Strangelets (4 page)

Following his eyes, Zain said, “We’ve already tried voice commands, since those worked with the lights.”

“The lights?” Declan asked, puzzled.

“Did you not realize they respond to voice commands? Here, I’ll show you. Lights!”

The hall abruptly went pitch black. Declan yelped with surprise.

“Lights on!” Zain exclaimed, and the fluorescent bulbs overhead sprang back to life.

“Neat trick,” Declan said, recovering.

“Yes,” Zain said. “But with the doors, I’ve tried variations on the word ‘open’ in as many languages as I know. So far—”

“No way out,” Nico said grimly.

“We could try pushing,” Declan suggested.

Nico scoffed. “We already spent an hour. The doors are sealed, they don’t give an inch.”

“But it was just the two of you then,” Declan argued. “Maybe with all three of us—”

“It won’t work,” Nico snapped.

“Maybe later, then,” Declan said, thinking that it was probably best not to antagonize the crazy man. Anyway, it had taken him nearly an hour to open that hospital door; he was feeling fairly parched himself. A little rest wouldn’t kill him. Nodding toward the folding chairs he said, “Shall we take a load off and see if we can get this sorted? Don’t suppose they left us a deck of cards …”

Anat was seething. She’d
been trapped here for what felt like an eternity. She’d spent hours stalking the three narrow hallways, shaped like the letter “π”: the one her room was on, another that ran a few meters to another hall, then a final one that dead-ended into a set of impenetrable doors.

There were five rooms identical to hers, each with a window that looked out on a cement wall and a tiny bathroom with a toilet and shower. All of them were empty.

She’d started to despair, and found herself compulsively touching her gold ring. Over and over she wondered what Hazim must be thinking. He’d been so worried that she’d back out at the last minute, afraid to risk the border crossing. When she hadn’t shown up at the hotel at the agreed time, had he simply gone on without her? Or was he still there, waiting for her?

Mostly Anat raged at whoever had captured her. She’d addressed long diatribes to the walls, cursing them for wrongfully imprisoning her. The worst part was that she wasn’t even sure who to blame. Hamas? Her own people? Maybe she hadn’t been as careful as she thought, and her smuggling activities had been noted. Maybe this was just a precursor to torture, and they were softening her up before sending in the experts.

The isolation was driving her mad. Anat would even have welcomed the reappearance of that awful old woman from the border shack.

Then, finally, she heard a voice. She rushed into the corridor, only to discover an American girl. She was weak and sickly looking, wearing an absurd nightgown with a smiley face on it. And she pretended to have no idea what Anat was talking about.

Americans. I should have known
, Anat thought disdainfully. They had their hands in everything, ostensibly helping Israel while covertly arming their enemies. They’d probably sent a teenage girl hoping that Anat would bare her soul, grateful for the company. Well, they were mistaken. She had no intention of revealing anything, especially not to an American.

Fortunately, they seemed to have gathered that quickly. The girl disappeared back into her room, and the hallway fell silent again.

Anat sat on the edge of her bed, brooding. After stalking back to her room, she’d scoured every inch of the walls and floors. The other girl had emerged from a previously empty room, so there had to be another access point to it. Unfortunately, as far as she could tell, her room had no such hidden entrance.

Anat had heard terrible stories about the types of punishment meted out to traitors—that had been part of her military training, a clear warning against defying the state.
But I’m not a traitor
, Anat thought angrily. Smuggling cartons of cigarettes across the border hardly warranted this kind of penalty.

She got to her feet again, unable to remain still. It was time she had some answers. Maybe the American girl was still around, and she could force her to talk. Or maybe they’d send someone else to try and break her. She’d prefer to meet any threat head-on; she was tired of sitting around doing nothing.

Anat set her jaw and marched to the door, throwing it open. She turned left. She was stomping toward the American’s room when a soft voice called out behind her.

Anat spun around—a tiny Asian girl was standing in the middle of the hallway. The girl was a full head shorter than her and looked young. She was dressed in an oversized polyester shirt and pants that had been double-cuffed at the bottom. Her hair was dark and thick and ended crisply just above her shoulders. She repeated whatever she’d said and took a step forward.

Anat’s eyes narrowed. What were they trying now? The American hadn’t worked, so they sent a Chinese girl instead? She opened her mouth to say something in rebuke, but the girl’s expression stopped her. She appeared genuinely terrified, tears streamed down her cheeks.
A trick
? Anat wondered. But
she wavered—there seemed to be something terribly sincere in the girl’s confusion and terror. And, she realized suddenly, deep down it mirrored her own feelings.

The girl was staring at her. Anat managed a thin smile, and said, “Who are you?” in Hebrew.

The girl looked at her, puzzled. She said something again. What language was she speaking? Chinese? Japanese? Korean? Anat sighed, then switched back to the language she’d been forced to learn in school. “Who are you?” she asked in English.

The girl’s eyes lit up. “My name is Yosh Mori,” she said haltingly. “Where am I?”

“Anat Erez,” she answered. “And I don’t know.”

They regarded each other for a minute. Anat was forced to acknowledge that the girl certainly didn’t seem to be a threat. She was so tiny that even with proper combat training, Anat held a solid advantage in size and strength. She gestured toward her room and asked, “Would you like to come in?”

The girl looked relieved. She nodded and answered, “Yes, if you please.”

Anat walked in and held the door for her. Yosh paused on the threshold as if expecting a trap. Seeing that the room was clear, she warily stepped inside.

Anat motioned to the only chair in the room. She settled down on her bed, oddly self-conscious about the rumpled state of it.

The girl’s eyes panned the hospital room, finally settling back on Anat. She’d perched on the edge of the chair, feet crossed neatly at the ankles, hands clasped on her lap. Anat was reminded of a bird on the verge of taking flight. Neither of them seemed to know where to begin.

“What has happened?” Yosh finally asked.

“I don’t know,” Anat admitted. “Where are you from?”

“Kyoto,” Yosh said.

“Kyoto, Japan?” Anat’s mind spun. Americans were one thing, but what possible interest could the Japanese have in her? Chinese, maybe, but Japanese?

“Yes, Kyoto is in Japan.” Yosh’s brow furrowed.

“I know where Kyoto is,” Anat said testily, although in truth she couldn’t have picked it out on a map. “And you just got here?”

“Yes, I … was there an accident?” she asked, looking around. “Are we no longer in Japan?”

“I don’t know where we are,” Anat admitted. “But I’ve never been to Japan. I am from Israel.”

“Israel?”

“Yes. Now tell me exactly what you remember.”

Yosh nervously rubbed her fingers together. “I was walking to school.” She spoke so quietly, Anat had to lean forward to hear her. “About to cross the street. But halfway across …” She muttered to herself in what must have been Japanese, then turned her palms hands up apologetically.

“There was a darkness?” Anat guessed. “Black, like the night?”

Yosh looked relieved. “Yes, black. But there were also … things … inside it. And then …” She looked around again. “I woke up in a room like this one. But you do not know where we are?”

“No, I don’t,” Anat said, puzzling it over. The girl seemed to be telling the truth. She considered herself to be an excellent judge of liars, and Yosh wasn’t exhibiting any of the classic signs: avoiding eye contact, or tilting her head. All of the other rooms had been empty not long before, however. So where had she come from? “But—”

A siren started to wail. Yosh winced and covered her ears. Anat jumped off the bed and lunged toward the corridor. What was going on? Was this more of their games?

The hallway was empty, the lighting still dim. Anat marched through the connecting passage to check: the doors remained locked. She almost tripped over Yosh when she turned back, the girl was right at her heels.

“What is happening?” she cried, tugging urgently on Anat’s arm.

Anat shook her off. She went back to the American’s door and shoved it open.

The girl was sitting up in bed, blearily blinking her eyes. Anat stormed the bed and grabbed the girl’s shoulders, shaking her. “Tell us what this is!”

“Let go of me,” the girl mumbled, trying futilely to extricate herself from Anat’s grasp.

“I will hurt you if you don’t tell us,” Anat warned. Behind her, Yosh gasped. The American barely seemed to notice. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she went limp.

Anat growled and released her grip. The girl dropped back on the pillows. “Come on,” she said, making her way back to the hall without checking to see if Yosh followed.

“But she seems hurt. Shouldn’t we …”

Ignoring her, Anat trotted back to the exit doors. They had to open somehow. There was a way out, she just had to find it.

She ran her hands across them. Even though she’d already done it dozens of times since awakening here, she might have missed something. There must be some sort of secret latch, a way to get it open.

Yosh was standing slightly back, her eyes wide.

“Help me!” Anat snapped.

Yosh tentatively stepped forward, then brushed her fingers across the door, as if afraid it would bite. After a minute, she shook her head. “It is locked,” she said with finality.

Anat was about to chastise her for giving up, even though she could sense the futility of their efforts. But before she got a chance to speak, the alarm abruptly ceased.

A second later, the doors silently swung open.

Whatever Declan had expected
to find on the other side of the doors, it definitely hadn’t been this. Two girls stood there, looking every bit as startled as he felt: a swarthy one who was tall and fierce-looking, dressed head-to-toe in black, and a small Asian girl in rummage-store clothing. Of course, he was part of a fairly odd bunch, too.

They all stared at each other for a moment.

“Hallo,” he said to break the silence. “Is this the way out, then?”

The taller girl stepped forward, crossing the threshold.
Stunning
, Declan thought,
but scary
. Her demeanor reminded him of a rhino debating whether or not to charge. As she advanced with a murderous look in her eye, the boys stepped back in unison.

“No,” the Japanese girl said quietly. “We thought this was the way.”

The taller girl threw her a sharp look. “Quiet, Yosh.”

“But—”

“I said, be quiet!” She turned back to them, her eyes narrowing. “We want to leave.”

“Shocking, that,” Declan laughed. “Something we have in common, then.” He stepped past her and extended a hand to the Japanese girl. “Pleased to make your acquaintance. Declan Murphy.”

Yosh shook hands, then turned to the other two boys. Zain’s mouth opened and closed several times without producing a word. The Swiss boy interceded, saying “Nico Bruder,” with a brusque nod. “And this is Zain.”

“Enough!” the tall girl growled. “How do we get out?”

And here’s the rest of the asylum
, Declan thought. Out loud he said, “We were hoping you could tell us. Not this way, I’m guessing?”

The tall girl’s eyes narrowed. “You know it isn’t.”

“I know nothing of the sort,” Declan said. “Was stuck in a shite room for hours, until I finally broke out and met these lads. Then while we’re sitting around gabbing, a siren goes off and the doors finally pop open.”

“It’s true,” Zain piped up. “There are just three hallways and six hospital rooms over here. No exits.”

“And there are only the three of you?”

“Yes,” Nico chimed in. “Are you two alone?”

“Alone, but able to defend ourselves,” she declared.

At that, Declan had to laugh. “That’s just brilliant. We’re stuck here, no way out on either side, and you’re worried about us? Do we strike you as a dangerous lot?”

That seemed to give her pause. She looked them over again slowly, her eyes hesitating on Zain in his ragged shorts and threadbare T-shirt.
You could blow the lad over with a good breath
, Declan thought, following her gaze. In a brawl, even little Yosh could probably best him.

“Well, you better not try anything,” she muttered.

“I’ll bear that in mind,” Declan said dryly.

“Do you have phones? There were none in our rooms.”

“Yes, but mine isn’t working,” Nico said. “And Declan isn’t getting a signal either. How about you?”