The Society Page 9

  Tomorrow. It’s nearly evening, and that means I’m going to have to sleep here. I stop short, uncertainty twisting in my stomach. I’ve barely had time to process the fact that I’m no longer in the Compound, and now I’m going to have to learn how to sleep in a room that’s not the one I’ve slept in since I was little enough to need a crib.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s just...a lot.” I find myself fighting back unexpected tears, and my chest feels heavy. I feel as if exhaustion is a weight pressing down on my shoulders, but it’s a mental fatigue rather than a physical one. “It’s all so different…”

  “I know. I can’t imagine what it must be like to spend your whole life shut up inside one building.”

  “When it’s all, you know…” I am used to sameness and routine, and within the span of a few days, all of that has been brutally ripped away from me. I stop short in the corridor, fighting back the gasping sobs that tug at my chest. I raise my hands to my mouth, trying to stop the incoherent sounds which push past my lips.

  “Hey! Hey, it’s all right.” Before I realize what’s happening, El’s arms are around me and my face is buried in his shirt, my fingers grasping handfuls of the thin fabric. His warmth surrounds me and his touch smoothes away the sharp ache of loneliness that no android or robot could ever relieve. For a long moment, we stand there while I try to catch my breath, both embarrassed he’s seen me like this, and not wanting him to ever let me go.

  After a moment, El steps back and places one palm on either side of my face, forcing me to look into his gentle gray eyes. “Alyss, you’re safe now. It will get easier. I promise.” then he drops his hold on my face and takes my hand. “Come on. I’ll show you where you’re staying tonight and let you get settled in.”

  I don’t resist as he leads me along the hall and up to a door at one end. He doesn’t flinch away from me, even when other people pass us and look at us with curious expressions on their faces. Next to the door is a little plaque that shows a stick figure walking down a set of stairs. He pushes the door open and waves me through. I step onto a landing in a stairwell that leads both up and down, illuminated only by strings of tiny lights which wind around the handrails. Then, as I stand and look dumbly at more stairs than I’ve ever seen in my life, he takes my hand again and leads me down, down until we’ve passed another landing and come to a place where the stairs end at another door, this one marked with a giant “B” on the plaque next to it. El pulls this one open and I step through into a room so large my brain takes a while to make sense of it all.

  El doesn’t rush me. He drops my hand and stands watching my face as I take it all in.

  “What...what is this place?” I gape at the space around me. A gray ceiling is upheld by square pillars of the same material. The floor is painted white, though the paint has chipped or worn away in many spots. On either side of the stairwell door stand chain-link fences which make a wide corridor leading to a giant open space up ahead. I can’t see what the fences hold, as great swaths of brown fabric line the opposite sides. Even the gates which punctuate them every few feet are fabric-lined, and I don’t hear anything to indicate their contents.

  Up ahead is an apparatus so alien my eyes refuse to make sense of it. I see a blur of green, with bright lamps hanging over it. I glance at El, who smiles. “Hydroponics and gardens.”

  “What?” The word hydroponics is vaguely familiar, but the definition escapes me.

  El starts to walk toward the open area, waving for me to follow. “Water gardens. Come on, you’ll see.”

  Utterly bemused, I follow. There are even more people down here, and the unfamiliar sights aren’t the only things that assail my senses. The hum of dozens of voices echoes from the ceiling above, the sound of both adults and children. Smells, too. The perfume of flowers hangs heavy in the air, undercut by a current of damp mustiness. Occasionally I catch a whiff of antiseptic or soap. I follow in El’s wake as he leads me down the corridor created by the fences. People look up at our approach, and a few wave at El. He responds in kind.

  The man leads me right up to the apparatus, which turns out to be just one of many such devices. It’s a water tank at least two dozen feet long, and beyond it I can see at least three more, all running in parallel. Floating on the surface of the water are plants. Once we pass the end of the fences, I can see the rest of the space around me. The wall to my right is covered in a mass of vegetation lit by similar lights as the tanks. There is a large area surrounded by a waist-high fence, inside which at least ten toddlers and small children are playing. Dotted between the groupings of tanks are round tables surrounded by folding chairs, many of them occupied by people drawing or writing, and more who are having conversations or playing board games. To the left of the tank in front of me is another set of tanks, all of which are running in the same direction, with a wide aisle between the start of one and the end of another.

  El is several paces ahead of me now. A couple of men, who seem to be about his age greet him enthusiastically, and it’s disconcerting to watch them touch each other so casually as they all laugh and slap each other on the back. He joins in an animated debate that is somehow both fervent and friendly.

  A group of children darts between me and El, all of them shrieking in laughter. I watch as they run off to weave between the tanks and tables. The one in front of the pack is holding a ball which all the other children seem to want. When one of the little girls wrests it from the leader, there is a redoubling of the screaming, and they all take off in a different direction, now chasing the ball’s new holder. There don’t seem to be any formal rules, and despite the fierce competition, they all seem happy.

  “Hey!” El extracts himself from the group and trots back toward me. “Sorry, I haven’t seen those guys since they went out on their last raiding party. Are you alright?”

  I gaze up into his eyes, unsure what to think or feel. “Your people are…” I trail off as I look around me, trying to come up with a way to describe the joyful chaos which swirls around me.

  El grins. “I know. Come on, I’ll show you to your room.” He takes off again, and I’m forced to walk quickly to keep up. He leads me to the left, down the fence which runs all the way to the far wall in front of us. On that wall is a gray metal door like the ones which line the hallways on the higher floors. People’s heads pop up as we pass, and they greet El with enthusiasm. He is obviously liked here, and it’s just as obvious that these people have found contentment and happiness despite the precarious nature of their life.

  Here they are, tucked away in a corner of The Society’s domain, probably under constant threat of attack or discovery, and yet I’ve never seen anyone so relaxed and happy as those who surround me. It’s what I’ve always imagined a family to be like, except this family has dozens or hundreds of members. Is this what people are like when they aren’t under constant threat of being sent off for Reprogramming if they make a misstep? Is this what I would have had, if I hadn’t grown up surrounded by the sterile luxury of the Compound? Was it really possible to be content in ragged clothing and mis-matched surroundings, if a person had other people they liked around them?

  “I’m sorry, Alyss, I know it’s overwhelming. We’re almost there, and you don’t have to come back out until tomorrow.”

  I lengthen my strides to catch up with him. “Almost where?”

  El comes to a stop so quickly that I nearly run into him. He walks over to a gate in the fabric-lined fence and unlatches it, then pushes it inward. He gestures at the darkness beyond. “After you.”

  Despite my trepidation, I step through and allow my eyes to adjust to the gloom. The ceiling in here is lower, and made of the same brown fabric as the walls. It appears this row of fences has been turned into small personal rooms. To my left, I see chain links with the fabric on the other side, and to my right the wall is cloth. A faded cot like the ones in the truck is in the far corner, with a little folding table next to it. On the opposite “wall” is a whit
e desk with metal legs, but there ends its similarity to the one in my room at the Compound. This desk is rough and covered in scratches and dents. The chair in front of it is metal, with a large dent in the backrest. A large oval rug, which is woven from multicolored fabric, is the only other object in the space.

  I turn to look at El, who’s followed me inside. He shrugs. “I know it’s not much, but at least it’s your own little place, right?” He smiles, and I can’t help a small smile in return. “Trust me, you’ll make it your own as time goes on. You’ll get to pick out more clothes tomorrow and they’ll let you take a couple things from the furniture storerooms.”

  Tears prick at my eyes again, this time ones of gratefulness. These people have so little, and they’ve done so much with it. They risked their lives to rescue me, a complete stranger, and now they’ve given me a space to call my own. One without cameras or microphones.

  “What’s wrong?”

  I shake my head and force a smile. “Nothing. It’s perfect.”

  He looks at me as if he doesn’t quite believe me, but I keep the same expression on my face until he shrugs. “Okay. Well,” he gestures, “I’m that direction, two gates down. If you need anything tonight, just come get me, or anyone else. We’re all here to help. That door at the end of the row is the bathroom.”

  I nod and he turns to leave, when I realized something. “Wait. How will I know when it’s time for breakfast?”

  “Ah.” He sticks his hand into his pants pocket, and I notice the article of clothing is practically covered in pockets of various sizes, all of which seem to be holding something or another. The whole ensemble is held up by a wide belt, into which his shirt is tucked.

  El pulls out a notepad with a pen attached to it, and passes it to his opposite hand while he searches through the pocket. I can’t help staring at the paper with longing, my fingers itching to turn some of my roiling emotions into lines and shading. I used to draw when I was stressed. It was the only way to express my feelings...at least the only way that wouldn’t get me medicated into listlessness or sent off for Reprogramming.

  “Here.” El presses a small device into my hand. I recognize it as a small digital clock with a strap attached. I look up at him in confusion and he sighs, then tucks the notepad under his armpit to free his hand and takes the clock from me. He tears apart the ends of the strap with a ripping noise, then places it around my wrist and pinches the strap back together. He laughs when I jump at the sound. “I forgot you people don’t have velcro.”

  I am distracted from my retort as I watch El transfer the paper back to his hand and move it toward his pocket. He must notice my glance because he pauses, then holds the notepad out to me. I meet his eyes with an expression that must ooze desperation, but I don’t care. “Really?”

  He nods. “Plenty more where that came from. Though, what’s so important about a bit of paper…”

  Grabbing the notepad from him, I press it to my chest. “Thank you.” How do I explain to him I only got so much paper per week, that it went against the Society’s obsessive need for environmental friendliness, and they didn’t like me using it at all, but tolerated my human shortcoming in small amounts? How do I tell him my fingers ache to watch a sketch take shape beneath that pen, to watch my stress be poured out upon a page and turned into beauty? I can’t tell him. I am so used to suppressing words, not setting them free. They may have rescued me and saved my life, but the walls I have built to protect myself from the Society will not be broken in a day.

  He looks at me with an odd expression on his face. “You’re welcome.” Then, as if shaking off a bad dream, he shudders and turns. He walks through the gate and closes it, leaving me alone but for the sound of voices that drift from the people out in the open area.

  I cross to the cot and sit down. It creaks beneath my weight, and it feels nothing like my soft mattress at ho...in the Compound.

  Not home. That’s not my home anymore. This is. I’m never going back.

  Torn between relief and a crushing sense of loss, I lay down on the cot with the notepad still clutched to my chest, and surrender to the wracking sobs that wash over me. I reach down to the thin blanket that’s folded at the cot’s foot and pull it around my shoulders, my head on the flat pillow and the notepad cradled against me as if it’s the most precious thing in the world.

  After a while, the clock on my wrist beeps and I look at the display. Nine. As if this was a sign, the lights outside my little room dim, and I listen as voices approach and gates rattle. On either side of me, people enter their own rooms, talking quietly amongst themselves.

  I drift to sleep on the waves of sound, carried along by the vibrations of community and contentment, surrounded by a people who have taken so little and molded it into something that can create a sense of home.

  Chapter 8: The Community

  I wake when the lights click on. Sitting up on the cot, I find the notepad on the floor, where it must have fallen during the night. I stand and bend to pick it up, then walk to the gate and look out through the crack in the fabric. Around me, silence is replaced by a gentle swell of sound as those around me wake and begin to talk and move. I flip the latch on the gate and slip out, heading for the restroom to hopefully make it in and out before I get to experience one of the less-pleasant aspects of community life: having someone hear me pee.

  When I emerge from the stall, I stop short when I realize there are mirrors above the sinks on the opposite wall. I’m overcome with a sudden sense of dread. I’ve never seen myself in a mirror before...well, not really. Not unless you count the tiny handheld one they gave me in the infirmary so I could see how my implant had disfigured me. Distorted reflections in chrome and glass don’t really count either. Nobody has reacted to me like I’m ugly, even with the ghastly neck wound, but what if my idea of my own appearance is wrong?

  You’re being ridiculous. If it is, you’ll adapt. Taking a deep breath, and forcing myself to ignore the chattering group of women and children who have just entered the restroom, I step up to the sink.

  See, that wasn’t so bad. The face that stares back at me, all pale with blue eyes and sand-brown hair, is pretty much what I’d been expecting. Maybe I’m a little thinner than my reflections in the chrome. It’s been a while since I was able to eat without struggling, at least in the Compound. The only thing different is the red line where the wound from my implant’s explosion extends out from the edge of my hair and ends in my eyebrow.

  Biting my lip, I reach up and pull my hair aside to look at my neck, then cringe. It’s just as bad as I dreaded. Even Kara’s ministrations weren’t enough to make it look any better. The line still extends from my collarbone and up the side of my neck, through where my earlobe used to be, and then along my temple to turn and end over my eye. I was lucky.

  Or was I? I drop my hair and bend to wash my hands as people start emerging from bathroom stalls, still chattering with each other. I let my hair fall forward, trying to avoid making eye contact. I’m not ready to be social. This is too many people to meet, at least this early in the morning.

  As soon as my hands are clean, I head for the door, ducking around yet another group of people, this one consisting of both men and women.

  When I emerge from the restroom and push through the still-sleepy crowd, I break free of the press of people just a few feet away from the gate to my room. I stop short when I find El standing next to it, obviously waiting for me. His eyes meet mine and he smiles.

  “Good morning.”

  I nod at him. Great. He’s one of those people who wakes up all energetic. Is he ever NOT energetic? He was reminding me of the Headmistress a little bit.

  “You wanna go upstairs? Get in line first before all the good food’s gone?”

  “Okay.” After all, what am I supposed to say? Go away, you’re my only friend here in this strange place but I don’t want to deal with you before I’ve had time to adjust to being awake? Yeah, that wasn’t a great way to begin my first full
day with the people who’d saved my life.

  El spins on his heel and leads the way up the row of fence-rooms. “How’d you sleep?”

  I squint at him. He laughs at my expression. “Oh, dear. Not coherent before you’ve had your coffee, huh?”

  Now I’m just puzzled. “Coffee?”

  The man laughs again and slaps me on the shoulder hard enough to make me wince. “You’re gonna like this. Come on.” He quickens his step and I nearly have to trot to keep up with him.

  We walk up the stairs, which are thankfully empty. Just as we reach the upper floor, the lower one slams open and the stairwell echoes with the sudden addition of a dozen voices. I hurry after El and follow him down one hallway and up another until we reach the mess hall. I note the wheelchair’s absence as El leads me to the tables along the wall, which practically groan beneath the weight of food on them.

  El hands me a tray, then scoops up plates and utensils and deposits mine on the plastic with a clatter. I can’t take my eyes off of the wealth of food displayed on the tables. “El...do you guys really grow all this stuff?”