Poison Read online

  The entire square turns quiet. People whisper in shocked voices about the Reapers, but Vargas has other, more immediate ideas.

  “Take them all to the barracks,” Vargas barks. He turns and points to Micah and me. “Including those two.”

  Six

  The cell is three times as big as the bomb shelter, but the air is so thin it’s like someone is squeezing the breath from my lungs. I sit with my back against one of the corners of the cell, hoping the solid brick will give me the support I can’t muster. Something bulbous sticks into my lower back, and it’s then I remember the vial of Micah’s Rose nectar I retrieved from Sully’s horde of buried bones and have been carrying around with me.

  I fish it out and roll the vial between my palms, pretending I’m in the bomb shelter mulling over an experiment. My head sags between my knees as I try to regain some sense of control. I worried about Micah when they led us down here however many hours ago, but it never occurred to me that I would be the one to hyperventilate.

  “Stop inhaling so loudly,” the black-haired girl snaps at me.

  “Cora!” Leura says. “Can’t you see she’s having trouble breathing?”

  “I’m fine,” I mumble. How does she even have the strength to comfort me when she’s been crying nonstop?

  Cora grunts, rakes a hand through her short bob, and moves to the other end of the cell. It’s the spot directly diagonal to the guards’ door and has the best view of anyone coming or going. Not that there’s been any activity either way. She’s marked that spot as her private territory, and every time I step near it, I can feel her gaze boring into my back.

  The boys’ cell sits parallel to ours in a block of only four such cells. The Landing wasn’t built to hold prisoners, which is convenient because the Seeders don’t normally take any. For a while, I could hear the low timbre of soft speech from the boys’ cell, but they’ve grown quiet, and Micah has fallen asleep bundled up into a little ball on the concrete floor.

  Somebody’s stomach rumbles. It reminds me I’m starving.

  “Would you prefer to die by gunshot or starvation?” Cora asks no one in particular.

  “Shut up!” Gage calls from across the dark space. The sentiment is there, but it lacks conviction. We’re all too weak to argue now. Once in a while, boots crunch outside the cell’s lone window. Someone always spooks when we hear it.

  I have no idea I’ve drifted off to sleep until the prison door creaks open. A light switch flicks and bathes the cells in fluorescent gloom. Somebody curses to high heaven. I recognise it as the unmistakable burr that can belong to no one but Connor Avery. He’s notorious in the Landing. Most people believe he’s a Seeder spy. He seems to enjoy a certain freedom from Seeder harassment, and despite not having a job, he manages to always have enough coin to spend. If the rumours are true, then why would he have been arrested?

  Two guards lead him past us, his twiggy arms caught firmly in their grip. Connor’s hair hangs in dirty ropes, and the yellow of his eyeballs is broken up only by the red and blue veins running through it. The guards toss him into the boys’ cell and lock it behind them as they disappear.

  Connor hacks up a loogie and spits it somewhere I hope never to see. He does it twice more. Leura gags.

  “Charming as that is, Connor, do you think you can cut it out?” Gage asks. This sets the older man off in a fit of laughter. Then he goes quiet and settles down to rest against the cell bars closest to the corridor. I don’t believe he really goes to sleep. Has he been placed in here to spy on us?

  We’ve been prisoners for about twelve hours by my watch. I make myself as comfortable as possible on the floor, but sleep eludes me. It’s so cold my teeth chatter and keep me awake. The muscles in my neck and shoulders ache from prolonged periods of awkward positioning.

  Leura and Cora huddle together for warmth. In this moment, I envy their friendship. I miss Micah like crazy even though he’s less than a short walk away.

  Suddenly, the spooky silence is pierced by a scream.

  I’m on my feet at once, looking towards the door.

  “What’s going on?” Cora says. She comes over, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Her lips are pursed into a thin line, and I move out of the way so she can claim her spot.

  Another scream reverberates through the cells and hangs like an oppressive fog even after the sound is gone. Somewhere, someone begins to cry. Heaviness settles over me and I fight to hold back the memories.

  I see the realisation that someone is being tortured in the glassy sheen of Cora’s eyes. An irritated grumble comes from the boys’ cell. All this noise is waking Micah.

  “Rory!” Micah stutters with heart-wrenching dread. He slurs my name a little and it crushes me. His nightmares always bring home my guilt about letting him in on my experiments. Even though without him, I wouldn’t have been able to get off the ground. With the bomb shelter gone, putting him through the constant anxiety seems pointless.

  “I’m here,” I say. “We’re okay. It’ll be morning soon.”

  Micah bursts into a string of hacking coughs. He doubles over. For the first time, Gage looks at me with real concern as he furiously smacks Micah’s back. It’s only when Micah’s face turns an alarming shade of pink that I remember the nectar.

  My fingers fumble extracting it from my pocket. “Gage,” I say. “Take this.” I turn the vial on its side and gently but firmly roll it across the floor. The vial sails true for most of the distance, but then it hits a buff of uneven ground and turns right. It comes to a stop at the base of Connor’s boot. I don’t even know when he got up; he’s so quiet.

  Connor picks it up with his thumb and forefinger and examines the contents. “What’s this, then?” he says.

  Micah’s cough becomes wheezing, which is the last stage before his throat closes over.

  “Hand it over!” I yell. I grip the bars and shake them so hard it’s a wonder they don’t dissolve before me. “I swear if you don’t give him that bottle…”

  “And you wonder why you’re not more popular,” Connor says. He shrugs and passes the vial to Gage.

  Micah takes a breath of vapour, and his gasps quieten and become even.

  “Micah?”

  “I’m okay,” he says. He sounds hoarse but calmer. The balloon of tension building inside me deflates a little.

  “Interesting,” Connor says. I don’t like where this is going. “I bet the Seeders would love to know about this miracle serum.”

  “I bet the Seeders know a lot of things they shouldn’t because of you.” I know I should keep my mouth shut, but being cooped up for so long has made me reckless.

  “If I was a rat, you’d all be dead by now,” Conner says. “Especially you.” He points to me. “What with all the sneaking around you do in the forest.”

  I go to protest, but he’s not done.

  “Did Evie ever tell you about the seed bank?”

  I try my best to mask the shock, but it takes too long to rearrange my face into an indifferent mask. Connor’s usual scowl becomes a wicked smile. He knows I know what he’s referring to. More importantly, why is he calling my mother by a nickname? He’s too old to have been her friend, and I don’t recall her even mentioning him.

  My mother used to tell me stories about a mythical place where our ancestors banked heirloom viable seeds for the future. I’ve always thought she was just making up stories to help me sleep. If such a place existed, the Seeders would have gotten to it by now. I say as much to Connor.

  “All stories originate from something truthful. That’s especially the case with Wanderer stories, don’t you think?”

  “I think you should both shut up,” Gage says. “I’m trying to sleep.”

  For once, I agree with him, but Connor just won’t let up. He’s like a stray dog with a bone.

  “Don’t tell me you’re not the least bit curious about a store of seeds that would render the Citadel’s silos obsolete?”

  “Even if I was, how do you propose we get
out of here?” Just as I thought. He has no solution. I give him the meanest glare I can manage for bringing up memories I’ve spent a lot of time suppressing. He probably can’t see it, but it makes me feel better all the same.

  I retreat to my corner and drape my limbs around myself. I can feel Leura wanting to speak, but I close my eyes and shut out the world. She sniffs a little and I hear what is clearly her nose being wiped on her sleeve. Neither of her friends reacts, so I don’t either. The less we have to do with each other at this point, the better for all of us.

  Out of the little window, I can see the sky lightening. Soon Portia will be waking, probably cursing me as she does, to open the store. Life in the Landing will go on as though we never existed. Just like it has every other time prisoners have disappeared. My chest constricts at the thought of being locked up in this cell for even a day longer, let alone forever. Almost as though the earth aligns to contradict my gloom, a massive boom rocks the prison, and the ceiling begins to fall down around us.

  Seven

  I fall to the floor and crawl to the corner. There’s no aftershock so it can’t be another earthquake. Despite how long ago they were, we are still feeling the effects of the Famine and the wars. Every so often the earth shudders as though a long buried bomb has detonated in a place far away. Outside the prison, people begin to shout. Their voices rise higher and higher until it sounds as though the entire region is in hysterics. Smoke wafts into the cells.

  The girls congregate to the small window. Cora bends her knees and cups her hands together. Leura uses it as a boost to reach the window.

  “See anything?” Gage says.

  Leura coughs. She hangs on to the window with one arm while the other is draped over her mouth and nose to keep out the worst of the smoke.

  “The silo’s on fire!” Leura calls from her perch. “The orchard too. There’s a black cloud over… Argh!” Something ricochets off her face, and I think it might be a fly, when a few more little black dots whiz through the window. Cora lowers Leura and Leura spits out one of the insects onto the floor. She makes retching noises and her tongue swirls around, trying to get rid of remnants of legs and antennae.

  They’re flying everywhere now, hopping from bar to bar and all over the floor. Each one is about the length of the top section of my middle finger. It could be a grasshopper. Please, let it be a grasshopper.

  I catch one as it whizzes past. It’s not a grasshopper. Red veins lace around its wings, almost as if it’s been sucking blood. My head spins with questions that I don’t want to entertain. Why would the Seeders unleash this plague of modified locusts on us?

  Suddenly, the prison door bursts open.

  Everyone stops moving, afraid that somehow we’ll be blamed for the locusts flying all around. It’s not the Seeder guards who come for us, though. Micah shouts as a figure unlocks his cell door. My heart thunders into overdrive.

  “Hey!” I shout. “Leave him alone!”

  A second later, the figure is at our door.

  “Bossy as usual,” I hear Papa say.

  A glimmer of excitement sparks inside me. He has to duck to peer into the cell. His details are lost in the wisps of smoke and locusts for a moment, but then I find myself looking into Papa’s ash-grey eyes. My jaw drops and I try to speak, but nothing comes out. When did he get here? Why is he here?

  Before I can think, Papa reaches out and pulls me through the door. I lose sight of the others, but I can hear them following as Papa bustles us past the empty guard station and out of the prison.

  We emerge onto the streets of the military district just after dawn. Normally, there would be patrols around the perimeter and at least guards stationed in the barracks. Right now there isn’t another soul.

  “Where is everyone?” Leura asks.

  Gage and Cora appear behind her. Smoke clouds billow from the direction of the farms. People shriek, and then there are more explosions.

  “Come on!” Gage says.

  The other Farmers follow him. They run towards the winter wheat fields, the most susceptible crops. They’ve been modified to resist pests and diseases and to grow bigger heads, but I doubt they will stand a chance against these locusts.

  Micah and I look to Papa for instruction. Even in this chaos, he takes measure of the situation with calm consideration, though I notice a sheen of sweat on his brow and he winces when he swallows.

  Papa’s hand curls around my shoulder as a group of Farmers races into the Seeders’ utility building. I feel his tension transferred through the tight grip of his fingers.

  “Take your brother and go wait for me in the mansion,” Papa says.

  I’m confused on so many levels. “Shouldn’t we help save as much of the harvest as possible?”

  He reads the words I don’t want to utter aloud in the tremble in my voice. The mansion will be crawling with Seeders.

  Papa coughs and sneezes. He points to the ominous plume of smoke gathering on the horizon. “Micah has to get as far away from that as he can.”

  “I’ll be okay,” Micah protests. His words are muffled from behind the veil of his shirt again. Not exactly a very convincing argument.

  “No more questions!” Papa says. “Go. Now!”

  He doesn’t wait for us to obey, but strides off in the opposite direction. Part of me wants to run after him and be useful. The other knows he’s probably right and I need to do what’s best for Micah.

  It’s only when the smoke gets the better of my brother and he can’t hold back the coughs that I take his hand and we jog past the military district and up Alpine Road to the mansion. The mansion is on a slight incline and upwind of the fires. Once we’re inside, though, I know the place can be made airtight.

  There are mansions like this in each of the regions, gifted to a high-ranking Seeder whose duty was to serve as Warden and oversee the region. Most of them are only a symbol of the Citadel’s reach into our lives, but occasionally, one of the Wardens actually takes residence there. Gideon was one such Warden, and truth be told, I could understand why he chose to be away from the perpetual politics of the Citadel despite its grandeur. In the regions, you know at all times where you stand. Farmer, Shop Assistant, Merchant, Seeder, and Warden in ascending order. In the Citadel, things change so quickly based on the whim of the Chief Warden and the council that one moment you could be flying high and the next you might be in chains.

  Halfway to the mansion, it’s clear we’re not the only ones who’ve thought of the same thing. Groups of Farmer children and some of the Merchants run past us. When I turn round, there are countless more behind. Their faces are streaked with soot and tears.

  In the not so distant fields, people are everywhere. Men pass buckets of water along a line, women and children still in their pyjamas stomping on breeding locusts. A mass of Farmers form an assembly line outside the granary, picking off locusts from the harvested wheat. Every head of wheat goes into hessian sacks that are tied tightly by little boys and girls and dropped into a makeshift hole in the roof of the storeroom.

  The field is illuminated for a moment, and I can see someone standing at the edge of the wheat field, aiming a flamethrower at the cloud of locusts.

  When we arrive, a crowd waits to gain entrance to the mansion. Strange that its white marble façade hasn’t changed at all, yet I feel so disconnected from this house that I spent a good part of my childhood in.

  The one thing that has changed is there are no Seeders. No snipers on the balustrade, no guards hiding behind bushes. Just an empty marble shell with its human yolk scooped out. I can’t say I’m sad about that.

  “We’ll never get in through the front,” I say. “This way.”

  I lead us through the hedge maze and past the kitchen garden. Can I replace the memories of summer days playing hide-and-seek with Aiden with this poor one of Micah and me attempting to break in? It’s a terrible substitute, but I’ll take it.

  It’s not long until I find what I’m looking for. An old service en
trance that couldn’t be built over for renovations because of structural integrity. The door is locked, but a couple good hard smacks with a heavy rock and the rusted handle gives way. We take the service elevator down into the underground heart of the mansion. To what I hope is still the surveillance room.

  “I don’t know if we should be doing this,” Micah says. He walks stiff as a board, his eyes darting around like starlings searching for predators. There’s no time for reassurance.

  “Get ready to put that genius brain of yours—” My toe catches on something and I tumble forward. I throw my arms in front of my head reflexively to cushion the impact and land on a doughy surface. My chin grazes on what I think is carpet. When I turn my head sideways, though, I’m looking directly up a pair of nostrils.

  I scream and try to push myself up. Micah grabs hold of the back of my shirt, dragging me sideways. We continue to scream even after we’re as far away from the body as possible without losing sight of it.

  If I squint, the Seeder guard would look like he’s sleeping. Only the small bullet wound in his neck gives away signs of foul play.

  “Can we please go back?” Micah says.

  We should go back. I want to go back so badly. But instead, I make myself stand up.

  “Stay here,” I say. Sweat trickles down my back. The first one is going to be the worst, I tell myself. Somehow I know there’s definitely more than one. And there is. Just around the corner from the first dead Seeder guard is another. And another. And another. They’re like fleshy breadcrumbs leading me to the master bedroom.

  The door is slightly ajar. I place one shaky hand on the mahogany wood and push. My eyes close as though they’re trying to save me from trauma, but I force them open.

  My heart feels like it stops beating. This can’t be real. Sagging on every inch of spare surface like a scattered deck of cards are dead guards. Already, there is a ripe stench of voided bowels. I recognise Owen’s body sprawled on the bed. Why would the Seeders kill their own guards? There’s only one explanation for it, and I hardly dare to give it credence. Our region has been found guilty of betraying the Citadel, and these Seeders are paying for allowing it to happen. The Seeders can often be harshest on their own. Unable to stand the sight any longer, I double over and throw up on the shag carpet.