Wonderfall (or, The Girl with the Rabbit Tattoo)

Chapter 6 | Watch(er)

I was fascinated by the glass. The fact the Grim Reaper lurked on the other side of what was otherwise an invisible barrier boggled my mind. And even though I hadn't thought about it much in my years testing the threes, ever since I moved to Wonder, I couldn't stop thinking about it.

With Hayley testing and Calista giving me the day off after my swim test, I figured I had some time. I knew I didn't want to go anywhere near The Lists if I wasn't testing, and walking down to the Midway still seemed strange after the previous night. So, with boredom suffocating me in my apartment, I figured I'd see what secrets Wonder had hidden.

The pebble walkway wound down the hillside, through the apartments, and veered away from the Midway, gradually turning to concrete as it approached the water. The concrete path was obviously old given the cracks and the size of the tree roots that were buckling the surface. I also knew it was seldom used for the same reasons. If Calista thought it was important, she would have rebuilt it at some point, I was sure.

All the structures Calista built were boring, sterile, lacking any fragment of imagination. Anything hand-crafted and interesting was ancient. Anything white and glass and metal and modern was Calista. Even her decisions were utilitarian, right down to the testing the candidates started in their teens to determine their aptitude for work. It seemed bizarre and terrifying that a machine could know more about what we were capable of than we were. But I had to admit that in my whole seventeen years, I had never met anyone who disliked their assignment, no matter how old they were. Of course, I had yet to meet anyone working anywhere but New Fields. And I couldn't imagine anyone being happy in Overton. But there was a certain terrifying logic behind what Calista did to match people to their jobs that made it seem perfect—like destiny—even if it felt like torture getting there.

On the rare occasions when I escaped the doldrums of life in Calista's microscope, I explored. Maybe I was hopeful to find some sort of adventure to make life less predictable. So as I walked on the broken concrete path, the moss growing up over the edge of it and between the cracks, my steps were lighter just because of the hope I held that I might find something interesting.

Not far down the path, the craggy cliffs breaking away along one side, the walkway disappeared as the path wound further into the trees. But whether it was because the path makers had given up, or if the forest had just taken the area back, I couldn't tell. In either case, I wasn't about to let an unpaved path stand in my way, even if it only took me another hundred yards before it ended with the glass—everything always ended with the glass. But the path wound further into the trees than I imagined, and after a solid ten minutes of trekking, I noticed the white sides of Calista's handiwork through the trees.

I tried to shove whatever excitement I was feeling aside, figuring it was nothing more than a covered power supply for the glass. Seconds later, as the trees opened up, my heart sank anyway to find that's exactly what it was.

The path ran between two metal buildings, each about fifteen feet tall, neither really white anymore, both of them certainly old as they were filthy and rusting at the bases. Apparently, Calista's sense of utility extended to dilapidated outbuildings. It appeared to be mech-only territory. I couldn't imagine people ever bothering to come this far into the forest without a reason, and as far as I could tell, there wasn't anyone nearby. The buildings were standing, protecting whatever was inside them, and by their condition, it didn't look like anyone cared if they collapsed, including Calista.

I slowed my pace, stopping in front of the doors on each shed, taking time to rattle the latch—they were both locked. I pressed my ear to the metal and heard nothing but the hum of power supplies, just as I expected. Then I stepped to the glass.

It had been years since I had been this close. I didn't have any time to travel to the edge of New Fields since I started testing, so thoughts of the glass and what was beyond faded into other, more worrisome things. But standing there reminded me of a day when I was a kid. My parents took me to a park that butted up against the glass, and apparently, I spent the entire day sitting there in front of it, playing with toys, until I fell asleep. The only thing I remember is throwing a fit when my parents woke me up, pulling me away from it.

Reaching out, I touched the glass. It was cool—cooler than I remembered—slippery like ice and just as firm. I brought the toes of my shoes to within inches of the glass and tilted my head back, looking straight up. I could see the subtle curve, the glass turning in on itself, and I knew—I was trapped inside, looking up, looking out.

I closed my eyes and listened. I heard the mechs cleaning another coach—another candidate had arrived—and even though it was a mile away from where I stood, the arc of the glass was so perfect, the energy so pure, the sound from that far away still made it to my ears like a whisper from a friend just inches away. I couldn't hear what they were saying exactly—it was a sound a mile away surfing on electrons to my ears, after all. But it was another reminder that I was inside the wall, and would remain so until my testing was complete. Then I'd move to another prison. As amazing as it was to hear the mech-machs at work so far away, I couldn't help but feel a pinch of sadness at what the glass meant for all of us.

Stepping back and lowering my head, I really noticed the space outside the glass for the first time and laughed. Once again, I was so obsessed with being trapped I was missing the chance to see the world beyond my bubble.

I was standing on a swath of short grass. It ran under the glass and twenty feet past until it touched the tree line that went instantly from open field to impassible foliage and up the side of a mountain. The little purple flowers in the grass at my feet were almost too small to see, but there were lots on the other side tinting the grass an electric shade of violet. And it was just then, when I was wondering how something so small could affect its surroundings so much, that I saw the doe walk into my field of view.

She was small, walking slowly, nibbling grass. I had never seen one before. I held my breath, trying to be still, not wanting to chase her away. Maybe it was just because I hadn't moved in what seemed like forever, but she didn't seem to be bothered by me, never looking in my direction.

I watched her stroll, gently putting each hoof down as her nose twitched and her tiny mouth chewed. And as I stared at this perfect little animal, I felt the world around me warp, the beauty of the moment cracking as my frustration returned. It was something I couldn't understand and struggled to accept. There was this tiny deer. She looked so fragile. So harmless. So innocent. And yet she was the one in the world, in the wild, able to survive in an atmosphere that would kill me in minutes.

It made no sense to me that wild animals could adapt faster to the Malium in the atmosphere that was poisonous to humans. And it made even less sense that they adapted easier because they could live with cognitive damage—an animal would exist on instinct with nothing but a fight-or-flight response. But that wasn't possible for humans. Fight or flight wouldn't cut it. It hadn't. People exposed to Malium before the levels had grown toxic, apparently became hostile and aggressive, almost barbaric. Malium affected the part of the brain responsible for consciousness, awareness. Without self-awareness, people were zombies and they acted like it.

This is what I was taught. It's what all of us were taught, but it didn't seem right to me, staring at the doe. There was so much life outside the glass. Why couldn't we be out there too? Why were we so cursed?

I shook my head in wonder, and whether it was from the motion of my head or the internal scream I was venting into the universe, the doe bolted. In a fleeting second, I saw its spotted back as it bounded deeper into the trees and then it was gone. And as I stared into the shadows, sad to think I might never see another deer so close, I saw another pair of eyes blink, a head turn and a body bolt. Except this time, I was pretty sure that whatever was watching me didn't have four legs.