The Fifth Room

‘Ugh, Miri! Why don’t you just use a laptop, like a normal person?’ I stop writing and look up at my roommate, Emily, who’s sitting on the couch opposite me in our favorite coffee shop. My pen hovers as I watch her slowly pour gingerbread syrup into her coffee from the little bottle she always keeps in her backpack. Emily has a nasty habit of drinking several gingerbread lattes every day. Year round.

‘To answer your laptop question, there was a study at Princeton that showed students who took longhand notes had a better grasp of the subject they were studying. And anyway, what would you know about normal people?’

The fact of the matter is, neither of us comes even close to being normal. The whole reason we’re sitting here—that we met at all—is because we’re so far from normal it’s not funny. Technically, this should be our senior year of high school, but we were both headhunted in our sophomore year to join an accelerated pre-med program called—unofficially—the Thirty, its name gifted because of its yearly intake. Thirty students. The best. The brightest. Students who had shown a distinct aptitude for medicine from a young age. At the end of this year, medical schools all over the country will fight it out to see who will claim us for college. It’s kind of like the NBA Draft, just with more brains, less height, much punier muscles and glasses (okay, it’s nothing like the NBA draft).

Knowing she’s beaten, Emily takes a very large, very noisy slurp from her mug. I go back to my notes.

I snap my notebook closed as swiftly as I can without looking like I’m worried Steen will see what I’m writing. Which I am. ‘What else is there to write about?’ I tell him, gripping my notebook tightly. Yes, it’s in my special shorthand, but he could decipher it in five minutes if he wanted to. I’ll type up my notes tonight, which will then be safely encrypted on my laptop.

Steen leans over to kiss me and I look at him through my lashes for as long as I can because I still can’t really believe he’s mine.

We’d met on campus in week two, bonding over someone else’s truly stupid question about lithium in a tute group. By week four, we were all over each other. By week five we were inseparable—and probably sickening, depending on your relationship status. Steen is smart. So. Smart. Some people are attracted to pecs, or abs or calves or whatever. But for me, it’s always been about the grey matter. Sometimes I notice that other people think he’s too inquisitive. I see the look on people’s faces when we’re out shopping or at a restaurant. Why is he asking so many questions? Does he have to have the entire menu explained to him? Discuss the care tag on that sweater he was thinking of buying with the sales assistant? But I totally get it. I’ve finally met someone who understands the strange looks I’ve been getting all my life, care of my overactive mind.

‘No thanks,’ I say. ‘We have a class in ten minutes. Not to mention caffeine only brings out Emily’s evil side.’

Emily’s mouth opens to say something, but then her gaze moves to the coffee shop door behind me. She freezes. There’s something about her expression that makes me whip my head around. And that’s when I see him.

As Steen turns, my hand darts out and grabs on to his jeans. I hear him mutter something in Danish.

But Steen doesn’t sit down and Ryan doesn’t retreat, as he’s been warned to by the Dean.

‘I seriously can’t believe he’s still here,’ Emily says, finding her voice.

But I can. I know why he’s still here. Or I can guess why. He’s here because the Society made it so. The Society decided he could stay.

Ryan waves at the three of us as he passes by. ‘Good to see you guys,’ he says, flashing that insincere grin of his. All his facial expressions are eerily similar—it’s as if his brain remembers to tack them on to whatever he’s said that little bit too late. Insert smile here.

‘Hi, Ryan!’ Emily calls back, really loudly, so that everyone in the coffee shop can hear. ‘Did your STD clear up? I hope so!’

We win this round—Ryan orders to go and leaves. We wait until he’s gone and then Emily and I pack up our things while Steen grabs a coffee.

‘Sorry, we’ve got to run,’ I say as he comes back to place his coffee and muffin on the low table in front of us.

I nod and then he kisses me on the forehead. I have to force myself not to act like a giddy teenager. Which is exactly what I am. Seriously, I sometimes consider throwing in all my other research ambitions to focus on sequencing the Danish gene for hotness, because I now know there has to be one. I am, however, still sane enough to remember my schedule and what I have to do at six o’clock.

‘Eight o’clock should be fine,’ I tell him. I’ll have plenty of time to get back and meet Steen for eight o’clock.

We pull away from each other to see Emily take a large bite out of Steen’s muffin. She stares back at us, completely unrepentant.

‘Sometimes there are advantages to being the third wheel,’ she says, her mouth full.

Emily talks my ear off about Ryan all the long way across the quad to our class. But I barely listen to her. I can’t stop thinking about Ryan’s fake smile. And the past.

I’d noticed Ryan on my very first day on campus. I don’t know why. There was just something about him. He was very … intense. You could feel when he was in a classroom. He gave out this sort of weird energy.

At first I thought he might just be on the spectrum, but that thought left my mind pretty quickly as I got to know him better. People said he was charming, but I wasn’t so sure—to me his ‘charm’ seemed to be calculated, and based on too-long stares and perfectly timed, insincere laughs. When I found out he had a special interest in infectious diseases, I knew I truly needed to avoid him. That had been my mom’s area of interest and she had been famous for it.

When he finally found out who my mother was, he hunted me down immediately to talk to me about her. The experience was beyond creepy. It was as if he had no idea I might be uncomfortable talking about my mother. Or he just didn’t care. And I was incredibly uncomfortable talking about my mother with him. My mother who died in a lab experiment gone wrong. Worse, when he located me, I was actually in a lab, working alongside a lab partner I barely knew. As if this wasn’t bad enough, he then asked me if I wanted to get dinner. Tonight. At first I couldn’t quite believe what I’d heard. I thought I must have got it wrong. ‘Did you just ask me on a date?’ I’d replied, bewildered. He hadn’t even blinked. He just gave me one of those smiles of his. I told him that was never going to happen, turned and left the lab. I decided then and there that he had to be some kind of sociopath and I gave him an extremely wide berth.

I knew I’d been right about him when Steen told me Ryan had found out about his grandfather. Steen’s parents weren’t like mine, who were both doctors. His mother was an artist and his father taught Russian literature at a university in England. But his grandfather had been quite the eminent medical researcher and a Nobel Prize winner. Ryan hadn’t liked that. And he’d made it pretty clear he didn’t like Steen either.

It was then that Ryan began appearing everywhere. Swapping tutoring groups so he’d be in mine. Sitting behind me in lectures. Just enough to remind me he was always there. Watching. Waiting. Though not enough, it seemed, when I approached the Dean, to warrant a caution. I was furious, as was Steen. I’m still not entirely sure what happened, but one day Steen and Ryan had an altercation in the quad. Go figure—Steen ended up with the caution, while Ryan was only unofficially warned by the Dean to steer clear of us both.

But that wasn’t all. There was more to the story, I found out later. Ryan had been cautioned before, about something else.

My phone is on silent, sitting on the edge of my desk, when the text comes in during class. I glance at it, but Emily reads it before I can grab it. Her eyes widen and she gives me a look before tapping away on her laptop. I TOLD YOU YOU’RE HER FAVORITE she writes, changing the font size to 36pt.

I roll my eyes at her, but the truth is, I’m secretly thrilled. Professor Ling has just asked me to join her on her ward round at five o’clock to see a rare case.

I call Professor Ling straight after class. The thing is, after Ryan started stalking me—after I thought he truly might be some kind of freaky sociopath—I decided I needed to be more careful. But the offer is for real. I meet up with Professor Ling, we see the patient and end up discussing the case for a while afterwards.

It’s so fascinating that I completely forget the time and it’s not until I accidentally see a wall clock on the ward that I realise it’s six-forty-five.

It’s six-forty-five and I’ve completely forgotten about what I had to do at six o’clock.

It might be dark, but there are still plenty of people around. It’s not that I feel unsafe. The problem is, it’s now six-forty-seven and I don’t know what to do.

The thing is, four months ago I received a hand-delivered letter I had to sign for. Inside were directions to pick up mail from a private mailbox. I was given a strict time slot—Thursday evening from six to seven. I was told to speak to no one about my actions. And that’s what I did—I told no one what I’d received—not even Steen. I waited for Thursday, made sure Ryan was in the tute group he was meant to be in, then caught the bus to the secure mail centre. There, I used my two keys—one for the front door and one for the mailbox itself—and picked up my invitation to join the Society.

I check the time again on my phone. Six-forty-eight. The mail centre is a fifteen-minute bus ride away.

I take off, running towards the street, hailing an Uber as I go. My phone tells me my driver is two minutes away. He gets there in one and a half.

He offers me gum. Mints. A bottle of water. Before he can offer me his firstborn child, I cut in. ‘I’m really late,’ I tell him. ‘Really, really late.’

The traffic is terrible and my palms are sweaty by the time we pull up outside the mail centre at seven minutes past seven.

‘I …’ I say, looking out the window. It’s January. It’s cold. No one’s in sight.

I go and stand half hidden behind a tree, my hand gripping the two keys in the depths of my coat pocket.

But I know they do. The Society has rules. Rules that you don’t break if you want to remain a member. Rules that you don’t want to break considering you’re a member of an illegal society.

I also know there might be a letter waiting for me. A letter from the Society asking me to self-experiment. Semester break is coming. The youth experimentation period usually occurs over the longer summer break, but you never know your luck. The application I’d put in was good. Better than good. This might be my opportunity.

I don’t stop to think for a second longer. I sprint across the grass, my decision made, not willing to waste another second. I’m in the security door in less than a minute and inside the mailbox in just a few moments more, my nails scraping against the inside of the metal box.

I stare at the grey metal box blankly for a second or two, unable to process what I’m seeing. I’d almost convinced myself the letter was really here. But it’s not. Recognising this fact, I then lock the box again and whirl round. I have to get out of here. Fast.

Back out of the security door, I step onto the path, my head down, and almost run straight into somebody, I’m in such a hurry to leave. ‘Sorry, I …’ I look up.

We stop dead and stare at each other, saying nothing. And, in that moment, we know. We know there can only be one reason we’re both here.

As I stare at his silent lips, I remember kissing them only hours before, in the coffee shop. It feels like eons ago. Like it happened in a different time and place, to someone else.

My admission to a university is swiftly organised thanks to inf luential friends of my mother’s. Inf luential friends who understood my predicament when I’d lied and told them a relationship had gone badly and was affecting my studies. Friends who fixed things for me. In exactly the same way that things had surely been fixed for Ryan.

Now it’s a Saturday in spring, and because it’s not raining as it usually does every single day here in England, I’ve gone out with some other American students. We’ve driven out to a nearby village for the day to go crazy photographing red telephone boxes and drinking tea. I’ve been trying to get out more lately, to stop thinking about my previous life. About my friends. About Steen. I know I have to move forward and make the most of being in the UK. Make new friends. Maybe even a boyfriend, though it still hurts a lot to even consider that. I need to look towards the future. Not back at the past.

We’re sitting in low-slung deck chairs in the Orchard Tea Garden, apple blossoms bobbing above our heads, when I get a call on my phone.

‘In London. I was at a conference in Berlin and I thought … Well, I suddenly thought I might stop off and see you. Do you have plans?’

‘Um, nothing I can’t cancel. If you’re in London I can come down to you, if you like. It’s less than an hour on the fast train. Where are you staying?’

‘Okay,’ I say slowly. ‘I’ll give you a call when I get to Kings Cross.’

As I take my seat on the fast train to London and plug in my laptop, I’m still wondering what my dad wants.

Because he has to want something. We don’t do intimate father–daughter lunches.

The big question is: does he know? Does he know about my involvement with the Society?

After I’d been invited to join, I’d often wondered if my dad was a member as well. Now I wonder if he’s a member who knows his daughter has been asked to experiment.

I feel my heartbeat start to quicken as I recall the day I found out it was really going to happen. It had been at my new private mailbox. The one that was worlds away from the Thirty and Steen and Emily and that other mail centre. I’d opened up the lock on the small black box nestled within the sea of small black mailboxes and spied it immediately. It was a thick letter—thick and full of promise, the envelope a creamy, lush cardstock.

I’d held it in my palm, staring at it as if it wasn’t quite real. But it was real and it was addressed to me—Miri Eastman.

Before I even read the enclosed letter, I knew. I saw the boarding pass that would take me to Vienna, Austria.

I’d had to force myself to keep it together after that. Because what if someone from the Society was secretly watching and saw me lose it? Losing it wasn’t an option. I’d rested my forehead against the cool black metal exterior of the mailboxes, closed my eyes and told myself to breathe. In, one two three. Out, one two three.

‘Are you all right, dear?’ Back on the train to London, a hand comes to rest on my shoulder and my eyes flick open.

A middle-aged woman peers down at me. Behind her, seated, I see a man in a suit watching us intently.

How embarrassing. I guess I must have been recalling that memory of mine a little too vividly.

I stare at her blankly and she stares back as if she’s waiting for something. Finally, I remember that she’s asked me a question.

In less than a week’s time I will drop everything and f ly to Vienna to meet my ‘cell’—the four other students I’ve been grouped with—and my cell supervisor. Then, not long after this, we’ll all be taken in a private plane to the Society’s research bunker. All six of us will travel to its secret location along with a team of the world’s top surgeons and physicians and other staff, squirrelled away somewhere else in the plane, sight unseen.

At the bunker, we will each be given access to labs and surgical theatres that even the most prestigious hospitals in the world can only dream of. There we will do what we’ve been planning for so long—our experiments tuned to the finest detail.

All of these details had been spelled out clearly, in dot points, on my application to self-experiment form. As was the fact that if I experimented, I would then be liable to pay five per cent of my income to the Society for evermore. This is how the Society can afford its unrivalled facilities. How it can afford to look after its own.

I focus on the woman again now. Is she kidding me? All right? I’m better than all right. I’m ecstatic.

‘Um, I’m great, thanks. Fantastic. Never better,’ I say. Perhaps slightly maniacally, because she then scurries off to her seat without another word.

I watch her go, half wondering if I’m still dreaming. But it is. It’s really happening. The self-experimentation that could make, or break, my entire medical career.

We’re sitting in the Grill at the Dorchester, ensconced in plush butterscotch leather seats, a beautiful Murano glass chandelier sparkling above our heads, chatter that isn’t ours filling the room. We’ve managed to hold out until dessert to get down to the real reason we’re here today.

‘No occasion,’ my dad says, taking another bite of his marmalade cheesecake. ‘Do we need an occasion?’

‘No,’ I say, my voice hesitant. This is all a bit strange. At home we’d be more likely to pick up some sushi or call for pizza and eat in front of the TV. It’s too weird eating out in my dad’s college town. It’s difficult to eat a burger with his students watching us or coming up to the table. I can always tell they idolise Professor Eastman and truly enjoy being taught anatomy by him, which I love seeing, but it does make it a bit hard to swallow your fries.

He sighs and puts his fork down slowly on his plate. ‘Fine. There is something I wanted to say.’

‘Aha!’ I point my spoon at him, chocolatey from my soufflé. ‘I knew it.’

Behind us, several voices pick up as someone joins a group and I turn in my seat momentarily to look at them. A few tables over, I spot someone. It’s the man in the suit. The one who’d been looking at me on the train when the woman had checked in on me.

‘What?’ I turn back. ‘Oh, nothing.’ Surely it’s just a coincidence. ‘What’s so serious you have to tell me in person?’ I try to act casual and dig back into my dessert as I speak. But when he doesn’t answer me immediately, I stop what I’m doing and look up. His expression is intense as he stares at me. I forget my food then and slowly place my spoon down on my plate.

‘Yes.’ After being asked to experiment, I’d wondered about what to tell my dad I was doing over the summer. I was considering something he’d probably believe—that I’ve been invited to a symposium in Frankfurt. I’m pretty much free to come and go as I like during breaks. He doesn’t tend to ask many questions, which makes me think I really need to get a better social life. Or even a social life.

It’s no great surprise to me that he doesn’t ask too many questions when it comes to where I am and what I’m doing. It’s the same for lots of my friends. Even though I’m only seventeen, he’s used to me living away from home and being independent. Like many other students I know, we’ve been away from home for long periods of time from a young age. At gifted and talented camps, at symposiums and workshops and then accelerated high school programs or early entry into college or university. For most of us, as long as we keep performing, no one at home asks too many questions. But then again, as far as I’m aware, so far no one’s really had much to lie about either.

I scrutinise my father’s face as he weighs up his words. He’s always been like this. Considered. Cautious. Suddenly, I spot something in his expression and, just like that, I have my answer.

I know it for a fact without him saying a word or giving me the secret handshake (there is no secret handshake).

He’s a member and he knows the youth stream usually experiments over the summer break. He knows I’ve been invited. Or he’s guessed.

My mouth opens and then I close it again. I could never come right out and ask him about the Society, of course. It’s funny, but it’s kind of like Fight Club—the first rule of the Society is that you don’t talk about the Society. Sadly, that’s where the comparison ends—I’m pretty sure Brad Pitt isn’t involved in any way. It doesn’t worry me too much that I can’t ask him though. Dad and I have always been good at not talking about lots of things.

I’d never been sure about my dad’s membership status, but as soon as the Society invited me to join its ranks, I knew in my bones that my mother had been a member. Her specialty had been infectious diseases and, within it, she was famous for her research into malaria. She lived and breathed her work. So much so it wasn’t fairy tales I was told at bedtime, but stories of self-experimentation. Tales of yellow fever and decompression, spinal anaesthesia and hookworm. Yes, hookworm. I’d loved it. Soaked it up. Dreamed sweet dreams of achieving similar feats of medical discovery.

Now I look across the table and see the man sitting before me as not my father, but as a fellow member of the Society. I really see him. His hair, greying with dignity. His navy blue suit that he’s already spilled something on. Wait. An established member of the Society shouldn’t be wearing that suit. I turn back into a daughter then—I should take him out to Savile Row after this and help him choose a new one while he’s in London.

He clears his throat. ‘I’m not entirely sure how to put this, because you always do what you want anyway.’

This is true enough. He notices my gaze distractedly turning to that spot of marmalade on his tie, then looks down and sighs, mopping it up with his napkin.

‘But I want you to listen to me,’ he continues. ‘Really listen to me. Because while you think we’re so very different, with age comes experience, and I have experienced things that you, my child, have not.’

‘I wanted to see you today to remind you about the difference between this.’ He reaches down and touches his stomach. ‘And this.’ He touches his head. ‘I want to tell you how important it is in life to distinguish between the two when you’re making decisions. About how you will make better decisions if you can be guided by your gut—by your true self—and not attempt to make choices dependent on who you think you should be, or who you think others think you should be.’

He sighs again now as he stares back at me. ‘It’s useless. I knew it would be. There are things in life that are simply learned. That can’t be taught, or told to you.’

‘I …’ I begin to argue, but my dad stops me, leaning forward over the table.

‘Miri, it would be unwise of me to say too much for both our sakes, but I will say this: there are things I used to be involved in—that I used to believe in—that I am no longer involved in or believe in. If you proceed with your current course, there are things I cannot help you with. Matters in which I would be more of a hindrance to you than a help if you were to call upon me. Do you understand what I’m saying?’

In front of me, my dad comes into focus more clearly than he ever has before, the background noise of the restaurant fading. I see and hear only him. So, now I know the whole truth. My dad used to be part of the Society. And now he is not. He, unlike me, is a member no more. But why? Because of my mother? Maybe the lab fire she’d died in in Kenya had been part of her self-experimentation with the Society.

My eyes search his for clues. I get why he’s concerned, but the point of going to the bunker to experiment is that everything will be controlled. We’ll be in good hands.

He leans forward a little more again, his gaze intent on mine. ‘It’s your life to live, my girl, but I’ll tell you one thing I learned the hard way. In my youth, I quite firmly believed that sometimes it was better to bend the rules of ethics in order to benefit our species. On that front, I’ve changed my mind completely.’ He sits back then. ‘And that said, we won’t talk any more about it. Now, tell me, how’s the soufflé?’

I think of my father’s words as I cross the floor of the café in Vienna. That lunch had made me nervous, and I’d spent a lot of time in the lead up to my flight trying to work out why he’d said what he’d said. I’d also tried to remember more from the past. Tried to figure out when he’d been a member of the Society. When he’d left.

‘You must be Miri.’ A man stands at the table I’ve been directed to and offers me his hand. He’s young and American and a bit dishevelled, with a creased shirt. ‘I’m Marcus, your supervisor.’ Maybe I look confused for a second, because he continues. ‘Did you expect someone older? A suit maybe? We’re not like that. Not at all. We’re all quite informal. Except when it comes to our work.’

I smile, my face taut, trying not to show how overwhelmed I’m feeling. ‘It’s great to meet you, Marcus,’ I say. I turn to the waiter, who has pulled my chair out for me, my coat and carry-on having been taken at the door. ‘Thanks,’ I tell him. As I sit down, I can’t help but stare at the other two people already sitting at the table.

They nod back at me, sizing me up, almost like I could be dangerous—as if this is some kind of fight-to-the-death reality TV show and I might whip out a dagger and take them out of the running immediately. I’d overheard them talking to Marcus on my approach and now I try to guess where they’re from. Andrew is tall and handsome in his linen shirt and white T-shirt. He’s Chinese. Lauren is Slavic—Czech? Romanian? Hungarian? I’m not sure. Her large brown eyes don’t miss a thing and they don’t stop moving for a moment, taking in every aspect of the room. She might be small, but she’s the one to watch. I can already tell.

Wherever they’re from and whichever country they’re studying in, something is telling me that ‘Lauren’ and ‘Andrew’ have opted not to disclose their real names, because they seem to wear them uncomfortably. There’d been a short questionnaire that I’d had to fill in online that asked me if I wanted to use my real first name. I’d thought about it for a few hours and decided not to change. I’m not ashamed of what I’m doing and my research isn’t even that out there, or controversial. I can’t see why anyone would want to track me down. And if they did, they’d be thrown out of the Society, wouldn’t they?

‘I was just telling Lauren and Andrew that the cakes here are magnificent. Especially the Sachertorte,’ Marcus says to me.

‘Oh,’ I reply. That’s me. One of the great conversationalists of our time.

At that moment, someone in the café drops a fork onto their plate and I jump, swivelling to inspect my surroundings. I’d been so intent on getting to the table that I haven’t really taken in the café until now. It’s full of marble pillars polished to a high sheen leading to sweeping arches above. Warm lights hang down, glowing yellow and creating a cosy atmosphere. Tourists peruse the glass cabinets, oohing, ahhing and pointing to the cakes on offer. When I finally turn back to the table, I attempt a tight smile at both Lauren and Andrew, but they don’t smile back at me—the competition. I wonder how old they are and what their experiment is. How dangerous it might be. And, of course, who will win the prize of $500,000 for the best research.

But one thing I do know for sure—we’re all here for the same reason. For the same reason everyone joins the Society when they’re asked. In the quest for knowledge. To be able to go beyond the ethical boundaries of modern medicine. Because that is the problem in this day and age. It’s slow and difficult to research now. The ethics committees and the red tape of our modern risk-averse society see to this. There are no more Marie and Pierre Curies, Ralph Steinmans, or Barry Marshalls—all self-experimenters and Nobel Prize winners—all the people my mother told me about before she kissed me goodnight as a child. There are no stories like that any more. How can there be when it now takes new drugs twice as long to reach the market compared to decades ago? This is why the Society was formed: to enable us to self-experiment in quiet and to provide the virtually unlimited funds for us to do so. To further medicine faster.

Apparently the Society has been particularly aggressive when it comes to recruiting for their youth program during the last decade. It makes sense, I suppose. They want to hook us in while we’re young and see what we’re up for—find the risk-takers who are willing to push the limits of research. They want the next Werner Forssmann.

I look around the table now, wondering if one of us here is anything like Werner Forssmann. If we have what it takes. If we would be willing to do something as crazy as passing a tube directly into our own hearts, as he did in the 1930s. Are any of us as obsessed? As driven as he was? Because he was obsessed—obsessed with the idea of being able to deliver drugs to the heart faster and with accessing the heart without opening the chest. His superior forbade him from doing his experiment on himself and he did it anyway, cutting into his own elbow and passing a thin tube up a large vein and into his shoulder. Then he found an X-ray technician who helped him guide the tube into his own heart, physically kicking away people who tried to stop him. He could have died on the spot. But he didn’t. And heart surgery owes him an amazing debt for his efforts.

It sounds crazy, I know. We’re minors. Or some of us are. But you don’t get invited to join the Society if you’re the kind of person who’s interested in permission slips. Something tells me Werner wasn’t into them.

All of us sitting here at this table have most likely been watched and vetted for some time. I’d often wondered who was watching me at school. Who decided I should be asked to join. When I was invited, I was just months into the Thirty. Attached to such a prestigious college and hospital, I could have been singled out by any number of professors.

No doubt all of us at this table have been on the Society’s radar for some time. Now here we are. We’ve made it. Our careers, care of the Society and its members, will be smooth and guaranteed. Limitless.

Trying to still my shaking hands, I go to take a sip of the water sitting in front of me on the table. With spectacularly bad timing, another waiter is placing a piece of cake before me and the glass hits the plate and water sloshes out over the side.

‘It’s all right,’ Marcus tells me, leaning over to put a hand on my shoulder. ‘It’s only water. Take a deep breath.’

I do as he says, my cheeks hot. I’m not usually the type to knock things over. Of all the times and the places to look clumsy …

The waiter has the spill mopped up in a second and it seems my cake is fine, because he places it before me with a flourish. ‘And now all is right with the world for we have cake,’ he tells me with a wink, and is gone.

Hoping my cheeks are losing their colour, I focus in on my cake. It’s exquisite. A small rectangle of layered hazelnut cake and cream. On top, perfectly balanced, is a thin piece of chocolate with a picture transferred upon it—it’s Klimt’s The kiss. That lovers’ embrace of intertwined bodies, their robes forever keeping the world at bay. Gold leaf has been used to decorate the artwork. It’s too beautiful to eat even if I could stomach it.

I look across the table to see two exquisite macarons sandwiched with fresh raspberries now sitting in front of Lauren, and some sort of molten chocolate concoction in front of Andrew that looks as if it has just erupted on his plate in gooey splendour.

Marcus has only a short black coffee before him. ‘Please, eat. We don’t have much time before we move on. And we’re not all here yet …’

The three of us glance at each other with this, wondering who else will arrive. Of course Marcus is right. There should be six of us at this table. Five self-experimenters and our cell supervisor. I lick my dry lips and stare down at my cake again for something to do.

‘Eat!’ Marcus tells us. ‘Look happy! You’re in Vienna. You’ve been selected.’

The three of us nod, but I notice not one of us touches our food. Instead, our eyes scan the doorway.

It can’t be, but it is. Thick blond hair swept to the right, the same black thick-framed glasses with the mahogany arms.

I look away for a moment attempting to centre myself and fail, my whole body tensing. I have to act as if I don’t know this person. Intimately. Know everything about him. Every nook, every cranny, every crease of his brow and flicker of his eyebrow. How his eyes become a more intense green when he’s angry. Or when he kisses me.

I’m forced to look up again when he reaches the table, telling myself it would be strange not to. Our eyes lock, then slide away as we both know they must. Before Marcus can even introduce him, he’s introducing himself, shaking hands and exchanging names with Lauren. With Andrew. It’s so … him. So self-assured. Even now, in this situation, he’s confident. Himself. It’s why I fell for him in the first place. He was always everything I wasn’t.

When his palm connects with my sweaty one, it’s all I can do not to gasp. How can they not know? They must know. The Society doesn’t miss things like this. Overlook things.

‘Ah, the famous Sachertorte.’ Marcus nods at the waiter. ‘Thank you. Sachertorte is their specialty,’ he tells us.

Steen digs in as we all look on. ‘Vienna, huh?’ he says, after finishing his first bite. ‘Look at us.’

His eyes meet mine once more on the word ‘us’ and I blink. I’d spent the past four months telling myself there was no more ‘us’. Running away to the other side of the world to a different country. Crying myself to sleep night after night. It had taken everything within me to force myself to stop. To move on. But all my hard work has been for nothing. Because, with that one word, I know it.

I don’t look at Steen again, keeping my eye on the red marble of the café tabletop. I try to count the veins in the marble—to concentrate on something, anything, that will stop me from giving our previous relationship away.

Now I look up. ‘But there are only four of us,’ I say, the words spilling out of my mouth before I can think twice.

The four of us glance at each other around the table, all thinking the same thing—our applications had said there would be five of us.

There are nods from the other students. But I keep still. I’m not sure why, but I don’t believe him. What’s really going on? Did someone drop out? Change their mind? I look over at Steen, wondering what he’s thinking, but he doesn’t meet my gaze. He takes another bite of cake and taps his cake fork against his plate.

‘You’ve got the right idea.’ Marcus nods at Steen, happy someone’s eating. ‘Now, in a few moments I’ll take you to your hotel. We’ve booked a boardroom there where we’ll have time to go over the finer details. Until then, eat up. You’ll need your energy.’

I think he’s joking, but after a moment or two he gestures towards our plates again and I see he’s serious. ‘Steen,’ he says. ‘Another piece of Sachertorte?’

‘Let’s go crazy.’ Marcus signals for the waiter. ‘A second piece of Sachertorte it is.’

After we’ve eaten, Marcus pays the bill and grabs two taxis. We’re transported to a hotel where our suitcases are taken from us. We’re given room cards and then led to a boardroom with a long oval table.

When we’re all seated, Marcus stands at the head of the table. ‘It’s almost midday. We have a booking for dinner upstairs tonight at eight, but before then, we’ve got a lot to cover.’

Work. Work is good. The cake is sitting like a lump in my stomach and I feel like I could happily never eat again. The last thing I want to think about is dinner. Or socialising. I stare at the wooden table and try not to think about either. If I look at any of the others, I might just be sick. I’ve worked myself into such a state. Research. Think only about the research.

Marcus spends some time taking us through things we already know, but most likely have to be spelled out once more for protocol’s sake. That we are all members of the Society. That we are welcome at any stage of our careers to put in an application to self-experiment, or choose not to self-experiment at all and simply facilitate others’ self-experimentation. That self-experimentation is funded by the Society. That candidates selected for self-experimentation will be taken to a secret location for two weeks in order to self-experiment. That there is a prize of $500,000 each year to be awarded for the best research within each research group of youth, mid-career and established, as decided upon by the Society. That if we are selected and decide to go ahead with our self-experimentation we will pay five per cent of our income over a certain threshold to the Society for the rest of our lives. And that we must be available to facilitate experimentation in our chosen specialty when called upon by the Society to do so.

As Marcus speaks, I only half listen, my mind elsewhere, taken back to the last time I saw Steen, outside the mail centre.

As I’d run from him that night, I’d prayed the Society hadn’t seen us. That there hadn’t been a security camera pointed in our direction. That no one had been watching. We couldn’t risk being found out, or seen, or anything like this ever happening again.

Logically, I knew my running away didn’t completely make sense. But I didn’t care. For me, it was too close a scrape. The Society meant everything to me. Everything. My entire being was wrapped up in it. And now I was not an anonymous member, which was how things were meant to be. Running meant that I could be again.

Steen had tried to track me down. He’d hassled Emily for weeks until he believed her when she said she didn’t know where I was. He’d called my father repeatedly, even turned up at the college where he taught. My dad had rung me. ‘He seems like a nice boy who cares about you a lot, so I’m guessing your leaving is to do with something else,’ he’d said, his words loaded with meaning. This was one of the biggest indicators I’d had that he knew about the Society, though exactly how much he knew I wasn’t sure.

I look over at Steen, sitting across the table from me, and I’m suddenly hesitant. How can we both be here? The Society must know about our past.

‘That’s it, then. We’re ready to begin.’ I jolt as a large pile of paperwork is slapped down on the table in front of me. Reams of the stuff. I look up at Marcus, who’s placed it there. ‘You didn’t think this would be all fun and cake, did you?’ He chuckles, seeing my expression.

I take a second look at him. He sounds jovial, but he’s sweating, beads of perspiration clinging to his brow. And yet it’s cold in here. My gut lurches, full of cake, and I swallow hard. What is he worried about? Us? We all seem relatively harmless.

Marcus moves off around the table towards Lauren, giving her a pile of paperwork as well. As I watch him go, I can feel Steen’s eyes on me.

My eyes flicker open in the dim light of a hotel room. I push myself up onto my elbows on top of the bed, confused. I don’t remember getting to my room, but I obviously must have somehow.

I look around me, my head really throbbing now. My ultra-modern surroundings aren’t exactly soothing. Everything is a stark white, from the square chair in the corner to the curtains, the small desk, the walls, the art, the f loor. Everything. I wonder for a moment if something’s gone wrong and I’ve been institutionalised.

The TV is on with the sound turned down low and to my left there’s a packet of Tylenol and a glass of water. Looking at them, I vaguely remember taking two pills and slinking into bed for a quick nap before dinner after those hours and hours of paperwork we’d all read through. All those hours and hours of paperwork we’d read through in that ever-shrinking room trying to pretend Steen wasn’t breathing the same air as me.

I turn my head in the other direction and spy the clock radio. It’s just past seven o’clock. I knew it had taken a long time to go through all those forms, but I didn’t know it was this late. I wonder how long I slept for.

I sit up properly with a groan and rub my temples. Despite the Tylenol my headache’s worse, not better. But I remember we’re supposed to meet upstairs in the bar at eight, so I get up, locate some Advil in my toiletry bag and gulp that down as well. Then I get in the white-tiled shower in the hope that might help my head along. I’ve just dried off with a towel (white—surprise!) and thrown on some all-black clothes to make a statement when the phone rings.

‘Ms Eastman, a letter is waiting for you at Reception,’ a man’s voice tells me.

‘Okay, thanks. I’ll be right down,’ I reply. It must be something from Marcus. I put the phone down, straighten my shoulders and take a deep breath, willing my headache away.

‘What the …?’ I jump back as the person enters my room, closing the door again.

‘You can’t be here.’ I’m already trying to open the door again so I can push him back out into the hallway. ‘Go! Now!’

‘No,’ he answers, his back pressed f lat against the door, keeping it closed. ‘I’m not going anywhere. And neither are you this time.’ His jaw is hard, his eyes fierce. I can’t remember ever seeing him so angry.

I step back. I think I’m going to vomit as my head begins to throb even harder, but I take another deep breath, will the feeling away and stare him straight in the eye. ‘You need to go. We’ll be seen.’

‘And? We’re allowed to be seen together now. They just made us eat cake. Sat us around a boardroom table. Remember?’

The weird thing is, I don’t really remember this. This headache is making everything seem like a blur. I try to focus. ‘The Society must know. They have to know about us. They don’t miss things like this.’

‘Which is a problem. Because you can bet Lauren would care if she knew. Andrew too.’

I can see we’re not going to get anywhere with this. ‘I take it that it was you and there’s no letter downstairs,’ I finally say.

He takes this as his cue, moving around me further into the room. ‘What do I want?’ he says, pivoting on the white polished concrete floor. ‘What do I want? For fandens da også!’ he swears in Danish, something he does when he’s at the edge, and I feel this little pang of remembrance. It used to make it so hard to keep arguing with him when he did that. It was just too funny. Especially after I knew what all the words meant. The Danish really aren’t the best at swearing—everything’s very clean. It’s all about the devil and hell.

‘What do you think?’ he continues. ‘I want some answers. That’s what I want. How could you just go like that? How could you leave without saying anything?’ He steps forward now, closer to me. ‘Why didn’t you talk to me before you left?’

I shake my head. ‘Because if I had, you would have talked me out of leaving. You know you would have.’

‘I left because I was scared I’d implicate you. I didn’t want to take you down with me. It was my fault. All mine. I was late to pick up my mail. I shouldn’t have gone, but I did. I left for you.’

‘That.’ He points a finger at my chest now and it shakes as it hovers above me. ‘Is the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever said. You know that, don’t you?’

I try to keep my composure as I look up at his familiar features, but I can’t. My face crumples. ‘It had to be that way.’ The bile rises up my throat once more and I gulp. ‘I couldn’t take the risk. You know we couldn’t get as far without the Society.’

He looks at me for a very long time before he answers. ‘I guess that all depends on where you want to be, doesn’t it?’ All the anger is gone out of his face now and he just looks … tired. He takes a few steps away from me and fixes his gaze on the strange scribbled art upon the hotel wall. After a while, he sighs. ‘You can’t beat her, Miri. Research isn’t a sprint. It’s a marathon.’

We both know who he’s talking about, even though he hasn’t said her name—my mother. I bring my hands up to rub my temples again, remembering the first time we’d argued about this. It had been our first real argument. I’d obviously mentioned my mother’s work one too many times and Steen had called me on it. He’d told me I was obsessed with my mother’s memory and career and that if I wasn’t careful it would cloud my judgment and choices. He also pointed out that I rarely mentioned my father and that he thought I didn’t give him enough credit—the man who had raised me, schooled me, encouraged me. I’d fought back hard. This wasn’t and isn’t true. I love my dad. It’s only that we’re so different when it comes to ambition. I want everything yesterday, while he’s content to spend a day teaching and to then come home and continue planning his next fishing trip in meticulous detail. I’ll never be like that—able to wind down. Oh, but Dad had tried to make me slow down. He’d held me back whenever he was able. I could have entered pre-med at fifteen at any college I’d wanted, but he wouldn’t let me, saying I wasn’t mature enough—that I needed to develop other interests. Round myself out. Give myself time. Stay with people my own age.

Steen’s and my eyes remain locked, saying everything that we can’t find the words for. ‘I—’ I eventually begin, but then it comes out of nowhere.

Steen follows me into the bathroom as I’m retching for a second time and I wave him away with one hand. Just go, I think. Leave me in peace with my doubts and my cake vomit.

But I can’t say anything or wave him away as before because I’m heaving again, my hands gripping the cold edge of the long white sink.

When I look up I see his hand just above my back, unwilling to touch me. It takes everything I have left in me not to start crying then.

‘I think it was that room,’ he says gruffly, as I clean myself up. ‘It was stuffy. And all that reading. I felt sick before as well.’

He shrugs. ‘I’m in Vienna. He offered. What was I supposed to do?’ He crosses his arms. He’s not going to let me lighten the mood.

It’s this quick back and forth that hurts more than any look he’s given me today, or anything he’s said—any accusation. The problem is, as I stand up next to him, he’s beside me. Right beside me like he used to be—real and warm and … present. I want to reach out and pull him closer to me. To smooth out the creases in his shirt like I once did. To take his glasses off. To run my hand through his hair. He never cared if I messed it up. So I did. Often. But I can’t do any of these things. I lost that right when I turned and ran away from him at the mail centre.

I never would have thought it was possible to feel lonely with Steen beside me. But now I see it’s more than possible.

Steen leaves and I sit on my bed, my head in my hands. When I finally look up again, I spy my phone sitting on the bench under the TV.

I’d love nothing more than to call her and talk through all this. But of course I can’t. I can’t tell her why I’m here. Why Steen’s here. What we’re doing.

Emily would know exactly what to say to talk me down from this ledge. She always does. We might be insanely different, but we’ve always had this uncanny understanding of what the other person needs at any given moment.

We’d both been pretty surprised when we found out we’d been paired to share a room on campus. We seemed like polar opposites, but as it turned out, we had a lot more in common than I’d thought. Emily was almost as crazily driven as I was. She existed on four hours sleep per night and had done since she was a baby. Her father was an investigative reporter, her mother was a war correspondent, and Emily had been brought up mainly by her grandmother, a retired surgeon. She was the perfect storm of intelligence—both artistic and scientific. She was also like my dad in a lot of ways—she really believed that there was a lot more to life than work.

‘The problem with people like us,’ she told me within the first week of meeting me, ‘is that the temptation is always there to turn full freak. You know what I mean. We’re surrounded by them all the time.’ She’d come over to clutch at my arms then, as if she was truly frightened. ‘We’ve got to stay grounded. Promise me you’ll try.’

‘Full freak? What are you going on about?’ I couldn’t help but laugh at her as I’d gathered my laundry in our shared room. ‘What do you mean “we’re surrounded by them all the time”? You’re not going to start wearing a tinfoil hat, are you?’

She’d batted my arm at the tinfoil hat comment. ‘You don’t see them? They’re all pasty white from being in the library twenty hours per day and squinty from thinking too hard about Worthy Scientific Things. They’re the ones that scuttle away if you try to actually have a conversation with them. And I’m sorry, but I’m not letting any roommate of mine turn full freak.’

Emily had then attempted to prove her point to me by dragging me out of our room and into the corridor. When she saw a group of about five fellow students, she stopped short.

‘They all look so … serious,’ she’d whispered. ‘I swear it’s all those flashcards from birth their parents pushed on them. It ruins the brain. Here, I’ll prove it to you.’ She’d turned to me then, a wicked smile upon her face, ‘I bet you five bucks they all play the violin and piano.’

I’d thought about this for a second. Checked out the size of the group. Then, ‘You’re on,’ I’d told her.

Emily had stepped forward towards the group. ‘Quick question: who here doesn’t play the violin and the piano?’

There was a pause and then, hesitantly, one girl raised her hand. ‘I play the cello and piano.’

I dragged Emily back into our room, slammed the door and held out my hand with a grin. ‘Pay up.’

‘Nope. You should have been more specific. I knew there’d be a viola or a cello in there somewhere …’

She’d reluctantly handed over my five bucks. ‘Anyway,’ I told her, ‘there’s nothing wrong with playing a musical instrument.’

‘But they all play the same ones! What’s wrong with the tuba? That’s what I want to know!’

I’d attempted to process this and failed. ‘I’m beginning to wonder if I’ll ever understand you. I’m hoping not, for my sake.’

Emily had done that grabbing my arms thing again. I’d realised by that point she liked to do this. A lot.

‘Look,’ she’d said, ‘my point is that one day we’ll have to go out into the big wide world, and when we do that, we need to be citizens. We need to look like normal people. We’ve got to fly under the radar.’

‘Um, we’re part of the Thirty. I think we’re kind of on the radar already.’

‘Yes, but we won’t always be, will we? Eventually they turn us loose, you know, and then we’re supposed to go out into that big scary place called The World where we will be part of The Billions and have what’s known as A Life. That’s my point.’

I’d finally got what she was worried about then. It was exactly the same thing my dad had been worried about for years. Why he’d been carefully holding me back instead of hastily shoving me forward like I’m sure lots of these kids’ parents did. Full freak. Emily had condensed it all down into two little words.

Unlike Steen, Emily wasn’t angry about my sudden departure when it happened. She was more … concerned. ‘Look, I won’t ask a million questions because I know you and I know if you had to do this, you had to do it. Just tell me one thing. He didn’t hurt you, did he?’ This was what she’d asked me when I’d called her a few days after I’d left. I’d been vague in my answer, but explained it was more like the other way around.

I go over and pick up my phone and stare at it for a moment or two. And then I set my alarm and flop back onto the bed again.

The alarm wakes me up at a few minutes before eight. I don’t want to get up, but know I have to if I’m going to get to dinner on time, so I sling my legs over the bed and take a deep breath. Amazingly, the second two pills seem to have worked and my headache has retreated.

I head into the bathroom and try to pull my appearance together with a high, loose bun and a dash of lip gloss. Something tells me Lauren and Andrew couldn’t care less what I turn up wearing and Steen most likely won’t look at me at all, so this will do. I tuck my room key into the pocket of my skinny black jeans and head for the door.

I have no idea where I’m going, but Marcus had said ‘upstairs’, so I make my way to the bar and restaurant on the top floor.

The elevator opens into the bar itself and I have to blink several times before my eyes become accustomed to the dark. The space seems to be a two-level affair, with a long black bar on this level and the restaurant below.

‘Ah, there you are.’ It’s Marcus who greets me, stepping over from the bar. I glance around him to see that the others are already there. Spotting our group is now here in its entirety, a waiter leads us to our table.

Marcus falls in beside me as we walk. ‘Steen mentioned you weren’t feeling well. Is everything all right?’

He smiles back at me. ‘I think we’d all agree with you there. After you …’ Marcus gestures.

As I round the table, I take a deep breath and remind myself I need to try to enjoy this. Enjoy the process. As I go, I catch sight of the view. I see now why the restaurant and bar are so dimly lit. They’re not the main attraction here. Far from it.

The restaurant is surrounded on all sides by huge panes of glass, the windows sweeping right up to the high ceiling. Below, Vienna twinkles and shines, architectural highlights picked out in the panorama by their own spotlights. I spot City Hall and St Stephen’s Cathedral. ‘Oh, look, the Prater.’ I point, seeing the giant Ferris wheel as the maître d’ seats me in my square leather chair.

As I stare at the giant wheel with its huge wooden carriages, I can’t help but remember the weekend I’d been to a ‘Youth in Medicine’ symposium in Vienna only weeks before I’d bolted. Steen had been invited as well and we’d sneaked out of the sessions on the Saturday afternoon to take in the sights. It had been close to Christmas and Vienna was magical—lit up like something out of a fairytale. It had also been freezing cold. Despite the weather, we’d braved the giant wheel, which was a must for tourists, and had huddled in the corner of one of the carriages. I close my eyes for a moment, almost hearing the old wooden carriage creak and groan around me—feeling the deliciousness of the cold on my face and Steen’s warmth. After that we’d eaten our way around a Christmas market. Sausages and pretzels and vanilla almonds and sweet glühwein, which made our breath smell like oranges.

I want to look over at Steen, to see if he remembers too, but I don’t. I can’t bear to see his face, blank and uncaring, so different from the one I used to know.

Marcus is seated beside me and Lauren across from me, a flickering candle between us breaking up the darkness. I nod at her as she sits down, as well as Andrew and, finally, in the direction of Steen, though I avoid his eye.

‘Prague is at its most beautiful in winter, I think,’ Lauren adds, though I notice that she doesn’t say this to anyone in particular. She looks paler than she did this morning. It seems like all those hours of paperwork took its toll on more than just me.

There’s silence as we read our menus. After we order, the mood changes and I can feel the pull of business settling over us once more.

‘Can we ask?’ Lauren turns to Marcus. ‘About the research? What everyone will study? And where everyone comes from?’

Marcus looks at the four of us in turn. ‘Yes,’ he says. ‘But only as much as you’re comfortable with sharing.’

Lauren nods and twists in her seat to focus on Steen, sitting next to her. ‘You are … Swedish, maybe?’ she loses no time in asking.

I know what it will be before he even says it. I knew the moment I saw him in the café this morning. And, despite the fact that we’re no longer together, I’ve been worried since that moment for him.

‘Er, I’m from Hong Kong,’ he replies. ‘Studying in America also. My research looks at direct stimulation of the visual cortex of the brain to simulate vision.’

My eyes widen. I mean, I know he’ll be in the most capable hands he could ever want to be in, but self-experimentation on your own brain … the phrase ‘hard core’ comes to mind.

‘And you?’ Lauren doesn’t miss a beat, her eyes on me now, unblinking. ‘Your accent is strange.’

‘That’s because I’m from everywhere and nowhere,’ I tell her. She sits back in her chair, looking unimpressed with my answer.

I try again. ‘Well, I was born in Switzerland, but I went to high school in the States. You know, “go Bears!” and all that.’

‘Oh. My research involves a new combination of specially timed drugs that could mean you never need to sleep again. I mean, just think of all the extra study we could do.’ I’m joking, but again it falls f lat. I really need to stop doing that. I f lick Lauren’s question back at her. ‘And you? We’ve established you’re Czech.’

‘That’s correct. I am also studying in the UK. My research is into nerve manipulation via implants.’

I imagine her deadened limb moving at someone else’s will. ‘We’ll have our own Frankenstein’s monster!’ Oh, boy … before I can stop myself the words are out of my mouth. I might not usually be clumsy, but I have a long and distinguished history of verbal diarrhoea.

Lauren looks at me witheringly. ‘Yes, I’m far more interested in creating Frankenstein’s monster than helping people with spinal cord injuries to walk again.’

But Lauren doesn’t stop for a second. That gaze of hers moves quickly around the table once more. Oh, yes. She’s definitely the one to watch out for, I can tell—she has that lethal combination of book smarts and ruthlessness. She’s intent on taking this thing out and pretty much nothing is going to stop her. I force myself not to look at Steen, who I’m sure is thinking the same thing. I remind myself that I have to pretend he’s another Andrew. Someone unknown to me. Someone whose gestures are foreign and unreadable. Someone I can’t get an insight from by simply seeing a flicker of an eyebrow or a wrinkling of a nose.

Her eyes come to rest on the empty chair beside her. I see something in the look she gives it. A look of … if not disbelief, of hesitation. So, it’s not just me who’d thought it was strange in the café—that there’s no fifth student. I wasn’t the only one who didn’t entirely believe Marcus.

As if sensing my interest, her gaze lifts and we’re staring at one another. It’s only for a moment, but it’s long enough to establish that we’re both thinking the same thing. Trying to figure out what’s really going on here.

‘Miri?’ Marcus says beside me, and I jump. A waiter hovers on my left, waiting to put my appetiser on the table.

‘Sorry.’ I move my arm. As he puts the plate down, Marcus watches me closely. I tense, waiting for him to say something. But if he’s seen that look pass between Lauren and me he doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t say anything at all.

Steen manages not to say another word to me as the group flies off home to our various parts of the world. We have three weeks to finish the school year and to sort out our lives.

At my next allocated mailbox time, my travel details are waiting for me. It looks like I’m flying back in the same direction again. This time to Frankfurt. There are no ongoing flights, which I guess means we’ll be experimenting somewhere close by, or flying privately to … well, it could be anywhere, I suppose. I note that we’re only allowed carry-on—the notes saying that scrubs will be provided each day. It seems like a small amount of luggage to take for two weeks, but this is no shopping trip.

The time either drags or whizzes by so fast I think I’ll never be ready in time. But it’s good to keep busy. It stops me from overthinking everything. My dad’s warning. The lack of a fifth student. Steen.

I leave it to the last minute to call my dad, that scene at the Dorchester replaying over and over in my mind.

Before my application to experiment was accepted, I’d actually planned to spend two weeks with Emily at the start of the summer break at her family’s apartment in Manhattan. This meant that I had to call her as well and tell her there’d been a change of plan. I’d been worried. I wasn’t good at lying when it came to Emily. The thing about Emily was you never quite knew when she’d turn on you. She loved nothing more than a game of cat and mouse, lulling you into a sense of security and then hooking you with a razor-sharp claw of insight when she finally felt like it. I knew she could catch me out at any moment.

‘I’ve been asked to this very boring symposium in Frankfurt.’ I’d chosen my words carefully.

‘I have to. I promised the organisers I would. I’ll still come and see you though. There’ll be plenty of time over the summer.’

‘Pity,’ she’d finally said. ‘But okay.’ I could tell she was wondering if something was up. This was how I knew for sure that Emily hadn’t been invited to join the Society—at least not yet. She would have been on to me in a second had she known about it. She would have guessed I’d been asked to experiment. ‘You’ll call me if you need anything, won’t you?’

‘But if you do happen to get into trouble without me, don’t forget our code word.’

‘How could I forget?’ I think Emily had thought she’d failed me when I’d run away without telling her what was going on. She’d hounded me about having a code word in case we needed one in the future. We’d decided (one of us reluctantly—which would have been me) on ‘gingerbread’. We were supposed to use the code word when we desperately needed help of some description but couldn’t explain why.

After Vienna and seeing Steen, suddenly that code word hadn’t seemed like such a bad idea. In the weeks that followed, I’d so wanted to believe I could call Emily up, say ‘gingerbread’ and she would immediately rush in and make everything better. Come with me to Frankfurt. Fix everything with Steen. Call my dad for me while she was at it.

‘Good,’ I say hesitantly, my throat immediately closing up. I cough. ‘I just wanted to let you know I’ll be away for two weeks over the summer. I’ll … be out of contact for a while.’

I don’t lie. I don’t give an excuse. I don’t need to say anything else at all.

Because the long silence that follows on the other end of the line and the way his voice cracks when he tells me to have a good time tells me he knows exactly where I’m going and what I’ll be doing there.

When I disembark from my plane in Frankfurt, Marcus is waiting for me. He looks a little more put together this time around, freshly shaven with an ironed shirt. ‘Good to see you again, Miri.’ He shakes my hand and takes my bag from me. ‘This way.’ He starts across the wide floor, avoiding trailing carry-on as he goes, weaving smoothly in and out of the people surrounding us. ‘Our plane leaves in an hour.’

We walk for some distance before Marcus stops in front of a glass door and presses the buzzer. Someone answers and the door opens. It’s a lounge, I see, as I follow Marcus inside. Armchairs and double-seated sofas are dotted about and there’s a bar and a small buffet. Lauren sits in one of the armchairs, as does Steen, across the room from her. He’s reading a newspaper. Off to the side, facing the windows that give a view of a runway, Andrew has his head back and his eyes closed, resting on one of the sofas.

Lauren nods at me coldly. Andrew’s eyes flicker open for a moment and he gives me a small wave. Steen lowers his newspaper and raises his eyebrows halfheartedly.

Someone comes and takes my bag from Marcus. ‘I’ll need your passport for just a moment,’ Marcus says to me. ‘And I’ll need to take your phone now, if you don’t mind. It will be monitored for emergency calls, texts and emails, of course.’

I fish both my passport and my phone out of the front pocket of my backpack and hand them over to him. ‘Please, make yourself at home,’ he says. ‘Have something to eat if you’re hungry. I’ll be right back.’

There’s no more room to spread out on my own, so I decide to take a seat with Lauren in a set of four armchairs. I choose the one diagonally across from her.

Hmmm. I’d figured as much, but now I know for sure—we won’t be having pillow fights and braiding each other’s hair at the bunker.

Just as I think she’s not going to say anything else, she adds to the conversation. ‘Are you ready for this?’

I don’t know. ‘Yes. No. Maybe,’ I answer her. ‘I’m just nervous, I guess.’

‘You should be.’ She doesn’t blink. ‘I heard that one of the youth experimenters died once.’

A noise from behind us—laughter—makes us both look up. I turn my head to see where it’s coming from and realise there’s another room beyond this one. A room with a closed door and what sounds like several people behind it.

It must be. Behind that door are all the people who’ve come to help us experiment. Surgeons, physicians, physiologists, psychologists and so on. I have two—a general physician and a psychiatrist. I don’t need a surgeon, unlike everyone else. All of these established support staff will be kept separate from us for the entirety of our experimentation. It’s one of the rules. I can see why it’s best that this happens. For a start, it’s quite possible that one of my teachers is back there, which would be awkward come exam time. Also, if something went wrong with a student’s experiment … well, self-experimentation is a choice. Although you can ask for assistance and people might kindly offer it, it’s still your choice. What you decide to do with your body shouldn’t affect others’ lives if it somehow goes badly. If I were them, I’d want to hide behind a mask too.

I know that things are unlikely to go badly in my case, but I still need to remind myself to keep calm. I’ve got nothing to worry about. All of the medication I’ll be trialling has been tested in mice. Just not in humans. Or in this particular combination and dosage.

For me it’s not so much my life but my entire career that’s on the line here.

I distract myself for the next twenty minutes or so fetching an orange juice and leafing through the newspapers on offer. There’s everything—from the New York Times to the Daily Mail.

Finally a blue-suited attendant tells us it’s time to go. Marcus exits from the private room beyond ours, but no one else emerges. I guess we’ll be boarding first. He gives me back my passport and we’re then led outside and into a nearby elevator. On the ground floor, we exit into a quiet corridor and walk until we get to a glass door at the very end where another blue-suited attendant is waiting for us.

‘Here we are.’ Marcus stands back, letting everyone else through the door before him. ‘Meet Asclepius.’

Not being the tallest person, I have to wait to see what he’s talking about as I’m the last in line, but I can guess. This Asclepius he’s referring to isn’t actually ancient or Greek, or the first physician and son of Apollo, but a plane. It is sort of fitting, I suppose. I remember that patients would sometimes come to the ancient Greek temples dedicated to Asclepius and enter a sort of dreamlike state where they received guidance from the deity.

I could use a little guidance when we get to the temple—or bunker, in this case.

Marcus follows me out the door and I look up at him as we walk across the tarmac. ‘If the plane has a name, does that mean the Society actually owns it?’ I mean, I knew the Society had access to resources, but I didn’t know it extended to Gulfstream Vs.

‘One here and one back home. And just think—it will be partially yours once you get out there in the big wide world. You’ll be able to say you have access to a fleet of private planes. Well, you won’t be able to say that, of course, but you’ll be able to hug yourself inside with the knowledge of it.’

‘Trust me when I say that there are benefits to teaming up with your colleagues, Miri.’ He’s serious now, talking about how the Society will use its influence to open doors for me all my life. I never quite know what to think about this. In some ways it seems wrong, but then … Well, I’ve worked hard for this. And I’m willing to put my health on the line for this research, as well as more income than I want to think about for the rest of my life. Why shouldn’t I see some benefits?

His face brightens as he pauses behind Steen, who is starting up the short flight of metal stairs to the plane. ‘Wait until you see the theatres at the bunker. They will blow your mind.’

They might just blow Andrew’s, I think to myself as, above me, Steen turns back, listening to us, his hand on the metal railing.

His eyes meet mine for what feels like the first time in forever and he gives a tiny, infinitesimal shake of his head. I can tell he knows exactly what I’m thinking. Come on. I give him a look. Not even I would say that out loud.

‘Will they really?’ I answer Marcus and shoot Steen a quick ‘bland enough for you?’ fake smile.

‘Oh, yes. There are two, and we upgrade them at least once a year. They’re all multiple-modality theatres—MRI and CT scanners are integrated into both of them. We spare no expense when it comes to the theatres. When you stand in one of them, you’re standing in the future of medicine. So, let’s go see them, shall we?’ Marcus stands aside to let me follow Steen up the metal stairs.

I’m greeted at the doorway to the plane by yet another blue-suited attendant who welcomes me and asks me to follow the others. We go through to the back of the aircraft and I see that the front section will be curtained off. I guess this is where all the support staff will sit. The blinds on the side of the cabin that they’ll board from are all shut as well.

There’s a long three-seat sofa that Andrew and Steen sit down on either end of, while Lauren takes a single chair on the opposite side of the cabin. This leaves me either sitting in between Andrew and Steen or across from Lauren in the other single chair that faces back towards what will be the curtained-off area. Not surprisingly, I take that option, the thought of being sandwiched between Andrew and Steen a little too cosy for my liking.

‘The others shouldn’t be too long,’ Marcus says, taking a seat in between Steen and Andrew.

The attendant comes through and offers us some magazines and newspapers. I’d been reading The Times before. This time I take a copy of Hello! magazine. I need to read about star cellulite and the Royals. My brain can’t take much more than that right now, and I don’t care what anyone thinks. When the attendant leaves us, I notice she closes the curtain behind her.

After a while we hear voices again. The support staff have boarded. Not long after this, we take off.

There’s no going back now, I think to myself as the plane levels off. Not that I’d want to, but I feel the finality of my choices just the same. Over the top of my magazine, my eyes turn to Steen. The finality of all of my choices. I glance at him for only the briefest moment before returning to what I’d been reading. In moments like this it’s probably best to concentrate on how to ‘perfect the no-filter selfie’.

We’re around half an hour into the flight when I give up reading about who’s holidaying in Monte Carlo this year and instead rest my head back on my seat for a nap, telling myself it could be some time before I sleep again. As in, two weeks. I vaguely wonder if anyone at the Society was surprised at my application—that I wasn’t following in my mother’s infectious diseases footsteps. I’d thought about doing so, of course. Many times. But hers were big shoes to fill and I was scared I’d never fill them. Also, as I studied, I discovered my own interests and decided I had to forge my own path. I figured it was enough to honour her by self-experimenting, which had a strong tradition in the field of infectious diseases. It didn’t matter to me that it wasn’t in the exact same field.

I’m not sure how long I rest for when I hear a thump and my eyes flicker open. At first I’m unsure what the noise was—Lauren, across from me, has her eyes closed, as does Andrew, across the way. Steen is doing his ‘newspaper held high’ trick again and Marcus is nowhere to be seen. I guess he must be beyond the curtain, sitting with the support staff, and my gaze travels in that direction.

The attendant has dropped a bottle of water, which has rolled underneath the curtain and just onto our side of the cabin. Her arm reaches under the curtain to grab it, but as it does so, the bottle rolls that bit further.

I unbuckle my belt and stand up to go and grab it for her. Just as I reach the bottle and bend down to pick it up, the curtain opens a fraction and I glance up.

‘You’re welcome,’ I say, automatically. But the words catch in my throat as I get a small glimpse into the cabin beyond through the gap that the curtain makes between her shoulder and head.

I jerk my head back and give the attendant a false, bright smile. Then I turn away immediately, hoping she hasn’t noticed my reaction. As I sit back down, my hands fumble with the buckle on my seat belt. I can’t believe it. I can’t believe who’s behind that curtain. Oh, come on. I take a deep breath and try the buckle again. It clicks into place.

It’s only then that I feel it. I look up to see Steen staring at me, his newspaper lowered. He frowns, as if to ask what’s going on.

I’m frozen, a deer in the headlights, not knowing what to do. But no, I can’t tell him. If that attendant knows that I saw someone, this could be the end of the road for me. If I tell Steen and they find out he knows as well …

His frown deepens. Of course he doesn’t believe me. He can read me like a book.

Not knowing what else to do, I ignore him and pick up a new magazine—Vanity Fair this time. I pretend to be absorbed in an article that details the making of the newest Chanel No. 5 commercial, even though I am probably the person on the entire planet least likely to care about this.

Steen’s eyes don’t leave me though. I can feel them boring into me. Waiting for me to look up. To tell him what’s going on.

Because it wasn’t a surgeon or physician I’d met before, or a teacher of mine.

I pretend I’m reading hard for the rest of the flight—from summer nail trends to financial forecasts. In reality, however, the printed words of the magazines I grab swim before my eyes as I try to figure out just why Ryan might be sitting on the other side of that curtain.

Is it because someone has figured out there are three of us here who know each other? But surely the Society has known that from the start. Why separate one of us from the other two now? It can’t be that. Maybe we’re being tested in some way? Maybe I should come forward and say something about Steen being grouped with me? Maybe Ryan has owned up to knowing Steen and myself? But again, how would that make any sense? We weren’t to know who else had been asked to experiment until we got to Vienna, and Ryan wasn’t introduced to us then. I start to panic, my mind spinning up more and more complicated scenarios, some plausible, some completely far-fetched. But there’s one that keeps circling around and coming back to me. One that’s simple and makes complete sense.

Maybe the Society wants Ryan’s work to go completely, utterly and totally unnoticed.

When I’d dug deeper on why he’d been cautioned, I heard that he’d been caught participating in some sort of infectious diseases research in South America. Not on animals, but on people. Apparently there had been issues with the informed consent process. The details were sketchy. Worried that he was even more crazy than I suspected, I’d ended up paying a private detective to hunt down any possible information and, as it turned out, there had been two small pieces in a newspaper in Argentina by a specific journalist. The first piece had been about a building in a remote area being requisitioned by the government and being used by a foreign company for medical trials. The second piece had come a week or so later. It had mentioned talk in the local area about what was going on in the building and that some subjects thought they had been taken advantage of. But then … nothing. It didn’t make sense. Until the researcher looked further and discovered the investigative journalist covering the case had been seriously injured in a car crash.

That research Ryan was involved in in South America—what if the Society was involved? It never should have been, because the whole point of the Society is that it facilitates self-experimentation. But then I’m also pretty sure it had been the Society that had helped keep Ryan in the Thirty despite him being cautioned.

Right now I know only one thing for certain. Whatever Ryan’s doing here, I’m not supposed to know about it. And neither is anyone else on my side of the curtain.

It feels like I’ve been cooped up forever when we finally land. I flick open my seat belt as soon as we stop.

Marcus leans forward in his seat. ‘This might take a while,’ he tells me. I remember the support staff up the front of the plane. Of course they’ll have to get off first.

I sit back in my seat then and close my eyes, willing the time to pass. I just need to get out of here. I feel like everyone’s staring at me, even though I’m sure they’re far more wrapped up in their own problems and thoughts. I pick at the edges of my nails, something I always do when I’m stressed. When I open my eyes and see Steen looking at my hands, however, I stop cold, sticking my hands under my legs.

Finally Marcus gets a phone call and tells us our cars are waiting. He swishes the curtain back and the five of us head towards the front of the plane.

Marcus goes first, then Lauren and Andrew, leaving Steen and myself at the rear. When we get to the steps, I look outside to see three large black Audi SUVs with dark tinted windows driving off into the distance. Our surroundings are flat and green, broken up only by a couple of small wooden buildings. Closer to us, two more cars are waiting beside the plane, motors humming. It’s windy and I can smell salt on the breeze. The ocean isn’t far away.

Marcus heads for the first car, glancing behind him as he goes. ‘Lauren and Andrew, you come with me. Steen and Miri, you take the second car.’

‘Okay,’ I say, going to start down the stairs, but then stop because Steen is blocking the way, standing on the second top step, his hand resting on the railing, staring out towards the three cars. ‘Are we going?’ I finally ask him, when it really doesn’t look like he’s going to move any time soon.

‘What?’ He glances back up at me. ‘Oh, yeah.’ He starts down the steps then and I follow him.

‘Fine,’ I tell him. I get in the back right hand side while Steen rounds the car to get in on the left.

‘I’ll see you there. If you could keep the shades down, that would be great.’ He points to the back windows.

When Steen closes his door, the driver twists in his seat to look at us. ‘Seat belts on,’ he tells us.

As for me, I keep my hands on my lap, my eyes trained on the back of the passenger seat, and try to imagine I’m not in such a small space with Steen. I can’t look at him. If I look at him, he’ll know something is wrong, and I can’t let him know about Ryan.

We drive for at least half an hour before I realise Steen is trying to catch my attention. At first I don’t look at him, but when he starts to talk I don’t have much choice.

My eyes slide over to meet his. Why is he suddenly talking to me now? And like it’s going to matter what the weather’s doing when we’re inside the bunker. But surely the driver will think it’s strange if I don’t answer, so I do. ‘Mmpf,’ I grunt. But now he has my attention, he gives me a different look entirely. A look of urgency.

What is this, charades? I go to roll my eyes, but then it clicks. Two hours from Frankfurt. That’s why he was acting strangely at the top of the stairs of the plane. He thinks we’re in Denmark.

Checking that the driver isn’t watching, I think for a moment, then hold out my left and right hands flat, the right one slightly below the left, forming a loose map of Denmark. Steen nods and holds his out in the same way, then points to a spot near the base of his right pinkie finger. Copenhagen, I mouth. He nods. Then he points to a spot almost on the tip of the same pinkie, tapping it a few times. So he thinks we’re some way above Copenhagen. I remember his grandmother. This is the area his grandmother used to live in before she moved to the city. I’m sure of it. He’d told me she used to live right up near Helsingor where you can catch the ferry to Sweden. I’m about to try to communicate this when, suddenly, Steen is all action.

‘Stop the car,’ he says quickly, unfastening his seat belt. ‘I’m going to be sick.’

The car jerks to the side of the road and screeches to a halt as Steen opens the door further, sticks his head out and retches. I watch him. What is he doing?

But the truth is I know exactly what he’s doing. And what he’s doing is so, so Steen. He just can’t bear the not knowing. It’s not like he needs the information concerning where we are, or can do anything with it, but he has to know because it’s killing him not to. And to do that, he has to get another look outside—see if he can spot a street sign or something.

There’s another noisy retch. And another. And a bit of head-twisting as well as he checks out his surroundings.

He pulls his head back inside the car. ‘Done,’ he says, with a groan, in the direction of the driver. ‘Motion sickness. It’s the worst,’ he says to me then, wiping his mouth with a flourish and then resting his head back on the headrest.

The driver only sighs, twisting around to view Steen. ‘Do me a favour and don’t throw up in the car, buddy,’ he says before he shoulder-checks and we pull back out again.

It’s a few more minutes before Steen catches my attention once more. But when he does, he nods.

After another fifteen minutes or so of driving, the car pulls up. ‘We’re here,’ the driver tells us. ‘But you’ll have to wait a while.’

We sit in silence for at least another twenty minutes until our driver gets a call. ‘Wait here while I get the luggage,’ he says. He gets out of the car and opens the boot, which he quickly clears out. When he closes the boot again, we’re alone.

I turn to Steen immediately. ‘What kind of stunt was that? Are you crazy? You’ll get us both kicked out of here. Did you have to know where we are that badly?’

I can only groan and look out my still-blackened window. I jump when his door opens.

As I open my door and get out, I notice Marcus staring strangely at a security guard and his car nearby. ‘Everything okay?’ I ask.

He looks a little caught out and adjusts his shirt. ‘Oh, yes. It seems we’ll be having a security guard posted outside full time from now on. We’ve only had intermittent checks before. I wasn’t informed about it for some reason.’

‘But don’t concern yourself with internal politics,’ he continues, beckoning me on.

I round the car to see Andrew and Lauren already standing and staring at what lies before us. Silently, Steen and I go to stand beside them, the four of us lined up in a row.

It really is a proper bunker. Grey concrete. Small. Most of it underground, obviously. Built to avoid detection. Maybe even a small nuclear holocaust or two if it ever happens here, in the absolute middle of nowhere. I hope the security guard has a good book, because there’s not going to be much else to do but stare at the view of the flat, green plains and dense trees to the right. When I’m facing in that direction, I note that I can still smell the sea in the wind that whips my hair back from my face.

‘Now we’re here, we’ll have to move quickly. Steen and Andrew have been fasting, and their surgeries are scheduled to start within the hour. Lauren, you’ll be after Steen in theatre two.’

My eyes dart over to look at Steen. I’m pretty sure the surgery will involve his bowel. They’ll tie a piece off, wait until infection sets in and then the artificial lymph cells will be introduced. He’s spoken to me about the artificial lymph cells before. It’s crazy, I know, but part of me desperately wants to talk him out of it. It’s not super-dangerous and of course he’ll be in amazingly capable hands, but there’s always a risk …

‘This way.’ Marcus pulls a pass card out of the satchel he’s carrying as he leads us towards the large silver steel doors that form the front of the bunker. He swipes the card and the doors pull back to reveal a small alcove and a huge industrial elevator that’s open and waiting. ‘Your bags will come later,’ he tells us as we follow him inside.

The doors close in front of us and the elevator begins to move slowly downwards. Looking at the buttons, I see that there are only two floors, and we’re headed for the bottom one. ‘Down below are the theatres, meal room, a recreation area, your labs and living areas. There are also living areas for the surgeons, physicians and other medical support, though that’s in a completely separate area to yours, of course.’

The elevator stops abruptly and the doors on the other side open, all of us turning at the same time to try to catch a first glimpse of the inner sanctum.

We step tentatively into a long, wide corridor. I’d expected it to look much like the hotel we’d stayed in in Vienna—white and bright and clinical, but it’s nothing like this. Instead, one wall is a plain creamy white with a sort of recessed area that has a long wooden bench upon it. The other wall consists of floor-to-ceiling digital screens displaying, of all things, great works of medical art. As we exit, the pictures slowly change to display new ones and I’m left standing in front of one I know—Eakins’s The Gross clinic. In the picture, surgeons crowd around a patient in a wooden tiered surgical amphitheatre of the late 1800s. It’s a particularly gory painting for its time, all blood and scalpels. But it’s something else that draws my attention in the picture and, before I know it, I’ve emitted a snort.

‘Well, women in medical art never look good, do they?’ My eyes are trained on the one female depicted in the painting—a woman dressed in black, cringing, her hand held to her face. Apparently the patient’s mother. I look to the left and notice the painting Steen is standing in front of. ‘Exhibit B …’ I step over, pointing at yet another woman. In this painting, she has her head down on a kitchen table while the doctor she has invited into her home leans over her sick child.

Andrew and Lauren say nothing, but Steen speaks up. ‘That’s not what I see in the picture.’

Steen moves closer to the image. ‘I think it’s beautiful. In fact, it’s always been one of my favourite pieces of medical art.’ He points to the father, standing behind his wife. ‘See his face as he looks at the doctor. At the trust in it. And look at the doctor himself—his expression—and the used medicine bottles at his feet. He knows he has all the power and none at the same time. And don’t forget the light …’

He points again now, at the shaft of light showing that dawn is breaking. ‘It’s hopeful. In the face of everything, all three of them desperately want the child to live, as does the artist, Fildes, whose own child didn’t. He understood deeply. I think it’s everything we should aspire to in medicine. Knowledge, trust, hope …’

It’s Marcus who speaks first. ‘Eloquently said.’ He gives Steen an appraising look. Beside him, I catch Lauren frowning at their exchange.

‘Still, maybe you should consider sticking to something less controversial—microscopic images perhaps?’ Steen jokes.

Marcus looks surprised by his comment. ‘It’s funny you should say that. Originally that’s what these were going to be—a range of medical images. But in the end we decided you can have too much of a good thing. We brought in a psychologist who suggested the change to art. Since its installation, we actually find more of our experimenters use this area to unwind than the recreation area.’

‘What was …’ I start, the words coming out of my mouth unbidden. I hesitate, not sure this is a place I want to go.

‘I take it this is reasonably new.’ I gesture towards the panels. ‘What was here before? In the beginning?’ I wonder if my dad’s been here. If he experimented when he was still a member. And if there are many others like him who were once members and now are not. I’m one hundred per cent sure I’m retracing my mother’s footsteps, however. I can feel her presence down here. She would have been in her element. What was it like for her? I think to myself, quite sure that she’s been here before me. What did she see when she came down here? Am I walking where she walked? Seeing things she saw?

‘I believe that originally the bunker was much, much smaller. Only two labs, one theatre, no dedicated ICU. As you can see, the Society has come a long way since it originated. But we’re running out of time.’ Marcus moves off again. ‘Please, this way.’

We continue until we get to the end of the corridor and turn right. We’re presented with another very long corridor, though this one has doors on either side rather than great works of art. There are two doors on my right and three on my left, all spaced at wide intervals. Each one has a large black number on it that takes up the entire door—one, two, three, four and five.

Marcus pauses and opens up his satchel again, passing us all cards that are attached to lanyards. Each card has a photograph of us and our first names on it, as well as a number. I’m laboratory one, which is directly to my right. Steen is two, Andrew is three and Lauren is four—they’re all on the left. Five is at the end of the corridor, on the same side as my lab. We all put the lanyards on over our heads. I can feel Lauren’s unasked question hovering around me—why am I in lab four and she’s in one? Does that mean something? When I glance at her, she quickly looks away. To be honest, I doubt it means anything at all. It’s probably a matter of equipment and size. But under the bunker’s bright lights, it feels like everything needs to be examined. Picked apart. Queried.

‘I’m going to take you through laboratory one now, then you can explore your own spaces in your own time.’ He steps forward, swipes his own card and the frosted glass door opens.

My eyes widen as I follow Marcus inside. My lab is pretty impressive. The room is large and packed with all the equipment I’ll need, a gigantic treadmill, computers, monitors and laptops that will be involved in the barrage of tests I’ll be doing at all hours of the day and night to check things like my reaction times and reflexes.

‘Through here is your bedroom.’ Marcus passes through the lab to another frosted glass door that opens as he approaches. It contains a bed with a pile of fresh green scrubs upon it, a bedside table with a lamp, a small wardrobe and not much more. ‘And through there is your bathroom.’ He glances around the four of us. ‘In case you were wondering, there are cameras in the labs, but not in the bedroom or bathrooms. These are monitored at all times, as are the communal areas. Now, if you’ll follow me, we’ll go take a look at those areas as well.’

The four of us follow Marcus back out to the lab and into the corridor once more, where we walk to the end and take a left, entering a huge room with no door. ‘This is the meals area, where all your food will be served.’ He points straight ahead to the kitchen area and the large table. ‘There will always be snacks and so on around if you need them at any time of day or night. When we began, we didn’t have our meals together, but we found that people needed time away from the labs and to see others who weren’t involved with their own experiment, if that makes sense.’

A couple of us nod. Personally, I’m guessing someone lost it at some point, which would be understandable if you were cooped up in a room experimenting on yourself for two weeks with only support staff keeping you company intermittently.

He then moves further into the room and to the left where the room continues on and there are several sofas and a large TV on the wall. ‘The recreation area for downtime and so on.’

Making his way back out of the room and into the corridor once more, Marcus pauses, waiting for everyone to follow.

One of the first outside the room, Steen points at a door at the very end of the hallway that requires a pass card. ‘What’s that?’

‘That’s where the support staff will eat and sleep. Now, if you’ll follow me this way, I’ll show you the theatres and then we’ll have to get moving properly.’ He quickens his pace, walking back up the corridor and past the corridor with the labs on it. He stops when he gets to a door on his left and swipes his card, the door swishing open. ‘We won’t go in, but feel free to take a look from out here.’

The four of us are at the door in an instant, jostling to get a look inside. We all emit a collection of noises at the same time and Steen whistles.

‘It’s something, isn’t it?’ Even Marcus, who has obviously seen the theatres many times before, stares inside appreciatively. He wasn’t joking about it being state of the art. There really is an MRI machine, a CT scanner, angiography suite and everything else you could possibly want. All gleaming and shiny new.

I look around at my fellow experimenters and see the same awe on their faces as I’m sure is plastered upon mine. Well, all except Andrew, who is beginning to look more than a little nervous. I don’t blame him. They’ll soon be removing a piece of his skull in there. Better him than me.

Marcus steps back. ‘There’s also a small ICU attached to the two theatres. But best that I return you to your labs now so you can have a shower and get changed. You’ll have support staff in to see you shortly. They’ll fit you out with everything you need.’ He walks back up the corridor quickly and pauses at the bend. The four of us follow him like ducklings.

When I enter the lab corridor, I pause in front of the fifth room, every muscle in my body suddenly tense as I think of Ryan. ‘Can we see inside this lab as well? If no one’s using it?’

I watch him carefully, but Marcus doesn’t even blink. ‘Lab five? No, that won’t be possible. We’ll be doing some renovations on it while you’re using the others.’

‘Okay, thanks for the tour.’ I nod, turning immediately and heading for my own lab.

I pass through my lab and bedroom and go straight to my bathroom. There, I shower and change into a set of green scrubs.

As I pull my hair up into a bun, I consider what Marcus said about lab five and wonder why he’s keeping the truth about Ryan’s presence from us—why the Society is keeping it quiet. I still have no idea, but there has to be one. A reason, that is.

I move on to thinking about everyone else getting ready for their own experiments—Andrew’s head being shaved, Steen’s abdomen being prepped. Staring at my reflection in the mirror, I chastise myself. I’ve got to put them out of my mind.

When I’ve finally pulled myself together a bit, I turn and head back out to the lab. I’m surprised to find there are two people in there, both wearing blue scrubs compared to my green ones, along with caps and masks.

‘Ah, here she is.’ One of the figures turns to greet me—a woman. A young woman by the sound of her voice and the bits of her face I can see between her cap, mask and rectangular-shaped glasses. ‘We were just going to come and get you. We won’t be using our names, but you can call us Thing One and Thing Two if you like.’

The other person comes over now. This one’s a guy. ‘We were just saying we’re glad we were assigned to you. Less … how should I put this …’

‘I’ll just grab it,’ I tell him, turning and going back into my bedroom. I’ve had to keep a sleep diary for the last week to make sure I’ve been sleeping okay in order to start the experiment on my arrival. I fetch it and bring it back to him.

He flicks through it. ‘Good … great. That looks fine,’ he says. ‘I’ll scan it in later.’

While he’s reading, I look over to the bench he’d been standing at a moment ago and see the large packs of drugs that have been laid out. Dated and labelled. ‘Everything’s there?’

‘All ready for you,’ he says. ‘We’ll just have to do a few baseline tests and you’ll be all set.’

Thing One moves off and comes back with a trolley that contains everything for the monitoring I’ll need. ‘Which means it’s time to get you ready. Cannula first? As you know we’ll be taking blood every six hours.’

She pulls out a chair that’s pushed up against a nearby wall, but then she pauses as she holds it. ‘Squeamish?’ she says. ‘Need to lie down for this?’

I look at her like she’s crazy. ‘You don’t honestly get squeamish people here, do you?’

‘You’d be surprised,’ she says with a laugh as I sit down. ‘We’ve had people here who are happy to have bits of a limb hacked off, but not their ears checked.’

‘Well, feel free to check my ears, but if you don’t mind I’ll be keeping all of my limbs. Including this one.’ I stick my arm out. ‘Let’s do this.’

It takes a good hour and a half before I’m completely wired up. ‘I feel like a walking ICU bed,’ I say, looking down at myself. As well as the cannula, I have heart rate monitor patches stuck to my chest, a blood pressure cuff on my arm, an oxygen saturation clip on my right index finger and wires everywhere. My baseline data has all been taken—I’ve had to do several tests that check my response times to different stimuli—and now it’s time for my first dose of medication. This first dose is a half dose, to see how my body responds. If all goes well, my next dose will be a full dose and the proper cycle of medication and testing will begin in earnest.

‘Best to wait until we hit the top of the hour.’ Thing Two looks at the clock on the wall. It’s about five minutes to three o’clock in the afternoon. I wonder if time will start to become meaningless to me as I sleep less and less.

We stand and look at each other, wondering how we’re going to fill in the few minutes.

‘I suppose it’s obvious I’m not.’ Thing Two chuckles through his thick Scottish accent.

We chat about both the good and the bad movies we’ve seen over the past few months. They’re a good team, these two. They make me feel at ease. Finally, it’s time to take my first dose of meds. Thing Two brings me the four capsules in a small paper cup as well as a larger paper cup of water. I flick the capsules into the back of my throat and gulp them down.

‘And that’s it,’ Thing one says. ‘You’ve got three hours of downtime before we need to do your first round of tests. You can do whatever you like until then, though your psychiatrist will be seeking you out during that period. Oh, and you’ll probably have to do the fire safety talk as well.’

‘Great, thanks. I might take my wires for a walk if you don’t need any help.’

‘We’ve got it all sorted,’ she replies. ‘Go take a break and we’ll see you around.’

I head out into the corridor where all is silent and no one’s in sight. With nothing else to do, I take a right, walk the length of the corridor and then take a left, making for the meals room and recreation area. I’m checking out the fridge when Lauren walks in.

‘Oh,’ she says, stopping short. She has a cannula, like me, but nothing else yet. ‘I have to wait until theatre two is free.’ She goes to leave.

‘That’s the one Steen’s in, right?’ I say before she can go. I feel a pang. I hadn’t got to see Steen before he’d gone into surgery. Not that I could have said anything meaningful, it’s just … Oh, I don’t know. I wanted to see him, that was all.

Right, I need to keep this conversation going. If we’re going to be stuck together in this place for two weeks, we have to at least try to get along. ‘Feels like it’s taking forever, huh?’

Her eyes slide to the right and I can see she wants to pretend this conversation isn’t happening. Still, she nods again. That’s something.

‘Well, I’d offer you a sandwich, but I wouldn’t want you to aspirate it later.’

Some kind of noise exits her throat, though you couldn’t really call it a laugh. I’m pretty sure she’d like me to aspirate something and take myself out of the running here.

Just then Marcus walks past. ‘Ah, there you both are. I was coming to find you. If you’ve got time, I thought you might like to come and see what’s going on in theatre one.’

Lauren and I glance at one another. ‘Um, sure,’ I say, answering for both of us. I sound far more certain than I feel.

Marcus leads the way down the corridor and pauses when he gets to a door beside theatre one. He swipes his card and it opens to reveal a viewing room. I’d noticed the mirrored wall in the theatre when we’d seen it before and had wondered. And now here it is.

The door closes behind us and we’re all silent as we move inside. On one side of the room is the long window so we can see into the theatre itself. On the end are several screens that have a live feed from the cameras inside the theatre.

It’s the theatre we turn to first. It’s full of people—the surgeon with her head light and camera and her assistant, the anaesthetist and his assistant, someone I’m guessing might be a neurophysiologist and a scrub nurse and scout nurse as well. But the real star of the show is Andrew. He’s sitting upright, completely awake, his head pinned tightly into a frame by wires drilled into his skull. A sterile field is behind him, the visual cortex being situated at the base of the head. The back of his body and head are shielded by large sheets of plastic. In front, his head has been placed on a chin rest and he stares into a visual field perimetry—a hemisphere for mapping his visual field. Marcus steps forward and presses a button and suddenly we can hear what’s going on inside the theatre.

I turn then to one of the screens—the one that’s showing the surgeon’s view. It’s a close up of the surgical field, and I watch as she continues to place electrodes directly onto the right side of Andrew’s brain, testing them as she goes.

The thing is, I’ve seen plenty of surgery before, but this is way more confronting for the sheer reason that I know Andrew doesn’t need it. His brain is perfectly healthy. There’s no tumour, there’s been no bleeding, no epilepsy, no trauma. He’s doing this of his own free will. As I look on, it makes me wonder if I’m as invested in this experience as I thought. Would I do what he’s doing? I’d like to think I’d have it in me if I believed that it would further the current research in my area of interest, but I can’t say for sure. It’s pretty full on. I can’t stop thinking about Steen either. And, as I watch, there are several times I have to push what’s happening next door in theatre two from my mind.

‘I really hope his experiment works out,’ I finally say, and both Marcus and Lauren turn to look at me. Maybe to see if I’m being genuine. But I am.

We watch for a while longer until Lauren speaks up. ‘Can we see the other theatre as well?’

I tense when she says this, but force myself to look slowly over at Marcus as if I don’t mind either way.

Marcus leads us into the viewing room for theatre two and by the time the door snaps shut behind us, my palms are already sweating like crazy. I try to take some surreptitious deep breaths in the hope of slowing my heart rate, because I’m sure it’s suddenly reading strangely high.

I force myself to look inside the theatre, already bracing myself for what I’m going to see.

All the people I imagined would be in attendance are there. It’s not as elaborate a procedure as Andrew’s by any means, so there’s only the surgeon, his assistant, the anaesthetist and her assistant, a scrub nurse and scout nurse. Within seconds I see that I was wrong about his bowel. It’s his appendix they’re targeting. Now I wonder why I didn’t think of that. Probably because subconsciously I didn’t want to—Steen and I have a history when it comes to the appendix. Though last time it involved mine, not his.

‘Ah, we’ve arrived in time for the highlight,’ Marcus says, looking at one of the screens.

My brow creases at his choice of words. There’s something almost predatory in his tone. Something I don’t like. I don’t say anything, of course. Instead I turn and watch as the laparoscopic camera shows us the ‘highlight’ of Steen’s appendix being tied off.

I keep my eyes on the screen for as long as I can, knowing I’m safer this way. It’s just an appendix. Any old appendix. It’s not Steen’s body I’m viewing at all. I try to tell myself this over and over again and fail. It’s not something I’ve seen before, but I’ve heard doctors talk about it—it’s a different experience entirely to see someone you care about being operated on. To see them lifeless and still, their eyes taped shut. Anaesthetised.

I can see that Steen is fine, that there is nothing wrong and that everything is, as Marcus has just put it, going well. However, I still find that I have to will my eyes not to tear up as I look on, desperately waiting for someone else to make the first move so we can leave. So I can stop remembering how Steen looked after me when I had my own appendix out.

Naturally, it all happened at the worst possible time. We were right in the middle of midterms and I’d ignored the niggling pains in my lower abdomen for as long as I could. That is, until it spread and I could ignore it no longer because I was pretty much doubled over in pain.

‘What the hell are you thinking?’ Steen had cornered me, pale and sweaty, as we left our second exam of the day. ‘I’m taking you straight to the hospital.’

In the ER, I stayed doubled over in pain until the morphine kicked in. Which is when I found the strength to start that arguing. A theatre, surgeon and anaesthetist were rustled up. Except they weren’t good enough. Not for me. ‘No way.’ I shook my head hard. ‘I’ll wait.’

‘Oh, I’m serious. He was friends with my mother. He’s the best. I’ll wait for the best.’

‘Miss.’ The ER attending had leaned down very close to my face. ‘You need that appendix out right now.’

‘Well, you’d better find Professor McNabb then, hadn’t you?’ I’d snapped.

‘I need to go check on something,’ he says. ‘I don’t expect they’ll take much longer and then the theatre is all yours.’ He looks at Lauren as he speaks.

Back out in the corridor, Marcus makes his way towards the door that leads to the support staff area, swipes his card and exits from our view.

Lauren and I stand awkwardly in the T-junction of the two corridors. ‘Well, I might grab a book,’ I say. I don’t really feel like going back to the recreation area and putting on a movie.

Lauren hovers indecisively, which doesn’t seem like her. ‘Are you worried?’ I ask.

‘Okay, well I guess I’ll …’ I start, but a crash from behind the door of the lab next to me stops me in my tracks. It sounded like something metallic falling onto the floor.

‘Renovations,’ she finally says, not looking away from the door. Her tone gives nothing away.

I don’t reply but keep right on staring at the door as well. If there was a shadow of doubt in my mind before about Ryan experimenting in the fifth room, it’s now gone. But why he’s being hidden away and we’re being lied to, I don’t know. I know better than to ask Marcus about it, that’s for sure. I guess the only thing I can do is keep my eyes open and my ear to the ground and find out what I can that way. I’ll certainly be awake to notice if anything’s going on.

With a shrug, I turn away from the door, as if I don’t think much of it. ‘I’ve still got some time to kill,’ I tell Lauren. ‘Want to put a movie on? Distraction might be a good idea.’

She looks at me for some time, her expression surprised. Like she can’t believe she’s still standing here talking to me. Finally she shrugs. ‘All right.’

Lauren puts an action movie on and takes a seat on the other sofa. Despite the fact that the movie fills the room with noise, there’s a strained silence hovering between us.

‘So …’ I say after a while, as I tuck my legs up beside me on the sofa. ‘Did you have to wait long for your experiment to be accepted?’

Competitive, much? ‘Um, not that long.’ I try to think of something else to discuss. ‘Got any other medical people in your family?’ I try. It’s not unusual for people I meet at school to have come from a long line of doctors and nurses.

‘Yes, both my parents. They were both doctors. Well, my father still is. My mother was until she died.’

Lauren’s expression changes with this, not in the sort of way that she feels sorry for me, but in a surprised way.

She hesitates for a moment before she answers. ‘No. That is how I became interested in medicine. Because of my mother’s illness and the care she received. Or the lack of it due to the expense.’ She doesn’t look at me, her eyes turning back to the TV screen. I can see she’s not going to say much more.

It’s only a small piece of information, but it tells me a lot about her. Her family couldn’t afford the medical care her mother needed before she died. I suddenly understand why she’s so driven.

Lauren and I get about half an hour into the movie before we’re called away to do the fire safety talk. We’re shown around the fire exits. It seems the bunker is a large rectangle and there are stairs on each corner of the rectangle. We’ve just finished when Lauren is sought out as it’s time to prep her for surgery.

As she passes me by, she lays a friendly hand on my arm. For a moment I think she’s come around. That’s she’s going to wish me luck, or to say thanks for hanging out. But what she ends up saying is something else entirely. ‘You know I’m going to win this, right?’ she says, her voice low.

I stand there dumbly for a moment or two as my brain registers her words. Did she really just say …

Shaking my head, I walk back to the recreation area slowly, knowing what Lauren being called away means—that Steen is out of surgery. He’s okay. Now he’ll be playing a waiting game. Waiting to get sick. Waiting for his appendix to start rotting away. I try not to think about it.

After the movie finishes, I sit around for a bit hoping that he might appear. But he doesn’t. I stay for as long as I can, then go back to my own lab with around ten minutes to spare before I need to start my first proper round of drugs and testing.

The tests take just on two and a half hours to complete. They’re a mix of fine and gross motor tests and a lot of tests that look at my cognitive higher functions. My attention and concentration are tested, there’s a memory test, reaction test, perception, sequencing, planning, list-making tests, and so on. Then there are balance exercises and a run on the treadmill; more blood is taken and the psychiatrist finally tracks me down and speaks to me. I can easily tell which test will truly drive me crazy over time—there’s just something inherently confusing about the word ‘green’ flashing up in a yellow font on a computer screen and having to speak the name of the colour rather than the written word.

‘Feel like you’ve been poked and prodded enough?’ Thing Two asks me from behind his mask when we’re finally done.

‘I’ll write it down in my notes so I don’t forget,’ he replies. ‘But for now you’re free for another three hours.’

I head on back to the meals room and recreation area to see if anyone’s there.

As it happens, Steen is—lying on one of the sofas in front of the TV, which is turned off.

I go over to him. His eyes flicker open as I approach. ‘Wow,’ I say. He doesn’t look so hot. ‘How are you feeling?’

I grimace, circling the sofa so I’m on the other side of it—between Steen and the TV. I get a better look at him then. He’s quite pale. It can’t be infection that’s making him sick—it’s way too early for that. It’s just the after effects of the surgery. ‘Had some painkillers?’

‘So did Lauren. It was pretty … out there. Head pinned, fully awake, electrodes everywhere. He’s braver than I am.’

‘Me too,’ Steen says, with a groan. ‘I can barely handle this. I can’t imagine what’s coming for me next.’

‘How long do you have to wait? Before you inject the artificial lymph cells?’

I watch him for a moment or two. ‘Hopefully you won’t be sick again. You know, like in the car.’

‘Hilarious,’ he says as he raises one hand, resting it above his head, and I remember how it hovered above my back in Vienna. Touching, but not touching.

I’m sorry, I think to myself. I’m sorry it had to be this way. That I couldn’t tell you. That I had to leave.

Standing in front of Steen, I desperately want to tell him about Ryan. That I saw him on the plane. That I think he’s experimenting in lab five. What’s happened between us is bad enough. I don’t want any more lies. I’m tired of lies and running and hiding.

But I know I can’t tell him about Ryan. For a start, there’s a camera in the room recording our every move. People are listening in. Watching us. Recording us.

So, instead of telling him anything, I sit down on the coffee table before him in silence.

Eventually he closes his eyes and drifts off to sleep. And then I sit there some more and calm myself by taking in every contour of his face, every movement of his body, as if I’ve never seen him before.

I go and grab my book and a plate of little triangular sandwiches and lie on the other sofa while Steen sleeps. But as hard as I try to concentrate, I find my eyes keep flicking over to look at him. I feel happier than I have in a long time simply for being in his presence. How creepy is that? Watching your ex-boyfriend sleep while chowing down on finger food. When I find I haven’t read a page of my book in around twenty minutes, I decide it’s time to go back to my lab.

I read on my bed until it’s time to start my next round of testing. I’m about an hour and three-quarters in when there’s a knock on the door.

‘Sure,’ I say from the treadmill, where I’m running. I try to look a bit more graceful, not knowing who is at the door. Running doesn’t come naturally to me. I’m a plodder rather than a lithe gazelle.

‘Hi,’ Steen says, his eyes seeking me out when the door opens. ‘How much longer have you got to go?’

‘Well, hurry up, because you’ve got to come see this. Andrew is up and about. We’re all in the meals area having a late dinner.’

‘Don’t forget,’ Thing Two tells me, ‘there’ll be a change of shift after this. You won’t see us again until tomorrow. You might be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, but we have to sleep.’

In the meals area, Steen and Andrew are sitting at the dining table. Steen has a plate of food in front of him that looks like it was discarded as soon as Andrew entered the room. Andrew’s back is facing me and he has a head bundle on—his head swathed in bandages.

‘Hi,’ he says, looking up at me. He seems pretty good for someone who’s just had quite a large amount of his skull removed and his brain tampered with. It’s weird seeing him sitting there like that. Even though I know that it’s completely medically possible, it’s just … wow.

I take a step closer to the table, realising the mood has changed from one of cautious, circling competition to excitement—a frenzied feeding of the sharks.

‘Like someone just took a large piece of wood and smacked me on the head with it.’

‘Sure.’ He swivels in his seat so he’s closer to the edge of his chair, giving me a better view. ‘They did the right side today. The left side’s tomorrow. Then I’ll have a camera fitted once the swelling goes down a little.’

I glance at him, trying not to look surprised he’s being so forthcoming. He seems different without Lauren around.

I bend down so I can really see what’s going on. My eyes widen as I take in the side of his neck, which is red and swollen. ‘I didn’t think they’d tunnel the wires.’ I get in really close now. I’d just assumed the electrode wires would be on the outside of his body, not underneath his skin.

‘Yeah, easier to keep them in place that way. Hopefully they won’t cause an infection.’

We both continue to stare straight at Andrew, mesmerised. To do this to yourself. To have someone do it to you. To be allowed to … facilitated …

‘So,’ I finally ask him. ‘Tell us. What’s it like seeing with your brain?’

He thinks about this for a moment. ‘Like seeing normally, but with another layer of vision on top. Did you see them asking me questions in theatre?’

‘So, what they were doing was stimulating part of my visual cortex. When I had my eyes open, I could see a dot due to the stimulus as well as everything else in that hemisphere they had in front of me. If I closed my eyes I could only see the dot. If they used several electrodes in a circular shape, I could see a circle, if they used electrodes in a square, a square would appear and so on.’

I extrapolate this. ‘So with the camera, you’re hoping to be able to see without using your eyes at all?’

‘You’ll be able to see in the dark. With your eyes closed,’ Steen pipes up now. ‘That’s …’ He can’t finish his sentence.

‘Something else. I know. I hope so. At least, that’s the plan.’ Andrew finishes Steen’s thought for him, wincing as he does so. ‘Anyway …’ He clears his throat as the mood shifts again and we all remember we’re competing here. ‘I think I might go and see if I can find a few more painkillers. I thought the headache might get better if I tried to ignore it, but it’s only getting worse.’ He gets up from the table as he speaks. ‘I’ll see you around.’

We both watch him go, Steen turning to me when he’s no longer in sight. ‘Your dinner’s in the microwave if you want it.’

‘Thanks.’ I go over and warm it for a minute, turning back to Steen as I wait. ‘So are you feeling better after your nap?’

He nods. ‘I am, actually, but I’m expecting everything else to kick off soon. There’s only so long a tied-off appendix can remain happy. Its infection-free hours are numbered.’

The microwave dings and I pull my plate out. ‘Want me to warm yours up?’ I ask, but then see he’s already started back in on it.

I sigh and bring my plate around to sit on the opposite side of the table from him now. And I’ve just taken my first mouthful of what seems to be vegetable lasagne when Steen starts talking again. This time in a lowered voice.

He looks at the doorway before he speaks again. ‘I was coming to get you and when I got to the corridor, there was this trolley going into the fifth lab.’

My fork and knife frozen in mid-air, I slowly put them down on my plate, reminding myself not to get excited. To stay calm. ‘They’re doing renovations in there. Marcus said so, remember?’

‘I know, but this trolley … I mean, I couldn’t see what was inside it—it was all covered up—but it had food in it. I could smell it.’

Should I tell him what I think is going on in there? I want to. I really do. And in this moment I truly consider it. But no. It’s better for him not to know. What would he do with the information if he had it? There’s nothing to be done. So they’re lying to us about Ryan? There’s a reason for that. A reason I probably don’t want to know about, considering what I do know about Ryan. The truth is, I know very little about what’s going on in that fifth room, and Steen’s better off not knowing. The thing is, if I tell him, he’ll only drive himself crazy trying to find out what’s really going on in there. That behaviour in the car—the fake throwing up? That didn’t come out of nowhere. He’d only get himself kicked out of here in his desperate quest for information. He needs to be protected from himself.

Steen pauses. ‘I don’t know. It just seemed … weird. Why wouldn’t they have their meals in the other area? There’s got to be a much larger meals room in the other area. It doesn’t make sense.’

‘Maybe they’re working through? Trying to get the renovations done quickly?’

I turn back to my own plate. I take another mouthful of lasagne. But this one … this one sticks in my throat.

The night wears on. Everyone goes to bed except me. There’s a change of shift and I continue my round of drugs and testing and more drugs and more testing—this time without Thing One and Thing Two. The new people don’t receive fun names. We just get on with things, and I begin to see it’s going to be a long two weeks.

It’s strange, being up at four, five, six in the morning with no sleep and feeling fine. But I do. I can’t say that I feel as if I’ve sprung out of bed at seven after having ten hours’ rest, but I feel … normal. Like it’s a normal time during a normal day. I see I’m going to have to make one lifestyle change pretty fast—I’m going to have to quit snacking around the clock, or I might not fit back in the industrial-sized elevator on the way out.

No one appears for breakfast. I’m not sure where they are. I guess Lauren’s had her surgery and maybe Andrew has gone back early for his next round. Steen might be sleeping in and waiting to get sicker. I’m just finishing a late lunch at around one in the afternoon when Steen appears in the meals room. I pause, my last bite of salad halfway to my mouth. He really doesn’t look great. He’s sweaty. Sweaty and pale. ‘How are you feeling?’ I ask him, sticking my fork back in my bowl.

‘Just an appendectomy, thanks. One will do. Right here is fine.’ He gestures to the table top. ‘Any world-class surgeon will do.’ He gives me a look with this and I return it. We don’t know each other, remember?

‘How long are you going to leave it before you inject the cells?’ I ask him. ‘How sick are you going to let yourself get?’ If he waits too long, there might be no coming back from the brink and he’ll just have to have his appendix out, leaving his research completely stalled.

He looks at the clock on the wall. ‘Another forty-seven minutes. They’re preparing the artificial lymph cells now.’

I shrug. ‘Fine. I feel … normal. I seem to be eating for about three people, but I’m not sure if that’s because I’m awake all the time, bored, or it’s the medication. Thus, salad for lunch.’

‘No. Lauren should be around. She must just be in her lab. Andrew should have finished in surgery as well, or be finishing up soon.’

Marcus pops his head around the door. ‘There you are. Looks like we’re having an open door policy this afternoon. I’ve just seen both Andrew and Lauren and they’ve said it’s fine if you want to come and see what’s going on in their labs.’

Steen groans as he stands. ‘Sorry,’ he says. ‘Hopefully I’ll stop doing that soon.’

We follow Marcus down to Lauren’s lab first, where he knocks and, after a moment or two, the door slides open.

There are four masked support people in the room as well as Lauren, who’s sitting at a large table in the centre of the room. She’s wearing a tank top and has her left arm encased in a tight white elastic sleeve. There’s also a yellow pump on a stand beside her running a continuous infusion of local anaesthetic into her arm via a catheter that’s been inserted just under her collarbone, a dressing covering it. The table is full of differently shaped objects. Blocks and fruit, scarves and books and cutlery. All kinds of things. Beside her is a masked computer technician who is tapping things into a laptop. As he does so, Lauren’s arm moves and I almost jump.

It’s pretty impressive. He’s truly controlling her completely anaesthetised arm. We all watch as it slowly moves over and attempts to grasp a red block. The movements are jerky rather than smooth and it takes three goes before Lauren’s hand grasps the object, but eventually it does. I remember her comment about people with spinal cord injury and imagine the implications of this truly working on all four limbs.

‘Wow.’ Steen can’t help himself. He hovers in the doorway, obviously desperately wanting to run over and take a better look. So do I of course, but I hold back … there’s some weird hostile vibe coming off Lauren that makes me wonder why we’ve been invited into her lab at all.

I glance over at Marcus. Wait. Maybe we haven’t been invited. Not by Lauren, anyway.

He stands back, watching over our group. Hmmm … something gives me the impression he’s completely orchestrated this moment. That we’re being played off one another.

Lauren glances up. ‘Yes.’ But I can see I’m right by the set of her jaw. We’re not truly welcome here.

I pause, unsure about what to do, but then go over anyway, because this is too good to miss.

‘So this is a continuous infusion of local anaesthetic?’ Steen points to the pump.

When Lauren doesn’t immediately reply, one of the support staff jumps in. ‘Lauren’s arm is completely numb. Here, if I pull the sleeve down a little you can see the electrode wires underneath.’ He pulls back the elastic sleeve carefully to show how it’s holding the wires fast, which are all going directly into Lauren’s skin. ‘The electrodes are implanted in her muscles. Can I show them a movement, Lauren?’

The technician double clicks a few times and we all watch as Lauren’s arm rises in a jerky movement, then waves. Lauren gives him a narrow-eyed look. Despite the tension in the room, I almost laugh. I can think of a whole lot of gestures I’d like to program into that computer and have Lauren’s arm jump about to.

The other person on the support staff—a woman—throws a half-full plastic syringe into a nearby bin.

‘What?’ Lauren is instantly defensive. ‘No one told us to log the discards. Why would we do that?’

‘But that never happens in the real …’ Lauren begins to argue, her eyes on the bin.

‘Well, um, thanks for having us,’ I say, when the following silence gets a bit much. I can’t get out of this room fast enough. ‘We should probably get moving if you’re going to see Andrew and get back to your own lab in time, Steen.’

Lauren gives me a final, sharp-eyed look before she goes back to what she was doing before we entered.

‘Fascinating, isn’t it?’ Marcus says as Lauren’s lab door closes smartly behind us. ‘But wait until you see Andrew. What’s going on in his lab is beyond amazing. It’s a great group you’ve got this year.’

Wondering about Marcus’s motivation, I try to catch Steen’s eye, but he’s too caught up in what he’s going to see next.

We take the few steps that are needed to stand in front of Andrew’s lab and, just as before, Marcus knocks. Once again the lab door swishes open. But this time Steen and I both take a step back rather than forward.

Andrew is sitting on a hospital bed in the middle of the room. He’s still bandaged, but less so than he was yesterday. Now there are wires down the left side of his neck as well as his right—both sides red and inflamed. There’s a black headband on the top of the bandages holding a small camera onto the front of his head. His eyes are taped shut.

‘Hi, Miri. Hi, Steen.’ He waves at us, one after the other. I realise he’s looking at us but not looking at us. His brain is seeing us. He grins. It’s obvious his experiment is going well.

‘That. Is. Awesome,’ is all Steen can say, in a whisper. If he feels threatened by Andrew’s success, he isn’t showing it.

‘Sure.’ Andrew gestures. ‘I’m going to have to shut the camera off again, though. I’m getting a lot of motion sickness. We’re trying to work out a way around that now. Tracking is proving a real issue.’

Despite looking paler than ever, Steen loses no time in going over and circling the whole hospital bed. ‘I feel so desperately uncool. Me and my sad little excuse for an experiment.’

Andrew laughs at this, but all I can think is, I bet Lauren would have loved to hear Steen say that in her lab.

‘This might sound like a dumb question, but can you see in colour?’ I ask him as I walk over, inspecting him as well. ‘Or is everything grey, or black and white?’

‘I can see in colour, but the colours aren’t right. I don’t know yet if we’ll be able to change that.’

‘I think it’s amazing you’ve got this far,’ Marcus says. ‘Let alone seeing in perfect colour.’

I nod in agreement. Part of me is fascinated by what he’s doing here and part of me is horrified that he’s been allowed to do it to himself. Before I got here, I knew that experimenting would be a roller-coaster ride, but it’s another thing to experience it in the flesh and to watch other people experiment on themselves.

Steen looks at the clock on the wall. ‘Ugh, I’ve got to go. You know, before my appendix ruptures.’

‘Thanks, Andrew,’ I say, as I follow Steen and Marcus out. As we leave, Marcus receives a text, his phone beeping.

I pause. ‘I don’t know. I get the feeling Marcus is going to start playing us off against one another.’

I consider Lauren’s behaviour for a moment longer, then shrug. ‘Okay, well, good luck with your cells.’ I start up the corridor again to go and clean up my lunch things.

But as I go, I keep thinking about Lauren. Something was going on with her back there. Something more than just Marcus dragging us into her lab.

That evening I’m in the meals room having dinner with Andrew and Steen. We’re talking about how things are going for all of us, though now that the excitement of the afternoon has died off, Andrew seems to be a little less forthcoming on the details.

I look over at him as he reaches up to scratch a spot on his head through his bandages. He doesn’t have his camera on for some reason. My bet is they’re still trying to sort out those tracking and motion sickness issues he mentioned.

‘So, are you actually feeling any better after the cells?’ Andrew asks Steen.

Steen nods. ‘Yes. It’s tied off, which means there’s really no coming back from that. The point is to see how long I can hold off taking it out for.’

‘Right,’ Andrew replies, digging his fork into his Thai curry. ‘So it’s working?’

And … there it is. The shields come up. Whose experiment is going as planned? Whose isn’t? One thing’s for sure—Andrew and Lauren are hungrier to take this competition out than Steen and I are.

Just then Lauren comes in, her expression stormy. Her left arm in a sling, she drags her pump on its stand in with her right hand. I’m facing the doorway, so I see her before the others do.

‘Um, hello …?’ I ask her. She looks far from happy. Even less happy than she had in her lab this afternoon, and that’s saying something.

‘I think we should all watch a movie now,’ she says pointedly, her eyes flicking up to the right—to the camera on the ceiling. She stalks on over to the TV, selects a movie and stands in front of it, turning the sound up louder and louder.

Whatever this is about, she doesn’t want what she’s about to say to be overheard. Or recorded.

Meanwhile I push my chair back and head on over. Lauren and I wait in silence until Andrew and Steen are with us.

She looks at each of us with her dark eyes. ‘What is it that you’re not telling me?’

I glance over at Steen and Andrew, who look as confused as I am. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I’m not stupid. There are no renovations,’ she scoffs, with a f lick of her good hand. ‘Now, what do you know?’ Her expression is hard.

It’s only then that I work out she’s not talking about Steen and me—she’s talking about the fifth room.

‘Look, I don’t know what you …’ Andrew starts, but I shake my head at him.

‘See? See! You! You do know something.’ Lauren is on to me in an instant. ‘You asked to see inside that lab, which means you know something. You knew even before we were down here. And you were with me the other day when we heard that sound. Something dropping onto the floor.’ She steps forward, closer towards me. ‘What do you know? Tell me. Right now.’

‘Can someone please explain what she’s going on about?’ Andrew is looking from one of us to the other. ‘Because I have no idea.’

‘She’s talking about the fifth room,’ Steen says, catching on. ‘Aren’t you?’

I try to keep calm. ‘Andrew’s mostly been in surgery, remember? Or in his lab. Or had his eyes taped closed.’

‘But you. And you.’ Lauren looks at Steen and me in turn. ‘You both know something. I see you looking at each other.’

‘We don’t … I …’ I force myself to pull it together. ‘I heard the same thing you did in there. That’s all.’

Steen looks at me. ‘You didn’t say you heard anything. What did you hear?’

‘Nothing. Just … noises. Someone dropped something. I didn’t think anything of it. There are supposed to be people in that room, remember?’

‘Supposedly,’ Steen replies slowly, his eyes fixed on me. ‘But I noticed some food being delivered to the room, which seemed weird. Funny that you didn’t say anything.’

‘You think something else is going on in there?’ Andrew glances around the tight circle. ‘Like what?’

‘What do you think, genius?’ Lauren looks at him like he’s an idiot. ‘Another experiment. Another student. One we don’t know about.’

‘That doesn’t make any sense. Why would they lie to us about another student?’ Andrew asks.

Steen’s brow creases. ‘I don’t know. Maybe it’s something really risky they don’t want us to know about. Maybe it’s dangerous. Or infectious. There could be plenty of reasons.’

Andrew thinks about this. ‘I did think it was kind of odd there was no fifth student. I mean, the application said there are always five. At least that’s what it suggested. And I’m doubting they were short on applications.’

I snort. ‘You don’t believe us? If they’re not telling you about what’s going on in there, why would they tell us? If they’re lying to us, they’re lying to us as a group. And they’re doing it for a reason.’

Her eyes look at the three of us accusingly as if she might still be able to squeeze some more information out of us.

‘Look,’ I continue, ‘it’s obvious you’re desperate to win that prize, but—’

Lauren cuts me off here, dragging her stand forward until she’s right in my face. ‘What would you know, little princess?’ she hisses, her eyes darker than ever before. ‘What would you know about anything?’ She pulls back to look at Andrew and Steen as well. ‘You with your fancy educations that your parents are paying for. Your parents who are undoubtedly doctors themselves.’ Her eyes flick to me with this, because she knows for a fact that my father is and my mother was. ‘Do you know what my father does? He drives a truck. You have no idea what I had to do to get to where I am today. No idea what I had to sacrifice. What my family had to sacrifice.’

‘I knew I couldn’t trust you.’ Her eyes remain focused tightly on me. ‘Any of you. I knew it would have to be this way.’

Steen gives her a cool look. ‘Of all the people here, you’d think Miri would be the one who’s cranky and paranoid. She’s the sleep-deprived one.’

As for me, I don’t know what else to say. I’m sure everything she just said is true, but what am I meant to do about any of it? It’s a level playing field where we stand right now. We’re here because of what we’ve achieved. Not our parents. It might be much, much harder for some than others to get to this point, but you get invited to join the Society of your own accord and your application to experiment stands for itself. Here, you bring only yourself and your ideas. Self-experimentation doesn’t care about your past or your family, and we’re not plotting against Lauren, whatever she might think. We don’t owe her anything. I don’t owe her anything. I stare her down. ‘Well, Andrew’s just sacrificed his brain and Steen’s …’ I pause, realising it’s not going to sound all that great, ‘putting his appendix on the line. So I guess you’d better stop worrying about the fifth room and run off and be brilliant with your anaesthetised arm if you want to win, hadn’t you, Lauren? Or whatever your real name is.’

Lauren opens her mouth as if to say something, then closes it again, scowling. She pulls back further still, taking her stand with her. ‘If you see or hear anything else. Anything. I want to know about it.’

‘Of course, your highness.’ I curtsey as best I can in my scrubs, continuing the royal theme. She shoots me a dirty look but says nothing else, turning and wheeling her stand from the room.

Another thirty-six hours creeps by in a haze of drugs and testing and assessments and meals and biding my time while everyone sleeps. Andrew continues testing with his camera, Lauren hides out in her lab and doesn’t come out for meals, Steen’s appendix hangs in there.

It’s quarter past six in the morning and no one else seems to be up. I’m sitting on the bench in front of the ever-changing pictures of famous medical art. I’m staring at daVinci’s The Vitruvian man when Marcus approaches.

‘Oh, hello,’ I say, on guard. I’ve been trying to hide the fact that I’m starting to feel a bit depressed. The endless cycle of testing and the long nights when everyone else sleeps are beginning to get me down.

‘Sure. Fine,’ I answer him, my eyes flicking back over to The Vitruvian man.

‘Not really,’ I lie. ‘I’ve been reading, watching a few movies, coming out here. And there’s always another round of drugs and testing in three hours to look forward to.’

‘One of my favourites,’ Marcus says. ‘Rembrandt van Rijn’s The anatomy lesson of Dr Nicolaes Tulp. I love it especially for its flaws. Look.’ He gets up to point at the exposed forearm muscles. ‘The flexor compartment should originate at the medial epicondyle, not the lateral epicondyle.’

I get up and go over to take a closer look. He’s right. ‘Bit late to fix it now, I suppose,’ I finally say.

‘Yes.’ Marcus chuckles. ‘Three hundred years or so. Still, the composition is beautiful.’

Something tells me Marcus might be the kind of person who immediately sees the flaws in everything. Including me. I wonder if he sees them in the Society as well?

He turns to look at me once more. ‘No questions? Suggestions? We do like to try to keep everyone happy.’

I go to open my mouth to say no and then hesitate. ‘Well, there is one thing I wanted to ask about.’

‘I was wondering about … boundaries. How do you stop people going too far with their research? Moving too far from what they originally stated they would be doing?’

Marcus nods. ‘A good question. For a start, all of our experimenters are chosen by a panel, not just by one person, although the president does have the final say. This means that we are all looking at the experiments and the applicants from different angles and specialties and all seeing different places where problems might occur. Sometimes experiments that could possibly stray into other areas aren’t chosen for that very reason. As for stopping people going too far, we are always able to withdraw the help of our support staff. We’ve never had to ask someone to leave.’

And what about the experiments that you hide? That you don’t tell anyone about? I think to myself. Are those held up to the same standards? ‘I heard that one of the youth experimenters died,’ I wind up saying instead.

Marcus sighs. ‘Did you? Yes, that’s true. As it turned out he had an underlying heart condition no one was aware of. It was most unfortunate, but it wasn’t because his experiment was extreme in any way.’

I wonder if that’s true or not. I’m not sure what to believe any more. Not sure about anything where the Society is concerned after seeing Ryan on that plane.

‘Almost six-thirty.’ Marcus checks his watch. ‘I was hoping to catch the others before breakfast. So if you’ll excuse me.’

But as I watch him go, all I can think about is that day in the restaurant with my dad and how I wish he’d been willing to tell me so much more.

I take my time over breakfast and still no one appears for me to talk to. With another hour before my next round of testing is due, and going a little insane owing to lack of human company, I find myself knocking pathetically on Steen’s lab door.

When no one answers immediately, I turn and start back for my own lab again, sorry I left it in the first place. I’m halfway there when Steen’s door opens and he appears. It looks like he’d been asleep.

‘Oh,’ I say. ‘I didn’t mean to wake you up. I thought … I just wanted to see how you were going.’

‘I don’t see why not. We were in Lauren’s and Andrew’s labs yesterday.’

He points up at the camera on the ceiling. ‘I’m sure they’ll tell us if it’s a problem.’

‘Well, okay then.’ I’m still not sure, but I step inside his lab anyway. It’s much like mine in many ways, but with some different equipment.

‘You look better.’ I step forward to take a closer look at him. The colour has definitely come back to his face and he doesn’t seem so sweaty any more, or as if he’s in as much pain. ‘I’m happy for you.’ A thought comes to me and I laugh. ‘Lauren probably not so much.’

Steen nods. ‘That was pretty crazy. What she came out with, I mean. Where did that come from?’

‘I guess it’s just been a hard road for her. Some of us might want to win that prize, but she needs to.’

‘Anyway …’ I take a step or two towards the door. ‘I just wanted to see if you were all right.’

Steen reaches out quickly and catches my arm. It’s the one with the cannula, and he accidentally pulls on it.

‘Sorry,’ he says, checking it’s okay. ‘It’s only … Now you’re here, I’ve been wanting to speak to you.’ He drops my arm again, turning his back to the camera on the ceiling. He tilts his head towards the bedroom where we both know there is no camera.

‘Um,’ I say, not sure that’s a good idea. It’s one thing to be in his lab, but in his bedroom …

But Steen ignores me, crossing the lab and heading for his bedroom. ‘It’s like I said before. If it’s an issue, they’ll come.’

I really don’t want to do this, but I do want to hear what he’s got to say. I’m guessing Steen’s finally ready to talk in more depth about what’s happened during my absence, instead of ranting. Not that I blame him for ranting.

My heart rate steadily climbing, I follow him into the small room, which is exactly like mine, only reversed. There’s only so much you can do with a bed, a bedside table and a small wardrobe, I suppose.

‘So …’ I say, when he stops in front of the bathroom door, completely out of sight of the lab area. My ears listen out for Society heavies to come bursting in.

Steen gets straight to the point, his gaze fixed on mine. ‘I want to know exactly what happened. After you left.’

I consider making some kind of smart remark, then exhale, deflating. I owe Steen an explanation. A big one. ‘Well, I went back to my room, packed up the bare necessities and left. I didn’t go home. Not initially, because I knew my dad would try to talk me out of leaving. One of my mother’s closest friends had studied in the UK and I guessed she might have been a member of the Society, so I went to her place and told her the absolute minimum. Within a week she’d managed to find me a place at her old university with the help of the Society and I sort of presented the plan to my dad on a plate.’

‘It’s like I tried to explain in Vienna. We couldn’t risk our membership. I’m sure they watch that mail centre. Maybe we wouldn’t both be standing here right now if I hadn’t left when I had.’

I stare at the floor. ‘It’s different. It’s fine.’ It’s not even close to anything I had at home.

I glance up. Is he asking what I think he’s asking? ‘Um, some. Not many. There are quite a few Americans. Sometimes we do day trips on the weekends. You know, to nearby towns, villages, stately homes. Things like that. There’s no one … special.’

He snorts at this, as if to tell me that’s not what he was asking and that he doesn’t care.

‘That goes without saying.’ I glance down then and see my right hand shaking very, very slightly. A tremor. That’s weird, I think. ‘Made any new friends?’

‘And who replaced me?’ I’m interested to know, because Emily has always been vague about this. Some girl, she always told me. She’s not very interesting.

Every cell in my body immediately stands to attention. So that’s why Emily’s been so evasive about who took my place. And I can see her already. Tall. Blonde. Hot. I can’t help myself—I smile a tight smile. ‘Well, that’s nice for you, isn’t it? You can have little Danish tête-à-têtes.’

He’s right and I know it. But it doesn’t stop me from hating this Freja girl intensely.

I consider my next words carefully. ‘Ryan been kicked out yet?’ I ask, fishing for information. I keep my tone breezy.

‘Mmm,’ I reply, thinking of the room up the hall. ‘Probably.’ I take a step back towards the doorway that leads into the lab and look at the clock on the wall. ‘I’ve got to get going,’ I lie, knowing I have at least another twenty minutes or so, but I have to run before I say something I’m going to regret. ‘Time for another fun-filled round of drugs and testing.’

‘Bye.’ I’m out the door in a flash. I don’t want to hear it. I can’t deal with hearing what I think he’s going to tell me—that he and Freja are an item.

Thankfully, he doesn’t follow me. But outside, in the corridor, it looks like Lauren has been.

Because there she is, leaning back against the wall. Staring straight at Steen’s lab door. My mouth opens at the same time that my gut fills with a very bad feeling indeed. I go to say something, then tell myself I’m better off saying nothing at all. I don’t have to. We were seen by the camera in Steen’s lab and no one came. If the Society doesn’t care, I don’t owe Lauren an explanation.

At first I try to ignore it and hope that it will go away, but it doesn’t. Instead, it gets worse again and I have to confess at my next round of testing. It’s at this point that I notice what a mess my nails are, raw around the edges. I can see that Thing One and Thing Two think this might be significant. Worse still, on that round of testing, my reaction times and cognitive tests are down by almost twenty per cent. That’s when the fun begins, and what feels like a million people are brought in and consulted about adjusting the doses of the four medications I’m on. I keep one thing to myself, however—I’m starting to feel more and more depressed as time wears on. When the psychiatrist makes yet another visit, I lie blatantly. My hand might have a tremor, but I feel fine within myself. Just fine. Normal.

I feel like I’m dragging a heavy weight around with me. That everything is too hard. I’m beginning to struggle to entertain myself. I’m not looking forward to anything. Not even the two weeks being up.

Because why would I? When the two weeks are up, we all go back to our regular lives. And my regular life no longer includes Steen.

As it turns out, I barely see Steen, Andrew and Lauren that day, as I spend it mostly in the lab discussing medication. I’m sure this isn’t good for my mental health either, and as night time draws in, I begin to dread the long hours stretching in front of me and worry about how I’m going to distract myself and get through them. I hope not with the sort of thoughts I’ve had all day, which mainly revolve around Steen. And Freja. Being Danish together.

Around one in the morning, I’m lying on my bed staring at the ceiling when there’s a knock on the lab door. I get up and head on over to see who it is.

My brain, frenzied with jealousy, jumps to the conclusion that he’s pining for Miss Denmark, but then I see that something’s wrong with him. Something’s different from this morning. He looks tired and distracted.

‘Want to come in?’ I ask him. I can feel the camera on us, but if no one called us on being in Steen’s lab, I can’t see what the problem will be here.

Steen enters and I watch him take in my lab. Finally he turns back to me. ‘So, everything you ever wanted, huh?’

I check his expression, expecting to see a pointed look upon his face. But there isn’t one.

‘I mean it,’ he says with a small shrug. ‘You’ve worked hard for this. You deserve it.’ He realises what he’s saying then and how it could be easily misconstrued. ‘We all have,’ he adds, for the camera’s benefit.

I remember walking in here, feeling exactly that way—that this was everything I ever wanted. Dreamed of. But now … now all I see are the cold, hard steel surfaces. The clinical, harsh lighting. The huge packs of drugs waiting for me to ingest. For the first time since coming down here in the elevator, I feel claustrophobic. Like I’m in a jail. A jail of my own design. I’m jumpy and distracted—always listening for noises from the fifth room. Watching for clues. Worried about crazy Lauren and scared I’ll never see Steen again after this. Am I losing it, or is it just Steen’s presence? I don’t know, but suddenly I’m close to tears.

Steen’s expression changes. ‘I’m sorry,’ he says, taking a step towards me. ‘That wasn’t what I came here to say.’

I don’t know what this means. Does he really want to watch a movie, or is this a Lauren-style ‘select a movie, turn the sound up and talk without anyone overhearing’?

We exit my lab and head up the corridor and into the recreation area. I sit on one end of the larger sofa—the one in front of the TV—and watch him as he walks over, grabs the remote and begins to flick through the movies on offer.

He comes over to sit on the other end of the sofa I’m on and says nothing for a while as we watch the car chase that’s flashing across the screen.

He takes a while to answer me, his eyes glued to the screen. ‘I don’t think the cells are working,’ he says, after some time. ‘I thought they were this morning, but now I think I’m getting worse again. I can feel it.’

‘I’m sorry.’ It’s all I can say. I know he’ll already be doing everything he can to stave off infection. All I can offer is moral support.

But, ‘Yes,’ I answer automatically, then change my mind. ‘No. Not really. But I’m seeing how long I can hang out for.’

I tell him about the tremor and my test results. And then I confess to what I haven’t admitted to anyone so far—that a cloud of depression is truly setting in.

‘I don’t think so. But thanks. It’s nice of you to …’ I struggle to find the word, settling for ‘care’. Because why should Steen care? I walked (no, ran) away from him. With no explanation. No call. Nothing. By all rights he should want me to fail. But I can see that he doesn’t. He’s genuinely worried about me.

There’s a longer silence then. A silence that stretches on and on. Both of us watch the TV screen as men in fast cars and helicopters do ridiculous things at ridiculous speeds.

‘I’m sorry,’ I say, after a long time, the words bubbling up from inside me and spilling over. My eyes remain on the TV. It’s an all-encompassing ‘sorry’. He knows what I mean. I’m sorry his experiment isn’t working. That he doesn’t feel well. That I left him and didn’t explain why. I’m sorry for it all. For everything. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.

He doesn’t reply. Instead, his hand reaches over for mine, resting on the cushion beside me, unseen by the camera because of the arms on the sofa. I hold my breath as it gets closer and then clasps mine hard. As he holds it tight, I know this is exactly what I need right now. Human touch. His touch. It immediately warms me through and I have to keep a smile from spreading across my face, because I suddenly can’t remember being so happy before. Not when I was invited to be one of the Thirty. Not when I was invited to join the Society. Not when I was asked to experiment.

We’d booked a library room for a tutor group. We’d been waiting for our tutor to show up when she’d texted saying something had come up and she’d have to reschedule. The other two people in our group had promptly left, leaving Steen and me in the room. He’d stood and offered me a hand up, which I’d taken. And then … he hadn’t let go.

But his hand in mine now—this is so much more than that. Because that first time … Well, I’d guessed it would happen sooner or later. But this time, I was absolutely sure it would never happen again.

And I honestly believe I could sit this way forever, because, right now, it’s a start.

Enough to know that there’s hope for us. That one day things could possibly be as they once were. That I could be lucky enough to have Steen in my life like I used to.

But, unfortunately, it seems we can’t sit like this forever. Because, at two-forty-three, we both jump as a loud noise suddenly echoes through the room—throughout the entire bunker.

The two of us are the first out in the corridor and the first to see the LED signs all along the ceiling glowing red.

Steen and I run towards the fifth lab, but when we get there there’s nothing we can do. We can’t get inside—we don’t have an access card to open the door. Steen yells, bashing his fists against the stainless steel, but no one opens the door from the other side. Lauren and Andrew emerge from their own labs, bleary-eyed, but awaken immediately when they see the room number flashing above them.

‘What’s going on?’ Lauren starts over towards us, dragging her pump on its stand. When she stops, she adjusts her anaesthetised arm in its sling. Her gaze moves immediately to mine, then Steen’s. When she sees us looking just as confused, her suspicious glare falters.

‘What …’ Andrew stops just behind her, his bandaged head white under the bright lights.

But as he speaks, his words are drowned out by a burst of noise. Footsteps thumping. Running. Voices. Seven people or so round the corner and enter the corridor where the labs are situated, pulling on masks and caps as they go. Marcus runs down the corridor as well, following them. He also looks as if he has no idea what’s going on.

As soon as he spots us, however, he begins barking out orders. ‘Away from the door. Go. Now. Back to your labs. I don’t want any of you in there.’

Quickly, Steen and I move away from the door and down the corridor, to stand near Andrew and Lauren. Marcus waits until we’re a good distance away and then the other staff enter, the door swishing open.

Through all the wires, I put my hand on my chest, realising my heart is thumping like crazy. My eyes are fixed on the now-closed door. Ryan. Ryan’s in there. In what kind of state I don’t know, but I’m guessing it’s not good. I glance over at Steen, but then remember he doesn’t know what I know. And nor do the others.

But Marcus is still in the corridor. Pacing. I look at him as if he’s crazy. ‘Aren’t you going in?’ I ask him.

He gives me a bewildered look. ‘I’m not … I’m not authorised to go in. Apparently.’ He starts to say something else and then, with a wave of his hand, retreats back up the corridor and turns left.

I frown. What? How can Marcus not be authorised to go in there? That doesn’t make any sense at all.

‘I think I saw about half my team go in there.’ Lauren finally breaks the silence as we all stare at the closed door.

She pauses when she hears the aggression in his voice, her grip tight on the pump’s stand. ‘Nothing. Just … what if this affects our own experiments?’

‘I’ll remind my appendix that you have a very important, uninterruptable schedule. Considering we’re using the same surgeon. What did you expect? When an emergency alert sounds, everyone goes who can help. Right?’

‘What do you think’s going on in there?’ Andrew touches his head, his eyes narrowing, and I guess that he still has a headache. ‘I mean, obviously someone’s experimenting in there, like we suspected. But why is it such a secret?’

We all look at each other blankly until Steen shrugs. ‘It’s got to be a secret for some reason. Like I said the other day—it must be contagious. Dangerous. Or something. But I don’t know why Marcus wouldn’t be allowed in. That is weird.’

No one else has anything to add and there’s a lengthy silence. Eventually, Andrew takes a step back down the corridor from the way he came. ‘I can only think they’ll tell us sooner or later. But they’re not going to let us in there to help, so I’m going back to bed for now.’

At first I can’t believe what I’m hearing. He thinks he can sleep? After this? But I guess he doesn’t know who’s in there.

We watch as Andrew turns and makes his way into his lab, the door swishing behind him.

Without a word to either Steen or myself, Lauren follows him, returning to her own lab, dragging her stand as she goes.

Left alone in the corridor now, Steen and I stare at each other. Until I hear Lauren’s lab door close.

I move into action then. I grab Steen’s arm and hustle him over to my lab door. I swipe my card and pull him inside.

But I don’t stop until we’re in my bedroom, away from the cameras. I don’t care if we’re seen, or someone comes. This has to be done now.

When we do finally stop, I let him go next to the blank wall, turning towards him. I can see what he’s thinking. The same things that were running through my head back on the sofa in the recreation area only minutes ago. ‘I’ve got to talk to you,’ I tell him, lowering my voice to a whisper.

He frowns. ‘What? What is it?’ He lowers his voice as well. ‘Wait. Do you know something? About what’s going on in there?’

‘Okay. The student. In the fifth lab …’ I’m just going to have to blurt it out.

‘Shhh.’ I remind him we have to be quiet. ‘I saw him. By accident. On the plane. And before you lose it, I didn’t want to tell you in case someone saw me spot him. I wasn’t sure whether the flight attendant had or not. If she had and had told anyone, they might have kicked me out. If they knew I’d told you about what I’d seen … it could have been over for both of us.’

Steen takes a step back from me, bumping into the wall. He reaches out behind with one hand, steadying himself. ‘That’s why you asked me about him before, isn’t it? To see if he was still at school?’

‘I just … I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.’ He steps forward, pointing a finger at me. ‘This is just like last time. Exactly the same. Exactly!’

‘What is it, Miri? What is it that I’ve done? What is it about me that’s so untrustworthy? That makes you think you can’t tell me anything? Especially something like this! I can see why you didn’t want to tell the others, but me? Really? How could you not tell me you’d seen him? That he was here? Of all people!’

‘Because I didn’t know why he was here. Or what it meant. I mean, I could only guess. I wanted to tell you, of course I did. But think about it. What could you do with that information? What purpose would me telling you have served? You know you would have driven yourself crazy trying to find out what was happening in there. Look at how you behaved in the car on the way here. You would have got thrown out of the bunker trying to find out the truth.’

‘Really?’ Steen replies. ‘Because it’s starting to seem like it.’ He hesitates. ‘Wait. Did he see you? On the plane, I mean?’

‘No. Definitely not. I only saw his profile. It was him though. I’d know him anywhere.’

I watch on in silence. Better that I say nothing. Let him come to terms with the information in his own time.

‘Did you ever find out what the experimentation he was involved in in South America was?’

‘No. I never learned any more than we discussed. Remember those two small pieces in the Argentinian newspaper? That’s it.’

‘It’s a coincidence.’ I brush the thought away, just as I’ve done a hundred times before. ‘I looked it up. Their stats are high. Argentina is the leader in Latin America for road deaths.’

‘But why lie about Ryan’s presence here?’ He pauses. ‘Unless he’s not following the rules. Maybe it’s not self-experimentation that’s going on?’

‘I don’t know,’ I say when Steen looks at me, his expression suddenly guarded. ‘I really don’t.’

The expression deepens as he exhales slowly. ‘I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.’

And oh, but I know that look. Know it all too well. That’s it. It’s all over. I’ve been shut out again. For a second time. For a few moments back there, in the recreation area, the window had been left ajar and I’d been hopeful I might be able to crawl back in. That, with time, we might be able to be together again. That he’d be able to trust me once more.

But his eyes don’t meet mine again. ‘I’ve … I’ve got to go,’ he mumbles. ‘The truth is, I can’t be around you right now.’

I skip breakfast after my next round of testing ends around six in the morning and ask Thing One to grab me a couple of pieces of fruit and some sandwiches during the break. All I want to do is hide out. At least my tremor has stopped. And my results have risen twelve per cent. The different combination of drugs seems to be working. That’s something. Though whether I’ll be able to continue with my experiment at all is undoubtedly in the balance. Maybe they’ll have to shut everyone’s experiments down because of what’s gone on in the fifth room.

During my three-hour break, I read and even go for a jog on the treadmill for a while, music loud in my headphones in the hope of not thinking about my argument with Steen. I take a long shower to waste another half an hour, then get dressed in a fresh set of green scrubs and sit on my bed staring mindlessly at my hand. The one that Steen held. And by the time my three hours are up, nothing more has happened. Marcus hasn’t stopped by or called any kind of meeting.

I’m over halfway through my tests when Marcus stops by. He looks tired. There are dark shadows under his eyes and a grim expression on his face. ‘There’ll be a meeting in the dining room at eight o’clock this evening.’

‘I’ll be there,’ I tell him, trying to gauge what’s going on, but he doesn’t give anything away.

Thing Two grabs me some more sandwiches and I continue to hide out until exactly eight o’clock, when I make my way to the dining room. As I enter, I see everyone else is already there. Marcus sits at the head of the table—Lauren on one side of him and Steen on the other. Andrew is next to Steen, so I take the chair beside Lauren. I note that Andrew doesn’t have the camera on his head again and I wonder if his experiment has stalled. As for how Lauren’s is going, I’m unsure. With her arm always in a sling outside of her lab, it’s hard to tell. The pump on its stand is beside her though, so she’s definitely continuing with her experiment if her arm is still anaesthetised. And then there’s Steen. Sitting diagonally across from him, I can’t help but notice he looks decidedly sweaty and pale again. He’s definitely getting worse rather than better. I try to catch his eye, but he avoids looking at me. In fact he looks anywhere but at me.

‘Now we’re all here,’ Marcus begins, ‘I’m sorry to have to tell you that the Society hasn’t been entirely truthful with you. There has been a fifth student experimenting in lab five all along. The lab was not being renovated as we discussed. Now this student has had a stroke.’

‘I’m not at liberty to discuss that. All I can say is that his was a risky experiment. He believed he would be successful at the outset and he was not.’

‘But is he all right?’ I say. ‘Is he going to recover?’ I remind myself not to use his name. I don’t know this person. I don’t know anything about him.

‘I don’t understand why this was kept a secret.’ Steen’s voice has a hard edge to it. ‘We’re all involved in risky experimentation in one way or another.’

I don’t believe him for a second. This is Ryan all over. Most likely whatever was going on in there was something that should never have been allowed. Not even by the Society.

My eyes move over to see if Steen’s thinking the same thing. But he doesn’t glance up from the spot that he’s staring at on the table top.

‘This won’t affect our own experimentation, will it?’ Of course it’s Lauren who asks this question.

‘We’ve been discussing this and looking over some details. The five of us will have another meeting first thing in the morning. This meeting is simply to let you know the basics of what’s happened. For now, however, we will continue on as normal. I’ll be able to answer any other questions at the next meeting.’ He stands and the four of us stand with him. We watch him silently as he leaves the room.

We stare at each other for a moment until, abruptly, Steen turns on his heel and exits the room. He’s halfway down the corridor to his lab before I catch up with him.

But he doesn’t wait. Instead he swipes his card, enters his lab and I’m left standing in the corridor. Alone.

I’d wanted to ask him about Marcus. Back there … I don’t know … he’d seemed kind of removed when he spoke about Ryan. As if he hadn’t been a part of what happened. As if he’d honestly believed the room was being renovated. I think again about his not having access to Ryan’s lab when the emergency alert sounded. None of it makes sense. If the Society doesn’t trust Marcus, who do they trust? Who’s watching us behind those cameras and making all the decisions? I so wish I could call my dad.

I consider going back to the meals area and Andrew and Lauren. But there’s nothing to discuss other than why this was hidden from us and what’s really going on. Not wanting to have that conversation again.

I swipe my own card and go back to my bedroom, where I lie on my bed. I stare at the now very familiar-looking ceiling and wait for yet another round of testing to begin. After some time I feel the tears rolling silently out of the corners of my eyes.

It’s just after five the next morning and I’ve almost finished my second hour of testing when Marcus appears at the door once more.

‘Okay,’ I tell him from the treadmill, trying not to freak out that my results are down three per cent this round. Am I just distracted, or am I going downhill again? I don’t know.

Somehow we end up sitting in the same places around the table again, though this time we’re all leaning forward in anticipation of what Marcus is about to say. Will he tell us that our experiments are over? That we need to leave?

Marcus takes a deep breath before he begins. I watch him closely. His demeanour has changed again and he suddenly looks far less detached and instead incredibly nervous, fidgeting with his pen on the table. ‘I can now tell you that the fifth student has been declared brain dead by a neurologist and an intensivist. His body, however, remains on life support.’

There’s no gasp this time. Only loaded silence. Ryan is truly gone. Brain dead.

The one thing I don’t understand though—why the life support? Are they going to bring his family down here? Surely they couldn’t, or wouldn’t, do that? But before anyone can ask the hundreds of questions that are swirling in all our heads, Marcus speaks again.

‘The reason it’s taken so long to get back to you is because there’s been much discussion with the board about what I’m going to say now. The Society has an offer to make to you. However, before I make this offer, I’ll run through the conditions involved. And there are a few.’

The four of us look at each other in silence, our faces expressionless with shock. The room feels so quiet that I half expect to hear our four throbbing heartbeats picking up pace with every second that passes.

‘You will stay completely silent while I make the offer,’ Marcus continues. ‘After I make this offer, you will return to your labs, where you will remain for two hours while you consider it. Then we will reconvene and you will give me your answer. During this two-hour period, I will come and speak to you individually to answer any queries you might have. Do you understand these conditions?’

‘All right, then.’ Marcus pauses, shifting in his seat before he begins. ‘The offer is as follows: as I have just told you, the fifth student has been declared brain dead and is on life support. Naturally, his body will be returned in due course to his family. However, in the interim, the Society would like to offer his body to you for the purposes of experimentation.’

‘This is not an offer that has been made by the Society before, or is likely to be made again. If you choose to participate in this experimentation, you may either continue with your own experimentation as well, or drop your experiment entirely in order to utilise this opportunity fully. Of course, you may also choose to continue on solely with your own experiment. The choice is entirely yours to make.’ Marcus stands. ‘If you could return to your labs now, we’ll meet back here in just over two hours at eight o’clock. I’ll arrange to have your breakfast brought to you in your room.’ He gets up and goes over to stand next to the door, waiting for us to leave.

I stare at the table, at my hands, clasped before me. And I’m not sure how long I sit there like that, but when I look up, Steen is the first person I seek out.

Both Andrew and Lauren are still sitting in their places. I go to open my mouth and then remember we’re not supposed to discuss this. So I stand and fumble with my chair, pushing it back. Without saying anything, I leave the room, passing Marcus. I go back down the corridor towards my lab.

It takes me a while to surface. To come out of hiding from under the pillow. To be able to even consider putting my thoughts together. It’s just … I can’t believe what I’ve heard.

I sit up and hug my pillow to my stomach, Marcus’s words ringing inside my head. Brain dead. Body. Offer. Experimentation.

I don’t know what to think. How to feel about this. And yet I have to come up with an answer within two hours.

When I’m slightly calmer, I ask myself what my first reaction had been. What had I first thought when Marcus had made his offer?

All I can remember is being absolutely stunned. Frozen to the spot. But then I remember another thought that had run through my head.

Yes, I remember that thought coming through loud and clear. I remember looking at Marcus and thinking. That isn’t self-experimentation. That’s not what this is supposed to be about.

But so what? A first thought is a basic reaction. It can often be emotional. Not something based on a rational argument.

I think about Ryan himself then. It’s his body, after all. What would he want? What would he do if he was in my place? I roll my eyes. If it had been me declared brain dead and Ryan was sitting here in my position, he wouldn’t hesitate at all, I bet. He would have spoken right up in the meals room back there and asked when he could start. And he would have been disappointed if it wasn’t immediately. But that’s Ryan. The last thing I should do is consider what he’d do—Ryan would experiment on his own grandmother. And he probably wouldn’t even wait until she’d been declared brain dead either.

I feel as if I’m being pulled under a sea of thoughts. Before I drown in them, I need to start a list in my head to keep me afloat. I need to go over all the arguments for and all the arguments against experimenting on Ryan’s body.

Pros

An amazing opportunity to learn

Can further my career faster/get noticed

Will never be offered an opportunity like this again

Might not be able to discuss the research in public, but it could help further any other research I do

He’s brain dead—whatever I do can’t hurt him

He would agree to this if he had the ability

It’s a free pass to do anything I like (what happens in the bunker stays in the bunker).

Cons

It’s unethical—Ryan hasn’t consented to this in any way

If I’m found out, no college or university will ever want me again

It’s a backward step for society as a whole

The Society (and I) are depriving him of being an organ donor, which I’m sure he is.

It’s so hard to stay on track as different thoughts keep jumping out at me, jostling for attention in my mind. The thing is, there are so many factors to consider that the moment I try to pause to consider one of them, yet another enters my mind. And another. And another.

Something else I’m worried about—if I say no, what will the Society think about my answer? Will that leave some kind of black mark against my name? What if I’m not asked back to experiment? What if this is some kind of test?

And something else: even if I wanted to say yes to experimenting on Ryan, what would I do? What would my experiment be? There’s no benefit to my current research. I’d have to start a completely new research project and the only other feasible area that it could be in—the only one I know as much about—is infectious diseases. My mother’s specialty. Ryan’s interest area.

I put my head in my hands then. Karma. That’s what this is. Research karma. I recall Ryan’s issues with informed consent—they’ve come back to haunt him in the worst possible way.

A knock on my lab door sees me raise my head. ‘Come in!’ I yell out, getting up from my bed and entering the lab area.

He walks on over and pulls together two chairs from different parts of the room.

‘Miri,’ he says, gesturing towards one of the chairs. ‘Please, take a seat.’

‘So, questions? I know it’s a lot to ask to make such a decision quickly, but we don’t have that much time, I’m afraid.’

I take a deep breath. ‘I suppose the main thing I want to ask is about how this obviously deviates from the Society’s original purpose, which is self-experimentation.’

‘It isn’t self-experimentation, of course, but the Society does believe it is in the spirit of self-experimentation.’

‘So you’re saying it’s what this student wanted?’ I’m hoping Ryan had some sort of special conditions attached to his obviously dangerous experiment, or that he’d discussed possible complications with someone.

‘It’s just … well, I don’t see it as the same as having decided to leave your body to science. If there’s been no agreement.’ I come back to the informed consent issue I’d been thinking about only moments before. This offer of the Society’s is incredibly different from such a situation. It’s hidden away. Secretive. However I feel about Ryan, his family are being denied the opportunity to see him and undoubtedly won’t be here when his life support is switched off. To me, experimenting on him seems … callous. Opportunistic. It’s like the slippery slope argument with euthanasia. You start with physician-assisted suicide and before you know it, you’re euthanising psychiatric patients and putting posters up about racial health. Likewise, today it’s Ryan’s body we’re experimenting on and tomorrow we’re shipping people in from third world countries and giving their relatives wads of cash.

What it comes down to is this: if the Society is okay with this, what else is it okay with? Where will they stop? And who will stop them?

I take a deep breath. ‘That day in the hotel boardroom. You used the term “self-experiment” over and over again. But this isn’t self-experimentation, Marcus. It’s not what the Society’s supposed to be about. It’s not what I signed up for.’

Marcus simply stares at me. I try to work out if he’s attempting to sway me either way, but I can’t tell.

I catch the look on his face just before he replies. He might not think it’s right, but he’s not willing to do anything about it. ‘I’m not entitled to an opinion. I’m here only to facilitate yours.’

‘You must have an opinion about what you’d do if you were in my shoes.’ I lean forward. ‘You must!’

‘Do you have any other questions?’ Marcus says, shifting on his seat uncomfortably.

I can see I’m not going to get anything out of him. He’s obviously been given strict instructions to have us make this decision on our own. ‘No,’ I end up saying, but then I suddenly don’t feel so good and have to rest my elbows on my knees.

‘I’m fine,’ I snap. Like anyone here would truly care if I wasn’t. I push up again. But as I do so, I notice both my hands tremoring.

Marcus stands. ‘You don’t need to give me your answer now. You have almost another full hour to think about it. And I want to assure you that whatever you decide to do, there will be no repercussions either way. There is no right choice. Only the choice that is right for you.’

Staring at him, I stand as well. I don’t believe him. I’m starting to get the feeling the Society says a lot of things and then does exactly as it pleases.

As the door closes behind him, I think about the other students he’s just visited. About Lauren and Andrew. About Steen.

I’m quite sure Lauren is going to say yes. She might even forgo her own experimentation in order to do so. She’ll see the offer as her real chance of winning this. Andrew, I’m not sure. He seems more reasonable than Lauren. Less … desperate.

And Steen—I know Steen will never agree. Despite the fact that his own experiment isn’t going well, he’ll say no.

He’ll say no because he thinks it’s wrong. Wrong because Ryan hasn’t authorised this experimentation. Wrong because his family haven’t been made aware of his death. Wrong because it isn’t self-experimentation.

Well, I think we’ve now established that Steen and I are different people with different views of the world.

And while part of me, like Steen, says no—that this isn’t right—there’s also a small part of me that says yes.

As Marcus pointed out, this is not an offer that has been made before, or is likely to be made again.

It could be life-changing for my career. Much more so than the research I’m doing now, which looks like it might not be as successful as I originally hoped.

These are all good reasons to agree to the experimentation. All good reasons to say yes.

As I stare at the door, a picture of my lunch in London pops into my head again. Of my dad sitting across from me. This. This is the moment Dad had been warning me about. He knew that the Society would push me to this point. He didn’t know it would be now and he didn’t know what it would be about, but he knew it was going to happen. Just as it had happened to him. He knew I’d have to decide if I was in or out. That I’d have to ask myself who I really am. The only problem is …

At eight o’clock I make my way back to the meals area, my stomach churning—sick with anticipation. I still don’t entirely know what I’m going to say. What my choice will be.

Lauren, Steen and Marcus are already in the room when I arrive, sitting around the dining table as before. As I take my seat, I notice Steen is staring at a spot beside Lauren and it’s then that I notice her pump on its stand is no longer with her. My face drops as realisation hits. It’s no longer with her because she’s stopped her drugs two hours ago. She’s getting a head start on all of us. Preparing to experiment on Ryan.

Andrew enters the room. It doesn’t take him long to see what we’re all looking at. He sits down slowly, his eyes, like ours, glued to what’s missing in the space beside Lauren.

Despite the fact that Steen isn’t looking at me, I continue to give him sideways glances in the hope that he will. I desperately need confirmation of what I think I know—that he’s not going to do this. And even though he doesn’t look at me, I feel the current of energy running between us. I wonder if the others can feel it too. It’s almost palpable.

She doesn’t hesitate. Not even for a second. ‘I would like to say yes to the Society’s offer. I will discontinue my own experiment and experiment entirely on this fifth student.’

My head whips round to look at Andrew. Still bandaged, but again, camera-less. Now I truly suspect his experiment isn’t working out as planned. His hands clasped before him on the table, he takes a moment to respond. His gaze moves from Marcus to mine and then Steen’s before he looks back to Marcus again. ‘I …’ he begins, then swallows hard. ‘I would like to continue with my own experiment and do a small amount of testing on the fifth student, if possible.’

My entire body feels numb. Emotionless. I continue to stare at Andrew’s hands, twisting upon themselves.

I look at Andrew, who’s unsure, so is hedging his bets and doing both his own experiment and taking up the Society’s offer.

I look at Steen, who won’t return my gaze, but stares at a point on the table in front of him.

I think of Ryan. Of his body kept alive by a multitude of machines. Kept alive specifically for the benefit of the four of us.

Go on, the devil on my shoulder says. Go on. Say yes. You can’t miss out on something like this. On such an amazing offer. Two students have agreed. You can agree too. Take the opportunity. It won’t come again. He’s only getting what he deserves. What he did to others.

I see Ryan. I see him talking to me about my mother in that lab, asking me out, not thinking for a second about how I might feel. I remember how he’d stalked me because I’d said no to him.

I open my eyes again. ‘No,’ I blurt out, before I can change my mind. ‘No, I don’t want to. I’ll continue on with my own experiment.’ I don’t look at Lauren or Andrew, not caring what they think. I look only at Steen.

Steen doesn’t register his words for a moment. Then he shakes his head and glances over at Marcus. I see beads of perspiration at his hairline. He’s really not well now.

‘No,’ he answers. ‘I’ll also be continuing on solely with my own experiment.’

Marcus nods decisively and stands. ‘That’s everyone. Miri and Steen, you will carry on with your experiments as per usual. Andrew and Lauren, you will have until five o’clock tomorrow afternoon to submit a document outlining what your experimentation on student five will involve. I will come around to each of your labs shortly to discuss any limitations owing to the experimentation student five has already performed on himself.’

Everyone’s looking at me. ‘I’d like to see inside his lab.’ What I really want is to see Ryan, but I think he’ll immediately reject this—or the Society will—so I try asking for second best instead. I know Ryan won’t be there. He’ll be in the small ICU that Marcus told us was attached to the two theatres. I guess I just want to see his lab in order to work out what his experiment was and what went wrong. I know that if I ask Marcus he won’t be able to tell me. Seeing inside his lab is the only chance I’ve got of finding out the truth.

Marcus’s eyebrows rise. He glances around the four of us—at me standing up, at the other three students, still seated. ‘All right. I don’t see why not. I have access to that area now. If you’ll come with me …’ He pauses for a moment. ‘I have to warn you though, it hasn’t been cleaned up yet.’

Silently the four of us follow behind Marcus. We exit the meals room and then walk the few steps it takes to turn right into the corridor that leads to all the labs. With a swish of his card, the door to the fifth room opens.

Not caring if I’m being rude, I push past Marcus and Lauren with my shoulder and enter the lab area. Everywhere I look, packets are open and thrown upon the f loor. I pick my way through them to stand near the examination bed in the middle of the room, which is haphazardly off-centre.

Next to me is the abandoned resus cart, drawers open, half its contents missing. IV fluid packets are strewn across the benches. There’s a yellow sharps bin lying on its side on the floor. Empty ampoules are scattered here and there on any and all surfaces. They’re all standard resuscitation drugs that don’t give me any clues. Nothing that tells me what his experiment might have involved.

As I hear the others close in behind me, I move around the bed as something else catches my eye—a large clear plastic bin that holds syringes, some with blood in them. Beside it, spots of blood have dripped onto the floor.

I bring my hand to my mouth and continue around the room. Looking. I don’t know what for. For vestiges of Ryan’s life, I suppose. To see the last moments of it now he’s gone.

I’m staring at some items flung onto one of the stainless steel benches when I notice it. The edge of an ID card, sticking out from under an empty laryngoscope packet. I push the packet aside. It has Ryan’s photo on it, but someone else’s name: Matthew, it reads. It’s been cut off its lanyard, only small pieces of the fabric cord that we all wear remaining.

I don’t know why, but my back to the camera, I pick it up and slip it in my pocket.

I turn just as Lauren asks the question that’s on all of our lips. ‘What was his experiment?’

‘You know I can’t tell you that,’ Marcus replies. But there’s an edge to his voice. One I’ve heard before.

Wait. He doesn’t know. He honestly is in the dark with this as much as we are.

I begin to feel dizzy again, as I did when I’d had my talk with Marcus. The room swims before my eyes for a moment. I lean against a bench hoping no one notices.

‘Can we see him?’ Steen’s voice has some fight in it. It’s as if, like me, he knows Marcus will never agree.

‘Have you seen him?’ I ask. I doubt that he has. Whatever Ryan was doing in there, it was top secret and I’m starting to guess that only a few people knew the truth about it. And Marcus wasn’t one of them.

‘No,’ Marcus says slowly. ‘Not yet. But I can ask.’ He gets out his phone and sends a quick text.

A reply comes back immediately and Marcus raises his eyebrows as he reads it. ‘Apparently we can see him. Briefly. If you’ll follow me.’ He starts towards the lab door.

I’m more than surprised. But now I’ve got what I wanted all along, I’m suddenly unsure. I hang out at the back of the group, reluctant to join in.

We head out into the corridor and turn right at the end. We pass by the two theatres and Marcus pauses outside the door down the very end. I notice that he doesn’t swipe his card, but knocks. So he doesn’t have access to the ICU either. He really is nothing but a go-between.

I take a deep breath in the corridor before I enter, the clinical smell filling my nostrils, the room wiped clean of all humanity.

It’s the tiniest ICU I’ve ever seen, with only two beds, though it’s obviously well equipped. And there is Ryan in one of those beds. Ventilated. Quickly I scan his body to look for clues—what’s happened to him? What’s he been up to that’s led to this? But his body is covered by a blanket, including his arms. Only his face is visible and it’s unmarked. I find I can look at him for only a moment before my eyes well up with the realisation that I chose correctly. Whatever I felt about Ryan in the past, whatever he’s done research-wise, whatever dodgy deals he’s cut, no one deserves a death like this—the Society has facilitated him in reaching this point and now they’re discarding him like trash.

Scared I’m actually going to cry in front of everyone, I bite the inside of my cheek hard and turn my eyes to a spot on the blanket that’s covering him and stare at that instead. It’s all I can do in this room to keep breathing. Again, I concentrate on inhaling and exhaling, trying to ignore what’s in front of me. I just have to get through this moment in time. The room is completely silent bar the whirr of the machinery keeping Ryan’s organs running. For us. Inhale, exhale. When I realise I’m breathing in time with the ventilator, it sickens me, and I force myself to change my rhythm.

I go straight to my bedroom, take Ryan’s ID card from my pocket and stick it in the middle of the book that’s on my bed, and push it under my pillow.

I sit down on my bed then and, unbidden, my face crumples and I begin to cry ugly, fat, horrible tears.

I hate crying. Hate it. Hate the headache that comes afterwards. Hate letting myself go.

I don’t even know why I’m crying. I don’t know whether it’s about seeing Ryan, losing Steen from my life yet again, the drugs and the long unbroken days, whether it’s sheer loneliness or about my mother. Because it had been the thought of her that I’d had to keep pushing from my mind when I’d seen Ryan’s lab and his body in the ICU. Seeing that frantic mess of struggle. Did my mother die in the same sort of surroundings? Is that what really happened to her? Maybe it wasn’t a lab fire at all, but something like this? Something completely different from what I’ve always thought? A stroke? A cardiac arrest? Did she also push the limits of self-experimentation too far? A lab fire in Kenya of all places is just so terribly … convenient. No autopsy. No questions.

I try frantically to see her in my mind. To remember the contours of her face. To recall her voice. But I remember so little. Even when she was alive she wasn’t really present. Not like my father. She flitted in and out of our lives. Always away. Always doing something incredibly important. When she was in the same room as me, she looked at me more with amusement than with love, I remember that much. And I danced to entertain her. Not literally—she would never have enjoyed that—but figuratively. I was her marionette puppet, and she had me dance with my mind, which was the part of me that truly interested her. She liked that I was as she was—clever. Ambitious. Always wanting to be the best. To top the class. That’s what I remember about her. Well, that and bits and pieces of the arguments I recall her having with my father, as I listened from around the corner, or in bed.

My very last memories of my mother involved arguments. About what, I couldn’t entirely remember. All I knew was that there was suddenly a lot of arguing about ‘choices’. Later, I’d thought it had been about her going to Kenya, because I remembered parts of an argument where my dad had spoken about her leaving. But perhaps it wasn’t Kenya they were arguing about? Perhaps it was really about her experimenting with the Society? Here?

Feeling claustrophobic, I get up and go over to the bathroom where I splash my face with cold water. I stare at myself in the mirror, water dripping. I’ve got to get out of here for at least a few minutes before testing starts again. I need some space. I dry off and run back through my lab, then out the door into the corridor. Then I keep running to my left and down the corridor to the medical art. As I go, I hear a door swish open behind me, but I don’t stop and I don’t look back.

I sit on the wooden bench and watch the paintings shift and change before my eyes. They’re so beautiful. When the painting comes up that Steen had spoken about when we first entered the bunker, I stand. I hadn’t known it, but it’s called, simply, The doctor. I walk over to get a closer look at the parents’ faces as they worry about their child—at the doctor’s face as he stares intently at his patient. And now I see what Steen was talking about. The trust. The power.

I’m so intent on the painting, I don’t hear the footsteps. I don’t hear anything until someone pushes me hard from behind. I’m slammed sideways, my head hitting the concrete wall and the edge of one of the digital screens. I gasp.

My hand comes up to cradle my head. It’s wet. When I pull it away, I see blood.

I’m so shocked I can’t speak. My heart hammering inside my chest, I look up at the ceiling for cameras. The closest one is pointed in the other direction—towards the bench seat—while I’m pressed up against the opposite wall.

‘You think someone’s coming to save you?’ she spits. ‘No one’s coming. You think they’re recording this? You think they’d make us an offer like this and have it on the record? It’s a free for all down here, if you haven’t worked it out yet. No one’s watching. Maybe no one ever was.’

I think about how I’d been into Steen’s lab. He’d been into mine. No one had cared. No one had come to stop us.

‘You really are naïve, aren’t you?’ Lauren continues, venom in her voice. ‘You think the Society is all about following the rules? You really believe that other youth experimenter died of a heart condition? Come on. The whole point of the Society is to circumvent the rules. That’s why we’re here. That’s what they want from us. So go back and tell Marcus you’ve changed your mind and convince your little friend to do the same.’ She gives me another shove, in the direction of my lab this time.

‘Go on.’ Her voice follows me. ‘Before the Society works out you should never have been invited to join at all and does something about the mistake they’ve made.’

I don’t stop running until I’m safely back in my lab, the door closed behind me. Almost immediately, there’s a knock and I jump, taking several steps back and crashing into a chair.

I open the door immediately and close it behind Steen again as fast as possible. But before I can say anything, Steen has my elbow and is frogmarching me towards the bedroom in the same manner I’d done to him not so long ago. Except this time, when we get there, it’s me who’s pressed up against the wall and not him.

Silent, I look up at him, not understanding, my eyes searching his. ‘I …’ I begin, shocked.

He shakes his head as he begins to explain. ‘I honestly thought I’d lost you. I really did. I thought you’d say yes, like them. I so thought you’d say yes,’ he tells me. ‘But I was wrong.’ He suddenly looks at me in wonderment—almost as if he’s never seen me before. ‘I’m so glad I was wrong.’

I stare back into his green eyes then, greener than I’ve ever seen them before against his scrubs. I thought I’d lost him as well. When he’d told me who’d replaced me and then Emily didn’t want to tell me anything about her … It’s me who grabs him now. I pull him back down to me and kiss him this time, harder, his lips firm and warm and unbelievably against mine again. I bring my hands up to hold the sides of his face, wanting all of him close to me at once. To make up for lost time. To make up for everything I’ve missed. Wires jostling against wires, he pulls me in even tighter, as if he’ll never let me go. Not again. Not ever.

Before I know it, the tears are rolling down my face again. I can’t stop them, even though I wipe them away.

‘That’s it.’ Steen stalks off towards the red emergency button on the wall.

‘No!’ I run over and grab his arm. ‘No, don’t. We need to think. Some of the things she said …’

‘Just that the Society might not look favourably on us turning down their offer. Maybe she’s right.’

Steen thinks about this. As he does, he touches my jaw, turning my head a little so he can inspect whatever it is Lauren did to my head.

‘It’s a tiny cut. I don’t think it needs glueing at all. Stay here,’ he says. He runs into the bathroom and brings back a wet washer.

‘My dad. He guessed where I was going over the summer vacation and he warned me. He pretty much told me he used to be a member of the Society and that he got out.’

Steen brings the washer down as his eyes search mine. ‘What? He didn’t try to persuade you to leave?’ But before I can even answer, he laughs. ‘Of course he didn’t. Because he knew you wouldn’t listen.’

I don’t rise to his bait, because my eyes are already spilling over again. ‘The thing is, I can’t stop thinking about what’s happened and coming back to my mom. What if they lied? What if she died down here?’

Steen dries my tears and then pulls me to him so I’m held fast. ‘No. Your dad would know.’

I’m not sure that’s true either. Or maybe he does and he’s lying to protect me? ‘I don’t know, but I think they’re covering all sorts of things up. Apparently there was a youth experimenter who died of a heart condition, but Lauren hinted that wasn’t really what happened. And what if she’s right? What if no wasn’t the answer the Society wanted from us? What if Marcus takes that answer back to whoever’s in charge and they don’t like it?’

‘Lauren’s just scared that if one of us says no they’ll pull the offer. You’ve got to keep calm. Remember you’re not entirely yourself.’

It’s then that I feel how warm Steen is. Too warm. His lips are too warm. His face. His hands as well.

‘It’s not funny.’ I reach up and wipe his forehead. Oh, wow, he’s really sweating. ‘You need that appendix out now.’

It’s as if I’ve made him remember his altered condition, because he takes a slight step sideways now, off balance. ‘Here, sit down,’ I tell him. I guide him over and sit him down upon my bed and then kneel down in front of him. I give him a good once over then, feeling his forehead. Running my hands down his bare arms. And, oh … he’s worse than I thought. He’s hidden it well, I can see that now.

I freeze, my hands still on his arms. ‘But your appendix. There’s no time to leave. And I’m scared if we asked … would they even let us?’

‘I don’t know. But we can’t stay. Not like this. Not with what’s going on. Even staying means we have a part in it, doesn’t it? And I can’t. I won’t. I’ve thought about it and I’ve got to do something.’

Slowly I nod. I know what he means. But if we can’t leave and can’t stay, what can we do? The Society is obviously okay with this scenario. As is Marcus, who might not be entirely behind it, but is willing to toe the party line, which I take as the same thing. The only people who seem to think there’s an issue at all are Steen and me.

Steen looks at the f loor, a frown creasing his brow. ‘The thing is, I’ve got to do something. I know I have to. The question is, what?’

My next round of testing being due to start, Steen leaves. At first I’m hesitant about keeping on going with my experiment, especially after I show him my tremor, which is getting steadily worse, as are my dizzy spells, but Steen encourages me to continue. After all, we don’t have a plan yet. Until we do, everything needs to carry on as normal.

I’ve taken my drugs and have almost finished my round of testing when everyone in my lab begins to notice the raised voices outside. They get louder and more insistent as the minutes pass, until it’s obviously quite a heated disagreement that’s going on outside. I race through my final three tests so I can go and see what’s happening.

As it turns out, it’s Lauren, Andrew and Steen arguing in the corridor outside the labs.

Steen turns to me. ‘Lauren’s just told me what her proposal is. She’s going to attempt to reanimate as many parts of his body as she has time for. Concentrating particularly on his spinal cord. She’s put it in her application early. Can’t wait to get started, obviously.’ He shakes his head, his attention moving back to Lauren then. ‘Would you want someone to do this to your body?’

‘Stop being so emotional,’ Lauren counters, her dark eyes flashing. ‘Why not use his body? He’ll never know. He’ll feel nothing. It’s wasteful not to use it. Think of all the people that might benefit from my being offered this opportunity.’

‘Surely we’re all organ donors, or have decided to leave our bodies to science?’ Andrew adds, weakly.

‘It’s not the same,’ Steen says, through gritted teeth. ‘And you know it. You must see that. Anyway, neither of your proposals has been accepted and, tick tock, time’s moving on, isn’t it?’

‘This is the opportunity of a lifetime,’ Lauren says when he’s gone, her voice cold. ‘If you can’t see that, maybe you need to be made to.’

‘Oh, really? And how are you planning on doing that?’ Steen says. ‘Going to beat me up too?’

Lauren’s mouth twists as if she finds this amusing. ‘You know, I think I should speak to Marcus again. I met with him before and we discussed at length your being in and out of each other’s labs. Who knows what you are talking about? Planning? Perhaps you shouldn’t be allowed to leave your lab if you’re only going to discourage Andrew and myself.’

There’s a look on her face that makes the blood run cold through my body. That’s her plan. To get Marcus on her side and to keep us locked down for the rest of our time here. Locked down and quiet so she has free rein down here. And she thinks she can get the Society on her side too.

Marcus rounds the corner at this point looking tired and dishevelled once more. I seriously doubt he’s had any sleep at all. ‘I’ve just heard there’s some sort of a disagreement going on,’ he says as he approaches us.

‘Perhaps if you could return to your lab, Lauren? I’ll come and see you in a moment.’

Lauren gives Marcus a pointed look before turning on her heel and starting down the corridor.

‘If the three of us could talk in your lab, Miri.’ Marcus nods to the door behind me.

‘Of course.’ As Steen passes by me, I give him a warning look. I don’t want him to say too much. I don’t trust Marcus.

Thing One and Thing Two are still busy inside, inputting some data. When they see Marcus, they both stand. ‘Should we leave?’ Thing One says.

Looking unsure, they both sit back down again, but continue on with their tasks.

Meanwhile, remaining close to the door, Marcus looks at Steen first, then at me. ‘Is there something you’d like to discuss? You don’t want to change your minds?’

Steen and I look at each other. ‘No, we don’t want to change our minds. I mean, I don’t. Do you?’ He glances at me.

‘You’ll be continuing on with your own experiments then,’ Marcus continues.

Steen pauses momentarily, his gaze flicking to meet mine. ‘Yes. Yes, that’s right.’

‘There’ll be a change of shift after this,’ Thing One reminds me as she passes by.

‘I don’t think the Society should allow it.’ Steen’s words spill out as soon as the door closes. ‘The experimentation on the fifth student. I’d like to have that on the record. You know and the Society knows that this student has an ethical right to decide what happens to his body and that this needs to have been documented. You can’t make that decision for him. It’s the same as any of the horrific experiments of the past. From the Tuskegee Syphilis Experiment to the Aversion Project in South Africa—I can’t believe the Society would sanction it. This is a real human being we’re talking about. You don’t own him. He’s not your plaything.’

I close my eyes for a second, feeling dizzy again. And, ugh, I knew it. I knew Steen wouldn’t be able to keep his mouth shut. I know a little about both of these experiments. The Tuskegee Syphilis Experiment studied syphilis in African American men in the 1930s. They were never told what the study was about and when penicillin became available in the 1940s and it was known that it was a treatment for syphilis, they weren’t given the drug. This meant that many of them died or passed on the disease to their wives and children right up until the 1970s, when information was leaked to the press and the experiment ended.

The Aversion Project occurred in apartheid-era South Africa when national service was compulsory and it was a crime to be homosexual. Many homosexuals in the armed services were sent to Ward 22, where they received electric shock treatment and hormone treatment in an attempt to ‘cure’ them.

But it’s the way he can barely look at us that tells me the truth. ‘She got to you, didn’t she? You think Lauren’s right.’ I’d been hopeful that Marcus was on our side—Steen’s and my side—but, no. He isn’t. It’s only that he doesn’t want to say anything because he’s not supposed to sway our decision. He’s supposed to be impartial.

Marcus only takes a step back. ‘I’ll pass your concerns along. Is there anything else?’

‘What scares me,’ Steen says, ‘is that somewhere there’s a room full of Laurens who are controlling all of this.’ He runs a hand through his hair and exhales. ‘I can’t believe it. It’s like … It’s like a bad dream.’ He winces then, his abdomen clearly hurting.

‘Very funny. At least try to get some sleep.’ As I say this, I have to fight hard to remember what time of day it is and if what I’m saying is correct. I’ve lost track now, days and nights blending into one.

I grab his elbow and begin leading him slowly across the lab and over into my bedroom. I sit him down on the bed and when he still doesn’t look any better, I take both of his shoulders and guide him so he’s lying down, his head on the pillow.

The fact that he doesn’t argue makes me quite sure he’s really feeling sick now.

‘Just close your eyes,’ I tell him, my hand wiping his forehead. ‘Take some deep breaths.’

He closes his eyes and I smooth his hair back, letting my hand rest on his head. I don’t say anything more, but sit and watch him instead, thinking about what he’s just said to Marcus. He’s right. So right. What Lauren and Andrew are proposing is tantamount to torture.

As I continue to smooth Steen’s hair from his face, I see how lucky I am that he’s here to show me this clearly. I also see all the terrible choices I’ve made in the past. The hasty decisions. Like my running from college. I should have trusted him. I should have trusted myself. How could I have put my faith entirely in an organisation that exists in the shadows and so readily leave behind the one person who lit up my entire life?

Steen’s eyes flicker open now to look at me and I can’t help but voice my thoughts.

I bend down then and kiss him softly and gently, his bottom lip lingering between mine. I’ve missed him so much. Every inch of him. Every smell, every touch, every taste. As our kiss deepens, he reaches up behind me and pulls me closer, down on top of him, but then he moans in pain.

I immediately pull back. ‘That’s it,’ I say, holding his head in my hands. ‘The appendix comes out now.’

‘But what are we going to do about Ryan? And what if Lauren really does manage to get you locked up?’

‘I don’t know, but leave it to me. I’ll try to think of something. The most important thing is that appendix comes out.’ Steen looks like he’s going to start arguing, so I cut him off. ‘Now. You’re no good to me dead.’

‘Thanks,’ he replies. ‘I think.’ He sounds miserable, knowing he doesn’t have much choice here. ‘Promise me you’ll be careful.’

‘Haven’t been able to face food all day,’ he says, as I rest his head back down on the pillow.

It’s then that I see the book sticking out beneath it and remember what’s in its pages. I consider telling him what’s inside, then think better of it. He’s too sick to worry about it right now. Instead, I pull the book out from under the pillow and place it in the drawer in the bedside table.

He can only nod. But after a moment or two, he grabs for my hand. ‘I didn’t care, you know. If they found out. I didn’t mind. I would have given it all up—the Society, I mean. It didn’t matter to me.’

He tugs at my hand harder, pulls me back to him. ‘No, I’m not.’ He kisses me again. ‘I’m not. It’s the truth. I never believed in it like you did. I would have been fine without them. We both would have.’

My eyes not moving from his for a second, I reach up and push the red emergency button beside the bed.

Just as it had done with Ryan, the emergency alarm sounds and everyone comes running. Marcus is in my bedroom in less than a minute.

‘It happened after you left,’ I say. ‘He started to look terrible.’ Steen’s face is a deathly white now and beads of sweat gather at his brow. He’s been holding himself together for far too long.

Marcus turns to the masked medical staff who have gathered behind him. ‘Right, let’s get this appendix out. Theatre one.’

A trolley is wheeled in beside my bed and Steen is lifted onto it with a ‘one, two, three’. He barely opens his eyes and when he does, he can’t focus on anything for very long before closing them again.

Steen is wheeled from the room and I follow the convoy through the lab and into the corridor. I see Andrew and Lauren further down, in front of their labs, but say nothing to them.

Outside the door to the pre-operative holding area, I give Steen’s hand a surreptitious squeeze. ‘I’ll check in on you,’ I tell him. He squeezes my hand in return.

I make my way back to my lab, Lauren and Andrew still standing in the corridor where they were before.

I don’t answer him and I don’t look at Lauren, instead swiping my card and entering my lab once more.

I go back to my bedroom and sit down on my bed, picking up my pillow to see if it still smells like Steen.

I remember the book then and reach over to the drawer in the bedside table. I pull it out and can’t help but notice how badly my hands are shaking. My experiment is as good as over.

The thing is, everything I’d thought was so important—my experiment, advancing my career—suddenly seems so meaningless in the face of what’s going on down here. And I’m willing to give that up—all of it—for this. For me, this journey I’ve been on with the Society was never really about the money or the easy ride. Those were benefits, sure. But really it was about the work. About the knowledge. About my belief in pushing the boundaries of medicine by self-experimenting. I really believed in what the Society stood for. Or what I thought it stood for. Because that sort of knowledge means nothing to me if it comes this way. What’s happening here is wrong, and I’m betting it’s just the tip of the iceberg.

Ryan was up the front of the plane and has undoubtedly been coming and going from the area for the medical and support staff, hiding behind a cap and a mask and a set of blue scrubs.

He’ll have access. Probably to any and all areas if his card had allowed him into the medical and support staff area and into the fifth room as well.

I sit for a long time, gripping the ID card tightly, trying to ignore how it shakes.

After an hour or so, I go on back towards theatre one to see how Steen is doing. When no one appears and Marcus isn’t anywhere in sight, I head into the meals area. With nothing else to do, I grab a drink from the fridge, sit down at the table and wait for Marcus to turn up.

It’s not long before Lauren walks in, pausing in the doorway when she spots me. ‘I’ve got good news,’ she says, looking smug. ‘My proposal has been officially accepted.’

The Society really has passed her proposal. ‘And you’re truly going to try to re-animate him using his spine? That’s honestly what you’re doing?’

‘With my self-experiment, I only had the time to use one of my limbs, and it would have been too dangerous to use my spine. This could be ground-breaking research.’

‘And when is this ground-breaking and unethical research going to start?’ I ask her, my body feeling as numb as her arm was not that long ago.

Lauren leans against the door frame. ‘We have to wait to hear about Andrew’s proposal. If it’s also passed, which I’m sure it will be, then we can work on the timing of our experiments and get started.’

The timing of using Ryan’s body, she means. Taking turns. Using different parts of it. Carving him up. His spine. His brain. Now I know why my dad got out of the Society.

I think about Ryan’s ID card, back in my lab. ‘How long do you think before they make a decision on Andrew?’

It takes all the strength I have not to do a Lauren and slam her head into the wall as I pass her by.

As I exit the meals area, Marcus appears through the medical and support staff area door. ‘Ah, there you are,’ he says. ‘I suppose Lauren’s told you the news?’

‘Yes.’ I answer him through gritted teeth. I can feel the smug wafting off her behind me like a skunk’s stench.

‘We just need to wait to hear about Andrew’s proposal and then we’ll discuss exactly how … well, how everything will work.’

‘Like?’ I say a bit too loudly. My voice echoes off the corridor walls. Does he mean he’s going to pull some of my support to facilitate what Lauren and Andrew want to do? Or is he now thinking more like Lauren—to keep me at bay somehow. The Society would love that. Or maybe she wants me to react? To look crazy. She wants to sabotage my experiment and …

I open my mouth to say something along the lines of how him thinking I wasn’t would be a convenient excuse to lock me in my lab, then remind myself to keep calm. Everything’s all right. I’m okay. I can find a way out of this mess if I just keep calm. ‘I’m fine,’ I say.

‘I said I’m fine,’ I bark. ‘Just fine. Do you know how Steen is doing? Have they finished?’ I turn my back on her, changing the subject before I really lose it. The surgery should be well over by now. Unless there’s been a complication, and I don’t want to think about that. Please let there not have been a complication.

‘He’s in the pre-op area, which they’re using for recovery also. Everything went well,’ Marcus answers.

‘I was wondering if I might be able to see him. It’s only … he was a bit delirious. He told me some things about his family. I’d just like to reassure him.’

‘Of course.’ Marcus walks towards theatre one and I follow him, not giving Lauren the satisfaction of one last smug grin as I pass her by. ‘After you,’ he says when we get there, pushing the pre-op doors open.

‘And how’s our patient?’ Marcus asks, the doors swinging closed behind us both.

‘I might leave you to it.’ Marcus nods at me. ‘As you can imagine, there’s a lot going on behind the scenes.’

There’s so much I could add to that, but I simply watch him leave before turning back to the nurse. ‘Can I?’ I gesture towards Steen.

‘Oh, I know!’ I reply. ‘I just … felt bad for him, that’s all. His experiment didn’t go as well as he’d hoped.’

She nods, though as one of the nurses attached to the theatres and recovery area, I doubt she knows the details of what I’m talking about.

I approach the bed, and glance at his vital signs. Everything’s fine—his heart rate’s come down, his blood pressure’s close to normal, his temperature is still high, but I’m guessing nowhere near as high as before. She’s right. He’s recovering. There’s nothing to worry about.

Taking a deep breath, I look around the room for a moment and my eye happens to fall upon a linen cart holding a pile of fresh blue scrubs.

Not green, like I’m wearing, like all the other students wear, but blue scrubs like the support staff wear. And next to them, disposable caps and masks.

I stand very still beside Steen’s hospital bed and think as hard as I can. How can I take what I need and get everything back to my room without being seen? I can’t shove them up my own scrubs—it’s too obvious. I need to conceal them somehow.

But with what? Slowly I look around the room, trying to find an answer to my problem. My eye falls on the blanket warmer, sitting on its wheels in the corner, not far from the linen cart. It’s to the side of the nurse—hopefully in her blind spot. I take a moment to centre myself.

‘I guess I’ll get going.’ I start around the bed, then glance at the blanket warmer as if I’ve just seen it. ‘Oh, do you think it’d be okay if I took an extra blanket with me? It’s freezing in my room.’

The nurse looks up. ‘Sure, help yourself.’ She twists in her seat, pointing towards the blanket warmer. She watches me as I go.

‘Great. Thanks,’ I say, trying to sound breezy even though my heart is beating a million beats per minute. I walk on over. She’s still watching me.

That’s when I make my move. My hand juts out to the left and grabs a set of blue scrubs, which I swiftly stick inside the middle of the blanket I’ve taken out of the blanket warmer with my right hand. But the cap and mask will be harder. They’re in boxes.

‘Yep.’ I stand up suddenly, the blanket tucked under my arm and act as if I’ve lost my balance. My left hand flies out, knocking a box of surgical gloves to the floor on the other side of the nurse. ‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ I say as, just like I’d hoped, she gets up and goes to retrieve the box. As she does so, I place the blanket on the bench and grab a mask and cap from the boxes that sit beside each other, cramming them into the middle of the blanket as well. I turn and reach out for the box she’s holding out to me just in time.

‘It’s pretty cramped in here,’ she tells me, passing it over. ‘I’m knocking things off the benches all the time.’

I smile at her. ‘Space is limited when you’re installing theatres underground, I suppose. Anyway, thanks for that.’ I nod at the blanket under my arm.

Not looking back, I push through the swinging doors and walk directly to my lab. I’m almost there when Marcus calls out. ‘Miri!’

I freeze, then turn slowly to see Marcus walking quickly down the corridor towards me. The first thing he looks at is the blanket.

He looks back up at me. ‘Your next round of testing is from three o’clock to six o’clock, is that right?’

‘I’m not sure yet, but we might gather everyone before dinner. It depends if Andrew has received an answer on his proposal by then. Anyway, I’ll let you know.’

‘Okay.’ I turn, holding my ID card in my hand. I swipe it and the door to my lab opens. ‘Thanks.’

I sit on my bed, thinking, for some time. As Marcus mentioned, my next round of testing is at three o’clock. And then there might be a meeting during my three-hour break that takes me up to nine o’clock and then another round of testing that will end around midnight.

And then … Well, if I’m planning on doing something, that’s my time. Midnight until three in the morning. I know all too well how quiet this place is around then.

The obvious solution would be to call the police, but I can’t see how that’s going to work in this situation. For a start, I don’t have access to a phone. And then, how do I know I can even trust the local police? Maybe the Society has spun the police some kind of tale about what goes on here? Maybe they believe it’s a different sort of medical facility? Or maybe they do actually know? Maybe the Society is paying them to look the other way? Who knows how far the Society’s tentacles reach?

I shift on the bed, thinking of the scrubs, cap and mask I’ve just stuck underneath my mattress. I glance at the drawer where Ryan’s ID card is hidden away.

I don’t go to the police, but to the media. Not just to anyone, but to someone I trust. Someone who trusts me.

I need to get to a phone. I need to put on the cap, mask and blue scrubs, use Ryan’s ID card to enter the medical and support staff area, find a phone and call my dad and Emily. I can use Emily’s parents to get the word out about what’s happening down here—about the Society and the fact that it’s out of control. Then I get back to my lab before anyone notices I’m gone. I need to finish the job the Argentinian journalist started.

I can’t see any other way to stop what’s about to happen. The Society is obviously not going to listen to reason. And I know that if the Society is sanctioning this experimentation on Ryan, I’m also guessing they’ve sanctioned a lot of other things in the lead up for years. Probably decades. Things such as other non-self-experimentation activities. Cover ups. I can’t even imagine what else. Except I can, I think, remembering that lab fire that killed my mother.

So, that’s the plan. At around one in the morning, when everyone’s left my lab and gone for at least a nap, or is asleep, I’ll don the blue scrubs, cap and mask and see how close I can get to a phone.

And if I’m found out? Well, I don’t know. If Marcus catches me in blue scrubs, a mask and a cap entering the medical and staff support area with Ryan’s ID card, he’ll know for sure I’m up to no good. I guess I could blame it on my lack of sleep. Or on the drugs I’m taking. Act crazy. But Ryan’s ID card and the stolen scrubs are some seriously orchestrated crazy. And there’s no excuse in the world he’ll believe when it comes to why I’m breaking into a part of the facility I’m most definitely not supposed to be in, so I might as well not bother making one up. I’ll just have to hope they’ll know better than to do anything to me if they think my dad might have an idea of where I am.

I exhale, thinking of the other person I’ll need to give an excuse to—Steen.

I’m going to have to hide something from him again. But this time … this time is different. This time he can’t help me. I only have a small window of time to act in and Steen is going to be well out of action for all of it.

But somehow I don’t feel on my own this time. I know Steen wants to put a stop to this even more than I do and that he’s standing right behind me in spirit.

They’re preparing to move Steen back to his room just before three o’clock, which means I don’t get to see him again before my next round of testing. I figure I’ll see him afterwards, but Marcus stops by my lab halfway through my tests and informs me there will be a meeting—at six o’clock—so I won’t get to see him after my testing either. I know what this means. Andrew’s proposal has been accepted.

I don’t want to see either Lauren or Andrew, but know I have to play the game right now. I have to look as if I’m cool, calm and collected, even though I’m not. I decide to head out early, before the meeting. So, at a quarter to six, I place some papers I’d been looking through on one of the lab benches and go to leave for the meeting.

They’ve locked me in. I’m locked in. Lauren’s really got to Marcus now and I’m locked in.

I go to raise my fists, ready to bash on the door. To yell. But then I stop myself. Who’s going to come? No one, that’s who.

Adrenalin surging through my body, I retrace my steps and pick up my papers. I drag a stool over and sit at the bench, leafing through them like everything’s normal, my mind racing all the while. What’s happening out there? What are they planning to do with me? What will they do with Steen?

Out of the corner of my eye I watch the clock as the hands tick ever closer to six o’clock.

What’s going to happen then? I’m supposed to go to the meeting. But will I be able to get out of my lab? Will Marcus come for me?

At six o’clock on the dot, I get up. I place my papers in a neat pile on the bench once again. And then I approach the door.

But is that what had happened the first time? Or had Marcus locked me in until six o’clock?

Only one thing’s for sure—I’m losing it. I’m losing it right at the point in time when I need to keep it all together.

I sit in the meals room staring at the table, focusing on my breathing and trying to forget what just happened back in my lab. Had Marcus locked me in until six o’clock? I don’t think so. But what terrifies me is not only that I so readily believed it, but that I think it might be possible. That with a few wrong moves, being locked in my lab could be my reality.

I feel as if I’m on another planet as the meeting gets under way. Everyone is talking, talking, talking, but the words bounce over the top of me like I’m in a protective bubble. I’m not a part of what’s going on. This isn’t real.

Because there’s news. News that pierces this bubble of mine. Marcus informs Andrew that his proposal has been officially accepted, as I thought.

Andrew’s original experiment looks like it’s forging ahead as well. He has his camera attached to his head again, though it’s shut off during our meeting. When I accidentally catch his eye, he takes this as an invitation to speak to me. ‘This is the infrared camera. It’s better, actually. In the dark I don’t get the motion sickness as much.’

‘Can you show us?’ Lauren, across the table from me, is genuinely interested. I would have been too, a week ago. But no more. I haven’t been able to look at her at all during this meeting. Her excitement over what’s about to occur is almost palpable. She’s completely abandoned her experiment—the electrodes are all removed and her arm is bandaged and obviously healing well. ‘Is that all right?’ she asks Marcus.

‘I’ll go out the door,’ Andrew says. ‘You turn the lights off and place yourselves anywhere in the room.’

I want to vomit. We’re seriously going to play hide and seek. Well, they can count me out of their little game.

Marcus and Lauren get up and Lauren takes herself to the corner of the room, crouching down, half hidden by the entertainment unit.

Marcus says nothing and turns the lights out. I hear him cross the kitchen area. It sounds like he’s somewhere near the fridge.

The door opens then and I hear Andrew enter. He sighs. ‘Miri’s at the table.’

‘I think that’s Lauren by the entertainment unit and Marcus is beside the fridge.’

Still standing in the doorway, Andrew flicks the lights back on. He reaches up and turns his camera off and then opens his eyes.

After the meeting, Lauren is busy discussing something with Marcus, so I take the opportunity to catch Andrew on his way out of the door. ‘You don’t have to experiment on the fifth student.’ I get straight to the point.

‘Do you really?’ I try again. If things had been different and Lauren had sided with Steen and myself, Andrew never would have agreed to experiment on the fifth student. I just know it.

He shrugs. ‘Look, it’s like Lauren’s said. We’ll never get this opportunity again.’

‘I know it’s not really above board, but neither’s what we were doing before …’

I drop my voice to a whisper. ‘How can you trust the Society? If they’ll do this, what else will they do? Can’t you see how they might use your research? Imagine the military implications of what you’ve just shown us. Can’t you see that the Society will take monetary advantage of that?’

I shake my head. How can he just shrug this off? I want to shake him. Or get him to help me contact the outside world. Or both. But I can’t ask him. I can’t trust him.

I go to walk away, but Andrew catches my arm. ‘You’re crazy, you know that? You can’t just throw something like this back in the Society’s face. The Society … it can take you anywhere you want to go.’

I wrench my arm back and give him a long look before I use the exact words Steen had said to me once. ‘I guess that all depends on where you want to be, doesn’t it?’

I go back to my room and sit, facing the lab door, waiting for my next round of testing to begin. Every so often I get up and check that the blue scrubs, cap, mask and ID card are still where they’re meant to be.

I decide I’ll go and see Steen when my next round of testing is completed—in the gap between midnight and one in the morning, when I’m quite sure everything will be completely quiet. If I see him now, I’ll just blurt everything out, and anyway, he’s probably still sleeping after his operation.

By the time my nine o’clock testing starts, I’m truly on edge and pacing the lab. It’s only when Thing One and Thing Two arrive with my dinner on a plate that my stomach growls, telling me how hungry I am.

‘Take a moment,’ Thing Two tells me. ‘Eat.’ He passes me the plate and some cutlery and stands over me.

I glance up at Thing One, standing behind him, who takes off her distinctive glasses with their rectangular-shaped frames and places them on the bench, rubbing the bridge of her nose.

I spoon in a couple of mouthfuls of chicken pasta before I notice he’s still watching me. I begin to slow down while my thoughts do the opposite and speed up. Before too long, I stop eating altogether. The pasta has a strange taste to it. I sit quite still and tell myself not to look up in case Thing Two notices anything. Which causes me to stare at the bin near his feet, which reminds me of Lauren’s bin in her room and how she hadn’t been logging all of her discards. All those half-full syringes of anaesthetic.

I place my fork on my plate and slide it onto the bench. ‘It’s a bit … stodgy,’ I say, still not quite meeting Thing Two’s eye.

What does that mean? That he wants me to finish it? That I have to? Has he been talking to Marcus about my decision not to experiment on the fifth student? I get up and grab a bottle of water, surreptitiously checking it’s sealed before I open it and take a swig. ‘No,’ I finally answer. ‘I’m not that hungry.’

‘I know exactly what you mean,’ Thing One replies. ‘Shall we get started?’

As it happens, Thing One doesn’t reach for her glasses during the first hour of testing. Or the second hour. When we’re almost done, I take my chance. Getting off the treadmill, I pass by the bench, pick them up and slip them inside a half empty paper towel dispenser that’s lying nearby.

I feel bad, but know I can make them reappear in the lab later on. Right now, I need them more than she does.

It takes Thing One and Thing Two about twenty minutes to input all their data and then, finally, they’re ready to leave. ‘We’ll see you in the morning,’ Thing Two says, as they both head for the door.

‘Oh, wait. My glasses.’ Thing One pauses, her hand to her head. ‘Where did I put them?’ Her eyes scan the bench tops.

‘Miri’s right. You haven’t been wearing them tonight,’ Thing Two agrees with me. ‘I noticed that before. You mustn’t have brought them with you.’

Thing One sighs and shakes her head. ‘I really need to give up and invest in one of those old lady chains and hang them around my neck. I’m always forgetting them or putting them down somewhere. Anyway, we’ll see you at nine tomorrow.’ With a wave, they’re both gone.

I give her a few minutes to return and tell me the glasses aren’t in her room, but she doesn’t come back. Then I take them out of the paper towel dispenser and stick them in my bedside drawer along with the ID card. I check that the blue scrubs and accompanying items are still under the mattress.

I can’t believe I’m actually going to do this. When I got on that plane for Vienna, not in my wildest dreams would I have expected my time here to end like this. Stealing ID cards and medical supplies and glasses. Outing the Society.

But then again, I also didn’t expect to see Steen, or think that Ryan would die and then the Society would decide his body was theirs to do with as they pleased.

When I really believe there’s no chance Thing One is coming back, I get up and head out into the corridor. My lab door is just swishing closed behind me when I see the nurse disappearing around the bend in the corridor.

She comes back around the corner. It’s the same nurse as before. The one who had been looking after Steen in recovery.

‘Good,’ she answers me. ‘His blood pressure’s come down a little. He’s on three-hourly obs now.’

She pauses, looks up and down the corridor. ‘I probably shouldn’t, but I’ll let you in. Just for a moment though.’

‘Thanks. That’s really nice of you,’ I tell her as I follow her back down the corridor to Steen’s lab.

She swipes her card and we both enter, though she stands just inside the door while I cross the lab into Steen’s bedroom.

I approach the bed, keeping my back to the door so that the nurse’s view is obscured. Even in the dim light, I can see that she’s right—he does look a bit better. And peaceful, too. He’s asleep and free from pain, though he’ll undoubtedly have some when he wakes up again. My knees suddenly feeling weak at the thought of what I’m about to do all on my own—without him—I sit down on the side of the bed.

I can hear the nurse behind me, pottering about the lab, and I don’t dare to speak to Steen about what I’m about to do. Or touch him too much. I’m not supposed to know him in that way. To care so much.

So instead I continue to sit. And, somehow, just having him beside me, warm and all right, is enough to make me believe I can do this and to remember why I have to.

It takes me only minutes to get ready. In my bathroom, I remove my cannula, which I’ll have to say I pulled out accidentally somehow when I return. Maybe catching it on the arm of the treadmill, which sounds like a plausible excuse. Then I pull on the white long-sleeved T-shirt I’d been wearing when I arrived, which helps to cover up a lot of the wires. I know I can’t take them off, or alarms will ring all over the place. That done, I put the blue scrubs on over the top of the T-shirt. I pull my hair up into a high bun like Thing One tends to wear and cover it as best as I can with the cap, because my hair is lighter than hers. I put Ryan’s ID card in my pocket and then turn my own ID card around, as if I’ve put it on without realising it’s facing the wrong direction. Then I put her glasses on.

I wouldn’t pass up close, but from a distance I could be her. Same weight, same height, but mainly because of the distinctive glasses.

Turning away from the mirror, I go over and lie down on my bed and close my eyes. I attempt to visualise what I’m about to do—walk up the corridor, turn left, take the few steps to the medical and support staff door, swipe Ryan’s card, enter, find a phone, call Emily. I even speak out the number I’ll have to call and go through what I’m going to say.

I then run through all the bad things that might happen. I’m seen, someone notices my ID card is the wrong way around, Thing One is still awake and walking around, Ryan’s ID card has been cancelled or its unauthorised use is noted.

But there’s not much I can do about any of those things. I’ll just have to deal with them as they come. Take my chances.

My heart beating like crazy, I make my way up the corridor, turn left and duck into the meals and recreation area. Like Lauren said, I don’t think anyone’s watching us very hard, but just in case they are, I don’t want to attract their attention.

After a moment or two, I reach into my pocket and pull out Ryan’s ID card. Then I take a deep breath, walk the few more steps needed to reach the door to the medical and support staff zone and swipe the card.

For a moment, I stand there, dumbfounded—surprised I’ve even got this far—then I move into action, stepping through the doors, which close swiftly behind me.

Inside, all is quiet, except for the thumping in my chest. I turn my head to the left and to the right, looking up and down the corridor that runs both ways.

For a start, I’ve got to calm down. I take a deep breath and, at the same time, reach up with my right hand. I try carotid pressure, massaging at a spot just beneath my jaw which will hopefully slow my pulse a little. I think it’s working. Or it is until I hear a noise to my right. It sounds like a TV. Maybe the support staff recreation area?

Slowly I start up the corridor towards the sound. If anyone’s still up, I want to know about it. The noise gets louder as I go, and when I get to the end, I stick my head quickly around the corner. No one in sight. There’s definitely a recreation area though, tucked in on the left. Most likely similar to ours. I also smell food. I think the kitchen must be further up this way.

My head still around the corner, I can hear not just the TV now, but voices as well. I inch forward, holding my breath, listening carefully.

‘Andrew …’ the voice says. ‘Proposal … Ryan—or Matthew, rather … gather everyone …’

I catch only every few words. It’s not Marcus, that’s for sure. It’s an older man with a gravelly voice. And I can’t hear anyone else, so whoever it is must be on the phone.

A scrape of a chair inside the room makes me jump, and I whip my head back around the corner. I freeze, waiting for someone to appear, but no one comes.

I head back down the corridor again, checking out the rooms. The doors are similar to the one on my lab, but the rooms are obviously smaller—the doors much closer together. They’re numbered, and a swipe card is needed to enter all of them. To me, they look like bedrooms, and I’m hesitant to swipe Ryan’s ID card again because I’m not sure it will work and also because someone might be inside, considering the time of night.

I glance further down the corridor and spot a different-looking door on the corner. This door has a handle and is made of an opaque glass. It looks like an office.

I walk swiftly towards it and peer inside. I can’t see any movement, so I try the handle.

I was right—it is an office. A very normal-looking office. There are two desks on opposite sides of the room as well as a computer, a printer, a photocopy machine and so on.

I run over the carpeted floor, grab one phone and then the other. I pull out one of the swivel chairs and sit down on it, my back to the door. I grab the first phone and dial Emily’s number as fast as I can. Then I take the other phone and call my dad. ‘Come on, come on, come on …’ I mutter as there’s a pause while the numbers register. ‘Come on …’. It’s only eight or nine o’clock at night for them. One of them has to be around.

‘Call me if you need me’, Emily had said. Now I attempt to send her a telepathic message, despite the fact that I believe in no such thing. I need you and it would be VERY HELFPUL IF YOU WOULD PICK UP RIGHT NOW. My hands are clammy against the phone. I close my eyes. Come on, I think. Pick up. One of you pick up.

My dad’s phone switches to voicemail. I groan, hang up and press redial. I know he’s home.

‘Hello?’ she says again. Wherever she is, it’s noisy. It sounds like a restaurant.

‘You need to listen to me,’ I say, speaking over the top of her. ‘I didn’t go to Frankfurt. I’m in Denmark. Close to Helsingor. I’m at this … bunker. I’m involved in some research and it’s gone badly. Very badly. I need to speak to your parents. I need some journalists to get the word out about what’s going on here and—’

‘Are you drunk?’ Emily cuts in. ‘Is this one of those weird drinking games where you have to get a friend to believe something strange?’ She laughs.

‘It is, isn’t it? Come on, it’s got to be like two or three in the morning there or something. Have you gone wild without me? Hang on, I’m going to move out onto the balcony. I can barely hear you.’

I start to panic. ‘Emily, I’m serious. I need your help.’ I remember something then. ‘Gingerbread,’ I blurt out, as a sound comes from the phone in my other hand. ‘Gingerbread, gingerbread, gingerbread.’ Thinking the sound I’ve heard is voicemail again, I’m about to press end once more and redial when I realise it’s my dad.

Of course he has. Of course he’d be there when I need him. Even if I don’t deserve it. Even if I didn’t listen to him when he tried to give me advice. Because I knew it all, didn’t I?

I open my mouth but nothing comes out. My hand grips the phone so tightly I think I might crush it.

‘Hello?’ His voice becomes more insistent. There’s a pause. ‘Miri?’ he says, his voice suddenly urgent. ‘Miri, is that you?’ He sounds worried now. I hear movement, like he’s got up from his desk. ‘Miri?’

‘It’s me,’ I say breathlessly. ‘It’s me. I’m in the bunker and I …’ I feel dizzy again. I can’t remember exactly what I’m supposed to say.

‘There was a journalist. In Argentina. There was a car accident. And that day, in London, we were being followed. I mean, I was. There was a man on the train. Then in the restaurant.’ I stop myself. That’s not right. That’s not what I’m supposed to say. And I’ve only just remembered that—about the man on the train.

‘Miri,’ my dad says slowly. ‘What drugs are you on? Is someone watching you?’

Noises start to come from Emily’s phone, but I ignore them, concentrating on my dad. I try to organise my thoughts.

‘It’s all gone wrong. I understand now why you got out. They’re trying to make us experiment on someone else and—’ I stop dead as I hear something. ‘Shhh … be quiet …’

Meanwhile, Emily’s voice changes as it exits the other phone, coming in short staccato bursts, but I can’t answer her, or even listen to what she’s saying—I’m so focused on the office door, which clicks and begins to open.

Thinking quickly, I turn my head away and hold my dad’s phone up, pointing to it. That done, I wrestle the glasses off my face and place them on the desk beside me, pinching the bridge of my nose like Thing One had done in my lab. It’s a move I’ve seen her do many times before, and I honestly believe it’s all that can save me at this point.

I wave with one hand as Emily continues to freak out on the other end of the line.

I begin to hear the door close and when it clicks shut, I breathe a sigh of relief, bringing both phones back to my ears. Emily is still carrying on.

‘Did either of you understand any of that?’ I whisper. ‘They need to be stopped before …’ Again I pause, because I realise that while the door had clicked shut, it still feels like someone’s watching me.

Both phones still emitting garbled speech, I search blindly for the end buttons on both of them.

If this was a movie, it would be so simple. I’d run on over, stab him with something, stick the body under the desk, call Emily and my dad again, mobilise the media, then saunter on back to my lab and pretend nothing’s happened. But I couldn’t do that.

I glance over at the phone and spot a pair of scissors lying on the desk. I lunge for them, and bring them around to hold them out in front of me. They shake thanks to both my tremor and sheer terror. I might not be going to hurt him, but he doesn’t know that. I’m sure he thinks I’m crazy.

‘No, it’s …’ he begins. ‘The drugs and the lack of sleep. They’re affecting you. They’re making you paranoid.’

This makes me pause. I know they are. I know I’m acting jumpy and weird. But I also know it’s not just me that thinks something terrible is going on here. Steen was the one who first said something needed to be done to stop the Society’s experimentation on Ryan. I might be paranoid, but I’m still lucid enough to remember the offer the Society made to us all.

‘I don’t want to hear it,’ I tell him. ‘Now, move over there.’ I gesture to the far corner with my scissors. ‘Keep your hands on the wall and make your way around to the other side of the room.’

‘Okay, okay, just … stay calm …’ He moves over to the wall and places his hands on it, then shuffles along, his back to me.

‘Look, you’re tired. Your last test results were way down. Your medication needs adjusting …’

‘Under the shelf!’ I bark. I have no idea why I’m making him get under the wide shelf that holds the printer and so on, but I am. To give me a precious few seconds to get out of here, I suppose.

‘Now, count to … five hundred,’ I say. I can’t believe what’s coming out of my mouth. I’ve always hated it when people give instructions like this. If I’m not careful I’ll start some ridiculous monologue about my grand plan and how everything might have worked out if it wasn’t for him snooping around in the middle of the night. Anyway, the moment I’m out the door he’ll quit counting and get out from under the shelf. I know I would in his position.

I have no idea what I’m doing. No idea where I’m going. All I know is I have to get out of here. My brain isn’t built for this sort of thing. It likes facts and figures and information and plans, not running and making snap decisions. I pinch myself hard on the arm hoping that the pain might wake me up a little.

I have to get to the stairs. The stairs that are situated on each corner of the building.

I turn right then and run as fast as I can for the swinging doors at the end of the corridor. I push through and find myself in a different sort of corridor entirely—plain grey concrete. A service corridor. It’s got to lead to the stairs. It’s got to. There are a few other doors on my right as I run along it, but they all need an ID card to be swiped in order to enter. They must be storage rooms, I figure. I need an unlocked door—the fire exits can’t be locked.

At the end of the corridor, on the left, there’s another door with a handle. I run over and listen against it for a moment and when I can’t hear any movement on the other side, I open it tentatively and stick my head out. It leads directly out to the gallery—the gallery with the ever-changing medical art. At first I don’t understand, but then I see it has no handle on the outside—only ID card access that will see it click open from the other side.

My eyes move to look along to the left. All is quiet. Then I turn to look along the gallery to the elevator. No, I’m not going to risk taking the elevator. Instead, I step out and close the door behind me. Then I take a few steps over and open the door that’s further down on the right—the one the fire safety person had shown us.

Pushing it open, I lose no time in starting up the metal stairs. I mistime one step and stumble, but recover my footing before I fall. I’m more careful after that and, as I go, I listen out for the sound of the door opening again and for someone to start up the stairs after me. Thing Two can’t really be counting to five hundred, can he? I run up the first flight of stairs, the second and then the third, feeling more and more exhausted as I go. I’ve just reached the very top of the fourth flight of stairs, and the exit door, when I hear something below. I’m not sure what. The door? The elevator whirring into operation? I don’t know.

But I do stop when I remember the security guard who might be on the other side of the door. And now I wonder if he’s really here to keep people out, or to keep us in.

I pull the door open and burst through to the outside world. ‘Hey!’ I yell out. ‘Hey, is there still a security guard here?’

I hear footsteps running towards me. And finally a security guard appears from around the corner. ‘Oh, great,’ I blurt out. ‘I’m so glad you’re here. We need all the help we can get. There’s a broken water pipe. Can you give us a hand? They sent me up to fetch you.’

The guy looks surprised by my request, but nods. I can see his eyes checking out my blue scrubs. And my scissors. Ugh, I can’t believe I’m still carrying the scissors. ‘I’m … cutting up sheets,’ I stutter.

He stares at me for a moment longer, but it seems my blue scrubs seal the deal. ‘Where do I need to go?’

‘Down to the lab area,’ I tell him decisively. I hold the door open for him. ‘I’m just going to grab some extra tools out of one of the cars. Can you tell everyone I’ll be back down in a minute?’

‘Will do.’ He heads inside and I close the door behind him as quickly as possible.

With the door closed, it’s dark outside, only a dim light illuminating the bunker. I wait for my eyes to adjust, but when they do, it’s not that much brighter. I take a step forward, then another.

I can see the basic outline of the cars, not too far away, but there’s no way they’ll have left the keys in them. And over there, beside them—that’s the dirt road. But I can’t start along that. It would probably take me ten to fifteen minutes of solid running to get to the end of it and I’m slow. They’d find me without any effort at all.

With a flick of my head, I try to wake my brain into recalling what I saw when I first arrived here—in the time between exiting the car and entering the elevator and descending to our subterranean world. I’d been facing the front of the bunker and there had been trees to my right. I remember that. And I also remember I thought the sea might be that way as well. There will be houses there, surely. Near the sea. And phones. But there’s also a wide stretch of plain to cross before I get there. A wide, flat stretch that they’ll cross easily in a car, spotting me instantly with their headlights.

I look up then at the top of the bunker—the part of the building that houses the elevator and the entrance to the stairs. And I get an idea.

Keeping my hand on the concrete wall, I run around to the back and see if I can spot a way to climb on top.

At first I can’t see anything—the walls are all f lat, plain concrete surfaces. But then I spot two pipes running along the outside, further along the back wall, one above the other. They’re high up, but I might be able to make it.

I run on over and fling my leg up onto the lower pipe, then try to push myself up, scrabbling unsuccessfully at the top pipe, my nails scratching along it. My body’s too tired. Too weak.

I try again, pushing harder this time, pulling a muscle in my leg, my arms stretching, my fingers grasping at anything, then closing, amazingly, around the top pipe.

I heave myself up then, my foot balanced precariously, the pipe creaking with my weight upon it. I have no time to lose. I stretch up again to catch the edge of the roof and push up, somehow managing to get my stomach flat on top of it. Then I drag my legs up.

As I do so, I catch my knee on something sharp—I’m not sure what. It rips through my pants and my knee as well and I very nearly cry out in pain.

But I don’t allow myself that luxury, because, at the same moment, I hear voices from the stairs.

Instead I curl up into a ball and stuff my knuckles into my mouth and pray that everyone thinks I’ve simply made a run for it.

I bite down hard on my knuckles, my head spinning, and listen to the people moving about down below. It sounds like there’s a few of them. Maybe three or four?

‘There’s a flashlight in each car, isn’t there?’ Marcus says. ‘Let’s start by grabbing those. I really don’t understand what’s going on here. My access restricted, a student concealed from me. And now one of our experimenters has run off.’

I stay quite still for a moment, realising I’ve just got my answer about Marcus. So, he truly didn’t know what was going on any more than we did. Ryan had been concealed from him as well as us. He must have been told he was part of the support staff, because he would have seen him up the front of the plane. And then, when we got to the bunker, he honestly must have believed renovations were going on in that lab, just like he told us.

‘That girl needs to be stopped,’ Marcus continues. ‘I don’t care how. I still can’t believe she didn’t agree to the Society’s offer.’

‘Marcus,’ another man replies—I recognise the voice as the gravelly one I’d heard on the phone inside—‘we need to talk.’

A phone rings and the older man answers it. ‘It’s the President,’ he says. ‘I’m changing to speaker phone.’

‘Marcus,’ a woman’s voice says after a moment or two. ‘You are being immediately removed from your duties. Return now to the secure staff area where you will be debriefed.’

‘Grab the f lashlights from the cars. Both of them.’ The gravelly voice takes charge. ‘She can’t have got far. She’s only had a few minutes. And, hey, get that guy up here. The one with the infrared camera. He could be useful.’

I hear a phone call, footsteps on dirt, and a car boot opening. And another one. Then they both close again. More footsteps and then the beam of a flashlight swings in a wide arc along the ground, moving up to illuminate the dirt road that we drove in on. It travels up along the road until it disappears into some trees.

‘It’s the obvious choice,’ the older man replies. ‘So probably not. She’s smarter than that. Here, give me the other flashlight.’

Slowly, carefully, I uncurl from my ball and lie flat on the rooftop. My knee throbs, but I try to ignore it. I can’t risk being seen up here.

The beam of the second flashlight shines out into the darkness and criss-crosses the grassy fields surrounding us, covering both the left and right sides. After a while, it comes to rest on the trees that I’d been looking at before. Where I’d wanted to go.

I have to force myself not to shiver. The Society knows me better than I’d like.

‘Let’s drive over there and take a look,’ gravelly voice continues. ‘Where’s that guy? Is he coming or not?’

There are some muttered words as someone talks into a phone. ‘He’s almost here.’

The lift doors. More footsteps, talking, opening and shutting of car doors and then a car takes off across the field towards the trees.

Slowly I lift my head and watch the headlights moving around in the distance. At first they follow the tree line, then they scout along the boundaries of the fields in a square shape, crossing back to the other side. The car works its way up the opposite side to where they started, then finally crosses back to the dirt road. It sits for a while, maybe while they discuss what to do next, then takes off up the dirt road itself.

And, all the while, I listen hard, trying to establish if anyone is still down below, keeping watch.

Still, I’m not sure. So, carefully, quietly, I get up on my hands and knees. Despite my knee now throbbing painfully, I crawl forward towards the edge of the bunker, my hands feeling the way as I go. When I feel the side of the concrete formation, I slowly edge my head over until I can see below.

There’s no one there. The door that leads inside to the elevator is closed once more.

Pulling my head back, I attempt to centre myself. I take off my blue scrub top, then my white T-shirt as well. I tug at all my wires, pulling the electrodes off my chest and the sensor on my finger and dump them on the roof beside me. Then I put only the white T-shirt back on. I’ve got no choice but to keep the blue scrub pants on, considering I’m wearing super-short bike pants underneath. In the dim light, I feel the torn knee of the pants and try to get a look at how badly I’ve hurt myself. From what I can gather, it’s not good. It looks like it will need quite a few stitches.

There’s one upside—the pain has woken me up. For how long, though, I’m not sure. Should I have had my next dose of drugs by now? Maybe. I think so. I’ve lost track of time.

I take a deep breath and try to work out what to do next. I need a phone, but I also need to avoid people. Not just the men from the Society, but the police and members of the public. No one would trust me anyway—I probably look as if I’ve escaped from either a prison or a psychiatric hospital with my blue scrubs, injured knee and white shirt that’s undoubtedly filthy from being on top of the roof.

I need to do this quietly and on my own. I need to find out where I am, locate a phone, call Emily and my dad back and then hide out until help comes—either my dad, or maybe my dad and Emily and the media if they’re able to piece together what I told them. And, the whole time, I need to keep down low. Keep hidden, so I can’t be picked up by Andrew.

I feel my way back again to the edge of the roof, reaching out with my hands and checking for whatever the sharp thing was that I cut myself on getting up here. I find the edge again and pat along it, finally locating a sharp piece of metal that I now know to avoid. I glance over the edge and locate the two pipes, then get onto my stomach and slowly put my good leg over the side until it’s resting on the top pipe. Then, keeping a firm grip on the edge of the building, I bring my other leg over. I still can’t reach the bottom pipe, so I take one hand down onto the top pipe. Then I find myself stuck, too scared to move either forward or back.

Quickly, I bring my second hand down onto the top pipe and both legs onto the bottom pipe, which shakes and then pulls away from the wall. With no other choice, I drop, trying to take most of my weight on my good knee. It still hurts. A lot. But I keep quiet as I drop to the ground.

When I hear nothing, I get up, round the back of the bunker and run for the trees as fast as I can.

With my half run, half limp, it takes me longer than I’d like to reach them. I’m only a few steps into the tree line when I falter. I don’t know how feasible my plan is. The trees are pretty dense and it’s dark. I can’t see where I’m going, or know that I’m going in the right direction, and anything could be underfoot or nearby—animals, a hole, a stream. Thinking, I turn ninety degrees to my right, but keep just inside the tree line. I’ll make my way to the road, but keep inside the tree line in case I need shelter. The road will have to lead to a village or a house. Something with a phone.

It takes me what feels like forever to reach the road. I walk slowly, feeling my way through the trees, tiring again.

I hear it before I see it, as a car passes by and I see a flash of headlights. It can’t be far now.

A few more steps and there it is. Just beyond the next few trees and a small rock wall.

Being careful to keep to the shelter of the trees, I take a sharp left. I see a wide footpath running along the side of the road, outside of the tree line, but I don’t dare make my way over to it. It would be quicker, but someone else might drive past at any moment, and the Society’s car will surely be driving back and forth along this road. I can’t risk it.

As if to prove my point, I hear a vehicle approaching and take a few steps back, ducking down behind a large tree, worried that my light-coloured shirt will do me no favours and I’ll be spotted.

The car passes by, and when I can’t hear another, I force myself to push onwards, weaving my way through the trees. Though towards what, I really don’t know.

As I continue along beside the road, the trees become more and more sparse. I find I have to listen for cars and then run as fast as I can to hide behind the next one. I also begin to notice something—it’s getting harder for me to concentrate. I’m obviously well overdue for my next dose of medication now and I’m truly starting to feel the effects, the pain from my leg not working to keep me awake any longer. I wonder how long I’ve got before I’m too tired to continue and what I’ll do then. I’m not supposed to stop taking the drugs this way. The plan was to gradually decrease them and begin sleeping normally again. I don’t know how long I’ve got up my sleeve until I can’t go on, but I do know I can’t afford to waste any time.

The next tree being even further away from the last one, I pause and visualise the task in front of me—continue along this road until I find some kind of dwelling with a phone in it. Hopefully an unoccupied dwelling.

There are no streetlights along the road, so I have to rely on the moonlight to guide me. I keep going, running from tree to tree. At one point, I hear a rustling from some long grass not too far away from me and I freeze, my stomach clenching in fear. Eventually a small brown rabbit jumps out of the grass, looks directly at me and then takes off again at a great speed, though I’m not so sure who was more afraid of who for a moment there.

I run to the next tree and, finally, I see something. A shape. Not too far ahead. Some kind of building. Not a house—it’s larger than that. It looks industrial. Like a storage shed or something.

I stop and listen. I can’t hear anything. Taking another few seconds to make sure, I move into action, leaving the cover of the last tree behind and racing towards the building. When I get there, I press myself up against the side of it, out of view of the road, then inch closer towards the front to see what the place is.

I have to be careful—there’s a light shining down from its roof, illuminating the signage and the huge metal doors below. It looks like a mechanic’s workshop, I see now. The doors are bolted together with a heavy chain and padlock, but there’s also another door, further along on the opposite corner, which seems like it might be the entrance to a small office space. I don’t want to run out under the light, so I make my way around the back of the building, stepping carefully as I go, avoiding car tyres, large metal drums and two cars out the back. I’m in luck, I see, as I round the corner and head up the other side—there’s a long window along the front part of the building where the office must be.

When I reach the window I peer inside. Thanks to the light shining at the front of the building, I can see more than I’ve been able to see since I left the bunker. There’s a desk below the window and a filing cabinet beside it … with a cordless phone on top.

My eyes stare at the phone for what feels like a very long time. I wouldn’t even need to climb in through the window. The phone is there. Right there. I’d be able to reach it easily.

I pull back and scan the rest of the building. I can’t see any sort of area where someone would be living or sleeping. There’s no sticker on the window suggesting there’s an alarm and I can’t see any kind of external system on the building. And it is a small town, after all …

I listen for cars. Not hearing any, I duck out into the light and quickly check the front door, twisting the handle. It’s locked. I’d thought it would be, but you never know your luck …

I go back around to the window and assess my situation. I don’t want to break the window, but the phone is right there, tempting me. I could take my pants off and wrap them around my hand, but I can’t risk getting hurt again.

I remember something then and turn towards the back of the building once more. I’d seen bricks stacked around the tyres of one of the cars back there. Not wanting to lose another second, I make my way around there, grab a brick and then run back again as fast as my knee will let me.

When I get back to the window, I pause to think. I consider wrapping the brick in my pants, but it’s going to be noisy however this happens, so I ditch that idea. Instead, I stand back and hurl the brick at the glass. It shatters instantly.

The piercing noise floods my brain so that I can’t think of anything else. I freeze for a moment and then jolt into action, realising I have to move. Now. Before the police or the owner arrive.

I run back out to where the trees line the road and take a left, stumbling on a rock as I go. Despite the alarm still clawing at the quiet of the night, I can hear nothing else. No cars. No police siren.

Despite the adrenalin pumping through my body, it desperately wants to slow down. I’m getting tired now. Really tired. My eyes are heavy, my feet reluctant and my knee throbs. But I have to keep going.

I look ahead then and am almost overjoyed to see streetlights up ahead. So I was right to come this way after all. I am heading into town.

I take off again then, faster now, ignoring my body. I’m spurred on by the thought of civilisation. Of people who aren’t connected to the Society.

The noise of the alarm fades into the distance as I keep running towards the streetlights. I can see houses now. They’re not far. Just across that …

I see the sign, illuminated by the first set of streetlights, before I see the bridge itself.

Hiding behind the final tree, I try to get a closer look at what I’m up against. Peering out, I can see the railway tracks are quite some way below the bridge. There’s no way down and back up again. It’s across the bridge or nothing.

But how wise is it to cross the bridge? I’ll be completely exposed for at least thirty seconds or so. Up to a minute even, when I factor in the time taken from leaving this tree to hiding on the other side and my limping.

Surely a police car will come past at any moment now. Or at least the owner, who will have been alerted the alarm has gone off. And the Society will, of course, be very interested in any strange happenings in the area. If they see a police car or hear a siren, they’ll have their car here in a moment to see what’s going on. They’ll be wanting to find me before the police do, I’m sure of it.

I watch the bridge and what lies beyond it for a minute or two, scanning for signs of life. When I can’t see anything and still can’t hear any cars, I take off. I want to run faster than I’ve ever run in my life, but I can’t. I’m so tired now. So slow. I feel as if I’m running through glue. My body is failing me and my knee throbs and burns, but I ignore it. I hit the bridge and scream at myself internally. Keep going. Faster. I’ve got to get to the other side. I’ve got to hide.

I hear the police siren before I see it. My eyes widen as I take in the distance I’ve yet to cover. But I’m about three-quarters of the way across and there’s no going back now. I pump my arms harder and keep going, my eyes searching for cover before I reach the end of the bridge.

I dive behind a hedge just as the police car rounds a corner up ahead and the siren gets louder still. I watch as it speeds past me, the blue, neon yellow and Politi lettering a blur, and then heads over the bridge in the direction I’ve come from. Then I wait behind the hedge in case there’s another car, but it seems there’s only one.

No one seems to have been woken by the disturbance. Or if they have, they haven’t come outside to see what’s going on. My body tells me to pause for a nap, so I pinch myself yet again and think about what to do next. It looks like there’s a large four-way intersection at the end of this road. There’s a sign too, and I memorise the names on it so I know where I am.

On the other side of the road, opposite me, is another hedge and what I think is a garden beyond. I’m guessing it belongs to a house fronting the main road.

I’m not sure what’s across and to the left of the intersection, but across and to the right of it is a church with a large blue front door.

I look back at the intersection, which I see in double for a second or two until I blink hard and force my eyes to try again. No, I can’t risk it. It’s too well lit and it’s also the road that leads from town to the bunker and the mechanic’s workshop. It’s going to have to be over that other hedge. In fact, the bushes look like they might even be thin enough to push through.

When I’m sure I can’t hear anything, I sprint across the road, my eyes trained on the hedge on the other side, searching for the weakest spot. When I get to it I grasp at it with my hands, pushing the thin branches aside. It’s sturdier than it looks, and I have to get right down on my knees and push harder still, sliding my body in sideways. One of the branches pulls through my hands and strikes out painfully at my neck. I keep going, my torso finally bursting through to the other side, then I turn and pull my legs through behind me as well.

Finally through, I lie down on my back, close my eyes and catch my breath. Which is obviously a mistake, because, before I know it, I jerk awake. Had I actually fallen asleep then? I don’t know. I have to be careful. I have to stay awake.

Rubbing my neck, I roll onto my side and push myself up, taking in my surroundings. It is a house, like I thought—a little cottage with a steeply angled roof. There’s a car in the paved driveway, which makes me think someone is probably home. Asleep, I hope.

My feet don’t make any noise as I cross the grass and then the paved driveway. I head for the back door and what seems to be a porch that leads into the house itself.

When I get to the door, I check through the window on the right hand side of it. It does look like a porch, as I can see shoes below and a few gardening bits and pieces.

Slowly, carefully, quietly, I push the door, which miraculously opens without a squeak. Once I’m inside, I close it behind me again, equally carefully. The owners could be awake due to the police siren, could have a dog … I just don’t know.

The porch door closed, I keep my eyes trained on the inner door that will lead inside the house. As noiselessly as I can, I take the few steps needed to cross the tiled floor and rest my hand on the knob.

I begin to twist the knob, expecting all the while to feel that sudden resistance.

Breathing a sigh of relief, I open the door as soundlessly as I can and enter the house, reminding myself not to make any sudden movements. I can’t afford to stumble again or to knock anything over. I just need to find a phone. That’s all. Just a phone. One I can take with me and leave the house, like a cordless. Maybe even a mobile, which would be even better.

I look around me, squinting in the dark. I think I’ve entered the kitchen and living areas. The kitchen is on my right, the living area on my left. Perfect. There’s got to be a phone here somewhere. The kitchen bench I can see a few steps directly ahead of me. I can also see the silver door of a fridge shining as the moonlight enters the window. But I can’t see further into the room to spot a phone. I also can’t turn a light on. I get an idea then and take a few steps to my right to crack open the fridge door.

A beautiful, charged cordless phone. All I have to do now is walk over, take it out of its cradle, close the fridge door and leave the same way I came in.

I take my first step towards the phone, but pause as I hear a sound. A ker-thunk echoes down the hallway. I frown. It doesn’t sound like footsteps. I listen harder and then jump as something furry winds around my legs.

It’s then that I realise my mistake. It’s heard the fridge. It’s heard the fridge open and it’s come running.

I take a step to the right and reach over and snatch the phone from its cradle. I’ll take the phone outside and make the call. The reception should be fine.

I freeze as the dog and I look at each other for a moment and then it begins to bark. Not angrily, but happily, glad for some overnight excitement.

That’s when the voice calls out. I can’t make out what the dog’s name is, or what its owner says, but the voice is insistent—it’s telling it to be quiet.

I run back towards the door, but I misjudge the corner of the bench and crack my hip on it in my haste. My hand flies out and knocks something off the bench.

I’m out the internal door in a moment, the cat and dog both at my feet. A few more steps and I’m out the external door as well, which slams behind me with a bang. That’s when I feel the phone, which is still in my hand. I drop it, knowing it will be useless to me now, and start running. I’m halfway down the driveway when the voice yells out at me, but I don’t stop.

That is, until I cross the fourth lane and the black Audi that’s quite some way down the road begins to speed up and head straight for me.

As the Audi’s tyres screech and the car speeds towards me throatily, I move into action.

I have no choice but to run for my life. I jump over the gutter, hit the footpath and run as fast as my body will let me. I round the side of the church, the motion-activated lights flicking on as I run past, my breath coming in short, sharp bursts.

I don’t stop to think. I don’t strategise. I don’t worry about the right way or the wrong way.

I pass by graves, run down some grass and end up on a small side road. It curves downwards, a small café sitting on the corner. There’s a sort of dead end further along, but just before that the road sections off to the left as well, curving around and then dropping further still. I follow it down that way, passing by some industrial-looking silver sheds. As I continue, I see a boat, and then another boat. That’s when I slow, my head whipping this way and that. I’m close to the water, which probably isn’t the best place to be. Most likely the road will end and I’ll be stuck.

And what they’ll do to me then … I think about that journalist. The one who’d tried to out the Society in Argentina.

I turn back and head for the dead end. I was pretty sure I saw a gate, and as I approach it now, puffing as I run back up the hill, I see I’m right. I bolt towards it, stick my left foot on the bottom rung and scramble over the top of it, landing badly on my injured knee. Then I take off, trying to ignore the roaring, throbbing pain. Everything hurts. Everything stings as I sweat from both fear and the running. But at least I’m alert now. Far more alert than before—from the pain, and the adrenalin coursing through my veins.

As I run along the small side road, the scenery on each side of me begins to change. Now it’s not industrial at all, but full of tall, leafy trees.

Suddenly the trees vanish on either side of me, the clouds shift slightly and I’m presented with a moonlit view of some lush, green rolling hills. I slow down, frowning. After the industrial surroundings I’d been in before, this new setting feels strange and wrong. Is this someone’s house? It can’t be. Unless they’re crazy rich. I blink, glancing around me again. Water on one side, manicured grass on the other. Please don’t let this be the Danish royal family’s summer house, I think.

I climb the first steep hill and as I reach the top, which flattens off immediately, I grind to a halt, unsure of what I see in front of me.

Now the view is not of lush, green grass, but something else entirely. Some kind of sculpture looms in front of me, all large, thin pieces of wood, both red and plain, jutting towards the sky in jagged shards. There are hundreds of pieces of wood standing before me in different configurations, some like fences, some like tiny houses, all stretching, reaching, angled towards the sky. I couldn’t see it from down below near the water, and coming upon it suddenly like this in the half light—it’s surreal and unexpected.

I try to see further up the hill, but the clouds aren’t being helpful. I wait a moment and they shift again, highlighting something metal beyond. I crane my neck and see something large and smooth and white further up again.

It doesn’t take long to work it out. I’ve somehow stumbled into a sculpture park, or art gallery or something.

Probably the worst place in the world I could want to try and break into to access a phone.

I reach up and rub my eyes and try to think what I should do next. Get away from here, that’s what, I tell myself. If I try to enter an art gallery or whatever this is, I’ll have security guards and police all over me in under a minute.

I turn on my heel and begin to backtrack then, down towards the water. Not too far along the side road I’d seen what looked like another large boatshed. Surely there’d be a phone in there? It looked like a business. I doubt a boatshed would be alarmed. But then I’d thought the mechanic’s workshop wouldn’t be alarmed either, so what would I know?

I run down the hill and back along the small side road until I see the top of the boatshed shining in the moonlight. There’s another, smaller slip road that leads down to it and I take a right into it and try to work out where the door will be as I go. There are a couple of high windows on this side of the building, but nothing I’ll be able to access easily, so I keep going. The clouds move again then, and as I reach the front of the boatshed I see there’s a jetty sticking out into the water. And here, around the corner, is a larger concreted area and what looks to be the front doors of the boatshed. They’re locked with a chain.

I want to scream out with frustration and tiredness, kicking out at the door with my good leg, pummelling it with my fists, but can’t risk making a noise.

So I do. I take off again, rounding the next corner of the building, which is dimly illuminated by a streetlight back on the road. I see some windows.

Please be unlocked, I think to myself. I really need to catch a break. I need that phone. I need that phone to call my dad. I don’t know how much energy I’ve got left in me. I don’t know how much longer I can keep going and I’m terrified of what will happen if I stop.

I take the few steps I need to reach the window closest to me. As I inspect it, I’m hopeful. There are three along the side of the building—all single hung windows that I’ll need to slide up. They all look old and weathered like this one.

I try the first window, placing my hands on it and trying to move it upwards, but I can’t. It’s quite solid. I get the feeling it might not have been opened for some time.

As soon as I put my hands on it I feel that it’s quite loose. Almost immediately the frame begins to move upwards.

Right. I need something to jam it open with. I run back around to the front of the building where there’d been some workbenches and look desperately for something, anything, that might do—an offcut of wood. After a moment or two I find a metal ruler, grab it and run back, picking up a wooden box that’s been left lying around. I stick the box below the second window, push the frame up and jam the ruler along the side.

Not wanting to lose any time, I immediately step up on the box, stick my hips on the bottom of the window frame and begin to attempt to shimmy inside. I try to look around me, but I can’t see a thing. It’s dark inside. I can see only large shapes, most of them far away from me. I feel with my hands and come into contact with nothing. I have to risk it. I have to get inside. I continue to shimmy forward and, before I know it, I’m further in than I thought and I’m falling, my hands splayed out in front of me, ready to save me.

I’m about halfway to the floor when there’s a loud crack as my head meets something hard and metallic.

There’s a moment of sharp, ringing pain as I cry out and fall helplessly to the floor of the boatshed.

My whole body jerks to attention and I open my eyes. I don’t know where I am. Everything around me is dark, only a sliver of light shining in from some windows above. I sit up slowly, unsure why my head is pounding the way it is. Tentatively, I reach for the right side of it, realising I’ve knocked it on something. What, I don’t know.

I sit for a moment, trying to think. Why does everything hurt? My right temple, my knee, my neck. I try to recall how I got here and where I am and immediately get the feeling I’m supposed to be looking for something. My laptop? No, my phone. I think it was my phone.

I think I’m in my hotel room in Vienna. The one where everything’s white. But wait, didn’t we leave there? Are we back there again? I reach out my left hand for the bedside table, and the lamp. I can’t feel the bedside table. But I’m not on a bed at all. And yet I desperately want to go back to sleep. Why am I not in the bed?

Nothing is making sense. I must be dreaming, except I don’t think so. The floor is cold and hard and dirty and real beneath my hands, the grime pushing its way under my nails.

I get onto all fours, keeping my weight off my sore knee with my hands, then stand slowly in case there’s anything around me, touching the surfaces around me as I go. My head feels like it might split in two at any moment. I try to make out shapes in the darkness and work out where a light switch might be. In the end, I find a door just beyond the last window before I find a light switch. It has only a simple deadbolt and I twist it open. Before I exit, I turn the light on.

I remember something then—I needed to get inside. It was important that I get inside the boatshed. I just don’t know why.

Wait, that’s right. To find my phone. Though why it would be in here I have no idea.

Stepping outside, I close the door behind me with a bang and look around, trying to identify anything familiar. There’s a jetty. I remember that jetty. I remember coming around that corner there and seeing it. Hearing the water lap against it. I turn to my right and walk towards the right hand side of the building—the way I’d come.

I continue along the building, bringing my hand to my head as I go, the throbbing getting worse rather than better. I remember this little slip road. Those trees. I remember walking this way. Running. Running towards something or away from something? The man on the train. I can’t recall. Everything seems so mixed up. Vienna and Frankfurt. Steen and Ryan. My phone. No, wait. Not my phone. A phone. Dad. Emily.

I keep wandering as I spot things I remember. A grassy hill. I walk up that. It’s steep. And then it’s not so steep. It flattens out.

I look up, confronted by a large … object. It’s a sculpture that looks like a strange cubby house built by oversized children, pieces of wood nailed together haphazardly. Some of the planks are painted red, others not.

I kick my shoes off and feel the soft grass, cool beneath my feet. I’m so tired. Perhaps if I just lie down for a moment everything will seem clearer and my head will stop hurting and everything will make sense.

I sink down to the ground and think about how I’d love to pull the grass up and over me like a doona and sleep forever.

‘I see a person,’ the voice says from further up the hill. ‘The camera’s showing someone at the edge of the sculpture.’

Steen, I think to myself. He’s come to pick me up from the party. I try to lift my head to tell him I’m here, but now I’m lying down it’s too hard to move. I just want to sleep. My eyes close again, then re-open. That doesn’t make sense. Steen’s gone. I went away, didn’t I? I left.

I frown. That’s not Steen. I’m pulled from sleep again. I try to get up and fail, my body unwilling to move, even though my brain tells it to. Begs it to.

With a groan, I roll onto my stomach and get up on my hands and knees, then wince as I put weight on my right knee. Why does everything hurt so much?

I look up to see someone I don’t know towering above me. Someone with a camera on his head, of all things. No, wait. I know him. He’s from the coffee shop in Vienna. There was Sachertorte. I spilled my water. I remember that.

But something’s very wrong. This doesn’t feel right. None of us should be here.

I try to move again. But I’m so tired. I feel like a bug sprayed with insecticide, in the final throes of death. Struggling. Struggling and losing the will to go on. A twitch here. A twitch there.

I hear more people, though I can’t see them at first. I see their feet. They come to stand beside the guy with the camera. One of them bends down. He looks very familiar. I think his name is Matthew, but it doesn’t fit his face. It’s the wrong face. Or wrong name. Maybe both.

‘I think she’s injured,’ a voice says, close to me. The camera guy? I’m not sure any more. I don’t care. ‘Yes, look. She’s gashed her knee. And check out the right side of her head, near her temple.’

Someone swears in a gravelly voice. ‘Here, pass me the syringe and the ketamine,’ he says.

My eyes flicker open to see a plain white ceiling. I’m in bed. The one attached to my lab. And while it feels familiar, I get the feeling I shouldn’t be here for some reason. I turn my head to the right and catch sight of the bedside table. I remind myself to be careful. Ryan’s ID card is in there. Inside my book.

I keep screaming as I scramble backwards towards the bed head, still trying to get away.

‘Stop! Miri, stop! It’s all right. It’s all over. I’m here,’ a voice says, scrambling up from the floor on the other side of my bed.

But I don’t stop screaming. I can’t. He doesn’t understand. He doesn’t know what’s happened. I throw off my covers and swing my legs out of bed, but the moment I try to stand, my head spins horribly and I have to sit back down again, scared I’m going to vomit.

I see the bedding then on the floor of my room. It looks like Steen’s been here for some time, though how long that’s been, I don’t know.

My head. My head. I reach up and grab it as it pounds away. I want to scream again, but it hurts too much. I lie back down with a whimper.

‘You’re safe. It’s all over,’ Steen’s voice says again, hovering above me.

He repeats the words until I’m able to open my eyes a crack and look at him. Slowly, hesitantly, he reaches down and touches me on my right shoulder.

He repeats the phrase, over and over again. They wash over me and, finally, I hear him.

But I can’t stop. My body can’t stop. Every single one of my muscles is still ready to jump up and run.

‘Help came? The Society … they’re not experimenting on Ryan’s body?’ I’m finally able to put the words together.

‘You don’t need to worry any more. It’s all over and they’ll explain everything later. Right now you just need to rest. You need to get better.’

Help came. I’m safe. Steen’s safe. They’re not experimenting on Ryan. I don’t understand what’s gone on, but I trust Steen is telling me the truth. I feel the fight leave my body then.

My body relaxes into the bed and I feel Steen cover me back up again with the blanket.

Steen sits down on the side of the bed and his face appears before mine. ‘Can you remember what happened?’

I think for a moment, tentatively rolling over onto my back. ‘I don’t know. I remember bits and pieces. Everything feels very mixed up and the wrong way around.’

‘That doesn’t surprise me.’ Steen takes one of my hands and gently guides it up to my right temple. There’s a huge egg-shaped lump there. ‘You gave yourself quite a knock.’

I attempt to think back. ‘There was a dog,’ I say. ‘And a cat. Ugh, that cat. The fridge. I opened the fridge to get some light and the cat wouldn’t shut up.’ I remember more. ‘I couldn’t get to a phone. I couldn’t do it. How long have I been asleep for?’

Steen twists round so he can see the clock on the wall in the lab. ‘About seventeen hours. I think you needed it.’

‘A shot of ketamine, I think. To get you back here. So you wouldn’t fight.’

I take my hand from Steen’s and bring it to my head again, wincing. ‘I couldn’t get to a phone. I’m sorry. I tried, but I couldn’t.’

‘It doesn’t matter any more. Don’t worry about that.’ He takes my hand and holds it tight.

I frown, which also hurts. ‘What do you mean it doesn’t matter? What happened?’

‘It’s complicated.’ His eyes slide away from mine. ‘You’ll understand soon.’

‘Understand what?’ There’s something about his voice. It’s so strange. He sounds … defeated. ‘Wait. That was true about Ryan, wasn’t it? They’re not experimenting on him?’

Steen pauses for a moment. ‘No, they’re not experimenting on him. There’ll be a debriefing. There’s a lot to say.’

‘What? What do you mean?’ When I was running, I seriously thought that if they caught me the Society might … I don’t know. I didn’t want to know.

Steen sighs. ‘The Society understands why you ran. You don’t need to be worried. As I mentioned, there’s a lot to say. But first we’ve got to clean you up. They wanted to do that while you were asleep, but I wouldn’t let them. I knew you wouldn’t like that. Not after what had just happened. I put some disinfectant on your knee, but left it at that. Your shirt was so dirty I had to cut it off and I didn’t think you’d want to wear scrubs again, so I put you in one of mine.’

I run a hand over my torso. I’m wearing a light blue shirt, the cuffs rolled up. I don’t want to think about me being unconscious, Steen dressing me, it’s … ugh … embarrassing. But he’s also right. It makes my chest tighten imagining them having their hands on me. Touching me. I’m grateful Steen knew what I needed, even when I had no voice to speak for myself.

Steen’s hand moves up then, to touch my neck softly. ‘This just needs cleaning up,’ he says. ‘But your knee’s a mess. It’s going to need a good clearing out and quite a few stitches.’

He stands up then and moves around to the other side of the bed, kneeling beside it.

‘It’s not that bad, is it?’ I push myself up onto my elbows and then immediately regret the action—my head spinning—and lie back down again. After a while, I try the manoeuvre again. Slower this time.

Someone has torn off the bottom of the blue scrubs I was wearing, which means I get a good look instantly. It’s worse than I’d thought. There’s a real gash, the skin puckered back on either side. ‘Great,’ I say, lying back down again. ‘Just great.’

‘No,’ I say. ‘No.’ I push myself up again, not caring how sick it makes me feel, and grab at him. ‘No, I don’t want to see them. Not yet. You do it.’ We’ve had plenty of practice suturing pig skin. Steen is more than able.

He takes a step towards me and hesitates before he speaks. ‘You need someone more skilled. If I do it, it’ll scar.’

‘If you won’t do it, I’ll just leave it. I’ll tape it closed. I don’t care.’

He laughs at this. ‘Yeah, I don’t doubt it.’ He comes down to crouch beside the bed, his expression concerned. ‘Are you sure? You know it won’t be as perfect.’

‘Yes, I understand my knee modelling days will be over. Now go and get everything you need. And before you leave, if you can pass me something to vomit in, that would be great.’

Steen goes into the lab and grabs a stainless steel kidney dish, which he brings over and rests on my chest. Then he bends down and kisses me on the forehead, moving back up again to stroke some tendrils of hair from my face. ‘When they told me … when I found out you’d run, you’d already been gone for some time. You don’t know how worried I was. You didn’t have your drugs. Anything could have happened to you out there.’

I look deep into his eyes. ‘I know. It wasn’t meant to happen that way. I was hoping to just break into the medical and support staff area, use the phone and come back. But it didn’t work out …’

He bends down again to kiss me on the lips this time, hesitating as he gets closer to see if that’s all right. If I’m okay with it. ‘Hold that thought,’ he says. ‘I’ll go and get everything we need and be right back and we can talk some more.’

I catch the front of his shirt as he pulls away, not wanting him to go. Not wanting anyone else to come in. I see then that he’s not wearing green scrubs. He’s not wearing any scrubs—he’s wearing his own clothes.

‘No one else comes in here,’ I say, starting to shake with the thought of it. Obviously I’m more messed up than I know.

‘No one else,’ Steen says, his eyes not moving from mine. ‘I promise you.’

I’m not sure how long it takes before Steen arrives back, because I drift in and out of sleep, my eyes opening and closing. I keep thinking I’m supposed to be running, then fall asleep again, remembering I’m safe and my body’s need for rest is kicking in.

‘Here we are.’ I wake again to see Steen standing over me, a metal trolley by his side and a stool. ‘I’ve got everything you need. Including some lovely painkillers for your head.’

‘Pace yourself.’ Steen passes me two tablets and a small cup of water and then settles himself onto the stool and begins to open packages. ‘Do you remember what you cut your knee on?’

I think back through the fog. A hedge? No, that was my neck. Oh, yes, that’s right … ‘It was on top of the bunker. Something metallic. I remember feeling it with my hand.’

Steen’s eyebrows rise as he looks at me. ‘Well then, it’s your lucky day, because you get a tetanus shot as well.’

I sigh. ‘Awesome. I was hoping for one of those.’ I take the painkillers, hand him the cup and lie back down. ‘Give me the local in my knee first, then the tetanus shot.’

‘Now, while we wait for the local to kick in, I’ll jab you with something else, shall I?’ Steen grins, wheeling his stool over, closer to my arm. ‘Ready?’

I feel a second sting as the needle enters my arm. ‘You don’t have to enjoy it so much,’ I reply, but my voice wobbles as a wave of emotion kicks in and, suddenly, I’m crying, tears sliding out of the corners of my eyes. It takes Steen a second or two to notice.

‘Hey, hey! What’s the matter?’ He withdraws the needle and turns to place it on top of the trolley. He brings his stool closer again towards the bed.

‘I don’t know. Everything. Nothing,’ I gulp. ‘You’re not angry with me. I so thought you’d be angry with me. That I didn’t tell you. But I knew you couldn’t come and I had to do something.’ I turn my head to look over to the other side of the room.

But Steen only reaches out and turns my chin back again with his hand. ‘I’m not angry with you. I’m just glad you’re okay. Really. I only wish you hadn’t run off on your own.’

‘You couldn’t go. One of us had to do something. And we’ve established I’m good at running, right?’ I smile weakly.

Unbidden, the tears start again then, seriously, my whole body feels like it belongs to someone else. Like I can’t control it. I’m a marionette puppet again, just like when I was little, but now it’s the Society pulling my strings. I remember something else. ‘I totally forgot to ask how you are after your surgery. I’m sorry, I just … I can’t seem to put everything in the right order in my head.’

Steen strokes the hair back from my forehead. ‘With a lump like that I’m surprised you can remember your own name, to be honest. But I’m fine, thanks. I won’t deny there’s still a bit of pain, but I feel a whole lot better than I did carrying around a dead appendix. And a whole lot better again now you’re back here. That’s all that matters to me. That you’re back here and that you’re okay.’

I wipe my eyes with one hand. I still don’t understand what’s going on. ‘But am I? Are we? Okay here?’

Steen nods. ‘Yes. Now let’s get started on that knee.’ He turns away from me and busies himself with the trolley.

He spends a long time cleaning out the wound and I find myself dozing again, waking to find him suturing.

‘I know you’re avoiding telling me everything,’ I finally say, staring at the ceiling.

After Steen finishes with my knee and cleans up my neck and head, I doze on and off again. I’ve lost all track of day and night.

The next time my eyes open, Steen isn’t in the room. Just as I begin to panic, he enters through the lab door, carrying a tray.

‘Breakfast,’ he says, entering my bedroom. ‘Think you’re up for it? You missed dinner last night. You really need to eat something.’

I realise how hungry I am. I don’t feel nauseated any more either. I push myself up onto my elbows and then sit up. Nothing spins. I can’t say I feel one hundred per cent, but the room remains the right way up and my head isn’t throbbing like before. ‘What have you got?’

Steen puts the tray down on the end of the bed. ‘Looks like you’re starting to feel better. We’ve got granola. Yoghurt. An apple. Some toast.’

After breakfast, Steen puts a stool in the shower and I’m able to sit in there and wash, a waterproof dressing on my knee. When I get out, I don’t want to put on scrubs again, so I dig out my remaining clothes and put those on. Then I comb out my hair and twist it into a top knot. I even manage to stand up for long enough to brush my teeth.

When I’m finally done and sitting on my bed again, staring at the wall and thinking, Steen reappears. I look up at him. ‘I feel almost human again.’

Steen leaves and I have a few moments to prepare myself before Marcus enters. He walks through the lab and pauses at my bedroom door. He can barely meet my eyes.

‘Come in,’ I say, even though I don’t want him to. I gesture towards the stool that Steen had sat on to suture my knee up.

Marcus enters, picking up the stool and bringing it slightly closer to my bed, where I’m sitting. He has that dishevelled look about him again, which is hardly surprising given the last few days—his shirt is creased, like he’s slept in it, which he very well might have done.

He seems incredibly uncomfortable, shifting this way and that and, watching him, I begin to remember snatches of conversation I overheard when I was on the roof of the bunker. The fact that he truly didn’t know about Ryan. That he thought I should have agreed to experiment on him. The President’s voice telling him to return downstairs.

‘I didn’t expect you to offer us another student’s body to experiment on.’

There’s a long pause. ‘No,’ he finally says. ‘I have to apologise. I was meant to be completely impartial. I failed in my …’

‘Yes, it’s a shame about that. If you’d like to return at another point and …’

‘So tell me then!’ I raise my voice. I think about Steen’s cryptic comments. ‘Why is everyone keeping things from me?’

Marcus stands now, looking like he can’t wait to leave. ‘Because we need to keep an eye on that head of yours.’

I snort. ‘I can’t work out if it hurts because I fell in the boatshed, or if it’s from the time Lauren slammed it against one of the bunker walls.’

Marcus colours. ‘I saw that. After. It seems we missed a lot of things. I … you … we were all led astray.’

‘One of the neurologists will stop by soon. If he gives you the all-clear, we’ll gather everyone for a meeting this afternoon.’

While I’m waiting for the neurologist, I read for a while, chat to Steen and doze on and off. I’m picking at some sort of baked mushroom and chicken thing for lunch when Steen puts his fork down on his plate and sticks it on top of my bedside table.

‘So …’ He looks over at me and, feeling the shift in the conversation, I look up slowly from my meal.

‘Where are you going to from here? Are you going back to England?’ Finally we’re coming around to the subject we’ve been avoiding—what happens next.

‘I hadn’t really thought that far,’ I answer him. ‘I expected the Society had already arranged a large hole to be dug outside for my benefit and that they would bury me alive.’

We sit for what feels like close to forever this way. Staring at each other. Trying to gauge what the other is thinking. Feeling. I know it’s me who has to answer. That he’ll hold out until I do. He’s not going to say anything at all until I give him my decision.

‘Yes,’ I finally say. I can’t even remember the question now. Recall if it’s the right response. But I know Steen will understand what I mean. ‘Yes.’

I can’t help but smile in return. ‘I wish I’d never left. I’m done with the Society. I’m out.’

There’s a loud buzz, alerting us to the fact that someone’s at the lab door.

The neurologist does a full examination, tells me everything seems fine, and leaves.

Ten minutes later, the phone rings and Steen picks it up. When he replaces the receiver, his eyes move to meet mine. ‘That was Marcus. The meeting’s in half an hour,’ he says. ‘At three.’

‘Am I going to like what I’m about to hear?’ I ask, watching him carefully, trying to pick up any little sign that might give me a clue as to what’s been going on.

‘No.’ He gives me a solid answer. But then he shakes his head. ‘Look, it’s …’ He stops himself.

‘Because you wouldn’t believe me if I did. Trust me, this is something you need to see for yourself.’

At three, Steen and I leave the safety of my bedroom and cross my lab. When I hesitate at the door, he reaches back and silently takes my hand. The door swishes open and we cross the threshold together.

Maybe I’ve hidden out in my room too long, but I feel queasy as soon as I put a foot in the hallway. Steen moves forward, and I hold back, our two arms stretched out over the wide gap between us.

‘It’s going to be all right,’ he tells me, but he has that look about him again. That worn down, defeated look I’d also seen on Marcus’s face.

I let him lead me up the corridor and we turn left. We don’t go into the meals and recreation area but continue along the corridor. The door to the medical and support staff area is open and that’s where we’re headed. I stop, my mind flooding with remembrances of the last time I was here, breaking in. The adrenalin. The fear. I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself, but it doesn’t work. I wonder how long it will take before I’m able to leave behind the feeling of being chased. Hunted. How long it will be before I stop waking up every half hour in the middle of the night.

I nod, squeezing his hand tight. Whatever this is, I need to hear it. I need to get it over and done with so we can leave this place—and the Society—forever.

We pass through the door and turn to the right, where I’d hidden and listened to the voices as they watched TV. Before we round the corner, however, Marcus appears. ‘Ah, there you are. Just in here.’ He gestures to an open door.

I can feel my hands shaking now, but I follow the two of them into the room anyway.

Inside there’s a long table and, up the front, a large TV mounted on the wall. There are no medical or support staff present, but Andrew and Lauren are already there, seated on the opposite side of the table. Lauren gives me a cold, hard look but doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t even nod at me. Andrew has his hands on the desk and doesn’t look up as we enter.

Marcus leads us over to the seats opposite Andrew and Lauren, pulling them out for us.

Marcus doesn’t sit, but walks around to the front of the oval table, speaking as he goes. ‘Miri, as you know, you were asked to experiment and travelled to Vienna to meet your group and go through your paperwork and so on.’

‘And you remember quite clearly our trip to the café there, our dinner at the hotel and so on?’

‘And the boardroom. You remember being in the boardroom and doing some paperwork?’

‘Ye …’ I trail off. I do remember the boardroom. What it looked like. Where I sat. But something’s not right. It’s like I don’t remember it properly. Not in detail. I think for a moment. ‘I remember it seemed to take a long time. And then I was sick. I had a headache. And I woke up in bed.’ I hadn’t really questioned it at the time, but the more I think about it, the more this seems … off. The timing strange and ambiguous. I look up at Marcus, suddenly on high alert. ‘Why? What’s this about?’

He moves a step or two closer towards me. ‘That day, in the boardroom in Vienna, there was a reason you felt the paperwork took too long. It was because, while you were there, something happened that you’ve forgotten. That you opted to forget.’

Steen looks up at Marcus. ‘Quit drawing it out. This isn’t an episode of The Bachelor.’

‘All right.’ Marcus nods, squaring his shoulders. He turns and switches the TV on and presses a button or two on the remote he’s holding. A picture comes up on the screen—a picture of us in the boardroom in Vienna. No, it’s not a picture, I see. It’s a recording, paused.

I hadn’t known they were recording us. It doesn’t surprise me that they were—I just hadn’t thought about it until now. ‘Okay,’ I say to Marcus, letting him know I’m ready.

I’m not taken aback by what I see. We’re there, we’re working through our paperwork. I remember all of this. It’s not very exciting. In fact, it’s not exciting at all. I glance over at Steen, beside me, who nods towards the screen. I need to keep watching.

For the next thirty seconds or so, we continue along with our paperwork, Marcus walking around the table, pointing out this and that, answering our questions.

I watch as he moves to the head of the room. ‘If you could all pause there,’ he says. ‘And put your pens down for a moment.’

‘I have something to discuss with you.’ Marcus clasps his hands together. ‘An offer to make you, in fact. An offer that hasn’t been made to any of our members before in any of our groups—youth, mid-career or established.’

In the bunker, I look on as, unsure of what’s happening, the four of us in Vienna glance around at each other.

‘For some time, the Society has been interested in finding a way to self-evaluate our organisation. When a student in our youth program put forward an innovative application that involved a way in which we could do just this, we leapt at the opportunity to do so. As a training exercise of sorts.’

‘What we are offering you today,’ Vienna Marcus continues, ‘is to be involved in a second self-experimentation project to do with this self-evaluation while you participate in your own. Naturally, you do not have to agree, and if you choose not to, you will simply leave and your experimentation date will be changed to a later date. If you choose to accept our offer, the memory of this offer will also be erased from your minds and we will move forward and continue with both experiments simultaneously.’

At this point of the recording, Steen sits back in his chair looking dubious. ‘And what is this second experiment?’

Marcus holds up a ‘I was just getting to that’ finger. ‘The second experiment is a test of ethics. Some of you noticed that there is no fifth student present with us today.’

‘There is, in fact, a fifth student after all—the student who will be running this second experiment alongside yours. We can’t introduce you to him at this point, but his name is Matthew. Matthew will accompany you to the bunker, but will be with the medical and support staff, unseen to you all. At some point during your two weeks of experimentation, there will be an emergency alert. Matthew will “die”. As far as you are aware, he will be classified as brain dead and placed on life support. His body will be offered to all four of you to experiment on as you see fit. And then Matthew, along with the Society, will closely examine your response to this offer.’

Until, that is, Steen stands up in his seat, his face absolutely thunderous, and we all look up at him instead.

‘I don’t like this,’ Steen says, pushing back his seat in the boardroom in Vienna.

Marcus nods on the screen as he looks at him. ‘I understand. To be honest, at first many of us within the Society’s hierarchy had the same reaction. But the more we thought about it, the more we came to see it as an excellent way to self-experiment on ourselves as a whole. There will be only a very small, select group of people who will know what is truly happening. Like you, I will have my recollection of this offer altered, as will be the case for many in the hierarchy.’

‘Exactly right. Even the President’s memory will be altered. We don’t only need to test you—we need to test ourselves. Only a few people will know about the experiment, and they are mostly from outside the organisational hierarchy of the Society. We’re testing ourselves as much as you.’

On hearing this, Steen sits down with a frown. As I watch his expression on the TV in front of me, he doesn’t look like he’s thinking it’s much of a better idea, but he seems more willing to hear Marcus out if he’ll be receiving the same treatment he’s proposing we submit ourselves to. ‘So why not introduce us to this guy now?’ Steen continues, his voice argumentative. ‘This Matthew guy?’

‘Actually meeting him may form attachments to the memory of you being here in this room and the offer of the experiment. It’s best if you don’t put a face to the name.’

‘Wouldn’t it seem strange if he suddenly turned up there? You wouldn’t remember him being here with the other students.’

Steen frowns even more deeply on the screen. ‘So who will you think he is, then?’

Meanwhile, I see myself looking around the table and nodding along as Marcus speaks.

Marcus gives us a few moments to let everything he’s told us sink in. ‘Now I will, of course, give you plenty of time to consider this offer, but right now do you have any questions?’

‘I do.’ Lauren speaks up first. ‘The fifth student—Matthew—did he choose us, or did the Society select us for this second experiment?’

‘You were randomly selected. The field was narrowed to the other top nine applicants who were to be invited to experiment this year, and then the two groups were divided by computer.’

Lauren asks another question. ‘And what if something goes wrong with our own experiments while this second experiment is happening? If we run out of time because of the commitment to the Society’s experiment?’

‘You will be offered the opportunity to re-experiment at the first available date.’

Lauren leans further forward. ‘And how do you decide who has the best research?’

‘The monetary prize for the best research will be decided by the board as per usual and will be based on the student who the board agrees has produced the finest, most useful results with the time and facilities afforded to him or her.’

Steen leans forward in Vienna then and slaps a hand on the table. ‘This is coercion. You know none of us wants to back out now. That’s what you’ve been banking on all along. That we’ll agree simply because we’re worried something will happen and that offer to experiment later on won’t be there.’

‘No one ever said self-experimentation is an easy road, Steen. There need to be checks and balances. Surely you must see that. The last thing any of us wants is for the Society to get out of hand. To push boundaries it should never push.’

And me? Back in the bunker I can see how distracted I look in the recording, my mind being pulled this way and that, thinking of all sorts of things.

‘But if this isn’t real, what about his body? Aren’t we going to expect to see his body in ICU?’ Lauren asks, on the recording.

‘You will be allowed to see his body. Matthew will be given a general anaesthetic and be ventilated in ICU for a short period. In case you ask to see inside his lab, a scene will be staged inside it to seem as if we’ve attempted to resuscitate him and failed.’

The four of us look at each other across the boardroom table in Vienna. So he’s going to be ventilated. At least his experiment is as invasive as the rest of ours, we all seem to be thinking. Then I tentatively raise my hand to ask my question.

‘How exactly are you going to make us forget all of this? What’s the procedure?’ I sound dubious.

Marcus pauses for a moment. ‘It was developed by a psychiatrist at one of our established experimentation sessions some time ago. It’s a combination of drugs and ECT that uses keywords to target specific memories. For example, at the café, I used the keyword “Sachertorte” several times. The keyword for the situation we’re in now is “paperwork”. By doing so, the psychiatrist will be able to help you recall that particular event in detail while you overlook our time in this room. You’ll remember being here and doing paperwork, but that is all. The technique is highly effective and very safe, and works specifically on select memories from the recent present when the patient is guided by the psychiatrist.’

In the Vienna boardroom I glance at him before continuing with my questioning. ‘And at what point are you told about the second experiment? Before us, presumably.’

‘Yes, before you, but this is entirely at the discretion of Matthew’s team. After all, we’re not sure what will happen.’

Now, here in the bunker, everything suddenly makes so much more sense—why Marcus wasn’t allowed into Ryan’s lab. Why he didn’t initially have access to the ICU. He really didn’t know what was going on. My mind flashes back to hiding out on top of the bunker—after I’d ripped my knee open. Whoever Marcus had been talking to, I think they were trying to tell him what was really going on. They were trying to end the experiment.

As it turned out, it was uglier than any of us could ever have imagined—two members who took full advantage of the Society’s heinous offer, a member of the hierarchy who was swayed by their decision and only two members who thought that maybe the whole thing wasn’t such a fantastic idea. Also, let’s not forget Ryan, who didn’t really give anyone much of an option but to participate in the first place. And oh, but this is so, so him. As if he cares about ethics or boundaries. I doubt he’s given them a thought in his life except to think up ways to get around them. No, this isn’t about ethics and boundaries. This is about control. About working his way up the hierarchy of the Society faster. Sooner. Ingratiating himself to those at the top. And toying with the rest of us, highlighting our flaws. This experiment was his chance to be the ultimate puppet master, pulling everyone’s strings—including the Society’s.

I take a deep breath and speak up. ‘Do you think we could stop the recording?’ I ask.

‘Of course,’ Marcus says, turning and pressing a button on the remote. ‘Do you need to take a moment?’

I need to take several moments, I think to myself. And none of them in the presence of Lauren, Andrew or Marcus himself.

I stand. ‘If I can just borrow Steen for a minute or two. It’s only there are several things we discussed after … after everyone made their decision, and I want to ask him some questions about that.’ It’s a lie, and perhaps everyone in the room can see straight through it, but I don’t care. I just need to talk to Steen.

Steen and I exit the room together. I move along the corridor and he follows me until I stop. I hold my hands out in front of me—they’re really shaking now. Suddenly not feeling all that great again, I find a piece of wall and slide down it until I’m sitting on the floor. Steen comes and crouches in front of me. He waits for me to speak first.

‘We’ve been played.’ I rest my head in my hands for a moment, attempting to take it all in.

‘I know,’ he answers. ‘Ryan will have had the time of his life. To be honest, I’m still trying to get my head around the whole thing, and they told me not long after you left—as soon as I woke up, really.’

I stare at the wall opposite me for a moment. ‘No wonder I felt so sick in Vienna. ECT and drugs. I just …’

‘That reminds me of something,’ I say, pointing a finger at him. ‘I remembered what you said to Marcus about the Tuskegee Syphilis Experiment and the Aversion Project.’

Steen’s face immediately registers shock. And I can understand why. In hindsight, what’s happened to us all seems so obvious. The Stanford Prison Experiment was a study run in the 1970s where Stanford undergrads were recruited and divided randomly into guards and prisoners and placed in a prison setting. It took only a few days before morality left the building, the experiment spun completely out of control and the guards became aggressive and abusive, dehumanising the prisoners. Even worse—the experimenters themselves overlooked the shocking treatment of their ‘inmates’ in order to keep their ‘prison’ running effectively. It wasn’t until a graduate student saw what was going on and was horrified by it that the experiment was ended.

‘It’s funny, but I remember wondering if this might all be some kind of test,’ I say. ‘I wondered if we were all being tested. But I didn’t follow through on that thought. Seeing Ryan’s lab and then his body in ICU …’

‘It was convincing,’ Steen says. ‘It was meant to be. I can’t believe I didn’t think of the Stanford Prison Experiment. That was really interesting. People’s behaviour changed because of the situation they were placed in. They did things they never would have believed they were capable of. Even the researcher lost all perspective.’

I nod. ‘It says a lot about why Andrew and Marcus made the choices they did.’

‘I know. Things could have been very different.’ Once again, I’m grateful Steen was here to influence my decision. I decide to change the topic. ‘They don’t seem to care that the three of us were in the same program. That we knew each other.’

Steen shrugs. ‘I guess it must happen a lot. Especially with people involved with the Thirty.’

‘If I’d known this was Ryan’s experiment, I never would have agreed to it in a million years.’

‘But you did agree to it. Why? The recording … it looks like you want to say no. Like you’re going to. Why did you finally agree to go through with it?’

As I rise, I watch him carefully. ‘I need to see the rest of the recording, don’t I?’

It’s as we walk back into the room that I get the idea. Before I sit down, I turn to Marcus. ‘Is Matthew still here at the bunker?’

‘Yes, they have. I was going to introduce him to you later, but if you’d prefer now …’

‘I would, actually.’ I don’t know why. I just need to see him in the flesh for some reason.

Marcus pulls his phone out of his pocket and sends a quick text, which is returned just as fast. ‘He’ll be along in a moment,’ he says, all business.

I don’t take my seat, but remain standing, Steen beside me. I’m surprisingly calm as I wait for Ryan to show up. Ryan who I’d thought—hoped—I’d left far behind. If only he’d kept his real name. If he had, I would have known that this was his experiment. But then, if I had … I glance at Steen. Maybe all of this has been worth it after all.

And then, just like that, Ryan walks into the room. At first I can only stare at him blankly. He’s here. Alive. Real. After everything that’s happened, it’s very confusing. In my mind, he was on life support. The essence of him gone. I think of my mother. Will she walk into a room and back into my life one day? Wake from the dead? But no. That’s different. I may not know all the details of my mother’s death and the Society’s involvement in it, but she’s been gone for over a decade. She isn’t coming back.

Ryan takes a step towards me, breaking my chain of thought. There’s the slightest hint of a smirk on his face, and suddenly I snap. I want to walk up and slap that expression right out of him once and for all.

I hold my ground as Ryan takes another step forward then stops, his smirk marginally wider, the three of us having a silent conversation.

‘I have to thank you,’ Ryan says to me, ignoring Steen. ‘You really went out on a limb for me running across the countryside like that.’

‘I went out on a limb for what I believe in,’ I tell him. ‘Not for you.’ Never for you, I think to myself. You who stalked me because of your interest in my mother. You who cared only about clawing your way to the upper echelons of this Society. Trampling anyone and everyone to get where you want to go. Walking all over their experiments in order to complete your more important one. Toying with my emotions. Making me feel sorry for you when you deserved no such thing.

He raises an eyebrow and steps forward again, as does Steen. But my gaze flicks over to Steen. I want to handle this on my own. I need to show Ryan I’m not afraid of him. Not any more.

Ryan leans in until his face is next to mine. ‘The truth is, I thought you’d choose differently,’ he says in a low voice. ‘I thought you were your mother’s daughter.’

Feeling his breath hot on my cheek, I pull back, revolted. My eyes bore into his, searching for further information. There’s something about how he’s said these loaded words.

Sensing the tension, Marcus picks up the remote. ‘Well, perhaps we should continue?’

I take one last look at Ryan before turning my back on him and taking my seat. ‘Please.’ Steen sits himself down next to me. I slip my hand under the table and hold his, unsure of what I’m going to see next on the screen.

Marcus turns and presses a button on the remote and the image of the four of us in the boardroom in Vienna comes to life again.

We all sit and watch the recording right to the end. We watch the deliberations as the four of us consider whether or not we will take up the Society’s offer. We view the unsure glances around the table, wondering what everyone else will decide. The thought processes. The hesitation. The weighing up. As time wears on, it begins to be obvious what everyone’s decision will be. Lauren seems to be the first to make up her mind. She’s in. Andrew isn’t certain, but seems worried about missing out—if he says no, will the Society truly ask him back to experiment at a later date?

I feel my gut turn over as I watch my actions on the screen. I’m taken back to that day again at the Dorchester as my dad told me to be my true self and not who I thought others considered I should be. I see this as clear as day on my face on that screen. I am desperate. A desperate person. Desperate to achieve my goal. Ace my experiment. Have everyone acknowledge me as the best. The smartest. Ambitious. Brilliant. A rising star. Someone to be noticed. I am, as Ryan said, my mother’s daughter. Someone who, like Ryan, will walk over others to achieve any of these things.

I want to slap her almost as much as I wanted to slap Ryan before. Maybe even more.

I don’t trust her at all. Because I know that if Steen hadn’t been here with me throughout this journey, perhaps I wouldn’t have made the same choices I’ve made. Maybe Lauren would have swayed my decision as I believe she swayed Andrew’s. I see now how much of us is defined by the people we let share our lives—by who we let in.

The recording continues. In Vienna, Marcus gives us some time to move to separate corners of the room and to think by ourselves, jot down some notes. And then, when we all agree we’re ready, we move back to the boardroom table again. Despite the fact that I know what I’m going to say, my heart is in my mouth.

Lauren speaks first. ‘I agree,’ she says. ‘To the second experiment. On the condition that I may attempt my own at the same time, and if it is affected by the second experiment, that I be allowed to repeat it at a later date.’

‘I’d like to speak to the psychiatrist involved with the process of altering our remembrance of time and removing the memory of this offer in order to discuss how it might affect my experiment. But other than this I also agree to the second experiment with the same conditions outlined by Lauren.’

On screen, Steen’s eyes look to mine. In real life, I squeeze his hand, worried about viewing what’s to come, my heart rate accelerating with every second that passes by.

I barely even hesitate. That’s how sure of myself I am. How sure of myself I was. Not any more. I don’t know if I’ll ever be sure of anything ever again. ‘Yes,’ I say. ‘I want to participate in the second experiment.’ I don’t even glance at Steen. But on screen, I see Steen shift in his seat. He’s so ready to get up and leave that boardroom.

His eyes remain on me for a moment and I can tell I know he’s looking at me, but I ignore him anyway.

‘Fine, I’ll do it.’ He gives his reply. And now, in the present, I see so much in his gaze. He’s saying that for me. Only for me. Because he knows I’m stupid and selfish and have no idea what I’m doing. But he agrees anyway. Because if he says no, like he wants to, he won’t be there to pick up the pieces when it all falls apart as it surely must. Despite everything—my running away to England, leaving him behind without a word—he’s worried about what will happen to me.

Steen squeezes my hand, knowing I’ve seen what I needed to see. Seen everything I ever needed to see.

And now I know I was wrong before. I thought I’d never be sure about anything again.

When the recording ends, it’s all I can do to stare at the blank screen before me for some time. It’s a surreal experience—watching something playing out before you that you have absolutely no recollection of.

‘There’s more,’ Marcus says, pulling me back from my thoughts. ‘If you’d like to see the recording of your meeting with the psychiatrist, of the ECT and so on …’

I shake my head quickly. No. No, I don’t want to see that. I’m not sure I’ll ever want to see that. This has been more than enough. For now.

Lauren mutters something. I get the feeling she was hoping I’d say this—that I didn’t want to see more. My attention whips over to her across the table. ‘So sorry to be wasting your time,’ I tell her. ‘I’m guessing I’m lucky you and your minion didn’t carve me up when you found out there wasn’t a real body for you to experiment on.’

Lauren only rolls her eyes at my outburst while Andrew’s gaze remains fixed on the table. I don’t think he’s feeling so great about himself lately. And I don’t care. All I remember about Andrew is his voice when he spotted me with his camera on that grassy hill. His pointing me out and directing everyone to me. Then him standing over me as I lay there trying to get up and failing. Scared. Helpless. Not knowing what might happen to me. I don’t know how much he knew then about what was really going on. Had they told him already? I don’t want to know. He makes me sick. Lauren makes me sick. This whole putrid business makes me sick to my very core.

Steen squeezes my hand and I sit back in my chair. It’s not worth it, another squeeze tells me. They’re not worth it. I know he’s right, but I can’t help lashing out.

‘Can I go now?’ I look over at Marcus. ‘I just … I’ve had enough. I don’t want to be here any more.’

‘Of course,’ Marcus replies. ‘There are just two more things. Firstly, the research prize.’

I laugh. ‘You can’t seriously be going to tell me you’re awarding a prize.’

‘I was about to say the Society has decided not to award a prize this round in light of my poor leadership and the fact that there was an assault …’

‘I really don’t want to hear it. Though I hope you’re not thinking of throwing Lauren out. The Society could do with more students like Lauren. I’m sure she’s just what you’re looking for.’ I push back my chair.

‘And one more thing,’ Marcus says quickly. ‘It will only take a minute. A message came in this morning from the President of the Society. If you’d all like to listen to it?’ He’s not telling. He’s not asking. If anything, he’s kind of close to begging for my time now.

I shrug. Whatever. I never thought I’d say it, but I don’t care about the Society. I don’t care what the President has to say to us. I just want to go home.

Marcus takes this as my agreement and turns and presses another few buttons on the remote. The Society’s insignia appears on the screen. No recording. Just the insignia. And a voice. A woman’s voice. The one I’d heard on the phone as I hid on top of the bunker.

‘Youth experimenters,’ her voice begins. ‘The Society and I are very grateful for your contribution over the past two weeks, which will not be forgotten in years to come. Your help has been invaluable in enabling us to look further into the ethical considerations of our organisation—your organisation—for you are our future. I know this has not been an easy journey for any of you, but rest assured it has furthered our cause immensely, and please accept my personal thanks for your efforts and the thanks of all our members besides.’

As I listen to her words, I begin to frown, and my gaze flicks between Marcus and Ryan again, something flagged in my mind. There’s something odd about this. Something not right. Missing. It’s as if everything doesn’t quite fit together and I just need that one last, small piece of the jigsaw puzzle to slide into its spot and the picture will be clear. I so desperately want to know more—were my dad and I being watched that day we had lunch? What happened to the Argentinian journalist? Did the Society have a hand in keeping Ryan in the Thirty? Is there more to the story of my mother’s and the youth experimenter’s deaths? But I won’t believe anything I’m told, so know I might as well not ask.

After some time, Steen sits back in his seat. ‘So, what did we all learn?’ He spreads his arms wide across the table, his voice slightly mocking. He looks particularly at Marcus.

Lauren looks as if she can’t get out of here fast enough. Andrew still can’t bear to lift his gaze from his hands upon the table.

‘Oh, shut up, Matthew.’ Steen turns to him. ‘It was a rhetorical question.’

‘And one that we will be answering in depth in due course,’ Marcus adds quickly, ‘through Matthew’s report and an extensive report of our own. I wouldn’t be surprised if the entire structure of the Society changes after what we’ve seen happen here. You must understand this experiment went all the way to the top. Everyone’s decisions will be evaluated and scrutinised. It’s not only the four of you who were being tested, it was me, the support staff. All of us.’

But I barely hear them, because I’m staring at the table as well, thinking about that question of Steen’s. I’ve already started a list in my head of what I’ve learned. What we’ve learned. All of us. I think we’ve all learned a lot about ourselves. About our limits. What we’ll do to achieve. How far we’ll go for knowledge. About our true personalities. And me, personally … I learned everything I could ever need to know about the most important thing of all. Ryan’s experiment was far more valuable than he realises. And that I’ll never tell him.

Steen turns in his seat to look at me, still and quiet in my chair. ‘Are you okay?’ he says.

And in that moment, I just don’t care any more. I get up out of my seat and walk over to Marcus. ‘Do you mind if I watch some of the recording again?’ I ask him.

‘Of course not,’ he says. He switches the TV back on and locates the recording, handing me the remote when it starts playing, close to the end.

Standing right in front of the TV, I watch Steen’s gaze up close on the recording as he looks at me in that Vienna boardroom as I make my decision and he makes his.

Now, in the bunker, I take one last, long look. I switch the recording off and pass the remote back to Marcus.

Then I round the table to Steen. I lean over and bring his face to mine, my hair swinging forward to shield us. From them. From the world.

Rather than using the Society’s private jet, Steen and I opt for a different mode of travelling home. A local driver takes us to Copenhagen and we catch a plane to Frankfurt. There, I call both my dad and Emily and make arrangements. Despite the fact that Steen had spoken to them both the minute he’d found out I’d called them before I ran off, they are both still pretty frantic. It takes some time to talk them out of taking the first plane over to come and get me. Steen and I stay overnight in Frankfurt and then catch another plane back to my family home. I try to convince Steen to go and visit his own parents, but he’s intent on delivering me to my father.

‘I’ve got plans to meet them in New York in less than a week. They’d think it was strange if I suddenly turned up on their doorstep now. They’d ask questions,’ he tells me.

The truth is, I’m grateful for his company. Grateful for him watching over me when I wake up in the middle of the night on the plane, out of breath like I’m still running. Grateful that he’s able to anchor me in the present just by holding my hand. By telling me that everything’s all right.

And it is. It is. I know I’m safe. That Steen and I … that we’re all right too.

I can’t work it out. Is it something to do with what happened in Vienna? That I lost time that I now can’t account for? I’m not sure.

But it’s always there—in the back of my mind—and my brain ticks over constantly, distracted, attempting to remember what it is.

Our plane lands. And as we walk down the gangway, I know he’ll be there—my dad.

At first, surrounded by the people exiting the plane, I don’t see him. And then someone steps aside and he’s there. Really there. Larger than life. In a strange combination of brown vest and scarlet tie. But there.

I really should have taken him to buy that suit in London, I think, smiling to myself.

I’m not five years old any more. He warned me and I made my choices regardless of his advice. So I stand there instead.

That is, until Steen gives me a push in the small of my back, forcing me into action and making me do all of it at once. I run over to my dad. His arms envelop me without hesitation. And then the two of us stand there for some time, Steen looking on, surrounded by curious onlookers, wondering what’s wrong as I gulp and snort and make wet patches on that tie that already had enough problems to be going on with.

Finally my dad holds me at arm’s length. ‘Well, it looks like you’re in one piece.’ He glances over at Steen. ‘Anything I can’t see that I should know about?’

Steen looks to me to answer this and I shake my head. ‘Nothing that a week mooching around town with Emily won’t fix,’ I say, not knowing if this is true or not, but hoping it is. ‘She’ll be here in a couple of days’ time.’

‘Good,’ my dad says. ‘Then let’s go home and get busy doing nothing at all.’

He doesn’t ask any questions, not wanting to be told any more lies. Instead, he holds out his hand and, this time, I don’t hesitate to reach out to him. Because I see now, quite clearly, what Steen was always trying to tell me about him—that his presence by my side was never dragging me back, but simply encouraging me to walk forward slowly. Safely. One step at a time.

At home, Dad takes some time off work. I watch TV, go to the movies, shop, cook. We even go fishing (once). I also spend a lot of time lying on my bed and listening to the house. To the noises around me. To voices in both the present and in the past.

Of course, as soon as I’d got my phone back from Marcus, I’d seen the thirty-two voicemail messages from her and the fifty-eight texts. I’d called her back as soon as I could and told her everything was okay, that I’d speak to her soon and that she shouldn’t worry about me. But I could tell she was still freaking out. This was a girl who took the word ‘gingerbread’ very seriously indeed.

‘So, I need to know all about your phone call to me,’ is the first thing she says to me on arrival after giving me a hug, taking my hair out of its standard ponytail and fixing it into a more fashionable side braid. She pulls back to assess me as we stand on the front stairs of my house. ‘Better. You know you really scared me. I called your dad …’ Her eyes bore into mine, searching for any kind of information.

‘I know,’ I say, with a gulp. ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry I made you panic.’

Emily stands extremely still, waiting for my explanation. ‘He ended up telling me he’d spoken to Steen and that everything was okay. Then Steen called me as well.’

‘I …’ I’ve been struggling with trying to come up with something to tell her. ‘I was … lost,’ I end up saying. ‘Really lost. I didn’t know what to do. Where to go. Who to turn to. I was just … lost.’

There’s a long silence in which she continues to look at me, but finally she blinks. Perhaps she sees the truth in my eyes, because she allows me to lead her up onto the porch. ‘Lost. And, yet, lost as you were on this trip, somehow you found Steen along the way?’ She looks at me knowingly. ‘Now that you can tell me all about.’ She sits down in one of the comfy chairs, her suitcase beside her. ‘And don’t you worry. I have plenty of time for long and winding stories.’

Emily stays for a week and we continue my round of TV, movies, shopping and cooking. We forgo any more fishing—as Emily puts it, ‘No! The hooks in their little mouths!’

It takes me a few days, but I finally work up the courage to ask Emily about my replacement one afternoon when we’re grabbing a coffee (yes, with syrup—some things never change).

‘Oh,’ is her initial reply. ‘Her.’ She bites the edge of her cup. ‘They’re not together, if that’s what you want to know. It’s not like that.’

Emily’s eyes immediately flick up to meet mine, challenging me. ‘Well, you can hardly blame her, can you?’

When Emily leaves for New York, she makes me promise I’ll come and visit in the last week of the summer break—before we return to college, where she’s already rented us an apartment just off campus.

As soon as she goes, I do something I’ve been thinking about for many days. I call the number I have for Marcus. I tell him I have questions about my time at the bunker and need to see a psychologist. Specifically a psychologist who might be able to help me with accessing memories. I don’t say what sort.

With the psychologist’s help, I begin to remember. I revisit arguments from the past. Voices. Voices reverberating around our family home.

I want her to remember me. Why wouldn’t I? She’s like me. Just like me. You know she is.

Just go. Go! You’ve made your decision. Don’t make it harder on everyone else than it already is.

It takes most of a very long day. But by the time I’m done, I’ve got answers I think I’ve been searching for for a long time. There’s only one more thing I want to know. When I get home again, I locate my dad in his favourite reading chair and stand in front of him until he looks up at me over the top of his glasses.

He stares at me for a moment or two before answering. ‘Yes,’ he says. ‘More every year.’

Which explains the Society’s youth program push. Their numbers are dwindling. They need fresh blood.

I know then that my dad will give me the answers to all my questions. In good time.

I know something else too. Whatever this opposing faction is, he’s heading it up.

When Steen returns after his visit to his parents, we don’t talk much about what’s happened. But then, as we’re sitting on the porch one evening, he puts his book down and looks over at me. Eventually I can’t ignore his gaze and put my book down as well. ‘So, he says. You’re coming back to college, but have you decided yet? About the other thing? Have you handed in your membership card?’

I almost smile at the thought of the Society having a membership card. Maybe a little loyalty card as well—experiment four times and get your fifth experiment free! But I don’t smile, because there’s nothing at all funny about what I’m about to tell him and I don’t know how to put it or what to say. I have no proof. Only memories from my childhood. I’m going to sound crazy, for sure.

‘I’d personally be happy never to have anything to do with the Society ever again. Which sounds like your dad’s stance too, from the little he’s told me. But I wanted to see what your thoughts were.’

Steen’s eyebrows jut upwards. He places his book on the table beside him and sits forward in his seat, his elbows resting on his knees as he looks at me intently. ‘What? You seemed so sure before. What’s changed your mind?’

I take a deep breath. I have to tell him. I owe him the truth from here on out. The whole truth and nothing less. And the truth is, I’ll never get away from the Society now. It’s a part of me. ‘The thing is,’ I say, choosing my words carefully. ‘The voice we heard—the message from the President of the Society …’

AJ Rushby is an Australian author of a whole lot of books. She is crazy about Mini Coopers, Devon Rex cats and high tea.

First of all, thanks to doctor Dave for putting up with all my, ‘But what would you research if you were allowed to do anything. As in, no rules at all? Like, really, really no rules!’ questions.

Pats and pellets for the guinea pigs—Mum and Dad, Nilly and Paul, David and also Daniel Aziz.

Thanks to all at Omnibus Books and Scholastic Australia. Especially Clare Hallifax for reading immediately, grabbing the manuscript and not letting go, and Celia Jellett for her excellent editing.