Legion Lost Read online

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  No part of this work may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Kindle Press, Seattle, 2015

  A Kindle Scout selection

  Amazon, the Amazon logo, Kindle Scout, and Kindle Press are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

  Contents

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Sneek Peek: Legion Found

  One

  I’m so used to the way my brothers shake me awake that it takes three tries before consciousness really sinks in. I know it’s Bhadrak doing the shaking this time because he’s the oldest and strongest of the four. One more nudge, and I’ll surely tumble to the ground from the high bunk carved into the tunnel wall. I shuffle around, wiping my eyes and trying to flap my hand at him to show that I don’t need another push. Sleep and dust have caked my lashes with such a thick crust that it takes a while to get them fully open.

  “What is it, loser?” I tease, giving Bhadrak a sleepy smile.

  Bhadrak is anything but a loser: tall and athletic, in his prime at twenty-three. His kind, dark eyes beam down at me before he gives my shoulder another playful slap for the jibe.

  “It’s your turn under the lamp, little sister,” Bhadrak says. “Go get healthy.”

  I wriggle around in the bunk, careful not to smack my head on the earth ceiling of the hollowed-out room where we live. The family rule is that the littlest and lightest have to sleep at the top of each of the two triple-bunkers in our room—which means I’m stuck at the top forever, unless Mumma decides to have another child. And since she has five of us to deal with already and it’s been sixteen years since she had me, that doesn’t seem likely. The only other way to replace my second-eldest brother, Vinesh, in the middle bunk would be to gain about fifty pounds, but that’s about as likely to happen as me waking up without having to be shoved. When you live in the Underground, weight gain is an absurd fantasy.

  Bhadrak leaves me to get into some shoes and presentable overclothes, but when I reach the living section of our two-room home, I find him pacing back and forth on the stone floor of the pantry space. He hasn’t been up to the surface in nearly a full week, and the tension is starting to show. I don’t really know what all the fuss is about. I’ve never been above ground at all. I wrestle past him to get to the plastic boxes on the pantry shelves, rattling each one and looking through their clear sides.

  Bhadrak sighs. “You know there’s nothing fresh.”

  It’s true, but it hasn’t stopped me hoping that things might have changed by now. Bhadrak is a scavenger—one of the Underground population chosen to go to the surface and bring back whatever fresh produce he can find. Since the government has been scouring the area above us for the last six days, he’s been on strict orders to stay below the earth. They are orders that I’m very happy with, despite my rumbling belly. I can’t allow myself to think about what would happen if Bhadrak, or anyone else here, was caught above ground. We’ve lost too many of our people through carelessness already.

  “You’ll be able to go up again soon,” I tell him. “Better safe than sorry.”

  It is what our father used to say, and it’s a great pity that he didn’t take his own advice.

  “Ooh, I know just where to get something,” I suddenly remember, turning on my heel.

  My third-eldest brother is Mukesh, and he sleeps on the bottom bunk opposite Bhadrak’s. Amid his numerous bedcovers, I fumble around until something rustles at me. With a triumphant smile, I uncover a packet of crackers from his secret stash of extra snacks. As an afterthought, I grab one of his hats and tuck my hair up under it. When I return to the living space, Bhadrak gives me an expectant nod, running one finger along the edge of my baseball hat before he tries to flip it off my head. I recoil just in time with a grin.

  “You know Mukesh doesn’t like you borrowing his caps,” he warns.

  “Dumbo’s got hats coming out of his huge ears,” I reply. “He can spare me this one.”

  We both laugh, but Bhadrak’s sharp eyes are already flying to his watch.

  “Go, go!” he says, giving me a push. “Your time slot starts in three minutes!”

  I throw myself out of the door to our rooms, pausing only to open my crackers and earn an impatient groan from Bhadrak. The wide corridor outside our living space is peppered with many other doors, which lead to rooms identical to our own. Some house two, or even three families if their numbers are small. We’re lucky to be a group of six and have an allocation to ourselves. I munch the dry snacks as I continue down the well-lit tunnel, heading for the wide, round Atrium at its end.

  The population of this section of the Underground is greater than four hundred people, and most of us congregate in the Atrium to socialise, trade goods, and visit the health lamps when it’s our turn. The Atrium is a vast expanse that extends three storeys upwards, giving a pleasant feeling of space to our otherwise cramped lives. I climb an iron ladder set into the side of one curving wall, reaching the lamp rooms on the second floor. There are a few people milling around as they await their turns, and a little panic flutters inside me that the attendants might have given my slot to someone else already. If they have, I won’t get a space for at least another week.

  As I rush for the door to my usual session room, a hand grabs hold of my trouser leg.

  “Excuse me, young man . . . ”

  Young man? I turn with a glower to find a sweet old lady beaming up at me. I’m not that tall myself, so the sight of her tiny frame placates me a little in being mistaken for a guy. Instead of correcting her, I pull off Mukesh’s hat, letting my long, black hair trail down around my face. The lady’s wrinkled brow expands, pushing her eyes out like those of an old potato.

  “Oh dear girl, I’m so sorry!” she soothes. “I’m a little turned around today, forgive me.”

  I stuff the rest of the crackers into my grey trouser pocket, keenly aware that I’m definitely late for my lamp time now.

  “Was there something I could help you with?” I ask the old lady hurriedly.

  She looks me over. “No, no,” she croons, “you’re not who I was looking for. Sorry dear.”

  She was looking for a boy, and she thought she’d found him. When I finally get into the lamp room, the attendant glares at me with crossed arms, but says nothing as he turns on the machinery and leaves me to it. I slip off my trousers and T-shirt in the bright space, walking across the room in my underwear to a camp bed, which is set up under a huge, golden light. I lie down under the lamp and try to relax, letting its heat permeate my skin. I’m such a deep shade of brown that it’s unlikely that I’ll burn, but I still have to remind myself not to fall asleep here when I shut my eyes.

  As it turns out, that’s not much of a problem, since the old lady’s mistake keeps taunting me. It’s not my fault that I have to wear the hand-me-down clothes of my four brothers. If I could be dressed in something cuter than a baggy old T-shirt and trousers, I would be.
It’s not as though there’s a dressmaker handy when you’re living twenty feet below the ground. And Mukesh’s baseball caps are useful because they keep the dust and dirt of the earth ceiling from falling into my hair all the time. I tell myself that it was my clothes that made the old lady mistake my gender, nothing more.

  An uncomfortable shiver passes through me as I lie beneath the rays of light. I’m supposed to be soaking up the vitamins from this simulated sun, but all I can think of is the truth beyond the lies I’m telling myself. Even if I were dressed as a girl, I’d still be flat-chested and have no curve in my hips. Even when my hair is uncovered, there are still some people who look at me twice because they’re unsure whether to say “sir” or “miss” when they address me. Even my voice is lower than any of the other girls I know, and I’ve picked up too many bad habits living in a room full of boys all my life. Mumma used to tell me not to worry, that I’d grow into my womanly shape when I got older. Since I turned sixteen, she’s stopped saying that and, believe me, I noticed when she did.

  I let out a sigh as a low buzzing tells me it’s time to turn over and get some vitamin light on my back. I lie with my face flat against the camp bed, pleased that no one I know was around to see my embarrassing encounter. It suddenly strikes me as strange that the old lady would be walking around in the lamp corridor in the first place. Elderly survivors in the Underground usually have light treatment delivered to them by our small supply of medical staff. Everything gets fetched and carried for them and they live in their own accommodations on the opposite side of the Atrium. How did a little wrinkled thing like her even get up the ladder to the second floor?

  I’m more confused than ever by the time my dose of light, heat and vitamins is up, but I dress quickly and try to turn my mind to thoughts of dinner. It’s going to be something dry and boring like rice and bread again, but at least it means I get to sit down with all my family and have a good laugh. Mumma and my youngest brother, Pranjal, will bring our food back from the communal kitchen so we can eat at home in privacy tonight. If I hurry, I can be back in time to have the first scoop of hot rice, my privilege as the baby of the group. When I make the return journey from the lamp rooms to my home, the old lady who was waiting outside is nowhere in sight. I reason that perhaps she has found the young man that she was looking for.

  *

  The steam that greets me when I return to our rooms fills me with relief. I’m not late for dinner. The low-pitched chatter buzzing in the living quarters lets me know the family is assembled and, as the steam clears, a hand reaches up and rips the baseball cap from my head. Mukesh’s wide chipmunk cheeks are puffed in agitation as he dusts off his precious hat, looking at me as though I’ve damaged it just by wearing it out for an hour. When he turns his back, I pull my ears to make them stick out like his, earning a laugh from Vinesh and Pranjal from where they sit on the floor.

  “Come on baby sis,” Vinesh says, patting a cushion beside him. “You don’t want to miss the stunning array of bloaty carbs Mumma’s got on offer tonight.”

  “I heard that, you cheeky ape!”

  Mumma shouts at him across the slim space between the living area and the kitchen. She is enveloped by a cloud of steam, but her smile shines through it at me as sweat beads her brow. I almost dash over to help her dish up the meal, but another movement stops me. Someone else is following behind her, carrying the bowls. It takes me a moment to absorb the petite frame and wrinkled brow, but when I lock eyes with the stranger, I realise she’s the same old lady that I ran into back on the lamp level.

  “I’m so sorry, Mrs Ghosh,” Mumma says to the lady. “My boys are trouble when they all get together. But my daughter is much more agreeable, as you’ll see.”

  I want to ask Mumma who this woman is and why she is joining us for dinner but, after my mother’s compliment on my excellent manners, it seems like a rude thing to do. As I cross the room to join Vinesh on the floor, I wonder if that’s exactly why she said it. Pranjal is small and skinny like me—you would hardly guess that he’s a full year older—and I think we must look odd sitting on either side of a stocky, muscular guy like Vinesh. He slings a strong arm around my neck, pulling me in to muss my hair with the knuckles of his other hand. I squeal playfully for a moment, but stop abruptly when I see Mumma glaring at me over the top of Mrs Ghosh’s tiny head.

  “Can we have some peace to eat, please?” Mumma asks, quiet but firm as always.

  The four of us lean in to receive our rice bowls, mine steaming the hottest of all. We bow our heads respectfully as the older women settle to join us for the meal. Mukesh chews thoughtfully on his first spoonful before he suddenly asks the question that’s on my mind.

  “So, why is Mrs Ghosh here for dinner and not Bhadrak?”

  He says it with a mouthful of rice, and sticky white particles come flying from his lips, exploding in all directions. Mumma is not best pleased, but she clears her throat and answers him with elegance all the same.

  “Bhadrak was called to the security council about some issue or other,” she explains, “and Mrs Ghosh has travelled here from a neighbouring tunnel. We’re offering her our hospitality, so chew your food properly and take off that hat.”

  Mukesh does as he’s told, mumbling bitterly, but the old woman holds out her hand with a throaty chuckle.

  “Please Bandhula, you mustn’t make such a fuss,” she says with a strange, off-putting grin. “Boys will be boys, after all.”

  I don’t think I’m imagining the fact that she looks at me when she says this. For one horrible moment, I think that she’s about to tell everyone about my embarrassing identity crisis from earlier today. Mercifully, she starts to eat her rice instead. Still, I can’t shake the feeling that her presence in our home gives me. Something bad prickles the thin hairs on my arms, and I tug at the sleeves of my shirt, feeling colder by the moment despite the hot food in my belly. When I look down into the empty centre of the space between us all, I’m sure I can feel Mrs Ghosh’s beady eyes fixed on the top of my head.

  “Excuse me, Mrs Ghosh,” Vinesh says with a thoughtful hitch in his tone. “Did you say you came to us from another section of the Underground?”

  The old woman shifts her cross-legged frame and I freeze, disturbed by the sight of something black and shiny clinging to her ankle.

  “That’s right, dear boy,” I hear her say.

  “Did you come in by a connecting tunnel?” Vinesh continues.

  Ghosh shifts again, giving me a better view of the device strapped just above her shoe. It’s a box about the size of a packet of matches, but it’s made of pure black plastic, save for one cube where a tiny red light flashes out every few seconds.

  “No my dear,” Mrs Ghosh answers. “I came in overland.”

  “What?” I say, suddenly looking up. “How?”

  “That’s not your business,” Mumma snaps, clearly outraged at our prying. “How dare you lot ask Mrs Ghosh such personal—”

  Her next words are drowned out by the blast of a siren. It blares so loud that I feel as though a needle’s pierced my ears. In the midst of the emergency alarm, movement starts all around me. Vinesh pulls me to my feet and Pranjal struggles to get up swiftly on his other side. The door to our room flies open with a clang and my eyes are suddenly on Bhadrak’s face, flushed and wide-eyed in panic. He bursts into the living space, finding me first amid the chaos. There’s a pang of sudden sorrow between us, like he’s apologizing for something I have yet to discover is wrong.

  “We’ve been infiltrated!” he shouts, his voice strained and teary. “The soldiers are pulling people up! We’ve got to run before we get arrested!”

  This is the nightmare we all share in the dark of the Underground—the day when the government above will find the rebels in hiding, those who declined to live by its new laws. I feel as though my heart has stopped, yet every sinew in me is also screaming with the urge to run. From what and to where, I cannot imagine. I can only trust that Bhadrak will guide us
all to safety.

  “I’m afraid running isn’t an option,” says a shrill, amused voice that carries above the alarms.

  The old woman who calls herself Mrs Ghosh is on her feet. In her hands, there is a gun. She gives me that creepy smile that makes my insides squirm, then turns to Bhadrak with a practised grace. She fires her handgun before the word no can even begin to form on my lips, and then she takes off running and vanishes out into the corridor. In the same moment that she passes Bhadrak, he crumples to the ground, his face a picture of anger and shock. Something within me breaks and a wild, unstoppable shaking fills my every muscle.

  Bhadrak’s shirt is already starting to soak up the blood.

  Two

  Mumma’s trying to tell us to give Bhadrak some air, but all I can do is clamber towards him as the sirens continue to blast. He starts to splutter when Vinesh runs out to find help, trying to shake his head as if he wants to stop him going. My eldest brother, my protector, reaches out a hand and tugs hard at my T-shirt, the one that used to be his about a decade ago. His brown eyes are brimming with water, so wide that they glisten like pools of darkening fear. I can hardly stand the sight of his face when he’s in so much pain, but the force of his grip tells me that I have to be beside him, as close as he wants to pull me.

  “There’s a tunnel at the top of the Atrium, in the guard’s office,” he breathes, gasping between every other word. “You take the keys from my pocket. And the cutters . . . Wire cutters in my pocket.” He stops to cough once more, but this time drops of blood form on his lip. “When you get up to the surface, head to the fences and cut your way out. Run, my sister. Run.”

  Shock has me in its grip. The emergency alarms died somewhere during Bhadrak’s words, but I didn’t even hear them halt. He’s dying. My brother, who lies here holding onto my arm, is dying right in front of my eyes. I stumble back a little as Mumma suddenly forces her slender hand into Bhadrak’s pockets, seeking out the key and the cutters that he described. She forces them into my hands, which are shaking so hard I can barely keep a grip on the tools. Bhadrak puts one hand on mine and the shaking worsens, tears stinging the whole of my face as I threaten to burst into sobs.