Cull Reborn
Zia Black
Copyright
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2012 - Zahra Brown (pseudonym: 'Zia Black')
All rights reserved.
License Notes
This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold, or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and you did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it to smashwords.com and purchase your own copy.
Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Zia Black, www.ziablack.com, 2012.
Cover Bomb Image: Copyright iStockphoto.com/korhankaracan (business name: Korhan Karacan)
Cover Background Image: Copyright iStockphoto.com/veenamari
CONTENTS
My final moment.
Every thought, every touch, every taste, every sound, every thing. It’s like my mind unleashed a tsunami of memories, drowning out my fear.
I didn’t care anymore. I was already dead.
"Don't worry, honey," Mummy said. "It'll be over soon."
I was so excited.
It was the night before my thirteenth birthday, and all my friends were coming round. We were going to have a sleepover with lots of sweets, fizzy drinks, and rom-coms. My parents gave my birthday present early, a touchphone with fifty pounds of credit. My best friend Maggie said it wasn't enough money to call all the boys at school, so I popped down to the corner store to top up the phone.
"I'm coming with you," Mummy said. "Just let me get my coat.
"Aw, I can go by myself!"
"No! Didn't you hear about the riots?"
"But they're on the other side of town," I said. "Nothing ever happens round here!"
Mummy's mobile rang. She took the phone from her coat pocket and cursed when she saw the caller.
"Is it-"
"Never mind!" She cut off the call and dumped the phone in her pocket. "It's nobody."
Daddy was in the living room, watching football on TV, so I kissed him goodbye. He barely looked my way because the players were about to score. I met Mummy on the doorstep and we heard Daddy shouting and the crowd cheered.
"It's just a game," Mummy and I mumbled.
I skipped down the garden path and waited for Mummy at the front gate. She rummaged through her handbag and cursed again. I climbed onto the stone garden fence and watched her rush back into the house.
"How can we buy credit with no friggin' money?" I mumbled. "I bet the shop'll close!"
A strong gust of wind knocked me off the fence.
My jacket and jeans were covered in mud. I tried to wipe it off but it soaked into the fabric. Then I fell down again, but this time the fence toppled onto me. The rocks buried me, crushing my chest. I pushed them off my head and gasped for air.
I couldn't see the starry sky anymore. Its dark blue hue was running from a clash of yellow, orange, and red. Huge black objects were raining down on us, exploding on impact. The tree in the garden was alight, birds flocking from the branches. The bird house was ablaze, the chicks screeching as they fell to the ground, their tiny wings on fire.
"Mummy!" I screamed. "Daddy!"
I wriggled until the rocks fell off me, and rubbed down my bloody scratches. I scrambled across the rubble, stumbling over the loose stones, and froze when I saw the house.
It was just like in the movies.
The black object sliced through the skyline and pierced the roof. I heard my parents screaming and a bang so loud my hearing went. The windows shattered and glass flew out into the garden. The bricks were blown out and landed on Mummy's lovely flowers, crushing the pretty yellow roses. The roof caved in and the slates slammed into the ground.
Someone grabbed me and carried me away. They put me in the car with my neighbours and we drove away from home. I watched the fire burning everything. I tried to open the door but a woman wrapped her arms around me and held me tightly.
"It's all right," she whispered. "It'll be all right."
"I've got to dig them out," I said. "They're waiting for me!"
"Should we go back?" the woman asked the driver.
"They didn't survive," he said. "Trust me."
I had seen my parents for the last time. I could see the fear. The pain. The shock. I won't go there again.
It hurts too much.
When I woke up, we were parked outside the local superstore. The woman carried me inside and placed me on the conveyor belt while the family brought over canned food and bottles of water.
The store was packed with people. Police officers with cracked helmets and broken batons were directing people into the building. Groups were gathering food and drinks before settling down in the furniture section. I waited patiently on the conveyor belt and took some snacks from the counter.
"Kelly!"
It was Maggie! She ran down the aisle and hugged me. I looked over her shoulder and saw her parents and little sister Matilda in her mother's arms. Her father patted me on the head and asked where my parents were.
"They're at home."
"Oh, I see..."
Maggie's mother turned away and sobbed quietly, her husband rubbing her back. Matilda started to whine, so Maggie's parents went to get her a juice bottle.
"What on earth are they doing at home?" Maggie asked. "Why didn't they come with you?"
"They couldn't."
Maggie shrugged and climbed onto the conveyor belt. She rested her head on my shoulder and bit into my chocolate bar, spilling crumbs onto my jeans.
"Careful or Mum'll be mad!" I snapped, wiping my jeans.
"It's no big deal!"
"It's easy for you to say! Your parents are still alive!"
Maggie gasped and hugged me again, squeezing me tightly. She wiped my tears with her sleeve and then popped a piece of chocolate into my mouth.
"Sorry, I didn't realise...You sure?"
"I think so."
My neighbour came back just as Maggie's family returned. The adults went off to talk, leaving Maggie to hold Matilda. Matilda snuggled against her doll and fell asleep.
"Where's Snowy?" I asked.
"We left him outside in the dog house. When we got back home, the house was smashed. His was too."
Maggie gently pushed Matilda onto the belt and crossed her legs.
"You saved us," she said. "We would've been home if it wasn't your birthday. We came here to buy your present...You want it?"
"No."
Right then I only wanted two things. You can't buy those.
"Oh, please! It cost a bomb...Oh, sorry!"
"What is it?"
Maggie pointed at the box under the food and water bottles. I jumped down and took out the present, wrapped in brown paper and tied with black string. I snapped the string and the paper fell apart, exposing the rainbow coloured paper underneath. Maggie clapped her hands and laughed.
"Hurry up!" she squealed. "You'll love it!"
The package got smaller and smaller as I tore off more wrapping. Finally I reached the cardboard box inside, the picture of a make-up set on the packaging. Holding the make-up was a little white girl with big green eyes and pink lipstick, blush in one hand and mascara in the other.
"Surprise!" she cried. "It's my first photo shoot!"
Maggie struck a pose, pouting to the invisible camera. Then she lifted her ginger curls and let them cascade down her shoulders.
I waited for her to finish.
"I got a hundred pounds, and they might hire me again real soon..." Her face fell and she crossed her arms. "Well, they will if they are still alive. The plus side is they're an American company, so we could just move over there."
"Good for you."
I lay down on the next conveyor belt and closed my eyes. I would've gone to sleep, but I could feel someone watching. I opened my eyes and jumped fright when I saw Maggie leaning over me. She prodded my arm and asked, "Aren't you gonna open it?"
"Here? Now?"
"We've got nowhere else to go," she said. "You might as well do it now."
"But-"
"Go on! It cost a lot of money, you know?"
"Then take it back from the cash register. No one's gonna care now!"
"That's not the right thing to do," she said. "Just look at what the rioters caused."
"The rioters dropped bombs on town?"
"The whole city, actually. People came here from across Southampton. Maybe all of Hampshire's gone. Anyway, open my gift or give it back, please."
I tore open the box and took out the make-up set. There was a hand-sized mirror, blush, five lipsticks of different shades of pink, a blonde hair extension, and batteries for the base, which lit up.
"I've wanted one of these for ages," she said. "You're so lucky."
"Take it." I pushed everything back into the box and handed it to her. "Happy belated birthday!"
"Oooh!"
Maggie popped the lid off the red lipstick and applied it to her lips. She blew me a kiss and then gazed at her reflection in the mirror.
"It's broken!" she cried. "Look!"
I took the mirror and peeled off the protective plastic. Before I passed it back, I spotted a black woman in white watching from the entrance. Her hair was tied back with a bright head band, her afro hair poking out the top. Slowly, I peered over my shoulder and there she was, staring at us.
"Who's that?" I asked.
"Jessie! The hottest boy in school. Don't you listen when I tell you things?"
"No, the black woman!"
"I think you're the only black around here."
"I'm biracial, actually."
"Yeah, sure."
Maggie snatched the mirror and finger-combed her hair.
The black woman walked over and stood over me. I glanced at Maggie, who kept combing her hair. The woman placed her hand on my chest and smiled. I reached out to her face, but my fingers slipped through her skin. She screamed and her skin peeled away, landing on me. I screamed and jumped off the conveyor belt.
"What happened?" Maggie cried. "You scared me!"
Her parents rushed over with the neighbour, and her mother hugged me when I started to cry. I buried my head in her chest and pulled her closer, not daring to look out. She gently pried me off, so I peered over my shoulder.
The black woman had gone.
"It's all right, sweetie," Maggie's mother said. "You'll be staying with us."
The plan was simple: we would move up north to Oxford. Maggie's grandparents were over there with a big country house, so there would be enough room for all of us. Maggie's aunts and uncles had already called from Australia and promised to wire money over, but the banks were gone and their foreign divisions weren't answering the phone.
"So we're poor?" Maggie asked, rubbing her puffy eyes. "No more ballet lessons?"
Her father pulled her onto his lap and rocked her as if she was a baby.
"Oxford has better schools, sweetheart," he said. "Many wealthy people live over there."
"We should've moved there sooner," his wife added. "Now the children will be in the school catchment area."
Maggie jumped off her father and danced around the aisle. She did a pirouette and then crashed into a toy shelf. We laughed but then she started to cry.
"I don't like this place anymore," she whined. "When are we leaving?"
An hour later. We packed the car boot with food, water, and clothes, and then tied them to the roof when the boot was full. Maggie insisted on sitting in the front with her father, so I squashed into the back with her mother and Matilda in her car seat.
"I can't wait to see Oxford again!" Maggie danced in her seat. "Kelly has never been there before."
"I've seen the uni on TV," I said.
"It's not the same."
When we set off, our hopes were high. Of course I missed my parents, but I didn't want to think about their deaths anymore. I needed a distraction, and Maggie's grandparents would be it.
I've never been so excited.
Maggie's dad broke the speed limit because the speed cameras were blown out, so we only slowed down before corners and junctions. Then the real fun began. Some roads had been completely destroyed, so we had to drive across fields and dirt tracks. The car wasn't made for rocky terrain, so we bounced around so much we almost hit the roof. Maggie started to cry, but the rest of us really enjoyed the ride, Matilda singing nursery rhymes until we hit the road again.
"I hope that's the last of it," Maggie's father said. "If the car breaks down, we won't be towed home!"
"We'll be just fine." His wife patted him on the shoulder. "Just get there as fast as you can."
I think it was twelve in the morning when the Welcome to Oxford sign appeared. I'd never been in a mansion before, so I could barely contain my excitement. Would they have an ensuite bathroom? Would they have horses? Would there be a swimming pool? I couldn't wait to curl up under the canopy of the four poster bed and sleep like a princess.
"Oh God!" Maggie's mother cried, pointing outside. "Oxford's been hit!"
We pulled up by the roadside and saw the levelled city. Everywhere was rubble and smoke.
"Your parents will be just fine," Maggie's father said, stroking his wife's hand. "Just stay calm."
We continued across Oxford, jagged rocks scratching against the doors as we drove on. There was the empty shell of a petrol station, the remains of two burnout cars and fuel pumps still ablaze. We passed a charred hospital with empty windows and glass on the street. The journey was bumpier when we drove down a busy street. Maggie didn't complain, though.
She knew what we were driving over.
In the distance were five young men, bawling as they approached a torn down building. One of the men threw himself down and burrowed through the dirt. He waved the others over and they pulled out something dark.
"Come on!" the first digger said. "Pull!"
They pulled and all fell backwards. The first digger dropped the black thing and wept as it fell into the fiery rubble, quickly setting alight. The others held him back as he reached out to the fire, crying, "Rachel!" over and over.
Maggie's mother burst into tears again.
"We're almost there," her husband said.
The high street was littered with burnt corpses, some still on fire. They lay as they had died, clutching their burning skin, mouths open as they gasped for air. There were broken bottles beside them, some still holding that last drink.
"Five minutes to go," Maggie's father said. "Hold tight."
It felt like five hours.
Some buildings were still standing, but when we drove round the back it wasn't there. Some crumbled into the foundation while others burned to the ground. Few buildings had signs of life. The illuminated windows were either 'lucky' people surviving the night or fire turning everything to ash.
We turned down a quiet street where most of the houses were intact. The streetlights were off, so Maggie's father turned on the floodlights, our eyes peeled for any movement.
Suddenly an old woman stepped into the road. Maggie's father slammed on the brakes and everyone was thrown forward and then back. Matilda howled but her mother wasn't there. She had sprung from the car and wrapped her arms around the old woman.
"Where's Dad?" she asked. "Is he all right?"
"He paid the neighbours a visit," the old woman said. "Their generator was faulty, so he took over the toolbox...That was an hour ago, so I decided to check on them."
Maggie's mother and grandmother hugged while we drove on to the house, leaving them to walk back together.
And that's where we lived until we had rebuilt our lives.
When Maggie and I graduated, we moved into a snazzy London apartment. She went on to become Britain's biggest supermodel. I became her personal assistant, always there to get her the best of the best.
We travelled the world until our early thirties. Finally ready to settle down, we got married and started our own families. My husband was Connor, the most wonderful man you would ever meet. We had two boys: Junior, named after his father, and Damien, the baby of the family. We spent most of our days trekking across Europe, salvaging the remains of what used to be. We never grew old, the boys never moved out, and no one died.
We just lived happily forever.
That's how it should have been. Instead, fate changed my life. It tore it apart, smashed it, pummelled it, burned it, and then annihilated it.
There was nothing left.
The Americans, Russians, and Chinese stormed across Europe, staking claim to the land. Poor Switzerland was caught up in the mess. Eventually the others left her alone when they remembered where the money was.
The rest of us didn't have billions in the bank. When the foreign soldiers set foot in England, they set down their flags and claimed the land. The country was recovering from the bombs, but the foreigners didn't care. There were land, oil, and natural gases for the taking.
No one knew where to turn, who to trust.
Who killed us?
Some said it was Russia. After repeatedly refusing membership, suddenly their president had been too eager to join the EU. He took drastic measures like cutting their army, signing over powers to Brussels, and other secrets we weren't told about. Once Cull's orders took over the news, Russia's sudden u-turn was swept from the headlines.
How convenient.
Others claimed the Chinese were behind the attack. Their country was packed with people because the one child policy hadn't worked, so they needed more land. With the bad reputation China had, the gossip was easy to believe.
Too easy.
If it wasn't Russia or China, it had to be the USA. It wouldn't have been the first time America invaded somewhere, so why not conquer Europe? Of course the Americans kept reminding us that they were our allies. We had a special relationship.
One sided, but a relationship all the same.
"We're going to America," Maggie's parents said.
Maggie skipped around the living room, singing the American anthem. She rushed upstairs and brought down the fashion magazines she had bought at the store in Southampton. Her eyes glossed over the skinny supermodels on the cover.
"Modelling pays better over there! I'll buy the biggest house in the world when I get rich!"
"This one does us just fine," her grandfather said. "We're staying."
Maggie shrugged and flicked through the magazines.
"Isn't it dangerous?" I asked. "What if the Chinese attack or something?"
"That is not going to happen," he said. "Besides, we do not know whether the Chinese are guilty or not. It could have been the Americans or those Russians."
"Your grandfather is right." Maggie's grandmother patted me on the head. "Do not believe everything you hear."
I thought of the rumours about my uncle I had heard at school. People said he killed millions, but when I asked Mummy, she didn't want to talk about it. Daddy didn't want to make her mad, so he wouldn’t talk either.
I had to find out myself.
I remember the pretty biracial woman on TV, the one who blamed my uncle for the cuts. She would look right into the camera, as if she was making eye contact with me. Her eyes changed colour every time. She sounded so sad when she spoke about the unnecessary cuts. Now I knew why so many teachers had been fired. I knew why we couldn’t go on school trips anymore. I knew why the local independent shops had closed, letting another superstore move in.
Not hearing from him didn't make a difference, really. We weren't close like Maggie and her family because of the long distance. My grandparents lived in northern England, somewhere near Manchester. My uncle and cousin lived in London, but he was so busy we never had the chance to go visit. If she was well enough, he'd bring my cousin, Kezia, down to see us. Usually he kept her hidden away.
Now I know why.
"I'm staying," I said.
Maggie's jaw dropped.
"You can't stay here!" she cried. "Don't you like living with us?"
"Of course I do, but-"
"We're your family! Now you're deserting us?"
"My family-"
"The only one you've got!"
"Not necessarily," I said.
"What do you mean?" Maggie's mother asked. "You know your parents are...no longer with us."
"They're here." I placed my hand over my heart. "But yes, I understand. I was talking about someone else."
No one met my eyes.
Maggie's grandparents hurried to the kitchen and closed the door. Maggie took Matilda upstairs "To get her toys," she said, rushing past the toy box by the door. Her father went after them, leaving her mother with me. She patted her lap so I sat on her, snuggling against her rose-scented reddish locks.
"Your uncle was a bad man," she said. "He might be behind the Blitz."
"He was on TV. He said sorry for everything."
"You didn't really believe that, did you?" She lifted my head until our eyes met. "Sweetheart, he lied."
My heart split.
One side said she was lying. It said she didn't want me to leave, so she was lying to scare me. If my uncle didn't want me, I had nowhere else to go. She was telling me there was nothing for me in England, nothing but battles between America, Russia, and China over wasteland where buildings and bodies rotted.
The other side told me to go to America. It told me to start a new life in my parents' memory. It said this was my chance to escape the death around us. America was big and powerful.
Nothing bad could happen over there.
The woman in white appeared and sat on the sofa opposite us. Her brown eyes pierced mine, drawing me in. I couldn't help but stare, sensing a familiar presence.
"What're you looking at?"
"My cousin."
Maggie's mother turned on me.
When I first mentioned Kezia, she was very understanding. She called a therapist and he explained that I was imagining Kezia as a defence mechanism. He warned me that one day my mechanism would break and my feelings would gush out. I was given Maggie's old mobile so I could call him anytime.
"Keep talking to her," he said. "Release all the tension with your imaginary friend."
So I did. I told her everything about my parents, my house, the car trip, the American, Russian, and Chinese invasion, and the fundraising abroad so we could rebuild our land and our lives.
One night, I curled up with Kezia and talked about school. Maggie's parents had organised a tutor to teach us over the phone, so every morning we were tutored and thoroughly tested.
"It just sucks," I whispered. "I thought there was no more school. Gosh, it sucks!"
"School is not meant to be pleasurable," she said. "It is meant to prepare you for employment."
"Where?"
"Anywhere."
"You never worked."
"I could not because I was incapable."
"I want to learn something better! Something really important!"
I pulled on my dressing gown and slippers and tiptoed into the corridor. I could see the glow from the fireplace downstairs, where Maggie's parents were curled up on the sofa. I pressed my back against the wall and slowly edged downstairs. Then I dropped to the floor and crawled into the library, quietly closing the door behind me.
"What should I read?"
There were hundreds of books of all shapes, sizes, and colours. Some were brand new, encased in a brown paper wrapping. Others were dusty and flimsy, pieces falling off if they were touched. I went straight to the history section and skimmed over the spines.
"What should we read?" I asked.
I turned back and Kezia was standing by the window, gazing at the full moon. I joined her and we watched the clouds gliding across the sky. There were tears in her eyes, so I gave her a hug, my arms going through her.
"Is my father dead?" she asked.
"I don't know. You are, though. I saw the picture of you with Granny and Granddad...It must've hurt really badly."
"It did," she said. "I felt so helpless watching that woman shoot them. At least she put me out of my misery."
"I didn't mean-"
The door handle turned, so I crawled under the table. I peered out through the chair legs and watched Maggie's mother approaching. She stopped beside Kezia and shuddered, rubbing her arms.
"Is there a draft in here?"
Maggie's mother shrugged and turned to leave, but a book fell off the shelf. It fell apart, the pages scattering across the floor. She gasped and carefully picked them off the floor, slowly placing them back inside.
"Mum will kill me!"
She tidied the pages and slipped the book back onto the shelf. Then she rushed out to the living room, cursing quietly.
I crawled out from my hiding place and pushed the chairs back into place. I reached the door and peered outside. Maggie's parents were in the kitchen, her mother pacing up and down.
"That is part of a limited edition, prized collection," she said. "Mum will kill me!"
"We'll replace it before she realises." He wrapped his arms around her. "With the inheritance money, we can buy a whole new collection!"
"How? It was written in the 1800s! We can't ask him to write some more!"
I waved over Kezia, who was standing by the bookcase. She turned to the book Maggie's mother had spoiled and pulled it off the shelf.
"Put it back," I whispered. "We've got to get out of here!"
I rushed upstairs but my slipper fell off and tumbled back down. Someone emerged from the kitchen, so I raced into my bedroom and closed the door.
Someone knocked.
I slipped into bed and pulled the covers over my head, trembling in the dark.
Someone entered.
"Kelendria!" Maggie's mother shouted. "How could you?"
I threw the covers off and apologised, but she wagged her finger and led me downstairs. Maggie's father was waiting in the library, his face red and his hands clenched. He marched over and grabbed my sleeve, pulling me over to the window.
On the floor were the crumpled pages from the book. The exterior had been torn apart and tossed into the garden, the pouring rain washing away the ink.
Maggie's father spun me round just as Maggie's grandmother entered. She hobbled over and flinched when she saw the book's remains. Her eyes glossed over me and went outside to the garden, tears in her eyes.
"She is not staying here," she spat. "Take her with you when you leave."
"I didn't do it. Kezia did!"
Maggie's mother led me upstairs to bed. She took my mobile and sat at the end of the bed with her arms crossed.
"You know I damaged the book," she said. "However, the loose pages could have been fixed."
"I didn't do it."
"We could have stuck the pages down, called a professional to repair the spine, and gotten a nice box to store the book in. The point is, you just destroyed a piece of history. That novel was here long before our time, and could have been here long after."
"I didn't do it."
"The poor author toiled for years over that masterpiece. He only earned pennies, but continued on for the love of writing. Out of disrespect, you tore his passion to pieces and defiled his memory."
"I didn’t do it, damn it!"
"Don't swear at me, young lady," she said. "How dare you!"
Kezia sat beside Maggie's mother and smirked. I rolled my eyes.
"I thought you were better than this," Maggie's mother said. "I should have known this would happen."
"What do you mean by that?"
"Your parents were lovely people, but, unfortunately, you have inherited your uncle's twisted ways. This was your first and last chance."
Kezia frowned.
"One more incident and you're out."
I wasn't welcome anymore.
At breakfast, Maggie's mother thrust the cereal box into my hands and motioned to the fridge. If I was late for school, I was scolded and sent to bed without dinner. Good. A grumbling stomach was better than eating with them.
Since the book incident, we would gather around the dinner table and eat in silence. Maggie's grandmother used to test me on my dinner etiquette, treating me with extra pudding if I passed. Now she looked through me, if she looked at me at all.
Family fun after dinner also came to an end. No more games and quizzes to pass the time. We sat by the fireplace, listening to Maggie drone on about herself. I dared not complain.
This was my last chance.
Without Maggie's family, I was on my own. I didn't know the neighbours well enough to move there. Even if I had, when they heard I'd been thrown out, they wouldn't take me in.
"We leave for America in seven days," Maggie's mother said. "Be ready."
I cried myself to sleep that night. If I moved over there, I couldn't afford to come back. Maybe I would when I was older, but how long would that take? I needed to stay behind.
But I needed to go.
Maggie's family was the only one I had. They had connections, money, and family on every continent. I couldn't provide for myself the way they could. It would be foolish to piss them off...
Or would it?
They said I had one more chance, but I clearly didn't. They had already written me off. They were keeping me around, but why?
When I called the therapist, I figured it out.
"Oh, it's you! I thought you didn't have a phone anymore?"
"I borrowed Maggie's. Anyway, I need to talk. Are you busy?"
"Very," he said. "I'm sleeping."
"Can you find me a new family?"
"Why? Has something gone wrong?"
"You know it has," I said. "Don't act like you don't know!"
"You...Kezia did a very bad thing. If she behaves, I'm sure all will be forgiven. Tell her to be patient."
"It's been five weeks."
"Give it more time. Kezia deeply hurt people's feelings."
"Take me to a new family," I said. "I can start again! They won't know she's been bad."
"Another family?"
My parents flashed across my mind before fading again. I stared at them, long and hard, trying to burn them back into my memory.
"Yes. I need to start again!"
"Sorry, but there's nothing I can do. I would call social services, but their base was hit and the computers were fried. Lots of children are stranded out there. You're a lucky girl!"
"Lucky?" I spat. "My parents were blown to pieces! Is that what you call luck?"
"Our sessions have been cancelled, but feel free to call me anytime."
"How can I find a new family?"
"Call the social services in America," he said. "They should rehome you."
I ended the call and threw the phone into the wall.
Maggie rushed into the room and gasped when she saw the cracked phone on the floor. She pushed the pieces together but they fell apart.
"You cow!" she spat. "This was my back-up mobile!"
"I didn't mean to break it."
"Then why did you throw it? Of course it'll break if you throw it!"
Maggie stomped over and opened her palm.
"Pay me back!"
"I don't have any money!"
"You're getting inheritance, right? That's what Dad said."
I rushed over and closed the door. We hid under the bedcovers.
"You're getting some inheritance from your parents and your uncle. He earned lots of money when he worked at Cull. Your cousin's dead, so you inherit!"
"How much?"
"I heard it was fifty million at least, so you'll get around five million when you've paid us back."
"For what? Your parents haven't spent anything near forty-five million quid on me!"
"Fine, then. We'll take the lot!"
"You can't," I said. "That's theft!"
"Not when my parents are your legal guardians."
I didn't know what to say.
Now it all made sense. They hated me, but were keeping me around for the money. Once we got to America, they'd formally adopt me and take control of my inheritance. The spoilt brat, also known as Maggie, would splash out on her modelling career, rubbing shoulders with the rich and famous. Meanwhile, I'd be treated like crap because of a bloody book written by a long-forgotten poor excuse for an author!
Maggie kicked off the covers and stood on the bed. She struck several poses and then blew me a kiss. She walked the runway, my bed, and stopped at the end. Before she turned back, I pushed her.
Maggie was screaming so loud. She was on the floor, clutching her leg. The bone was sticking out from her knee and there was a bloody gash on her head. I clamped my hands over her mouth, but then she bit my fingers. I stuffed my socks into her mouth, but she began to choke. I tried to pull out the socks, but she hit at me, still choking. Her faced turned blue and she slumped over.
"Oh my God!"
Maggie's father shoved me aside and picked up his daughter. He carried her downstairs and I heard Maggie's mother screaming. She ran upstairs and slapped me hard across the face.
"You almost killed her!" she shrieked.
"I didn't mean to."
"Did Kezia do it?" She grabbed me by the shoulders and shook me until my neck hurt. "I'm speaking to you!"
"I-"
She slapped me again.
"It was an accident," I said. "She wanted to steal from me! You want my inheritance!"
Maggie's mother let me go and stepped away.
"We did you a huge favour by letting you stay here. We could have let you stay with the neighbours instead."
"Now I know why you didn't." I pulled out the rucksack from under the bed and stuffed underwear and clothes inside. "I'm leaving. I'm not paying for your trip!"
She ran to the door and blocked my way. I tried to go under her arm but she dragged me back to bed and held me down. Her husband came in and took my tights from the dresser. He tied me to the bedposts and they stood over me.
"She's gone mad," Maggie's mother said. "Call the doctor."
"Of course she has. It started with her Kezia friend."
"Seeing the girl's corpse on television must have triggered this. Her parents shouldn't have let her watch!"
"We can get her help," he said. "Once we get her inheritance, she will have the best doctors money can buy."
"The therapist has opened a clinic for the mentally disturbed. I think it's best that she stays there."
"I'm not crazy!"
"Of course not," he said, patting me on the head. "They will provide the best treatment, don't you worry."
"I know about those places! I'm not being pumped with drugs!"
"What places, sweetheart?" Maggie's mother turned my head towards her. "Your uncle shut them down."
"We will visit when you are better."
They walked out the room and closed the door quietly. I heard Maggie's grandparents in the corridor, her grandmother sobbing. They went downstairs and I heard Maggie screaming before there was calm again.
I didn't sleep that night. How could I?
The next morning, four sleek-haired white men in red jackets entered the room. They stood by each bedpost, watching me closely. Whenever I moved, they quickly reached for their pockets, a bulky object inside.
Maggie's parents walked in and stayed by the door, sneering at me. Next was a dumpy Asian man in a white coat, a leather carry case in his grasp. He placed the case on the dressing table and opened it, his wide body blocking my view.
"Nice to finally meet you," he said. "My helpers will assist me today."
"Doctor?"
"Yes, dear?"
"You're a bloody traitor!"
The therapist spun round and placed his hands behind his back. He slowly walked around the bed and stopped near my head. I tried to look round him, but his waist was too wide. My heart raced as he revealed the hypodermic needle, the tip thicker than any I had ever seen.
"Stay away!" I wriggled about but the tights wouldn't loosen. Instead, they burned my wrists and ankles until I wept. "Please! I'll behave!"
"Will you?" the doctor asked. "Do you really mean that?"
I nodded, my eyes glued to the liquid whishing around in the syringe.
"You hurt little Maggie very badly." He flicked the needle tip. "Let us help you."
"Stay away from me!"
The four men pinned me to the bed while the doctor pushed the syringe into my arm. He moved away quickly and the men let go. I spat at them, so the two near my head stepped back.
"I will help you," the doctor said. "We will talk through your problems and make the pain go away."
"Let me go!" I screamed. "You're not taking my money!"
The doctor chuckled and turned to Maggie's parents. They spoke quietly, but I caught Maggie's mother say, "Inheritance."
"It's mine!"
"Of course, dear," the doctor said. "Your money will be waiting for you when you leave the clinic. Right now, you're not in the right state of mind to manage it."
"They'll steal my money!"
"They will only spend it when absolutely necessary, won't you?"
Maggie's parents nodded.
"Healthcare is not free anymore," the doctor said. "Most of the population are dead. We cannot afford to dish out medication and therapy for nothing! How will we function without funding?"
The doctor opened the door and the four men left the room, forcing Maggie's parents out with them. Before he walked out, the doctor tapped the buttons on his phone and placed it down on the dresser.
"See you in ten," he said. "Sleep tight."
Eight.
The receptionist stubbed out her cigarette and pushed down on the intercom. "What now?" she said through the safety glass. "We ain't processed the others yet!"
The doctor coughed as smoke seeped outside the office. He slipped a form under the glass with a cheque. The receptionist skimmed over the form before ogling the cheque.
"Two hundred thousand?" She did a little jig. "Damn! We're in the money now!"
"It's for the next year," the doctor said. "When this angel's inheritance comes through, there'll be more. Much more."
The woman unlocked the glass and pushed the window open. The doctor leaned inside and pecked both her cheeks before slipping a pack of cigarettes into her hand.
"Oh, you spoil me!"
"Why not?" he said. "It's not like we can't afford it."
The four helpers rolled me through on the trolley and left me in the living room, where two nurses were watching a soap opera. The voluptuous redhead sauntered over and tapped me on the forehead.
"Anyone home?" she whispered in my ear.
I couldn't shake my head because it was fastened to the trolley.
The younger nurse came over and stood between me and her co-worker, who huffed and returned to her spot on the sofa. The young nurse pulled back her wiry chestnut-coloured hair into a bun and smoothed down her off-white dress.
"Hello," the second nurse said. "I'm Stacie. My friend over there is Monica."
I couldn't respond because I was gagged. Stacie reached down to the gag but the doctor appeared and grabbed her hand. She turned away and returned to the sofa.
"Silly girl," he muttered.
The doctor led the way down the hallway and out the back. We travelled down the bumpy cobblestone path and into the dense bush at the bottom of the garden. The doctor raised his hand and then went to the wooden door ahead. He slotted a key into the lock and peeked inside.
"There's one on the loose!" he shouted. "Arm yourselves, boys!"
The helpers pulled out the guns from their holsters and positioned themselves on either side of the door. The doctor pulled out a syringe from his breast pocket and flicked the tip. The first helper looked at each of the others before throwing open the door.
The men dashed inside and knocked the scraggly-haired woman to the floor. She kicked the leader in the groin and bit another helper's ear. The others shoved her to the floor and one smacked her face with the back of his hand. She flopped backwards, her head slamming against the floor.
"How on earth did she get out?" the doctor asked. He cautiously stepped over the woman and rushed to the bed at the end of the room. Hanging from the mattress were loose straps and a torn gag. "Stacie!" The doctor snatched the gag and stormed back to the house.
"Tuck her in," the lead helper said.
The men carried her across the room and dumped her on the bed. She stirred, so they quickly fastened the straps so tight they were cutting into her skin.
Opposite her was a smaller bed, the covers neatly tucked away. The helpers rolled me over there and one retrieved the syringe. We waited and the doctor returned with Stacie, her eyes now puffy and red.
"Tie her down," the doctor said. "I assume you can do it properly!"
Stacie stood over the helpers as they untied me and held me down on the bed. She fastened the straps from the bedposts to my wrists and ankles. Then she tied one around my torso and the bed. The doctor pushed the gag into my mouth and tied it around my head.
"This is for their own good," he said. "Do you know what this girl has done?"
Stacie shook her head.
"She almost killed someone. A little girl who just wanted to be friends. In return, Miss Taylor attacked her. Talk about gratitude!"
The helpers laughed at my muffled curses.
"See? These people are unwell. Without us, they would be roaming the continent and harm others, if not themselves."
"I'm not crazy!" I screamed, but the gag stopped the words coming out.
"Be quiet, dear," Stacie said. "You'll wake the others."
When Stacie closed the door behind her, the place was pitch black. I couldn't even see the tip of my nose, let alone the six others with me. Still, I knew they were there. As long as they stayed there, I was all right.
My neighbour was Richard Smith, a middle-aged white guy with grey hair. He would sit outside in his chair, watching the duck pond. On a good day, he would feed the ducks with leftover bread from breakfast. He'd squeal with delight when the tiny ducks waddled from the pond, squawking at him. I couldn't understand why he was there, but that's what asylums are like, isn't it?
Everyone has good and bad days.
One morning, Stacie broke the rules. Richard was tied to the garden bench, feeding the ducks in the pond, when the bag of breadcrumbs slipped out his hand. He cried out and Stacie hurried over with a cup of medicine.
"Need anything?"
"I want the bag," he said. "My ducks are hungry!"
Stacie reached for the bag and he released a shrill scream I heard from the shed.
"Don't touch it! I want to do it!"
"But you can't," she said. "Let me."
"Untie one arm, please."
Richard widened his bright blue eyes, his lips quivering. She looked over at the hungry chicks chirping with their mother.
"Just my arms," he said. "Let me have some independence back."
"I'll get into trouble."
"No one will be any wiser.
Stacie peered over the hedge and waited for the doctor to disappear into the house with his helpers in tow. She slowly unfastened the arm straps and backed away, her eyes pinned to him.
Richard tried to reach the bag, but the chest strap stopped him.
"Can you loosen the chest strap a bit? When I've got the bag, just put it back on real quick!"
Stacie glanced over her shoulder, but when she turned back Richard had yanked off the chest strap. He grabbed her hair bun and swung her around before tossing her into the pond. She crashed into the reeds and splashed about, screaming for help.
By the time the doctor and helpers arrived, Richard had vanished. They ran up and down the deserted street, calling out his name, but no one nearby had seen him. They returned and searched the house before coming to the shed.
It was too late.
Richard had hidden in the garden until it was safe to come out. Then he had come into the shed and hid under his bed. He lay in wait, snarling at the rest of us.
Still gagged, we watched helplessly as Monica brought in my morning medication - a strong sedative meant to 'cure' us. She placed the tray on the small table by the door and switched on the bright lights.
"Your turn, Taylor," she said. "Rise and shine!"
Monica reached my bed and suddenly she was pulled under. I heard her screaming for help as Richard pounded her. Blood sprayed onto the bed sheets and then she crawled away, sobbing.
The doctor and helpers stormed into the shed, but Richard was waiting by the door. He picked up the table and brought it down on one helper's head, knocking the man out. The other three lunged for him with their guns, but he smacked the weapons out their hands with ease. The doctor slowly climbed over the spare bed and positioned himself behind Richard, the syringe in his hand.
When Richard spun round, the doctor thrust the needle into his neck. Richard kicked him away and the doctor crashed into the empty bed, banging his head against the headrest.
Richard ripped the syringe from his neck and threw it like a dart, the tip hitting Johnny White in the next bed along. Johnny slowly pulled the needle from his chest and then placed it down on his bedside table. Then he casually rolled over and pulled the cover his head, his snores slow and drawn out.
Richard began to stagger down the aisle, lashing out at the others. His eyes shifted to me and he rushed over, faster than the helpers could react. I closed my eyes and braced myself for extreme pain, Monica's blood stain in my mind.
When I opened my eyes, Richard was standing over me, stroking my hand. Tipsy, he walked around the bed and rested his head on my chest.
"My hero," he whispered. "I love you."
His eyes rolled to the back of his head and he slumped over. The helpers dragged him back to his bed and the doctor injected him again.
Richard had reminded me that I was the only sane person in the shed. Even people like the tranquil sloth Johnny had a dark side...
Watching Johnny was like seeing in slow motion.
First I thought it was because he was old. His wispy silver hair was always falling out in clumps, but, miraculously, grew back in droves. I had never seen so many wrinkles, hundreds of lines cutting across his pale face. He couldn't hold anything, not even food or water. The nurses would slip a tube down his throat and pump nutrients into his body. He wouldn't even flinch, only moving to ask, "Is it in yet?"
Johnny was at home with the garden snails. He would walk them around the garden, moving any obstacles out their way. Of course, he was so slow that by the time he had bent down to move something, the snails had already crawled over it and gone about their business.
No one but the doctor knew why Johnny was there. The doctor said Johnny needed protection, but he never said more than that. I think over the years even the doctor became complacent. Johnny hadn't done anything wrong. He'd share war stories and give us general advice we didn't ask for like, "Brush every tooth, not just the ones at the front" and "Wipe properly or it'll dry there."
Johnny changed the week after I turned sweet sixteen. Monica went to get his pills from the store cupboard while the helpers wheeled him across the garden. They released his straps and waited while he followed the snails. Usually he would stalk the slugs across the garden, but not today.
Johnny sprung off the chair and darted into the house. He locked the door and took the key from its hole. Then he ran upstairs to the store cupboard and rummaged through the shelves. Monica found the helpers locked outside and let them in.
When they got upstairs, Johnny was struggling over a handful of drug capsules, his hands shaking so hard they spilled onto the floor. The helpers held open his mouth and Monica reached inside to pull out the tablets. The doctor arrived minutes later and they drove Johnny to the hospital, where his stomach was pumped. From then on, Johnny was never let loose again and the doctor was the only one with access to the medicine cupboard.
What triggered Johnny's string of suicide attempts? No idea. Besides the sedatives, I didn't see any other form of abuse. Johnny's apparent depression downed everyone's spirits. Now his bright smile was empty, shielding us from his inner pain.
Well, one person remained chirpy. He found Johnny's suicide attempts hilarious.
Gordon laughed all day, every day. He even laughed in his sleep whether the dream was pleasant or not. One night he had a fit of laughter that must have lasted for at least an hour. The next day, he woke up and told us about his dream.
"My kids were there," he said, already giggling. "My boys. They went swimming in the ocean and the tide came in. I couldn't get to them because I can't swim! They got washed out to sea and then they started screaming. There was blood, and my oldest got sucked under water. The youngest waved his arms at me, but I couldn't swim! Then he went underwater and the shark spat out his brother's leg. It bobbed on the water and washed up on the beach.
"My wife was devastated. She'd sent us to play on the beach, but only me and a bloody leg came back home. She hugged the leg and refused to let go, but the ambulance workers had to take it away. It's still warm, she said. It's still him!"
Gordon burst out laughing. His large belly wobbled around, almost loosening the strap, so the helpers tightened the buckle. He giggled and said, "That tickles! I can't breathe!" The helpers took the strap down a notch. He started laughing again. "Too loose! I might escape during the night and cut your heads off! One! Two! Three! Four! Doctor too!"
With Gordon there, it was never quiet. His incessant laughter was quit amusing at first, but too much is just too bloody much! You could tell him to shut up, but it was funny to him. One time, a helper got so angry he punched Gordon in the gut, but the pot belly hurt his fist. He cradled his throbbing hand and Gordon laughed so hard he wet the bed.
We slept through the strong smell of piss that night.
Eventually I got used to eating, drinking, washing, and sleeping with the noise. When I wanted calm, I knew just where to look...
Andre Dean. How they found out his real name, I don't know. The guy never said a word until our final night.
So serious, so sullen, so straight-faced. He was quite creepy. Just one look from him made me shudder. I wondered what his agenda was, what his bad day looked like. Was he insane like the others or sane like me? The mystery around him chilled everyone. The helpers used extra straps on him, two on his upper arms and two on his thighs. The doctor gave Andre more medication, visibly shaken by Andre's willingness to take it. Stacie refused to work with him, even when threatened with redundancy. Only Monica ever spoke to him, batting her thick eyelashes whenever he looked her way.
Andre was like a robot. He ate and drank whatever he was given, tapped his watch if the nurses were late with our medication, and stared at you with big blank eyes. His smooth tanned skin suggested he was young, but the creases around his eyes said he had seen a lot.
No wonder poor Janice Lawson was terrified.
Janice was the only one allowed to be loose. She would curl up into a ball in the corner of the living room and sob quietly, her waist-length golden locks damp from her tears. When it was time for her medication, she screamed so loud the nurses couldn't stay in the room. They'd run out covering their ears, Monica cursing loudly at the doctor laughing in the hallway. With the room clear, Janice would down the medication and resume her depressive spell.
She would speak, but only to ask one question: Where is Janice?
Last, but not least, the woman with no name.
She was the one who had broken free the day I arrived. No one fought like she did, not even Richard. She always tried to escape the clinic, so the doctor decided she would never be alone. The helpers marched her around the house and garden. The nurses watched over her in the bathroom. When moving her between the wheelchair and bed, they made sure she was strapped to one or the other at all times.
Bound and gagged with puncture wounds on her neck, bruises on her limbs, and a tangled afro on her head, there was still beauty. She could go a week without eating, but her curvy frame was defiant. Her slit eyes peered through the strands of hair, her irises changing colour whenever our eyes met. We never got luxuries like conditioner and body lotion, yet her skin looked moist, soft, supple.
She would lie in bed, watching everyone do everything. I smiled at her once, but she rolled her eyes and looked away, so I didn't bother again. One time, I caught a flicker of recognition in her eyes, but that was it. Otherwise, she was in a world of her own.
Janice, Gordon, Andre, Richard, Johnny, and the unnamed woman.
These people were my new family.
Family must be there for each other. No matter what. From the beginning to the end.
Till death do you part.
My new family would help me escape the clinic, whether they liked it or not. Yes, I was planning my escape. From day one, I counted down to my release. I knew Maggie's family would come back. Surely they couldn't get my inheritance without me?
I'm getting out real soon, I thought. I won't see my fourteenth in this prison.
So why didn't I break out?
Security was tight. The helpers were strong, well-built men with taser guns. I still remember the voltage ripping through the unnamed woman and Richard. If the men had to defend themselves, there was no prejudice. They didn't think, "Oh, we can't hit a woman!" or "Four on one isn't fair." They fought now and thought later.
Of course there were ways to escape. Stacie was too trusting, too forgiving, so she'd loosen straps far too often. Sadly, after the incident with Richard, she never did it again. The syringes could have been used as weapons, but Johnny's suicide bid meant the medicine was locked up tight with the doctor guarding the door. Every possible escape route was attempted by someone else first. They failed and the weak spot was strengthened. Soon there was nothing else to try, or so I thought...
The medicine. Every night I dreamed of my escape. I saw myself running through the desolate streets, the horizon inviting me to do big things. I'd get my millions, find my uncle, and start a new life.
Then I'd wake up and have pills forced down my throat. I used to struggle so they'd spill the water, but then the helpers tied my head down and poured the liquid down my throat. I tried spitting it out, but then the doctor came with the needle.
I drank it from then on.
The needle prick was nothing in comparison to that woozy, drowsy feeling. I'd tell my eyes to open and they'd stay shut. I'd will my legs to move onto the wheelchair, but they'd flop around like I was paralysed. I'd think long and hard, but the thoughts and feelings would seep from my brain and splosh on the floor. I'd watch them slid away and up the walls, disappearing out the window, taking my big plans and bigger dreams with them.
The final straw was the doctor.
The doctor wasn't like other therapists. They're supposed to help you. The good ones help you help yourself, so one day you're ready to leave. You come back for a top-up, if you like, but that's it. They teach you to flutter your wings, and you fly.
This doctor did the opposite.
Our first session was a taste of the hell to come.
The helpers wheeled me into the large room at the back of the house. There was a long cushy futon with a silky pillow at the head and folded thick cotton blanket on the seat. The helpers pushed me right up to the futon and stood by it with their hands behind their backs.
A few minutes later, the doctor strolled in with a clipboard and notes. He ticked off some boxes and asked me to sign the document. I laughed and looked the other way. He pushed the pen into my hand, so I dropped it. It rolled under the futon and the doctor cursed.
"Miss Taylor, you clearly have problems. We will fix them."
I mumbled a reply, so the doctor snapped his fingers and the helpers removed my gag.
"I do have a problem," I said. "You!"
The helpers sniggered until the doctor shot them a cold look. Their eyes fell to the floor.
"I am recording this session. You gave permission."
"When?"
"Last week."
"Let me hear that on tape!"
"I forgot to press record."
"Why?"
"Miss Taylor, please be reasonable. This is for your own good."
"Do the Americans know you're doing this?" I edged the chair forwards until his face was close to mine. "You're abusing us!"
The doctor stopped the tape recorder and pressed the delete button. He pressed play and gently pushed me away. A helper rushed round to apply the brake and then moved back behind the futon.
"Session one with Miss Kelendria Taylor. The subject, I mean, patient is thirteen years old. She shows signs of severe schizophrenia."
I didn't even know what schizophrenia was!
"She has attempted murder-"
"Never! I hurt her by accident."