by Eliza Green
She should have detected him long before she saw him, but her mind was elsewhere. There was no mistaking the smell of the tavern’s most dedicated customer. Old Pete blocked her path and Isobel considered pushing him out of the way, but the dangerous look in his eyes warned her to play it cool. With no escape plan, she had to stay off Marcus’ radar, and this man reeked of the criminal associate. A spat with Pete would risk any chance she had to see her husband again.
‘Well, well, who d’we have here?’ Pete used his slimy body to pin hers against the wall. The noxious smell of drink seeped through his poorly sealed gel mask. Isobel held eye contact, even though she wanted to look away. She would not give the upper hand to vermin like him. ‘Where you off to with forty minutes left to curfew?’ She felt something hard press up against her. He ran a dirty finger down her cheek.
‘You know where I’m going. I’m staying at Sal’s.’
He tutted, then ran his tongue across his lips to wet them. She could smell the excitement on him. His eyes lingered on her chest. ‘Well, Old Pete’s had his fill of people givin’ him grief round here, especially that prick Marcus. Old Pete wants to have some fun.’
The old man didn’t scare her; she could put him down without a second thought. But she didn’t want to cause trouble for Albert or Ben.
‘I have to get back to Sal’s, or I’ll miss curfew.’
His calloused hand touched her face and she jerked away. He moved his hand to her shoulder and pinned her. His other hand clamped the side of her leg. ‘So what would happen to someone like you, whatever you are exactly, if you missed curfew?’ He ran his fingers up the inside of her leg.
Isobel squirmed. ‘Don’t move a muscle,’ said Pete, ‘or I’ll report you to Marcus. You hear me? Some lads want to have a bit o’ fun with you. I won the toss so I go first.’
She resisted the urge to punch him in the face.
‘Let her go.’
Pete kept his unfocused eyes on Isobel. ‘Get outta here, you little shit! This is none of yer goddamn business.’
Isobel wasn’t sure when Ben had arrived, but his timing couldn’t have been better. She shuddered to think how far she’d have let Old Pete take things in her desire to stay off Marcus’ radar.
Ben didn’t move. ‘Money has gone missing from East Compound funds and I thought I knew who took it. But I’ve noticed how you watch Albert count the takings.’
‘I don’t take what don’t belong to me.’
Ben forced a smile. ‘Is that right?’
Pete gave Isobel a sharp push causing her to stumble. She regained composure just as Pete spun round to face Ben.
‘Yeah, that’s right.’
Ben and Old Pete traded insults and Ben got too close to pissing off the old human. She stiffened when Pete’s voice hardened. ‘You little runt. I ought to smack manners into you.’
Pete went to punch Ben but Isobel caught his fist before he could strike Ben’s cheek. She twisted his arm up his back.
‘Why don’t you pick on someone your own size?’ she said.
‘Let go of me, bitch. Or I’ll tell Marcus on you.’
‘Let him go, Isobel. Please. I’ve got this.’ She did. Old Pete staggered away and Ben peppered her with questions about why she didn’t go straight to Sal’s. She kept her answers vague.
Ben insisted on following her to Sal’s and Isobel knew her chance to escape was over. She knocked on the door and Sal’s face appeared. She checked her wristwatch. ‘The streets are not safe, even for you,’ said Sal.
‘I’m back before curfew, like I said I would.’
Sal looked past her. ‘Girl, there’s more than just the criminals to watch out for in this place. Get in, both of you.’
Isobel’s skin tightened when she passed through the environmental force field protecting the cottage. She felt a tug on her lungs as they adapted to the marginally higher oxygen levels. The smell of grease and oil overpowered her senses; everything felt heightened after the evening she’d just had. She held her breath and walked past Sal’s array of machine parts that she’d examined while Sal was asleep. Sal had fixed a faulty generator two buildings down with cable ties and luck. Isobel wasn’t a mechanic but she could learn it if she wanted. But her plans didn’t include helping the people of Waverley. She would find Alex and return to her old life.
Isobel entered the kitchen first followed by Ben and Sal. The discovery of the double wall and barbed wire had thrown her. Sal forced her into a chair, and she and Ben fussed around her to the point of distraction.
But when Ben asked her about her human life, she forgot about the double wall and the antics with Old Pete. Some of the stress she carried since her return to Earth lifted. ‘I have a husband living somewhere in New York.’
‘Have you tried contacting him?’ said Ben. ‘What did he say?’
Isobel shook her head. ‘I have no rights here, no access to the digital libraries, no way out of this neighbourhood. I don’t know where he lives now.’
‘I have access,’ said Ben. ‘So I might be able to get you the information you need.’
Isobel’s heavy mood lightened and she almost forgot the other reason she came back to Earth. Serena, Anton, Stephen and Arianna had prepared her to find Jenny Waterson. Finding Alex was her priority but she was also curious about this Jenny woman that Sal didn’t seem to know.
Isobel wrote down details about her husband for Ben who promised to help her find Alex, before heading back to the tavern. For the first time since arriving in Waverley, she felt a sense of hope. Sal closed and locked the front door.
Isobel lingered by the entrance to the kitchen. ‘Will he make it back in time?’ Just ten minutes of curfew remained.
A weary looking Sal shuffled back to the kitchen. ‘I’m not worried. He’s a tough kid, more of an adult these days. He’s also creative.’ Sal pointed a finger at her. ‘You on the other hand need to watch out for Pete. He’s a Marcus wannabe.’
‘Yeah, I could smell the man on him.’
‘Ben said there was a fight between you two. Did you start it?’
A blaze of anger heated Isobel’s blood. ‘Is that all you care about, whether I upset the people in your neighbourhood?’
Sal stopped short of the entrance. ‘Do you think you’re better than us? Is that it?’
‘No. I... it’s you who feels superior.’
Sal laughed long and hard. She pushed past Isobel, grabbed two mugs from the table and dropped them into the sink. ‘Don’t mistake my self-assuredness for cockiness, my girl.’ She dried her semi-clean hands on the front of her World Government uniform. ‘I’ve been around a lot longer than you.’
Isobel hovered by the door, neither in the room nor out of it. ‘You seem to forget I was once human.’
Sal lifted a brow. ‘How could I forget? You don’t quite look human enough to pass as one of us, but you’re human underneath all that genetic hocus pocus.’
Isobel detected another emotion from the woman. ‘You’re jealous.’
Sal scoffed. ‘Of what? Of being poked and prodded and turned into a human guinea pig?’
‘Of being left behind. You weren’t genetically superior enough to be considered for the change.’
Sal gripped the back of the chair as if to steady herself. ‘That’s why I don’t like you. You think you’re better than me, in every way. You look down your nose at the people who live here. But what makes you so sure there’s a better life outside these walls?’
‘I was important once,’ said Isobel. She used to believe that. Now, she wasn’t sure.
‘So you said last night.’ Sal pointed a greasy finger at her. ‘But no longer, girl. Get used to it. Being back here is not a reward. It’s a punishment. You have no rights here, not as a human and not as an Indigene. Maybe you had status once, but that world is gone.’
‘I’m beginning to realise that.’ Isobel felt her confidence slip. ‘I told you I don’t remember being changed into an Indigene.’
Sal
softened her attitude. ‘I don’t know a whole lot about it, only that some people were cherry-picked to go to Exilon 5. The World Government gave little thought to who they left behind.’
‘I believe they forced my alteration on me. Was that my fault?’
Sal sighed. ‘About as much as it was my fault for not having the correct genetics.’
‘I can sense you think I’m being difficult, but I did not return to Earth for this life.’ She thought about Jenny Waterson and wondered why the leaders from District Three deemed her so important she meet with her. She pushed it to the back of her tired mind. ‘This life is not why I agreed to the reversal treatment.’
Sal occupied herself with tidying away some plates on the side counter. ‘Look, things will get better for you. Give it time.’
But she had no more time to give.
‘Did you want to talk about your old human life?’ Sal seemed hesitant.
‘I don’t remember much.’ She remembered more than she could admit to Sal. She was a structural engineer married to a level six ESC official. Alex’s status guaranteed them access to special functions organised by the ESC and World Government. How would Sal react if she knew her husband worked for the people who left humans to rot in this hellhole?
To her relief, Sal lost interest. ‘You best get settled in for the night. I might be up for a while. I need to figure out what to do with the damn generator in my living room.’ She hesitated. ‘Are you sure you can’t help with the machines?’
Isobel had no interest in getting involved in Waverley’s problems. She wasn’t planning on sticking around. ‘Positive. I’ll see you in the morning.’
‘Oh, and that boy cares a great deal about you. Asked me to get you something else to wear. I’m sorry I didn’t even notice.’
Isobel looked down at the uniform that reminded her of her past and her present, for different reasons.
‘Something else to wear would be good. Night, Sal.’
22
On their way to the sealed-off mansion in Long Island, Marcus and Carl made a brief stop at the market. Marcus waited in the car with three Indigenes—the waif with the telepathic ability, and two males, including Johan—while Carl went in to check with Jenny that the prices had been put up. The vendors looked up to her as some leader.
When Carl returned, he nodded. ‘Jenny wasn’t there but the bitch hadn’t done it. So I waited till they all put their prices up. Twenty percent.’ He was out of breath.
‘Who did you hit?’
‘Whoever was nearest.’ Carl flashed a decayed smile at him.
Jenny’s insolence irritated him. ‘What the fuck’s she playing at?’
‘One vendor said Jenny warned a bunch of the residents the prices were goin’ up and t’ buy early.’
Marcus gritted his teeth. ‘Next time I see that bitch, she’s going to get it. Let’s move.’
Carl programmed their destination into the car’s navigator.
Marcus’ plan to mark Albert’s property would have to wait. Gaetano’s job came first.
☼
A short while later, the car pulled up outside the interrogation mansion. Carl led the three Indigenes, their hands and feet shackled and wearing shock collars, inside the building that had been Gaetano’s former safe house after the last World Government ship had left and anarchy hit the streets. The criminals had just come out of hiding and were killing off rival factions. The scant military presence left on Earth was no match for the gang warfare. Everything settled down when the factions finally agreed on land division.
The air inside was clean enough for Marcus not to need his mask. The three Indigenes, including Johan and a younger male stood before him. The waif female had a feral look in her eye; the quantity of human blood Marcus fed her was never enough to satiate her appetite. With her still refusing synthesised blood, Marcus had her right where he wanted her: starving and desperate.
Johan stared at the ground. There was something about the Indigene that Marcus didn’t like. He’d been helpful enough at the house, but he sensed there was more to him. A third male, Matthieu, skinnier and younger than Johan, had told Marcus he was an IT expert. But he couldn’t seem to figure out the junk code that rendered the DPads inoperable. Both males hadn’t fully transformed back to human with a skin tone that had a slightly opaque, and human, look to it. But their smooth, hairless skin and yellow eyes made them look more Indigene than human. Marcus shuddered at having them so close.
‘Grab three chairs,’ he said to Carl.
The male Indigenes stood eerily still.
Too still. Like the residents in Waverley. It unnerved him.
Carl dragged three chairs to the middle of the room and arranged them so they faced Marcus. Marcus pointed to the chairs with his Buzz Gun. He gripped the controller for the shock collars in his other hand; even though they were shackled together, he felt safer with it in his control.
The trio sat down, their restraints restricting their movements.
He started with Matthieu, who looked no older than twenty-three.
‘What’s your skill?’
‘IT,’ said Matthieu.
‘Yet you don’t seem to understand the concept of IT. When I asked you to run diagnostics on the force field, you drew a blank.’
‘I was working up to it. I don’t like to be rushed.’
Marcus pressed a button on the controller and delivered a shock to all three. Matthieu shuddered and panted like the dog Marcus knew he was. The waif screamed. Johan gritted his teeth.
‘You’re no more fucking IT than I am. So how about you drop the bullshit and tell me what I want to know?’
‘I told you,’ said Matthieu between gasps. ‘I know computers, technology. I’m not lying.’
Marcus knew nothing about technology and it was possible Matthieu was being truthful. But the male didn’t work fast enough for Gaetano’s liking. And their failings reflected badly on Marcus. Maybe a little torture would change Matthieu’s mind.
He switched his focus to Johan. ‘You told me you were a cook.’
Johan nodded. ‘That’s right.’
‘Yet you seem to be at ease with technology.’
‘I learned about it before I became a cook.’
‘And where did you practise these culinary skills on Earth before you were changed into this?’
‘Cantaloupe restaurant,’ said Johan without missing a beat.
Marcus had heard of Les Fontaines. It was Charles Deighton’s favourite restaurant and a place Gaetano used to visit apparently. But Marcus had never stayed in the nicer parts of town for long in the early days. He was too busy hiding out with the other associates, learning his craft.
‘You heard of Cantaloupe, Carl?’
‘Yeah, nice. Not as pricey during the day. They used to hike it up come six.’
‘How the fuck do you know that?’
‘My brother worked there for a while.’
‘The dead one?’
Carl shook his head. ‘The other fucker. Although he could be dead too for all I know or care.’ Marcus wouldn’t have cared either except he needed to get confirmation of Johan’s claims.
Johan may have been a cook, but Marcus still didn’t like him. So he gave him a shock. Johan muffled his scream with his hand.
He turned to the waif with the feral eyes. She stared at the ground. Marcus slid into her line of sight and her attention snapped to his hand, close to his pocket.
‘I need you to read these two.’ He pointed at Johan and Matthieu.
Her eyes widened as he slipped a synthesised blood bag from his pocket. She sniffed the air, then turned her face away. Marcus pushed it under her nose and she squeezed her eyes shut.
‘Why won’t you drink this?’
‘I can’t.’
‘Synthesised blood not good enough for you?’
She growled at Marcus, bared her teeth. ‘It makes me physically sick. You know it does.’
Marcus’ eyes trailed the length of h
er. ‘The sight of you makes me sick, yet here I am holding my lunch down. We all have to make sacrifices. Drink this or you don’t eat today.’
‘I need real blood.’
Marcus was all out, and he hated carrying around real blood. It turned his stomach to touch something that used to be inside another person.
She looked up at the bag. Marcus turned it upside down and a drop appeared at the narrow end. It didn’t fall. The waif parted her lips and Marcus squeezed three drops onto her tongue. She tasted it, swallowed.
‘See, that wasn’t too difficult was it?’
The waif turned her head sharply and vomited on the floor—a disgusting mix of bile and clear fluid. Marcus almost threw up on himself.
She breathed unevenly and looked up at Marcus through sunken eyes. ‘I told you I need real blood.’ Her hollow cheeks moved as she spoke.
‘Read them.’
‘I’m too weak. My telepathy skills work better with real blood.’
Marcus ran a hand through his greasy hair. ‘I’m not about to drain my men to give it to you. It’s this or nothing.’
‘I can’t.’
He raised his Buzz Gun and pointed it at her head.
‘Wait!’ Her eyes shifted. ‘Let me try.’ She turned to the pair and studied them for a moment. Marcus noticed Matthieu flinch, but Johan’s expression was neutral.
‘They’re both lying to you,’ said the waif.
‘Shit, Marcus, I could’ve told you that,’ said Carl.
‘Tell me,’ said Marcus to the waif.
‘The younger one is not IT and the older one is not a cook.’ She breathed hard from the exertion of reading their minds. ‘They’re something else.’
Marcus’ patience wore thin. ‘Well, what are they?’
The waif shook her head. ‘They’re blocking me. I can’t get any further. Maybe with some real blood...’
Something else occurred to Marcus. ‘Who sent them to Earth?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Who are they working for on Exilon 5?’
The waif shook her head. She squeezed her eyes shut and swallowed like she was about to be sick again.
