“We will fight!” I shout over the compound and hear a roar of agreement behind me.
Chapter Sixteen
We watch as the rainstorm passes over the compound and into the empty space beyond. I feel a hand squeeze my shoulder, then a familiar voice.
“Right, out of your wet clothes and to bed with you all. We’ve got a long night ahead and we’ll need all our strength.”
This is the first time that I’ve heard Lake speak like the leader again, and pause apprehensively, but everyone seems to be following his orders – even Redd. Lake throws me a pair of light blue jeans and a grey t-shirt with cigarette burns down the front. I feel self-conscious about changing in public, but nobody’s paying any attention, so I quickly shuffle under the duvet and change before anyone comes to bed.
The first person back in is Neve, who wriggles into my sleeping bag next to me. It feels nice to have another body against mine and to feel her warmth seep into me. I lie awake waiting until Lake eventually climbs into the last sleeping bag at the entrance of the tent. I feel safe with him there to protect me and let my eyes close, but I’m unable to fall asleep. I listen to the slow rhythmic breathing of people sleeping around me, but my mind’s still racing and my hip aches on the cold concrete floor. Rolling onto my back to try and get comfortable, I see that Neve’s still awake.
After a pause she whispers to me, “So how are we going to find this Rosaline woman?”
“I’m not sure. I’ve never met her, or even seen her before, but I know her daughter.”
“Oh, simple then.”
“No not really,” I reply, not catching her sarcasm. “You see, Rosaline abandoned Jo and left her to die because she’s disabled. I don’t think she’s ever spoken to Rosaline and I doubt that she knows where she is, but it’s our best chance. The problem is that Jo lives in the apartment next to where my mum and I used to live, so everyone will know who I am. I’d be surprised if the officials haven’t told residents to contact them if they see me, in return for a reward.”
“I see,” she replies, screwing her nose up. “And you’re sure that Jo still lives there?”
“Yeah, Lake went round last week. But I don’t know how we’re going to get in because I don’t have a key anymore and she can’t answer the door.”
“Leave that to me,” Neve says with a wink.
Is breaking and entering something that they all learned instead of attending basic schooling?
A strange part of me is actually looking forward to tonight, and I wonder whether that’s one of the reasons that I can’t sleep. I’ll see Jo again, and satisfy a deep longing to know that she’s okay. I imagine her lying alone in her apartment for hours with only infrequent short home-help visits for company. Squeezing my eyes tightly closed, I try to force the images out of my mind. I wonder whether she’s scared, lying helpless, knowing what happened to my mother next door. A tear spills from the corner of my eye and rolls down my cheek. There’s much more to pity in the living, than the dead; their suffering is over. I feel a hand make its way into mine and squeeze tightly.
After only a few hours sleep I awake again. Night has fallen but nobody else is awake yet. I contemplate whether to wake the others so we can make the most of the cover that darkness provides, or let them sleep and dream of freedom for a little longer. Slithering out of the sleeping bag I crawl towards Lake.
“Lake,” I whisper in a voice that’s barely louder than a breath.
He wakes with a start, his eyes snapping open. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I answer quickly. “I was just wondering whether Neve and I should go now or later. Jo often stays up late watching TV.”
He looks up at the sky and then down at a watch on the wrist of the person sleeping next to him. “You can go whenever you want, just let me know when you do.”
“What are the rest of you going to do?” I ask, curious.
“Me and a couple of others will meet with a rival gang to try and arrange an alliance, but I’m not sure how successful we’ll be. A few others are going to visit some all-night alehouses to drum up support on the underground network. We’re going to need help if we want to remain under the officials’ radar.” I nod in agreement, although I’m not entirely comfortable with him meeting a rival gang. I know these incidents are often volatile because my mother frequently treated casualties from gang clashes. “Redd’s gonna try and make contact with Alana again and to see if she’s replied to his email. And the rest are going to search for food because we’ve only got enough for a couple of days now there are so many of us.”
I turn back towards Neve, who’s already propped up on her elbow looking at me.
“Ready?” she asks, having clearly been listening to our conversation.
We climb out of the relative warmth of the tent, surrounded by other bodies, and into the cold night air. The wind has gathered, and standing on the rooftop it blows through my clothes, taking my body heat with it. Neve and I pull our hoods up almost simultaneously as we creep quietly towards the door that exits the roof. She unlocks the door, which has been barricaded closed, and steps through. I follow, but before I pull the door closed behind me I take one long last look at Lake. He walks over to me and passes me something cold and smooth; a knife. I turn the small blade in my hand and hold it up to the moonlight where it glints and flashes. A month ago I’d have disliked how cold and dangerous it felt, but now I find its presence comforting and I’m fully prepared to use it if necessary. Leaning up on my tiptoes, I kiss him gently on the cheek before closing the door and following Neve without saying a word.
Neve’s already some distance ahead of me and I have to jog down the stairs to catch up with her. Her face is stony when she comes into view again, her index finger pressed over the centre of her pursed lips. I slow down to a walking pace and begin to step carefully around the empty carrier bags and bottles. Our steps fall in time as we descend the last flight of stairs and move through the empty streets. Neve grabs my arm, holding me still for a moment whilst she listens and then nods her head for us to continue. I follow her closely, speeding up when she does and stopping when she peers around corners.
To my relief we don’t see anybody and after ten minutes my old apartment block comes into view. It still feels safe and familiar to me, but I know that’s no longer true because routine and predictability will help the officials find me. We creep up the stairs to the top floor like ninja assassins, making our way down the balcony towards the end apartment. I can’t stop myself from looking at my old apartment as we pass, but the curtains are closed so I can’t see in.
Neve shoots me a questioning look, which I answer by pointing at Jo’s door. She pulls two strands of wire out of her pocket and approaches the door. Inserting both ends into the keyhole, she feels for something within the lock. I worry that Jo will think that someone is trying to break into her apartment, so I whisper to her through the locked door.
“Jo, its Zia. I need to talk to you.”
“Oh, Zia,” comes a loud reply from the other side of the door.
“Shh,” Neve snaps.
“Hang on,” I whisper, quieter still.
It takes almost five minutes for Neve to pick the lock, which feels like a lifetime waiting to get into the relative safety of the Jo’s apartment. Eventually Neve pushes the door open and I’m greeted by the first truly familiar sight that I’ve seen in weeks. The heavy lighting spills over the bed where I see Jo propped up and grinning so widely that I can see all of her front teeth and very little of her eyes. I leap over to the bed and throw my arms around her neck, but I’m shocked to feel how thin and frail she is. I feel a pang of guilt that makes me hug her harder; she’s not being cared for adequately without mine and my mother’s input.
“What’s going on, Zia? People were looking for you at the house, and later I heard that your mother had been killed by them. Then a week after, two boys let themselves into my apartment saying that they knew you and asking about what happene
d, but I don’t know. Why are these people chasing you, Zia?”
I sit back and look at her earnestly. “I need to talk to you about your mother. I need to find her.”
“Why?” she asks, defensively, before her features soften. “I’ll tell you everything that I know about her, but you know that isn’t much. I also found out that she passed away recently,” Jo says matter-of-factly. She’s never known her mother so I can imagine that it’s hard to feel any loss at the news of her passing.
“Oh Jo, I’m sorry. I didn’t know,” I say regardless.
Jo shrugs. “Why did you want to see her anyway?”
I take a deep breath in before beginning to explain. “Well, you see, during my placement in maternity I met a man called Grant and he told me that this whole compound was based on an overpopulation experiment in mice.” I scan Jo’s face for clues about what she’s thinking.
“And we are the human version of this experiment?” Jo asks, sounding unconvinced.
“Think about it Jo, there are security cameras everywhere. Someone’s watching us.”
“Yes, for security purposes. That’s why they’re called security cameras.”
“We aren’t permitted birth control or abortions.”
“For religious reasons,” she says, although neither of us are religious.
“We aren’t allowed to leave, or have any contact with the outside world − but I have.”
“What?” Jo asks, sitting up straight.
“We’ve made contact with a human rights activist called Alana by email. She’s trying to raise awareness about our plight.”
“So what does this have to do with Rosaline?” Jo asks, clearly intrigued by the prospect.
“It has to do with both of our mothers actually. Shortly before Grant was murdered by officials, he told me that he hadn’t been the only one who realised the true purpose of the compound. There was a group of them, including my mother and yours, who were collecting evidence.”
Jo looks concerned. “So this is dangerous?”
“Yes, I’m afraid it is. I don’t know what they were planning to do with this evidence, maybe confront the governors, but I sense that’s no longer an option.” Jo nods gravely. “Jo, I don’t think it’s a coincidence that both of our mothers died so close together. If you don’t mind me asking, how did she die?” I ask, reaching for her hand.
“I don’t know. I mean I asked, but nobody knew.” For the first time she looks sad.
“I’ll find out for you, someone will know,” I say, giving her hand a squeeze.
“You said our mothers were collecting evidence; well on the night your mother was killed I heard someone in your apartment shouting about a diary,” Jo says. “At the time I thought they meant your diary, to corroborate your mother’s story about you staying at your father’s. Then yesterday I received a box of items left to me in Rosaline’s will and one of those was your mother’s diary.”
My mouth drops open, changing my thoughtful expression into one of simple astonishment. Jo points to a small brass trunk with an embossed picture of a ship on the side. Freedom. I’m surprised when Neve reaches over and picks it up; I’d almost forgotten that she was here. She carries it over to the bed and sets it down next to Jo. Jo lifts the lid and retrieves a small dark leather-bound book and hands it to me. The leather feels shiny and soft; it’s clearly been handled a lot.
“I don’t know if it’s going to be of use to you because I haven’t read any of it; it seemed too personal.”
She’s right; it does feel personal. I never thought that I’d hear my mother speak again, but in my hands I hold the next best thing – her words. What’s more, those words might provide me with information that saves my life. She’s protecting me still.
I blink back the tears and peer over the lip of the box to examine the rest of the contents. On the top lies an old newspaper with brittle yellowed pages. I pick it up and read the headline, ‘Are we living on an event horizon?’ It’s dated the 15th of March 1973, which must be the year that the compound opened. I scan the article; it predicts what will happen when the population reaches a critical level − society will break down. In it the author refers to the mouse experiment that Grant told me about, and alludes to a human version of the experiment which will determine whether people share the same fate.
Looking back in the box something glints and catches my eye. I reach down and pull out a key threaded onto a loop of string. It has a symbol stamped into it which looks like an ornate letter H.
“Any idea what it could open?” I ask, holding it aloft by the string for Neve to see, but she shakes her head.
I go to place it back in the box but Jo stops me. “You keep it,” she says. “You have a better chance of finding out what it opens than me,” she adds with a self-deprecating smile, but she’s right.
I hang the key around my neck. “Thanks.”
Despite wanting to keep the newspaper article, I place it back in the box for safe keeping, considering what happened to the other one. Neve picks the box up and places it back under the chair. There seems to be a silent consensus that it’s time to leave.
“Your mother was a wonderful woman, Zia, and I’m very sorry for your loss,” Jo says as I hug her goodbye and tears sting my eyes.
“I won’t forget about you, Jo,” I say as I close the door behind me.
I clutch my mother’s diary close to my chest as we walk back out into the night air. The rain has held off and I can’t stop myself from peeking at the pages as we make our way back through the streets. Compared with the rush I was in when descending the apartment stairs, I walk back up them slowly and sit on the top step instead of going through the door onto the rooftop.
The pages are littered with sketches of the compound, including how the walls are designed, and how a person could hide on the underside of a food truck. There are also in-depth timetables detailing when the food trucks arrive each day and a description of the people driving them. In addition, there are medical notes quantifying how many babies were born each month, as well as how many people died and at what age. Enormous family trees are scrawled like spider webs across the pages. A woman the same age as my mother had fifteen children, but many didn’t survive past infanthood. I think about the newspaper article that Grant hid which claimed that infant mortality in mice increased as society began to collapse.
I realise that my mother and Rosaline are the only two women that I know who only had one child each. I always thought that Rosaline didn’t want to risk having another ‘cripple’, but perhaps it was a strategic move once they’d discovered the purpose of the compound. If this is true, then maybe I can work out other potential members of the group by looking for people with few − if any − children. As I flick through the pages my attention’s captured by my name, ‘Zia Greene’, at the bottom of a page. Coming up from the top of it is a line which links to two names. The first is, ‘Honeysuckle Greene’, my mother, but the name next to it sucks all the breath out of my body and makes me feel lightheaded.
‘Grant Lewis.’
Chapter Seventeen
I stare at the two words until the letters blur into each other, before finally blinking. I read the names above my mother’s name to be sure it is a family tree that I am looking at. ‘Alfred Greene’ and ‘Hyacinth Greene’, my grandparents. Grant is my father? The whole idea sounds so preposterous that it makes me want to laugh and cry at the same time. It doesn’t make any sense because Grant was such a nice guy, why wouldn’t my mother have told me? Or why didn’t Grant tell me? He must have known given his line of work, and we hit it off so well, but I guess now I know why. More crushingly than this, they both denied me the opportunity to ever know him because now he’s dead. He died because they threatened his daughter. The realisation suddenly dawns on me and it crushes me under its magnitude. Grant was cooperating with the officials because they were blackmailing him, but he didn’t know that I’d found protection with the gang. I exhale a long shaky
breath.
I hear shouting and the heavy footsteps of people running up the stairs. Leaping to my feet I dart to the door that leads onto the roof and throw it open before looking behind me. The first person around the corner is Kim, but instead of feeling relief I’m alarmed by her appearance. Her makeup is smeared down her face in long black streaks and she looks anxiously and repeatedly behind her, back down the stairwell. A tall boy, breathing heavily follows soon after, holding two arms behind him like a stretcher. As he makes his way upstairs I realise that the arms belong to the fat boy who wouldn’t let me enter the apartment. Lake holds his legs but Marshall’s body hangs limply between the two boys, his head lolling backwards. I hold the door, and my breath, as they pass.
Other members of the gang chase up the stairs afterwards, and I follow them to where Marshall is laid down under one of the canvas tents. Peering through the crowd of people, I can see that his face is pale and his chest rises and falls in uneven gasps. I stare transfixed, drawn to the horror, and the longer I watch the larger the deep red puddle becomes that radiates from his chest. Kim kneels beside him, stroking his face as tears fall from her eyes, but he isn’t conscious. Looking around at the other faces in the group I think that everyone knows Marshall isn’t going to make it.
Other members are also sporting their own injuries, from busted noses to deep cuts on their arms and legs. I approach a man that I haven’t seen before, until he helped carry Marshall up the stairs. He looks deep in thought, sat perched on the wall around the roof, despite the fatal drop on the other side. Breaking his gaze from an imaginary point in the skyline, he raises one side of his jacket to light the cigarette that’s pinched between his lips.
“What happened?” I ask, looking at the dry blood that’s run from beneath his hairline, around the back of his ear and then down his neck.
He draws deeply on his cigarette and blows the smoke out directly in front of him before starting to talk. “Me and Lake went to meet the other gang but they never showed. Afterwards we decided to visit some alehouses to help drum up support, but found people strangely unreceptive to our company. It turns out that no food or supplies were delivered this morning and the officials are telling everyone it’s because we’re violent criminals.”