The Woodlands

  It was pandemonium—girls dropping to the ground unconscious, girls fighting, girls screaming hysterically. One girl was louder than most, yelling, “It’s coming, it’s coming.” I stood up to help, but Clara was holding my arm, not allowing me to step forward. For someone so small, she seemed immensely strong, her iron grip making an imprint on my forearm.

  Soon the needles were too time-consuming and the bigger men started walking through the crowd, knocking girls out with large, rubber batons. Swiping and chocking them in the temples like they were knocking posts into the ground. There was blood and pain all around me. I felt my nerves about to fray and spark into a thousand tiny threads, each one pulling at me, hurting me—burying hundreds of shocking, violent images in my memory.

  A few girls who were not far along, their stomachs showing little or no bulge, turned on one of the men. He was hitting out at them desperately as they scrambled and scratched at his face, their eyes feral. They took him down and grabbed his satchel, needles falling to the sodden ground. One of the girls picked up a needle and plunged it into the man’s eye. Her reddish hair swung around her face as she whipped it from side to side quickly. She crouched over him like a deranged, wild creature protecting its prey. I have never heard a noise like that in all my life—a gurgling, strangled scream like a stuck animal. Just for good measure, the girl elbowed the man in the face, ceasing the screaming. She then sprung from her crouched position into a full sprint, her long legs carrying her gracefully to the edge of the woods and beyond.

  Then I was dragged into the play. A man, badly bleeding from his leg, was limping towards me. At first, thinking he needed help, I moved towards him, not noticing the baton in his hand until it was too late. He raised it above his head, his eyes showing no mercy. He was as delirious as those girls, caught up in the craziness. I put my arm over my head and shut my eyes. Not even thinking to run or fight back, just sitting there, an easy target. I heard the deadening thwack of wood against flesh and opened my eyes to see him fall to the ground. Clara stood above me with a blood-stained branch in her hand.

  “We have to go,” she said as she jerked me to my feet. Where she was pulling this strength from I’ll never know, but I followed her into the forest, leaving behind me a mess of panicked souls on both sides. To my left and right there were girls running, tripping, falling. Some were being chased. Someone must be chasing us, I thought.

  Clara kept charging through, never letting go of my hand, never looking back. I, on the other hand, was fervently looking backwards, forwards, and sideways, wondering how long it would be before someone caught up with us. Anticipating rough arms grabbing my shoulders and pulling me down. Suddenly Clara stopped dead and listened, her head cocked sideways like a wolf.

  “What are you doing?” I shivered as a breeze blew through my thin, cotton gown.

  “Shh!” she said, pressing her tiny, dark finger to my lips.

  I didn’t want to stop. I could barely hear the girls anymore. I didn’t want to think about why that was. I was hoping against hope that if we kept going, maybe we wouldn’t get caught, that we could escape this nightmare. I started tugging on Clara’s arm, figuring the horror had just hit her and she was temporarily incapacitated.

  “Get down,” she hissed. But it was too late. I felt the sting, and then warmth coursing through me, before I dropped to the ground.

  I was getting quite tired of waking up like this. Being rendered unconscious and coming to in a strange state or a strange room. I knew they must have caught us or at least me. Maybe Clara had got away. I hoped so. I was captured, I was sure of it. I had that same groggy feeling I always had after being jabbed in the arm by the White Coats.

  I opened my eyes, fluttering them suspiciously, not really wanting to see the sickly glow of the ceiling of my underground room. But what greeted me was not the glowing fluorescent lights from the room Clara and I shared, but the night sky. A million twinkling stars, against a deep, dark black. I reached my hands out to touch it. Surely it was painted on. But my fingertips were only grasping at air.

  “It’s real,” he said. That voice. Full of sadness. Kind and regretful. I hadn’t heard that voice in such a long time. I didn’t want to look. I must have been dreaming. It was not just unlikely, it was impossible that he could be here. I let myself dream a little longer and continued to stare at the sky. One side of me felt cold as ice. The other side, a little too warm. I looked to my left to see flames dancing in the half-light. I counted five other bodies lying by the fire. One tucked up in a sleeping bag, with an enormous mound of a stomach illuminated by the fire, masses of black, springy hair protruding from the head end of the bag. She had her back turned to me but it was Clara. Thank God she was all right. I swept my eyes in a circle above me, the sun was gone but I could still make out shapes of tall trees looming over the top of us. Pines.

  My stomach grumbled. I was starving. I pulled myself to sitting.

  “Are you hungry?” he said. That voice. I turned around, ready for the dream to disintegrate. His face was the same as it had always been. Still smiling, although he looked tired and perhaps a bit thinner. His hair was a little shorter, but it was him. I hadn’t imagined it.

  He handed me a piece of bread and some dried meat without waiting for an answer. I had a million questions to ask him. But my stomach had other ideas. I grabbed the food and started devouring it. He waited patiently, hands collapsed casually over his knees, watching me polish the food off, licking my fingers. The leech kicked me and I moved uncomfortably, putting my hand to my stomach.

  Joseph’s eyes showed concern as he moved towards me just slightly. Concern and something else indiscernible. The fire casting orange light on his beautiful face, lighting his hair up like a crown of gold. Sadness swamped me. I must have looked so different to him, a swollen, pitiful teenager. Most of the time, I tried to pretend it wasn’t there, but with someone from my past staring at me, it was hard to ignore.

  I took a deep breath, the cool air stinging my lungs in a good way. The big question had to be asked. But I was scared of the answer. Joseph being here made no sense at all. I was never going to see him again and now he was sitting in front of me, looking worried, looking like he cared.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked slowly. Wondering what possible answer he could give that would explain his presence here, my presence in the woods, the smoke, everything. What he said was beyond belief.

  Casually, in his disarming manner, he said with a smile, “That’s my baby in there,” as he pointed to my stomach.

  The bread stuck in my throat. I scrambled back, panicked, nearly putting my hands in the fire. “What?” I awkwardly heaved myself to my feet. “What are you talking about? That’s insane…but...that’s impossible.” I stumbled over my words, searching for one shred of sense in what Joseph had just said to me. Whatever happiness I felt at seeing him again was gone and replaced with suspicion. What did he want with me? Who were these other people? What new nightmare had I been dragged into?

  I had roused the others with my yelling. Drowsy eyes stared at me across the fire. Clara was looking at me confused, still half asleep. Joseph was moving towards me, clearly worried, although I didn’t know if he was concerned for me or the thing inside me he thought was his. But he looked genuinely frightened, anguish showing on his face. Hands outstretched, flapping the air, he said, “Rosa, calm down, it’s ok, you’re safe now.”

  I bent my knees, ready to run, “Don’t tell me to calm down, what you’re saying is ridiculous. What did you do to me? Are you one of them?” I heard my voice and it sounded crazy, like something had snapped inside my throat. I was shaking. I felt sick. I wanted to run, but I had nowhere to go. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a man with a needle in his hand approaching me. “Get back!” I screamed. This was not happening again. He kept inching closer. “Get back!” I screamed again. My voice was swallowed up in the darkness, no echo—it disappeared in the cold air. The man moved closer still. Joseph blo
cked him with his arm.

  “Get away from her, don’t touch her!” he shouted forcefully.

  I didn’t know what to do. A big part of me wanted to run to him. The other part of me wanted to hit him with a branch and run as fast as I could away from here. I didn’t feel like I could trust any of them.

  “I told you not to tell her that way,” the man with the needle said. “She’s not the same girl you remember. She’s probably traumatized.” I looked to Joseph, that pain on his face again, an agonized, tortured look; I had seen him make that face once before. The man took steps towards me, still carrying the needle, trying to distract me as he approached. “You see, he’s been looking for you for a long time now…he...” he was still holding that needle. I took one step towards him and punched him in the face, as hard as I could. It hurt my hand. He over-balanced and fell backwards, nearly landing on top of one of the other people. The needle bounced into the fire.

  Joseph laughed. “See. I told you she had attitude!” he said as he leaned over to pull the man up to his feet. I realized then that he was not a man. He was a boy, no older than Joseph. Tall and thin, with dark black, spiky hair and a smooth, high-boned face. I was still standing, fists up, ready to knock out the next person who came near me, feeling like a cornered animal.

  “Whoa, Rosa, it’s me, can’t you at least let me explain?” he pleaded.

  “Clara?” I looked to her for answers; she nodded, not saying a word. It was her way of saying, yes, let him talk. He held out his hand and I took it, eyeing him reproachfully. His eyes were hopeful. The moment our hands touched, memories jolted through me like electricity: His warm arms around me, hands touching as we lifted into the air, talking, smiling. Other memories appeared too, being deserted, having my heart broken. I dropped my hand.

  “What can you possibly say that could explain any of this?” I gestured around me and back to my belly. I looked down to see I was back in my Class uniform, which now sat above my belly button, my cotton gown poking out from underneath the band like a curtain, hiding my disgraceful form. Someone dressed me. I was livid.

  “Did someone dress me while I was asleep?” I asked, thinking, just give me an excuse and I’ll knock your lights out. My eyes were scanning the faces accusingly.

  Joseph’s face flushed red. Then he grinned. “Ha! I would have offered, but someone beat me to it!”

  I glared at all of them, hoping I could sear them in half with my vision. When no one confessed, I awkwardly tried to ease myself down onto a log. It was getting harder and harder to do even the simplest of things without the leech getting in the way. Joseph reached out to help me but I smacked his hand away. I felt like I needed a force field around me, no one touching me until I knew what they really wanted. Ungracefully, I levered my form to the ground and sat facing him.

  Everyone was watching us. I noticed a familiar face in the group. Apella was there, and a man was sitting with her, his hand on her knee. She was leaning her head on his shoulder. Clara was leaning back on her elbows, looking as wistful as ever. Nothing ever seemed to get to her, at least, not the way it got to me. Then there was Joseph and his friend, who was nursing a cut on his left forearm courtesy of me knocking him over a rock. He didn’t seem too affected either. Joseph was the only one who looked concerned, no, more than concerned. He look genuinely in pain, his face flickered back and forth between relief and anguish.

  “So…?” I challenged, “Tell me! Tell me the truth.”

  “What do you remember?” he asked.

  “I remember working at the Classes, doing well in my class. I remember....” I touched my hand to my face. “Getting in trouble. Then waking up in a room, drugged and pregnant. Oh, and I remember your letter,” I replied.

  “Oh. I guess it was too much to hope that had been erased from your memory. I’m sorry, Rosa, I thought it was the right thing to do. I wanted you to be happy and not hold onto something we could never have. I shouldn’t have done it, but by the time I had decided to tell you the truth, you had disappeared,” he confessed. I wanted it to be true, my whole being ached for it to be true, but there was so much unexplained.

  “You know, he never gave up. I tried to tell him it was no use but he risked everything to find you,” the boy with the needle interrupted.

  I glared at him.

  “Deshi, will you shut up!” Joseph sounded frustrated, his voice strained. Maybe he was hanging by the same thin thread of sanity that I was clinging to.

  Deshi shut his mouth and kept it that way.

  “Well, working forward from what you remember, I can tell you what I know.” He took a deep breath and launched into the story. “You know I was accepted into Medical, right?” I nodded. I remembered seeing him hanging around outside the medical building with his white coat on, talking to other Uppers. “Well, Deshi and I and a few other kids were pulled into a specialist group, dealing specifically with infertility. It was all very secretive and we were required to supply a DNA sample at the start of every morning as a security clearance.” I recalled the two men in white pushing their fingers into the goo when they were trying to release the security doors. “We were being allowed access to all sorts of information but were told our lives were over if we told anyone what was going on. Apella here was one of our teachers.” I looked over at her. She smiled shyly. She seemed too lacking in confidence to be a teacher or a doctor. I had always assumed she was just a lackey in our situation. The deceptions were unfolding, like a tightly crumpled letter, each crease revealing a new unknown, scrawled part I thought I had read but now, no longer understood.

  Joseph spoke.

  “Apella had developed a way to synthesize genetic material in order to artificially impregnate a woman. She was teaching us this process and getting us to synthesize our own DNA and other kids from the Classes. We were to collect samples from every male we could. Just a strand of hair was enough. Soon we had about three hundred samples. I wish I had known what they were planning, but I didn’t, I swear,” he said, clearly upset, clearly trying to purvey his own innocence.

  “So you did this?” I aimed my accusation at Apella. “You’re responsible for what they did to me, to Clara?” I was disgusted with her. She was obviously brilliant but had no morals.

  “You say it like I had a choice, Rosa,” she appealed.

  “You always have a choice,” I said.

  “Even if the choice is dying, or someone you love dying?” she said, looking to the man next to her.

  “Yes.” I knew what I would do. I would never have done what she did.

  “That’s what I love about you. You are nothing like anyone else in Pau, you do believe in a choice. You always do what you want and to hell with the consequences!” Joseph said. I was offended. I didn’t think that was true, but I would like to think that I would make the right choice, if I had to.

  Apella looked devastated by my response. Clara shuffled over and patted her back. It made me sick that she would even touch her after what she had done to us. I felt like I had heard enough. But Joseph continued.

  “Shortly after the samples were created, we were told that they had been destroyed, that someone had left the fridge door open and they had all expired. We were moved onto another program and we were told Apella had taken a leave of absence.”

  “Pretty stupid to believe that,” I snapped.

  “I know,” he admitted, “but I swear we thought it was all for practice. We never dreamed that they were going to use them for anything.”

  I was starting to put it together myself, “And then I disappeared.” I felt cold. Worn down to a point, a speck. Was there ever any end to it?

  “Yes.” He looked at the ground, tracing patterns in the dirt with a stick. “You disappeared; you stopped walking to the construction Class with your friends...” he stopped on that word, setting his mouth in a hard line, like it was difficult for him to say. “You weren’t exploring the Arboretum.” So he was watching me. “You were gone without a trace. Ev
ery day I snuck into the lab after hours and searched for any information that might lead me to you. Every day for about a month I would type your number in, or your name, but there was nothing.”

  “It’s true!” Deshi chimed in. We both shot him a look.

  “Then one day I typed in your number and all that came up was ‘matched’. That’s when Apella caught me. She found me sitting, staring at the computer. I had just about given up hope when she leaned over and typed in a password. There was your name Rosa Bianca matched Joseph Sulle. Apella explained it to me. Although I think she had to explain it about ten times. The Superiors had taken you and used my sample to create a baby. Our baby. She told me that they had taken her technology and were using it to begin a repopulation plan for the Woodlands. They would eliminate the need for families. They could control the genetic mix this way. So we were matched to create a particular genetic composition.” He sounded like a scientist, like one of them.

  I yawned, stretching my arms. The leech kicked me and I jumped, instinctively touching my belly. Joseph looked at me longingly. “Did it…” he didn’t finish. “You’re tired. Maybe you should sleep and we can finish tomorrow.”

  “No, keep going. I want to know how this fantastical story ends,” I said sarcastically.

  He ignored me. “Apella asked for my help. She said she would help me find you, if I helped her and Alexei escape from their life also.” So that’s why she was helping us. To protect her love. My opinion of her lowered further.

  “I’m sorry it took so long but we had to make sure the plan was perfect before we tried. There were so many things that could go wrong and we only had one shot at it. I’m sorry for…” he said, leaving it hanging.