”

  “Because we’re the opposite sex?”

  “Because we’re not from the same group.”

  “Which group are you?” I say.

  His lips curl into a smile, just for a moment and then it vanishes, leaving me to ponder if I’d imagined it. “What’s your name?”

  “Elizabeth.”

  “Biblical, like all the others,” he says. “Come on, we need to move.”

  He turns away from me, giving our surroundings a quick glance over before he begins walking. I stare after him for a moment, lost in confusion, before jogging to his side.

  “What do you mean by Biblical?” I say.

  He stares forwards again, not daring to flick his eyes across. “You’ll find out soon enough. Just count yourself lucky that you were born with that name. Others aren’t.”

  I catch on quicker than I’d like to. “They change people’s names if they aren’t Biblical?” I say.

  He nods.

  “Did they change yours?”

  He shakes his head. “I’m one of the lucky ones also.”

  “They change people’s names,” I say, repeating it to myself in disbelief. If you take away someone’s name, you deprive them of identity. You erase everything that they are, everything that they have fought to become. You eradicate them from having purpose. “What else do they do?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?” he says. “If it isn’t already, then you will learn soon enough.”

  “How long have you been here?”

  “All my life.”

  I stop walking, staring at the side of his face in a state of shock. He turns, meeting my eyes with seriousness.

  “Word to the wise,” he says. “If you want to survive here then play by their rules. Whatever you see, whatever you hear, whatever you feel, you can’t act on it. They’re testing you by placing you in C, they want you to react. But you can’t do that. Because if you do, you’ll be placed in D. And trust me, you don’t want that to happen.”

  “Why are you helping me?” I say quietly. “A few minutes ago, you wouldn’t even look at me.”

  He continues walking and I snap back to life as I stroll beside him. “I’m not helping you,” he says. “No one can help you. No one can help either of us.”

  A few silent minutes befall us and although I itch to get his attention to ask more questions, I know it’s best not to because up ahead within the field is a shadow of grey bodies baking in the strong heat as they rake the ground like their lives depend on it.

  “This is the work?” I say, unable to hold my tongue any longer. “Harvesting?”

  I suddenly become painfully aware that I’m wearing a baggy sweater that is already beginning to make my armpits sweat and by the looks of all the women, they’re close to passing out already.

  “That’s your group,” he says, nodding towards the grey bodies, not realising I’ve already clicked onto that. “The men’s group B is over there.” He nods his head farther left, towards a cluster of bodies in the far distance that are too far away to see clearly. The stretch of field goes on for miles and it blurs my vision the more that I try to see into it.

  I glance back to him sadly. “So, are you group A?”

  “Well, I definitely wouldn’t be standing here talking to you if I was D.”

  “What do you mean?” I demand. “What happens in group D?”

  “You should get to work before they come and drag you there,” he says, taking steps backwards. “Thank you, Elizabeth.”

  “For what?” I say.

  He lifts his arms for a moment, giving me a gentle shrug. “For demanding my attention and bringing me back. Even if it was just for a few minutes.”

  “What’s your name?” I say.

  “Elijah,” he says. “Remember what I said.”

  “If I ever need reminding again, where can I find you?” I say quickly, before he turns around completely. “Where is group A?”

  “I’m not in group A,” he says, almost grinning. “I think you can work it out for yourself.”

  I narrow my eyes at him as he turns and begins walking back towards the compound. He’s not in group A? But if he’s not in group A, and he isn’t joining group B in harvesting, he isn’t in my group because we can’t speak to each other and he’s definitely not in group D then…

  A sudden chill comes over me as I do exactly what he says and I work it out. I glare at the shimmer of the sun that shines from the back of his puffy, black hair and I hold my breath.

  He’s a leader.

  Chapter 13

  I walk towards the edge of the harvesting field while glancing at the sky to allow the sun to warm the haunting chills that are making my fingers tremble. The women are spread out amongst the fi
eld, too focused to look in this direction. I flick my eyes across each of them, catching my breath as I observe how exhausted and faint they are. There is a young girl, around twelve, that is aimlessly drifting back and forth across the corn as though she is day-dreaming.

  Not one of them has a bottle of water. Not one of them stops to take a moment, or to sit out for a few minutes. This is slavery.

  “You. New girl,” a voice calls from my right.

  I turn to look at a young woman wearing a supervisor’s gown, she leans against the bonnet of a red truck with giant silver tires and her arms remain firmly crossed as she stares at me. She is blonde and unlike other supervisors, she doesn’t wear a bandanna. Her hair is tied back into a ponytail—making her beauty shine from her pale, flawless skin.

  “Name?” she says.

  “Elizabeth,” I respond.

  “Elizabeth,” she repeats. “You’re late.”

  “How?” I say. “I had to walk here and—”

  She uncrosses her arms, lifting herself up from the bonnet and walks over to me. “Your group has already begun,” she says. “You are late.”

  I stare into her sharp, blue eyes, showing her no fear. “Madam Katelyn gave me my introduction, I couldn’t be here any sooner. I didn’t know where here was.”

  “So, is it Madam Katelyn’s fault?” she demands. “Is that your excuse?”

  Is she trying to trick me? I roll my eyes across her face, measuring her solid expression as I reach the conclusion that she’s enjoying this. I know exactly what she’s trying to do and I’ve known her approximately a minute.

  “I can only deliver an excuse if it’s a lie,” I say. “And thou shall not lie.”

  She smirks at me and I can’t tell if she’s impressed or taking a severe dislike to my attitude. She turns her attention back to the members and steps sideways. “Group C, meet your new addition,” she shouts towards the field. “Be sure to inform her of what happens when members act smart.”

  The group stops their work for a moment as they wipe sweat from their foreheads and glare in this direction.

  The woman looks at me and then nods her head at the field. “Get to it then, you’ve got catching up to do.”

  I begin walking towards the field, wriggling my fingers beside my waist as I try to make it seem that I have a clue what I’m doing. I’ve never even been in a field, let alone worked in one. I glance around, trying to catch a glimpse of what everyone else is doing. Some are raking the ground, others are digging holes with their bare hands to extract vegetables but most are limping across the field with giant baskets that are brim-full and over-flowing with potatoes. I notice the remaining three supervisors are out here also, treading the ground back and forth with whips in their palms.

  I flinch as a young girl becomes a victim of one of those whips in the far distance, it hits her so bluntly that I can hear it clearly. I see the girl curl over as the supervisor, a tall brunette woman, springs it upon her again and again while screaming at the girl to pick up the pace. The girl is merely a baby—she looks older than the twelve-year-old that I saw, but she is still just as fragile and innocently petite.

  “Don’t stare,” a voice suddenly says. “You’ll be next.”

  I look down to the ground, meeting the eyes of a woman that is digging so hard into the soil that her fingers are bleeding. “What do I do?”

  “Get on your knees,” she says, turning her attention away. “You can share my basket.”

  I fall to my knees, searching the ground for something to use to begin digging. I see a rock just a little further ahead on the ground and I push myself forwards to retrieve it. It’s small and not blunt enough to penetrate the soil for a deep hole, but it’s all I have.

  “Thank you,” I whisper to the woman as I scrape the soil. “What’s your name?”

  She digs harsher suddenly, her face scrunches up into an expression of resentment and anguish. “Ruth.”

  “That’s not your real name, is it?”

  She glances at me, calmness befalls her as she mentally questions my observation. “Yes, it is.”

  I blink at her, confused as to why she wouldn’t admit it. “Is that what they told you?”

  “Stop talking,” she says through clenched teeth. “You’ll get us both whipped.”

  A supervisor suddenly comes into view as she paces herself in front of us, swinging the thick whip gently through the air at the back of her body. This one is older, not as old as Madam Katelyn, but the dooming grey in her hair is visible. At her arrival, Ruth suddenly stiffens, her head falls down instinctively and her eyes become dedicated on the soil. I notice how her body trembles just a little, as though she is anticipating an attack just for the sake of it and not because she’s doing anything wrong.

  But I don’t do that. I’ve been whipped before, I’ve been belted before, I’ve been water-boarded before. I’m not afraid of the weapon she holds, I’m not afraid of the authority she holds—my eyes remain up, my face remains solid and I glare upon this woman’s face with bravery that makes her pause in her tracks.

  Then I remember Elijah’s warning. Whatever you see, whatever you hear, whatever you feel, don’t act on it.

  And my eyes fall down. I rake the levelled soil with my right hand, pushing as much strength into my shoulder as I can reach without tearing a muscle in the process. Whatever I did, seems to work, because the supervisor walks on by like she’s impressed.

  As soon as she’s out of my peripheral vision, my head goes back up and my surroundings finally make sense to me.

  I turn to Ruth. “This isn’t an academy at all, is it?”

  “No,” she responds, not daring to glance up again. “It isn’t.”

  My eyes snap over her head at the sound of another whip hitting an exhausted, fragile body and I hold my breath for a moment before the truth rolls off my tongue quietly. “It’s a cult.”

  Chapter 14

  Heat. Exhaustion. Dehydration. Heat.

  My eyes blink, my body sways, my breathing pattern loosens as though I don’t know how to breathe anymore. Sweat drips from every gland on my body—I feel sick, dizzy, faint, but the thirst…

  The thirst is unlike anything. I never knew thirst, not until now. My throat burns like someone is pouring oil from a vat fryer down it. There’s no escaping it, there’s nothing to distract me from it—and catching glimpses of the supervisors wandering around drinking water, bottles that they occasionally dangle in front of some members is excruciating.

  My surroundings begin to blur as I fight to stay conscious. My head remains down, my hand still moves against the perishing ground, but it grows slower and slower, weaker and weaker. The only thing that has kept me going is seeing the young girls carrying on, but physically, I can’t take it anymore.

  “It’s full,” Ruth says, referring to the basket of potatoes. “Take it to the truck.”

  “I… can’t,” I say breathlessly as I blink at the spots forming around my vision. “I can’t…”

  Without any warning, my body jerks backwards and my eyes roll to the blue sky as I pant at it. I focus on the blue. I focus on the wonder of it, of the bedazzlement of it and then I become annoyed by it. I don’t know how long I’ve been out here now. I don’t know if it’s been hours or an entire day, but the light seems to never end, the blue doesn’t seem to ever go away. The sun doesn’t seem to ever be setting.

  When my eyes roll back down, I’m face-to-face with the tall, brunette supervisor that I’ve seen whip the members carelessly. I’m too drained to offer a reaction to her deep gaze, I’m too alarmed that I’m seeing three versions of her above me to move my body back into position.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” the three faces of her says, it’s all compiled together to create three versions of one voice.

  Suddenly, I feel pain ignite into my shoulder as she unleashes her whip upon me. My body curls over and I fall on my stomach as she whips me again directly into my spine.

  “I said,
what you are doing!” she roars.

  “What are you doing!” my mother’s voice screams inside my head as I’m forced into a memory.

  As the supervisor kicks my stomach until I roll over, in my head, my mother is slapping me across the face and shoving my head into the toilet bowl of the bathroom because I decided to run a bath instead of dusting the landing.

  I lay on my back, physically on the field, mentally on the bathroom floor as the supervisor and my mother stand above me, both of their faces projecting anger and impatience.

  “Answer me!” the supervisor yells, and slowly, the hallucination and memory of my mother disappears.

  I don’t even have the energy to speak anymore, I don’t even have enough energy to react to the pain. I’m slipping into darkness and it’s taking me quickly. As much as I try to stay awake, the thought of being able to sleep and having no control over it is, frankly, a haven escape. But she won’t let me sleep, she won’t let me go. She keeps on whipping me, getting angrier with every time that I’m not reacting, until finally, I gasp out and I react.

  “I… I just need… a drink,” I say, panting at the sky.

  “A drink?” she says. “Well, why didn’t you ask? I’ll fetch you a drink.”

  My mind is so blanked out by the hallucinations and fatigue that I can’t evaluate her tone seriously. I’m not sure if she’s being sarcastic or if she genuinely means it, but either way, all three versions of her begin walking away and I take that time to hold my hands to my face as I give myself a you can do it pep talk.

  I manage to sit up, coughing spit onto the ground as I hold in the bile that’s working its way up my throat. I hold my stomach tightly, slowly rocking as every inch of me stings from developing bruises.

  “You’re making it worse for yourself,” Ruth says. I try to look at her but she’s just an unclear shadow. “You need to get on with it.”

  “How?” I breathe, my fingers grip around my stomach in desperation. “This is the… this is the freaking twenty-first century, how is this happening?”

  “You’ll go crazy if you try and look for an answer to that,” she says. “You either survive today, or you die.”