Finally the darkness lifted; I could see Clara in front of me. I put my hand on her shoulder, determined not to lose her in the crowd. Now that I could see better, it was apparent the gas was a curious, dark purple. I held my breath for a minute but buckled quickly, watching the gas move into my mouth as I breathed in and seeing it, as it came out, like it was almost solid. Clara’s breath was the same. Other girls were mesmerized by the same phenomenon, but when they breathed out the smoke was tinted pink.
We walked passed a window. A real window. Clara was right. We weren’t that far underground. Sunlight was streaming through it like an invitation. We were on the surface. One of the people in white went to the window and tried to open it. He heaved and strained, his face showing his panic and exertion, but it didn’t move. “It’s no good, it’s sealed‚” he said to the one that had a hold of my arm. “We’ll have to take them outside.”
I felt the grip on my arm tighten as I was strongly guided to two large, locked, security doors. One of them typed in a key code and spoke into a microphone while the other one pushed his fingertip into a jelly-like substance. There was a sharp beep and then a voice said, “Prints incomplete”.
“You’re too sweaty,” one of them said in frustration, girls squashing him up against the wall. “Wipe your hand and try again.” I could see the purple cloud thickening around us. Bubbling and pushing into the corners. Some of the girls were on the floor, survival instincts telling them they could breathe better down there. The coughing was deafeningly loud. The room kept filling with girls as more and more of them came up from below. Just when you thought no more would fit, more would come, and you were forced to compress yourself further.
“Verification complete,” the computer voice said and the doors swung open. The men repeated the process again, at the second set of doors, swapping who used their fingerprints and who used their voice as verification. The second set of doors swung open but the first set of doors we had walked through was trying to close, banging against hapless girls. Continuously knocking them over, as they were carried through on a wave of bodies. I saw one of the white coats take off his shoes and shove them under one of the doors, jamming it, so the girls could get through. It creaked and groaned as it tried to pull back to closing.
I stumbled into the outside world, turning around to see purple smoke billowing out the doors and into the sky. Fighting its way into the air, like a hundred purple worms, intertwining, squirming, and pushing out in different directions. Girls were spilling out, some crawling, some being dragged, some kicked along by impatient white coats. There were hundreds of them, they just kept coming and coming.
I looked down at my feet, registering the squelchy, wet feeling between my bare toes. I inhaled deeply, enjoying my first taste of the sweet, fresh air. Delicious. Scanning the area, I could see we were in the Wilderness. From where I was standing, all that pointed to the immense dwelling below was a grassy mound with doors in it and a few windows puncturing the sides of the hill. The clearing we were pouring out into was only as big as my old school courtyard and soon, it was completely packed with coughing, panicking girls.
Heels of hands pushed us backwards, as far away from the doors as we could get, so we were right up against the rough, puzzle piece bark of towering trees. I was eased down onto a moss-covered log. The smells of damp, decomposing wood made my heart do little flips. Clara was right next to me and was guided to the ground as well but by pale, willowy arms. It was Apella. “Stay there,” she said, fanning her hands and then she disappeared into a sea of girls. We sat and watched, as all the girls were planted on the ground, some not very gently, by the extremely stressed people in white.
For a moment, it was quiet. I heard birds off in the distance, a flutter, a foreign scampering sound of some unknown, forest-dwelling creature. We sat there for about an hour, pushing our toes into the mud, looking at the endless sky, the odd cough breaking the stillness. As I watched, little puffs of pink smoke were being exhaled by the girls. They floated up, carried by the breeze, dissipating into the atmosphere.
Then it started, very slowly. At first.
It began with restlessness—girls moving, shaking their heads, and touching their stomachs. Then we heard a girl shout out, then another, and then soon there was an immense chorus of wailing girls. I realized then that the purple smoke was some kind of quick working antidote to the fog. Some of them were screaming, “What have you done to me?” Some were crying, some were calling out for help. One thing was clear—these girls had woken up. The drugs were wearing off. The people in white were exchanging glances, nervously. What they had said before was true. There was only one of them to ten girls. One man was bracing himself, his fists clenched, his chest puffed out, as if ready for a charging stampede. I saw one, with a face as white as her coat, drop her gear and run for the trees. Action was necessary but they all stalled. Then the decision was made for them, as girls started to stand and run. Some pushed through, parting the bodies like they were swimming through a fleshy sea. Some just ran right over the top of the others. Most of them were trying pull themselves out of the fog still, and they were the first ones that received the needle to the arm.
It was pandemonium—girls dropping to the ground unconscious, girls fighting, girls screaming hysterically. One girl was louder than most, yelling, “It’s coming, it’s coming.” I stood up to help, but Clara was holding my arm, not allowing me to step forward. For someone so small, she seemed immensely strong, her iron grip making an imprint on my forearm.
Soon the needles were too time-consuming and the bigger men started walking through the crowd, knocking girls out with large, rubber batons. Swiping and chocking them in the temples like they were knocking posts into the ground. There was blood and pain all around me. I felt my nerves about to fray and spark into a thousand tiny threads, each one pulling at me, hurting me—burying hundreds of shocking, violent images in my memory.
A few girls who were not far along, their stomachs showing little or no bulge, turned on one of the men. He was hitting out at them desperately as they scrambled and scratched at his face, their eyes feral. They took him down and grabbed his satchel, needles falling to the sodden ground. One of the girls picked up a needle and plunged it into the man’s eye. Her reddish hair swung around her face as she whipped it from side to side quickly. She crouched over him like a deranged, wild creature protecting its prey. I have never heard a noise like that in all my life—a gurgling, strangled scream like a stuck animal. Just for good measure, the girl elbowed the man in the face, ceasing the screaming. She then sprung from her crouched position into a full sprint, her long legs carrying her gracefully to the edge of the woods and beyond.
Then I was dragged into the play. A man, badly bleeding from his leg, was limping towards me. At first, thinking he needed help, I moved towards him, not noticing the baton in his hand until it was too late. He raised it above his head, his eyes showing no mercy. He was as delirious as those girls, caught up in the craziness. I put my arm over my head and shut my eyes. Not even thinking to run or fight back, just sitting there, an easy target. I heard the deadening thwack of wood against flesh and opened my eyes to see him fall to the ground. Clara stood above me with a blood-stained branch in her hand.
“We have to go,” she said as she jerked me to my feet. Where she was pulling this strength from I’ll never know, but I followed her into the forest, leaving behind me a mess of panicked souls on both sides. To my left and right there were girls running, tripping, falling. Some were being chased. Someone must be chasing us, I thought.
Clara kept charging through, never letting go of my hand, never looking back. I, on the other hand, was fervently looking backwards, forwards, and sideways, wondering how long it would be before someone caught up with us. Anticipating rough arms grabbing my shoulders and pulling me down. Suddenly Clara stopped dead and listened, her head cocked sideways like a wolf.