The Union

by T. H. Hernandez

  I glare at her. “It slipped.”

  14

  Anger Management

  Crisp, clean smelling sheets rub against my cheek. My eyes snap open and I take in the white walls, the wood chair next to the bed, the broken glass on the floor, and hopelessness settles into my bones, making my limbs heavy.

  I’m still here, which means Walker hasn’t arrived yet. No one’s been in to see me since I screamed at Cyrus last night nor have they brought me anything to eat or drink. I guess they’re expecting Walker to feed me. Or maybe they just don’t care. They also don’t seem too worried I’m going to escape, the door isn’t even closed all the way.

  My legs wobble when I stand to drag the chair beneath the window and climb up to see out. It’s a long way down, but not an impossible distance. Wooziness from lying in bed for days, dehydration, and not eating hits me and I sit before I fall on my ass.

  Taking in my surroundings again, I’m struck by the difference between this place and the dump where Walker was holding me. The room I’m in feels solid, well maintained, and it’s clean. My stomach growls, reminding me it hasn’t been fed in days, maybe even a week. An old saying comes to mind — you can catch more flies with honey than vinegar. Maybe I can’t escape, I’ve pretty much proven I can’t survive on my own, and screaming and throwing things has apparently gotten my meal privileges revoked. It might be time for a new approach.

  The glass shards from last night’s tantrum still lie on the floor and I’m careful to avoid them as I walk past to peer out of my room. Stairs lead down to a wide hallway with four rooms leading off. The first is a bedroom with a neatly made bed, the second has a couple of bunk beds built into the walls. The other two are also bedrooms with a bed in them rather than pallets of stuff like the other house.

  Another short flight of stairs at the end of the hall leads down where busy morning sounds and aromas rise, enticing me. I step gingerly on tender feet into a bright kitchen and dining area. Sonia, Ally, and several small boys are working at a long concrete counter, washing berries and placing them in bowls. Eggs cook in a cast iron skillet on a large grill, making my mouth water.

  Sonia glances with a smile. “Good morning, Evan. How are you feeling?” She sounds genuinely pleased to see me, furthering my confusion.

  “Okay, I guess. Sore.”

  She points to the boys with a spatula. “This is Ty, Will, Ben, and Connor, and you know Ally.”

  I’m clueless as to which name goes with which boy. They say hello before returning to their work.

  Sonia holds a small broom and dustpan out to me. “Here, you can use these to sweep up the broken glass in your room.”

  I stare at her for a few beats. If they’re holding me against my will, they can’t possibly expect me to clean up around here. But I take them from her and turn to go back upstairs.

  Draya calls out behind me, “Do you know how to use those? Will can show you if you need instructions.”

  I bite back a snarky response. “No thanks, I got it.” As I walk up the stairs, I try to put these new facts into perspective. The small children are hardly miniature kidnappers. Their presence here only makes things more confusing. I’m only half paying attention as I sweep and step on a sliver of glass, lodging it in my foot. I swear loudly and sit to pull it out.

  Sonia arrives a moment later with a wet towel and a clean bandage. “We’ll get you shoes today. After we eat, though. Are you hungry?”

  I nod and my stomach belts out its resounding agreement.

  When we get back downstairs, breakfast is ready. Sonia gestures toward a chair at the end of a long table, large enough to seat ten. I mentally count the people I met so far — Sonia, Ally, Lucien, Cyrus, Draya, Marcus, and the four boys whose names I can’t remember. The young kids scramble for spots on two benches flanking the table. Lucien, Marcus, and Cyrus enter the kitchen as breakfast is placed on the table and plop down on the benches. Five bodies sit on each side while I occupy the lone chair, feeling very much apart from this group.

  The others dig into their meal, eating and talking about their plans for the day. “Evan needs shoes,” Sonia says, then turns to me. “What size do you wear?”

  Draya rolls her eyes as I croak out, “Seven.”

  Flavors hit my tongue with my first forkful, stopping me. I’m not sure what I expected, but this food is incredible. It’s basic scrambled eggs with cheese and blackberries in cream, but the eggs are so fresh, they practically melt in my mouth. The sharp bite of the cheese adds a savory punch and the blackberries burst in my mouth, their rich juices flowing down my throat.

  “Do you want some tea, Evan?” Ally asks.

  “Yes, thank you.” I take the offered mug, wishing it was coffee.

  I study the group while I finish my breakfast. They talk and laugh like a family. The two youngest boys, both blond with bright blue eyes, regard me with interest. Whenever they catch me looking their way, they quickly glance away. One is five or six and the other isn’t much older.

  A lanky teen with shaggy hair that keeps falling into his dark eyes sits across from Ally. Next to him is a boy with curly hair. The younger one gives me a shy smile, a dimple appearing in his left cheek.

  Maybe I misjudged them. They don’t seem sinister nor do they appear to be part of a larger plot involving me, although it’s the little kids that make me doubt my initial assumptions. I still don’t know who they are or why they’re out here.

  After Lucien finishes his breakfast, he approaches me. “Take a walk with me, Evan.”

  I glance around the table, but no one is paying any attention to us.

  “I won’t bite, I promise.” There’s a spark of humor in his ebony eyes.

  With a sigh, I get up and follow him through the living room to another staircase leading down to the front door sitting below the main level. Outside the air has a sweet, clean earthy odor with a hint of sage. We cross a wrap-around porch and beyond that is nothing but open space as far as I can see. A winding stone walkway leads away from the house like a gray river carving a path through dirt and plants. A large, flat-topped granite rock sits to the left.

  We pass a chicken pen, not all that different from the ones we have back home. The hens flock to the fence, squawking as I follow Lucien into a fenced-in area with a wooden barn in the corner.

  “Watch your step.” Lucien points to a pile of some sort of animal droppings. He opens the door to the barn and I freeze at the sight of two full-grown cows. Real freaking cows. They’re enormous. In the Union, we raise small livestock like chickens and goats, but large animals are raised in the area between the Southwestern Province and the Mexican border.

  I’m awestruck by these beautiful creatures. Lucien pats one on her neck and whispers something to her, and I swear she responds with a low moan and a swish of her tail.

  Lucien glances over his shoulder. “They won’t hurt you.” The cows distracted me so much I didn’t realize he was leading me into a confined space with no way out. He positions a metal pail near one of the cows. “Do you want to try?”

  Confusion tumbles through me. He brought me here to show me how to milk a cow? I shake my head and consider my escape options. Maybe it’s the way Lucien just assumes I trust him, or how he doesn’t seem to care, but I take another step into the barn.

  He palms a teat in his hand and pulls down, squirting milk into the bucket. It creates a tinny sound as it strikes the pail’s bottom. He grabs another and does the same, alternating hands as a steady stream of milk flows. “Tell me what you know about the history of the United States.”

  I scowl, wondering what kind of game he’s playing.

  “Humor me.” A smile pulls his full lips tight, transforming his ruggedly handsome face. He’s insanely good looking for a kidnapper.

  I take a deep breath and think back to breakfast, and the boys, and even to what his brother told me last night. Chewing my lip I try to sort through everything. If they’re waiting for Walker to come get me, why am I not lo
cked in the room upstairs? Why drag me out to the barn to milk cows?

  For the moment, I decide to play along. In my tortured voice I regurgitate what I know about our history from the Founding Fathers through the Second Civil War, and the great migration to the coasts in search of drinkable water. He finishes milking one cow as I talk and moves his stool to the other. I’m mesmerized by the movements of his hands as I share what I know of the Union formation and the past one hundred years.

  When he’s done with the second cow, he hands me a rake and shows me how to groom the straw on the floor of the barn. We work side by side as he tells me a story, one so horrifying it can’t possibly be true.

  “The facts are a little different,” Lucien starts, eyeing me. “The Ruins were devastated, but not uninhabitable. Many stayed behind, close to a third of the surviving population.”

  I stop raking and stare at him. “That’s…that’s not possible.”

  His rake scrapes across the barn floor, the tines vibrating when they catch on something, releasing a sharp twang. “No doubt migration was the first choice of most people. Safe drinking water was scarce and the majority of the country was in ruins, but the ones who remained didn’t want to give up their way of life.”

  I shake my head, trying to dislodge his words. This isn’t true, but I still get caught up in the story. “Why would they risk their lives by staying behind?”

  “Freedom. People were afraid of where the newly formed government was heading.”

  This is total bullshit — the abandoned homes, the crippled roads, the lack of any real civilization — they all reinforce what I learned in school. “So, what happened to everyone?” I ask, unable to mask the snark. “A third of the population after the war must’ve been like…fifty million.”

  He runs a hand through his hair. “We’re still here, but we’re scattered — the area outside the Union is massive. The Union didn’t care about the ones who stayed behind. At least not at first. But they did care about the environment and believed fossil fuels caused global warming.”

  I resist the urge to roll my eyes. “Yeah, everyone knows that.”

  He shrugs. “The Union had science on their side, and even people who didn’t believe in global warming couldn’t deny real weather changes taking place. They just didn’t agree humans were the cause. The Union saw a manmade disaster and the others chalked it up to long-term weather patterns.”

  “Okay, I’ll buy into that. It makes sense. The Union only uses renewable energy, but that doesn’t mean the rest of your story is true.”

  He eyes me. “Those who believed the changes were natural didn’t think they could do anything to prevent it. They also thought restricting power sources was as stupid as it was dangerous. The Union blocked access to the oil fields off the coasts, but the inland people found ways around it.”

  A chill crawls over my skin when I realize I’m about to find out his motive for telling me all this, and I’m pretty sure I’m not going to like it.

  “The Union had the military and used it to bomb all the power stations and oil fields in the Ruins so they couldn’t be used. Millions were killed in the strikes, and millions more died in the aftermath.”

  Anger burns in my gut. I don’t know if I’m angry with him, myself, or the Union, but I decide for now to unleash it on him. “You’re lying.”

  He rolls his lips inward, biting down on them. When he speaks again, his voice is controlled. “I wish I was.…but I’m not.”

  “The Union would never do that. All human life is valuable, no one is more important than anyone else.” I squeeze my head, trying to purge his words. When I glance up, he’s studying me with eyes so dark they seem to swallow his pupils. “Why are you telling me this?” I whisper.

  “Because you have a right to know. I assumed you did, but…the things you said to Cy last night…” He shrugs. “I was afraid you might not.” His features soften, as if he feels sorry for me.

  I don’t want his pity. What he told me is so horrible, so unthinkable, it can’t be true. But why would he lie? What does he have to gain?

  I storm out of the barn, stumbling over a rock. A string of obscenities flies out of my mouth. I’m not sure where I’m going, but I need to get away from Lucien and his bullshit stories.

  “Evan? Are you alright?” he calls after me.

  I turn around to glare at him and realize I’m still holding the rake. I fling it to the ground and stalk off.

  15

  Alternate History

  The sounds and smells of nature that shouldn’t even exist bombard me as I try to make sense of what Lucien told me. All of it flies in the face of what I know about history. Either the Union is lying or Lucien is.

  They said the Ruins can’t sustain life, that no one has lived out here for over a century. They lied about that, maybe they lied about everything.

  My world’s been ripped apart and thrown in my face like bitter confetti. The home I know doesn’t exist and never really did. How am I supposed to go back when it’s all a fantasy?

  A rumble in my stomach reminds me how long I’ve been out here, and I trudge back to the house in an emotional funk, not wanting to face anyone but needing to eat. When I open the front door, raised voices echo down the stairs.

  “I don’t care,” Draya says, her words dripping with disdain. “We saved her spoiled Union princess ass. Would it kill her to show a little gratitude? She hasn’t lifted a manicured finger to help out around here, expecting us to wait on her like she’s still in the Union.”

  “Give her a break, Dray,” Sonia says. “She’s still recovering. You saw her feet.”

  “I saw her fancy painted toes. It must be nice to live in a world where decorating your feet is a real thing.”

  “She’s probably scared,” Ally says. “How would you feel if you woke up in a house full of strangers?”

  “If someone wants to drop me in utopia, I’ll be happy to find out.”

  For the first time in my life, I’m ashamed of where I come from, of how I grew up, of my priorities up until now. Since the moment I opened my eyes out here, I’ve been solely focused on myself. I didn’t think about how they live out here or how Union life must appear to them.

  Ally glances over at me, her eyes widening. She tries to subtly gesture toward me, but it’s so obvious, it’s almost comical.

  “Aw, looks like we’ve hurt her feelings,” Draya says. I gotta give her credit for being as blunt to my face as she is behind my back.

  Shame explodes into anger. It’s not my fault I was born in the Union any more than it’s her fault she wasn’t. Heat floods my face, and I turn, marching back down the stairs and outside, slamming the door behind me. I stomp away from the house, alternating between tears, rage, and confusion.

  The events of the past week are more than I can process, hell they’re more than anyone should have to process. It’s disorienting and without someone to talk this through with, I feel isolated on top of everything else.

  The sun hangs low, balancing delicately on treetops, when someone calls my name. One of the brothers is coming toward me holding hiking boots in one hand and a pair of socks in the other. Pale eyes. Cyrus. I guess they’re tag-teaming me now.

  Relief washes over his features when he spots me. Seriously? After how they found me, just how stupid does he think I am? Blowing out a mouthful of air, I realize I need to make the best of this situation until I can get home.

  “I got a size seven. Let me know if they don’t fit,” he says, handing them to me.

  “Thanks.” While lacing up my boots, I decide if I’m going to make the best of things, I should start by apologizing. “I’m sorry about last night. About screaming at you the way I did.”

  He studies me for a moment, his golden brown eyes sizing me up. I brace myself for a lecture on how I owe them for rescuing me, but all he says is, “Apology accepted.”

  Since he seems willing to meet me halfway, I press my luck. “Can I ask you something?”
<
br />   He reaches a hand out to help me off the rock. “Sure.”

  “How many people live out here?” We start back to the house and I’m forced to take three steps for every two of his to keep up with his longer strides.

  “If you mean the land mass outside the Union, I don’t know, but in this valley, a few thousand. Why?”

  “Just curious.” I survey my surroundings with objectivity for the first time and I’m struck by the raw beauty, so different from the planned and cultivated Union.

  Cyrus stares at me, like he wants to say something more, but he just runs a hand through his hair. “We should get inside. It’s almost time to eat.”

  Missing lunch has taken my appetite to new levels. Dinner is some sort of fish, pan-fried with herbs and a lemon cream sauce that would make Lisa jealous. I have to stop myself from making rude “mmmm” sounds. When I finish my fish, I attack a fresh garden salad of lettuce, chopped apples and walnuts, savoring every bite, while simultaneously attempting to blend into the background.

  “How was the trading post today?” Sonia asks.

  “Crowded.” Cyrus says between bites.

  Draya cuts her eyes to him. “You’re a wealth of information, as always, Cy. Anything more you’d like share? How much did we get for the cheese?”

  “Enough to cover everything I picked up and then some.”

  “Good.” Lucien says. “Georgia’s at the end of her cycle. We’ll need to breed her again soon.”

  I watch the exchange, trying to figure out the hierarchy of this group. Lucien seems to be the leader, for lack of a better word, but it’s more like everyone just does what needs to be done without a defined structure.

  After dinner, the older blond boy, who I now know is Will, Sonia, and Ally clear the table. I get up to help, carrying dishes into the kitchen and stacking them on the counter. The little curly-haired boy steps up onto a stool and pours a bucket of hot water into the sink, and a wave of missing home slams into me, unexpected and hard.