Tainted Page 8

CHAPTER EIGHT

  I wake with a start. A cold sweat covers my body, chilling me to the core. It’s been such a long time since I’ve experienced such vivid nightmares.

  Though my body is still cocooned in fear, I sit up and try to quell the spike of adrenaline that has roused inside me. It was only a dream, I try to remind myself.

  All the same, the sight of Quinn asleep, curled in a ball under her sheets, a cascade of blonde hair tumbling down over them, is reassuring. She’s still here. She’s not taken.

  I’ve always had nightmares of my friends being taken. I guess you’d be crazy not to. It’s something that’s always been a threat. This dream felt different though. It felt like something more than just fear, more like a menacing omen of what is to come.

  I shudder and curl my arms around my knees. Maybe Quinn and Sebastian are right? I survey the room uneasily—almost expecting something to jump out of the shadows. In the soft blue hue of the night-light everything is more ominous.

  A breathy laugh escapes me and I swing my legs off the bed. I really know how to freak myself out. I feel silly for being so pessimistic at such an early hour.

  Yawning, I stand and quietly stretch, not wanting to disturb Quinn. I quickly get dressed and as I creep towards the door, being careful not to stumble in the dim room, I take the small piece of paper out of my pocket. I open it over by the small light that glows next to the door handle. My eyes focus on the four numbers written in faint, blue pen, ‘four, three, five and nine.’

  I read them again and again to commit them to memory. It’s hard to concentrate on the numbers though when my eyes keep scanning to the name written at the bottom of the page. Ryan.

  When I’m convinced I can retain the numbers, I tear the paper into small little pieces and put them in my pocket. As I place my hand on the door I can just make out the steady rhythm of Quinn’s breathing. Reassured she’s still asleep, I slip out of the room.

  I rush down the corridors and quickly find myself where the more civilized quarters of the North Wing are located. You can tell they are nicer because there’s an acrylic smell emanating from the freshly painted walls, and a distinct lack of spider webs.

  It’s still early and the corridors in this more populated section are relatively deserted. The few people I do cross are on their way to work in the kitchens; off to prepare another tasteless, nutrient-packed meal for the masses I’m sure.

  I make my way to the Atrium, which is bustling with people. It’s not really surprising, as it always seems to be busy in here. I take the exit that leads to the East Wing, where all ARC manufacturing and produce occurs.

  As I enter the wing my pace quickens. It’s as though my legs have a mind of their own and they know we’re getting closer. I practically fly down the steps to one of the lower levels and only slow down when I reach the door that I’m after.

  My heart is in my mouth and my hand shakes slightly as I lift it to the pin pad just above the door handle. With careful precision I enter the numbers ‘four,’ ‘three,’ ‘five,’ I suck in a breath, and ‘nine’. The light on the pin pad glows green. I exhale and push the door open.

  Closing the door behind me, I turn and can feel my whole face light up as my eyes indulge in the sight before me.

  I’m in a large room that extends as far as the eye can see. It must be at least four stories high, with huge round lamps that hang from the roof. Below them, metal suspended walkways network like an intricate spider’s web just above my head.

  And there, below the lights and under the walkways, an expanse of greenery grows. Neat and endless rows of vegetation shoot off into the distance, with the smallest of concrete pathways cutting between the leafy plants.

  The air around me is thick with moisture. The earthy, fresh smell of mint combined with the rich, robust aroma of rosemary tingles at my nose, and the soft gentle trickle of sprinklers reaches my ears.

  I am in the Plantation, my favourite place in the ARC.

  I take a moment to revel in the calm, exotic atmosphere of the place. Then I set off into the greenery. I know I don’t have much time before the workers clock on for the day and there’s no way I plan on getting caught. I have to act fast if I want to reach the far corner of the vast garden in time. I don’t need to search, or mindlessly wander through the endless rows of plants though. I already know exactly where Ryan will be.

  When I reach the olive grove I catch my first glimpse of the apple orchard that lies just beyond. It is glorious, and as always the trees are covered in the shiny red fruit. Below one of the large trees, set slightly apart from the others, stands a man cloaked in shadow. Ryan. He’s standing waiting for me and I find my stride naturally lengthens, the closer that I get.

  As I reach him he tosses an apple to me. I catch it, laugh and take a bite. The first taste is ecstasy as the sweet crisp juice drizzles through my mouth. I find I have to stop myself from groaning out loud in delight.

  I can’t even remember the last apple I’d tasted. Maybe Christmas? I wonder. Unfortunately, the more indulgent, perishable food is saved for those in the ARC of higher importance. After talk of further rationing in the Council meeting last night, I can’t be certain I’ll get to taste another one any time soon.

  ‘Hey Elle,’ Ryan says, as he reaches up to pluck another apple from the tree. He’s smiling, but under the bright lamps his face seems lined with worry.

  ‘Ryan,’ I muffle, placing my hand over my mouth in an attempt to disguise the apple I still munch on.

  ‘I was worried you weren’t going to come.’ He’s looking down at his own half-eaten apple, and his face creases as though he’s bothered by the thought.

  ‘And miss out on this?’ I say, taking a second decisive bite of my apple. ‘No way.’

  He laughs and eases himself down onto the grass that grows under the tree. ‘How’s school?’ he asks, as I sit down on the ground next to him.

  I raise my eyebrows at him and ignore the question. He knows I don’t want to talk about school. He’s thirteen years older than me; he could hardly be interested in how I went in my latest math’s test.

  ‘Okay, no school talk.’ He looks at me more seriously. ‘Your testing is coming up soon. Isn’t it?’

  I stare back at him and struggle to respond. Testing, such a testy topic. I’ve only just gotten past the stress of Quinn’s testing and I don’t particularly want to talk about my own.

  My fingers begin to restlessly pull at the grass that tickles my fingertips. ‘Yes. I have my testing in a few weeks,’ I admit.

  ‘You’ll be fine,’ he reassures me. ‘There’s nothing for you to worry about.’ It’s nice of him to say, but he really doesn’t have to. I’m fine with being tested. It’s everyone else getting tested that scares me senseless.

  ‘You probably shouldn’t be in here with me, but I couldn’t help myself. I know how much you love this place.’

  He’s right; I do love this place. I imagine it’s the closest thing to the surface, before impact, I might ever get to see. I mean yeah, we do have the virtual reality simulators, but they only give you a visual of what surface life used to be. At least here in the Plantation you can feel the moisture in the air, smell the freshness of the plants.

  ‘Do you ever wonder if maybe we could return to the surface?’ I ask him.

  He frowns and looks at the ground around us, as though searching for another apple. ‘Why do you ask that?’ His words are slow and seem carefully chosen.

  I consider telling him about what I overheard in the Council Chambers, but immediately disregard it. I’m not even certain what Ryan does for the ARC and I don’t want to get Sebastian or myself in trouble.

  ‘I just wondered.’ I shrug.

  He glances up at me, his curious eyes probing me for answers, before turning away to continue his search for fallen apples. ‘When the surface becomes sustainable again for people, they will return to it,’ he says, confidently.

  I watch Ry
an closely. His eyes are guarded and it seems like he’s holding back. I can’t tell if he knows something or if he is simply recounting the same lines we’ve always been told. The way he’s acting though, I think it’s safe to assume he knows more.

  ‘Is there something I’m missing?’ I ask.

  I receive no response to this. He simply shakes his head and looks up, laughter replacing the restrained look in his eyes.

  The reaction reminds me so much of our first meeting—well, first collision. It was about a year ago. I’d been walking through the dining hall juggling both Quinn’s food tray and mine when I bumped into him. Literally. I was so focused on the trays of food I ploughed straight into him.

  His hands were quick to steady me as I lost my footing, and miraculously I didn’t lose anything from my trays. I looked up to apologise for my idiocy, but my brain turned to mush and, for a second, time seemed to stand still.

  He had shaken his head just like he’s doing now, and his eyes danced with amusement. He helped me rebalance my items, then without a word walked right past me.

  In my state of shock, I failed to string two words together. He was good looking, yes, but that wasn’t what really stopped me in my tracks. It was what I’d seen in his eyes. They had been so bright and playful, with what felt like a hint of recognition. By the time I’d found my tongue again and turned to say thanks, he had gone.

  Ryan still sits there amused. His eyes finally land on an apple. He stretches his arm right out to grab it, and begins rubbing it on his trousers before popping it in his pocket.

  ‘Ryan,’ I say. ‘Am I missing something?’ I still can’t shake the feeling he’s keeping something from me.

  ‘No,’ he responds, almost to himself, the smile falling from his face. He stands abruptly, and walks a few steps away, out of the shadow of the tree. I quietly get up to follow him, uncertain why his mood has changed so suddenly

  ‘You should go,’ he says. His voice is calm and distant. ‘You’ve got school to get to. Plus you need to leave before the farmers come to work for the day. I won’t have you getting into trouble on my account.’ He takes a deep breath before he continues. ‘I’m not going to be back for a while.’

  I turn away from him and bow my head. Every time is the same; he will suddenly turn up and then just as quickly he will disappear again for months on end. He is constantly leaving. I can only guess at what he’s doing, but he won’t tell me, and I will no longer ask.

  ‘Okay,’ I say quietly. ‘I understand.’ He grabs a hold of my shoulder and gives it a reassuring squeeze.

  Why must he be constantly leaving? I like our talks, but it feels like they’re becoming few and far between.

  I turn back around to say goodbye, but he’s already gone.