No Memory

The helping hands didn't stop swarming around her until Harlow stood up straight and had the dust brushed from her tank top and jeans.

Still dazzled by the light, she staggered a bit. She was consumed with curiosity but still felt too ill to look closely at her surroundings. Her new companions said nothing as she swiveled her head around, trying to take it all in.

As she rotated in a slow circle, the others snickered and stared; some of the younger ones reached out and poked her with a finger.

. There had to be at least fifty of them, their clothes smudged and sweaty as if they'd been hard at work, all shapes and sizes and races, their hair of varying lengths.

Harlow suddenly felt dizzy, her eyes flickering between them and the bizarre place in which she'd found herself.

They stood in a vast courtyard several times the size of a football field, surrounded by four enormous walls made of stone and covered in large vines, the largest she had ever seen with huge thorns, and with thick ivy covering parts of them.

The walls had to be hundreds of feet high and formed a perfect circle around them, each side split in the exact middle by an opening as tall as the walls themselves that, from what Harlow could see, led to passages and long corridors beyond.

"Look at her," a scratchy voice said; Harlow couldn't see who it came from.

"Gonna break her neck checkin' out the new digs." Several of them laughed.

"Shut up, Pru ," a deeper voice responded.

Harlow focused back in on the dozens of strangers around her. She knew she must look out of it —dhe felt like she'd been drugged.

A tall guy with black hair and a square jaw started at her intently, his face devoid of expression.

A short, pudgy young boy fidgeted back and forth on his feet, looking up at Harlow with wide eyes.

A tall skinny but muscled girl folded her arms as she studied Harlow, her tight crop top showed off her perfect figure.

A dark-skinned guy frowned—the same one who'd welcomed her. Countless others stared.

"Where am I?" Harlow asked, surprised at hearing her voice for the first time in her salvageable memory. It didn't sound quite right—higher than she would've imagined.

"Nowhere good." This came from the dark-skinned guy. "Just keep calm." "Which hut is she gonna get?" someone shouted from the back of the crowd.

"I told ya, dumb ass," a shrill voice responded. "She's a new one, so she'll stay in stage one." The girl giggled like she'd just said the funniest thing in history.

Harlow once again felt a pressing ache of confusion—hearing so many words and phrases It was as if her memory loss had stolen a chunk of her language—it was disorienting.

Different emotions battled for dominance in her mind and heart. Confusion. Curiosity. Panic. Fear. But laced through it all was the dark feeling of utter hopelessness, like the world had ended for her, had been wiped from her memory and replaced with something awful.

She wanted to run and hide from these people.

The scratchy-voiced girl was talking. "—even do that much, bet." Harlow still couldn't see her face.

"I said shut your mouths!" the tall girl yelled. "Keep it up and next break'll be cut in half!"

That must be their leader, Harlow realized. Hating how everyone gawked at her, she concentrated on studying the place the guy had called the Dome!

The floor of the courtyard looked like it was made of huge stone blocks, many of them cracked and filled with long grasses and weeds.

An odd, dilapidated wooden building near one of the corners of the square contrasted greatly with the gray stone. A few trees surrounded it, their roots like gnarled hands digging into the rock floor for food.

Another corner of the compound held gardens—from where he was standing Harlow recognized corn, tomato plants, fruit trees.

Across the courtyard from there stood wooden pens holding sheep and pigs and cows. A large grove of trees filled the final corner; the closest ones looked crippled and close to dying.

The sky overhead was cloudless and blue, but Harlow could see no sign of the sun despite the brightness of the day.

The creeping shadows of the walls didn't reveal the time or direction—it could be early morning or late afternoon.

As she breathed in deeply, trying to settle her nerves, a mixture of smells bombarded her.

Freshly turned dirt, manure, pine, something rotten and something sweet. Somehow she knew that these were the smells of a farm.

Harlow looked back at her captors, feeling awkward but desperate to ask questions.

Captors, she thought. Then, Why did that word pop into my head?

She scanned their faces, taking in each expression, judging them. One girl's eyes, flared with hatred, stopped her cold. She looked so angry, Harlow wouldn't have been surprised if the girl came at her with a knife.

She had black hair, and when they made eye contact, the girl shook her head and turned away, walking toward a greasy iron pole with a wooden bench next to it. A multicolored flag hung limply at the top of the pole, no wind to reveal its pattern.

Shaken, Harlow stared at the girl's back until she turned and took a seat. Harlow quickly looked away.

Suddenly, what looked to be the leader of the group—perhaps she was eighteen—took a step forward. She wore normal clothes: black crop top, jeans, tennis shoes, a weird looking watch.

For some reason the clothing here surprised Harlow; it seemed like everyone should be wearing something more menacing—like prison garb.

The dark haired girl had long wavy hair, her face perfectly angled but hard, as if she had been through a lot in her life, she looked to be native american.

"It's a long story," the girl said. "Piece by piece, you'll learn—I'll be takin' you on the Tour tomorrow. Till then … just don't break anything." She held a hand out. "Name's Wren, Captain or second in command around here ." She waited, clearly wanting to shake hands.

Harlow refused.

Some instinct took over her actions and without saying anything she turned away from Wren and walked to a nearby tree, where she plopped down to sit with her back against the rough bark.

Panic swelled inside her once again, almost too much to bear. But she took a deep breath and forced herself to try to accept the situation.

Just go with it, she thought. You won't figure out anything if you give in to fear.

"Then tell me," Harlow called out, struggling to keep her voice even. "Tell me the long story."

Wren glanced at the guy with dark hair who hadn't taken his eyes off her and rolled her eyes, and Harlow studied the crowd again.

Her original estimate had been close—there were probably fifty to sixty of them, ranging from their midteens to young adults like Wren, who seemed to be one of the oldest.

At that moment, Harlow realized with a sickening lurch that she had no idea how old she was. Her heart sank at the thought—she was so lost she didn't even know her own age.

"Seriously," she said, giving up on the show of courage. "Where am I?"

Wren walked over to him and sat down cross-legged; the crowd followed and packed in behind. Heads popped up here and there, people leaning in every direction to get a better look.

"If you're not scared," Wren said, "you arent human. Act any different and I'd kill you because it'd mean you're a psycho."

"Kill me?" Harlow asked, blood draining from his face.

"Forget it," Wren said, rubbing her eyes. There isnt anyway to start these conversations, you understand? We don't kill anyone here, I promise. Just try and avoid being killed, survive, and make a lofe for yourself here."

She paused, and Harlow realized her face must've whitened even more when she heard that last part.

"Listen," Wren said, then ran his hands over his short hair as he let out a long sigh. "I'm not good at this—you're the first since Linc was killed."

Harlow's eyes widened, and another guy stepped up and playfully slapped Wren across her ass cheek. "Wait for the bloody Tour, Baby," he said, his voice thick with an odd accent. "She's gonna have a heart attack."

He bent down and extended his hand toward Harlow. "Name's Pratt Love, and we'd all be right cheery if ya'd forgive our captain, here."

Harlow reached out and shook the guy's hand—he seemed a lot nicer than any of the others. Pratt was taller than Wren, but looked to be a year or so younger. His hair was blond and cut short on the sides but long on the top. Veins stuck out of his muscled arms.

"Hush, ass hole," Wren grunted, pulling hi. down to sit next to her. "At least she can understand half my words." There were a few scattered laughs, and then everyone gathered behind Wren and Pratt, packing in even tighter, waiting to hear what they said.

Wren spread her arms out, palms up. "This place is called the Dome, all right? It's where we live, where we eat, where we sleep—we call ourselves the Wonderers. That's all you—"

"Who sent me here?" Harlow demanded, fear finally giving way to anger. "How'd—"

Wren jumped up and grabbed her by the shoulders sending a strike of fear straight to her heart making it race.

A hand reached out and grabbed Wren by the shoulders. "Wren , lay off. I got this." Pratt scolded her.

Wren let go of Harlow's shirt and stepped back, her chest heaving with breaths. " I don't have the time to be nice. Your old life's over, and your new life's begun. Learn the rules quick, listen, make yourself useful. You get me?"

Harlow looked over at Pratt, hoping for help.

Everything inside her churned and hurt; the tears that had yet to come burned her eyes.

Pratt nodded. "You understand, right?" He nodded again.

Harlow fumed, wanted to punch somebody. But she simply said, "Yeah."

"Good that," Pratt said.

"First Day. That's what today is for you. Night's comin', Searchers will be back soon. The Box came late today, haven't got time for the Tour. Tomorrow morning, right after the wake-up." Wren turned toward Pratt. "Get her in one of the huts, so she can get to sleep."

"Good that," Pratt said.

Wren's eyes returned to Harlow, narrowing. "A few weeks, you'll be happy. You'll be happy and helping around here. None of us knew shit on the First Day, same as you. Your new life begins tomorrow."

Wren turned and pushed her way through the crowd, then headed for the slanted wooden building in the corner. Most of the kids wandered away then, each one giving Harlow a lingering look before they walked off.

"Pratt, put her in the hut beside mine." the guy who had been glaring at her the entire time piped up.

"Are you sure, Raiden. Wouldn't she be more comfortable, " The guy cut him off and snapped at him.

"You heard me, now get it done." they guy snapped.

"Sure thing." Pratt agreed.

The man looked at her one final time and turned walking the way Wren had went moments before.

Why did he want her next to him?

Harlow folded her arms, closed her eyes, took a deep breath. Emptiness ate away at her insides, quickly replaced by a sadness that hurt her heart.

It was all too much—where was she? What was this place? Was it some kind of prison? If so, why had she been sent here, and for how long?

None of the people here seemed to care whether she lived or died. Tears threatened again to fill her eyes, but she refused to let them come.

"What did I do?" she whispered, not really meaning for anyone to hear her. "What did I do— why'd they send me here?"

Pratt clapped her on the shoulder. "Listen, what you're feelin', we've all felt it. We've all had First Day, when we come out of that dark box. Things are bad, they are, and they'll get much worse for ya soon, that's the truth. But down the road a piece, you'll be fightin' true and good. I can tell you're a strong one."

"Is this a prison?" Harlow asked; she dug in the darkness of her thoughts, trying to find a crack to her past.

"Done asked four questions, haven't ya?" Pratt replied. "No good answers for ya, not yet, anyway. Best be quiet now, accept the change—morn comes tomorrow."

Harlow said nothing, her head sunk, her eyes staring at the cracked, rocky ground. A line of small-leafed weeds ran along the edge of one of the stone blocks, tiny yellow flowers peeping through as if searching for the sun, long disappeared behind the enormous walls of the Dome.

"Clint'll be a good fit for ya," Pratt said. "Wee little fat elf, but nice sap when all's said and done. Stay here, I'll be back."

Pratt had barely finished his sentence when a sudden, piercing scream ripped through the air. High and shrill, the barely human shriek echoed across the stone courtyard; everyone in sight turned to look toward the source.

Harlow felt her blood turn to icy slush as he realized that the horrible sound came from the wooden building.

Even Pratt had jumped as if startled, his forehead creasing in concern.

"Fuck it," he said. "Can't the bloody Medics handle that guy for ten minutes without needin' my help?" He shook his head and lightly kicked Harlow on the foot. "Find Clint, tell him he's in charge of your sleepin' arrangements. That Raiden wants you mext to his hut."

"Who is that raiden guy anyway?" Harlow asked curious about the guy she was jow assigned to live next to.

"He's our leader. Knows more about this place than any of us. He's been out there hundreds of times, and always comes back." Pratt pointed to the large opening in the Dome and then he turned and headed in the direction of the building, running.

Harlow slid down the rough face of the tree until she sat on the ground again; she shrank back against the bark and closed her eyes, wishing she could wake up from this terrible, terrible dream.