by Morgan Rice
I put my arm around Bree and pull her close into my side.
“Please,” I say to the Commander, impassioned. “We’re so grateful to you for letting us stay, but don’t make us give up Penelope. We’ve already lost so much. Our home. Our parents. Our friends. Please don’t make us give up our dog too.”
Charlie looks at the Commander with concern in his eyes. He’s trying to read the situation, to work out whether this is going to escalate into a fight like it always did back in the holding cells of Arena 2.
Finally, the Commander sighs.
“It can stay,” he relents. “For now.”
Bree turns her tear-stained eyes up to him. “She can?”
The Commander nods stiffly.
“Thank you,” she whispers, gratefully.
Though the Commander’s face remains emotionless, I can tell he’s moved by our plight.
“Now,” he says quickly, standing, “General Reece will assign you quarters and take you to them.”
We all stand too. The Commander clamps a hand down on Bree’s shoulder and begins steering her to the door. Then all at once we’re shoved out into the corridor.
We stand there, shell-shocked, hardly comprehending what just happened.
“We got in,” I state, blinking.
Ben nods, looking equally taken aback. “Yes. We did.”
“This is home now?” Bree asks.
I squeeze her close into me. “It’s home.”
*
We follow General Reece outside past rows of small brick buildings, one story high, covered in branches to camouflage them.
“Males and females are separated,” the General explains. “Ben, Charlie, you’ll be staying here.” She points at one of the brick buildings covered in thick ivy. “Brooke, Bree, you’ll be across the street.”
Ben frowns. “Don’t people live with their families?”
The General stiffens a little. “None of us have families,” she says, a hint of emotion in her voice for the first time. “When you desert the military, you don’t get a chance to bring your husband, kids, or parents with you.”
I feel a pang of sympathy in my gut. My dad wasn’t the only person who deserted his family for a cause he believed in. And I wasn’t the only person to abandon their mother.
“But hasn’t anyone formed a family since?” Ben asks, pressing her further, as though oblivious to her emotional pain. “I thought you said you began repopulating.”
“There are no families at the moment. Not yet, anyway. The community has to be controlled and stabilized to ensure we have enough food, space, and resources. We can’t have people breeding whenever they want to. It must be regulated.”
“Breeding?” Ben says under his breath. “That’s a funny way of putting it.”
The General purses her lips. “I understand that you have questions about how things work here, and I appreciate it may seem unusual to you from the outside. But Fort Noix has survived because of the rules we’ve put in place, because of our order. Our citizens understand and respect that.”
“And so do we,” I add, quickly. I turn and put an arm around my sister. “Come on, Bree, let’s get inside. I’m looking forward to meeting our new housemates.”
The General nods. “They’ll show you the ropes from here on out. Follow them to lunch when it’s time.”
She gives us a salute, then walks away, taking her soldiers with her.
*
A cheerful American woman named Neena shows us around our new home. She’s the “mother” of the house, which consists, she tells us, of a group of teenage girls and young women. She explains that the rest of our housemates are out working and that we’ll meet them in the evening.
“Give you time to settle in,” she says, smiling kindly. “A house full of twenty women can get a little much at times.”
She shows us into a small, simple room with bunk beds.
“You two will need to share a room,” she says. “It’s not exactly a five-star resort.”
I smile.
“It’s perfect,” I say, walking into the room.
Once again, I’m overwhelmed by the sensation of peace and safety. I can’t remember the last time I stood in a room that smelled clean, that had been dusted and polished and vacuumed. Light streams through the window, making the room look even more welcoming.
For the first time in a long time, I feel safe.
Penelope likes it, too. She runs around happily in circles, jumping on the beds, wagging her tail and barking.
“I must say it’s so exciting to have a dog in the house,” Neena says. “The other girls are just going to love her.”
Bree grins from ear to ear, every inch the proud owner.
“She’s so smart for a dog,” she says. “She saved our life once, when—”
I grab Bree’s arm and squeeze it to quiet her. For some reason, I don’t want what we’ve been through spoken about within our new home. I want it to be a new beginning for us, one free from the past. More than anything, I don’t want anyone to know about the arenas if they don’t have to. I’ve killed people. It will change the way they look at me, make them more cautious, and I don’t know if I can cope with that right now.
Bree seems to understand what I’m trying to silently communicate. She lets her story disappear into the ether, and Neena doesn’t seem to notice.
“There are things for you on the bed,” she says. “Not much, just a few bits to tide you over.”
On each of our beds are neatly folded clothes. They’re made from the same dark material that General Reece and her army were wearing. The fabric is rough; I figure it must be home-grown cotton, colored by naturally made dyes and stitched into a uniform by the tailors she’d told us about.
“Do you girls want to wash before lunch?” Neena asks.
I nod and Neena takes me to the small bathroom that serves all twenty of the house’s residents, before leaving me be. It’s basic and the water is cold, but it feels amazing to be clean again.
When Bree comes back into our room after her own shower, she starts laughing.
“You look funny,” she says to me.
I’ve changed into the stiff uniform that was left for me. Tendrils of hair hang over my shoulders, making wet patches in the fabric.
“It’s itchy,” I say, wriggling uncomfortably.
“Clean, though,” Bree replies, running her fingertips against the fabric of her own uniform. “And new.”
I know what she means. It’s been years since we had anything that was ours, that wasn’t stolen or found or recycled. These are our clothes, never before worn. For the first time in a long time, we have possessions.
Along with the new clothes, we are also given towels, shoes, nightwear, a pencil, a pad of paper, a watch, a flashlight, a whistle, and a penknife. It’s like a little welcome package. From what I’ve learned about the place so far, the contents seem very Fort Noix.
Neena leads us out of the house and along the street, and after a short stroll we come to a larger building. I look up. It has the air of a town hall, yet simple, anonymous.
We go inside and immediately the smell of food hits me. I start to salivate, while Bree’s eyes widen. The room is filled with tables, most taken up by farm workers, recognizable from their muddy clothes and sun-blushed skin.
“There’s Ben and Charlie,” Bree says, pointing to a table.
I notice that both of them have plates piled high with food, and both are gorging themselves.
Neena must notice the look of want on my face because she smiles and says, “Go sit with them. I’ll bring you over some food.”
We thank her and go to sit with Charlie and Ben on a bench filled with farm workers. Everyone nods politely to us as we take seats. For a community that doesn’t usually take in outsiders, they seem pretty accepting about the sudden appearance of four bedraggled, half-starved kids and a one-eyed Chihuahua.
“Someone’s feeling more at home,” I say to Ben as he rams anoth
er mouthful of food into his mouth.
But that same haunted look has returned to his eyes. He may be clean on the outside, but his mind appears to be polluted by the things he’s been through. And though he’s eating, he’s doing so mechanically. Not in the same way Charlie does, as though he’s relishing every single bite. Ben eats as though he can’t even taste the food. What’s more, he doesn’t say a word as we take our places beside him, almost as though he hasn’t noticed we’re there. I can’t help but worry for him. I’ve heard about people going through terrible ordeals only to then fall apart as soon as they reach safety. I pray that Ben won’t be one of them.
I’m distracted when Neena returns with two plates of food, one for Bree and one for me, heaped with garlic-buttered chicken with roast potatoes and some kind of spicy zucchini and tomato side dish. I can’t remember the last time I saw food that looked like this. It looks like something you could order in a restaurant.
I can’t hold myself back. I begin wolfing it down, making my taste buds come to life. It’s absolutely delicious. For so many years I subsisted on the plainest of foods, the tiniest of portions, and trained myself not to want more. Now, finally, I can let myself go.
Bree is a little more restrained. She gives a generous portion of chicken to Penelope before seeing to herself. I feel a little embarrassed by the way I devour my food as if my life depends on it, but table manners aren’t exactly my priority right now.
Down the table, across from us, I can’t help noticing a boy who looks a little older than me, feeding strips of meat to a pit bull terrier. The boy looks exactly like the type who’d own a pit bull. His head is shaved, and he has dark eyebrows, brooding eyes, and a cocky smile.
“Who’s this?” he asks Bree, nodding at the Chihuahua.
“Penelope,” she says. “And yours?”
“Jack,” the boy says, rubbing the dog’s neck playfully.
“I thought animals weren’t allowed here,” I say.
His eyes meet mine, smoldering, intense.
“He’s a guard dog,” he replies. Then he looks at Bree. “Do you reckon Penelope and Jack might want to be friends?”
Bree laughs. “Maybe.”
They both set their dogs down on the ground. Straightaway the two begin to play, chasing each other and gently pawing at each other’s face.
Then, to my surprise, Jack bounds right over to me, leaps into my lap, and plants a big, slobbery, hot lick across my face.
The others laugh, while I can’t help laughing myself.
“I think he likes Brooke more than Penelope,” Bree says with a grin.
“I think you might be right,” the boy replies, fixing his gaze on me.
I finally manage to shove Jack off me, and as I wipe his drool from my cheek with my sleeve, the boy watches on, seemingly amused. He breaks apart a piece of bread with his strong fingers, and taps one edge into the juices on his plate.
“So,” he says before taking a bite, “I’m guessing Brooke is your sister.”
“Yes,” Bree says. “And I’m Bree.”
Even though his mouth is full, he says, “Ryan,” and slides down the bench and stretches his hand out and shakes Bree’s.
Then he offers it to me. I look up. His dark eyes bore into me, making a pit swirl in my stomach. The sensation reminds me of the first time I saw Logan: not the warm, slow-building feeling I got with Ben, but an instant, heart-stopping attraction. I don’t want to touch him, worried that I’ll somehow betray my attraction.
Immediately, I feel guilty for having any kind of attraction to him at all. It’s only been a couple of hours since my dream about Logan. I still miss him.
I look at Ryan’s outstretched hand suspiciously. I have no choice. He’s not going to just put it down. I grasp it, hoping I can get the shaking over quickly. I turn my gaze back down to my meal, hoping he doesn’t notice the blush in my cheeks.
Ryan’s gaze stays on me as I eat. I can just about see his crooked smile from the corner of my eye. He’s looking at me so intensely my heart begins to flutter.
“Your sister has a healthy appetite,” he says, speaking to Bree but looking at me the whole time. “And butter on her chin.”
Bree laughs but I feel self-conscious, my blush deepening.
“I was just joking,” Ryan says. “No need to look so angry.”
“I’m not angry,” I reply sharply. “Just trying to eat in peace.”
Ryan tips his head back and laughs; I’d been trying to get him off my back, but it seems as though my words have only encouraged him. His dark eyes twinkle.
“So you’re the one from the arena,” he says.
I swallow hard. “Who told you?”
Then I notice Charlie looking guilty beside me. He must have already spilled the beans about our ordeal. So much for a fresh start.
I don’t say anything.
“I’m not judging you,” Ryan says. “Actually, I’m impressed.”
At these words, Ben looks over. He’d been in his own world this whole time, seemingly lost in his own thoughts, but now he’s suddenly alert, a flash of jealousy in his eyes as he looks over at us.
“Have you just come back from the fields like the others?” I ask Ryan, trying to steer the conversation toward safe territory.
Ryan smiles to himself, as though pleased to finally have my attention. “Actually, I’ve been on guard duty this morning.”
“Really?” I ask, genuinely interested. “How does that work?”
Ryan stretches out in his chair, making himself comfortable, as he begins his explanation.
“A group patrols the outer borders at all times, while a second group patrols inside, making sure everyone’s keeping to the rules. And to make sure no one gets too power crazy, we take it in turns, in a rotation. Everyone has to do it, even the kids. I mean, you won’t have to do it for a while since you’re recuperating, but—”
“I want to,” I say suddenly, interrupting him.
The idea of sitting around doing nothing fills me with horror. If I sit around idle, my mind might start playing tricks on me again. I’ll see Rose and Flo. I’ll see Logan. I don’t know if my heavy heart could cope with seeing him again.
“Well, you will eventually—” Ryan begins.
“Now,” I say, firmly. “Can I come on your shift with you?”
Ryan gives me a curious look, and I can see his eyes are filled with intrigue and respect.
“I’ll see if General Reece is okay with me having a tagalong.”
“Make that two,” Ben says suddenly.
I look over at Ben, and for the first time since we got here, he seems to be fully lucid.
“You sure you’re up for it?” I ask.
He nods, sternly. “If you think you’re well enough to patrol, then I definitely am.”
Ryan nods, looking equally as impressed by Ben as he did by me. But I’m not entirely convinced Ben is well enough to come. He looks haggard, his eyes rimmed with dark shadows, and I can’t help but suspect that he only wants to come along because he doesn’t want to leave me alone with Ryan.
And it’s then that I wonder: what have I just gotten myself into?
CHAPTER FOUR
Ryan leads Ben and me across the length of Fort Noix, heading for the arsenal, and as we go, I feel satiated for the first time in months. My stomach is almost uncomfortably heavy. It feels good. It also feels good to be heading to guard duty, to have a mission, a purpose, and something to take my mind off everything. Without it, I think I might go crazy.
We pass plenty of people, all as clean and well fed as Ryan is; none have radiation scars or melted flesh from nuclear fallout. None are missing limbs or teeth or dragging a deformed leg behind them as they walk. I haven’t seen so many healthy-looking humans in one place since before the war. It’s almost disconcerting.
Ryan walks beside me but Ben lingers a few steps behind. There’s an undeniably tense atmosphere, one I attempt to ignore by focusing all my attention on Jack the
pit bull, who has been tagging closely at my heels as if I’m his master rather than Ryan.
“He’s taken a shine to you,” Ryan says with a chuckle.
Ben’s head immediately snaps up. He frowns. I can’t help but wonder why Ben insisted on coming with us. I don’t want him lingering around me like a dark storm cloud, casting suspicious glances in my direction. We’re on the same team, we always have been, and I don’t like seeing him like this. It reminds me too much of the way he acted with Logan; jealous, wanting more from me than I am able to give.
At least Ryan doesn’t seem to pick up on the tension. He strolls confidently across the compound, like someone who has never seen real death or destruction. Not like Ben and me, whose very steps seem to reveal our past torments.
“Here we go,” Ryan says with an air of pride as he hauls open a huge steel door.
A cloud of dust swirls into the air, obscuring my vision. As it settles, I get my first glimpse of the treasures inside the arsenal. My mouth drops open as I step inside and take in the sight of pistols and sniper rifles, automatic crossbows and AK47s. I feel like a kid in a candy shop.
As I scan the walls, something catches my eye. A shotgun. It reminds me of the antique one Dad used to have displayed behind glass at home. I go over to it and pick it up.
“Are you sure you want to take that thing?” Ryan asks, as I test the weight of it in my hands. “Something smaller would be better for your stature.”
In a matter of seconds, I lock and load the shotgun, before hitching it on my shoulder in firing position. I go through the motions expertly; thanks to Dad, I’m at ease with a shotgun.
“I think this one will suit me just fine,” I say.
Ryan’s eyes widen with surprise. He seems impressed by my knowledge of the weapons and I can’t help but feel a surge of pride.
Ben narrows his eyes and grabs his own weapon, a rifle.
“So you guys have used guns before?” Ryan asks.
“Of course,” Ben replies, a little too harshly.
I think back to the first time I met Ben, when we were speeding through the frozen wastelands chasing after the slaverunners who had kidnapped our siblings. He’d been useless with the gun, and had even dropped it at one point.