Poison

by Lan Chan

  “Just in case,” he whispers and then his lips find mine in the darkness, gentle and pliant. But of course, I shrivel up like a rotten grape drying in the afternoon sun. I’ve never let myself dwell on kissing because who would want to kiss a scared, skinny little girl with a tendency to draw Seeder attention? My inexperience is obvious, and I expect Aiden to pull away, offended.

  Instead, I feel the pressure of his fingertips massaging the back of my neck. He eases away and draws a breath. “Say when,” he says. My heart flutters hearing those words. Our safe words for when things got too scary. When the Seeders got too near, when the walls drew too close, or when we’d gone too high.

  “Never,” I rasp before his mouth is on mine again. This time I wrap my arms around his neck and let him press me against the wall. I forget about the darkness, the rats, even the tight space. Everything falls away for a moment, and I let it. I give myself this one moment to enjoy the here and now. To savour the taste of mint on Aiden’s tongue and his subtle scent of pine needles and fresh dirt. Even the music dies away.

  Wait, the music! The concert. It’s intermission, which means I’ve stayed away too long. Aiden finally notices the lack of noise as well. We hold each other for a second longer, and then I slip as quietly as I can through the trap door.

  The auditorium is filled with the thud of stomping feet. The curtain ripples from the movement of performers backstage. I wait until the sound fades and then follow the line of curtain until it splits. Nobody seems to notice my sudden arrival and I keep every part of me crossed that things go smoothly tonight.

  Forty

  When I arrive back at the penthouse, it’s late evening. The first thing I do is locate the glider suit. It was returned to me shortly after the interrogation, no doubt by Tom’s command. I suppose I should try it on for size, though I know even before I zip up that it’ll be a perfect fit. And it is.

  Besides the extra pieces of material between my legs and my arms and waist, it’s not all that different in appearance to my aerialist costume. I press the series of blinking lights on the right wrist cuff and feel a tingling sensation run up and down my limbs. Then all of a sudden, the extra wing material goes rigid, and when I look at myself in the mirror, I am exactly like a giant sugar glider possum.

  My thoughts turn to Skylar, and I picture her in this suit. Taking my place should something happen to me. What will happen to her when I disappear? Whatever differences we may have, she doesn’t deserve to be punished for being good at something. None of the performers do.

  I wish I hadn’t been so cold to Dory and wonder if there’s a way I can take her with me. Though I don’t know how I’m going to get in contact with her this late. Hopefully the rest will be all right until I can convince the rebels to go back for them. How I’ll achieve that I’m not sure, because if they’re all like Alice, I can see it’ll be like pushing a boulder up a steep hill.

  By the time midnight strikes, my nerves are wrecked. There’s no way I’m going to be able to rest, so I creep out of my room in complete darkness and feel my way to the balcony. With my back to the railing, I crane my neck so I can see between the bars as I stare into the black horizon with nervous anticipation.

  I must doze off for a moment because a thumping knock awakens me. I spring to my feet and glance towards the direction of the Forgotten Garden, expecting the dome to be alight from a collision. Instead, the night is as still as ever. The thumping comes again. It takes a few seconds for me to realise the noise is coming from my door. Then all of a sudden it bursts open, the lights come on, and the Chief Warden storms in flanked by a pair of guards. They move with solemn purpose towards my bedroom. My heart jumps into my throat and I have to dig my nails into my palms to stop myself from shaking. Why are they here? Do they know about the escape plan?

  I have no choice but to skulk into the lounge from the balcony, where the clock tells me it’s fifteen minutes ‘til two. My mind reels with flimsy excuses for not being in bed and to stall the Chief Warden for another fifteen minutes. One of the guards steps directly into my field of vision, and I can’t help focusing on the semi-automatic rifle locked in her arms and the knife strapped to her boot. In stark contrast, I’m alone, unarmed, and sleep deprived.

  “Come with me,” the Chief Warden says as soon as she spots me. I’m taken aback by her bloodshot eyes surrounded by grey bags of skin. A litany of bruises dots her neck and hands. I swallow to stop the squeak from escaping. My insides turn to mush because I must have been discovered and they’re taking me to be executed. They don’t even ask why I’m in the glider costume.

  The guards stick close to me as I’m corralled from the hotel into an awaiting town car. My attention darts all over the place, searching for signs of the rebels. As the car door slams shut, my hope of being rescued slips away. Instead of heading in the direction of the barracks as I expect, we take the familiar road towards the lab.

  We ride through a series of tunnels that alternately illuminates and then obscures the light. Inside the tunnels, the brightness converts the windows into mirrors. I risk a glance at the Chief Warden and catch her in a rare moment of contemplation. Her pupils are glassy, as though she’s holding back tears. For a fraction of a second, she seems like any other world-weary woman. Then we come through the other side and a curtain falls over her again.

  There’s only one thing that could elicit so visceral a response from her. Tom must have taken a turn for the worse. Oddly, it’s Cora that I think of at this moment. I wonder what Cora would have thought of the Chief Warden if she were here? Would she have remained steadfast to her belief that the Seeders do what they must in order to keep the peace? Or would she have reacted the way Gage did?

  I’m frightened by my own feelings. I’m barrelling down a highway towards a Seeder whose possible death I find I don’t relish. I have no doubt that once upon a time, Thomas Dempsey was a villain. Someone just as bad if not worse than his sister. Yet I probably wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for him. Is that enough, though? Do small kindnesses to me make up for everything he’s done wrong? Is that how redemption works?

  I lean forward in the seat to get away from the patch of condensation my breath has made on the window, and the central watchtower attached to the barracks comes into view. Ace and Yuri are in there. Two more people whose lives would have been much better off if it weren’t for me. I picture Yuri cramped and miserable in a cell too small to hold his gentle bulk. And Ace, whose talents for invention and mechanics far outshine my contribution to any rebellion.

  I long for Papa and his confident self-assurance. I want my mother to tell me for the hundredth time that self-pity is a blight that eats my soul. I cannot even bear to imagine what Micah must be going through if he’s still alive. And Aiden, where is he? Surely detonation time has passed?

  When we arrive at the lab, the building sits in nondescript darkness, which I find disconcerting. The labs run on a twenty-four-hour clock, so this place should be teeming with personnel. None of this fazes the Chief Warden as she takes strides through the lobby and into the elevator. I realise then that the clearing out of personnel was probably done on purpose. The feeling of unease that started in my chest permeates my entire body.

  We’ve reached our destination, yet no more guards have joined us. This is entirely too intimate. I begin to question why I’ve been summoned tonight. The reason becomes clear as soon as we reach Tom’s bedside and find him hooked up to a drip, something he would have vehemently objected to if he were physically able. Thomas Dempsey is dying.

  Empty brown paper bags are strewn on the floor as though someone has swiped them all off a counter in a fit of rage or despair. Tom lies on his back with his eyes closed. If not for the slight rise and fall of his chest, I would think him already dead. He doesn’t react even when Sheila goes to his side. She takes the armchair beside his bed and grasps his frail hand in her own bruised ones.

  Part of me wishes I had known him when he was well so I could have some conte
xt to the horror he must have inflicted in his lifetime. I know if Sheila were in his place, I would be much less sympathetic. As it stands, all I can see before me is an emaciated old man, driven mad by the rotting sickness and pushed to atonement by the hand of death.

  I don’t know what to do with myself so I become rooted to the spot at the base of the bed, my arms crossed and shoulders hunched. A dinner trolley containing a full glass of water and an untouched bowl of porridge sits beside me. The only things eaten are the mixed seeds in a small china dish.

  I’m considering slipping some seeds into my pocket when it happens. The sound of metal crunching against metal disrupts the still of the night, followed by a contained explosion. The guards spring into action immediately, positioning themselves beside Sheila in a protective stance. The female guard cups her earpiece to block out background noise and then begins to whisper into Sheila’s ear. I scrutinise Sheila’s reaction for clues of whether the news is good or bad, but movement out of the corner of my eye distracts me.

  Tom’s eyelids snap open. He takes an agonising breath that causes his pupils to bulge. Then another explosion detonates. This time the female guard breaks stance and goes to yank the curtains aside. Just in time to see a fireball ignite above the Forgotten Garden. Elsewhere, city guards must be streaming towards the wreckages. I hope enough leave the barracks for Yuri and Ace to be rescued. What will Aiden and Phoebe think when they find me gone?

  In the bed, Tom croaks my name. I have no choice but to go to him even though I want to race out into the roof garden and dive over the edge to escape. Like the rest of his body, Tom’s lips are cracked and dry, and it obviously pains him to speak. As I lean over him, he pushes his grandmother’s diary into my hands with surprising insistence.

  “This is your duty now, I regret,” he says. “We’re more alike than you think.” Repulsed by the thought, I wait for an explanation of his meaning, but it doesn’t come.

  “Sheila?” She’s by his side in seconds, and I step back, though not before I slip Tom’s security pass into the glider suit’s side pocket. Sheila leans over Tom in anticipation, but all he manages is to whisper something inaudible to her before he is wracked with another coughing fit that patters out to nothing. Then his body turns still, and I know he’s dead. I blink twice and swallow hard, burying the confusing mix of anger and grief that rises within me.

  Outside, horns and sirens blare. The streets must be chaotic in the wake of the explosions, but the Chief Warden’s world has shrunk to this room. To her brother’s bedside. Now would be the time for me to make a run for it, while she’s cloaked in grief. Except how do I get past the guards? I’m a fast runner, but no one can outrun a bullet.

  I’ve waited too long and the opportunity passes. Sheila emerges from her cocoon, and the look of pure hatred she shoots me makes me think Tom’s last words to her were about me. In three long strides, she is beside me. Tom’s diary is yanked from my hands. Three fresh guards appear from the elevator, almost as though she’s summoned them by her tremulous thoughts.

  “Return Miss Gray to The Palace,” Sheila says to the guards. “She doesn’t leave unless I say so.” Then with a sour smile, she adds, “If you find Forrester, send him to me.”

  Even though the hotel is exactly where I want to be right now, there’s something in her tone that prophesises doom. She knows something I don’t, and her macabre amusement haunts me all the way back to the hotel. I tell myself I’m prepared for anything the Seeders throw at me, but when the penthouse door opens, it’s like the ground gives way beneath me.

  Clive is on his back with his arm outstretched. Three other bodies lie on a patch of blood-soaked carpet. I recognise one of them as Phoebe. A hooded figure looms above them. As I watch, the figure points his gun at Clive and pulls the trigger.

  Well before the dark figure raises his hood, I know him too. Even though my heart refuses to let me believe it. His eyes are depthless when they look into mine, and the pilot light on his neck glows steadily red. He smiles at my disbelief.

  “What took you so long?” Aiden says. At least now I know once and for all that Aiden Forrester is not my ally.

  Forty-One

  A single treacherous tear slides down my left cheek as others threaten to follow. I look to the floor, unwilling to let him see me cry. But I’m no longer his concern.

  “The barracks?” he asks the guards.

  “Secured, sir, but the prisoners managed to flee. There was more of them than anticipated, and the Stirling girl booby-trapped her cell.”

  “What of the traitor?”

  I had thought the stare he gave me as I entered the room was the height of his hatred, but the edge in his voice as he speaks of his father is something else entirely. Is that it, then? Has all this been to repay Gideon for deserting him?

  The guard must make some sort of nonverbal gesture, because Aiden speaks again. “It doesn’t matter. They can’t do much without her.”

  He can’t even bring himself to say my name. All of the contained emotion that I had held in check towards him breaks through. I lift my head and let the adrenaline rush through every fibre of my being. There’s no reading Aiden’s expression, and I don’t trust the face that he chooses to show anymore. All I can see is the wraith of the boy I used to call friend and the freedom of the night behind him.

  I take off running towards him so quickly Aiden doesn’t realise what I’m doing until my shoulder collides with his ribs. My momentum forces him backwards into the folding glass doors that separate the balcony. The glass shatters against his weight, and though I hear rifles being raised, I doubt any of the guards would fire for fear of hitting their captain. Aiden tries to reach for me, but my balance is superior, and I use him as a stepping-stone onto the balcony ledge.

  Cold air blasts against my face and turns the glider suit into a sail. My nerves shrivel, but I can’t allow the panic to set in. Every sense I have warns me to step back to safety. But it’s not really any safer retreating. So I do something I haven’t done since the day I was pushed out of the plane. I close my eyes as I propel myself off the ledge.

  My body shoots forward like a human arrow. Every instinct screams at me to catch hold of something, anything that I can grab at to stop myself from freefalling. Out of sheer habit, I force my arms to flatten against my sides. Biting night air rushes past me, pushing strands of hair across my face. For a moment, I am weightless and my fear turns to exhilaration. For this one moment, I belong neither to the earth nor the heavens. I am suspended between worlds, and even the Seeders cannot reach me.

  Though they certainly try. A bullet whizzes past my right cheek, but I can’t tell if it’s the only one because I’ve fallen too far from range. My limbs extend automatically in four directions, and the glider suit snaps into place. Air becomes trapped in the taut bubble of my makeshift wings and pushes me upwards before the opposing forces harmonise again and I’m floating towards the earth like a leaf on the breeze.

  Below me, the Citadel is lit up like the embers of a fire burning out of control. Traffic bottlenecks around the site of the two collisions. Although the aircrafts were intercepted before they hit their targets, the wreckage wafts smoke and creates hazards in the streets. Why would the Seeders with their tactical missile bases allow the aircrafts to even get close enough to detonate? The only answer is there was something or someone in the aircrafts that they wanted.

  My thoughts are interrupted by a blinking light on my right shoulder. A closer look reveals the light is attached to the parachute’s ripcord. I tug frantically at the cord until the parachute deploys, dragging me suddenly upwards. Without the ability to steer, my landing is ungraceful and I take out a potted plant display in front of a bakery.

  Astonished bystanders pause to watch me, some frozen mid-run, unable to decide whether it’s more exciting to stay put or continue to the wreckage. An old woman steps out of the bakery, her hands wrung against an embroidered white apron. A siren wails in the distance as our eyes
meet. Hers widen in fear behind a pair of round glasses as she regards me. Then she blinks and there’s something else in her expression I can’t quite decipher.

  “They’re going to be here any second,” she says. Then she disappears back inside. I don’t question why she’s letting me go. Instead I eject the parachute from my suit and flee the area. I’ve become used to the route from the Palace Hotel to the Arts Centre, but I don’t know this street. The best I can do is run towards my target, which isn’t difficult because it’s the biggest building in the Citadel.

  The Seeders will expect me to try and make for the forest, and Aiden will consider that I might risk the trap door road beneath the Arts Centre. I’m nowhere near that hopeful. I know in my heart there’s no escape from the Citadel. Not on my own without help from the Wanderers.

  Even if I can escape, where would I go? The Landing is gone and I’ve no idea where the Wanderer stronghold is located. I could strike out on my own and try to survive in the forest. Maybe even search for the seed bank Papa and Tom were so adamant exists. As soon as the idea comes, I dismiss it as ridiculous. Without food, I could stay alive, but just barely living. My journey to the Citadel proved that. In the end, I have only one option, however horrible it may seem. Tonight, I have finally realised something. The true purpose of the Forgotten Garden. It’s not just an ostentatious show of Seeder wealth. It’s a last-ditch attempt at clawing back, at reversing some of the damage they have wrought by genetically modifying our entire food source.

  How depleted must the seed silos be for a cynic like Sheila to entertain Tom’s theory of a seed bank? How desperate will the Council be if their only source of heirloom seeds was destroyed? How much more indispensable will I be when they have no choice but to risk searching for the seed bank?