Sticky Fingers: Box Set Collection 2: 36 More Deliciously Twisted Short Stories (Sticky Fingers: The Complete Box Set Collection)

by JT Lawrence

  Seeing the silver soldiers again filled my body with a fiery fear as if I would burn up right there on the flaking stairs. I could hear the mosquitoes in my ears. Why were they here? Were they not the enemy of Akeratu? Some were robots, some were human, and some were a mix of the two. They shunted the backs of the trucks open with a bang and barked in Sheng. I didn't understand the language, but their meaning was clear. We were to climb in and not waste their time. The nurses held the tots' hands and led them towards the growling vehicles, shushing them and comforting them as they did so. I wanted to run in the opposite direction, wanted to escape the shimmering water uniforms, but I knew I could not. I had been a coward before, frozen in the kennel, but this time I would be brave, like the boy in the book the wizard had written. Instead of running away, I picked up the crying toddler standing next to me and wiped her tears away with the back of my hand. It was Kiki, a sweet toddler I had a soft spot for because of her belly laugh. She reminded me of Mouse.

  “It’s okay,” I said to Kiki, moving toward the giant groaning vehicle. “It’s okay. You’ll see. Things are going to get better for us. Today our adventure begins.”

  A little boy—Benjamin—refused to get into the truck, so Nurse 9 had to force him inside, and he began to scream and scream, despite the soldiers yelling at him to keep quiet. The roar of the engines drowned out his crying, and I was glad, because I was sure the men wouldn't hesitate to leave him there on the edge of the dark forest, ready to be snatched up by the horrors that lived therein. The dirty brown fabric flaps were down. We didn't get a last look at the Orphan House, so we were denied a final glance to say goodbye. It was hot and crowded, and we stood squashed together, a hundred children per truck. We took turns to sit when our legs gave way. The vehicle smelled of cow dung even though I hadn't seen a cow for years. They must still exist, I thought, or we wouldn't have milk for the babies or for our breakfast porridge.

  The motion of the cattle truck and the stinky broth of exhaust fumes and excrement made my stomach swirl. I held onto Kiki—the tot I had picked up on in the front yard—and swayed and patted her, holding her tightly despite my nausea and wobbly legs. The nurses huddled amongst us, and when Benjamin’s wailing became unbearable they began to sing, and we all joined in. We sang hymns and anthems and the theme songs to the television series and adverts we used to watch before the satellites went down. We sang every song we could think of, and Ben stopped sobbing and fell sleep in Nurse 9’s arms, his body slack and his head drooping like a spent flower over the woman’s shoulder. We played games with our fingers and toes and our buttons. The nurses shared the food they had brought in their backpacks: stale bread, raisins, and some of the small sour oranges we were able to grow in our makeshift hothouse outside the girls’ dormitories. There was not enough water for everyone to have a drink, so I told Nurse 4 that I was not thirsty.

  The trip lasted for days that were squeezed into hours. Infinite minutes that rolled on and on like marbles down a slope. I lost all concept of time and didn't remember sitting down to sleep. When I woke up, Kiki was sitting next to me, singing a nursery rhyme as if it were an ordinary day.

  Hours after I awoke, exhausted and slick with sweat, the trucks finally stopped. My bladder was so full it was cramping, which I had never felt before. Every time it cramped I squeezed the large yellow button I kept in my pocket. The button had been a gift from the wizard on my arrival at Orphan House, and I kept it with me at all times. It was my lucky charm; a promise that things would get better.

  While my bladder sent spasm after spasm through me, the smaller children were not able to hold it, so it was a relief when the rough men finally banged the truck doors open, and the fresh wind whipped the reek of urine away. Nurse 3 demanded the soldiers give us water to drink, but the robots fingered their rifles and told her to stand back. I ran to the closest tree and relieved myself behind it, my cheeks alight with shame as I heard the soldiers laughing at me. Again I had the urge to run, and again I decided to stay.

  I felt delirious with hunger and dehydration, and my legs felt strange and heavy on the solid ground after the continuous motion of the vehicle. The sun was too hot. I couldn't face getting into the cattle cars again for the next part of the journey, but I needn't have worried. The giant tyres kicked sand in our eyes as the trucks rumbled away, leaving us pale and blinking in the too-bright sun. The drivers left; the soldiers stayed.

  I didn’t understand. Where were the meadows, where was the soft grass and blue skies? I spotted the wizard’s tall frame in the crowd, wanting to ask him questions, but he didn’t see me. He was too busy tending to the orphans who were weak with distress. All around us was a wasteland. Even the weeds there are pretty, the wizard had said. But, looking around, I saw that even the weeds were dead.

  “Congratulations, children,” the wizard said, straightening up so that we could all see and hear him. I noticed the strain on his face, and his smile was pulled down at the edges. “You all did an excellent job. Now, the hardest part is over, and we have only good things to look forward to.”

  The atmosphere lightened a little, but I was put off by the smirks I saw on the soldiers’ faces, and for the first time I understood that this trip had never been the wizard’s idea. We were standing there, ill and hot and shivering, because of that silver envelope on the windowsill. The official Sheng letter had been an instruction, not an invitation.

  "We will now march," said the wizard. "Just as we have practised." That meant smartly, with our arms at our sides and our chests proudly displaying our blue diamonds.

  Still disorientated and disillusioned, we lined up in our marching rows, like sick little sergeants. The nurses flanked us, and the wizard took his usual position at the front. The older children marched at the back. It was our job to make sure that no child was left behind.

  The wizard gave the signal, and we began to march along the path lined with dead shrubs and saplings. There was an odd smell in the air, and the human soldiers put on their masks, which were monstrous contraptions; the things nightmares are made of. They were replete with night-vision visors and a pipe snaking to their mouths: a bulletproof oxygen delivery system.

  We marched and marched and marched, the smell getting stronger. Our adrenaline pushed us forward. When children fell or fainted, we picked them up and carried them. Nurse 8 managed to carry a baby in a sling on her chest as well as a tot on her back. I put my shoulder under Salome's when she began weeping from exhaustion, and we hobbled along. My blisters burned my heels like hot coals. Kiki fell. I had to let Salome go so that I could pick her up. Despite my exhaustion, her body felt light. Her lips were white and dry. We kept marching.

  Finally, a huge wrought iron arch announced the name of our destination. It was a scary looking sign, like one would find at the entrance to a graveyard instead of a fancy new town, or a meadow.

  “Finally!” said the wizard. “We made it.”

  We all looked at him, half-delirious from the struggle. The sign was in Sheng, so we couldn't read it. He took off his hat and wiped the sweat from his forehead and neck, then put it back on his head.

  “Welcome to BrightSide,” he said.

  If that was what a meadow looked like, I thought to myself, then it was sorely disappointing. On the outskirts, the landscape was arid, and the horizon beyond bristled with dead trees. There were people strewing ash in the fields, perhaps as fertiliser, but nothing was growing there. In front of us were squat concrete buildings. The tallest one was dome-shaped, cracked and speckled with smoke—a grey boiled egg—and there was nothing before us that looked remotely more attractive or hopeful than the Orphan House.

  I could no longer see the soldiers' expressions beneath their masks, but I was certain they were smirking again. I tried to put the puzzle together in my head: the silver drones, the silver envelope, the shimmering silver soldiers who had gunned down my mother—an enemy of the Sheng state—in cold blood, leaving her lying in a bright puddle on our kitchen floor. The s
ame floor we had swept white flour from after baking, the same tiles that Milla had crawled on when she was a baby, then taken her first unsteady steps. The kitchen floor that was now grouted with black blood, if it existed at all.

  We walked under the black-lettered archway and were soon at the largest of the ugly buildings. The one behind it belched the foul reek that permeated everything; a tall chimney that reached into the grey sky, constantly spewing the evil-smelling smoke. I almost stumbled, but recovered just in time to not drop Kiki. We streamed into a large courtyard which looked so bright and bleak at the same time that it overwhelmed the smaller children and they began to cry again.

  “It’s all right,” assured the wizard. “It’s all right. You’ve all done so well. I am proud of you.”

  Kiki was still in my arms, unconscious, her hair plastered to her forehead with perspiration, reminding me of Mouse after her afternoon naps. My arms were starting to shake. My muscles needed a rest, but I couldn't put Kiki down. I didn't want to put her down. The stink was terrible, and the grey snow fell on our shoulders and hair.

  There was a human soldier stationed at the entrance of the building. He was in Sheng military fatigues—not the shimmering uniform—I guessed he didn’t need to be invisible here. The man shouted a command at us in Sheng, but I didn’t understand. The size of the automatic rifle that hung from his shoulder conveyed all we needed to know. He switched to our home language, Ake. “Remove your clothes!” he yelled.

  The orphans looked around, wondering if they had misheard. Were they all going to get new clothes now? I remembered dreaming of the new, comfortable clothes that morning, but I could see by the nurses' expressions that there were no new clothes here. They were trying to hide their fear, but I could see it in their eyes. Slowly, reluctantly, they began to help the smallest children undress.

  The wizard removed his hat again, approaching the man, proudly but with humility. I slowly crept to the front of the crowd of children, staying on the sidelines. I wanted to hear what they were saying as they talked in hushed voices.

  “Let them wear their clothes,” the wizard said. “Please.”

  At first, the soldier in fatigues who had just barked at us looked angry, but then his face changed into one of recognition, then surprise. "Hey," he said, speaking Ake, his eyes lighting up. "You're that famous doctor."

  “Yes,” said the wizard.

  “You saved my brother’s life,” he said. “At the Children’s Hospital in Saja. You’re the author of my favourite book.”

  “I’m glad about your brother,” the wizard said. The soldier seemed shocked at seeing the wizard, then his body relaxed, losing the sharp angles of aggression.

  "Would you like a cigarette?" He opened a dented silver case and offered it to the wizard. It reminded me of the sugar bowl we used to have at home.

  “No,” said the wizard, shaking his head. The soldier took out a hand-rolled cigarette for himself and snapped the box shut.

  “Let’s go for drinks tonight.” The soldier tapped the cigarette on the top of the case, then put it to his lips and lit it. “There’s a place at the barracks that serves decent vodka. The food is edible … if you’ve got a strong constitution.”

  The nurses had tears streaming down their cheeks, but they kept their faces as neutral as possible, not wanting to upset the children. I assumed, looking at the soldier's chafed rifle, that crying children got shot.

  “I’m going in with the children,” said the wizard.

  The soldier looked like he had just been slapped. His mouth hung open, the cigarette sticking to his bottom lip. “You’re what?”

  “I’m going in with the children.”

  “What?” exclaimed the man. “They’re Akeratan!”

  “Could you keep your voice down?” asked the wizard. “I don’t want them to be scared.”

  “They’re orphans!”

  “They’re my children,” the wizard said.

  “But …” the man struck his own temple. “You were born Sheng! You don’t need to go in there. You’re crazy!”

  The wizard gestured at the soldier to keep his voice down. He shook his head, his eyes rolling skyward; he couldn't believe what he was hearing. His eyes darted up at the nurses and then back to the wizard. He tried one more time, in a low tone. "There's a back door inside the chamber. I'll unlock it for you now. You can go inside with them and then leave quietly while they are not looking. No one will ever know. We'll be drinking vodka tonight. I'll buy you dinner."

  “Thank you,” said the wizard.

  The soldier looked relieved. “So you’ll meet me at the back?”

  “No. I’ll stay with the children.”

  I could see the soldier’s jaw muscles working, chewing on his frustration.

  The wizard persisted. “Now, will you allow them to keep their clothes on?”

  The soldier’s face hardened into a grimace. “It’s a lot of extra work for us.” I thought he was going to say no, but in the end, he dragged on his cigarette and nodded. “Fine.” He looked at his watch and then tipped his head to indicate the open maw of the building. Tobacco smoke leaked out of his mouth. “But you’d better move it. The next group will be here soon.”

  The nurses were weeping openly now as they shepherded the children through the doorway, shored up by the silver soldiers. The nurses didn’t have blue diamonds on their chests or barcodes on the necks, so I don’t think they were allowed in. The wizard seemed to be the only exception, because he was famous and important. Nurse 8 took the baby she had been carrying in the sling on her perspiration-stained chest and passed him to the wizard, whose hands I saw tremble.

  As the wizard led us through the door, the barcode detector in the doorframe counted us one after the other: beep, beep, beep.

  There was nothing to look at; just a large room with some dull metal piping on the walls, like a communal shower. Were we supposed to shower? I wondered if that's why the soldier wanted us to take our clothes off. The floor was painted a toxic-looking green. Kiki was still unconscious, and I was glad. I didn't want her to be afraid. Benjamin attached himself to my right leg and didn't let go. The door slammed shut, and the seal was activated. My eyes met the wizard's. He gave me a fond look; not quite a smile. I nodded at him as if we had an understanding, because it felt as if we did, even if I hadn't yet fully grasped the consequences.

  Things will get better, Kitsune, I imagined him saying to me, his hand tenderly holding the barcode on the back of my neck. They always do.

  It was hot with all of us crowded in the room like that, and the air was thick. The babies began to cry, and then scream, which scared the tots, who started wailing, too. I saw Jakko pick up a tot and hold him tight, swaying him, comforting him. I grasped my mother’s locket and kissed it.

  "It's going to be okay," said the Wizard of BrightSide, grasping a child's hand. He was holding the baby in one arm. There were some dull banging noises from outside of the room, and then a hissing sound in the walls. He spoke loudly. "I want you to all take your lucky buttons out."

  The children did as instructed. I shifted Kiki's weight to my left hip so that I could access my frayed blazer pocket. My hands were shaking, but the sight of the bright yellow button made me feel better. The children nodded at the wizard, clutching their buttons, eyes shining with tears.

  “Now,” he said, his voice calm and strong. “I have a secret to tell you.”

  The whispering and wailing tapered off as we listened to what he had to say.

  “I am, in fact, a real wizard,” he said. “And I’m going to show you my best magic trick.”

  I bit my lip, watching him, holding onto Kiki while clutching my yellow button, Benjamin still glued to my leg. A strange chemical smell filled the chamber.

  “Now … hold on to those buttons as tightly as you can and think of the best place you can imagine in the world. If you wish hard enough, your lucky button will become a portal, and you’ll be magically transported to your own Bright
Side.”

  I thought of the pretty weeds the wizard had told me about, how you can blow the little seed feathers away into the breeze and make a wish. I looked down at my yellow button, then squeezed my fingers around it as hard as I could and made my wish.

  The gas started cascading down from the old pipes, swirling around us, and the children began coughing and falling. The buttons rolled from their upturned palms onto the green floor—flowers in a meadow. Kiki stopped breathing. I began to lose the feeling in my body as I sensed my spirit drifting up and away, into the mist. I didn't resist it, because in the distance I could see my parents walking hand-in-hand, and a grinning apple-cheeked Milla Mouse on Mom’s hip. The black emptiness in my stomach disappeared, and I felt light. One part of me hit the floor, and I saw the button rolling away from me, as if in slow motion. It wheeled towards the wizard, who had also fallen. While one part of me hit the hard floor, the other part slowly lifted and walked towards my family on the BrightSide, walked so lightly that I became one with the whirling white gas.

  2

  Cold Breath

  I knew why I deserved to be haunted by them, but I didn’t understand why they, in particular, had chosen me.

  I began noticing subtle signs of them, not knowing what their presence meant or where they came from. On my way to work one evening, I unlocked the front door and found a pair of little girl's shoes on the front step. Small, silver, scuffed on the sides and heels, with grey bows on the front. I didn't recognise them. They looked too small to be Kristina's, who was fast approaching nine years old. Eleanor, my wife, would get frustrated with me for not paying enough attention to Kristina. I should have known what time she finished school. I should have known what day she had soccer practice. She was a troubled girl, and I needed to pay more attention. I should have known if the shoes belonged to our daughter, but I did not.