The Last Resort(51)
She is a monster.
A sharp pain shoots through her stomach, spasms doubling her over as she falls to her knees and vomits. There’s nothing in there but clear liquid, but it burns as it empties out and the spasms finally subside. Brushing her hand across her mouth, she gets to her feet again. Clenches her hands into fists, bites hard on her bottom lip to stop herself from screaming.
She takes a few slow, calming breaths. Then carries on. She’d been questioned, of course, but there had been nothing to link her to the event, and somehow she’d got away with it. Except she hadn’t, of course. Because she still has to live with it. Every minute. Every day.
She forces herself out of her head, scans her surroundings. Off to her right she can see the blinking lights of another island. She can’t work out how far away it is, but it definitely looks too far to make a swim for it. She’s already getting cold as the sun has dipped, and she’s not that strong a swimmer.
She climbs a small hill, barely noticing the surroundings now. The exotic plants and varied landscape were interesting before, but now it’s all just something that’s there, a reminder that she’s somewhere she doesn’t want to be.
As she descends the hill, she sees a copse of tall trees ahead. And nearby, two figures, walking away from her. She sighs. Might as well join them.
‘Hey, Amelia? James!’ She shouts it across the marshy plain, and her voice seems to be dulled somehow. Grabbed by the breeze and shaken away. ‘Hey, you two,’ she cries again.
This time, James turns round, sees her. Waves. Amelia stands beside him. Perhaps she hasn’t told him yet. Perhaps Lucy has a few more moments before James finds out what a monster she is. She waves back, starts jogging towards them. The ground is a bit spongy underfoot and it slows her down. But they wait. James is smiling. Amelia’s expression is wary.
She definitely hasn’t told him.
‘Hi.’ James walks towards her. ‘I was wondering where you’d got to. Amelia and I were chatting about . . . things. I forgot myself for a while.’
Lucy frowns. James seems different to when she last saw him. He’d seemed confident, ready for action. Now he seems smaller, deflated. Like he’s ready to give up. She’d started to get suspicious of him before, thinking he knew more about the ‘game’ than he was letting on, but now he looks just as fed up as she feels. Not that surprising, really. They’re all tired. They’re all in the same boat. She smiles inwardly. If only they had an actual boat. They could row to that island and get help. Get away. Go back home and pretend none of this ever happened. They all signed a non-disclosure agreement and she’s more than happy to stick to it.
She doesn’t want anyone to know anything about this place. She definitely doesn’t want anyone to know anything about the technology they’ve been testing.
‘I was just about to tell James what happened in the ruins,’ Amelia says carefully. ‘Thought he might need to know . . .’
Lucy bristles. Clenches and unclenches her fists. Why? It’s not going to make any difference to him, is it? She says nothing.
Amelia presses: ‘Best that we get everything out in the open, don’t you think? I have a feeling that’s why we’re all here. It’s an experiment. They’ve selected us because of our repressed memories, and they want us to release them.’
It makes sense, but Lucy’s still not sure why. Why her? There must be millions of people on the planet who are suppressing terrible memories. Why has she been chosen? No doubt they’ll all find out soon enough.
‘Do you mind if I tell the full story, though?’ Lucy says. She sucks in a fast breath, lets it out slowly. ‘It’d be better in context. For you too.’
‘Fine. Let’s walk and talk. It’ll be dark soon.’ Amelia turns and starts walking.
‘Go on,’ James says, his voice gentle.
She walks in step with him, but she can’t look at him. ‘I think Amelia might be right with the memories thing.’ She taps the tracker. ‘I thought these things were nonsense at first, but after the presentation . . . and what happened in the ruins.’ She pauses, blows out a long breath. ‘I think maybe they are tapped into our neurons. Or something, at least. There was an . . . an incident projected. Amelia saw it. It was a video, like Tiggy’s. But the thing is, I know there was no way a camera could’ve filmed it. The only footage of that night is inside my own head—’
‘Hang on.’ James stops walking. ‘You’re saying that film we watched earlier, of Tiggy, came from her own memory? And that the same thing just happened to you?’
Amelia realises they’ve stopped walking. She sighs and turns round, heads back towards them. ‘There’s another possibility,’ she says. ‘Maybe the memories are false. There’s a psychological condition – false memory syndrome. It’s been well documented. Remember that “satanic panic” stuff? It was all disproved, and it turns out the kids had been almost hypnotised to believe that this stuff happened to them when it didn’t. I’m wondering if maybe they’ve inserted something into your bloodstreams with that tracker probe. Maybe it’s not pulling out repressed memories – maybe it’s putting some garbled garbage in there instead.’
Lucy shakes her head sadly. ‘I’d like to believe that, but I’m afraid I know for sure that what you saw really did happen.’ She rolls up her sleeve, revealing pink, puckered skin. ‘I spilled petrol on my arm.’