GLAZE (20 page)

There’s a loud bang, and I practically jump into Ethan’s arms.
 

‘It’s OK,’ he says, laughing. He wraps one arm around me and pats me on the back, a little awkwardly. ‘Just a firework.’ He points up at the sky where a trail of glittering lights are falling back to the earth. ‘We’re nearly there.’
 

‘I don’t want to go home,’ I say, looking up at him through the haze of firework images exploding behind my eyes, as people all over the country stream their experiences. ‘Not… not yet.’
 

I wait for him to argue, to tell me I’m in no state to be out, and he’d be right. But he doesn’t.

‘Let’s get a better view,’ he says and we start walking back the way we came.

The office floor of Gruber & Gruber looks different at night. The shadows thrown by the lights outside are angular and biting. Filing cabinets have become rock faces, tables looming monoliths.
 

The windows almost seem too big. Unreal. They make the scene below look like a backdrop projected onto a screen rather than really there. The whole thing is like stumbling into a dark cinema as the film has already begun. I stub my toe on a beige lump of office machinery as obsolete as this room.
 

Despite Ethan being here I feel completely alone. Perhaps even more so because of his presence and his stillness. It’s exactly what I need to make up for all the messy humanity that’s been going on in my head.
 

I feel so tired, stretched out too thin. How was it Kiara put it? Like a pancake person. I don’t know what’s left of me anymore.
 

I can sense them all there, in my head, scrabbling away, demanding my attention. But at least here, with Ethan next to me and the river stretching out beneath us, it feels quieter. Neither of them demands anything of me.
 

I take a seat on an old chair and spin in gentle circles. It’s easier in the dark too, I realise. If I can’t see things, neither can Glaze. Is this how it’s going to be from now on, me hiding in the darkness? The irony is sickening. I did it because I wanted to feel connected to people, to be a part of things. Now, I want to stay away.
 

Ethan is silent as always. Sitting on a table and staring out into the night. I’m starting to think he’s right about the chip, that I need to get help, but I don’t want to admit it. The adjustment period is only supposed to be a few hours. A day tops. But it’s been two days now and it’s not getting any better. And there’s another thing I haven’t told him about it.
 

The first blast of colour explodes in the sky, the sound coming a fraction later. Even though I’m expecting it, I still jump.
 

‘Are you OK?’ Ethan asks.

‘Yes. I’m fine. It’s beautiful.’

Blossoms of coloured lights glitter in the sky. I can’t actually hear the track the fireworks are being timed to, but I know from the feeds of all the people watching below that it’s Beethoven’s 5th. I start humming.
 

The speed and quantity of fireworks build and build, layers of sparkling motes falling out of the sky. There are other firework displays being streamed from all over the country, along with bonfires and burning figures. Bemused Americans are chatting back and forth, asking why we celebrate a foiled attempt to destroy democracy.
 

‘Because we love a loser,’ I say, knowing that no one but Ethan will hear.
 

It’s the first time I’ve felt it: the connection everyone talks about. The sense that each experience really is better when shared. It’s like that puzzle Max put to me once: ‘if a tree falls in a wood and there’s no one to hear it, does it make a sound?’
 

I’d argued that of course it did. Simple physics would mean it had to. ‘Ah,’ he’d said, tapping me on my nose with his gloved hand. ‘But you’d never know.’
 

Big Ben gongs right in time with another explosion. By the time the bell has sounded for the eighth time, I know something awful is happening.
 

I sense the first scream before I hear it. Someone crying out in fear and shock. Then another. And another.
 

I stand up and rush towards the window, pressing my hand against the glass as if I can hold off what’s happening.
 

‘What is it?’ Ethan runs to stand behind me. He grabs me by the shoulders and pulls me away from the glass.
 

My fading palm print flashes in the light of another firework.
 

‘They’re so afraid,’ I say, pressing my hands to my head to block out the cries for help. Thousands, millions of voices all across the city all screaming in terror. I can’t see what they’re seeing. Only experience their reaction to it. I imagine bomb explosions and terrorist attacks. I imagine monsters tearing people limb from limb. Whatever’s causing this mass horror has to be worse than that. Each and every person on Glaze is feeling it at once. Amplifying the fear as it’s fed through the system. Like feedback on a speaker.
 

Voices upon voices calling out a single word. Broadcasting it. Begging someone to listen.
 

// H
ELP
. //

‘So afraid!’ I cry, falling to my knees and curling up into a ball.
 

‘It’s your chip, it must be going wrong,’ Ethan says, taking my head in his hands and trying to look into my eyes. ‘Shut it off.’

I shake my head, wordless. Nothing can describe what these people are going through. What I’m going through alongside them. Feeling it all at once. And there’s no escape. Because that’s the thing that Logan never told me and I haven’t told Ethan. There’s no off switch.
 

‘I can’t!’ I scream, tears pouring down my cheeks.
 

‘We have to get you to Logan. We have to get that thing out of you.’
 

‘No,’ I say pushing him away from me and trying to get to my feet. But my legs won’t hold the weight of all the pain pressing down on me.
 

This isn’t my chip breaking. It’s the world.
 

‘Logan,’ Ethan says. ‘This is him. This is his message. November fifth, remember? The day he said he was going to send a message to the world. This is him!’

I can hardly see Ethan now through the thousands of images streaming past my eyes. I scrabble for a point to hold on to, a single pair of eyes to look through. Scenes flick past. My eyes ache they’re moving so fast.
 

‘Petri! Petri! Stay with me.’ I can just make out his voice through the screams of animal fear coming from everyone, everywhere.
 

I can actually hear them now. Screams floating up from the streets below. Ethan lets go of me and presses his hands against his ears, trying to block it out. He wraps his arms around his head and curls up into a ball, pressing his knees against his hands, anything to stop the noise.

I’m still frantically searching. Picking an image from the constant flow, deciding it means nothing to me, then throwing it away. Trying to find something that makes any kind of sense. I stop on one image.
 

What I see makes my whole body start to shake.
 

My mother, staring into our mirror at home, her eyes so wide I think they might burst out of her head. Blood pouring down her face, her bright green nails clawing dark tracks through her pale flesh.
 

Then everything goes black and I collapse to the floor.

18

‘
PETRI!’ I HEAR MY NAME
being called. ‘Petri, it’s OK. You’re safe.’

It takes me seconds to realise the screaming is coming from me. But I can’t stop. I slap both hands over my mouth, trying to hold the sound in. Slowly, slowly it ebbs away. My throat is raw and burns as I take a ragged breath to calm myself.
 

There’s wetness on my face. Panicked, I rub my hands against my cheeks. It’s only tears.
 

‘Petri...’
 

I look up into Ethan’s eyes, which are widened by fear. I nod, trying to tell him I’m OK. But am I?

‘What happened?’ I say, my voice croaking.
 

‘I don’t know.’ He helps me to my feet. ‘One second the fireworks, the next, all this screaming. And not only you. It sounded like it was coming from everyone.’
 

‘Do you really think it was Logan’s doing?’ I stumble and catch myself on a fake pot plant. A plastic leaf comes away in my hand.
 

‘I don’t know.’ Ethan runs his shaking hand through his hair.
 

I stagger through the office, bumping into the abandoned tables and chairs, hardly looking where I’m going. I don’t want to believe this could have anything to do with Logan. Because if it does then it’s my fault. For betraying my mother.
 

My mother.
 

‘Zizi!’ I gasp.
 

I start running through the empty office, dizzy and disoriented, not sure how to get out.
 

Ethan races behind me as I slam through fire doors, up the flight of stairs, and back onto the rooftop. ‘Wait. Petri, wait!’
 

The air is cold and biting as I burst out of the door, but I can hardly feel it as I run forward. Desperate to get away.
 

I skid to a halt on the asphalt and Ethan grabs hold of my jumper, stopping me from toppling over the edge.

‘Where are you going?’ he asks, taking me by my elbows and pulling me into him.
 

‘Home,’ I say into his shoulder. ‘I have to get home.’

His heart pounds behind his ribs. It’s so loud I don’t know how it’s not bursting out of his chest. He steps back and looks down. ‘OK,’ he says. ‘But not this way.’
 

I look over the edge of the building, down on to the concrete far below. For a second I think I see a body lying on the floor, but as the wind blows I realise it’s a bin bag lying in a lumpy heap. I imagine myself down there, sprawled out, limbs broken, head crushed and bleeding out on to the street. I hold on to him, fighting the urge to leap. It would be so easy, and then all of this... this mess would be over. Maybe I could finally sleep.
 

Ethan doesn’t let go of my hand as he shows me the way back down, guiding me from building to building and wall to wall. When my feet finally touch solid ground behind a block of flats, I feel more myself. Steadier than I have in weeks.
 

‘Wait!’ I say. I can’t believe it’s taken me this long to realise, to notice the silence. ‘My feed. I can’t see it anymore.’
 

Ethan tilts his head and looks at me. ‘Maybe the chip finally fried?’

‘Maybe.’ I expect sadness. A sense of loss. Or relief, even. I just feel empty.
 

It’s only when I exit the alley and return to the main street that I realise it’s not only me who’s suffering.
 

Crowds of people, who moments ago must have been watching the fireworks, are now staggering around. They look lost. Some are crying, holding themselves. Others look blankly into the sky, searching for something.
 

A girl kneels over a man, tears falling down her face. ‘Daddy!’ she shouts. ‘Daddy, get up please.’
 

I stumble over and squat down next to her. I avoid looking at her father. I’ve never seen a dead body before and I don’t want to now. When I do gather the courage to glance down, it’s clear he’s not dead. Although looking at his face I almost wish he was.
 

He’s staring at nothing or at least nothing that I can see. But whatever it is, it’s terrifying him. His face is frozen in a rictus of terror, gums bared, lips peeled back, and his hands are balled into twisted fists beside his head.
 

I lay a hand on his shoulder, trying to calm him, but he doesn’t even notice my presence. The girl looks up to me, her eyes floating in tears. Like I could do something. Like I have any idea what the hell is going on.
 

‘Help,’ she whispers, shaking her dad. Hoping he’ll wake up. ‘Help.’
 

It’s too much. She’s asking too much of me. I scrabble away from her and her dad and fall back on to my backside, knocking into someone behind me. It’s a woman, in a smart black, military-style coat and a small woollen hat.
 

‘I can’t find my husband,’ she says like she’s waking up from a dream. ‘Have you seen my husband?’ She staggers off, stopping each person she passes to ask them the same question. But they’re all still reeling from whatever shock has taken hold here. No one knows where they are, let alone where her husband is.
 

It’s like something you see on the news after a bomb blast. Like the footage they made us watch in school of 9/11 and 7/7. People walking around in a daze from the blast, looking for someone to tell them where to go. There’s no blood here. No dust coating everyone. But their eyes are the same. Like they’ve seen too much.
 

Feet scuff behind me. Ethan leans down to wrap his arm around the now wailing girl. ‘It will be OK,’ he says. I can’t tear my eyes away from her father. ‘Petri!’ Ethan shouts. He shakes me and finally I manage to look at him. ‘Petri, get help,’ he says.
 

I clamber to my feet and look around. A middle-aged woman with bleach-blonde hair staggers towards me. I grab her, shouting into her face. ‘Get help.’ She shrugs me off, angrily and backs away.
 

A man in a dark suit is leaning against a lamp-post. I run over to him. ‘Call the police,’ I say. ‘Call anyone!’
 

He shakes his head, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. ‘I can’t. I can’t access Glaze.’
 

‘What?’
 

‘Me neither,’ a teenage girl standing near us says. Her mascara has run in dark pools, making it look like she has two black eyes. ‘It’s total blackout.’

‘Do you think it’s a terrorist attack?’ the man in the suit says. ‘Have they taken down Glaze? It’s what I’d do, you know, if I were a terrorist. Take out the means of communication. Cause panic. Yes, that’s what this must be.’ He turns to face the milling people. ‘It’s a terrorist attack! But we’re OK. Everyone, we’re OK!’ He walks off into the crowd, his hands raised like he’s some sort of messiah.