Lifer (17 page)

I don’t care what he thinks, I don’t. But I avoid his stare. My cheeks warm.

I lift my arms a little and inhale. It’s awful. Down in the Lifer quarters we clean with a sponge irregularly at the troughs but mostly count on the UV shower to kill anything.

Obviously the Fishies expect more.

The heat in my cheeks burns. Did Samuai think I smelled too? Maybe he did but he was too much a gentleman to say anything. I hate that Davyd constantly makes me reassess my relationship with Samuai. Davyd’s words twist and change things and Samuai isn’t here to reassure me.

We go inside and Davyd disappears in the direction of the kitchen. I should be hungry too but embarrassment combined with my own stench is an appetite killer. I offer my services to Lady but she declines, waving me away. It gives me some free time to use the clean room but I hesitate to ask. “Um…”

“What Dear?” asks Lady with a smile.

Her eyes are bright today and as far as I know she hasn’t had a single episode. Maybe knowing I’ve taken up her challenge to check the cremation logs helps.

It’s hard to spit out the words when she’s sitting there so elegantly, so classy, so clean.

“I, ah, should probably use the Clean Room.” I look at my toes making swirling patterns in the rug. They remind me of my unfinished memorial for Samuai. The ache of not finishing is sharpened by the realization I’d forgotten about it. For days.

A chill sweeps over me like one of the water condensers above has burst. How could I have forgotten? There’s no way I can finish the ritual here. It will have to wait, but this time I won’t forget. I won’t.

Lady looks up at me, sniffs delicately and wrinkles her nose. “Is that horrible stench you, dear?”

I nod.

“You really should do something about it. I thought one of the ship rats had died in the wall somewhere.” She points me to the clean room and leaves me at the white door in peace.

The handle is smooth and cool beneath my fingers but I hesitate. What if Davyd’s in there already? The reality of our living situation makes him hard to escape.

I knock but there’s no sound from inside.

I push open the door, flick on the light and am nearly blinded by the glare reflecting off white tile. It’s fresh and sparkling and I step over the threshold quickly, before I decide I’m not clean enough to enter such a space. I lock the door behind me, aware that Davyd suggested I wash.

With him in my mind, stripping doesn’t happen easily. A mirror fills one whole wall and my naked reflection’s almost as embarrassed as I am and she doesn’t quite meet my gaze. The tile’s cool beneath my feet. I step from one foot to the other while I try to figure out the shining metal taps.

I press the button marked ‘on’ and am rewarded by a burst of oh-crap-that’s-cold water. My hand slams on the button and cuts the flow but not before I’m soaked. There has to be a way to adjust temperature. Lady wouldn’t stand under this.

At last I find it. With the temperature control adjusted I push the button again. My teeth chatter loudly in the moments before the flow begins. Then the water hits me. Hot and fragrant with soap. Spraying down from four angled metal heads dousing every inch of me. A massage of water droplets caresses my skin.

I groan. It’s so good. I arch under the spray, scrubbing the grime from my skin and my scalp.

Too soon the reality of my place in the household forces my hand toward the ‘dry’ button. It hesitates there, while I enjoy the water for a few extra seconds. How much would my mother enjoy this after a long shift working on the farm?

Those Lifers who rebel against the injustice of serving out our ancestors’ crimes don’t even know what they’re missing out on. A stab of fear presses my hand down to stop the flow. For all Mother’s planning and insistence on waiting, if those below knew the extent of the lifestyle differences in the upper levels, rebellion would be impossible to stop.

[Blank]

A knock on the door startles me awake. I stretch, the accompanying pain in my leg makes me wince. My movement causes the girl in bed with me to stir.

The girl in bed with me!

Megs’ in my arms. The last thing I remember is talking about nothing. Lulled to sleep by her lyrical voice. I don’t remember lying down. Or her lying beside me and allowing me to take her in my arms. I will remember this though. Everything about it.

Her scent’s sweet but earthy at the same time. Maybe she hasn’t washed since the game. Whatever, it makes my whole body tight. On edge. I arch away from the curve of her back so she doesn’t notice my response to her closeness. It takes all my control not to press closer to her. Her hair’s only an inch away from my face. I lean forward, allow the silky strands to brush my nose.

Guilt and pain from my leg wars with the perfection of the moment.

The knock sounds again, louder this time.

She wakes and sits up. I bite down on a curse. She felt good. Damn good.

“Come in,” I call. I cough to clear my throat; thankful the darkness hides Megs’ reaction. She must know the effect she has on me. It’s not like I’m doing a brilliant job of hiding it. I have no idea if I’m usually this hopeless with girls. Probably.

The nagging hint of a memory tinkles with another girl’s laughter in my brain. It brings a wave of guilt that I’m so into Megs but I tamp it down. If I agree to Keane’s plan I’ll have my memories back later today. Now belongs to Megs.

The door swings inward without a sound. Light from the hallway outlines Toby’s familiar silhouette. “Rise and shine kids.”

“Morning already?” asks Megs with a groan as the overhead light flickers on.

I’m concentrating on willing my body back under control.
Think Eliza; think Eliza
. The image of the crusty woman who attempted to kill me cools my blood and I stand without betraying myself.

“Do we have time for a wash?” I ask.

I must smell pretty bad by now and I need some balm for my leg.

“If you’re quick.” Toby hooks a thumb back over his shoulder. “Across the hall. Keane’s waiting.”

I cross the hallway and hear light feet following. With my hand on the door to the wash area, I turn. It’s Megs, looking rumpled and stunning all at once.

Sweetness fills her shy smile. “I figured the wash was a good idea.”

My mouth dries and I can’t form words. I didn’t imagine her joining me in the bathroom. I’m relieved the cubicles filling the once-white room are private. Mostly, anyway. I duck into the first one. Dark stains mark the corners of the small space but it’s clean.

There’s a disposable washcloth and I use the small sink, not wasting time on a shower. I’m out before Megs but wish I had clean clothes. Mine reek of adrenaline and fear.

Toby waits for me in the room. He tosses me a black hoodie. “Thought you might need this.”

I pull it over my head although it’s not particularly cold in here. At least it doesn’t reek.

Megs is out in the hall when we return. “Took your time,” she teases.

“How did you change?” I’m certain the tight blue jeans, white tank top, and gray jacket she’s wearing are different.

“The bathroom links both sides of the station close to my room.”

I picture her making the journey through the hallways naked and blush. Time for a change of subject before I make a fool of myself. “Where are we meeting Keane?”

“Out back. I need to check Janic on the way.”

“Of course.” Again I’m reminded of her personal stake in all of this. I like Megs but no one here belongs to me. That I know.

She leads me through long corridors and down two flights of stairs. Finally we reach an area marked ‘Recovery’.

“Janic was in critical care for a few hours but with Q injuries the only thing to do once they’re stable is wait,” she explains as she pushes the door open.

Antiseptic odors hit us as we enter the long well lit room with maybe ten beds along either wall. Makeshift curtains separate each one. Seven are closed, the scraps of striped, flowered, and patterned material too cheerful for what they conceal. I imagine the patients inside, still and silent like Janic was in my arms, maybe recovering from injuries sustained at the raid.

Megs flashes a smile at the bearded man in the corner who nods in return. I follow behind, hoping no one asks me any questions. Either rumor of the strange guy has spread down here or being with Megs is enough and no one questions my presence.

We move silently toward the last bed on the right. Bright purple stripes cover this curtain. It makes sense for Megs’ brother. They know her here.

“Come in,” she says when I hesitate. “If it wasn’t for you he’d be dead at the warehouse.”

Not knowing what to say, I step in behind her, pulling the curtain closed. He lies on the bed, tiny and frail under the white sheet. A drip keeps him hydrated and a screen monitors his vitals but there’s no other medical stuff.

Megs must notice my surprise. “There’s nothing else we can do once they’re in the Q-coma.” She perches on the edge of the bed and takes her brother’s hand, rubbing it absentmindedly. “Everyone takes turns at the desk out front in case there’s a change and our medical staff are on call. But mostly they’re needed for more urgent cases.”

“How many doctors do you have here?”

“Not enough.”

I stand with my hands hanging at my sides. Maybe if I’d blocked the shot earlier. Maybe if I wasn’t so caught up in the game. Maybe…

Megs’ other hand slips into mine. “Thank you.”

“But I should have—”

Her brow arches. She’s knows me too well already. “What? Janic shouldn’t have been there. Thanks to you we got him back for treatment. Now it’s up to him.”

She leans forward without releasing my hand and kisses her brother’s forehead, whispering something in his ear. Then she stands and tugs me toward the door. “Keane’s waiting.”

He’s at the back of the station in a garage filled with what looks like salvaged vehicles in various states of repair. An older woman in overalls and grease streaks works underneath an old school bus.

“The Company are the only ones with access to new vehicles,” Keane explains. He tosses Megs the keys to a dirt bike similar to the one he’s leaning against.

“What about me?” I ask.

“Vehicles are valuable,” says Keane, pulling on a helmet from the rack.

Megs hands me one. “You’re riding with me.”

“Put this on.” Keane throws me a strip of black cloth and I nearly drop the helmet trying to catch it.

Another blindfold. I should’ve expected they wouldn’t want a possible Company spy knowing the location of the Station. First, I swing one leg over the bike and then tie the blindfold. My fingers fumble with stress. Megs takes the helmet and helps secure the material. So much has happened since the last time she did this. She slides the helmet over my head and I’m in complete darkness. Megs climbs in front and I inhale her fruity scent. It brings back memories of holding her close through the night.

There’s a scrape of feet on concrete and a rush of air near my face. The bikes roar to life. I hear a roller door creaking open and we’re out in the air. With nothing else to do, I make a mental note of each turn, building up a map in my mind, and trying to fit what I saw when we fled the warehouse.

We’ve made maybe seven turns when Megs speaks.

I lean closer, so my helmet bumps against hers. “What?”

“You can remove the blindfold.”

It’s not as easy as it sounds but by flipping the visor I manage to uncover my eyes.

Purple hair fills my vision. The long strands trail under the back of Megs’ helmet and blow into my eyes. I brush them aside and the true devastation to the city becomes clear. It’s like a giant emerged from the bay flashing in the distance and walked over the hills, randomly crushing whole blocks of buildings and leaving others mostly intact. The earth itself fought back, with gaping holes and cracks as common as towers of rock sticking up out of the ground. Ribbon-like roads twist and buckle.

We ride ever upwards, weaving through the streets and sometimes cutting through tracts of land and rubble where buildings once stood. We cross over huge chasms on the flimsiest of roughly-built wooden bridges. In those places, the earth disappears into darkness and I hope Megs knows how to steer a bike.

When we turn off the road it’s into what I’m guessing was once a park. Here are the first trees I’ve seen since the garden. While many are burned-out trunks, there are some that have grown since the Upheaval. I breathe in deeply, catching their scent over the burned odor blanketing the city. Mostly I smell fuel from the bike beneath me. The ascent starts in earnest and I hold on to Megs a little tighter. Nowhere during the trip do we see people.

Eventually Megs pulls to a stop behind Keane, kills the engine, and we climb off the bike. Pink streaks across the blue sky and the clouds are high and scattered. I’m guessing it’ll warm up later.

A strange city’s nestled in the valley below. Low-lying pale domes shine in the early morning light, resembling some kind of alien settlement. A fence rings the area. Guards, wearing the same gray uniforms as I saw at the raid, man lookouts at regular intervals.

There is nothing in my general memory that describes this “What is it?”

“New City,” says Megs.

Keane gestures back to the bikes. “We need to get out of sight before the guards wake up properly and start doing their jobs. Or we’re seen by one of the patrols. The sound of distant machinery helps cover the noise of the bikes.”

I stare at the strange sight. Here and there square windows protrude from the curve of the structure, reflecting the warmth of the early morning light. Roads between the buildings are perfectly paved and swept. It’s so clean.

There’s an order to it that speaks to me in a way the dirty, rundown place I’ve left doesn’t. This place feels a little like home and Keane wants to leave already? “I have questions.”

He swings a leg over the dirt bike and it roars to life under his hands. “You’ll get your answers but not here.”

We clamber back on the bike and I’m careful not to latch onto Megs like a drowning man. I place my hands on her narrow waist and hold on. As she accelerates away I look back at New City and the surroundings. They’ve picked an area relatively unscathed by the Upheaval. Twin peaks rise in the distance and the ruins of a huge antenna spikes into the sky.