The Amnesia Experiment: A Young Adult Dystopian Novel Read online

  I didn’t have to ask to know what she was doing. Willingly, I stepped into the bigger loop and pulled it up to my waist, where Clarice tightened the knots. Then she brandished the other end like a lasso, and, with startling strength, hurled it up to one of the spikes.

  Her aim was perfect. The other loop curled around the point, tautening as Clarice yanked downwards.

  I climbed. Planting my feet firmly onto the surface of the wall, I used my hands to pull myself up, checking once or twice to see Clarice on the ground, securing the rope with her body weight in case something happened.

  When I reached the top, I put one hand on the thick, jeweled spike before snatching it away. It was hot, and the skin on my palm was turning crimson.

  While blowing on my right hand, I searched the edge where the glass wall conjoined with the ceiling. Everything was smooth and clear, except for one thing.

  In one corner there was a square etched into the crystal surface, no bigger than an envelope, with small words carved inside.

  AMNESIA COMPLEX

  Make: Niveus Vitrics Incorporated

  Model: 2337

  To be used in Trial Three.

  I reached up and ran my unimpaired left-hand fingers over the square, feeling the grooves and dips of the glass, my mind churning. There was a Trial Three? I couldn’t even let myself begin to imagine what it might be. Trial One was already the most horrific thing in my known memory.

  This was news, though. The others needed to know. And what was more, the cage we lived in actually had a name, which only validated the suspicion that we had been put here by other people.

  The Amnesia Complex.

  It was kind of chilling, actually.

  An acrid smell bit at my nose, becoming stronger and stronger as I dangled in the air, until it was too powerful to ignore. I turned to look.

  The rope, which was wrapped tight around the thousand-hued spike, was smoking. The spike was burning clean through Clarice’s rope. My brain stopped to think for a moment how intense such heat had to be to sear through metal, then moved on to more urgent matters. One, I was already feeling the heat travel the length of the rope to my body, and two, if the rope severed, I would fall to my death.

  “Clarice!” I yelled, looking down. I was far from the ground, and Clarice was about the size of my pinky nail.

  “Right on time, soldier, and I salute you!” she shouted. “Did you find anything?” There was no time to answer her question. Already my heart rate was tripling at the sight of the rope, sizzling as it was being grilled in half.

  I would smack myself later. I braced myself for the pain and wrapped my hands around the rope, lowering my body to the ground as fast as I could. Blood pulsed in my temples, beating out a frenzied rhythm as the reek from the melting rope became all I could smell.

  “Alle, are you okay?”

  I could barely see the rope, but it was enough of a view to notice the thick strings of metal that were separating from the rest.

  There were voices down below, one of them slightly rushed, but they all flew past my head like a passing torrent of rain. My hands were killing me.

  I wasn’t going to make it. There wasn’t enough time. At any moment, I was going to fall. All I could hear was the beat of my heart, counting down the seconds of my life. It pounded in my ears, drowning everything out.

  Almost, almost, almost…

  Now.

  I felt the exact instant the rope lost its battle, and then suddenly everything was loose around my waist. For a snapshot of time, it felt like I was floating—no, flying—in the air.

  And then I was falling.

  I squeezed my eyes shut, colors exploding in my head. Wind whooshed by my ears, screaming in my cells, roaring that it was over, over, over.

  I was going to die.

  I was going to die without ever knowing if I had a family, if they loved me, or if I loved them. I would never know whether I was a sister, an aunt, a cousin, or a best friend. I would never know what food I had liked to eat, what my home had looked like, what snow smelled like on a winter’s eve.

  I would never know.

  The impact was hard, jarring, shaking me to my very bones.

  I opened my eyes.

  I was sitting in someone’s arms. The one thing that got through to my shattered brain was that they were hard, muscled arms. A dumb thing to realize, amidst everything.

  His jaw was clenched, blue-green veins standing out on his throat. One of his arms was under my knees, and the other was against the back of my shoulders. I felt him lean, about to topple over, because surely falling from such a height was next to impossible to sustain once I hit.

  “What—”

  “Are you okay?” he managed to choke out.

  I scrambled away from him, trying to right myself. My head hurt like crazy, and I pressed a hand to my forehead.

  “But I was just—I was going to—”

  Clarice was at my side in a moment. “What was that?” she was saying, her eyes wild. “What happened up there?”

  “You—the rope—it broke.”

  Clarice’s eyes shot to the pile of iron on the ground. She picked up one end tentatively and saw the blistered pieces of metal, eaten through by fire.

  “No,” she breathed. “How did it happen?”

  I pointed up at one of the jeweled thorns spearing out of the wall, glistening innocently in the light.

  “I didn’t know how hot it was when I first got up there, but it was still at the point where you could kind of touch it. I think it gradually heated up or something—I’m not sure—but it burned through the rope.”

  “Why would it do that?” Clarice asked, her voice barely more than a raspy whisper. I felt a sudden fondness for her, apologetic that I was adding to her burdens. She was, so far, the only ally I had in this place.

  “It’s a defense mechanism,” the boy said. I whipped around to face him. He was rather tall, broad-shouldered, and his hair was raven-dark. At the moment, however, he was heaving, face towards the ground and hands on his knees. “Or an offense mechanism, depending on how you look at it.”

  I strode over to him, still shaken. “Who are you?”

  He glanced briefly at me, and I saw that his eyes were the color of chocolate. “My name’s Malchin.”

  I felt compelled to introduce myself too, but at the moment I simply could not.

  “You took quite a fall.”

  I swallowed. “What do you mean, defense mechanism?”

  He gestured at Clarice. “One of you two must have done something to the wall, right?”

  Clarice looked up from her inspection of the rope. “I hit the stupid thing with my armlet,” she said, her voice still broken from shock but gradually recovering. “And then the armlet cracked and stuff started pouring out, making this”—she held up the rope—“and after that, the sharp things up there, they just exploded out of the wall.”

  Malchin looked thoughtful. He rubbed his arms as he spoke, and I realized that the collision my body had made with his must have been especially painful. I could only imagine what it felt like to combine burns from an electric chair and the shock of a human who decided to become a plane and crash-land on you.

  “It might be to stop you from trying to hurt the glass further. The spikes are probably to stop curious climbers, but seeing as how you defied that”—he nodded at me—“they started getting hot, like you said.”

  I looked away, embarrassed.

  “Well then, what about this?” Clarice held up the rope. “What do you think this is?”

  There were murmurs around me, and I noticed for the first time the crowd that had formed. Of course. You didn’t see a girl falling from the sky everyday.

  Malchin put up his hands. “I don’t know.”

  I didn’t know either. How could anyone? Why would the armlets break to form ropes?

  “Just try it again, then.” The throng of people parted, showing the speaker. It was the woman who was with Clarice before,
the one who didn’t talk very much. Her hair was almost blinding in the sunlight, approaching the color white, and her eyes were the palest blue I’d ever seen. Her cheekbones looked like they could cut cake.

  She reached out to a little girl standing next to her and within moments had her tiny armlet. I hadn’t realized how young some of the people here were.

  There was a moment of concentration, and then with a small crack, the armlet was broken in the pale-haired woman’s hands, spilling the silver liquid that had come out of Clarice’s armband. As we watched, the liquid molded itself, taking shape, hardening until it was a metal cylinder.

  A flashlight.

  Although I had already seen it happen once before, having it occur again, right in front of my eyes, took some getting used to.

  The woman turned the flashlight over in her hands, examining it, and her fingers found a red button on its surface. She pressed it.

  Immediately, my vision was overwhelmed with bright, blinding light. It seemed to take up every inch of air, pouring into my eyes and throat—and, judging from the yelps of those around me, everyone else’s, too. Someone screamed, but I couldn’t tell who. The seething, burning light was everywhere, everywhere.

  “Shut it off!” The voice was Clarice’s, and she sounded desperate. There was a shuffling sound, and then the light was gone, leaving blue and purple dots flashing in my vision.

  Everyone stood, stunned. I knew what we were all thinking—is it a different object for every person?

  Without warning, a man smashed his armlet against the ground. There was a hard, splintering sound, and then two exact halves lay on the grass, leaking the same molten material from the previous armband.

  I watched, enraptured—I couldn’t help it—as the silvery plasma formed what looked, absurdly, like a lolly stick. The man picked it up. He was bald, with brown skin, and he looked confused. Malchin was next to him in two strides.

  “May I see?”

  He nodded and gave the lolly stick to Malchin, who turned it over in his hand.

  “It’s a lie detector,” he said, like he plucked the answer from the air. For some reason, this irritated me. I walked over to him.

  “How can you tell?”

  Malchin held the glistening metal stick up so everyone could see. “The word veritas is carved into it. That’s Latin for ‘truth.’” He turned to face me and gently pressed the lolly stick against my wrist. “What’s your name?”

  I blinked. He was a clever rascal. I never told him my name.

  “Alle,” I said, and I thought I saw a hint of satisfaction in his eyes. A light on the lolly stick blinked green, proclaiming to everyone that I spoke the truth.

  Malchin handed the lie detector back to the man who originally had it. He smiled in gratitude.

  “We should organize,” Malchin said before the crowd had a chance to dissipate. I almost fell over. I had literally just suggested that. “A group for anyone who might know anything about medicine. A group for farming, so we can have food. A group who will investigate this place. We don’t know how long we’ll be here for.” His voice was so authoritative, many people started nodding along with him. I wanted to bop them all on the head.

  Within minutes, Malchin had assembled a makeshift hospital and had a set of scavengers searching for seeds and food. The third group, which I was included in, he called the Explorers.

  “We’ll try to evaluate our surroundings and find a way to escape,” Malchin promised, “but for now, we need to bury our dead.” He grimaced a little as he pointed at the rows of corpses that we hadn’t attended to. I tried to push my sick down.

  The dead bodies didn’t smell like decay. They smelled like fire and hopelessness. There were no tools available to us, so many used long sticks or their own hands to dig the graves. Others broke their armlets in hopes of discovering extraordinarily efficient gardening tools, and though some did, I didn’t want to crack mine open just yet. My fingernails were packed with dirt by the time I finished my first grave.

  I crawled to my first body, trying to avoid looking, but it was impossible. A young boy who couldn’t be more than eight years old lay on the ground in front of me, messy brown hair strewn over closed eyes. His skin was warped with black marks, stung a thousand times with lightning and pain. I bit my lip, tears burning my eyes, as I thought of this little boy, writhing in his chair, unable to run.

  It was hard laying him down into the ground, not because he was heavy, but because my heart was. As soil and grass poured onto his body, onto his baby lips and round cheeks, I had to keep myself from collapsing. Who would do this to a child so young?

  “Are you alright?”

  It was Malchin. He was crouched down next to me, even though I couldn’t remember how I had gotten on my knees. I could feel the warmth of his hand on my shoulder.

  I thought it was pointless to lie. Malchin seemed like the type of person who could see through anything. “No.”

  “That’s okay.” He reached out to me and put a flower in my hand. It was small, a white daisy with a yellow center. It looked so innocent, so genuine. I placed the flower gently on the boy’s finished grave. It felt like my heart was cracked in a million places.

  Malchin helped me stand up. “You don’t have to keep digging if you don’t want to.”

  I didn’t, but how would that be fair to all the others?

  “No, it’s fine.” I grabbed a thickset branch from the ground, already starting on the second grave. I tried to focus on the grooves I was making, but I could still feel Malchin’s eyes on me. I cleared my throat. “Ah—thank you. For. Um. Before.” I tried again. “For saving my life.”

  I risked a glance at him and saw he was smiling.

  “You’re welcome.”

  Suddenly, a voice erupted through the stillness of the glade. It was smooth as cold water but sounded like a machine, chilling me to my bones.

  “Initiating Trial Two in one minute.”

  2

  YALE

  My best friend used to tell me that I arrived at the palace in a snowy bundle on Christmas Eve. I was wrinkled, pale, and crying, and when the servants discovered me, I was taken immediately to the king and queen.

  The throne room was cold that night, my friend said, but all the warmth seeped back into it when I arrived. I had red hair, like the candles decorating the chandeliers, throwing light onto velvet rugs and white marble.

  My friend was a year old then, barely able to speak, but she still remembered.

  As I dusted the palace hallways, I tried to remember her too. But it was hard.

  I passed by a nook in the hall, where there was a bench meant for tired royalty. It was plush and soft, the color of snow, and framed with gold. Next to it was a decorative table holding an elaborate vase full of flowers. I stood there with my feather duster, already feeling the smolder of tears climbing my throat. The memories were like smoke.

  She and I had hid here before, playing games with our fingers. Under that bench, I would hold up four fingers, and she would hold up two, and the first person who said the number it equaled would win. Then the next round, I would hold up one and she would have three. We were small enough to huddle in that tight space, hoping no one discovered us.

  I pushed the bitterness down into my stomach and leaned over to sweep the dust away from the filigree, the vanity. This is my life now, I told myself.

  She was gone.

  ~.~.~.~.~

  I hung up my maid’s apron inside the closet of the servants’ quarters and went to the common area to rest before my next shift. The common room was spacious enough to hold nearly half of the palace kitchens, but most of the staff crowded in front of the TV, leaving endless amounts of open space for those less interested. Usually I didn’t spend a whole lot of time watching TV, but nowadays everyone was.

  “Live update coming right to you,” the news anchor said, his voice crackling from the questionable TV quality. He was handsome, his dark hair in a cowlick, and though his colorin
g said he was from Aurantiaco, the emblem of an international broadcaster was emblazoned on his uniform. Ten simple gold lines, encased in a circle. Each line stood for a country of the world. Behind him was a simple blue background with the logo of the news company bordered in dark yellow.

  “The nation of Niveus recently initiated their famous Amnesia Experiment today. Although we have all known that this would be no child’s play, many were not prepared for the bloodbath it turned out to be. Intelligence informs us that there have been thirty-two fatalities so far.”

  I wondered how he could speak so smoothly when he was announcing something so horrible. It made me want to run outside and throw up.

  “The first Trial, nicknamed ‘The Thunderstorm,’ has produced satisfactory results, according to Niveus’ head of operations. The second Trial will soon commence. It has simply been deemed ‘Legless.’ Don’t turn and run from the name, though.” The news anchor winked at the camera. “It’s sure to be a show.”

  The TV flashed to an aerial view of a large square of grass, with little dots sprinkled over its surface. People. Some were digging, some were tending to the wounded, and some were huddled in groups, conversing.

  The servants around me burst into conversation, some of them excited, some looking repulsed. A couple of them got up, ready to start their duties again. Some ate from a basket of leftover scones in the middle of the room, picking out the fresher ones from the stale bits, going about their regular lives. I wanted very badly to leave the room, but somehow I couldn’t tear my eyes from the screen.

  I heard the automated voice say the words “initiating Trial Two...” but I could only focus on the little dots of people. My eyes flew from one figure to the next. I couldn’t help but look for her.

  A girl next to me pointed at the red numbers counting down to when the second test would begin, laughing with her friend. They pushed each other, betting on the chances of survival like they were at a sports game. I pressed a hand to my belly, feeling the storm roiling inside. Then I crushed my face against my knees, my hands clapped over my ears, knowing I didn’t want to hear the screams that would come next.