Utopia

Part 2

2.

   “Don’t panic,” the speakers call above the incessant wails of the sirens. Yeah right, I want to scoff; we all know what Code Red means.

   “Outsiders,” Ebony whispers and somehow even over the chaos I can hear her. Her eyes meet mine. Time and sound and movement stops altogether; all that seems tangible to me in that moment is the sheer fear clouding her face. I hold out my hand: a lifeline.

   Carefully, my gaze scans the room for the spark of a plan. The Fielders sit at their respective benches, their faces reflecting varying degrees of terror. I pass over the Arts bench where the woman’s latest masterpiece sits forgotten in front of her and the boys metronomic tapping has transformed into the frantic beating of a frightened heart.

   Ebony runs a finger over the lines on her hand, pausing at her new TAP, memorised by the vivid crimson and I know she is thinking of the colour of blood. Without taking my hand, she raises her eyes and slowly shakes her head. 

   “Stay here,” I say, harsher than I’d meant and then I’m heading towards the exit with Thandie’s worried gaze blazing down my back the whole way. I close the door behind me.

   “Don’t panic,” the statement echoes around the empty hallway. But no one can hear these words, no matter how loud they blast through the speakers; everyone can only hear one thing: the alarm.

   The hallway sprouts off in two directions, the first leading towards the living quarters – towards safety. The second leads towards the rest of the Field and the unknown. I move almost without thought, I’ve never really been a safety kind of girl.

   In my entire life, the Field has never felt so quiet, even despite the roaring sirens. As I make my way down the hallway, I don’t pass another person and I can’t quite work out what freaks me out more: the sheer emptiness of my home, or the warning that something threatens to destroy it.

   Outsiders. They are the product of those who didn’t find refuge in the Field and didn’t succumb completely to the fatality of the Sickness. I’ve never seen one. In fact I don’t know anyone here who has except maybe Captain Walsing. Though, we’ve all heard the stories, tales of mutilated creatures with green scaled skin, razor sharp claws and long, needle teeth.

   They are the reason for the Drafting. At the beginning, attacks from Outsiders took the lives of many of the survivors until the Council finally pulled together a resistance. But to stop Outsiders, means to leave the Field and that is a danger in itself. The soldiers are battled on two sides, risk death from an Outsider as well as the chance of being infected by the Sickness.  

   Now Outsiders have breached the Fields and have entered the facility, bringing with them the disease that could contaminate us all.

   I almost walk right past the store room but the door is open slightly and light filters through the crack. No one is in the small room when I step in, and it is clear whoever was in here last left in a hurry. To my right, the cupboard containing the emergency air filtration clips is open, some of the clips spilling out onto the floor. Picking one up for myself, I shove the rest back and close the cupboard door. The clip fits moulds face, closing comfortably over my nose. At least now I don’t have to worry about the airborne infection for an hour at least.

      Before I leave, I press my palm against the panel on the compartment storing the weapons we use for simulation. A knife glints at me from behind the thick clear plastic and I think about how much safer I’d feel with it clutched in my hand.

     “Access denied,” the panel informs me. I smash my hand against the wall.

     “Come on!” I press my hand more firmly against the panel. “Lyra Rosewood, scan me.”

     “Access denied,” It repeats. I have half a mind to try breaking the window but I know it would result in nothing but a bruised knuckle.

     Feeling decidedly vulnerable, I slam the door to the store room closed and keep walking.

     “Don’t panic,” the voice tells me and I just shake my head. No, this is definitely the time to panic.

   It takes four wrong turns, six locked doors and far more time than I have to spare before I finally find the room I’m looking for. Although it possesses the same white sheen that flows over practically everything in the Field, the outlines of this particular door seem to glow with an ominous darkness. For no real reason my stomach clenches and heaves as if I might throw up.

   Gingerly, I press my palm against the solidness of the door and wonder, if I pushed hard enough, could my handprint be seen on the other side? If he saw it, would he know it was me?

   I push the thought away; I have bigger things to focus on right now. Though I’ve never managed to get past this point, I know that this door leads to the Barracks, a restricted sector of the Field where the Drafted are sent to live apart from the rest of us - out of sight out of mind. Better to forget than to live our lives tortured by constant loss, I suppose.

   Anyway, the point is that on the other side of that door are weapons, our only chance of defending ourselves against the Outsiders. A grim smile creeps onto my face, I don’t know about the others but if I’m going down then I’m going down fighting.

   The lock for this area of the Field is different to the rest. In addition to the palm scanner, there is an iris recognition system. You know, people always have told me that I have my father’s eyes. Please work, I beg, a silent prayer before I move to stand in the view of the reader. A light, blindingly bright, sears into my retinas and it takes a few seconds to regain my vision.

   A hand clamps down on my shoulder.

   Every muscle in my body tenses, my brain screaming for me to turn around and face the monster but my heart thumps so hard I can’t even hear it.

   “Nothing behind that door for you but trouble,” the person says and it takes me a moment to realise that I recognise their voice.

    I turn on my heel and find myself face to face with a collection of smiling medals. Walsing looks down at me like I’m the last person in the world he expected to see. Him and me both.

   “Oh I’m so sorry,” I say feigning innocence. “I must have got a bit lost in the chaos.”

   His eyes narrow into slits but he doesn’t call me out on my blatant lie. “We are currently on high alert as you’ve noticed and it isn’t safe for you to be wandering on your own, Miss Rosewood. Let me escort you back to your quarters,” he says and as usual there is no arguing with the Captain.

   I count each step as it takes us further from the door; that’s how I know that we are eleven feet away when I hear the faint click.

   “Access granted,” the scanner says but Walsing and I keep going as if we haven’t heard a thing.