Darklandia (9 page)

“You’re taking me to Brookside?” I asked, my stomach leaping at the possibility of seeing my father again.

“There is no Brookside,” Aaron said coldly. “There never was a Brookside. When you think of leisure homes you probably think of purified humans whiling away their days in comfortable rooms where they may even have interaction with other humans. That is not the case. A purification is much more sinister than that and it has nothing to do with leisure, but you won’t believe me unless I show you.”

“I’ll believe you, Aaron.”

“You can call me Nyx, like your father did,” he said. Mr. Half-smile was now Nyx. “Just don’t use that name anywhere there are cameras. And, trust me, I’ve tried to explain the detainee process before. No one believes me until they see it.”

The subway car continued along the track, slithering through the empty bowels of Manhattan.

“Where is the purification facility?” I asked to break the silence.

He paused for a moment as if he were becoming impatient with me. “It’s a detainee facility, and it’s in Brooklyn,” he replied. “Sera, there’s something you should know before we get there.”

I wanted to look at him, because I was beginning to like the way he said my name, but I stared straight ahead at the empty seats before me. “What is it?”

“Sera, your father knew he was going to be detained. He joined the movement willingly. I don’t want you to think your father was unjustly targeted by the Department of Felicity.”

“Are you defending what they did to my father?”

“No, you’re misunderstanding me. I’m saying that your father understood the risk he was taking and he accepted his role with unflinching courage. Your father was a great man. He still is a great man.”

“So my father
is
alive? Will I be able to see him?” My mouth went dry at the thought of seeing my father’s smile.

“No, you won’t be allowed to see him,” Nyx replied, and a different expression settled across his handsome features, a look I had never seen on anyone’s face. His eyebrows crinkled together, the outer corners of his eyes turned slightly downward. This was new, and I couldn’t be certain, but I had a feeling this expression conveyed pity.

“Do you pity me?” I asked. “Is that what the look on your face means?”

The corners of Nyx’s lips turned up in a smile again. “You’re learning quickly. Pity is not really the correct word, though. I don’t pity you. I empathize with you. Both my mother and father were detained.”

The darkling disease runs in your family.

The words flashed in my mind, but they weren’t my words. Darla had spoken these words to me the day after my father’s detainment. It felt like a punch in the gut that day and it still did. My family was diseased. Not even the Commission for Hereditary Intelligence could correct that anomaly. Darla’s family was only one generation further removed from the darklings. I once believed this made her family better than mine.

“There is no such thing as a darkling disease,” Nyx corrected me. “There is no such thing as darklings. We are all human. We all suffer the same emotions and urges.” He paused to look me in the eye, to make sure I understood him before he continued. “The government has taught you almost from birth that you belong to a superior species, more evolved, less violent. The truth is that there is no difference between your DNA and the DNA of a darkling.

“The only difference is the synthetic mixture of drugs and propaganda you’ve been fed, that courses through your veins and pollutes your mind. That is what makes you different. Whether that makes you better or worse than a darkling is for you to decide, but the so-called
darklings
are no more diseased than you or I.”

I looked past Nyx at the safety pole, which reflected a distorted view of us: life through the lens of the rations, everything fuzzy and rounded, everything safe.

“Why did you tell me to drink my ration before you arrived?”

“Because that wasn’t your ration,” he replied with a grin. “I adjusted your dosages in the system. You can drink your rations on the same schedule as before, only now your rations won’t turn you into mush. You’re going to feel a little strange the first week. I know you already experienced the dark feelings and hunger from going without the rations for a day, but that’s nothing compared to what you’ll feel in a day or two… maybe sooner.

“Your body is going to slip into a state of withdrawal and you’ll feel as if your insides are being clawed to shreds. But don’t worry and try not to raise your mother’s suspicions. You have to try to pretend that everything is okay. If the pain gets too bad, you can always get in touch with me and I’ll try to adjust your ration with a proper dosage of pain relievers. But I can’t make any promises. I’m no health specialist.”

“That’s not comforting,” I replied.

“That’s real life.”

My stomach growled, and my embarrassment diffused the tension. “Are you going to adjust Darla’s rations?”

He turned to me as a hollow whir filled the subway car. “With her consent and commitment, I’ll consider it. But you have to understand this is not an after-school club, this is a serious movement. That’s why I’m taking you to the detainee facility to help you decide. I want you to know what you’re getting yourself into.”

“I understand the government wants to control everyone with these drugs, but what about Darklandia? And the breeding regulations?” I asked.

He looked up at a screen above the subway exit before he answered. “We only have a few minutes, so I’ll have to save those very long stories for another time. Right now you need to know what to do when we get to the detainee facility.” He waited for me to nod before he continued. “Okay, when we get there you have to pretend we’re there because of your evaluation yesterday. When we spoke in the courtyard in front of the Felicity building, I offered to show you the detainee facility to help set you back on the right path and you were a little reluctant at first, but you soon came to your senses. You hope to one day work at the facility.”

I didn’t like the idea of telling such a despicable lie to high-powered government officials. Of course, it seemed Nyx was one of those officials if he had the security clearance to use the subways.

“What exactly do you do at the Department of Felicity?” I asked. “You seem very young to have such high security clearance.”

“I’m just your everyday tech geek. Well, I guess you could call me Head Geek. I’m the senior analyst on the Darklandia mainframe. I make sure the system runs without glitches.”

“What would you consider a glitch in Darklandia?”

“What I would consider a glitch someone else would consider a sign that the system is working properly. However, a glitch in Darklandia can sometimes be very serious. We had a glitch a few days ago, just before your grandmother’s rapture, I mean, just before your grandmother’s murder. That glitch is the reason Commissioner Baron stabbed the mayor. His feed was corrupted.”

8

“I promise I’ll explain more about that later,” Nyx said, as the subway came to a screeching halt. “Now it’s time to show you why Felicity is a sham. You have your lifesaver, don’t you?” I slipped the blue vial out of my tunic. “Good. Drink it if you start to feel overwhelmed.”

We stepped out of the subway car into another station. Colored tiles on the wall spelled out the words NEWKIRK AVE. We climbed more flights of stairs to the street level and I couldn’t believe my eyes.

The streets were not only completely deserted, but the buildings here were destroyed, reduced to piles of broken concrete, twisted metal, and dust. The asphalt suffered large gaping holes where I could only assume bombs had once ravaged this street. Across the broken landscape, as far as I could see, only one building remained mostly undamaged.

The building stood at least twenty stories tall and nearly as wide as an entire Manhattan city block. A few rusted electric letters above the glass entrance doors hung loose and two of the letters were missing, but one could not mistake what the sign had once read: D_RK_ANDIA.

“Is this… the amusement park?” I didn’t realize how strange this sounded until I spoke the words aloud.

“Yes. This is where it all began,” he replied. “Come on, let’s get inside before there’s another raid.”

“What’s a raid?” I asked, as we crossed the slanted street, our boots crunching on glass as we stepped over the shattered remains of a building.

“This region of New York is not fully protected by the missile defense system. Sometimes the smaller missiles still get through the shield.”

“Missiles? As in bombs?” I asked, as we approached the glass entrance doors of the former amusement park. “Then why is this building still standing?”

“It’s been bombed eleven times in the last forty years. The rebuilding process never ends here,” he said, as he held his wrist inside a scanner near the entrance. “No more questions.”

The doors slid open and I couldn’t believe the glass doors were as thick as my foot was long. The heels of my boots clacked against the shiny concrete floor as we crossed through a glass corridor. At the end of the corridor, two Guardian Angels stood straight as lampposts with their hands clasped behind their backs.

“Good afternoon, Blake,” Nyx said, and the angel on the left nodded at him. “I’m giving a tour today. Is Hispa here?” The angel nodded and Nyx nodded in return. “Great. I think this one needs a real thorough tour, if you know what I mean.” The angel winked at Nyx and my shoulders trembled. Nyx held his wrist up to a circle etched in the center of the glass door separating this corridor from the enormous lobby beyond. The entire door flashed green then swung open.

I followed closely behind Nyx, so close I could smell he had showered recently. Once again, I was struck by how utterly clean his clothing appeared. Did employees of the Department of Felicity get special washday privileges? This made me so angry I wanted to turn around and leave, but I knew this would only cause a scene and more suspicion would be cast in my direction.

Then I saw it. Something even worse than extra showers and laundry privileges.

Across the vast open space of the lobby, past the row of angels lined up in the front of the lobby like the battleships lined up in the Hudson, there in the center of a dozen concrete pillars holding up the ceiling, stood a gushing fountain of water. My mind flashed quickly to the parched fountains in front of the Department of Felicity then back to the water blasting upward and cascading into a circular pool of sparkling clear liquid. It was obscene.

“Don’t stare at it,” Nyx muttered from the corner of his mouth. I wanted it so badly. The tickle in my throat returned and I had to swallow my thick saliva to keep from choking. “This way,” he said, pulling me sideways into a long corridor lined with six elevators.

“Why can’t we have it?” I whispered. “I want some.”

“Not here,” he whispered, as a bell dinged and a pair of elevator doors opened behind us. “Don’t turn around,” he whispered.

So many rules. Did Nyx really have the entire
Code of Felicity
, all 752 pages of it, committed to memory? I wanted out of this building. I had seen enough.

But I hadn’t seen my father yet.

I resisted the urge to glance over my shoulder at the set of heels clacking against the floor behind us. The elevator in front of us opened and we rushed into the cabin at once.

“Don’t turn around yet,” he whispered. His words were quickly followed by the ding of the elevator doors as they shut behind us.

More rules. I was so tired of rules.

Section 10-42.15: All females over the age of five must keep their hair between twelve and eighteen inches long to conform to social norms contributing to healthy interpersonal relationships.

Section 8-12.63: The use of warm colors, including but not limited to red, purple, orange, yellow, and pink, is strictly forbidden, except when written consent is obtained from the Executive Minister of the Department of Felicity.

 “Warm colors stoke the flames of suffering by invoking anger and passion. Cool colors promote unity, humility, and tranquility. Cool colors promote Felicity.”

Nyx gawked at me and I realized I had spoken these words aloud. My skin ached with another surprising emotion, but I recognized this one: mortification.

“Are you feeling okay?” he asked, the elevator bounced beneath our feet as it stopped at the twelfth floor.

I nodded as the doors slid open, though I didn’t feel okay. My skin burned and my thoughts were cloudy with questions. The loudest question of them all: Was this world I was experiencing, my father’s detainment, my grandmother’s rapture, the subway ride, the fountain… was any of it real? The more I thought about it, the more I realized I had no way to compare virtual reality to actual reality.

Without knowing how we got there, we were now shuffling down a harshly lit concrete corridor bustling with health specialists in white lab coats. All their faces pointed downward at the lumens in their hands as they typed and dictated messages, or possibly ration dosages, into their handheld devices.

“Roberts?” Nyx called to a man with dark-brown skin that gleamed under the fluorescent lights. The man looked up from his lumen and a smile barely pulled at the corners of his lips. “Is Hispa in her office?”

Roberts nodded. “Good to see you, Aaron. Hispa has been in her office for days, working on something big,” he replied. “I’m sure she’ll be glad for your company.”

Roberts turned his gaze back to his lumen as he continued down the corridor without another word. None of the health specialists paid us any mind as they navigated the halls, like the now-extinct pigeons that had once soared over the icy streets of Manhattan with one goal lifting their wings: get south. They were guided not by sight, but by something unseen. Instinct? Magnetic fields? An invisible puppeteer?

My mind raced back to what Nyx said about Commissioner Baron. He claimed that what the commissioner did to the mayor was caused by a glitch in Darklandia. This explanation didn’t sit well with me for two reasons. One: This implied that good citizens who served their hours as required were not in control of their actions. Two: If they weren’t in control, who was?