Resurrection Read online

  Everyone else is let out of their quarters at the same time. Silently, we all slip into line and move towards the mess hall. We queue for our slop and sit down in our designated seats. There are a lot of spare seats, each one marking a person I managed to free. Each empty spot gives me a little sense of satisfaction, every morning, but the joy is lessening as time goes by.

  Each unit gets its own table. There are two additional ones for people between units, or who have yet to be assigned. We're quite a mix; the young ones too little to be given a group, and older ones who have lost all the rest of their comrades. There are also a few who might be “reassigned” because they're not working well with others, but they're in the minority.

  When the Institute began, there were just four units. Alpha, Beta, Delta and Omega. Then they added more, according to the phonetic alphabet. Each member is given a number. I was Alpha-1, Gabe was Alpha-2a, his brother Alpha-2b. Forrest was 3, Moona was 4, Abi 5, and Archer 6 until his death. Ben replaced him a few years later, but there were never more than six of us at a time. Your “name” can be taken away from you at any moment, as soon as you're assigned to a new unit. We have numbers known only to the Institute, stamped in binary codes on our right wrists.

  What must it be like, not to have a name? Do they lie awake at night, and wonder who they are? Our names tape us to this world. They give our existence shape, meaning. Who are you without a tether? I wore my name at first like a badge of pride, but it became a symbol of my ownership. They called me 'Eve'. I was their triumph, their first, but when I escaped it occurred to me I had no more power than my namesake. I left that flimsy puppet behind. I became Ashe. It means 'she who rises' at least in my own head.

  Although, I did not rise until I joined the Phoenix Project, not truly. Not until I met Nick. Until I started rebelling against my programming, becoming a saviour rather than a killer.

  I swallow a sigh. I lost my wings too early to do much good.

  If I wasn't so focused on escape, I'd try to befriend my new comrades. I'd give them names, or ask them if there was something they'd like to be called. But that act could be seen as disobedience, and I cannot afford that now. Best play the game, keep my head down.

  Come on, Ashe. You managed not to care for five years. You can do it again.

  You can, you can...

  I never gave much thought to how the groups were made up in the past, but looking at them now it's clearly not random. There is always a clear leader, their 2nd, a computer, a medic, and a member much younger than the rest. There's a logic to it all, a plan, but I'm not sure I fully understand. Why have such a young member? Are we supposed to train them up? Or is it all another test, to see how we'll react to the weak?

  The first rule of the Institute –and the outside world– seemed to be the same: only the strong survive. But Ben wasn't strong the day he came to us. He became strong because we protected him when he was weak, and I felt stronger having him to protect. During one of the first missions we ever took him on, he wandered into the path of an oncoming bear. I skidded between the two of them, shielding his body with my own, feeling like I could rip that bear apart with my own hands if need be. I would have done anything, anything to keep him safe.

  My baby.

  I am afraid this longing will spill out of me, that my face will betray the beating heart underneath. I cannot let them know I'm still in here. I cannot.

  I finish my meal in silence. We stack up our trays robotically, at the end of the table. Oscar-4 –Omega-4– takes them back. It's his turn. He's one of the older ones at our table, in the process of being reassigned since the rest of his unit escaped during my rescue attempt. I think he hates me, either because I lost him his unit or he didn't escape with them; I haven't worked out which. He was placed with the November team at first, but it didn't work out. Now he's back with the Omegas; the unassigned.

  After breakfast is exercise in the yard. The sixty-five of us walk or run around it in absolute silence, depending on our instructions. We are permitted, during this time, to be still if we prefer. A few stand to the side, watching one another. We are allowed to speak, but we do so rarely. I am in no mood for running today. I sit by the side and try to catch Gabe's eye.

  One of Adam's group jostles past me. Beta-6. I don't remember her five years ago, even though she looks around twelve or thirteen; a skinny, slight, slip of a thing. Her figure, face and tousled brown hair are a lot like mine, which isn't uncommon here. Ben looks a lot like me, too. We're all a cocktail of DNA, but I imagined we shared enough to be considered siblings. This girl and I were probably the same.

  Adam appears by my side. “She's fast, isn't she?”

  I try to pay him no heed. I've never been able to work out what Adam wants from me.

  “Almost as fast as you,” he continues.

  I sense I will not be free of him until I say something. “I don't remember her, from before.”

  “She's... a new model. Older than she looks.”

  I could ask him how old, but I don't want to give the appearance of actually caring. Adam has been very present in my company since I returned. He is constantly trying to engage me in conversation. He isn't being friendly; he's trying to test me. He wants to know how much Ashe is still in there.

  “Is that so?” I answer, as tonelessly as I can.

  “She may well best the both of us, when she's fully mature.”

  “Good for her.”

  “Jealous that someone may steal your spot as first?”

  “The better our soldiers, the better for the Institute.” The words crawl uncomfortably out of my mouth. “Who cares who comes first?”

  “You used to.”

  “So did you. It appears we have both matured.”

  The truth is, I still enjoy being first. I still enjoy the rush of power I get when I beat someone in a semi-fair fight. But I have no joy in besting a child.

  I slide back onto my feet. “However, one shouldn't get sloppy,” I tell him, giving him no more opportunities to speak. I join the circuit and disappear into the rest of the soldiers.

  Gabe catches up to me. “You all right?”

  “You already know I’m not.”

  “Adam?”

  I nod. “I never understand what he wants from me.”

  Gabe shrugs, still jogging. “To be honest, I'm not sure he really knows himself.”

  Chapter 5

  I killed for them.

  I knew I would have to. What better way to test my conformity? It was around a month after getting out of the tank that they led me to a cell with a deformed creature in it. By this point, I had learned to be blank. I had learned to play along. I had mastered the lie detectors, becoming Eve just long enough to fool them. But they knew detectors can be faked. This... this was the true test.

  He was small, a trembling thing, covered in thick, dark fur. He was something between canine and monkey, but his eyes... his eyes were more human than mine. He cowered when I entered the space and they put a gun in my grip.

  It was empty. They didn't yet trust me with a real weapon. I knew that when I pulled the trigger, so both he and I survived that day.

  Two weeks later, they repeated the experiment. Different child, similar condition.

  This time, I knew it was loaded. This time, I knew he was going to die.

  I pulled the trigger anyway.

  He lay on the floor, immobile, a small pucker mark in his temple. A part of me is always amazed at the power of a bullet; the way something that leaves so small a mark can destroy something so animated. Moona bore a mark just like that when they killed her.

  They didn’t usually execute us with bullets. Usually, they took the defective ones away. We never saw them kill Forrest. He was sick; we weren’t supposed to get sick. They dragged him away, and we didn't know he was gone until he never came back.

  Moona was sick too, sick in a different way. She couldn’t control her senses. She became lost inside herself, feeling everything. She would writhe
and scream for the voices to stop. But even she didn’t want to die.

  “Please don’t let them take me away,” she whispered to me, the night she died.

  Only we did let them take her away. We fought and screamed, but they fought harder. They shot her to stop us. At least she died knowing we were there, that we were fighting for her. We had not left her alone to face the dark.

  This thing died alone, his killer his only company.

  It was quick. Painless. A softer death than he would have got from them. But the fear in his eyes, the stark desire to live... has burned through me every night after. His days were numbered anyway. They would not have given me anything they wanted to live. They would have killed him eventually.

  But they made me do it.

  I had avoided killing since I escaped five years ago. I had only done it accidently, or when my life was threatened. This was different.

  The price of playing along, the price of earning their trust, eventually escaping, was temporarily being the one thing I swore I would never be. Their weapon.

  Each night, when his face rises inside me, I summon the faces of my family, and remember why I'm doing this.

  I think about Nick. Every spare moment I have belongs to him. When I dream, I sometimes think I've escaped, or that the real world is the dream, and I've just woken up from a nightmare. I am back at his place, only it's mine now, too. Ours. I am in his arms, secured under his chin with my head pressed against his heart.

  I am home.

  Some mornings I wake up and feel like I want to cry. But I cannot let them see that. I cannot let them know I'm still in here.

  In here with Nick.

  I wish I could hear him like I can hear Gabe. I wish he could hear me.

  I am coming. I am coming. I will come.

  Chapter 6

  Nick

  March 28th

  I should have gone with you. I know that's stupid, I know that's pointless, I know that there's nothing I could have done and there was a reason I stayed behind, but I wish I'd gone with you. Not to change anything. Just to have been there by your side. Sometimes I dream I'm in the room with you, holding your hand as you erupt into flames. There's no fear, no pain. Only peace. Dying with you would have been easier than living without you.

  Why did you do it? I know why, but could you not have been selfish? Could you not have just let them take you back? We would have gotten you out. I would have gotten you out.

  I'm being idiotic, aren't I? I'm being foolish. How much you would hate me for being willing to throw my life away. How much I wish you were alive to hate me.

  It's late. Very late. I will not feel so dark in the morning. I'll go to Julia. She'll make me something warm to drink. I'll tell her what I'm telling you, that sometimes I wish I'd died with you. At the same time, I don't want to tell her. I don't want to hurt her. I want her to think I'm coping.

  If I pretend I am, will I start? That's what you did, right? Concentrate on survival first, and pray that peace comes later.

  Not that you were ever particularly peaceful... although you were sometimes, with me. I could feel it, I could see it. Sometimes I’d lie awake with you asleep beside me, wondering how someone so tough could look so sweet, so vulnerable. I never wanted to move from those moments, those rare, perfect moments when nothing could hurt you.

  Nothing can hurt you now, but that does not comfort me.

  Chapter 7

  There is a strict routine to our days with minimal deviance. I remember it being a less monotonous, back when we were constantly being tested and spent half of our time being prodded, the other half being run ragged in the woods. Perhaps they don't have the staff or the facilities for this right now. Maybe they're looking for other things.

  At 0630 we wake and rise for breakfast. Then there's twenty minutes for exercise in the yard. Afterwards are lessons for three hours, followed by lunch and then the training in the gym. Dinner is at 1830. There will usually be some kind of assembly afterwards, followed by another turn around the yard, and then we retire to our chambers where we are free to sit in silence, stare at the walls, clean our spaces, or talk to our unit.

  Sometimes days go by where I don't speak to anyone.

  Lessons compose of numerous things. The younger ones are taught the basics; maths, reading and writing, science. Older ones philosophy, history, strategy. Sometimes lessons are more practical and include first aid, field theory. Rarely anything I don't know.

  Some days include weapons training. Some days include shelter building, knot making, survival skills.

  Ben's school teaches them how to draw. He makes silly cards that he always gives to us. He brings home battered books from the school library, which he reads with silly voices. There is so little colour here, that the brightness of his crayons almost seems like something I've invented. I am forgetting colour. I am forgetting the sound of laughter.

  There is rarely any deviation from this routine, so I am surprised to be summoned after breakfast one morning and brought into an office. I am less surprised when I see the Director there.

  I don't know where he goes when he's not here. I assume he has some fancy apartment in the nearest city, but he isn't around a great deal. He wasn't around much in my youth, either. His face had all but faded from memory.

  He's in his mid to late fifties, with dark grey hair and a wrinkle-free face. He smiles a lot more than he should, and his eyes never quite betray the darkness I know lies underneath. The first time I took a life, he grinned.

  He turns around and gives me a similar look now. “Ah, Eve. So good to see you. How are you settling back in?”

  I switch Eve on, and rein Ashe back. My voice is as polite as it could be.

  “Settling, sir?”

  “Are you comfortable? Are the others treating you well?”

  “My quarters are more than adequate sir, and I have little communication with the others.”

  “Oh? You used to be quite close to your unit. Perhaps I should join you up with another.”

  “Whatever you deem best, sir. I will comply.”

  The last three words slither out of me with barely any thought. I am so used to saying them, so used to playing the obedient soldier. How much longer will the words stir bile within me? How much longer will I fight them?

  “You've really... changed, since we brought you back into the fold.”

  “I was a different person when you found me.”

  “So it would appear. Tell me, my dear, how does it feel now, to be here with us?”

  I cannot afford to swallow, but I could choke on my next words. “Like this is where I'm supposed to be.”

  The Director takes a step forward. “Is that so? Perhaps, then, we should rethink our original arrangement.”

  He's testing me. Our 'original arrangement' –the way they got me to comply in the slightest– was by promising that they wouldn't try and track down the others. If I played along, my family would be safe.

  How do I respond to this? I could try to dissuade him, tell him they're too soft, Ben lacks the training, Mi's practically useless with his disability... but as quickly as the panic rises, it fades. He's testing me. He's bluffing. I'll gain nothing trying to defend them.

  “I should be glad to see them again,” I reply, giving him just the slightest inclination of emotion. It would be foolish to pretend they'd erased every care I had for them. “I would hope they would re-settle as I have.”

  The Director makes a quiet, imperceptible noise, and moves away from me.

  “I'm disappointed in you, Eve,” is all he says. “Guards?”

  He clicks his fingers, and I am escorted to the gym to await the day's activities. I do not know how he can be disappointed, but I also do not know what game he's planning. What does he want me to do? Who does he want me to be?

  Back in my cell at the end of the day, ‘I will comply’ spins around my head. I lie down under the covers, and breathe in and out carefully. I loosen every muscle, tighten it agai
n. I am in control.

  I summon their faces. Mi, Abi, Ben... Nick. My new mantra bubbles up inside, the new one I repeat every night. They cannot take away what they cannot see.

  I love you, I love you, I love you.

  Chapter 8

  April 6th

  I fell asleep in the clinic last night. I’d been up late with Julia, talking into exhaustion, sometimes about you, but mostly about nothing. Anything to make me tired enough to sleep.

  Sleep I did. Briefly, fitfully, treading in and out of some twisted half-nightmare, half-reality. I woke to Julia crying, and peered between the curtains. She was sitting at her desk, praying.

  I don’t really give much thought to Julia being religious. Her faith is very much a private thing, not something she talks about or even shows. It showed here. She was on her knees, her hands clenched together, head bowed as tears dripped silently down her face. She murmured for forgiveness. I wanted to comfort her, but at the same time I was terrified I was intruding on something private, something I wasn’t supposed to see.

  There was a quiet squeak, and Harris appeared at the door. He couldn’t have heard her crying from the corridor. How had he known? He did not look surprised to see her. Without a word, he wheeled over to her and pried away one clenched hand, holding it in both of his.

  Julia turned to face him. “You think I would be used to life not being fair by now.”

  Harris said nothing.

  “All those years… all those years of torture in that dreadful, dreadful place! Then losing Gabe, and finding Nick… a few weeks of happiness. That’s all she had. It wasn’t enough, it isn’t right!”

  She fell off her chair and into his lap, and he held her steady as she sobbed.

  I turned over in my bed, trying to pretend I never heard her.