Outcast: A Corporation Novel (The Corporation) (9 page)

As I'm following the seams, the pads of my fingers catch on an uneven portion. There's a dip in the line just big enough for me to hook my fingernails into. I lift. Without so much as a whisper, the cut out square pulls up and back on some impressively quiet hinges. Weak, flickering light pools in the space beneath me. I can't see much, other than the rungs of a ladder that descend into the void.

“What have I got to lose?” I whisper, and turn around to climb down the ladder.

No sooner do my feet hit the earthen floor, than I hear a quick and somewhat irritated, “What are you doing down here?” I turn to see Eta holding a knife out in front of her in one hand while the other stays behind her back, like she's reaching for something.

Maybe her eyesight isn't so good down here. Maybe she thinks I'm someone else. 

“What are
you
doing down here?” I say, impressed at what she’s been hiding from me.

“It's my house, boy, I do what I want. Your generation is insolent and nosey; never minding your own business nor respecting authority.”

Well, that clears up the possibility of her not recognizing me. She most certainly is aware of who is down here with her and her knife is still held at the ready.

I try not to smile. She reminds me of an old, mangy cat I had when I was younger. I was constantly teasing it, and as a result, the creature was constantly on the defensive, circling me until she could find a quick way out of the room. Eta has that look in her eye right now. Only, she's not thinking of escape, she's preparing for a fight.

“I just got home from a bad meeting and a fairly respectable fight with Karis. I decided to make some tea. When I came into the kitchen, I noticed one of the floorboards was creaking. I decided to fix it for you and noticed a light coming from under the floor. Satisfactory answer?”

She curses under her breath, shooting me an annoyed look.

“What is this place?” I ask. “And you can put the knife away; I'm friend, not foe.”

She lifts up the hem of her long skirt and slips the knife into a leather holster tied against her calf. I raise my brow, impressed, again. I'm about to say something, but the look she shoots me sews my lips shut.

“This is my basement,” she clips out.

“I picked up on that,” I say, walking up to one of the earthen walls. There are dips and waves all along its surface. This was definitely handmade. I estimate it’s a little over six feet, since my head doesn’t touch the ceiling. “You obviously put this in; it wasn’t a part of the house, originally.”

“Don't let anyone ever say you aren't a smart boy, Ethan Hughes.”

Ouch
. “And I thought you chose this location because you—how did you put it?
Were closest to the people who needed you most
, and so you could have a garden plot.” I stop and smile. “Ah, your garden. I suppose that's where you put all this dirt and why it's so rich? You crafty little crow.”

“There are several reasons why I chose to live here; don't go assuming you know them.”

“Why are you hiding this place? I mean, I can understand from others, but from me?”

“I don't know you from Adam, young man. It takes more than writing a few newsletters and moving from the Inner City to gain my trust on this level.”

Those words hurt more than the ones between Karis and me. Out of all the people here, I thought that maybe,
maybe
, Eta believed in and trusted me. I thought she had hope and promise in what I was doing.

“If you tell anyone about this, Ethan Hughes, I will personally take you to your father's stoop. People's lives and well-being depend on the secrecy of this place and the confidentiality of what is done down here.”

“You can trust me, Eta. I won't tell a soul.”

“Not even Karis,” she says, almost not waiting for me to finish.

I scoff. Not a hard promise for me to make, since I assume we won’t really be speaking to each other anytime soon. Not civilly, anyway. “Not even Karis,” I say.

“I'll know if you break your promise.” Her eyes are hard and knowing, and I wonder for a split second, if there's more than one witch in Neech. “And no, I had no intention of telling you or anyone about this place.”

“I won't tell her. I don't even think we're talking right now, anyway.”

She lifts an eyebrow at that but doesn't ask me to clarify. “This is my lab. It's not as fancy or sophisticated as the ones in Dahn, but it serves its purpose.”

“What are you working on?” I step around her to the bench table. A glass canister sits on a small burner. A yellowish liquid simmers, turning from a light brown to a sickly orange before going back to yellow. “What's this from? One of Karis' filters?”

“The sickness that is taking so many of our people.”

I take a step back. “Maute? Isn't that a little...
irresponsible
?”

“That's the antidote you brought back. I've been trying to replicate it. But on a natural level, if possible. Karis' canisters are over there.” She nods to the corner of her counter. “I'm trying to deconstruct it, too. In its true form, as much as we know it to be, anyway. We have found that the body manipulates it once it's been ingested.”

There’s that mysterious
we
again. I step closer, looking at the dropper of clear liquid, swirling with silver nanos. “Have you been successful?”

She takes her experiment and squeezes a few small drops into the simmering sickness. Nothing happens at first. Then, slowly, the yellow turns to green and then to blue.

“It looks like it's working,” I say.

“Keep watching,” she says.

I look back at the container just in time to see the yellow-brown come back full force.

“But you're close.”

“Close? We may as well go back to being ignorant of its existence.”

I turn away and take in the rest of the small space. The workbench lines the length of the room, about twelve feet. There's a ladder leading up to the trapdoor and in the far corner is a metal table made from what look like mismatched items. It's slightly slanted, with a small hole at the lower end. Directly beneath the hole is a bucket. There's dried brown blood in some of the corners and along the edge of the side closest to me.

“I'm almost afraid to ask what this is for.”

“Sometimes, in the name of science, and to save lives, blood must be spilled.”

Not for the first time since being in Neech, I wonder exactly who Eta is. She's definitely not who others think. I accept her answer with a nod. “I agree.”

“Did you get your tea?”

“Huh?” I turn back around to face her.

“You said you came here because you needed some tea. Did you get it?”

“No, not yet.”

“Good, then you can leave and do so. And never talk about this room again. To me or anyone else.” She herds me towards the ladder and all but shoves me up the rungs.

“Eta, I can help you down here,” I say as I climb up. I crawl out of the hole and look back in from my hands and knees. “I might—”

“Put the rug back over,” she says, and slams the door shut. I hear her slide a lock into place.

I can't help but chuckle as I lay the rug down, covering the sliver of light. I shake my head with a smile, wishing I'd known Eta in her younger years. I have a feeling she would have given the Corporation and my father a run for their money. Who am I kidding? She still is.

Day two

Ethan

My back is pressed up against the cold, rusty metal of the trash bin. I can feel the artificial chill of its skin through my thin shirt. My head is getting light, my heart is punching the inside of my chest, my breath is coming in quick gasps.

They're coming for me. I can't hide. I can never hide. Wherever I go, they find me. I yank my bent knees into my ribcage, the rounded bones pressing into my thighs, and I bury my face into my kneecaps.

Through the pounding in my ears, I can hear the crunch of gravel under boots as someone approaches my hiding spot. I can feel the heat from their body as they stand in front of me, but they don't say anything. They don't move.

I lift my head up an inch, looking up through the hair that's fallen in front of my eyes. It's a smaller frame than I was expecting. Shorter and thinner. I look up a little more. A girl stands before me. It's a younger Karis. Her arms are stiff by her side, her mouth set in a tight line.

“You're a fool,” she says to me. “Hiding here like the little boy you are.” She drops down to my level, so fast I barely register the movement. “They're coming, and they're going to find you.”

“Who?” I ask, in a voice shrill with panic. “Who am I hiding from?”

Like a breeze blowing through smoke, Karis is gone. In her place are two men. They're large, and they lurch in their movements. Their arms and faces are smeared with dirt and what looks like streaks of blood. Their eyes are two pits of onyx and they have no mouths.

I push myself further into the dumpster, but there is no safety there. I'm trapped.

I bolt upright, drenched in cold sweat, panting to catch my breath, trying to make sense of what the hell I just went through. Eta is by my side with a cup of hot tea.

“Drink this,” she says, as she pushes the worn, chipped mug into my tremoring hands. She has to hold it there for a second before my fingers have enough sense to curl around the warmth.

I take a sip in an automated fashion. I've gotten used to the bitter bite of the concoction. Surprisingly, it has a sweet after taste. Almost immediately, my head starts to get groggy—a side effect of the tea, Eta says. One thing I look forward to, though, is the promise of the remaining night hours that will pass without any thoughts or colors—just a black void filled with blessed cotton.

“Can’t you give me the tea before, to prevent the dreams?” I take a deep drink of the hot liquid. I'm curious about them, though. Why are they starting now?

“It’s doesn’t work that way.”

“There was more, this time,” I say. I hand the cup back. She inspects it to make sure I've had enough. Satisfied, she looks at me with a spark of interest in her old eyes.

“More?”

I nod, my eyes already getting heavy. “I saw faces.” I watch her reaction, her features are stone. Not even one of her deep wrinkles shifts.

“Any you recognize?”

“It was a dream, Eta.”

“All dreams are significant, no matter how small or big. Dreams are the mind's way of working out problems, resetting what we've done for the day, drudging up long forgotten memories. It’s how the brain protects itself.”

I've learned it’s useless to argue with her. “No, no familiar faces.” I lay back down on my pillow; my head feeling like the weight of the world is crushing it. I play the dream over again in my mind, but it's already starting to slip away. “The same dark alley. But now the hands that grab me are connected to men’s faces, rough and angry. Their eyes are dark and they have no mouths.” I take a breath. I can feel myself being carried away from my bedroom on a soothing tide of sleep.

“No mouths,” I hear Eta say, far, far away.

I don't know how long the tea takes me out for, but when I wake again, it's near impossible for my brain to think in a straight line. My mind and eyes are so heavy with manufactured exhaustion and all I want to do is forget about the world around me and slip back into the murky darkness I came from, but a low rumbling seeps through the cracks around my bedroom door. Two different pitches, like two different people talking. I try to make out the words, but my brain refuses to filter the murmurs into anything coherent.

I get up, to go and see who’s over at this hour, but my limbs don’t want to obey. With great effort, I drag my legs, each weighing a hundred pounds at least, over the edge of the bed. I roll my torso next and catch myself before I fall to the floor. The sudden movement and jar to my body wake me up a little more. I shuffle over to my shoes, slip my feet in, and stifle a yawn. My eyes are barely open, but with each determined movement, my mind wakes more.

I open the door and the voices become clearer. A young girl is speaking urgently to Eta, and Eta is trying to remain patient to get information from the hysterical visitor.

“Slow down,” Eta says, with enough snap to let it be known she means business. “When did it start happening?”

“After supper,” the girl says breathlessly. She's just inside the door, bundled up, cheeks red. Her eyes are wide as they flit in my direction. “I think they hurt her real bad.”

“I have no doubt of that,” Eta says, more to herself. But the girl hears and lets out a squeak of a gasp. Eta reaches out to pat the girl’s hair. “It's okay, Jules. Every woman goes through this. Your mom went through it with you, and now she's going through it again with your baby brother or sister. She'll be fine.”

“You promise?”

“I promise. Now run along home and tell your daddy I'm right behind you. Tell him to have clean sheets ready, hot water, warm towels. Go.”

Jules nods and bolts out the door. Eta turns around, and clutches at her chest when she sees me. She frowns a little before she smoothes her shirt back out. “You're up. Good. You can help me, then.” She moves around in a flurry, grabbing her coat and scarf and duster. My sluggish head has a hard time following her movements around the room. I have to squeeze my eyes shut for a moment to dispel the pinch behind them.

“Don't just stand there, grab my bag and get your clothes on. This baby's coming whether we're there or not. And I'd prefer to be there and help it along. Mrs. Aarnok’s delivery with Jules was a difficult one, and I have a feeling this one will be the same. It’s been a hard pregnancy for her.”

“But you told Jules—”

“To a seven-year-old, I said her mom would be just fine. To a grown man, I'm saying to light a fire because we have a baby to deliver. Now move!”

I race upstairs and get my clothes on. Then I hurry to the cabinet in the kitchen and grab her bags. One for birthing and one for a little bit of everything. You never know what you'll need. She nods when she sees both of my hands full. I set them down and quickly put on my duster and wrap my scarf around my neck and mouth. By the time I pick up the bags again, Eta is already out the door and down the street. I hurry through the door and shut it behind me.

When the cool night air hits me, I'm fully awake, no residue of the tea remains. The moon is low in the sky, the night is almost over. Dawn will be approaching soon, probably in the next few hours.

When I catch up to Eta, she starts barking out instructions. “You've never been to a birthing, have you?” I don't get to answer. “They can be messy and scary for the men. Do what I tell you, exactly when I tell you to. Don't ask questions, don't hesitate. Most importantly,
don't look.
I can't be caring for two patients tonight. Understand?”

“I understand.”

We travel the rest of the way to the Aarnok's house in silence. I know immediately which one is theirs because of the soft glow of candle light in their front window. We walk through the door without knocking and up the stairs into a scene I’m completely unprepared for, and the urge to flee is a hard one to fight.

A pregnant woman is standing, leaning on a large man. Her head is buried into his neck while she grasps his hand, turning her knuckles white and his hand a bright shade of red. They’re swaying back and forth slowly and she’s letting out some very guttural, low moans that, quite frankly, scare the wits out of me.

I scan the room and find little Jules sitting in a dark corner, her knees hugged to her chest. She looks terrified and I conclude, in that instant, that this is no place for a little girl. Or a grown man.

“Thank goodness you're here,” Mr. Aarnok says.

“How far apart are the contractions?” Eta motions for me to put her bags on a nearby table as she shrugs off her coat and scarf.

“A couple of minutes, I think.”

Mrs. Aarnok lets out a scream of what I can safely assume is excruciating pain. I freeze and look to Jules. Her face is buried in her legs.

“Ethan,” Eta barks, “Come help Mr. Aarnok lower her onto the bed. Sofi, we're going to lay you on your back now. Try not to fight us.”

I put my arm under Sofi’s right one and the husband does the same on her left. We grab under her knees, and at the same time, lift her up. She moans in pain again and we move her as quickly as possible onto the bed, her back and head propped up with pillows and rolled up blankets. As soon as she’s situated, I drop back to stay out of the way. Jules and I exchange the same look. We'd rather be anywhere but here, right now.

Eta drapes a sheet over Sofi's bent knees. She washes her hands in the boiled water and soap and looks underneath the covering for a moment and comes up, quietly cursing. “You should have called me sooner, Dirk.”

He’s holding Sofi's hand, stroking her sweat soaked hair. Sofi's face is pinched in concentration. “I wanted to, but Sofi said to wait. She said it wasn't anything she couldn't handle herself.”

“Fools.” Eta rummages through her bag to grab supplies. She washes her hands again and proceeds with her scolding. “I'm glad you had the sense to send Jules when you did, otherwise, it would have been a useless trip for me.” The look of horror on Dirk's face is enough to soften Eta. A little. I’ve learned she doesn’t exactly have a delicate bedside manner. “She'll be fine, but if you'd waited any longer, there could have been a far different outcome.”

“Tell me what's going on,” Sofi grinds out. She was breathing funny, in a forced puff sort of way.

“The baby is coming.”

“I can tell that much on my own.” Sofi lets out another long groan. “But this doesn’t feel like last time. It doesn’t feel right.”

“That’s because it isn’t. The little one is breeched.” There’s a strangled sound from both parents. Eta glances over her shoulder at me. “Feet first,” she explains. “I'm going to need your help, Ethan.”

I stand up, not wanting to do what it is I’m too afraid to ask her about.

“I'm going to need you to try and turn the babe. Up at Sofi’s stomach, I need you to start trying to push the baby around. Gently. If we can’t turn Baby, I’m going to have to cut Sofi open to get Babe out safely.”

“How do I—”

“Sofi, I need you to relax; breathe deep, and don't fight what Ethan's doing.” Sofi nods. “Ethan I need you to put your hands on her stomach, one on each side. Press down gently and pretend that you're turning a lid of a barrel, counter—clockwise.”

I nod my understanding and lay my hands on the rough fabric of her dress. “Under her clothes, Ethan. It's best to be touching the skin.”

My eyes dart to Sofi's and she gives me a tight nod through her contractions. I swallow and gently lift her dress up and over her belly, her knees still covered by the sheet. I give an apologetic glance in Dirk’s direction.

I've exposed a bloated, giant, round stomach. The skin is stretched taut and her belly button protrudes like a small knob. I rub my hands together quickly to try and warm them and then do what Eta told me to. I feel Sofi’s stomach tighten. “You need to relax,” I say gently. “I can't do this if you're fighting me.”

Dirk leans over and starts to sing softly in her ear. I see Jules come up behind her dad and reach out to gently stroke her mother's arm. She joins the song with a hum in her high voice. It does the trick. I feel Sofi start to relax.

“Try it again,” Eta says to me. I do as she instructs and after about half a dozen turns, she motions for me to stop. She disappears under the sheet again. “Good, this is good. You're baby has turned, Sofi, and has descended all the way. Are you ready to push?”

Sofi nods. “Dirk, hold on to one of her legs; Ethan, hold onto the other.” My shock doesn't have time to voice any objection, because Sofi is grabbing onto my arm and squeezing, her foot in the center of my hand, as Eta says, “One, two, push!” I brace myself and try to be as much of a solid source as I can to push against. Before I know it, I'm caught up in the moment. My fear and ignorance are replaced by a sense of excitement and a feeling of this all being second nature to me.

“You're doing great,” I say, although I have no idea if she is or not. It just seems like the right thing to say. Eta glances up at me with an approving smirk before she goes back under the sheet. “Again, Sofi.”

There are a total of three pushes for the baby to come out, but I can tell instantly that something’s wrong. The air of relief doesn’t fill the room. The fear and danger from before is still here. But more importantly, there’s only silence coming from the baby. “Ethan, my bag. Get me the suction.”