Across the Universe

41 AMY

ELDER DOESN’T GET ON THE ELEVATOR.

“I’ve got something else to do,” he says. There is a dark, serious manner in the way he stands now. I never noticed how much he slouched until he stood up straight. Before, I knew he was the destined leader of this ship merely because Doc and Eldest told me he was. Now I look at him, and I can see the determined leader within.

A part of me wants to stay here, on this level, and protect my parents from whoever is clever enough to unplug the frozen people while we’re all down there on the same level, but I can see that Elder needs to be by himself down here, for whatever purpose, and I trust him to guard my parents.

“Elder, I think you should come back with us, meet with Eldest,” Doc says.

“Oh, I’m going to meet with Eldest,” Elder says, and he reaches over, pushes the elevator button for Doc, and stands back as the doors slide shut. Before they close all the way, he turns away from the elevator and strides purposefully down the hall.

“I think his chutz is up, don’t you?” Harley says in a conversational tone. He’s awfully cheerful for someone who’s just dumped a body out into space.

Doc harrumphs.

When the elevator stops, Doc storms off. I watch him, waiting for him to push that little button behind his left ear and snitch on Elder, but he doesn’t — he just keeps walking.

“Wanna go back to the Ward?” Harley asks, holding his arm out in mock chivalry.

“Let’s go to that garden Elder showed me,” I say.

“Oh, he showed you the garden?” A lopsided grin smears across Harley’s face. He starts to head down the hallway.

“It must be weird for him,” I say. “He’s the youngest one on the ship, but he’s also something of a leader. I don’t know if I could tell someone older than me to do something and expect them to do it.”

Harley looks at me out of the corner of his eye. “You’re a strange one, Little Fish.”

“How so?” I grin back, willing to play along.

“You’re thinking about how weird it is for Elder on the ship. But you’re the fish out of water.”

I snort. “It’s easier to think of Elder than myself.” Unexpected tears prick my eyes. I had not meant to say something so close to the truth.

When we get to the doors in the lobby, Harley holds them open for me, and I step out into fresh sunlight and the smell of grass after a light rain.

And the sweaty, musky smell of sex.

“Frex. Forgot about the Season for a second,” Harley says as a half-naked couple bump into him, so distracted by their passionate groping and kissing that they don’t even notice Harley standing there. “Let’s go back inside.”

“Come on, we’ll just go away from the crowded areas. I don’t think I can stand being inside anymore.” I think I will never like enclosed spaces again. When I was younger, before the freezing, I never felt claustrophobic. Now, even here, on the edge of a garden, outside, tight bands squeeze the air from my lungs, and my vision lingers on the walls that seem to constantly be pressing down on me. I close my eyes. If I let myself think about it, it’s so, so much worse.

“The light is good out here,” Harley says as we start down the path away from the Hospital. “Shite, I wish I had my paints!”

I laugh. “Go ahead. Get them. I’ll wait here.”

Harley hesitates. “It’s not safe. Not now.”

I think of the crowd of people I ran into on my first run. Now seems like the perfect time to be out — none of the people are going to care about me. They’re way too busy with each other.

“Seriously,” I say when Harley looks wistfully back up at the Hospital. “I’ll go to that wheat field. No one’s over there; they’re all in the garden or on the road.”

“Come with me,” Harley says. He grabs my wrist and starts to pull me to the Hospital, but I wriggle out of his grip.

“I really need to not be in a building. I need some fresh air. Go on!” I laugh, shooing him down the path. “I’ll be fine.”

Harley hesitates again, but the pull of his paint is too much. “Be careful, Little Fish,” he says seriously. I nod, smiling. He sprints up the path to the Hospital. I stroll the opposite direction, toward the field.

I was right: the further I get from the garden, the fewer people are around. The path is practically empty, and it is only from the moaning and sighs that I know there are people further out in the fields, behind the trees, in the ditch beside the path. I try to ignore them. It creeps me out to see people so loose. I know that when I lived on Earth, I must have seen people having sex on TV a million times. But it’s not the same when people are having sex right in front of you.

“It’s her.”

My first instinct is to freeze; my next one is to run. I know from the tone of voice that whoever spoke was talking about me. I risk glancing back. There are three men, all about Harley’s age, all following me. I don’t recognize two of them — Feeders who do some kind of heavy labor judging by the size of their muscles.

My stomach drops.

I do recognize the third one.

Luthe, who’s always staring at me, always watching me in the Ward.

“Hey, freak!” Luthe calls when he sees me looking. He wiggles his fingers at me in a mock hello, and the other two men laugh.

I start walking faster. I wonder if the moaning, sighing masses of sweaty people in the fields will look up if I call for help. I somehow doubt it.

I can hear their heavy footfalls behind me. Their stride is longer than mine; they’ve already set their pace quicker.

“Don’t think I wanna freak,” one of them says.

“I do,” Luthe responds.

I quit caring about what I look like. I run. My legs pump high and hard, and I have panic to fuel me. One of them curses, and I realize the chase is on. I cut into a field, but the wheat slows me, and my wild race leaves a clear trail right toward me. I leap over a pair of lovers in the field who do not even notice my presence, let alone my plight. I turn around to see how close the men are.

Too close.

And I am too stupid. I trip over a pair of heaving bodies and land in the wheat, rolling over tall, sharp stalks. The girl, who is on top, looks at me with love-hazed eyes, then grins in an inviting sort of way. I scoot back, feeling the wheat bend and break under my body, struggling to regain my footing.

But I’m not quick enough.

One of the big Feeder men is on top of me first.

I struggle to get up, but my squirming only excites him. I still my body, but jerk my hands. He pins my wrists to the ground under his meaty fists, and now the other two men have caught up. The other Feeder grabs my ankles. Luthe drops to the ground beside me, leaning over my face. Grinning.

I thrash against the men. They all laugh, a deep, guttural sound that isn’t humorous at all.

I jerk my head to the naked couple I tripped over. “Help me!” I say.

The woman arches her back, digs her hips against the man she’s riding.

“Help me!” I scream.

The man beneath her stares back at me, but his eyes are glazed. He smiles dreamily. The woman notices, and turns to look at me. “It only hurts the first time,” she says, and then she thrusts against the man, and he moans, and she moans, and they have forgotten all about me.

Luthe straddles me and rips my tunic off, curses at the undershirt I’ve been wearing in place of a bra, and rips it off, too. The tattered remains of my clothes pool at my arms, but my breasts are exposed. And even though I’ve seen half the crew of this ship walking around naked in a lovemaking haze, I am ashamed of my nudity. And terrified.

Luthe bends over me and buries his face in my breasts. I try to wriggle away, but he moans in desire and grinds his pelvis harder against my hips. One hand fumbles with his trousers while the other twists my breast, hard. The Feeder man holding my arms makes a noise deep inside his throat, and bends down, licking my arms, nibbling my skin playfully at first, then harder bites that were they to have come from my boyfriend Jason, I would have liked.

The Feeder looks up at me as I start to cry. There is blank nothing in his gaze, vacant emptiness. He is lustful in the way an animal in heat is lustful. Luthe, however, is not. His huge smile exposes all his teeth. He’s been watching me from the moment I first entered the Ward.

And he knows.

I can tell it in his eyes. Most of the people — the Feeders — they’re acting like animals. But this guy’s not acting at all. He knows what he’s doing.

And he likes it.

It’s hopeless.

The man holding my ankles starts to tug at my pants.

I kick him, and I’m fairly certain that my heel connects with his teeth. He shouts, and his shout is not one of lust but of pain. But Luthe has gotten hold of his idea and starts yanking at the waist of my pants.

I open my mouth to scream, and the man holding my arms presses his mouth against mine, his tongue delving deep into me, rooting around against the soft palate of my mouth.

I bite until I taste blood. I bite even as he tries to jerk his tongue away. When he finally escapes, I spit his blood from my mouth, and scream.

“Little Fish! Amy!” Harley’s voice is panicked.

“Harley!” I scream with all my might. “HARLEY!”

And then he’s there, and he bangs his easel against the man straddling me, and his easel breaks apart, and now he’s pummeling the men with his fists. And I curl up into a ball, holding myself with myself, and choking back my tears. The Feeder men run away, but Luthe stands to fight. He and Harley circle each other like vultures circling a carcass, and I know I’m the carcass. Luthe hits first, but Harley hits harder. Luthe sprawls down, but he’s not knocked out. Harley grabs my wrist.

“Come on. Come on,” he says, yanking me up. My pants are loosened and they slip over my hip. I hold them with one hand, I hold Harley with the other, and I run and run and run, and I can hear the man’s heavy footsteps behind me, and then I don’t hear them anymore, but still I run and run and run, and I’m holding onto Harley like he’s the rope pulling me from the undertow.