I think, therefore

Dedicated to David Tallerman
The best beta-reader and grammar-checker you could ever ask for

Jamelia stood on the balcony and stretched. She breathed in the morning air, the aroma of her coffee mixed with the scent of dew and pine. The forest stretched away in every direction. She couldn’t hear the roar of cars, or the buzz of conversation. It was so peaceful. It was what she’d always dreamed of.

After breakfast, she set up her easel and began to paint. She’d painted this view in autumn and winter, now she’d do the same for spring. She lost herself in sketching, the pencil becoming an extension of her hand as the majesty of nature flowed through her dextrous fingers and onto the canvas.

The crunch of tyres on gravel jolted her out of her artistic daze. She glanced at the clock. It was twenty to twelve. She heard a car door slam shut and her heart leaped. She put down the paintbrush and ran to the front door, flinging it wide. She beamed as Abdul came up the steps of their lodge.

‘This is a wonderful surprise,’ she said, flinging her arms around him. ‘I wasn’t expecting you for another six hours.’

He pulled back from her embrace and smiled. ‘It is time. I want you to know that, of all my wives, you are definitely one of my favourites. I shall truly miss our time together.’

Jamelia felt sickness twist her stomach. ‘Other wives? Time for what? Is this a joke?’

Abdul reached behind her, resting his hand on the back of her head. She took it for a conciliatory gesture, but then pain exploded in her skull. She squeezed her eyes shut, her hands flying to her head. Her fingers touched metal embedded in her skull.

Opening her eyes, she saw before her not the polished wood of her home, but a metal floor. She gasped, drawing in air saturated with chemicals that made her cough and gag. She was crouching on the floor in a cramped room, barely larger than one of her closets at home. There was a table behind her, with wires and straps along the length of it. She was naked, her skin covered with red marks and pinpricks. She looked up at Abdul who was tapping his foot impatiently. He drew her carefully to her feet.

‘Where are we? What’s going on?’ Her words were slurred with shock. Her whole body felt heavy, her limbs unfamiliar.

‘We are at Feeding Station Thirty-Seven. You are lot 261 of 1,272.’ Abdul slid open a metal door and led her out into a dimly lit metal corridor. Everything was metal here.

‘I don’t understand. What does it all mean?’ she asked as he guided her down the corridor.

Abdul glanced at his watch. ‘The human race was overwhelmed by creatures calling themselves the Ba’al. No one’s sure if they’re aliens or demons or what. We are not really permitted to talk about it. But they conquered us two hundred years ago and now this is how it works. They eat human flesh, but strangely only that of the females. The Y chromosome gives our meat a bitter flavour, apparently.’

Jamelia was leaning heavily on him. The warmth and smell of the man she thought of as her husband was the only comfort she had in the strange place. Abdul stopped before another door, opening it awkwardly while trying to support her weight. He led her inside.

‘Just stand there please.’ Jamelia stumbled over to where he pointed, too numb to disobey. ‘Hold out your arm please.’ He massaged oil into both arms, then her stomach, both legs, her back and buttocks. She remembered a kinky evening, just before they were married, where he’d done something similar. But there was no affection in his actions now, just a clinical efficiency.

As he straightened, she whispered, ‘You will look after me, won’t you?’

He smiled and stroked her cheek with slippery fingers. ‘I’ll always look after you, Jamelia. That’s my job. Now, through here please.’

He led her through another door to another corridor, as cold and impersonal as the last. She sank to the floor, burying her face in her greasy hands. ‘It’s too much. I can’t-‘

‘Yes, you can.’ Abdul hauled her to her feet. ‘We’ve taken too long as it is, and now we have to hurry. We’ve only got five minutes left.’

‘Five minutes to what?’ Abdul gave no answer, only tugged her along the corridor. She wanted to pull away but every part of her ached, and she wasn’t sure she could walk unaided. ‘What happens in five minutes?’ she persisted.

He sighed. ‘The most tender human flesh is aged to twenty-three years, seven months, twenty-five days, three hours and seventeen minutes, and that’s only eight minutes away, so we have to hurry.’

Jamelia heard everything Abdul said, but she took very little of it in. A dreadful realisation was creeping through her. ‘I know this place. I’ve… been here before. I used to walk here. In the dark. I dreamt it.’

‘Not so much of a dream, I’m afraid.’ Abdul struggled to move her on as she resisted, but he still won out in the end. ‘The muscles will atrophy and the flesh lose its succulence if the subjects don’t get regular exercise. So every five nights, we wake you from your slumber and walk you around a bit. You’re given a psychotropic drug that makes you feel like you’re dreaming it all.’

They stopped before a door, identical to the rest. Abdul placed his hand on a round metal plate and the door slid open. Jamelia found herself back in a closet-sized room, but this one had a padded bench protruding from one wall. Abdul eased her down onto it.

‘Just wait here.’ He turned to a cabinet on the other side of the room and began rummaging through it.

‘Do you really have other wives?’ Jamelia asked.

‘Yes,’ he said, without turning round.

Of all that he’d told her, this was the piece of information that got through her confused mind. The calm way in which he’d admitted it affected her more than anything else. She glared at him. He’d had an affair. She could understand this. The rage growing inside her gave Jamelia strength. She glanced at the door they’d come through. That just led to endless corridors. She’d never find her way back, and she didn’t want to return to that awful room anyway.

‘Damn, where is it?’ Abdul was crouching down now, searching the bottom shelves of the cabinet. Jamelia drew her legs up to her chest then thrust them out as hard as she could. They slammed into Abdul’s back, knocking him into the cabinet. He cried out and she saw a red spurt of blood fly from his forehead. She leaped up and ran towards the far door. She slammed her palm onto the metal plate. The room went red and pain shot up her arm as a needle stabbed into her hand.

Jamelia stumbled backwards, clutching her hand which felt incredibly heavy. The sensation spread up her arm and made her chest feel tight. She sank to her knees then to the floor. She couldn’t move. Panic flared white hot in her brain. She could feel the cold metal of the floor against her skin, but she couldn’t move a muscle to raise herself up.

Abdul bent over her, shaking his head. Then he put his palm to the panel. The room went from red to cool white again. The door slid open and Jamelia could see the other room contained a fearsome machine. Abdul turned it on then came back to lift her up in his arms. He’d held her like this when they’d crossed the threshold of their new lodge. Now he carried her over to a conveyer belt and lay her down with just as much tenderness as he had shown on their wedding night.

Just behind him, Jamelia could see the machine. It was huge and square. From the conveyor belt, she could see the inside of it, which was filled with blades and grinders. A word jumped into her head: mincer.

Abdul pushed a button on the machine; the blades started to whirr, the grinders started to turn. He came back to Jamelia and pushed a strand of hair out of her face. ‘I told them that you wouldn’t go quietly. I’m sure the Ba’al are really going to enjoy you.’ He leaned over and kissed her forehead. In her ear, he whispered, ‘You really are the sweetest of all my wives, my love.’ He straightened up, then wiped the side of her face with a rag from his pocket. ‘Sorry about that. I bled on you a little. That’s what you get for slamming me into a metal cupboard, I’m afraid. But I can’t have you contaminated just before you go into The Machine.’

He returned to the control panel. She wanted to scream at him: don’t! Please don’t! But her lips were as immobile as the rest of her. Abdul glanced consideringly at her and, for a brief moment, hope rose within her. He wasn’t going to do this. He was going to save her. After all, hadn’t he said that she was the best of all his wives? He’d make an exception, surely.

He walked over to her. ‘Here. Let me give you a little parting gift.’ He pressed an autoinjector into her neck. She felt the pressure of liquid entering her blood stream. It made her hot and cold at the same time. ‘This is a soluble compound that should affect your brain. It’ll shut off all the pain receptors, so you won’t feel a thing. It’s illegal, but a few of the guys keep it for their favourites. I want to give some to you.’

He went back to the control panel, checked the read outs, then hit a button. The conveyor started moving. Jamelia watched her feet head towards the first of the grinders. As blood fountained up, she wanted to scream, to tell Abdul he was wrong; his parting gift didn’t work. She could feel everything.

I think, therefore

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