When Pan woke, her head was pounding and she squinted against pale light. For a moment she couldn’t remember what had happened, but then her memories flooded back. She groaned and rolled onto her side, closed her eyes again. The wall. The village. Men, soldiers, a needle. She shuddered as she recalled the pressure of the syringe against her arm. When she opened her eyes again she forced them to remain open.
Slowly, she took in her surroundings. She was in a room, similar to one of the huts where classes took place. But this was considerably smaller and had no furnishings other than the small bed on which she lay. There was only one window, a tiny rectangle of dusty glass just visible through sturdy bars. Her legs felt unsteady, but she staggered to the door and tried the handle. Locked. There was a small panel in the door – a peephole, she imagined – but there was no way to open it from her side. She turned back and surveyed the room. No way out. Not unless she smashed through the walls. Possibly use the bed frame as a tool. She sat on the bed and waited.
Slightly less than an hour later, the panel in the door slid open and a shaft of light painted the floor. Pan could see motes of dust dancing in the beam, but they were abruptly shut off as the panel slid across once more. There was a rustling of keys and the door opened. Pan blinked against the light and stood.
Gwynne stood there with a student she didn’t know by name, though she’d seen him in the canteen. He was tall, muscled and unsmiling. He’s the security, Pan thought.
Gwynne sniffed.
‘Come,’ he said.
‘Where are we going?’
‘You’ll see.’
Pan shrugged. She didn’t have a choice. Her legs still felt trembly, but she managed to walk as if she had purpose. This was not a time to show weakness.
Gwynne and the student flanked her as she left the room. Her hut was situated on the extreme edge of The School, in a block of four or five similar buildings. The wall stretched out across the horizon, dark and inscrutable. Her escort marched her to the closest building, a hut somewhat bigger than the one she had occupied. There were no markings on the outside. Gwynne opened the door and Pan walked inside.
Four chairs were set in a line on the far side of a battered desk. Two of them were occupied by Professor Goldberg and Dr Macredie. A single chair was on her side of the desk. Gwynne and the boy took their seats. Pan stood beside the chair. Exert any power you can, she thought. Don’t sit. Let them look up at me.
Dr Macredie glanced at a sheet of paper in front of her.
‘This is a special session of The School Council,’ she said in little more than a whisper. Pan noticed for the first time that the doctor’s voice carried a hint of a Scottish accent. ‘And the matter before us is an episode of trespassing by Pandora Jones.’ She met Pan’s eyes and smiled. ‘Please sit down, Pan.’
‘I prefer to stand.’
Dr Macredie shrugged. ‘As you wish.’ She paused for a long moment. ‘Would you care to explain your actions?’ she said finally.
‘They need explanation?’
‘You entered a forbidden zone. I think that justifies giving a reason.’
‘A “forbidden zone”?’ said Pan. ‘Strange. I didn’t see any signs.’
‘But you were told that students in The School are not allowed to visit the village. That is true, isn’t it?’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Pan. ‘Can you speak up?’
Macredie pushed a strand of red hair back from her eyes and repeated the question, though the volume was not noticeably greater.
‘Yes,’ admitted Pan.
Gwynne chipped in.
‘You knew you weren’t allowed, but went anyway? Wearing gunk on your face. So the question remains. Why?’
‘I wanted to see what was on the other side.’
Gwynne sighed, but Professor Goldberg chuckled. Gwynne rubbed at his eyes with one knuckle and glanced down at the desk as if summoning a reserve of patience and unsure if he would find it. He picked up a pencil and tapped it against the stained wood.
‘You’ve been told what’s on the other side of the wall,’ he said. ‘Supply route. Potential disease. Why did you scale the wall?’
‘Because I needed to see with my own eyes.’
Gwynne threw his pencil down. It bounced, rolled off the desk and clattered to the floor. No one picked it up. Dr Macredie held up a hand towards the weapons instructor and then leaned towards Pan. She smiled.
‘Pan,’ she said. ‘We must protect all of our students. It is a solemn duty. We hold the future of the human race, the continued existence of humanity, in our hands. We must not fail. The stakes could not be higher. You must see that. You must understand that.’
‘I understand I have been assaulted, drugged and imprisoned,’ Pan replied. ‘Now I find myself in front of what looks suspiciously like a court, without any idea of my rights and without anyone appointed to defend me. It is difficult, under these circumstances, to see any of you as protectors. You must understand that.’
Gwynne sniffed yet again and wiped his misshapen nose.
‘“Rights”? Let me explain. None of us have rights. All this rubbish. Assault, imprisonment, the right to a defence. That was then. This is now. This is our only hope. For the future. We cannot allow anyone to jeopardise that.’
‘And that gives you the right to put a gun against my head and inject me with God knows what?’
‘Under the circumstances, yes. Absolutely. Reasonable force.’
‘Sounds like you’ve established a cosy little dictatorship here.’
‘A benevolent dictatorship, Pan,’ said Dr Macredie.
‘That’s what all dictators say.’
Gwynne shook his head.
‘No point in this conversation,’ he said. ‘Brendan, put Miss Jones back. Then return. Discuss appropriate punishment.’
The tall student got to his feet and came around the side of the desk. He was huge. Probably a rugby player in the old world, thought Pan. But he’s scared. He took her by the arm. Pan shook him off and left the room without a backward glance.
~~~
Less than twenty minutes after being locked back in her cell, the door opened and Dr Macredie came in. She left the door open behind her.
‘So the jury’s come to a decision then,’ said Pan. ‘What is it? Death by firing squad?’
Dr Macredie offered a wry smile and put a hand to her head. She suddenly looked very tired. She gestured towards the bed. ‘Do you mind if I sit?’
‘Be my guest.’
‘Actually, it’s a week of lost free time. You and Nate will be spending quality time together cleaning out the septic tanks.’
‘How wonderful. I think I prefer the firing squad.’
‘Were you always so hostile, Pan?’ said Dr Macredie. ‘I’m curious.’
Pan regarded her carefully.
‘I’m told you’re not actually a doctor at all. Is that true?’
‘Absolutely correct. I was a nurse. First of all in my native Aberdeen in Scotland. When I emigrated to Australia I worked in a number of hospitals in Sydney. But I was always interested in psychology and at the time of the virus I was finishing my Bachelor’s degree. I like to think it was only a matter of time before I got my doctorate.’
‘Psychology?’ said Pan. ‘So do you really need to ask why I am so hostile? Everyone I loved is dead. Everyone I ever met is dead, I’m haunted by horrific dreams and I’ve just been assaulted, threatened and forcibly injected with drugs. What do you want me to do? Audition for the next school musical? Put myself up for Head Girl? Maybe I’m entitled to be hostile.’
Dr Macredie sighed.
‘Ay, maybe you are. But you must understand that we are all in the same situation, here at The School. And that our only hope is to stick together.’ She ran a hand through her hair. ‘You talk about dreams. Okay. Let me share something. Every night I watch my husband die again. Suddenly, and in great pain. Then my ten-year-old daughter. I hold her in my arms and wipe blood from her face and watch her . . . go. If I’m lucky, that doesn’t rewind and I move on to the bodies in the streets. Everywhere panic and death. If I imagine what Hell might be like, I think it would involve reliving all that, night after night. Does this sound familiar, Pan?’
Pan didn’t say anything.
‘I’m not saying I had it worse than you, Pan, or anyone else here. We are all damaged. But maybe it’s because I’ve had longer to adjust than you. Now I see life as the greatest gift ever.’ She smiled. ‘I always said that. Before the virus. It was an intellectual point of view. Now I know it. I believe that you see The School as ugly and cheerless and bleak and cold – a place of misery. I see people living here – living, not dying – and it is the most beautiful place in the world. I hope you will come to that view yourself one day.’
Pan thought. Like Dr Macredie, she knew others were going through private anguish, but no one talked about it. Everyone pretended it hadn’t happened and got on with the daily routine. It was only at night that the monsters emerged. She felt somehow petty, as if she had been behaving like a spoilt child.
‘What was your daughter’s name?’ she asked finally.
Dr Macredie smiled and gazed off through the dusty window. For a moment, Pan thought she wasn’t going to reply.
‘Hope,’ she said, her voice even fainter than normal. ‘How’s that for irony? The death of Hope. But it wasn’t, Pan. Hope can’t die. I’m sure of it.’
A shadow appeared at the door frame and Pan narrowed her eyes to see who it was.
‘Hey, Pandora,’ said Nate. ‘Ready to shovel some shit, girlfriend?’
Dr Macredie laughed. ‘Go on, get out of here, the two of you. Just take some friendly advice. Do not try to get over the wall again. I can’t promise The School will be so lenient next time.’
Pan walked over to Nate and put a hand on his arm. She turned back to the woman on the bed.
‘Tell me, Dr Macredie,’ she said. ‘All that overreaction – and it was overreaction, despite what you say – what does it signify? What is on the other side of the wall?’
When Macredie’s reply came, it was so low that Pan could barely make out the words.
‘There is evil on the other side of the wall, Pan,’ she whispered. ‘Danger lives there.’
~~~
Pan laughed when she saw that Nate still had the shoe polish on his face.
‘You cut a dashing figure, Mr Mitchell,’ she said. She ran a finger across his brow and then showed him the blackness on its tip. Nate laughed and brushed Pan’s cheek. She shivered.
‘Thus speaks someone who cannot see her own face,’ he replied. ‘Maybe we should keep this on. It’ll protect our skin from the joys of the septic tank.’
‘And it’ll be useful the next time we go over the wall,’ said Pan.
Nate smiled. ‘I had a feeling you were going to say that.’
The sun, pale though it was, felt good against their blackened faces. Pan checked her watch. Close to eleven. They’d missed most of the class on agricultural methods, which suited Pan fine. She’d found it difficult to become enthused about ploughing techniques in the absence of heavy machinery.
‘That’s strange,’ said Nate.
‘What?’
He pointed towards The School buildings. It was the middle of class time, yet the paths were swarming with students. ‘Something’s going on,’ he said.
They walked quicker. Within a couple of minutes, they saw a figure break free from a knot of students and come running towards them. A few seconds later Pan recognised the willowy frame of Wei-Lin. She was running flat out. Pan felt a chill run down her spine. She and Nate ran towards her.
‘It’s Cara,’ gasped Wei-Lin when she finally came to a stop beside the couple. ‘She’s missing.’