Alternity (6 page)

What if the dream was a premonition of some sort? What if there are uniformed men just around the corner, ready to chase me, to pin me down, to “send me to the moon”? Should I be ready to run?

My panicked thoughts are interrupted as Dawn jumps off the ladder, landing with a thud by my side. He pulls an industrial-strength flashlight from a utility belt and switches it on. I relax a bit. In my dream I was alone. Here, at the very least, I have my reluctant hero by my side. Can I trust him? I have no idea. But what choice do I have?

“Ready?” Dawn asks, turning to me. “My bike’s stashed in a side tunnel nearby. I don’t think they saw us, and I did lock the hole, but I don’t want to take any chances.”

“Where are you taking me?”

“I told you. To my house. I’ll contact Glenda and the Eclipsers and let them know you’re here.” He grunts. “Don’t worry, once they come get you, you won’t have to deal with me anymore.”

“Uh, okay,” I say, not liking his sarcasm. But then again, how can I blame the guy? I just beat the crap out of him. I’m probably lucky he didn’t decide to turn me into the patrol himself.

I follow Dawn down the corridor, his flashlight casting sharp silhouettes against the smooth cave walls. I resist the urge to grab his arm like a girly girl frightened by her own shadow. Instead I square my shoulders and force myself to keep a brave face. Can’t let him know how freaked out I am; he already holds enough of an advantage, thank you very much.

The tunnel breaks ahead, forking into an unlit side passage. Dawn motions for me to wait and then disappears into the darkness, returning a moment later leading a small motorcycle. He straddles it and then instructs me to hop on the back, after handing me a helmet. I hesitate, weigh my options, then reluctantly pull the helmet over my head and climb on.

“No handholds,” I remark, looking from side to side on the bike.

“Sorry, princess,” Dawn says mildly, “you’re just going to have to hold on to me.”

Seeing no alternative, I tentatively guide my arms around him, clasping my hands together in front. His chest is solid, toned. Not an ounce of fat encasing his well-defined ribs. I can feel his heartbeat through his jacket, thudding too fast. Matching the beats of my own. He’s still nervous about me. Or at least this Mariah he thinks I am.

He starts the engine and the bike roars to life. It’s then that I realize this is not a regular motorcycle. Namely because regular motorcycles do not hover six inches off the ground.

Holy crap!
I start to exclaim, but my words are drowned out as Dawn releases the brake and we begin to fly down the corridor. Yes, literally
fly
. The wind whips through my hair as we soar down the road.

The ride is fast but smooth; by hovering we avoid any potholes or rocks. Dawn steers the bike effortlessly, tipping to one side and then the other as he maneuvers down the sharp tunnel turns. I tighten my grip around him—we have to be going at least a hundred miles an hour—and I wonder what would happen if someone comes around the corner in the other direction. A high-speed flying collision? No thank you.

About ten minutes later Dawn slows the bike. I tilt my head to get a better glimpse as to where we are. We’ve come to a large, rusty gate that extends from the ground to the cave ceiling. Two identical spotlights cast shards of illumination against its closed metal mouth.

“Welcome to the Dark Side,” Dawn says grimly. He presses a button and the bike sinks back to the earth. I let out a sigh of relief. He dismounts and walks over to the gate.

“The dark side?” I repeat skeptically. “As in, ‘Use the force, Luke’?”

“Hardy-har-har,” Dawn mutters, not sounding the least bit amused. But he does seem to recognize the
Star Wars
reference. Does George Lucas’s presence really stretch this far? “Dark Side. Like, the place where the Dark Siders live,” he clarifies bitterly. “Those of us deemed unworthy of mingling with the Indys of Luna Park.”

That doesn’t exactly clear things up. “Indys?”

He sighs. “You really have forgotten everything, haven’t you? Indys—short for Independents. The free citizens of Terra. They live on Level One of the underground strata in their luxurious condos with sparkling swimming pools, tennis courts, and expensive restaurants. While we, the working class, the ones who keep Terra running, are trapped down here in Stratum Two. Doomed to live in the dirt and squalor and work like slaves our entire lives.”

“You live underground?” I feel a sudden pang of sympathy for the guy. “That must be horrible!” I mean, I can’t even imagine what it must be like to live underground. Never see the sun.

Never see the moon …

Dawn chokes out a laugh. “Funny you should say that.” He presses his thumb against a small gray pad embedded in the gate. The device beeps twice, and the gate creaks open. “I mean, seeing how you betrayed the revolution and all.”

Before I can reply, he joins me back on the bike and turns over the engine, drowning out my billion questions as we rise off the ground again. We head through the gates and into the tunnel beyond. The Dark Side, I realize quickly, is very unlike the town I arrived in, one stratum above, where buildings, while decrepit, still seemed semi-normal and recognizable. This place feels more like an ant farm, with intricate, twisty-tunnels leading off in all directions. The ceilings are beyond low and dull, dirty metal doors are embedded into the rocks every few feet. The claustrophobia kicks back in—hardcore.

As Dawn bike banks a sharp left, we glide down a corridor, and the narrow passage thankfully opens up into what appears to be some kind of town square. I look around, quickly assessing. Junk stores advertise odds and ends. Tiny grocers are busy parceling out moldy vegetables and crusts of bread. Broken-down trailers with tattered canopies and multicolored Christmas lights squat wherever there’s room. And scantily clad women hang out of crumbling buildings advertising their particular services.

Steam rises from the grated floor, and condensation drips from the high ceiling, giving the impression of a drizzly rain. The place is packed, too many people for such a small area, all milling about, waiting in ridiculously long lines for groceries and junk. Most are dressed in gray rags and appear scrawny, impoverished, and blindingly pale.

Dawn parks his bike and we disembark. He gestures to the scene. “Spark any memories?” he asks, a hopeful note in his voice.

I shake my head. Just the opposite—I’ve never seen anything so foreign in my whole life. I try to imagine what living down here would be like. Trapped in a subterranean world with no hope of ever going back up to the surface …

We pass an old man hobbling down the street on a bent metal cane. I can’t help but stare as I realize he’s got an extra eye growing out of his forehead. He looks up, his trifold gaze meeting mine. Then, suddenly, his forlorn face lights up like a child’s on Christmas morning.

“Mariah?” he cries, his voice full of wonder. “Is that really you?”

“Oh, great. I was afraid of this,” Dawn mutters. “Look, Brother—we’re trying to keep a low profile—”

“Hey, everyone, it’s Mariah Quinn!” the man calls out loudly before Dawn can silence him. A moment later I find myself rushed by what appears to be the entire town. Encircled, entrapped, and completely engulfed by eager Dark Siders, their eyes shining, their voices animated as they demand to know where I’ve been. I’m smothered in hugs and questions and requests for help. I look around wildly for Dawn, pleading for his assistance.

“Hey, hey!” he yells over the roar of the crowd, shooing them away. He manages to carve out a small space between me and the Dark Siders. “I know you’re excited to see her, but Mariah’s been through a lot. She needs some time to recover before you bombard her with requests. I’m sure she’ll be setting up visiting hours soon. So just hang on until then, okay?”

“Sorry, Mariah,” several townspeople say, looking appropriately abashed. “We’re just so glad to see you again.” They step away slowly, retreating, respectful. Some touch their caps; others bow their heads.

I look over the crowd, realizing that the man with three eyes is not alone in his deformities. A young woman has an extra, useless arm hanging to one side. A small boy has a tooth growing out of his chin. A middle-aged man has an extra set of ears. They’re all mutants. Every last one of them. I glance over at Dawn. Is he deformed somehow as well? But no, he seems normal. Flawless, even. A perfect specimen.

Before I can question this, Dawn grabs my hand and leads me through the crowd. It parts like the Red Sea, heads bowing reverently as we pass. Whoever this Mariah is, she certainly has the respect of the people. Did she really betray them all? I glance back at the sad, downtrodden masses and my heart aches at the hope in their eyes. They are going to be sorely disappointed when they find out their supposed fearless leader is nothing more than a college kid from another world.

Dawn leads me out of the town square and down another tunnel. We come to a metal door, embedded in a stone wall. “Home sweet home,” he says as he presses his thumb against the sensor. The door slides open, and we step inside.

I look around; the apartment is no more than a small cave—entirely windowless and scooped out of stone. The walls are smooth, as if they’ve been sanded down and the decor and furnishings are beyond sparse. A small metal futon couch, coffee table, bookcase—a kitchenette with a half fridge and stove top burners at the far end. Two doors lead off to the side. Bedroom? Bathroom? Do they have plumbing down here? That would be something, at least.

The front door slides silently shut behind me. Dawn walks over to the futon and collapses on it, head in his hands. He scrubs his face, staring down at the rock floor, silent.

“Um,” I say, still hovering by the door. “So now what?”

Dawn grabs a small silver phone off the coffee table and presses in a code. He puts the receiver to his ear. “Yeah,” he says, after a pause. “I got her. Yeah, she’s at my place. No. No, she has no idea who she is.”

“Is that Glenda?” I ask, reaching for the phone. Dawn dodges my hand and stands up, walking to the other side of the room.

“No,
you
come get her. I told you I wanted nothing to do with this … Nice trick, telling her to contact me when she reentered … Yeah, whatever … As far as I’m concerned she could have rotted at Moongazer Palace.” He grips the phone tightly, his knuckles white. “Yes, I really do mean that. Look, you guys have your own agenda and that’s fine by me. But I want no part of it. I told you. I’m done. Ready to lie low. I’ve no interest in fighting the good fight anymore. And you know what? I don’t think your fearless leader even knows there
is
a fight.” He pauses again. “Whatever. Just come get her so I don’t have to look at her pointy little nose anymore.”

I cringe, resisting the urge to reach for my nose. He sounds so angry. So bitter. How can I convince him that I’m not who he thinks I am? That he can’t blame me for whatever it was that this Mariah chick did?

Dawn presses a button on his phone and looks over at me. “The Eclipsers are on their way,” he says. “So you can relax. You’ll be rid of me soon enough.”

“Look,” I say, figuring now that we’re relatively safe I should put all my cards on the table. “No matter what you and the people out there think, I’m not Mariah. I’m Skye Brown—a college kid from New York. I don’t know what’s going on or how I got here or where
here
even is, but I’d really like to go home now.” My voice breaks, the strain and stress and horror of everything I’ve gone through finally overwhelming me. Tears well up in my eyes. Tears of frustration, helplessness, and rage.

There’s a pause, then a crash, as Dawn slams his phone against the stone wall, smashing it into a thousand pieces. “Goddamn you, Duske!” he roars, so loud I think I feel the apartment shake. “Goddamn you and your ‘Gazers!”

I jump back, afraid of his violent outburst. “What are you talking about?” I ask, trying desperately to keep my voice steady. “Who’s this Duske guy? And what’s a ‘Gazer?” Even as I ask, I’m not sure I want to know.

He turns to me, his face awash in anger. “Listen to me now,” he commands. “And listen good.
You
are not who you think you are. This Skye girl from another world? This college kid from New York? She doesn’t exist. Your name is Mariah Quinn. You’re from here—Terra. In fact, you’ve lived your whole life on Terra, till a couple of months ago.”

“But that’s crazy!” I cry. “I know who I am.”

“No. You only think you do,” Dawn volleys back. “The Moongazing drugs have made you forget who you really are. Everything about your life in fact.”

I scowl; this is ridiculous. I don’t take drugs. And I certainly haven’t forgotten who I am. “You’re wrong,” I tell him. “I’m Skye. And I have a whole lifetime of memories to prove it.”

Dawn rolls his eyes. “Implanted memories don’t count.”

“What about my family and friends, then?” I challenge. “My classmates? My teachers?”

“Strangers introduced to your new life. My guess is they were similarly wiped and implanted when you started Moongazing.”

I squeeze my hands into fists, frustrated beyond belief. “What … is … Moongazing?”

Dawn doesn’t answer, and the sudden silence is unnerving. He sinks down onto his futon, his anger seeming to dissipate into sadness. I drop to the couch, looking at him pleadingly. “Tell me,” I beg. “Please.”

But he just shakes his head. “I look at you now and see nothing but an empty shell. A shadow of a girl I once loved, with false memories to lull her to sleep while her people suffer and die, lost without their leader.” He stares at the wall so hard I half wonder if he’ll burn a hole in the rock. “You make me sick, Mariah Quinn.”

“I’m not Mariah,” I protest again, weakly this time, most of the fight in me gone. I wish he could just accept that I’m not who he thinks I am. I’m not a leader. Or a traitor, for that matter. I’ve never been here before. I’ve never laid eyes on Dawn. I’ve never laid eyes on
any
of these people.

Are you so sure about that?

With perfect timing, my throat constricts. Do I have my inhaler? I pat my skirt anxiously, praying it’s still in my possession. I feel a lump and reach into my pocket, fingers curling around my salvation. I pull out the device and put it to my mouth.