The Fall

The Fall

LAURA LIDDELL NOLEN

HarperVoyager

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperVoyager 2018

Copyright © Laura Liddell Nolen 2018

Cover design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2018

Cover images © Shutterstock.com

Laura Liddell Nolen asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008181482

Ebook Edition © December 2017 ISBN: 9780008113643

Version: 2017-12-11

for Oscar

Others, so far as I can understand, have been taken by him, as well as we; and yet have escaped out of his hand. Who knows, but the God that made the world may cause that Giant Despair may die? or that, at some time or other, he may forget to lock us in?

—The Pilgrim’s Progress

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Epigraph

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

Also by Laura Liddell Nolen

About the Author

About the Publisher

One

The first time I tried to kill Adam, I tasted sugar.

We weren’t alone. We never were. A tightly-wound shadow flinched behind my left shoulder every time I moved my arm, threatening to make itself fully known, but I couldn’t give it a name, so I ignored it, even though it made my ribs shake and my fingers cold.

Adam rolled a chair from behind the desk, remaining seated, and I could only stare. Clean brown hair, like he’d combed it twice. Dark eyes on pale skin, like his sister. I blinked. Something was different.

“Chew, Char. Maybe next year, I’ll let you blow the candles out.”

I looked down. A mountain of pink icing covered the plate in my lap. A cake stood between us, tall and bright, and missing two slices. The world was obscured behind a thick pane of hazy glass, with only Adam in focus.

So I stared at him instead, trying to figure out where I was, and why.

We were in a control room, I decided, judging by all the shiny panels, and it was someone’s birthday. My good arm, as I thought of it, held a fork. My wrist on my good arm had light bruises, like I’d been yanking it against a handcuff.

My bad arm had no bruises. But then, it had no wrist, either, since it ended below the elbow. At least they couldn’t cuff it. I frowned. That wasn’t much of a silver lining.

I was pretty sure I’d been here before. I knew, for instance, that this wasn’t the first birthday I’d celebrated with Adam, that the door was behind me, and that I didn’t care about anything on the console to my immediate right.

Or maybe I’d just figured that out a moment ago. I couldn’t tell.

The twitchy shadow-person stepped around to see why I wasn’t chewing despite having a mouth full of cake, and we squinted at each other as she came briefly into view. She looked to be around thirty, with amber skin and short black hair untouched by streaks of gray. There was a sour tension around her mouth. She didn’t like me.

No, no. That wasn’t it. I wrenched myself around to inspect her again. She stepped away from my line of sight without catching my eye.

She didn’t like Adam, I decided. Me, she didn’t think about at all.

“She’s fine. A little tired, maybe,” she said.

“Let’s wake her up some more,” said Adam.

“Too dangerous, unless you want to cuff her. Remember last time?”

“No cuff. I want her to eat the cake.” He looked disappointed, but returned his attention to me. “Give me that napkin.”

I will not. I want to throw him out an airlock. Why would I—

I extended the napkin toward him, and he snatched it with an appraising glance. “Not feeling too feisty today, huh? I can live with that,” he said. “Long as you behave. Have some more.”

I had an overwhelming urge to stab him. It was related to the story he was telling, but I knew I wasn’t supposed to think about that.

What was I supposed to do? I bit a lip, confounded, and tasted blood. It wasn’t enough to wake me up, so I pressed the tines of the fork into my thigh. The urge to stab grew stronger. I needed to wake up a little more. I had to. I wasn’t sure why, though.

Maybe it would help if I went ahead and stabbed him?

No, no. That wasn’t it. I shook my head, but it didn’t clear.

Maybe I was supposed to eat the cake, and then stab him? Or maybe I should give him another napkin. It was kind of a toss-up, honestly.

“Hey, don’t look so down. It’s your birthday, after all. Why d’you think we got pink icing? The Lieutenant prefers chocolate.” He laughed, as if it were a joke.

I’m not eating his stupid cake. I don’t even want cake. I hate strawberry.

To my surprise, I lifted my fork. It was indeed covered in bright pink icing, and I shook my head a little harder. Birthday cakes should be blue. Like West’s.

I worked my mouth around the load of frosting. It was sweet—too sweet—and I forced myself to swallow. Fine: cake first, then stab. Surely that was a solid plan.

Wasn’t it?

“That’s better,” Adam was saying. “Now. Where were we? Yeah, your family. ’Fraid it’s bad news, Char. Let me see if I can remember exactly where we left off last year.” He shifted comfortably, and I got another look at his face. “Oh, right. It was the part where you let my sister die.”

I blinked. He was different. Not how I remembered him. The soft, round parts of his boyish face were now angular. Angry. “I didn’t kill—”

“Hey, hey. Cut it out. Every year, it’s the same thing. But Aah—dam!” he whined, imitating my voice. “I didn’t kill her! Blah, blah, lightning clouds. Blah, blah, mutiny. We haven’t even gotten to the good part yet!” His eyes flashed, and he waved at the woman. “Wake her up a little more. I need her to remember this one.” They exchanged a glance. “Do it, Lieutenant.”

“Yes, sir,” she said, a touch of strain in her voice. A sting spread through my right bicep, and I felt my heart speed up. I started breathing faster.

My mind began to clear.

I was in Central Command, and Adam was the Commander. He was in league with An Zhao, who had recently blown a hole in the Ark, destroying the Remnant, the group of free thinkers who’d built a city and organized a government in the bowels of the ship. And I had disarmed us to prevent her from doing worse. I had made us helpless. My fingers tightened around the fork. I had to get out of here.

Every year, we ate cake.

Every year, he woke me up to hear the story.

Every year, I had ten minutes to work on my plan. Tick, tock.

If only I could remember what it was.

I couldn’t remember much of anything, to be honest. “Are—are we there yet?” I asked.

“Where? Eirenea?” Adam laughed, but there was steel in the sound. “No. Don’t interrupt.”

He had the relaxed posture of a person in control, but he wore it uneasily, as though he were copying something he’d seen another man do. My head rolled around slightly while I tried to think. There was nothing easy in his face. His teeth were clenched so hard that he had to move his jaw around before speaking. “And so my sister died in your arms,” he was saying. “And I’m not sure whether we covered this last year, but she was all I had. And she needed me.” He leaned forward. “And you let her die.”

If I had made us helpless, Adam had returned the favor tenfold. I spent my days in a cloud of confusion, blindly following any instructions I was given. I wasn’t dizzy, exactly, but I had a hard time getting my bearings. Every so often, I came to my senses, and Adam would be there. Sometimes he just wanted to talk. Sometimes he didn’t speak at all.

But sometimes, he taunted me. On these occasions, there was cake. Always pink.

And I had to eat it. And he told me a story I shouldn’t hear while I plotted ways to kill him. Usually with a fork.

Not everyone on the Ark was drugged. Eren, as far as I knew, spent most of his days in InterArk Comm Con, sending and receiving transmissions related to the Ark’s operations. The last time I tried to contact him had not gone well. I stumbled into the amphitheater, stupid from the drugs. I saw Eren, his eyes wide, his head shaking back and forth, subtly at first, and then more urgently.

And then I awoke in the commissary six months later, half a sandwich hanging from my mouth, without even the slightest memory of any medication top-ups that must have taken place since.

I didn’t try that again.

So I was on my own. Adam sat back, warming to his story. “But all was not lost! Not quite yet. Not for you, Char. They say all’s fair in love and war, but that’s never been my experience. The Academy, for example, was not fair. They took me when I was five. Did you hear that? Five, Char. And my parents just let them.”

The Academy was a school for certain children from all over the world selected to survive the meteor. They were trained in science, medicine, or engineering at an early age, so that they would be as useful as possible on board the Arks.

Unbeknownst to the people set to die in their place, they were also trained in military strategy. And combat.

“Sounds rough,” I said. My voice cracked from disuse. I had a hard time feeling sorry for anyone chosen for a place on an Ark when all the rest of us were left to die in the meteor strike.

“They took her, too. Same age. What do you think they did to her at the Academy? They didn’t want students. I’ll tell you that. Because everything there was a weapon. Especially us. Tell me something, Char. What were all those weapons for if no one was supposed to use them?”

His voice trailed off, and he gave me a long look before continuing. “And I escaped. Obviously. And I found her. And I made sure she lived, Char. Because that was my job. To protect her.” He glanced around the room. “Eat.”

I ate.

“You should know something about that, Char. Being abandoned? Protecting your family? And you did a great job; you really did. They escaped!” He smiled darkly. “For a few minutes, anyway.”

This was the part I wasn’t supposed to listen to. Every year, same thing. Adam woke me up and told the same story. And I made the same mistake every time I heard it. First, the blood would rush through my ears, drowning my plan in panic. And then my chest would squeeze. And then I started screaming.

And then he’d smile and knock me out again.

But this year would be different. This year, I had a job to do.

If only I could remember what it was.

I needed one more shot of whatever the Lieutenant had given me. Then maybe I would remember.

I lowered my head and spoke in a soft monotone. “You knew about my father’s Arkhopper, and you blew it up. They’re all dead. My family is dead.”

Adam took a long pause, then slowly reached for the holster where he kept the drug. I braced myself for oblivion. Another year lost.

But instead, he straightened his jacket and shook his head, annoyed. “No. That’s not her. That’s not what I want. Wake her up some more. I want the real Char.”

The woman straightened. “But sir—”

“Now, Lieutenant. Do it now, or we can continue this conversation next year. When I wake you up.”

There was a rustling of equipment behind me as the Lieutenant rushed to comply. Another sting in my arm. Another breath, and it all came crashing back.

I was definitely supposed to stab him.

Two

“So there I was, minding my own business in my new office on the Guardian Level, when I got news that the Commander was dead. Thanks for that, by the way,” Adam nodded at me. “I wasn’t sure I had the nerve until that moment. They need me, you know. This Ark.” He leaned in. “They know it, and I know it. They need someone who can keep a sense of order around here.”

The Commander had had control of the Guardians, and he’d wielded them like his own personal army in a failed attempt to retain control over the Ark and to crush the Remnant, a hidden group of survivors who opposed him.

Oh, and he was also Eren’s father.

Eren. Blue eyes. Security, like a thick blue blanket. A fleeting moment of happiness from a silver ring with a pale blue stone. But there was something dark in my memories of Eren, too. My thoughts pressed themselves forward all at once and without a coherent order. I rubbed my leg nervously, trying to clear my mind, but they kept coming. Green pins of light and a red expanse of blood. His father had died by my hand. Surely I hadn’t meant for that to happen, had I? I wondered where Eren was. Hadn’t I sent him away? I wondered if he missed his father in spite of everything he’d put us through.

Wait, stop. Stabbing. I needed to focus on stabbing now.

“Hope Eren didn’t take it too hard. So I thought to myself, Adam, we’re doing all right. Everything’s coming together. Isaiah may not ever come around, but we’re better off without him anyway. The only way the Remnant was going to achieve equal footing was by blowing everything up and starting over.”

He crossed his legs, studying my face. The fork was light in my hand. I shifted my grip without looking down.

“But you, Char. You were different. I thought, I can explain myself to her, and she’ll listen. Maybe not at first. But she understands what it’s like, being ignored. Being feared. She’ll know what to do. I didn’t even want to kill Isaiah, Char. Honest. The Remnant—the whole thing was his idea in the first place. It wouldn’t have been right.

“You didn’t have to be my enemy. But then Amiel was dead. And you walked right into my trap.” His head tilted. “And I decided to change tack.”

“You’re lying,” I said. “My family isn’t dead. The Remnant isn’t—”

“There she is!” Adam sat up straight. “Welcome back, Char. It’s been a long, hard year without you.”

“If you’re trying to scare me, give it up, Adam. I’m not afraid anymore.”

“A return to form!” Adam clapped. “This really is exciting. Can I tell you their last words?”

Don’t listen. Don’t listen. Don’t—I breathed in measured beats. Steady. I had a job to do.

“Do you ever wonder whether they were talking about you? Worried for you? I don’t think we got this far last year.”

Don’t listen dontlisten‌dontlisten. I breathed a little faster. The handle of the fork bit into my palm.

Adam leaned in, exposing the softest part of his neck, and lowered his voice to deliver another blow. “They didn’t die right away, you know. There was screaming.”

I rushed him, arm high, and made a sound like a burning pterodactyl. He jumped, predictably, and I drove the fork into his neck.

Or at least, I tried to.

At the last instant, a blunt weight tackled me from the left. I hit the floor harder than I expected. For some reason, I was unable to break my fall.

That’s when I remembered that my right arm ended just below the elbow, and I howled again, angry. Helpless.

The sound of Adam’s laughter filled my mind, and the Lieutenant shuffled me onto my back. She was armed in an instant.

I saw the needle coming for me, but Adam stayed his hand, savoring a final moment with me, his favorite prisoner.

“We can make this stop, you know. Tell me what happened to Ark Five, and I might let you stay awake this year.”

“Why does everyone keep asking me that? Seriously, I have no idea.”

The control room was like a slippery plastic slide, and I had the intense feeling of falling into a void beneath it. “Happy birthday, Char. And many happy returns.”

The corners of my brain went dark and began to expand. With my last cogent thought, I focused on the weight of the Lieutenant on my chest as she scrambled to secure my bad arm, which was pressing into her throat. Her breathing leveled off as I came under her control, but so did mine. She’d landed right where I wanted her. I focused my last seconds of consciousness into my remaining hand, which was already halfway to the black pack she carried across her flank, just under the flap of her uniform jacket, until my fingers touched steel. I hoped that she was a moment too late, that her nerves had made her overly concerned about the fork. I hoped desperately that I hadn’t dreamed the last few moments. That I wasn’t dreaming already.

And then, my moment was spent.

The slide grew steeper, and the Lieutenant relaxed her grip on my upper body. There was nothing left but the fall. My latest prison had no cells, no bars, and no hope of escape. So I couldn’t say I’d ever enjoyed the trip into mental stasis.

But this time, I smiled the whole way down.

Three

In my dream, my mother held my hands—both of them—but she looked like Meghan Notting, the gritty old woman who’d died helping me escape Earth. I shook my head, trying to fix her face back, and in response, she offered me a screen stem.

It was almost black, like graphite, but harder, and bluntly tapered on one end. I recognized it immediately because it was covered in blood: Jorin’s. I pictured his ugly, sneering face and backed away. I didn’t regret killing him. I didn’t. But that didn’t stop me from thinking on the moment in horror whenever I fell asleep.

My mother-Meghan moved toward my face, and I resisted the urge to run. I could not account for her appearance as Meghan, but I knew that she was my mother all the same. Did this version of her have an open wound where Cassa had shot her? I looked away. I didn’t want to know.

Perhaps it didn’t matter. Perhaps the dead felt no pain.

“Your leg, sweetheart,” she said softly, pressing the stem into my palm. I picked it up with my other hand, the one from my bad arm.

“Mom, no.”

“Use this hand.” She put it back in my other hand, the one on my good arm, and closed my fingers around the sticky weapon.

“That’s gonna hurt. I stabbed someone with a stem before, Mom. It hurts.”

“Only the dead feel no pain, Charlotte. Your life was never meant to be so precious.”

A flare of anger. “You’re just saying what I’ve been thinking. You’re not even real.”

She started at a noise, then looked behind her. Her hair in my face was suddenly like my mother’s, long and dark, and I needed her to hold me. “Now, Charlotte,” she said. “Do it now.”

“Mom. I’m afraid.”

And then she did embrace me, and I was warm, and her hair smelled like I remembered.

But she was only a dream.

In real life, I had no mother. I had no right hand, either.

I lifted the screen stem in my left hand. She nodded approvingly.

I drove it deep into my leg, and when the pain came, I sucked it in through every pore. When I screamed, I breathed out the scent of her hair forever. It was my mother’s voice that shrieked, but I held fast to the red sensation taking root in my thigh, and my dream-mother grew distant.

This pain was mine alone.

“Charlotte. Hey. Wake up.” Eren’s face hovered over mine, awash in concern. “You’re having a nightmare.”

I rubbed my face and tried to get my bearings. I was sitting precariously on the edge of a bed, half-wrapped in a warm comforter. Navy blue. “Not exactly.”

“You okay?”

“How did you get in here? How did you find me?”

He was unsurprised by the question and spoke slowly, as if I were a child. “I live here. We live together, remember? Officially, anyway. You’re in our bed.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Our—what now?”

He reevaluated my coherency and adopted a less irritating tone. “I’ve been sleeping next door. The rooms are connected through the kitchen.” He waved an arm.

I stood up, intending to investigate, but he stopped me immediately.

“Woah.” His eyes here huge, and I followed his gaze to my thigh.

An empty syringe dangled from my bare leg.

I took a breath and pulled it out.

His eyes bulged nearly out of his head, but he put a finger to his lips, shushing me. I nodded wearily and began to limp around the room. It was cold, so I dragged the comforter with me. I lacked the energy to wrap it around me, so I just hugged it to my chest. It felt good.

The kitchen was just as I remembered it, but I did not recall the door, or the little room behind it.

It was pale yellow, with a generic-looking painting of a lamb grazing in a green pasture. There was a fluffy white rug in the center, just next to a tiny bed surrounded by bars. I frowned. The bars on the bed were decorated with ribbons.

Wait, that wasn’t a bed. Not exactly.

I turned back to Eren, who’d followed me. “You sleep in a crib?”

“I kinda put the mattress on the floor, and my legs hang over the—you know what? That’s not important right now.”

“Why?”

“Because you get a little stabby when you’re sleeping.”

“That.” I pointed. “That is a nursery.” My hand went to my belly, and I searched my memory for evidence of a pregnancy. Not that I knew what that might involve, but nothing came to mind.