The Wall (The Woodlands) (2 page)

I looked down at the new life in my arms. This rounded blob with simple but unending needs. I sighed.
I knew the baby was part of me and, in some ways, I was more sorry about that than comforted. I knew I was supposed to be his mother. Things would be so much easier if it had just clicked, but it didn’t. I felt disconnected. I said I would try harder but the more I did, the worse I felt.

At night, when no one was
around, I would climb into Joseph’s bed.

His face was scruffier now. A light beard touch
ed his face. He was alive, his hair grew, his nails grew. He had a pink flush to his face. Blood was pumping, but not enough. I whispered into his ear, “Wake up, wake up, wake up,” over and over. But he never did. Sometimes I envisioned punching him, straddling his chest and hitting him over and over until I had startled him out of his sleeping state. That was when I truly wondered if there was something seriously wrong with me, something more than
defective
.

One night, I turned the light on above his bed and crept over,
the glow of his life-support machines illuminating my face and hands in reds and blues. I bit my lip and let out a breath through my nose. I just wanted to see them. I needed to see that green, with flecks of gold in it. I gently peeled back one of his eyelids, but his eyes retreated. I tried the other one, so frustrated, so ashamed of the way I was behaving. I didn’t hear the footsteps coming towards me until a hand was on my back. Matthew.

“
Ahem,” he coughed, but I could sense there was a laugh in the back of his throat. “You won’t be able to wake him up like that.”

I scrambled back off the bed and stood, looking up at him, my hands behind my back like a naughty child.
“I... I know... I just wanted to see him, see his eyes, just for a second.”

He nodded. Of everyone here, he had been the most patient with me. He wasn
’t judgmental; he didn’t force the baby on me like Deshi. He understood I needed time.

My eyes flitted to the door.
I had requested they move the baby into the room opposite mine so I could go in there at night, to feed him or attempt to comfort him. It was difficult. Every now and then, a feeling would start to rise inside me. I jumped on it, trying to trap it like a mouse that had run across the floor. But every time I thought I had it, it wriggled out of my hands and disappeared down a crack in the floorboards.

Matthew
interrupted my thoughts saying, “Actually, Rosa, I’m glad you’re up. I was hoping you might join us tonight. We need to discuss something with you.”

His face was casual but his tone was serious. I nodded my head and followed him
, not bothering with shoes—the cold floor kept me alert. The baby cried out just as we passed his doorway.

“
You can bring him with you,” Matthew said.

“
Ok. Umm, Matthew?” I said, blood rushing to my face. I wanted to say something, but it was difficult. My instant reaction to things was always suspicion, defensiveness. But these people took us in and I was grateful for that. I didn’t understand it but I was grateful.

“
Yes.”

“
Can I say thank you?”

“
Yes,” he said, amusement tickling his tone.

“
I mean, thank you. You could have left us to die. But you rescued us. We would all be dead if it wasn’t for you and the others.”

Matthew stared down at me
with an unnerving, determined expression.

“
It is our responsibility. Our duty.” Shaded memories of Class rules echoed in my head, and then he said, patting my pointy shoulder gently, “Rosa, this is what people should do for each other.”

I supposed he was right, but selflessness was not big in the Woodlands. It was microscopic.

He resumed his casual demeanor and leaned against the doorframe, waiting. I fumbled around in the dark, trying to find the blanket I usually wrapped the baby in. Giving up, I just pulled the crying child out of the cot and put him on my shoulder. He started to calm. Despite my ill treatment of him, he always wanted my presence. Soon, I could hear his breath slipping into a dozy rhythm.

I followed Matthew down the corridor
, still not used to the quiet. There were no trees rustling, no animals disturbing twigs as they padded along the earth. Sound was swallowed here. Like the place was designed to absorb it.

Matthew
told me the Russians built it. A contingency plan in case the Woodlands didn’t succeed. They hid people here during the time when the Superiors were ‘cleansing’ the earth of the remaining occupants. Cleansing. What a word. Like scrubbing dirty laundry, like the earth was refreshed and sparkling clean from all that death. It made my stomach twist in dark nausea.

The dwelling had
provisions, cleverly hidden solar power, and enough space to survive for at least one generation.

But
as the Woodlands became a success, the Russians on the outside, the ones originally settled in Birchton and Radiata, abandoned the people inside. They locked them in and left them to die. Powerful cowards. They couldn’t even kill them; they shut the door and walked away like somehow, they could pretend it was never there. Squeezing my eyes shut, I pictured the people drumming on the doors, trying to get out, their screams bouncing back on themselves like a loop of never-ending pain.

I shook my head in disbelief.
“I don’t understand—why didn’t they try to get out when they realized they were locked in?”

Matthew frowned
. “They didn’t know. Not at first. The orders, as far as they knew, were to stay underground for one generation. They fulfilled their mission but by then, it was too late. They were locked in, they had run out of supplies, and foolishly they sat and waited for the Russians to come back. Even when some decided they’d waited long enough, they were locked up and punished. By the time they had accepted that they had been abandoned, most were too weak from starvation and dehydration, so that only a handful of people were strong enough to tunnel out. Even then, there were several failed attempts and collapses before they succeeded.”

“
Jeez, they shouldn’t have waited so long,” I said, tucking a strand of wild hair behind my ear.

“
You, of all people, should understand the power of orders and rules. People follow; they don’t think they have a choice. Sometimes the threat of certain death is the only thing stronger than the fear of your superior,” he said tiredly.

He was right. I did understand. I looked at the floor.
“Sorry. I do. Understand, I mean.”

He shrugged
. “It’s all right, Rosa. Luckily for us, after two-hundred and fifty years of Superior rule, records of this place appear to have been lost. And lucky for me, some of them did get out, or I wouldn’t be here,” he said, smiling sadly.

I cast my eyes around
the hollowed-out hill. Now it was like a tomb. A reminder of where we started and how far we had come, which was not very far.

Matthew turned to me
as we walked. “Have you been outside lately?”

I shook my head. I barely left Joseph
’s bedside. He knew that.

“
The snow is starting to get heavier now.”

“
Hmm,” I murmured absently.

I pictured our little cabin
with a thick blanket of snow on its roof and smoke coming out of the chimney. My heart squeezed and then a little sliver slid off. We were such idiots, coming from where we had, to think we could make a life out here. Our knowledge was so limited. I should have known better. I clenched my fist, feeling like I could punch something. But there was a baby on my shoulder so I settled for digging my nails into my palms.

I wondered where this was leading. I knew that this was not the
Survivors’ home. When I had asked about it, Matthew had been a bit closed off. He dodged my questions, smiled, and said, ‘Oh, you’ll see soon enough’. We had been here for six weeks. Maybe it was time to move? I half-hoped so. I hated being underground. It felt like we had gone backwards. It hurt me in an unexplainable way that my child had been born down here, unlike Hessa, whose first experiences had been stars, firelight, and swaying trees. My baby was born under fluorescent lights. It angered me that part of what was planned for him by the Superiors had come true, in a way. I resolved to take him outside and show him the trees.

After several unnaturally shallow footsteps, we
arrived at our destination. A strong shaft of light streamed out of the doorway, along with smells of food, coffee, and the whisper of hushed conversations.

We walked in and everyone looked up at me from th
eir cups and meals. I knew what they were thinking.
There’s that poor girl who lost her love and rejected her baby like a broken animal. How damaged she must be.
I tried to stop myself from glaring. I then registered the shame on their faces as I glared at each and every one of them anyway. Apella was there, as well as Alexei, Deshi, and five other people I didn’t recognize. Careen was absent. They offered me coffee, which I declined. It kept me and the baby up. Apella also declined. She looked green, covering her mouth while waving away imaginary smells from her nose. She was suffering from nausea with her pregnancy. I took a sick kind of satisfaction in it. It shouldn’t be easy for her.

Matthew sat down and I sat next to him
, feeling eyes on me the whole time. A man spoke first. He was older, maybe fifty, with grey hair and a full beard. He was thin and wiry, like everyone here. He seemed to be the leader. I scanned the others at the table. They all looked like survivors, quite literally, like they had come out of the forest swinging axes, with dead rabbits hanging over their shoulders. It clashed so humorously with the way they were sitting, hands clasped with serious expressions in a carved-out, metal-clad room, small, shiny readers in their hands, the screens illuminating their faces. Like technological cavemen. It was a world away from Pau, the Classes, everything.

“
We need to talk about the move,” he said, his voice deep and scratchy, full of authority. “We’ve already stayed longer than we should have. The diversions we have set up are running out. They will turn around soon. The boy has not woken. One has already left with the first group.” So that’s where Careen was—nice of her to say goodbye. “I think we have to make a decision sooner rather than later, before we get trapped here, under meters of snow.”

I
leaned into the table, squishing my poor child against the metal rim. He squeaked, and I eased off. Anger was bubbling up. The boy? He had a name. Matthew put his hand on my shoulder and pulled me back, gently. Across the table, Deshi had the same offended look in his eyes.

“
I hear you, Gus. But we can’t move him like this. The life support is not portable. Can you give me a few more days? There is one thing I haven’t tried,” Matthew said evenly.

Everyone shifted in their chairs.
The metal legs screeching on the stone floor made my teeth ache. They were waiting for the bearded man to speak. One woman looked bored, rolling her eyes and looking longingly at the door.
Get out
, I thought.
If this doesn’t interest you—why are you here?
Gus stared at his nails; they were caked with forest floor. I inhaled deeply, trying to calm myself. I could almost smell the layered leaves, the decomposing matter that held such richness and life. Gus picked at his nails and flicked a bit of scum onto the stone. Mulling.

“
Matt, we need to be practical. You can’t bring these wounded birds into our house and expect us to change our plans so you can save them. Some of them can’t be saved.” Several of the survivors shot him an appalled look I didn’t quite understand.

My fingernails
from one hand were digging into the underside of the table. What could I do? I had no influence over these people. I knew what I wanted to do. Launch at him. Scream Joseph’s name. He was a human being. He was a good person. He deserved a chance.

Someone else spoke up.
A young man. Not much older than myself. He had dark brown, curly hair, curly like Joseph’s, but longer. He had it tucked behind his ears, which stuck out like sawed-in-half saucers. They were dressed so differently from anything I had seen before. No uniforms. Everyone seemed to have their own style. There were different colors, materials, and cuts. My mother would have been fascinated. As soon as I thought it, I pushed the idea out my head. Mother was gone.