The Lumis War Read online

  A head pops up over the top of the ladder, and I recognise Sparrow's face. She's a Scout, tall and strong and beautiful. She tosses her long, dark hair back and smiles at me, an easy, relaxed expression that stirs the admiration in my chest.

  "I've been asked to take you off duty for a few hours," she says, "so you can catch up on your sleep."

  But then she sinks to her knees and leans towards me, a strange look on her face.

  "Listen. I heard about the chaos in the Council meeting. I'm sorry about Adam. You know what he's like."

  I try to look nonchalant, but the words hurt. Good to know that my failure is already the latest gossip.

  "I tried to talk him round," she continues, "but he's as stubborn as a mule when he wants to be. It's a shame, really. I'd have loved to have another girl on the team. Sometimes it can feel like you're being ganged up on, you know?"

  She laughs - Sparrow's laughs always end with a snort, in a way that the girls find cute and the boys find sexy. She's part of the reason I wanted to go out there; I've admired her for so long. It kills me to think I won't be able to stand by her.

  "Anyway, if you want my advice, you need to keep fighting," she says, "Adam's not going to change his mind, so there's no point in beating that dead horse, but keep training. Do some laps, or target practice. You never know when you'll get a chance."

  I walk across the car park, back towards the bunkers. I don't feel any better - there's still a sense of anger and shame at what happened. But as I catch sight of the bunker, the small, dark crowded room that always stinks of sweat and mold, I realise that I don't want to go to sleep. I probably should; but with this frustration building in my chest I don't think I'd be able to sleep anyway.

  Grabbing a change of clothes from under my bunk, I head back outside. As I head into the car park I catch a glimpse of myself in a large piece of scrap metal that's been left to rust outside.

  It's not often I get to see my own reflection. In a city where thousands of people and homes were destroyed, it makes sense that nobody thought to save their mirror. Still, as I gaze into my own eyes I'm surprised at just how adult I look. I'm lean and pale, not the tallest, with a softness to my body. My eyes are wide and bright, my face expressive - though I wonder if that's more because I need to be than because it's simply how I am. My hair is light brown and curls around my chin; I've tried to grow it in the past but it never seems to do very much. I grab it and tie it back as best I can, then lean down and start my stretches.

  Sparrow's right. I've been training every day, doing laps around Fairground, trying to figure out where my limit lies. I was convinced, somehow, that I would be able to train myself to keep up with the Scouts, though they often run for miles at a time. Fairground itself is a few miles round, so I thought it was good practice. It won't hurt to keep it up.

  I take off at a steady jog, but as I near the guard tower I can see Sparrow leaning over the edge. She peers down at me, and holds up a finger.

  "I expect ten laps before you stop to rest!" she teases, "you can do it, Mouse!"

  I keep running, not even turning to look at her, but somehow her words spur me on. With every step I feel a tiny sense of the same exhilaration that I've dreamed about for years. The thrill of being in the city, the danger, the adrenaline. Keeping up with those I've admired for so long and making a place for myself in a ruined world. I run far more than ten laps. I run until my legs throb, until I can barely catch my breath. I run until the sky darkens to near-blackness.

  But finally I skid to a stop, unable to run anymore. I'm not athletic by nature, and there's no way I could do anything unless I forced myself to train. I'm not strong, or particularly fast. But I try. I try so damn hard. I wipe the sweat from my brow and sigh. I don't have any choice now. I need to go to sleep.

  I sneak back into the bunker and through the mass of sleeping strangers. None of them so much as stir when I walk by, but I suppose that's a blessing. Not being able to talk means I have practically zero presence, but at least I don't disrupt people. I clamber into my bunk, feeling it sag in the middle - and pull my thin blanket up and over my shoulders. Across the room, I can hear the familiar high-pitched snores of a young girl, and I smile. Bree. I've always been jealous that she can sleep so easily. A part of me wants to crawl over there, wake her up and get her to talk to me until I fall asleep, but I know that's selfish. It's too quiet, though. Considering that I can't speak, I live in a world filled with unending noise. Humming and clattering and arguing. Enough to leave a person with a headache. The problem is that I've grown so used to having that noise around me that now I find it strange and lonely to sit in silence. I stare up at the ceiling, through a particularly rusted patch of metal, and imagine I can see the stars. Realistically, I can't - the dome blocks them out, making every night pitch black and flawless. But sometimes I think how it would be to see them. My eyes slide closed, and I allow exhaustion to take me.

  The next few days fly by. I return to my usual work, assisting Dr Newton in the infirmary, guarding the tower. Taking stock of our supplies, writing lists of what we need. The pencil scratches on the page as I list various items. Beakers, needles, rubbing alcohol. Anything and everything that we’re lacking.

  "Good," says Dr Newton, looking over my shoulder, "that's everything. You can take that to Adam now."

  I lower my hand and glower at him. Adam? Really?

  He sees my expression and shakes his head sympathetically.

  "I know you two haven't exactly seen eye to eye recently, but he is the Scout leader. And one day, when I’m too old, you’ll be taking over the infirmary. The two of you can hate each other if you like, but you have to have a good working relationship, for the sake of everyone at Fairground."

  I roll my eyes, but stand up to take the list anyway. I don't want to deal with Adam - I've seen him a handful of times since the last meeting, and every time he's been silent. You'd never think we used to be friends, with the way he looks at me. Like I'm a lost puppy, or a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming lorry. He looks at me like I'm helpless and clueless and would never survive on my own. And it infuriates me.

  I feel on edge as I near the Scout's building. It's more luxurious than our bunkers; the walls are made of concrete, and the warmth of an electric light shines out from under their door. Behind it, I can hear quiet laughter and the clinking of crockery. I reach out and rap smartly on the door, and those inside immediately fall silent.

  The door opens with a sharp creak and a face pops into view. It's male, mostly hidden by a mass of curls and facial hair that looks like he hasn't bothered to shave in a month. Relief floods through me. Kicker.

  "Hey, it's Mouse," he grins, "what’s up?"

  I give a light-hearted shrug and hand him the piece of paper. He stares at it for a moment, then passes it back.

  "Hell, you know I can't read this. If you want to give it to anyone, it's gotta be Adam. Come on in."

  My heart sinks, but I understand. Most people at Fairground can read, save for the youngest few, but most don't bother. There's no need to, so people forget how as time goes by. There are more important things to focus on. Kicker pushes open the door to allow me in, holding his arm over my head so I have to duck inside.

  I've never been in here before. It's warm and bright, a far cry from the cold, dark bunkers that we have to deal with. A touch of envy and resentment flits through me, but I push it aside. The Scouts do more for Fairground than anyone else, even Dr Newton. If anyone deserves a touch of luxury, it's them. Sparrow lies sprawled across an old sofa, her feet up, resting across another Scout's lap. He's tall, hulking, with arms as big as my waist. I recognise him immediately. Brick, the fourth and final member of the Scouts main group.

  "Hi Mouse!" smiles Sparrow, "How is it going?"

  I sign back instinctively. Can't complain.

  She doesn't understand, but at least she's nice enough to simply smile and nod. I lift the scrap of paper and she steps over to me, plucking it from
my fingers and unfolding it. Her eyes scan the words, and I can see her brain processing them into something that makes sense.

  "Is this the stuff you and Newton need?"

  I nod.

  "Okay. No problem, I'll see it gets passed to Adam - I mean, Boss. Ugh."

  I grimace. Everyone here has a nickname. Mouse. Kicker. Sparrow. Brick. Over time people develop their names based on something about them - whether it's their tenacity, their energy or their personality. But Adam has the most specific name of all - Boss. It suits him to a tee. Strong and in command, even when he shouldn't be. It makes me sick to think of him in that way, though I hold a world of respect for him, so in my head I just call him Adam.

  I look around the room and raise an eyebrow. It takes her a moment for Sparrow to notice, but then she waves her hand dismissively.

  "I have no idea where he is. Probably out and about, gathering stuff for this afternoon. We're going into a new sector, and it'll be about a three day trip, so we're making sure we're stocked up."

  Irritation flairs in my chest. They wouldn't have to prepare so much if they knew they were going to have a field medic with them. I'd be able to deal with all of that and give them time to rest up before going out. But then Sparrow tilts her head, and I feel myself soften. It's not her fault. If anything, she's on my side. I can't hold a grudge against any of them - and although my gut clenches with anger every time I hear Adam's name, I know he thinks he's doing what’s right.

  I step outside, and a chill wind slams their door shut behind me. It's an almighty clang that echoes across the park, and it feels so... final. Like it's locking me out of there forever. Something hot pricks the back of my eyes and I shake it off.

  As I re-enter the infirmary I see Dr Newton rooting through the supplies. He hears me and turns, his face a picture of concern.

  "Ash! Great, you're back. I've just had a call from the other side of the park. One of the infants has come down with something and it seems pretty serious. Could be a nasty infection. Anyway, I'm heading over there right now and I'll be gone the rest of the day, most likely. I'll have to monitor the situation. In the meantime, I'll need you to watch the infirmary. Can you do that for me?"

  I nod immediately; it's rare that we get a genuine medical emergency around here that doesn't involve the Scouts, and I've watched the infirmary before. I'm perfectly capable of dealing with the daily things around here, minor cuts and bruises, aches, pains. My stomach turns a little, thinking what could have happened to the kid across the park. They're all so tiny. We try and encourage people to have children to keep our numbers up, but inevitably they're all born early and often underdeveloped and unusually prone to infections.

  Dr Newton gathers an armful of supplies and blusters past me, out into the midday sun. I watch him for a moment before turning away to tidy up the things he's knocked over. As I do so, I pause. One day, in however many years, that will be my job. Racing off to try and keep people alive. Flying across Fairground, supplies in tow, as people's saving grace. Fear licks through me as I imagine it, taking on my own apprentice, trying to teach them through signs and books. Realistically, I'm not the best choice for a Doctor. I can't explain things, and my bedside manner is practically non-existent. But I'm the only one who volunteered, the only one who considered it. I thought it might give me a voice, a role where previously I had none. I suppose that backfired.

  I take a moment to pace the room, and my eyes settle on the desk. Here, Dr Newton keeps anything that’s important to him. I can see framed certificates, creased letters, a small diamond ring. Instinctively I lift it, pulling it close to my chest and admiring it. I’ve never had the heart to ask him about it; I can only assume it belonged to his wife.

  I set the ring down, and reach for the photograph just behind it. It shows Dr Newton, a younger and brighter version of him, in front of a smart, white building. He shakes hands with another man, with a sharp face and narrow shoulders and dark hair slicked back with grease. I turn it over gently, reading the words scratched into the back of the frame.

  Newton, thank you for your help in opening the Homeland hospital. You’re an excellent doctor and friend, and there will always be a home for you at the Tower – Michael Shard.

  I examine Dr Newton’s face. It’s so young and round and bright, but that burning intelligence is still there. It permeates me, frightening and inspiring in equal parts. I had no idea he had been friends with Michael Shard. I try to imagine what it must have been like to be friends with one of Lumis’ leaders. How intimidating. How wonderful.

  Gently, I place the frame back on the desk and turn away. I cross the room, pick up a book, and crack it open.

  Chapter Two

  I'm disturbed several hours later by the sound of bells. It takes me a moment to realise what they are - and when I do, I'm on my feet in an instant. The towers ring madly, for the first time in what feels like forever. They scream out, pealing across Fairground, begging for help. It can only be one thing - the Scouts are back already. Three days early.

  My heart plummets to my stomach. Oh no. God, no.

  I sprint at full speed toward the gates, pulling my white coat over my shoulders. In the distance I can see them, the gates opening to let them in, the four weak-looking silhouettes on the horizon. One of them - the largest one - is slumped down, supported by the others and barely moving. As I near, I can see several massive gouges in their skin, like their front was torn at by a giant beast.

  In this situation, I've been told to run and get Dr Newton. But he's far away, and this looks serious. Brick groans in pain with every step, and seems to be fighting to remain conscious. He needs help now.

  I race forward. Others are gathering now, too, crying out in shock, asking what happened.

  "It was a mecha," gasps Sparrow as I reach them, "in the new sector. There wasn't anything we could have done."

  Tears fill her eyes and others step forward to comfort her, but I push past. I reach up and grab at Brick, shifting some of his weight onto my shoulders and wildly waving a hand at the infirmary. The Scouts catch on immediately, each of them stepping forward to help carry him. Adam sidles up next to me, his face a look of horror and guilt and shame.

  "Where's the doc?" he demands, but I shake my head and his eyes widen.

  We pile into the infirmary and I point towards the bed in the centre of the room. The heave him on and step back.

  "I'll find the doc," says Sparrow. A moment later she's gone, sprinting out of sight.

  I lean over Brick, rip away what's left of his shirt and study his injuries. The wounds aren't that deep - not life threatening exactly, but the risk of infection is high. I race across the room and grab a cloth and a bottle of antiseptic. Adam stares after me, his eyes wide.

  "Wait, you're treating him? Wait for the doc!"

  But I ignore him. He can control many parts of my life, but this is my job. I douse the cloth and press it against Brick's cuts. The reaction is instantaneous; he cries out and kicks, sending me flying. I hit the ground hard, get back on my feet and run back over. This time I push with one hand, trying to keep him still, but he still writhes as I clean his wounds. After a moment or two Kicker steps forward and grabs a hold of his arms, helping me to pin him down.

  Eventually I'm satisfied that the cuts are clean, and I grab a small box and set to work stitching the wounds. I’ve seen stitches done a million times, but there’s something strange about actually doing it. I’d thought it would be like sewing, but it’s not. Cloth doesn’t bleed. Once done I haul him upright and wrap bandages around him, about his chest and over his shoulders. Kicker has to help me hold him up - I'm not especially small, but Brick is solid muscle and can barely hold his own head up.

  Once we're done, and the situation seems to have calmed, I give Brick something for the pain and leave him to rest. Kicker is doubled over, gasping, surprisingly tired from the intensity of what just happened. His eyes are so wide that I can feel the fear that still remains from whateve
r the hell they saw out there.

  Dr Newton bursts in, his glasses askew, his white coat flapping behind him. Sparrow follows after, her face flushed with panic.

  They both pause as they see Brick on the table, his wounds treated. For a moment, nobody says anything.

  Then Dr Newton looks over at me. I must seem shaken, because the first thing he does is lead me to a chair. I sit, and he leans over me.

  "Did you treat him?"

  I sign. That much should be obvious.

  "Cleaned, closed? Everything?"

  I nod. He heaves a sigh of relief and then collapses into the chair next to me. His breath is heavy and laboured, probably from the running. He's not as young as he once was, and they've asked a lot of him today. He fixes his gaze on the others.

  "What about you three? Any injuries?"

  They shake their heads.

  "Just a few bruises," Kicker smirks, "nothing unusual."

  I return his smile, but my eyes look right past him to Adam. He stands motionless, having not moved at all since he told me to stop and I ignored him. He seems to be deep in thought, and my stomach turns. I bet he's trying to find a way to scold me for it. Anything to keep me under his thumb.

  I spend the next few hours watching Brick. Dr Newton checked his wounds, made sure my work was sufficient, and then returned to the child. Turns out the kid has a chest infection, something that could be treated easily if only he were a year or two older. It sounds pretty serious, so when he asks me to stay, I oblige. He needs to focus now. He needs to know he can trust me.

  I take a seat next to the bed and watch Brick sleep. He was so exhausted when he came in that once the pain faded he was out like a light. I can't say I blame him - I can feel the weight in my own eyelids, the stress still in my chest. I breathe out, long and slow in an attempt to still my racing heart, but it doesn't seem to work. Instead, I can feel adrenaline coursing through me, pumping hot in my veins. I can feel my heartbeat in my throat.