Caged (The Idyllic Series Book 1) Read online

  My best chances of survival rest in moving forward now. The longer I crouch against the wall, the more clues they weed out about my location.

  My heart races in my chest still, and tears stream down my face. I have to get myself together before they hear me. Eden would tear me a new one in the afterlife if I manage to get myself killed after she fought to save me, time after time.

  I don’t deserve her kindness. Not when I’m this spineless and self-concerned.

  Taking deep breaths, I stand up and begin forcing my quivering legs to walk. Glancing at the directory is pointless; I can’t remember what the symbols stand for anyway.

  My brain is a jumbled mess of numbers and programming commands, letters and formulas. There’s no room for extraneous pictures.

  I stumble through the tunnels. Concrete walls appear before my face and end my path. More than once, they force me to turn around and head back to a fork in the road.

  Finally, and by complete accident, I find the meeting place. The five Elders huddle over a sheet of paper with markers and pencils hanging out of their mouths.

  One of the elders, an old man named Matthew, notices me standing in the doorway first. He cocks his head to one side before tapping Emory on the shoulder.

  “Linux,” the woman says as she looks up. “What are you doing back so soon?”

  So soon? An eternity has passed since I last stood in this hall.

  I fight my leaden tongue in an attempt to get the words out. Yet, as the other Elders give me their full attention, my heart pounds in my chest like thunder. My face goes cold, and my vision swims in front of me. I cover my eyes with two shaking hands and sink down to the ground on my knees.

  “Lin?”

  The downy voice of Cyrus caresses my ears. His firm hands grip my own and pry my fingers away from my tear-soaked eyes.

  “What happened?” he asks, but I can’t look at him. I can’t tell him. The sobs shake my body, and I gasp for breaths like I’m oxygen deprived. “Where’s Eden?”

  At the mention of her name, my brain panics. If I wasn’t hysterical enough before, now it swells and manifests in gut-wrenching sounds. I look up at Cyrus and meet his earth-colored eyes.

  “Taken,” I manage to squeak out between sniffles.

  Cyrus takes a sharp breath, and his hand clenches mine in a vice grip.

  “No.” He whispers the word a million times as he closes his eyes and fights the wave of emotions. I watch each one parade across his face--sadness, terror, and disbelief. Then, rage settles in his eyes, and he stands up.

  “We have to go after her!” Hot tears pour down his cheeks.

  I cling to his pants leg, unable to feel my feet. Everything is numb.

  “No, Cyrus.” Emory rushes over to clamp a hand on his shoulder.

  “Try to stop me,” he growls as he rips his arm away from her.

  “You’re going to get yourself killed, kid.”

  “I don’t care!” he nearly screams.

  “I said no, Cyrus.”

  “You’re not my boss, Emory.”

  He starts to walk away, but my fist is still entangled in his pants. He jerks me forward, startled by the sudden resistance. His eyes trail down towards me, and his face softens.

  “Linux,” he whispers, lip quivering.

  “Don’t leave me," I whisper and loosen my grip on him. “I can’t lose you, too.”

  He sighs and sinks down to the ground beside me to pull me into a tight hug. His warmth and the pressure of his presence comforts me, if even for a second.

  “I’m here.” His voice is nothing more than words carried on his breath. “I got you.”

  Cyrus carries me back to my room after our tears run dry. I try to stand, but my knees give in at my own weight. He drapes one arm under my knees and the other behind my back and takes me through the tunnels.

  He places me on the makeshift bed of old shirts that Eden stitched together for me before walking back towards the door again.

  “Cyrus?” I call after him, lifting my head up off the canvas bag I use as a pillow.

  “What is it, Lin?” He doesn’t look at me as he replies.

  He can’t. He blames me. It’s my fault.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper and let my head fall back down. The ‘pillow’ doesn’t prevent my head from slamming into the concrete.

  “I know.”

  With a tired sigh, he leaves me alone to my thoughts, to the row of black computer screens and piles of scribbles on pieces of paper.

  What am I going to do now?

  ✽✽✽

  I stand in the back of the meeting place and stare ahead at the Elders. Each wears a different expression, ranging from indifference to depressed. Cyrus leans on the arm of his chair with a look of emptiness painted on his face.

  “It’s been two days since Eden was harvested,” Emory says.

  In those two days, the world had stopped moving. The news of her harvesting had spread like wildfire through the tunnels until even the toddlers whispered about it. No one dares go above ground without her.

  Eden is gone. Likely for good. We may not know for sure if she really was harvested, but no one has ever came back from capture alive.

  I cross my arms over my chest and swallow back the hot bitter tears. I’ve cried at least twice a day since then. I couldn’t cry more if I wanted to.

  “And we’ve decided not to go looking for her.”

  A roar rises from the crowd. Words blend together into indecipherable sentences, lost in the confusion.

  I look over at Cyrus. How does he feel about this? Tensions have only continued to rise between the Elder members. He sits facing away from them with his arms crossed over his chest. The other three group around Emory like moths to a flame.

  “Why not? She could be alive!”

  The question comes from a boy Eden’s age named Mason. He’s broad-shouldered and tall, built like a brick building. He works with a few other large boys rebuilding collapsed tunnels and walking rounds as a guard.

  “Because it isn’t safe,” Emory sums up.

  “Being alive isn’t safe, either,” Mason grumbles, “but we continue to do that.”

  Emory sighs and shakes her head.

  Mason is just vocalizing what everyone is thinking. Even I agree with him. I’ve never spoken out of turn in meetings, though. That is Eden’s job.

  “I’m not arguing this matter. It has already been decided.”

  The roar settles into hushed whispers. I turn to walk out of the meeting place. What a waste of time.

  “Until further notice, no one will be going on missions, either. We will make do with what we have until it’s safe.”

  A laugh slithers out of my throat. Dozens of eyes turn back to look at me in shock.

  “Do you have something to add, Linux?” Emory asked, rising up to sit on the edge of her seat. I fall flat under the pressure.

  “No,” I mumble, looking away.

  Except, I do. I have everything to say. I am embarrassed, distraught, bitter, and hateful. I am too scared to go back for her and too full of hate to keep sitting still. Even my plan is on hold until ‘further notice.’

  Someone needs to be out looking for Eden, but it can’t be me.

  “You are dismissed,” Emory says to the crowd. I wait for a minute and then begin to shuffle out with my head down.

  “Linux, I need to speak to you.”

  Emory’s voice wraps itself around my ankles, and I freeze.

  Once everyone is gone from the open expanse, I turn to face her.

  She’s just as much of a coward as I am, and I wish I had seen it earlier.

  “You need to tell me what you saw that day,” she says after making sure we’re alone. “We all know that Eden wouldn’t have put herself in a position to be taken down by a cybernetic or an Artificial. She’s too careful for that. Something else had to have taken her. I want you to tell us.”

  My hands begin to shake at my side. I don’t want to replay th
ose vicious events. I would rather pretend they never happened and keep typing away on my keyboards in the dim light of my hideaway.

  Instead, the words flow out like water released from a geyser. The more I speak, the more hysterical I get, until I’m crying again for what feels like the millionth time.

  “Wait, hold up,” an Elder says. “They were humans?”

  I shake my head, backtracking.

  “No, they were like humans. They were like- half human, half machine.”

  “So they were cybernetics?”

  “No, because they were angry. They had an overflow of emotions. Cybernetics don’t have those; it’s the only way they aren’t identical to us in mannerisms”

  “Can you tell us what they looked like?” Emory prods in a gentle voice.

  I take a shaky breath and explain how the female had eyes the color of the robin’s eggs we sometimes find in the alleyways and how she had a silver ring around them. I describe the man’s singular mechanical eye like a laser mounted in his skull.

  “So, they were Artificials?”

  “No.” I shake my head and push my glasses up on my nose. “They were humanoid. Artificials are entirely technological.”

  “He’s making up stuff,” the Elder who interrupted me in the first place says.

  “Considering what he’s been through, I wouldn’t be surprised,” another interjects.

  “He's not making anything up,” Cyrus says, but his voice lacks emotion. I look over at him. Has he smiled at all in two days? Laughed? Have I?

  “If I say he’s making stuff up, then he is,” Emory says without looking over at him.

  “Since when do you decide truth from lies?”

  “Cyrus, please don’t do this right now.”

  I block them out and focus on the emptiness spiraling out of control in my chest.

  I feel emptier with every passing second. The hole in my chest grows every time I make a wrong turn through the tunnels, every time I read a line of poetry I read from her collection, and with every laugh that echoes through the darkness.

  I want to hear her horrific singing again, to see her sapphire eyes light up when she re-tells her memory of a snowball fight for the millionth time, to smell the hint of tomato on her hands as she fixes my glasses. I would give anything to have her back.

  Except myself, apparently, because no matter how many times I wander to a ladder, ready to chase after her, I chicken out.

  “So, you’re telling us you saw some sort of super machine--one capable of human emotions, but strong like an Artificial,” Emory says. I nod. She doesn’t believe me. No one does, except maybe Cyrus. “Alright. Whatever. Just go rest.”

  With that, she waves me off.

  I would argue, but it isn’t my place. I also lack the energy.

  Plus, the longer I stay in the meeting place, the more time I waste. If I can’t bring myself to go above ground and save Eden, I’ll just have to do everything in my power from down here.

  I refuse to let her die up there.

  So, I hurry back to my hideout and plop down on the plastic crate that sits in front of the long row. The white commands contrast the black background, endless lines of nonsense words, numbers, and symbols.

  If I could just make sense of the star network, I could shut down the cybernetics. I’ve never hacked something so complicated, but if there’s one thing I can do, it’s outsmart a computer.

  They’re just computers. Eden might be obsessed with finding humanity within the monsters, but I’m different. I’ve faced too much death, seen too much darkness. There’s nothing inside the bodies of the cybernetics worth saving, and that’s one thing we always agreed on. Unlike Eden, my mission isn’t to save humanity.

  I aim to destroy every last machine on the planet.

  Funny how those two things go hand in hand.

  Like a right and left arm, neither one of us can do our job without the other.

  Chapter 5: Vulnerable

  Eden

  When I wake up, every inch of me feels heavy, like I’m being crushed by gravity itself. Straining to open my eyelids, I attempt to lift my arms.

  Nothing.

  As the room around me comes into view, I see that I’m surrounded by white. White walls and floors. White machines and a white metal table. I’m naked and my arms are strapped down to the table. The restraints are soft fabric, so the yanking that ensues doesn’t hurt me.

  “Hello?” I call out, glancing around the room. Overhead, bright white lights reflect off of the metal table.

  No one answers, machine or human.

  That means these are service machines, waiting for their command to power up.

  I take a deep breath, staring at the ceiling. It starts to come towards me. The walls begin to move inward.

  No. That’s my imagination.

  I clench my eyes shut and try to breathe evenly.

  “One... two... three... four,” I count, trying to distract myself.

  A loud pop makes me jump. My eyes shoot open again.

  The door swings open and a cyber walks into the room.

  “Welcome,” he says, turning towards the machines after giving me a once-over. “The machines will clean and prepare you. You will undergo testing before being placed into a specific research room.”

  He walks around the room, touching buttons on each machine. They whir to life, extending arm-like tools that glint in the overbearing lights like glass shattered across pavement. I hold my breath as he continues on, ignoring my squirming against the table.

  “It will be painless,” he finally says, back at the door. “I will return when the process is complete.”

  I nod, and he leaves.

  I am exhausted. The straps, wires, and cords prevent me from escaping, so what’s the purpose of fighting now? Maybe if I just ride it out for once, I can plan my prison break when I’m properly rested.

  The machines bring themselves up and over me, covering my face with a soft towel. I’m washed with lukewarm water, gently pulsating from my neck down. One machine washes me in clockwise rotations while another rinses off the soap. The water pools under the small of my back, running in rivulets down into the floor. The sound of dripping water hides under the hummingbird noise of the machines.

  After I’m washed and dried, a machine holds my feet still, scrubbing the balls and heels. A quiet clicking scares me, until I realize it doesn’t hurt. Nothing hurts.

  If I wasn’t strapped to a table and on edge, it might be a luxurious experience.

  The towel pulls away from my face, and a small laser passes over my eyebrows, forehead, and chin. The smell of burning hair drifts to my nose. The same laser continues over the rest of my body, ridding me of my body hair.

  One machine brushes my tangled hair, and I grit my teeth against the unavoidable pain. When it's finished, half of my hair is on the floor, and my head feels ten pounds lighter.

  “Process complete.”

  The words come from a speaker in the ceiling. At once, the restraints fall off, and the magnetic pull holding me to the table relents.

  I sit up, lowering my legs off the side of the table.

  “Put your left wrist in the receiving window,” the speaker says. I stand, stepping toward a small hole in the wall with the word ‘Receiving’ painted above it. Kneeling down, I look into the hole. Are they going to inject me with something? Mark me somehow? If there are needles in there, will I even be able to see them?

  “Put your wrist in the receiving window, subject 23,” the speaker reminds me.

  I swallow hard and shove my left wrist into the hole. The walls clamp down on my arm, and I jerk at it in an attempt to pull it back out.

  Words form in my throat, entangled in a scream, and I throw myself to the ground. It doesn’t hurt, but I can’t stand the thought of being trapped. I’m dangling from the wall, still trying to say anything when the pressure is released.

  On my wrist, a metal cuff hangs.

  It has a blinking blue
light on it, and on the inside of the cuff, hundreds of dull needles dig into my wrist. Curious about what it does, I slip my fingers under it and attempt to pry it off.

  A sudden jolt of electricity in my arm knocks me backwards into the wall.

  It’s a miniature paralyzer gun.

  “Proceed to the door,” the speaker above me says.

  I remain seated, staring up at it.

  Will it shock me every time I don’t listen? Is this how they’re going to control me?

  “Proceed to the door, subject 23,” the ceiling repeats.

  I pull my knees up to my chest, wrapping my arms around them.

  Thirty seconds pass before the cuff shocks me, bringing me up to my feet with tears in my eyes. I walk to the door, panting.

  My cuff beeps, making me jump, but there’s no shock. The door just slides open, revealing a small room with racks of clothing on each side.

  I tiptoe forward, shivering against the cold floor. White swaths of clothing fill the shelves. I pick a small square up, unfolding it to reveal a tank top. I pull it over my head, grateful for the tiny shred of warmth it provides. The next shelf holds skimpy shorts which offer even less protection than the shirt. They reach to my mid-thigh but cling to my skin tightly. Still, I’m grateful to be wearing anything.

  Another door identical to the one behind me stands on the wall in front of me. I hold my wrist out to it, and it slides open, disappearing into the wall.

  A cybernetic looms on the other side, arms hanging limply by his side. I take a shaky step back, but he wraps a hand around my arm and jerks me out into the hallway.

  “Where are you taking me?” I ask as he leads me down the tunnel-like hallway.

  Without so much as a hint of a response from him, another door slides open, revealing a smaller room. In one swift movement, he pushes me inside and slams the door.

  This room is different than the last two. The two concrete walls on each side of me press into my shoulders and prevent me from moving. The wall in front of me reflects my clean, half-dressed appearance. I stare at myself, shaky and distorted.

  I read once that there is a thing called a two-way glass where the people on one side can see through and watch the other side. In the book, the character touched the mirror and there was no gap between her fingernail and the surface.