‘Level eight hundred. All of it,’ she says quickly.
My jaw clenches as I look away from her. It’s not even near ground level. ‘How can I get there?’
‘The lift.’
‘There’s no chance of that,’ I say dismissively.
‘This place was built for you,’ she hisses. ‘Just say the number.’
I think I must’ve misheard her, but her tone fills me with confidence.
‘But, Eve, they’ll come after you. They’ll –’
‘Let them,’ I say firmly, trying to work out the best course of action.
‘Let me come with you.’
‘No. Absolutely not,’ I say, looking up at her earnest face.
She lowers her head sadly in agreement and I bow mine in return. She doesn’t need to be more involved than I’ve already made her.
She washes the suds out of my hair. I’m grateful for her speed. I need to act fast and I know she understands.
Once I’m out of the shower, Mother Kadi wraps me in a white towel and I feel her squeezing my arms tightly as she dries me. I’m not sure whether it’s in encouragement or offered as a warning, but I’m hoping it’s the former.
My legs shake as I step into my knickers, then the khaki dress she holds out for me. I try to move quickly, but without making it look like I’m rushing, realizing someone could be watching. I can’t be seen to act frantically or out of character. I don’t want to raise suspicion or attract attention any sooner than necessary.
I swoop my wet hair into a topknot while Mother Kadi helps me with my knee-high black boots.
‘Did I leave my necklace in the shower?’ I ask her.
‘What necklace?’ she asks, looking suitably confused. I rarely wear jewellery.
‘Will you have a look for me? It’s the one with my birthstone on it,’ I say, my hand going to my chest as though it’s a treasured possession.
She doesn’t even frown as she goes along with what I’ve asked.
As soon as she steps into the cubicle I shut it after her, pulling a unit of medical equipment across to block her exit.
‘Eve,’ she whispers, her open palm resting against the glass between us, her eyes wide and shiny.
‘Sorry,’ I mumble, then turn and head for the door. It’s not that I don’t trust her, but it’s the only way I can be sure they won’t think she’s in on it.
I catch sight of myself in the reflection of the mirrored wall and see the determination on my face. I don’t know how the panic I’m experiencing isn’t displayed there, because my insides are churning at the thought of what I want to achieve in the next couple of minutes. Seeing the look on my face spurs me on.
I’m stronger than I know.
I can do this.
I turn the handle and open the door. My heart in my mouth as I step out into what has become the unknown, expecting to see someone waiting there, or a crowd of security guards stopping me going any further. Instead there is nothing but the sterile blue corridor I walked along earlier.
I turn right and pass the third door on the left where I now know the lab is. I have to do something else first.
I go straight to the lift. It’s already waiting when I get to it, but when I step inside and a robotic voice asks where to, I say words I’ve never said before.
‘Level eight hundred. My garden,’ I hear myself say.
‘As you wish, Eve.’
The doors close and my heart spins at the realization that we are travelling downwards. It doesn’t swell like it usually does when I’m on the way to my little spot outside. Instead it tightens in trepidation of what I’ll find there.
The journey takes a couple of minutes, as long as it usually does when I’m permitted to ‘go outside’, but the only journeys I have to compare it with are those to the encounters and for examinations, both of which must take place far closer to where they keep me because they take just a few seconds.
The lift slows to a stop and the doors open on what should be the collection bay. It’s pitch black and I notice I’m not hit by a wave of fresh chilly air as usual. Instead there’s nothing. No change in the atmosphere at all.
I know there’s no turning back so I force myself to take a few steps out of the lift. As I do so light ripples across the space in front of me, showing me the collection bay, but not as I know it. The lighting is harsher and not as inviting.
The usual black car is waiting in front of me, its door open and ready, but without Ketch beside it, like he was the last time I was here.
I close the door I usually get into and walk around to the driver’s seat. I’ve never driven before, or watched anyone else do it, but as I climb in and look at the space around me I realize it isn’t going to be a problem. A button has the word ‘ON’ engraved into the dark metal. I press it, knowing I don’t have long. The car roars into life. The only other gadgets I can see are a black leather wheel directly in front of me and two pedals at my feet. I press one and nothing happens, but when I place my foot on the other the vehicle flies forward and wobbles, thanks to my hands grabbing the wheel, which I can see will steer me where I want to go. I take my foot off the floor and notice the car begin to slow. I press the other pedal and come to an abrupt stop.
Okay, I think. This is okay. Go, stop, steer. That’s all you’ve got to remember.
As I take a breath I spot shadows in the little mirror slightly above me, which is angled so that I can see behind. Someone’s coming. With that knowledge I place my foot on the go pedal and propel myself far from them, my hands gripping the steering wheel in an effort to keep control. I don’t know where I’m going, but straight and away seems good.
Within seconds I’m out of the collection bay. There’s nothing but dull grey concrete all around me. I keep going.
Then I notice lines that have been painted on the floor in bright yellow. It’s hard not to laugh. I always knew when we were close to my little garden, and I knew the whole route we took to get there. My body memorized every bump and turn that meant I was getting closer to my little haven. They must’ve known that.
Poor little gullible Eve.
In the distance I can see a clump of green and notice that the end of the maze on the floor will eventually lead me there. I decide not to go by their usual pointless route and take a shortcut.
It’s only when I see the height of the trees that I observe the height of the ceiling above me. The space is gargantuan. There’s a clear break in the man-made forest for me to drive through and it isn’t long before the path becomes uneven, causing the car to jitter. I put my foot slowly on the brake – so that I’m not in danger of veering off the track, but still moving.
And then I see it, the place where the car usually stops before I step out of my padded cell to take in the natural beauty.
I want to slow down, to get out and take in the falsehood of the piece of outside they gave me to fulfil my inquisitive mind. I want to rip apart the leaves and see what they’re made of. I want to hunt for the pump that engineers my perfect stream, and the lights overhead that make it all seem so magical when it’s nothing but a fabrication. This is what I want to do, but I can’t. My hands are so tightly on the wheel, my foot so clamped to the floor.
‘Stop, Eve. Stop now.’ Vivian’s voice is so loud that I think she’s in the car with me.
I gasp but keep my eyes ahead of me and focus on my steering. I know she isn’t here, but her voice is being played in the man-made heartless void of level 800.
I’d thought this place was special, but it was just another part of their trap to keep me here, unquestioning, so that I live my life as they’ve always wanted me to.
It’s another form of manipulation. Another lie. At least I always knew Holly was a figment of someone’s imagination. This trickery seems far crueller.
I don’t know what is real any more.
Do they really want me to become a brainless dummy so they can do as they like without me wanting things for myself? Would it make life easier
for all of us?
I push my foot down harder and accelerate.
The car growls in response, pushing me back in my seat.
‘You are breaching national security. We will be forced to take drastic measures if you do not come to an immediate stop, Eve,’ Vivian barks.
‘Go for it,’ I snarl. It’s not like I can actually go anywhere.
A bump from behind causes my chest to bash against the steering wheel. With my concentration gone, the car gains a mind of its own. I struggle to regain control. Another hit from behind causes it to spin to the left. The fake shrubbery gets under its nose and propels me upwards.
For a brief second I fly.
Then I flip.
I see the tree ahead moving closer and closer in slow motion. We collide. I hear a bang, a crack, and a thump as my head makes contact with something hard.
The glass around me shatters.
There is no smell of jasmine. No sound of birds singing or the stream cascading through the meadow.
‘Eve!’ she shouts.
Just her.
50
Bram
‘It’s okay, ladies. It’s just the EPO springing another not-so-routine visit on our guest,’ the old lady calls up the stairs to where a dozen or so equally wrinkled faces look down on us.
I smile at them but no one smiles back. Some turn away in disgust and I hear sobs from a room above us.
‘Don’t mind them. They never take too kindly to the men the EPO send to check on Mr Warren.’
The woman’s words fill my veins with fire.
He is here.
We have found him.
Now we just have to keep our cover and get him out of this place.
‘Would you gentlemen care for a drink?’ she asks.
‘No thanks, Miss …?’
‘It’s Mrs Sutcliffe. But you can call me Anne,’ she tells Frost, with a twinkle in her eye. She might be old but there’s a feisty youthfulness about her.
‘We’d just like to see Ernie and get out of your way as fast as we can,’ I tell her.
‘Very well. He’s downstairs. I’ll leave you to it. The door is open.’ She gestures to where the stairs wrap around on themselves and disappear into a basement.
Frost and I look at each other. The door is open? I take the lead and walk down to the lower floor.
The sight that greets us takes my breath away. It’s a vast open space, with long wooden floors that stretch the entire length of the building. The brick walls are lit by soft bulbs, giving warmth to what is essentially a cellar. At the far end of the room two windows look out at a beach, where transparent waves crash against the white sand. Suddenly it vanishes and a lush rainforest stands in its place. Sunlight pierces the deep greens, and the ultra-realistic views on these screens help to create the illusion that this isn’t just a basement with no windows and one door.
As we step into the room I see a worn leather sofa with deep seat marks on the cushions. A table is piled high with paperwork and littered with half-empty mugs full of cigarette butts. A small single bed stands across the room, near a toilet and a bath. A man is shaving in the mirror by the washbasin.
‘Gentlemen,’ Ernie says, as he shaves the fine grey hair around his upper lip.
‘Mr Warren,’ I begin.
‘Mr Warren? It’s been a while since anyone’s called me that. You must be new. Shall we get this over with?’ He washes the shaving cream from his chin and pulls a white vest over his wrinkled body.
I’m not sure what I was expecting to find, but it definitely wasn’t this man. After all the stories, all the rumours surrounding the dangerous, mentally unstable individual who had to be sectioned and sedated, this one standing before us, taking a seat in his well-worn spot on the chesterfield, seems … normal.
He sits back and holds out his wrist to us.
Frost and I look blankly at each other.
‘Well? Quick as you like, chaps. Arthritis doesn’t make this too comfortable, you know,’ Ernie says.
After a second or two he relaxes his arm and looks at us. ‘Are you going to check this damn thing or not?’ he says, pointing to a small scarred patch of skin on the side of his wrist.
‘I’m sorry, Mr Warren, but today isn’t going to be like our normal visits,’ I say.
‘Oh? Why’s that, boy? My goodness, how old are you? Do they really let kids come and do this now?’ he asks, talking to himself more than to us.
‘We’re leaving,’ Frost says. ‘And you’re coming with us.’
Ernie is dead still. He looks up at Frost and then at me. His eyes drop to the EPO patch on my chest. ‘Leaving?’ he asks.
‘Yes, right now. We have a lot to explain but not here,’ I say.
‘Where are we going?’ the old man says, sounding concerned. ‘We had a deal! I’ve not tried to escape again. I’ve not left this room. I’ve done everything you’ve told me. Is it Eve? Is she all right?’ He grabs my arms, worry written on his tired face. I glance around the room and see photos of Eve on every surface. Newspaper articles, magazines, pencil drawings, every bit of table space, every spare chair is covered with them. My heart aches for him, the man who lost his daughter.
‘Eve is fine,’ I say, placing a hand on his shoulder to calm him. ‘We just need to move you somewhere safer. Grab anything vital that you need and let’s go.’
‘So, you’re going to take this out, then?’ Ernie says, pointing to the scar on his wrist again.
‘Take what out?’ I ask.
Ernie stares at us. His wrinkles rearrange themselves and I can almost hear the questions inside his head.
‘You’re not from the EPO, are you?’ he says slowly, his veiny hand trembling slightly.
I feel Frost look at me. There’s no time to muck around. ‘No, we’re not,’ I say. ‘We’ve come for you and then we’re going to free your daughter.’
The old man takes a moment to absorb what I’ve said, then slumps back into the sofa, cupping his hands over his face.
‘No, no, no,’ he says, through his fingers. ‘They’ll already be on their way.’
‘Who will?’ Frost barks.
‘Them! The EPO! What – did you think they just locked me away down here and forgot about me? They’re watching us right now. All of us!’
He raises a bony finger to a patch of ceiling directly over our heads. Frost and I look up to see a 360-degree camera staring down at us, still and cold, its small red light blinking with each subtle movement we make.
‘Shit,’ says Frost. ‘We’ve not got long.’
‘We need to leave right now,’ I tell Ernie.
‘You’re not listening to a word I’m saying. I can’t leave. Not unless they remove this thing in my arm,’ Ernie says, waving it at us.
‘What’s in your arm?’ I ask.
‘It’s an explosive, isn’t it?’ Frost says.
‘More than that. It’s the trigger,’ Ernie tells us.
‘The trigger for what?’
‘For the rest of the explosives,’ Anne says, from the stairs behind us. I turn and come face to face with the barrel of her shotgun again.
‘What explosives?’ I ask.
‘This building is not what you think it is,’ Anne replies simply, as she tightens her grip on the weapon to steady her aim. ‘If he leaves that door – boom . He kills us all. He’s the trigger and this whole house is the bomb. They figured it was the only way to stop him trying to escape.’
‘This isn’t a sanctuary, it’s a prison,’ Frost barks.
My blood boils. How could they keep him here like this? How could they put these poor women through such torture? ‘Why don’t you all leave? Together?’ I ask.
‘And go where? They’d find us. We’d all be killed,’ Anne replies.
‘Can’t we cut it out?’ Frost says, studying Ernie’s scarred arm.
‘Not unless you know how to disarm it. It has sensors on it. It knows if you cut it out and it’ll set them all off,’ Ernie says.
> ‘We need Johnny,’ I tell Frost, but suddenly the ceiling above us is vibrating. Dust falls through the cracks in the floorboards, and the threatening hum of arriving airships rumbles down the stairs.
‘They’re here,’ Ernie says.
Muffled gunshots ring out from above and the sound of men shouting is just audible over the noise of an airship hovering somewhere above.
‘I can’t let you take him. You’ll kill us all,’ Anne says again, looping her finger around the trigger of her weapon.
‘We need to get out of here fast,’ Frost says.
‘I didn’t come all this way to leave him behind now!’ I shout, over the sound of bullets hitting the bricks of the house above.
‘You can’t take me! People have tried and failed so many times. They all have the same fate, boy, and you’re too young for that yet,’ Ernie says, with a worn kindness in his voice. The voice of someone with no fight left. ‘Get out now.’
‘He’s right, Bram,’ Frost says to me. ‘We’ve got to leave him.’
‘No!’ I shout back. ‘I’m not leaving him here.’ I stare Frost in the eye, his heavy body towering over me. ‘If we leave now they’ll move him and we’ll never find him again.’
Frost’s eyes don’t leave mine. He’s trying to read me, trying to see how far I’ll go for this man, for Eve. I don’t budge.
‘There is one way to do it,’ Ernie says, interrupting our stare-off.
‘Ernie, no,’ Anne whispers sharply.
He shrugs away her plea and points to Frost’s boot. ‘I don’t suppose either of you has a knife?’ he asks.
‘They’re unarmed,’ Anne replies, but Frost is already reaching inside the lip of his heavy boot and unsheathing a small machete.
‘Do it quick and don’t feel bad. I’m tougher than I look. Tried doing it myself years ago but they caught …’
Ernie doesn’t get the chance to finish the sentence before Frost raises the blade over his head.
‘Wait!’ Anne calls, dropping her gun and reaching out towards Frost, but her old legs can’t get there fast enough. He swipes in one swift, heavy movement, cleanly slicing off the old man’s arm from the elbow down.
I jump to Ernie’s side, pulling off my belt and strapping it tight around his upper arm. The scarred patch containing the trigger sits, lifeless, on the floor at his feet.