The Wounded

“Superior Grant…” A twitchy guard shuffled over to me. “The other two have escaped, should I issue a lock down?” I tapped my chin, trying to look calm. I was furious at these Survivors, yet impressed at what they had managed to achieve with such limited resources. But to send the guard out now to pursue them was a waste of time when we were so close to completion.

“Sir?”

I gave the guard a hard look, wondering how he was so poorly trained to believe he could speak to me in this ma

The girl twisted ever so slightly on the table. I wheeled closer, so that we were face to face.

“Leave us,” I instructed. The men paused, looking down on me with concern. I cringed inwardly. I despised their pity. “Go clean up the mess in the reception hall and report the situation to Superiors Poltanov and Sekimbo,” I barked, leaving no room for insubordination. They moved awkwardly around my wheelchair and out into the hall, closing the door behind them.

I clenched my fist on my knee. Her tattooed wrist told me she was once one of us, which made my blood boil. This small, insignificant child had infiltrated the Superior’s compound. She had made fools of all of us and killed Este. So before I made her suffer, before I made her regret she had ever had the gall to enter this world, I wanted to meet her.

…………Promise.

I ran my tongue along the inside of my cheeks. My mouth tasted like I’d been sucking on an exposed electrical cable. Charred and metallic.

I was disoriented and couldn’t seem to backtrack to where I was before; only that it was a nice place, somewhere safe, warm, and peaceful. I shifted, the cold surface under me slicing into my skin. I shivered involuntarily.

I heard a dull, but impatient-sounding tapping above my face. I took a breath and the air felt new, like this was the first breath I’d ever drawn. Something tightened around my stomach and little slivers of a scene flashed at me like warning signs. Joseph lunging at the young guard, the tip of a knife glinting under soft light, my body used as a shield, a barrier. A realization as chilling as the cold, wet blood that poured out of me hit slowly, numbly. I was dead. I died. I was sure of it.

My breath caught again.

Joseph.

The tapping continued, but it was hard to open my eyes. It felt like I was learning to do everything anew. My muscles reacted slowly, waiting for my memory to kick in. I forced my eyes open like an uncooperative blind, and unfamiliar light flooded my sight.

He was a shadow. Then, slowly, his face pulled into focus, a face I knew from a long time ago. His eyes tightened, wrinkles spread like Vs from the corners. His smile was cruel and painted on. “Waell, at least we knaow it woarks.”

JOSEPH

Questioning eyes tried to find mine, but I couldn’t meet them. I was a void. A shell. I watched as their faces fell to the forest floor. I hadn’t even opened my mouth, but they knew. Here was Deshi by my side, but there should have been three. It sucked any victory right out of the picture. Deshi had a hold of my arm, as he had most of the journey to the meeting point. It was a comfort to me, but mostly it was to stop me from turning around and heading back into the Superiors’ compound.

How could I leave her there?

Matthew eyes asked the question, and I shook my head. I wanted to say, ‘Wait. Don’t start grieving yet. We don’t know,’ but was that worse? Maybe.

He walked away from the group, far into the trees, until he was just a shadow amongst the other shadows. I saw him kneel down and put his hands to his face.

The lump that was lodged in my chest worked its way up to my throat.

Everyone else was bewildered. Because, somehow, Rosa, with her temper, her passion, and her unstoppable nature, had become the heart of this broken, wounded community. She pushed them, pushed back at them, but she was a Survivor now.

Deshi leaned me against a tree, where I slumped slack, my fists shaking. He explained to the others that there was a chance. She might have survived.

“But we left her there, to fend for herself,” I whispered. “Even if she was revived, they might kill her anyway.”

Deshi’s eyes softened. “This is Rosa we’re talking about. If anyone can come through this, she can.” He’d already said that, and I hated hearing it again. He tried to catch my eyes. “She will, Joe.”

My eyes fell on my bloodstained shirt and felt a sharp jolt back to that room. To the death that was all my doing. All those bodies contorted in the position they died, fear frozen on their faces. They were just like me. They were probably ripped from their parents and forced to leave for the Classes. They would have trained, been punished. Maybe they had wives, children.

I nodded. I wanted to believe him. I brought my fingers through my hair, leaving more blood in the strands.

My hands ran over my shirtsleeves mindlessly. Blood flaked off, like bits of dried paint. But most of it was a deep stain that would never come off. Rosa’s blood mixed with the guards’ and Este’s. I pulled it over my head and held it in my hands in a scrunched-up ball. Deshi tried to take it from me, but I clung to it like it was part of me. The grief, the guilt, was crushing me.

Rash streamed into my vision. He shoved me hard against the trunk of the tree, his palms making a hollow thud on my chest. “You jerk!” he yelled. “You fucking jerk! How could you leave her there? You left her alone in that place.” His voice was cracked with grief as he shoved me again and again. I let him. I wanted it. I needed someone to hate me for what I’d done.

In the background, squashed between two trees like they were holding her up, I could see Olga’s round form, her soft, pale hands clenched into fists at her sides as her mouth broke into a heartbreaking sob.

I did this.

Pelo strode towards us, his expression stern and broken. He pulled Rash back by his shoulders forcefully. “Calm down, Rash! Let me…” I braced for his fist co

I started shaking. Sobbing. I couldn’t stand his comfort. His daughter died because of me.

“I know you loved her as much as I did,” he said.

I couldn’t stand his acceptance either. “Love,” Not loved. “I love her,” I shouted stubbornly.

Everything began to hurt all at once, and I couldn't control it. I slid to the ground. My elbows rested on my knees and my head lay heavy in my hands, the vision of her lifeless body from every nightmarish angle played over in my head.

But I knew it like everything that was certain in my life—my love for Rosa, for my son, our need to change this life.

She would live.

She was alive.

I would see her again.

I stared down at my hands, which seemed so foreign to me after what they had just done, and the fear rose up and almost choked me.

Who would she be coming back to?

Firstly, I wish to thank my husband Michael, for his constant support and belief in my writing.

Secondly, I want to thank my children Le

Thirdly, there’s Chloe Lim, my high school friend and housemate. She was the very first person I handed my completed manuscript of The Woodlands to. I remember driving to childcare, where both our children attended, with the stapled-up chapters sliding across my front seat. I’d only given her the first sixteen chapters with the intent that if she liked it, I would give her the rest. But my nerves were getting the better of me, and I almost didn’t give it her.