nostrils.
Underneath the antiseptic, the smell of rot and green water
lingered.
Windows
overlooked bays of equipment and scientific looking devices.
“The labs alone
aren’t enough, nor are the green prayers of the Woodwives. As
always we must all work together.”
Medical chairs
were bolted to the wall, people strapped in the seats, their right
arms locked to the armrest. One of the subjects couldn’t have been
more than eleven years old. He didn’t fight the restraints, or the
needle sliding into his vein, only stared straight ahead.
“A pity,” Grace
said. “But everyone must do their part, even those who would go
against the Directorate. This way, they get to prove that they are
worth something, after all.” Jane couldn’t imagine what a little
boy could have done to merit this kind of punishment. Grace’s smile
returned, though it was softer. “But none of you need to worry
about this room. We know you’ll be loyal.”
Jane tensed so
completely that something in her shoulder popped uncomfortably.
Even Asher was quiet. A unit of soldiers waited for them in the
muddy corridor that ringed the amphitheatre. Jane had the crazy
urge to run. Her calves quivered. She had good stamina and she was
relatively fast---but a bullet was always faster.
When she heard
the shout, she half thought her own legs had moved without her.
Another girl, sixteen at most, knocked three soldiers into each
other. She was leaping behind the protective cover of the bus when
the bullet caught her. Blood sprayed from her shoulder as she hit
the ground. She struggled to stand up but the soldiers descended.
She kicked and spat and scratched at them until a solider
backhanded her but even that wasn’t enough to stop her frenzy. She
bit and screeched, right until Grace approached with a syringe,
stabbing it into the back of her neck. Her eyes rolled back in her
head mid-yell. She went terrifyingly limp.
“Where are
they…” one of the students cut himself off as they carted the girl
away. Questions never had an answer that helped.
“One warning,”
Grace replied dispassionately. “The Program is everything. You
cannot defeat what is necessary.”
Jane’s legs, so
keen to run just moments ago, were weak as boiled leaves. Grace
took them into the amphitheatre, ringed with benches and arches
held up by columns carved like Green Jacks. The lowest level was
screened by black iron fencework painstakingly decorated with
individually forged leaves. It would separate the spectators from
those fighting in the sand, and from the strange glass-walled
houses built on platforms all around the ring. It was beautiful in
its own way.
“Welcome to the
Garden,” Grace said with palpable pride. The clouds thinned
slightly, as if they knew presentation was everything. The small
houses were identical; windows eating up the ground floor like
television screens that allowed you to see what was happening
inside. Jane thought of the episodes her sisters watched on their
tablets; Ivy preferred scientific programs and Portia
dramarealities about people visiting the Rings. Jane was secretly
addicted to lurid stories about the Spirit Forest and the
Greencoats.
All of which
were better than this.
The houses’
second floors had much smaller windows, but they were bare and
uncurtained. Each door was painted a different colour. Jane was
more confused than ever.
“Isn’t it
lovely?” Grace asked. “There is no finer neighbourhood even in the
Enclave! Nothing but the best here in the Garden. And now some of
you will get to live here,” Grace continued. “Assuming there is a
compatible mate available. We cannot have babies too weak to wear
the mask. That would just be cruel.”
“Babies?”
someone echoed.
“Of course. The
program needs volunteers of all kinds. If you cannot be the blade,
you can be the furrow. That’s what the Garden is all about.”
A hundred
thoughts collided in Jane’s brain, each worse than the last. The
pain at the top of her
Underneath the antiseptic, the smell of rot and green water
lingered.
Windows
overlooked bays of equipment and scientific looking devices.
“The labs alone
aren’t enough, nor are the green prayers of the Woodwives. As
always we must all work together.”
Medical chairs
were bolted to the wall, people strapped in the seats, their right
arms locked to the armrest. One of the subjects couldn’t have been
more than eleven years old. He didn’t fight the restraints, or the
needle sliding into his vein, only stared straight ahead.
“A pity,” Grace
said. “But everyone must do their part, even those who would go
against the Directorate. This way, they get to prove that they are
worth something, after all.” Jane couldn’t imagine what a little
boy could have done to merit this kind of punishment. Grace’s smile
returned, though it was softer. “But none of you need to worry
about this room. We know you’ll be loyal.”
Jane tensed so
completely that something in her shoulder popped uncomfortably.
Even Asher was quiet. A unit of soldiers waited for them in the
muddy corridor that ringed the amphitheatre. Jane had the crazy
urge to run. Her calves quivered. She had good stamina and she was
relatively fast---but a bullet was always faster.
When she heard
the shout, she half thought her own legs had moved without her.
Another girl, sixteen at most, knocked three soldiers into each
other. She was leaping behind the protective cover of the bus when
the bullet caught her. Blood sprayed from her shoulder as she hit
the ground. She struggled to stand up but the soldiers descended.
She kicked and spat and scratched at them until a solider
backhanded her but even that wasn’t enough to stop her frenzy. She
bit and screeched, right until Grace approached with a syringe,
stabbing it into the back of her neck. Her eyes rolled back in her
head mid-yell. She went terrifyingly limp.
“Where are
they…” one of the students cut himself off as they carted the girl
away. Questions never had an answer that helped.
“One warning,”
Grace replied dispassionately. “The Program is everything. You
cannot defeat what is necessary.”
Jane’s legs, so
keen to run just moments ago, were weak as boiled leaves. Grace
took them into the amphitheatre, ringed with benches and arches
held up by columns carved like Green Jacks. The lowest level was
screened by black iron fencework painstakingly decorated with
individually forged leaves. It would separate the spectators from
those fighting in the sand, and from the strange glass-walled
houses built on platforms all around the ring. It was beautiful in
its own way.
“Welcome to the
Garden,” Grace said with palpable pride. The clouds thinned
slightly, as if they knew presentation was everything. The small
houses were identical; windows eating up the ground floor like
television screens that allowed you to see what was happening
inside. Jane thought of the episodes her sisters watched on their
tablets; Ivy preferred scientific programs and Portia
dramarealities about people visiting the Rings. Jane was secretly
addicted to lurid stories about the Spirit Forest and the
Greencoats.
All of which
were better than this.
The houses’
second floors had much smaller windows, but they were bare and
uncurtained. Each door was painted a different colour. Jane was
more confused than ever.
“Isn’t it
lovely?” Grace asked. “There is no finer neighbourhood even in the
Enclave! Nothing but the best here in the Garden. And now some of
you will get to live here,” Grace continued. “Assuming there is a
compatible mate available. We cannot have babies too weak to wear
the mask. That would just be cruel.”
“Babies?”
someone echoed.
“Of course. The
program needs volunteers of all kinds. If you cannot be the blade,
you can be the furrow. That’s what the Garden is all about.”
A hundred
thoughts collided in Jane’s brain, each worse than the last. The
pain at the top of her
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