The ARC 01: Tainted Read online

  It’s then I see it. On the far side of the cavern, just behind where the officials sit, large boulders are piled one on top of the other, almost like an enormous landslide.

  ‘The entrance,’ I whisper to myself.

  I have spent all of my life hearing about it, but I never thought I would get to see it. I feel such awe looking at the place I must have come through 15 years ago—the entranceway to our salvation.

  My heart sinks though as I realise it’s completely closed up. There’s no entrance or exit here anymore. On closer inspection I can see the whole area is roped off. Not even the officials go over the other side of the rope. It must be unstable. The officials are guarding it, protecting it and us.

  I also realise there are no citizens with the officials, let alone any of the tainted. I watch for a while longer, but when I don’t see anything more to support my wild theory, I miserably decide it’s time to go home. As I turn back to the tunnel a figure steps out from the shadows.

  My whole body seizes up and I freeze as a man dressed in the white uniform of an official materialises before me. There’s nowhere for me to run and nowhere for me to hide. I doubt there are any words I’ll be able to use to get myself out of this one.

  I slowly look up to the man’s face, expecting the worst, and gasp.

  ‘Elle?’ Ryan asks. ‘What are you doing down here?’

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Ryan tugs at my arm roughly as he pulls me through the darkened tunnel. He moves forward quickly and with purpose, not slowing when we reach the tighter sections or when I stumble in the darkness. It seems as though he knows his way well and he’s obviously not scared of the tight space we move through.

  ‘Of all the stupid things…’ he mutters to himself. I only just catch his words and they make me feel like I’ve been doused in a bucket of ice cold water.

  The silence between us stretches and we continue to stumble wordlessly in the darkness. He obviously thinks I’m an idiot, but right now I couldn’t care what he thinks. He’s been lying to me about who he is, and that’s clearly far worse.

  Once we’re out of the tunnel he veers away from the route I’d initially followed. Instead we enter a corridor that is much darker than the others I’d walked through earlier. The ground is more uneven and it seems to get colder the further in we walk.

  I find it difficult to keep calm as the darkness continues to engulf us. My body goes rigid and I can feel panic beginning to slowly take form at the edges of my awareness. I imagine the panic is like a dark black sludge, slowly covering me, waiting for a crack in my façade through which it can seep in. I’m determined though, and refuse to let it get to me.

  Eventually Ryan slows his rapid pace. As he does, he pulls out a torch from his pocket. I clearly hear the sound of a switch being flicked and a bright white circle of light appears on the ceiling. He shines the beam up and down the hallway, then, seeing we’re alone, he stops and finally lets go of my hand.

  ‘So you’re an official?’ I ask, gently rubbing the spot where he’d grasped me so tightly. It certainly would explain a lot.

  He shines the torch directly at my face and I put up my hand to stop the light from blinding me. The light quickly drops from my face to the ground as Ryan folds his arms across his chest. ‘Not quite…’ he replies, keeping his voice low. ‘Look, there’s no time to explain. We have to get you out of here.’

  ‘So you’re not going to arrest me?’

  He raises his eyebrows at me; as though he’s offended I had to ask. ‘Not tonight,’ is all he says. ‘What are you doing in the Old Wing anyway?’

  ‘My friend was taken tonight,’ I say. ‘I don’t really even know how it happened, but I somehow ended up here. Then, when I heard the voices of the officials I followed them and they led me to the entrance.’

  He continues to look at me disapprovingly, like I’m the world’s biggest idiot. I probably am. There’s not that many people left to compete with.

  ‘I thought maybe Sebastian had been taken here,’ I say, my voice breaking as a tear escapes down my cheek.

  Ryan sighs and steps closer to give me a hug. Once his arms are around me I begin to cry. Like really, embarrassingly cry. I can’t help it. Being shown kindness when I’m so sad only seems to make my sorrow worse. It was easier when he was being mean.

  ‘It’s alright.’ He rubs my back and makes gentle, soothing noises.

  My tears begin to lessen and I step back from him embarrassed. I feel uncomfortable sharing such a broken part of myself with him. I trust him, but I don’t want him to think I’m so fragile.

  ‘Are you okay?’ he asks softly.

  ‘I’m not sure if I’ll ever be okay. But the crying has stopped if that’s what you’re asking.’

  He clears his throat and gives me an awkward pat on the shoulder. ‘You need to go back now,’ he says. I nod, quite happy to comply. ‘This area isn’t safe. Please promise me you won’t come back here.’

  ‘I won’t.’ He doesn’t need to convince me to leave this place. I’d just about do anything to get out of here.

  He watches me for a moment as though analysing my reaction. Finally he gives a brief nod that suggests he’s satisfied I won’t return and he turns to continue down the hallway.

  ‘Do you know where they take the tainted?’ I ask, catching up with him.

  ‘That’s not something I can discuss with you,’ he responds quite formally. His answer isn’t ‘no,’ so he must know something.

  I touch his arm lightly. ‘Please Ryan. I need to know.’

  He almost growls when he turns towards me. ‘I can’t say anything,’ he says tightly. ‘Come on, I’ll walk you to the exit of the Old Wing. We’ll be in here for hours if we keep stopping this way.’

  I drop my hand down to my side and suppress the tears that threaten to breach the surface of my eyes again. ‘Could you at least tell me if he’ll be okay?’

  He pauses. I can almost see his mind whirring as he thinks it through.

  ‘Your friend is still alive.’

  It takes over an hour to get back to the East Wing and by the time I reach the Atrium it’s the middle of the night. My feet are on autopilot as they drag me towards the North Wing, but I pause when I approach one of the surface screens. I stare at the turbulent wasteland and try to imagine where Sebastian is right now, and whether he’s somewhere where he can see the stars tonight—if that’s even possible. I wonder if he’s with his mum and his sister. I hope more than anything he is. That they’re taking care of him, wherever they are, and he will get well soon.

  As I stare at the wastes a part of me considers what my life will be like now he’s gone. The thought is haunting though and I quickly dismiss it.

  My CommCuff buzzes as a message comes through with a request that I attend therapy in the morning. I groan as I read the message. It’s hardly a request, more of a demand as I have no choice in the matter. I rub my eyes tiredly and decide it’s time to stop my exhausted, delirious musings and go home.

  When I get back to my quarters I attempt to quietly open the door, not wanting to disturb Quinn who must surely be sleeping by now. To my surprise she stands in the middle of the room pacing, her face lined with worry. Seeing me, standing in the doorway, she rushes over.

  ‘I’ve been so worried Elle!’ She grabs my shoulders and shakes me slightly. ‘When you ran away I didn’t know where you might go. Adam was just lying there crumpled on the floor. I couldn’t just leave him … but then you didn’t come back and I tried to look for you in all your usual places, but you weren’t anywhere.’ She drops her arms from my shoulders and stands back.

  ‘Where have you been?’ she asks with ‘mother-like’ concern. I try to gauge how she is feeling before I respond. Her face is drained of its usual colour, her eyes are bloodshot and her hair is a complete mess—always a sure sign she’s not doing too well. She looks how I feel and I hate to think how I must look.

  It’s clear she’s already been so worried about
me. I can’t tell her about the Old Wing or about Ryan when she’s in this state. She doesn’t need to know.

  I shrug in response to her question and say, ‘I was just walking around. I’m not really too sure where I was.’ At least there’s an element of truth in that.

  She gathers me up in a hug. ‘You poor thing,’ she murmurs in my ear. When she pulls away she examines me closely. ‘How do you feel?’

  ‘I’ve been better,’ I say wearily.

  Her eyebrows crease with concern. ‘Look at you. You’re dead on your feet.’ With that, I’m swiftly ordered to go to bed.

  I hadn’t realised how tired I was. How could one evening drain me so completely? It doesn’t take much coaxing to get me into bed. Once sleep is mentioned exhaustion overwhelms me, and I can barely stand. As I curl into a ball under the covers, I am calmed by one clear thought. Sebastian is still alive.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  The therapist’s office is quite different to the rest of the ARC. Most places down here have a clinical feel to them, with rigid metal chairs and tables, or stark white walls and floors. This room, however, is all beige tones. It has a warm, soft feel to it and seems suspiciously inviting.

  As I enter, the therapist introduces herself as Dr. Foster, though she asks me to call her Simone. Her voice is pleasant, and similar to the other therapists I’ve seen, in that it almost has a soothing quality to it.

  It doesn’t matter how understanding her voice is though, I already see this woman as the enemy and don’t trust her.

  She offers me a seat on one of the beige leather chairs in the room and then proceeds to sit down in a similar one across from me. The seat is incredibly comfortable, but I cannot bring myself to relax into it. My back stays rigid and my eyes are alert. The session hasn’t even started yet and I’m mentally geared up as though I’m about to be attacked.

  ‘Is it alright if I call you Elle?’ Dr. Foster asks, as she gets comfortable in her seat. She’s younger than the other therapists I’ve had before, though it’s been a while since I’ve been close enough to anyone taken to warrant any sort of therapy.

  Simone watches me, waiting patiently for my response. I can’t be certain how understanding she is though. It’s difficult to distinguish her patient, waiting face from what could be an irritated or angry face. Her eyes have held the same look of consideration and interest since the moment I entered the room.

  I try to avoid eye contact with her. I’ve always had this irrational fear that with one look a therapist will see into the depths of my soul. Instead, I stare at the bookcase that runs across the wall behind her, feigning interest in the titles that run along the many book spines.

  I don’t want to be here, and I definitely don’t want to answer any questions she has. Unfortunately, unless I want to spend my life in therapy, I know I have to engage with this woman.

  ‘Elle’s fine,’ I respond to Simone indifferently.

  It’s funny how two simple words can send her into a frenzy of typing on her tablet. Was it my tone of voice? My lack of eye contact? Maybe the words used alone are worthy of analysis?

  After a few seconds she looks up from her tablet. ‘So, what brings you to therapy today?’ she asks, as if she doesn’t already know the answer.

  I highly doubt that a message on my cuff is the answer she wants to hear, so I tell her the truth. ‘My friend Sebastian was … taken,’ I say, my voice stumbling over the word ‘taken.’

  She nods her head up and down several times before she continues. ‘You were fostered with his family for several years. Would you say that you were close to Sebastian?’

  My fingers, which are clenched in tight little fists on my lap, seem to clench impossibly tighter upon hearing his name. ‘We were close,’ I respond quietly. Even closer than she knows I imagine, but I daren’t tell her just how much he means to me. Especially not when I have so much difficulty admitting the truth of how I feel to myself.

  My eyes drift over and settle on the lampshade that sits on the small round table next to her chair. It emits a soft golden glow, quite different to the other lights in the ARC. Like the rest of the room the light seems to radiate a feeling of safety and comfort. It’s as though they think one golden light will make me open up to some stranger about my deepest, darkest secrets.

  ‘What would you like to get out of your sessions with me?’ Simone asks.

  I sit in silence as I consider her words. I don’t want her help, but saying that will only prolong this process. I learnt that the hard way with the therapist who saw me after April was taken.

  Assuming this woman can help me, what do I want? She can’t change that Sebastian was taken and there’s nothing she or anyone else can do to bring him back. What can talking to her give me that action cannot?

  ‘I want to be able to move on,’ I say quietly. The words are hard to say and make me feel like I’ve plunged a dagger into my chest. Staying here and moving on was never the plan if one of us was taken.

  Simone nods and starts quickly tapping away at her tablet again. I think I’ve given her the answer she wanted, but it feels a far cry away from what I want inside.

  After therapy I head to school, which is bad. Very bad. People watch me constantly. They watch me in class, between classes and they even stare at me as I wash my hands in the bathroom. It’s like I’m some horrible accident. They know it’s bad and they shouldn’t look, but they just can’t seem to tear their eyes away.

  ‘Screw ‘em,’ Gemma says to me at lunch. ‘If they want to stare they obviously haven’t got anything better to do.’ With Gemma by my side, glaring at anyone who even thinks about looking at me, the staring is almost bearable.

  Unfortunately it’s not just the staring that’s disturbing. It’s the sickly sweet kindness from everyone, especially the teachers. Even Kate is being nice and it seriously makes me want to vomit.

  Eventually the bell rings signalling the end of the day. I feel a weight lift off my shoulders as I exit school. I don’t need to keep pretending to be okay.

  Gemma catches up with me as I slowly traipse down the hallway towards the Atrium.

  ‘How are you after today?’ she asks.

  I raise my eyebrows as though she’s just asked the silliest question ever.

  ‘Yeah people suck,’ she says. ‘So, no basketball tonight?’

  ‘No. I’m behind on my community service hours. Besides, I can’t really bring myself to face it,’ I reply. ‘I’m just so worried about him Gem!’

  ‘I’m certain nothing bad happens to the tainted. They just have to live somewhere else is all.’ She says it in an attempt to comfort me, but her repetition of the Council line isn’t exactly cheering.

  ‘It doesn’t change he’s no longer here,’ I respond quietly. There’s nothing she can say that will make that fact better. I glance over my shoulder to check the corridor is clear before I continue. ‘Have you ever wondered if it’s possible to go after the tainted?’

  Gemma grabs my arm roughly pulling me to a stop. She glances over her own shoulder before turning back to me. ‘Elle that’s crazy! Don’t say that… Don’t even think that!’ Her voice is quiet, but her words are firm. ‘No one follows after them. It’s too dangerous, you could get sick too!’

  ‘Sorry—yeah, you’re right—of course you’re right.’ I shake my head at the idiocy of what I’ve just said, but I feel confused. While it sounds idiotic, for some reason, it doesn’t seem like such a stupid idea.

  Gemma is reassured by my response and lets go of the firm grip she has on my arm. She still seems upset though. Just the mere mention of attempting to find someone tainted has her giving me the silent treatment—I guess most people would react the same way. As we continue walking I can’t stop thinking about it. I should be terrified at the idea of trying to leave, but instead the idea comforts me and for the first time since Sebastian left I feel hopeful.

  I say goodbye to Gemma at the Atrium and continue on to the Aged Care Ward, where I’m assigned to
do my hours today. The ward is shunted to the far corner of the Hospital Wing, so it’s a long trek to reach it from school.

  The entrance to the ward is fairly nondescript. A plain pair of swinging doors and a small plastic sign on the wall with the ward name embossed across it. I take a moment to compose myself before entering. While reading to the elderly is not my dream assignment, one of the teachers at school recommended it, as it would look good on my apprenticeship application. So today marks the first of many community service hours for me over here.

  The doors swing easily open and I walk into a sparse reception. A simple desk and several plastic bucket seats lined along the wall are all that occupy the space. The whole place reeks of disinfectant.

  A small, middle-aged woman sits behind the reception desk. Her head is bowed down over a tablet and she appears to be completely absorbed in whatever she is reading.

  ‘Hello,’ I say, as I approach the desk. I hate having to interrupt her when she’s obviously so riveted to her tablet screen, especially when even to my own ears my voice is completely lacking any enthusiasm.

  ‘Can I help you?’ she asks bluntly. It’s clear from her tight set lips and her piercing stare that this woman is not to be messed with. It takes me a second to recover from the shock of her brusque attitude.

  ‘I’m from the school,’ I finally say. ‘I’m here to log some community service hours.’

  ‘Name?’ the woman requests sternly.

  ‘Elle Winters.’

  ‘Sign in here.’ She points towards the CommuSensor on her computer, before focusing down on her tablet again. I bump my cuff against the sensor and wait for further instructions.

  ‘You’re in room 36 with Mrs. Mayberry today. The room’s just down the end of that hallway and on the right,’ she says, still looking at her tablet and shaking her hand over in the direction of a corridor directly to the left of her desk.