She had been due to migrate that day, and had set off to the Farm with her younger sister for company. She described how everything was normal when they pulled into the terminal. She had been talking to her father who had hollered with them for the journey, the doors had opened and everyone had begun to exit when the Hollers suddenly vanished. The Drones on the platform, who had been helping and talking only moments before, simply raised their weapons and began to fire into the crowds. She and her sister had seen hundreds fall. They had escaped only because the doors had failed to open on their compartment as they were too far down the platform.
As they watched through the refracted glass of the door, people had simply stood frozen to the spot, not understanding what was happening, assuming perhaps that this was happening around them and not to them. Others had tried to run but had been picked off as they crossed the wide-open lawns and concourse. As more Drones poured out of the Farm, the stragglers and the wounded had been killed without hesitation, but not the young children. She remembered seeing the children standing in small clusters as the slaughter happened around them, herded together or crouched alone on the floor.
Whilst the Drones were busy killing, she and her sister had escaped from a fire window at the rear of their compartment, crawling along the tube before exiting via a maintenance hatch and slipping into the undergrowth, before finally heading out across the savannahs towards the wall and the forest beyond.
She wept uncontrollably as she recounted how she had left her sister at the wall, a deep cut along her leg sustained as she fell from the train finally making her immobile, fate refusing to let her run out on her life with AarBee. She had left her propped against the wall with water and chocolate to make her comfortable, her skin turning as grey as stone, her fading eyes keeping watch across the wide savannah with a whistle to blow if she saw Drones approaching, or other survivors who could help.
The camp was up late again that night, though not with the music and laughter of the night before. This time, a sombre mood mingled with the night air and woodsmoke. Small groups sat around the fires that dotted the clearing like beacons, whilst others came together around tables or curled up on rugs in the warm chambers deep in the cave. Some spat angry words and punched out violent gestures that cast long and haunting shadows into the trees or across the cave walls. Others talked in hushed and secretive tones, frightened and timid nocturnal creatures with one ear scanning the forests from a fear that couldn’t be placated. The rest sat quietly, with heads on shoulders and hands being held. Hair was smoothed gently from forehead to neck, as they thought of their loved ones who remained in the Metropolis or mourned helplessly in the tragedy of the loss of so many strangers.
As the night deepened, the murmur of voices faded along with the dimming fires left unattended once everything that could be said had been shared. The cave that had been home to the Lifers since Matthew’s first steps inside it, wrapped gently around the group as one by one they settled into sleep, soothed by a lullaby of distant sobs that moved through the cave like a yawn before finally petering out. Every now and then David would shout out in his sleep, haunted by the faces of death and oblivion, and Jennifer would put her arm across him, letting the weight of her bones push him back to safety.
In the early morning, when troubled thoughts and endless circling questions forced Jennifer and a few others out of sleep, it was raining hard. They stood together in silence at the mouth of the cave, watching the water pummel the earth and bounce in countless tiny explosions off the rocks and stray possessions that lay randomly around the clearing. There would be little they could do today until the downpour passed, there would be no escape from the heavy gloom that glued them together in that space, until the rain let them out.
They ate breakfast and drank nettle tea there, the group growing by one or two every few minutes. Chairs were carried over, then a few tables with more food, blankets on knees, coffee, somebody even played some music. They sat there together for over an hour, a surprise audience in an enormous theatre, watching the morning perform a slow and meditative drama of light, movement and sound. Leaves shuddered and shimmered under the downpour, glimpses of muted daylight made the air roll through sharp and crystal vanillas to deep and dark mossy greens, and when the wind rushed across the clearing the rain clustered into giant chandeliers that swept across their view and down into the trees. Nobody spoke during their time in the mouth of the cave, there was no talking to be done. Soon though, they began to make little jokes with one another, stupid faces and childish games until smiles and giggles began to grow and the whole group was laughing hysterically together at the ridiculous moment they had made. Jennifer laughed too, an uncontrollable but silent belly laugh that she couldn’t remember ever having done before, that made tears run down her cheeks and her ribs ache as if she had been punched. Other members of the group, awake now and puzzled by this bizarre scene approached them with confused expressions, smiling a little to join the fun, and that’s when someone noticed Matthew. He was standing on the far side of the clearing, almost disappeared into the trees with his back to the cave, his arms clenched tightly to his chest, stamping his feet a little as if he was marching on the spot. The laughter stopped and a long awkward silence took its place.
“What’s he doing?” someone finally asked.
They all looked at Jennifer.
“He goes there to think,” she said, trying not to show her concern.
“In the pouring rain?” someone else came back. “Why is he standing like that?”
“He’s fine!” she snapped. “I’ll go talk to him.”
Jennifer stood up from her chair and tucked it back against the cave wall. She wiped a remaining tear from her cheek and looked around for a raincoat to borrow.
“Look!” someone called out.
Jennifer turned expecting to see the group staring at Matthew, but instead they were now looking back to the other side of the clearing. Emerging from the trees was another group of refugees, a huge group this time, fifty, maybe sixty. There were young children with them, babes in arms and a couple of people on makeshift stretchers that were now propped awkwardly on the rocks.
“I’ll go get Matthew,” Jennifer said to nobody in particular. “You go and find out who they are.”
With that, she raced into the rain without a coat towards Matthew who was still standing as he was, with his back to the unfolding events. As she ran towards him, she called his name into the driving rain, but he didn’t respond. She slowed her run as she came closer, dropping to a cautious approach when she came up alongside him. He was soaked through, his long grey hair funnelling water down his back and his clothes sticking to him like thin layers of latex. His head was dropped strangely low onto his chest and he seemed to be staring intently at his fingers, which twitched and fidgeted rapidly just above his stomach. His lips were moving equally fast, but she couldn’t hear his words.
She called out his name twice and when she touched him on the shoulder he finally acknowledged her, not with a start, but instead with a strange, defeated smile she had never seen him give before, as his hands fell slowly back down to his side.
“Hello Eve,” he said in the most normal of voices.
“It’s Jennifer, Matthew,” she touched him again on the shoulder, feeling his heavy bones sticking up sharply from the wet skin and cloth that was draped over him. He looked so much older all of a sudden, she had never paid it much notice before. But now, soaked through and smiling gently in the rain, still hunched over slightly with the faintest trace of confusion in his eyes, he looked like a lost and lonely old man.
“Who’s Eve?” she asked, the rain beginning to pool and flood across her own face.
“Sorry, how stupid of me,” he said, shaking his head, his face firming up again as he spoke the words, his body reforming into the Matthew she knew better.
“It’s raining.” Jennifer raised her palms up towards the thick and dark clouds that sprawled above their heads. She smiled back at him, bundling all her fear, bemusement and love into just one tiny configuration of the muscles in her face.
“Yes, it’s beautiful isn't it, I wanted to feel it, to experience it.”
“Well, you’ve certainly done that,” she said, casting an eye over his soaked clothes. “More refugees have arrived, too many. Look.”
Jennifer pointed towards the opposite side of the clearing, where by now a number of Lifers had reached the large group and were leading them towards the cave. It was a pitiful sight, a random collection of Metropolitans, some in raincoats and boots, others seemingly in the clothes they wore in their apartments. Their utility suits had insignias on them, a few were from Farms, some seemed to be from the Server and Municipal teams. One girl was still wearing her restaurant uniform, her apron now tied around her head like a baby’s bonnet. It looked like a failed recruitment parade, made ludicrous and tragic by the rain and hasty organisation.
The rustle of leaves and the sudden crack of a branch underfoot made them both start, and they turned back sharply towards the tree line behind them. In amongst the trees, cowering a little, with rain streaming down his short dark hair and sodden clothes, a young boy stared back towards them, his left hand outstretched as if to defend himself from a blow. Jennifer instinctively put herself between Matthew and the boy.
“Stop there,” Jennifer shouted at him, reaching down to grab a heavy branch she’d spied at the foot of one of the Oak trees, her eyes fixed on him.
“I’m unarmed,” he called back, raising both his arms to demonstrate, “I’m just looking for shelter.”
“It’s alright,” said Matthew, putting a hand on Jennifer’s shoulder and stepping around her.
“It’s OK, I’m sorry, we’re not used to so many arrivals.”
Matthew took a step towards him and beckoned him out of the trees.
“Where are you from?”
“Prime Code,” he glanced at his uniform as he said it, as if it should be obvious to them.
“And why are you here?” Jennifer asked bluntly.
“We were monitoring some weird power surges and data shifts in the system, when… well, we just couldn’t work it out, it went crazy, you know? Systems offline, lock-outs, corrupt chains, glitches all over the place. Everybody went nuts trying to stop it.”
He spotted the group of travellers on the other side of the clearing and pointed towards them, “They’ll be a lot more, it’s all gone crazy.”
“It’s OK, you’re safe here,” Matthew smiled at him and flicked his eyes from Jennifer to the group in the clearing.
“We need to get them inside and warm,” he said, the authority spreading across his face again, filling Jennifer with a comfortable emotion that she had only noticed she carried when it had temporarily faded moments earlier.
Jennifer nodded and turned to head back towards the cave.
“Wait!” the boy called out. “There’s something else, something I found before the power went off. Someone here.”
There was a pause as they both stared at the boy.
“I’m not sure,” he carried on awkwardly, looking at Jennifer now, “I might be wrong, it just seemed like…”
“Wait. Jennifer, you need to deal with them,” Matthew cut him off, glancing again towards the large group who were now stretching right across the clearing and crowding around the cave entrance. “I’ll talk to…” Matthew raised his pitch into a question.
“Cain,” the boy replied.
“Cain,” Matthew repeated.
When Jennifer got back to the cave she could see that the group in the entrance were still watching Matthew closely. They hadn’t seen the frail old man she had met, thankfully Matthew had re-buried him, but they were still puzzled, perhaps a little frightened by his behaviour. Matthew was always so solid, so perfect, so justified, a voice of reason, calm and hope that they all leant on in some way or another. They owed him everything and even in their darkest times of crisis or confrontation never questioned his status at the head of the group, but now, perhaps, something irreversible had happened that would make their confidence in his authority waver.
***
That day, the whole group shifted automatically, almost without any conferring or questions, into the role of carer and redeemer of the Metropolis. No one could have ever imagined that they would be called upon to care for the people they had run from days, weeks and years earlier, to offer shelter and sanctuary to the privilege and security they had rejected so completely, but they adapted to it as if it had always been the plan.
The rain ran heavy from the morning into the afternoon, refusing to yield as the humble daylight waned and the evening’s shade drifted wet and dejected into the clearing. With every sheet of rain and blast of the needle-filled wind came yet more refugees, shivering and crying out from the sodden forest into the arms of the Lifers.
Without question, but with a clear understanding of the consequences, the winter provisions so carefully packed away over the past few days were re-opened and offered up to the crisis. Long held stores of dried meat and preserves were gifted, blankets were shared and every spare space was given over to the refugees. Hundreds of them arrived over the course of the day, each with their own story but all telling the same tale. AarBee had turned on the Metropolis, the power had gone out, food had run out and the Drones had slaughtered at will and at random.
The shock of the situation was everywhere. Lifers and refugees alike sobbed and collapsed whenever and wherever the scale of events became too much to bear – while tales were being told, when news of loved ones came, as wounds were dressed, food given out, or in those brief moments alone that could be deliberately found or accidentally stumbled upon.
Everybody dealt with the day’s events in their own way. Some found comfort in the large groups that managed the issue of fresh clothes and finding a bed, others flitted from place to place, helping here and there with a restless energy that refused to let reality settle upon them. A few, like Jennifer and Matthew, brought up the barriers that were always there, to keep the world away from the last remnants of themselves that lay hidden somewhere deep inside. Moving coldly and efficiently through the present, being strong, keeping it together, they sent their emotions off to join the other ghosts and spectres that would shred them discreetly when they slept, bubbling undercurrents that twisted and tore relentlessly beneath the smooth and still layers of skin.
After dark the torrent of new arrivals finally slowed and stopped, the forest claiming any more wanderers as its reluctant guests, at least for one more night in the cold cover of the canopy. Inside the cave activity began to slow as the last arrivals were fed and found a place to sleep. With this new calm, Matthew sent word for all the Lifers to come together in the meeting chamber and slowly, exhaustedly they filtered in until the huge, vaulted space was packed full. When the last few had arrived, bloodied and drained from the makeshift hospital, Matthew dragged a chair into the middle of the room and stood up on it to address them all.
“I want to thank you, thank all of you, for what you have done today,” he turned slowly on the chair to acknowledge every angle. “I know today has been hard, I know we have made some difficult choices, but I have never been more proud of you, of us.”
Every face in the room was fixed upon him. Some smiled back at him, a gentle acknowledgement of their comradeship, a few tears ran down faces still raw with the emotion of the day. They all knew the choices he was referring to, they all knew that everything had changed in just 12 hours, that if the refugees were here then AarBee must surely be set to follow. That no matter what happened, they could not now survive the winter in the Outland Forest.
“We have to go to the Metropolis.”
There was a collective gasp, followed by a buzz of chatter that grew louder and louder. Matthew put his arms out to calm the room.