A Girl Called Ari Page 2

  Liviana grinned. “Starla dear, you’re just too kind.”

  “I really am.”

  Liviana’s smile faltered and her eyes narrowed. Liviana raised her glass, as if to propose a toast, and then tipped its contents down the front of Starla’s dress.

  “Oh Starla, I’m sorry.”

  Starla glared at Liviana and her hands began to tremble.

  “I didn’t mean it,” said Liviana, a grin forming.

  “What do you mean, you…”

  “I didn’t.”

  But Starla had only to look into Liviana’s eyes to know the real story.

  Well, what are you going to do about it Starla?

  And Starla wanted to strike Liviana. She wanted to wipe that nasty smirk from her sickeningly angelic face. Enough was enough, the accumulated aggression of years of putdowns and slights. The tendons of her right hand quivered, only Liviana wasn’t worth it. It was the scene Liviana wanted, right here, with all of city society watching.

  “Honestly,” said Liviana. “It was just an accident.” She didn’t even have the decency not to smile.

  Starla placed her glass on the ledge below the railing. “Whatever.” She turned her back on the Panache siblings. Max managed, “But Starla…,” before she was through the double doors.

  How could Liviana do that? Here, and in front of everyone on tonight of all nights. I hate them. I hate the whole Panache family. I don’t care if they own the whole damn city.

  In the bathroom, the stalls were empty. Starla leant against the blue marble countertop and stared at her reflection and her dress melted into the deep blue walls. She didn’t care about the dress, but her eyes were moist, and the blue makeup had started to smudge.

  I hate her.

  I must rise above her though. Liviana is no one, that’s why she has to slight me, it’s all she has, but I’m first daughter of the city. Appearance is everything.

  Her father had told her this. You can’t lead the city without looking like a leader. And, if you look like a leader, and you act like a leader, you are a leader.

  She drew deep breaths and inspected her blue eyeshadow.

  Liviana’s a bitch. She’ll get hers one day.

  A short while later, the elevator hummed quietly as it worked its way to the roof. Far below, the sounds of the party receded. Starla closed her eyes and slowly exhaled. Did she even want to go back to the party? Her part was done, and Liviana didn’t matter, none of them mattered.

  I’m a Corinth, she thought, and above their stupid games. I refuse to play them. They can do what they like, I won’t rise to it.

  The elevator came to rest and, with sigh, the mirrored doors slid open.

  To hell with you all.

  She remembered Max’s words and caught herself smiling.

  What is wrong with me? Smiling at something Max said.

  She’d almost forgotten the spilt champagne.

  Stepping into the corridor, a cloth pressed over Starla’s nose and mouth. It smelt faintly sweet and her head began to spin. Someone was behind her. A cold shiver ran down her spine as she realised what was happening, then darkness folded around her.

  Chapter 2

  That afternoon, Starla had sat alone at her marble-topped dressing table, chin resting in her palm, and watched the single ornamental fish swim in circles in the bowl by her makeup box. The fat blue and white fish twitched and waved its fins aimlessly, gulping at the clear liquid. It stared back with bulbous black eyes.

  I should run away, she thought. I could disappear, show them I’m no pawn.

  She dipped her delicate forefinger into the water. The fish rose up, hovered just below her fingertip, and swam back down.

  They wouldn’t miss me, not after the speech. Two minutes on stage, that’s all my father needs. Why is tonight so important to him?

  Well, they can wait. After all, I’m the mayor’s daughter. Stuck high in this glass tower, I spend my whole life waiting…

  ∆∆∆

  Starla lurched awake.

  Where am I?

  Beneath, the greasy floor she lay on vibrated with a low rumble. She felt a forward motion. The floor jolted. Starla’s heart started to race.

  She kicked out, struck the wall, and a sharp pain burst through her toes. She inhaled sharply. With blurry eyes, she squinted at her surroundings. Above, through thin windows, yellow sunlight spilt onto the floor and the metal wall opposite. Her left shoulder and hip throbbed. At the back of her head, a dull pain had started to form. Her shoulders were pulled backwards, hands held together at the base of her spine. When she tried to move them, the cord pinched her wrists.

  Starla’s chest tightened, she broke into a cold sweat.

  Something’s wrong, she thought.

  The interior swayed.

  I must escape.

  Contorting her legs, Starla slid herself up against the wall. She sat and, with legs like jelly, she used the wall to push herself to her feet. Like the floor, the metal wall vibrated. Using it to steady herself, she craned her head to the thin windows.

  Beyond the cracked glass, a sea of red dust ran all the way to the horizon, vast and flat and sweeping by along the side of the road.

  Starla’s heart skipped. She was on the outside.

  Her mind filled with the images of mutants, their skin melted, and the yellow warning signs with black skulls above crossed femurs.

  Starla staggered from the window.

  I can’t be on the outside.

  She stumbled to the small window set in the double doors at the rear. Split and blistered, a dilapidated tarmac road flowed out in a cloud of red dust.

  She took in sharp, shallow breaths. Her heart thumped against the walls of her chest.

  This can’t be happening. This must be some mistake. I can’t be here, not on the outside.

  Headache, fatigue, nausea, vomiting, red blisters. Starla recalled the laundry list of symptoms, drummed into her, in the event she should find herself outside the wall. She shuddered and bile rose in her throat.

  Swaying, Starla tugged against her binds. Her eyes began to tear. Outside, she passed by a cart pulled by donkeys, heavily laden with some kind of dirty looking rubble. The scrawny animals strained against their ropes, ribs visible under a threadbare fleece, a grey tongue lolling from a gaping mouth. At the edge of the road, wrapped in shabby cloaks, anonymous figures crouched, their faces hidden, bony hands clasping rusty implements. Starla imagined their disfigured faces, their features melted beyond all recognition of anything once human. Eyes misaligned, noses without angles, mouths unable to form the basic patterns of speech. Starla’s head began to swim.

  I must get back to the city.

  The vehicle thudded and Starla lost her footing. She hit the floor and pain ruptured along her pelvis. Gasping, she tugged again at her binds. Where they pinched, her skin now burned. She tasted salty tears. At the back of her throat, a round lump began to form.

  Stupid girl, you have to figure this out.

  With deep breaths, she willed herself to calm.

  She pushed herself back into the corner. Carefully, she explored her binds. Poking her index fingers towards each other, she felt either side of a round knot. She began to work her fingers against the knot. When the vehicle thudded again, she lost her place.

  Come on Starla, you have to do this.

  She began again, working her fingers from either side. The vehicle bounced, slamming her against the wall.

  “Dag it!”

  It was no use.

  She was on her side again, back at the start. Sweat poured from ever part of her body. From beneath, the floor vibrations rolled through her skull.

  What do they want from me? Do these people not know who my father is? They won’t get away with this. I’m certain to be rescued soon.

  Above, beyond the glass, the sky was pale blue. Tears blurred her vision and she shut her eyes. The metal box felt smaller, as if the panels were moving in.

  How long have I been in
this box, outside the wall? How long since exposure… Am I yet even exposed, or in here am I somehow protected? But, she assured herself, I’ll be rescued soon.

  Juddering, the vehicle began to slow. Again, Starla’s heart began to race.

  Starla got to her feet and peered out of the windows. At first, there was the only the flat red dust. The vehicle rumbled passed a line of camels, all strung together, heavily laden with bulky sacks. The animals looked back indifferently, rolling their angular jaws. Through the rear window, the train disappeared into the dust.

  Then the vehicle slowed to a halt.

  Close by the road sat a corral full of animals; camels, donkeys and sheep. There were huge mounds of red rubble and carts laden with fat sacks. Starla saw three men approach the vehicle, shabby and gaunt, their skin a leathery patchwork of dark blotches and deep creases. But they didn’t have the melted deformities of the mutants.

  Could these men have some connection with the city?

  Heavily bearded, the eldest of the three wore a big grin. He looked like he might have recently shared a joke with the other two, but they didn’t appear amused. He walked with an easy gait, his shoulders loose and his stride amiable. The other two looked younger, though their skin still seemed prematurely aged. They hung back, their eyes wide and their movements jittery. Just below the shoulder, each wore a bright red armband. And in their hands, each cradled a large gun.

  Perhaps, wondered Starla, I should attract their attention.

  On tiptoes, Starla pressed her nose against the glass. Despite a lack of obvious deformities, the men looked utterly alien.

  The older man raised his gun and fired into the front of the vehicle.

  Starla's heart leapt.

  The muffled popping reverberated through the metal panels.

  The vehicle lurched forwards and Starla fell backwards. Then the vehicle stopped again. More gunshots followed, and then muffled yells and the sound of breaking glass.

  Starla pushed herself towards the back of the vehicle. The world fell silent, the floor no longer vibrated. The engine had stopped. Then, passing on the other side of the metal panel, Starla heard footsteps. A cold shiver ran down her spine.

  Starla, you have to do something. You have to protect yourself.

  Her damp dress stuck to her skin. She struggled again against the binds.

  The doors flexed. Someone was trying them from the other side.

  Starla, if they come in here they will do something terrible to you. You, Starla Corinth, the mayor’s daughter, first daughter of the city. You’re eighteen now, you have to do better than this Starla. You have to.

  She leaned against the doors and pushed herself to her feet, avoiding the rear window. She positioned herself between the double doors.

  Starla, this is insane. Whatever you’re doing, this isn’t a plan.

  Behind the doors, she heard the tin cry of bending metal. Then the doors were wrenched open and Starla fell forward.

  The harsh white light blinded her. She struck something soft and moving. Arms, neck, fabric. A head, a chest.

  “Wahhhh”

  A man was beneath her, flat on his back.

  The heat, the dust.

  Starla looked up, squinting. She saw one of the younger men approach, his gun raised.

  Come on Starla, get up.

  She pushed her knee against the chest of the man beneath her. It felt fragile, like it might give way. Rising, she ploughed into the other man and knocked him off his feet. She tried to kick him but her tight dress stopped her.

  She stumbled. Something struck the side of her head hard. She barely felt it. It struck her again. She turned towards it and found herself starring down the barrel of a gun.

  ∆∆∆

  “Hey there missy, you just calm down now or else we’re gonna ‘ave to shoot ya.”

  The older man examined her from down the barrel of the gun. Starla felt something wet trickle down her skull. She held her breath. Her heart thumped.

  Were they infected?

  The younger man, whom Starla had just knocked over, was getting up. The wrist and elbow joints of his bare arms were like knots in a frayed rope. Gaunt hollows formed in his cheeks. One bloodshot eye darted between her and his companions, the other milky white.

  The third man still lay flat on his back. “Boss,” he said. “I can’t feel my legs.”

  “Shut up ya drongo,” the older man replied. “Now then, what’s a sheila like you doin’ locked up in the back of that van? What makes ya so bloody valuable?”

  He doesn’t know who I am, thought Starla. He’s no idea.

  “Look at ya. Fancy clothes, fancy hair. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were from the big smoke. Is that it? From the city?”

  “Maybe.”

  The older man’s grin widened. “So that’s it. Reprobate from the big smoke. Exile from Alice. Found yourself in the wider world did ya? Well, just think of us as your personal welcomin’ committee.”

  “Boss, please,” pleaded the man lying on his back. “I can’t feel my legs. I can’t feel nothin’.”

  “You okay Spud?” asked the man with the milky eye, his gun lowered.

  “He’s fine. We’re all fine. Just takin’ in the afternoon air. Ain’t that right missy? See, way I see it, you an’ I could just get back in that van and we could all have ourselves a little party. A sort ‘a welcome to Cooper eh?”

  Starla shuddered. Her eyes darted between her assailants. The older man grinned sickeningly and licked his lips. She couldn’t see the man on the ground, but the man with the milky eye looked seriously at the older man.

  “He said she was worth somethin’.”

  “Didn’t say what she was though did he,” said the older man. “Just said somethin’ of value. Far as I know, she ain’t even ‘ere. We could strike a deal missy. I reckon a sheila like you‘d see a deal for the value it is out ‘ere. See, city folk like you don’t know how it is ‘ere. Ya get yourselves into trouble real quick. An’ you don’t wanna go where we’re supposed to take ya. I can tell ya that for free. You could see this as ya second chance, eh?”

  “This ain’t right,” said the man with the milky eye. “He said she was worth somethin’.”

  “Ya got a lot to learn sprog, an’ I say you should watch an’ learn. You’ll be right won’t ya missy?”

  Starla shivered. She nodded nervously, her pulse beating in her ears. From somewhere over in the corral, a sheep bleated. Starla realised how quiet it was out here.

  “Easy now, back in the van then.” The older man began lowering his gun and inching forward.

  Starla stepped backwards, towards the open doors of the van. She looked at the man with the milky eye and he looked back pitifully, his one eye wide. He was shaking too. She leant against the doorsill.

  “I can’t get back up,” she said. “You’ll need to untie me.”

  “Now, that hardly seems necessary.” The older man placed his gun on the floor of the van. His hands started to shake; his face was slick with sweat. “See, I’m always ready to help a sheila, ‘specially one bein’ so obligin’ of an older fella.” He was close to her now and she could smell his sour stench, his breath acidic and rotten. He winked at her and Starla’s stomach began to turn.

  She glanced at the man with the milky eye. Please, she prayed, do something.

  The man with the milky eye raised his gun and pressed the end of the barrel to the older man’s left temple. “She’s worth somethin’. That’s what he said an’ ya don’t cross ‘im. I know that, you know that. No one ever crosses ‘im so don’t lose ya head to no sheila.”

  The older man’s eyes widened and his grin changed from menace to guilt.

  “Now then son, don’t get like that.” He raised his sweaty hands and looked at the younger man. “I was just obligin’ the lady. No one’s goin’ against the big fella. So why don’t ya just put the gun down eh, an’ we can all rest easy.”

  “She comes with us.”

&nbs
p; “Of course son, of course. Maybe it was my mistake. Can’t blame an old man for tryin’ now can ya, eh?”

  For a long moment, the two men locked eyes.

  “Easy now son, don’t do nothin’ stupid now.”

  Starla could see the younger man’s finger shivering on the trigger. She tensed, holding her breath. With his one good eye, the younger man blinked.

  The older man lunged for his gun. Starla raised her knee and aimed her kick at the older man’s crotch. She slipped on the doorframe, briefly lost balance, and hit the younger man in the leg. His gun went off.

  Deafened.

  The older man’s body fell forwards onto the floor of the van. Red blood splattered across the metal interior. The man with the milky eye let out a yelp of surprise. Starla got to her feet and started to run. She heard one of the men crying, “What ‘ave ya done?”

  Any moment, she thought, they’ll start shooting. They’ll aim their guns and bring me down.

  She ran on, away from the road. She passed by the corral and sprinted into the desert. She stumbled over rocks and dirt, trying to maintain her balance with her hands bound behind her back. Her eyes blurred with tears. She scrambled down a hill and the road and corral slipped silently away. The hot air burnt her throat. Her feet slipped on the loose ground and she slowed.

  Then she tripped and rolled down the hill.

  She fell down a hole, banged her head, and everything went dark again.

  Chapter 3

  Ari Quinn spent her days digging salt from the bed of a long dead sea. Under the baking sun, she toiled on the salt flats, filling two rusty buckets with the dirty brown rock salt she dug up with her bare hands. Once full, she affixed them to a metal yolk and carried them over her shoulders, up the bank to where the quartermaster sat in his wheelchair in his little tent in the shade. She placed each bucket on his scales, and duly he added a mark by her name. Then she added their contents to the great mounds of salt that would, in due course, be packed onto camels and sent to the city. Then Ari took her buckets and yolk and went back down to the salt flats and did it all again. She did this every day. It was hard but steady work, and it let her keep to herself. It was better than searching for opals in the old mine shafts which was dangerous. Or, relocating to the ore mines and whatever fate that held. She’d never known anyone to return from the ore mines; either it was far better than here, or else it was far worse. And it was certainly better than the coal mines. At this memory, Ari shuddered, shutting out the months in those long, dark tunnels. It was a memory she never wanted to return to.