Compound Elements

Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. They also say that if you leave the sanctity of our compound, your head will explode into a million pieces and your guts will rip out of your body and float away for eternity. But that’s just what they say to fortify authority, right? Truth be told, I don’t know anyone that really knows what lies outside the walls. We’ve all ventured past the signs and the barriers and the outposts with watchmen on, and shimmied under rusty, dirt-covered barbed wire and over cement blocks, but the view at the other side tells little to the vast expanse of darkness and rock that you see. Honestly, I don’t know if I relish the thought of expanding my knowledge that far. Ignorance is bliss, right?

In science class, our teacher has been explaining the changes our bodies must go through in order to withstand living ‘in space’. Pills must be taken daily and vaccinations given at regular intervals throughout the year in order for our bodies - I guess - to cope with the extreme climate here. It’s just normal for us though - I’ve never known any difference- it’s only when my mother speaks of home that I remember that my life isn’t ‘normal’ to everyone. Sometimes I think she might be sad that we can’t return to Earth, but from what people say about it, I’m not sure I’d want to go.

When we had sleepovers when we were little, my older brother, Kane, would tell us spooky stories and tales about what lives down on earth: giant flesh-eating worms, swarms of buzzing germ-ridden flies, and plant vines that wrap around houses squeezing them to death with whoever is inside! Why would my mum miss living there?! It sounds horrible. The science lessons which tell us about how our bodies are having to adapt, actually don’t tell us much about life before the compound. I don’t know why, but me and my friend Elsie think it’s because Kane’s horror stories are a tamed-down version of what it’s really like. Although, my mum doesn't describe life on Earth that way. My mum moved here when she was 17 years old with her parents who got jobs as a Primary School teacher and an aerospace engineer; and before you make assumptions, it was her mum that was the engineer. She was apparently fundamental in establishing our transportation systems here. Because of their intricacy and having to function in our atmosphere, they needed an engineer who specialised in both aerospace engineering and mechanics, and that was my grandma.

Grandma once told us about their move to the compound, and how she got the job as one of the first founders of the transportation system here. We have a train line that runs directly across the middle of the compound which, despite its name suggesting a small area surrounded by concrete and fences, is actually a 10-mile stretch: half a mile wide, full of trees and our community houses. The train runs every 10 minutes and takes 20 minutes to get from one side of the compound to the other, which is handy if you’re in a rush. I go to school at nearly the furthest end of the compound which has 200 of us in it. I like getting the train in the morning (despite not being a morning person AT ALL) because my friend Jenny gets the train two stops after mine and we like to draw and read and chat all the way to school. The train usually takes longer on school mornings because there are lots of us getting on the same train, so it has to stop at each station and wait while all of the kids pile on.

As I wait for the train this morning, and subsequently where the bulk of this story starts, I start to wonder what me and Jenny might have been up to if we had been born 50 years earlier and gone to school on Earth. Would we still study the same subjects? Would we have to get the train to school or would we walk? How would we get home from school if there weren’t any trains near our school? But my wandering thoughts were soon interrupted when our ride to school arrives with a whoosh of smoggy hot air and squeaky brakes. While me and Jenny are sitting listening to music, the train suddenly screeches its brakes and comes to an abrupt halt: sending bags and books flying, and water bottles rolling across the floor hitting feet and changing directions. We immediately look at each other and slowly remove the shared earphones from our ears. Both excitement and nerves suddenly hit me, in both nausea and an eyebrow raise, silently hoping for something out of our mundane, ordinary routine to happen, but praying at the same time we still get to go to school this morning.

When I’m about to ask Jenny what she thinks is happening, the train lights flicker and the doors of the train are forced open with a loud, groaning noise of bending metal. It looks like two people pry open and hold the doors while the other three squeeze one after the other onto the train. All 5 of them are wearing long black cloaks, the hood covering their faces. They look like strange creatures slithering about the train from person to person, as if searching for something. They saunter straight past us up the aisle of the train, and as Jenny and I slowly turn around to watch, we can see there are a few kids behind us crying and sitting on the footwells. Jenny nudges me and nods towards one of the older ones at the back, one of her brother’s friends, Jamie, who is discretely trying to edge his way behind his seat, I assume, to press the emergency help button. One of the men holding the door open for the others all of a sudden yells “Eyes front and centre!”, in a tone which got a response immediately from the whole carriage. “Jesus” whispers Jenny as she packs away her music from before and puts her bag on the floor. This is exactly why we are best friends: I could not cope with someone crying at the first sign of trouble. Like me, Jenny is excited by a slight element of danger: we both ride our bikes too fast, we often jump off the train before it’s fully stopped, and we like playing street football with the boys when the markets have packed away for the evening, which believe me has its obstacles.

From our place near the front of the carriage, and now facing forwards, we can’t see what’s going on behind us except from the blurry reflection from the glass door in front of us. They must have found what they came looking for because there’s whispering amongst them until one of them suddenly yells “Get up!” The man that was sitting in the middle of the carriage trembles out that he “doesn’t have anything worth stealing”, but this doesn't appease the bandits. The next moment he’s on the ground and they’re searching his bags and his briefcase must contain what they came for because the next moment they’re making their way back through the train with the briefcase in the hands of the one who seems to be the leader, or the more aggressive of the three. As they get to us, the one at the back of the trio trips on the straps of Jenny’s backpack, which has fallen into the aisle, and they fall onto their knees. They manage to recover quickly, but as they get up their hood falls down slightly to show part of their face. And as if in slow motion, we make direct eye contact and my whole entire world suddenly stops. Pure white noise is ringing in my ears, and it’s hard to explain, but something inside me clicked into place and I felt sick. The person at the back of the trio, who was staring at me, was a girl who looked just like me. It’s like I was looking into a mirror and a slightly roughed up, skinnier, darker version of me was looking back. In that second I questioned my whole entire being and my whole existence up to this point. Who was she? Who is she? And just like that they left the train, the doors slamming shut again, leaving the whole train carriage in shock. Jamie at the back, having pressed the button, was slamming his fist against the wall in frustration at the lack of response his actions delivered. The well dressed man in the middle, cowering on the floor while mumbling something into his phone, and Jenny is getting her music back out as if nothing happened. I nudge her

“Did you see that last girl?” I ask, in the hopes someone else can clarify what is happening.

“Yeah damn bag, as if I nearly took out a train bandit with my school bag!” she laughs.

“No I mean did you see her face?”

“No, why?”

“Jenny, she looked exactly like me. I mean exactly. She had my mousy blonde hair, she had my blue eyes with a stubby freckled nose and she even had glasses. Different glasses but she was exactly like me”

“How can she look exactly like you? Like a clone or something?”

“No, clones don’t exist Jen, I mean she just looked too much like me for it not to mean something”.

Suddenly, a lot of things started to make sense and for the rest of the train journey I was trying to put pieces together in my head about who this girl is. I start to recall seeing pictures when grandma showed me her shoebox of memories and photographs: There’s a few of me as a baby with another baby in them, which I always assumed was Jenny, since our mums have been friends since they were pregnant at the same time. But now that I think about it, Jenny’s mum has pictures of them up around the house from when Jen was a baby and she had dark curly hair and the baby in my photos had a sunhat on. But we were wearing matching clothes so how do I know it’s Jenny? How do I know it’s not Jenny? My mind reels as questions swell around my head and it’s only when I get home after the longest day at school ever that I know I can finally get some answers.

Grandma isn’t very well and so she’s staying with us so we can keep an eye on her and so she has some company after Grandad a couple of years ago. I didn’t know Grandad very well because he died when I was 7 and my memories are of brief visits every so often, but I have the best memories of him throwing me up in the air and catching me and pretending that one of these days he’s going to throw me high enough I’ll float off into space! I think about him often, but I know that Grandma misses him all the time. She talks about him all the time and although we know a lot of it doesn’t make sense, she recalls her memories with fondness that sometimes makes my mum cry. She was an engineer and she was very clever, but age has not been kind to her mind and she mumbles a lot about the mistake of moving here, which usually ends up with mum telling her to stop being silly. Anyway, since she’s moved in with us, we have all of her stuff here in the house. We don’t have much stuff because our houses are all small and compact due to the high population here. So, I know exactly where to go to locate the answers I’m looking for: the shoe box full of memorabilia and photos.

“Hi Fran, good day?” Mum hollers from the kitchen. I panic and stand still for a second, I didn’t think she would be home.

“Yeah good thanks, just going to my room to unpack my bag”, I placate her so she doesn’t follow me for more.

“Ok love, come out here when you’re ready for something to eat”, she replies with a smile as she pops her head around the corner. I shut the door behind me and breathe, collecting my thoughts and going over the plan in my head. I dump my bag on the bed (when have I ever unpacked it since the school year started?) and listen for any movement outside my bedroom door. None. Good. I slowly and quietly open my door and head for Grandma's room, which is empty because at this time of day she’s usually gone for a walk with Marina from next door, to stretch her legs. Perfect. In her wardrobe lies her limited clothing choices and a few boxes of things from her old house, and on the top shelf of the wardrobe, in a box (where all secrets seem to lie) are her photos. Bingo. As I pull it down from the shelf and lay it out on the bed, I take another moment to listen to any movement coming towards this end of the hallway. None. Good. I open the lid of the box and Grandma has helpfully organised the photographs in chronological order, ever the brainy and logical thinker of the family. I flip through the images and I find the era I’m looking for: me as a baby. I see pictures of me and Granddad sitting reading a book, me and Mum baking something, and me and dad before he went away to work. Then I see me with another baby, the same picture I remembered with the sunhat and the matching outfits and I can’t tell who it is, but we’re both sitting on my mum’s knee. I flip to the next photo and it’s another photo of two babies playing with a toy sheep and you can see they have matching hair styles: blonde. So this baby definitely isn't Jen with her dark baby hair. How had I never noticed this before? Did I have other baby friends that we’ve not stayed in contact with? I flip to the next photo and I get the answers I’m looking for, and it was what deep down I suspected the moment I saw her on the train, but didn’t want to believe it. There in the photograph is me as a toddler with another toddler in matching outfits again and matching hair, this time both looking at the camera so there’s no mistaking there’s two of me. Or two of us? Am I a twin? The next photo confirms my suspicions as a first birthday cake is in the centre photo and two toddlers are blowing it out, and one of them is me. The other must be that girl on the train. How did my mum keep this a secret? And where is she now?

I wander aimlessly to the kitchen in almost complete shock at this revelation that there’s someone like me, maybe even a part of me, out there somewhere and I didn’t know it until today when our train to school got robbed. Of all the odds. My brain can’t even comprehend it. I decided the best way to know for sure and to get the answers is to ask the person who knows what happened between us. My mum. I peer round the corner and she’s still in the kitchen, swaying along to some music she has on quietly playing from the speaker in the corner.

“Mum?” I start, and don’t know how to continue.

“Hi Fran, ready for a snack? I can get you some-”

“- Mum, am I a twin?” I blurt out, because there’s no other real way to approach the subject. She stays silent for a moment and we are both staring at each other. She looks like a rabbit caught in the headlights and then she relaxes.

“How did you find out?” She asks next, which throws me off. I thought she would deny it at least. My thoughts now have been confirmed.

“I saw her today”

“What? Where?”

“On the train to school, the train was stopped and bandits got on and took some man’s briefcase”, I reply to her question. I forgot that I’ve not told her about this and she probably hasn’t seen the news today either.

“Fran! What?! You had bandits on your train? Are you ok?” she asks and immediately comes over and puts her arms on mine as if checking physically I’m ok.

“Yeah I’m fine, we just sat there while they took what they wanted and left”

“Okay good, I’m sorry that happened. What a random thing to happen at that time of day.” She ponders.

“Well when one was leaving, Jenny’s backpack tripped one up by accident and one of them fell. As they were getting up her hood fell a bit and we looked at each other. She looked just like me. I mean exactly like me. And it got me thinking and so I thought I’d ask you.” I tell her honestly.

“Her name is Laney”, Mum says after a moment, in a way that seems solemn but in a happy memory sort of way. “She left with your father all those years ago”, she adds. I thought my dad had left for work on a new compound elsewhere, which meant he had to leave for a long time, but I remember Mum telling me he would be back when it was finished. I just didn’t think he would be away for this long, but the cogs are turning again and I’m starting to think another secret is about to unravel. What an eventful Tuesday.

“Your father didn’t go to build a new compound”, Mum confirms.

“Ok… where is he? And why did Laney go with him and not stay with us, with me?” I ask.

“He lives outside the compound, I’ve never been sure if he’s outside somewhere or if he took a shuttle back to Earth. I don’t know if the atmosphere would allow you to live outside the compound, so I don’t know where he is. All I know is that he kept saying that this was not the life he signed up for. He kept saying it and we kept arguing about how moving here was the best thing for our family, and then one day he said he’d had enough and it was driving him mad living here. And he took Laney.”

“He just took her?” I ask, in disbelief, that someone would just take a child.

“Yep”, Mum replies, “Because he said it was only fair that we had a child each. I argued with him that these were children! You can’t just take one away from the other! Away from their mother! But he was adamant and you kids were getting upset by all the shouting and so there really wasn’t much I could do. He had a right to his children.”

She looks sad at this, like she’s having to relive something really painful. And I suppose me bringing this up is probably causing her pain, but I need answers as well. This is my sister, and I have a right to know what happened.

The next morning on the way to school, I get out a photo I took from Grandma’s stash and show it to Jenny. This morning’s activity wasn’t going to be listening to music or talking gossip or reading. This Wednesday morning was going to be the last normal morning we had in a while. I show Jenny the photograph and explain everything. Explain that it was her that I saw on the train yesterday morning, and how I knew we had a connection the moment our eyes met. And I told her that my Mum confirmed it when I got home: I have a sister. And she’s living god knows where with god knows who. She’s a train thief and a bandit from what we saw yesterday. There’s more to this story than I know from a brief conversation with my Mum at the kitchen table with 3 photographs to back up my claims. So that’s when I tell Jenny that tomorrow I’m leaving to go and find her.