Eden Box Set

by G. C. Julien

  The sound of squeaking brakes fills the air behind us. I turn around and see another shuttle bus—a long black vehicle with tinted windows—pull up beside ours. And then another, and another, until there appears to be well over twelve shuttle buses on the premises.

  I lean in toward James. “These all new marines, too?”

  He pulls out a cigarette, lights the tip, and nods as the smoke comes blowing out in my face. He then turns to me, his green eyes almost yellow as the sun comes shining through them. “Shoulda watched the news.”

  CHAPTER 9 – LUCY

  Lucy – Present Day

  Nola looks back at me and smiles—an excited grin that stretches the middle-aged skin of her face.

  “It’s time,” she says.

  I know it’s time. I heard Eve call my name. I stand up and brush my dress down to get rid of its wrinkles. Nola opens the door for me, and I walk out, suddenly feeling like I’m all the way back in fourth grade walking out into a crowd of parents who are waiting to watch their kid participate in the school play.

  Eve is standing onstage. Her bright red boots are the first thing I see. They have a sharp heel at the back, and they make her look much taller than she is. They look like a combination of plastic and leather, and she’s wearing the same white dress suit she always does. It’s like she has dozens of matching outfits in her closet that she wears on a rotational basis. I don’t understand how she keeps them so white. We don’t exactly live in luxury. I also don’t like looking at her in that outfit. This isn’t the Eve I know. The Eve I know would be wearing a pair of jeans, a nice zip-up hoodie, and some Nike sneakers or something. And she’d have long wavy hair all the way down her back, like her little sister, Mila—not some short, perfectly combed doo.

  She’s smiling at me, and although it looks genuine, I don’t trust her. Aunt Eve’s changed. She doesn’t even visit me anymore. Am I supposed to smile back? Is that the rule? I force my lips into a grin and feel like a complete idiot.

  My eyes shift down to the women sitting on rows of cushioned, metal chairs. They all look like clones, with their glossy eyes wide and bright and their lips pulled back in exaggerated grins.

  “Lucy,” she says softly, reaching out an open hand.

  Am I supposed to grab it? I catch it with mine and shake it gently. It’s what my mom always taught me to do. If someone gives you their hand, you shake it.

  But she’s staring at me, and the room is silent. Someone clears their throat, and I glance back, realizing it’s Nola. She’s poking her head out of the room I came from, motioning a kiss-like gesture.

  I look up at Aunt Eve, whose bright blue eyes are glued to mine. It’s like she’s not even in there anymore… like she’s dead. She smirks, but it looks like she’s annoyed, even though her eyes are crinkled as though she’s smiling.

  I bow my head and kiss the back of her hand, and all at once, the crowd says, “To a new start.”

  My eyes go wide, but I don’t mean for them to. I’m a bit freaked out. I’ve never actually been to a graduation before. Only the adults are allowed. There are a lot of events that only the adults go to. What the heck do they do? Get brainwashed? They look like a bunch of zombies right now.

  I feel like I’m back at The Holy Temple of Christ—a church on Second Street my mom brought me to five years ago, but only once. She was never much of a religious person, but her mom, my grandma, was. I remember her rolling her eyes when my grandma walked into our apartment with a bunch of crucifixes. She said it would clean out all the negative spirits in the home. After that, she said she was taking us to church.

  So, my mom got me all dressed and said, “Pretend you’re watching a movie in your head, okay sweetheart? I’m sorry about this, but it’ll make Grandma happy.”

  She said I couldn’t bring the H-Cap, either. It was the most boring thing I ever did. And that’s exactly what it feels like today. Like I’m at church or something.

  After I kiss her hand, Eve doesn’t let go. Instead, she pulls it up over my head and turns toward the crowd.

  “Today, Lucinda Cain announces her destiny,” she says, and everyone’s smiles stretch even farther, almost like they’ve been told to do it.

  I look over at my teachers, hoping for comfort, but they’re smiling and nodding like everyone else.

  Aunt Eve lets go of my hand and takes a step back, leaving me alone at the front of the stage. It’s my turn, now, like Nola told me it would be. I look at the ceiling, searching for the lines I’ve been practicing with Nola every day for the last week.

  I, Lucinda Cain…

  I pledge…

  Eden… I pledge…

  Why aren’t they coming to me? My heart’s racing, and if I don’t get this right, I worry I’ll be punished for it. I turn left a bit. Nola is now standing in the room with me, right beside my teachers. She doesn’t look like the rest of them, and I find comfort in that. She looks sincere. Her brows are close together in the middle of her forehead, and her tight lips form a straight line. She’s nodding slowly, like a basketball coach watching his players on the court.

  As though she’s saying, “You’ve got this.”

  I nod back slowly, raise my head, and take a deep breath.

  “I, Lucinda Cain”—I hesitate, but I look at Nola again, and I feel calm—“I pledge my allegiance to Eden.”

  “Lucinda Cain,” Eve says from behind me, “today marks the day you decide your role in our society. What trade do you wish to pursue?”

  I’m about to say, Technician, like I’ve been telling Nola for weeks. But something suddenly happens. I can’t describe it or explain it. Something shifts. I feel like being a technician isn’t the job I’m supposed to do. It’s not what I’m meant to be.

  I glance at Nola one last time, knowing that the answer that’s about to come out of my mouth is the last thing she’d expect to hear from me. In fact, it’s the last thing anyone in this room would expect, especially my teachers, because it’s always been the most discouraged choice of profession in Eden.

  “I choose Healer.”

  Lucy – Flashback

  I know Aunty Eve sent me to my room because she doesn’t want me to hear what she has to say to my mom. That only makes me want to hear it more.

  They think I can’t handle it because I’m seven. I’m not a toddler. I can make my own choices. Plus, I’m turning eight next month. I wish my mom and Aunty Eve would treat me more like an adult sometimes.

  I turn down the volume on my game, Catch Alfred, and hope they won’t notice. And I sit there and listen.

  Aunty Eve says something about staying calm. I can hear my mom pacing back and forth in the apartment. Aunty Eve is probably telling her to calm down. She does that a lot. My mom gets stressed out easily sometimes. Okay, often. She’s usually rushing through the store, or telling me to be quiet because she thinks someone’s following us.

  I think someone is following us, too, but I don’t know who. I don’t know who would even want to follow us. Me and my mom have a pretty boring life. I go to school during the day, and my mom comes to get me and we go home. She makes me supper, helps me with my homework, and lets me play on my H-Cap while she talks on the phone. Sometimes with Grandma, but usually with Aunty Eve.

  The last few times, though, she started whispering on the phone. Like she doesn’t want me to hear. Like it’s some big secret. I know something’s wrong. I can see it when she looks at me or tells me to go to my room.

  I also know something’s wrong with the world. My mom usually has the TV playing after I go to bed. She doesn’t know it, but I like to press my ear against the door, so I can listen. I also have a glass in my room that I haven’t brought back to the kitchen, and I use it to hear better. I put my ear over the bottom of the glass and put the glass on the door. It works well.

  She tries to turn the volume down on the TV, but I still hear it. The TV talks about how the world is all messed up. How there are way more girls than boys. I think this is cool, but I gu
ess the adults don’t.

  Then, she’ll turn the volume down even more when there are explosions or guns being shot. She could turn the volume down as low as possible, and I would still hear some of it. I have good ears. Sometimes, though, if it’s really bad, my mom turns off the volume. I know because I can see the TV’s blue light under the crack of my door, but I can’t hear anything.

  There’s a lot of fighting going on in the world, and I think soon it will happen here in Arlington. Mom says we’re close to where the president lives, and because of that, we have to be careful.

  The other night, I thought I heard someone shoot a gun, but my mom told me she didn’t hear anything. I don’t believe her. I know she heard it, but she doesn’t want to scare me. She doesn’t want me to know that bad things could happen to us.

  I look back at my bed and at my favorite sheets. They’re blue, red, and green, with Mario sitting on top of Yoshi. Mario’s my favorite game. Every time a new one comes out, my mom buys it for me on the H-Cap. They’re like small episodes.

  I wonder if any other kid near us has the same sheets. I wonder if any other kid near here has gone through some of the bad things they talk about on TV. They must be so scared. I don’t like thinking about it too much because then I get scared. I get scared that something bad will happen to me or my mom. But I try not to be scared because if I’m brave, my mom might be braver.

  I get up and look under my bed. There’s a bunch of little race cars, action figures, teddy bears, and Disney character Barbies. Some of my friends at school think I’m weird for having boy toys. I don’t think there’s such a thing as boy toys. My mom’s always told me that toys are toys, and I can pick whatever I want.

  Mr. Shilo is taking up the most space. He’s a giant panda bear, and I’ve had him since I was little. I push him over and crawl under the bed. I know I left the glass here somewhere. If I don’t hide it, my mom will take it and wash it. But I need that glass to hear through the door.

  I wave my arm around, hitting as many toys as I can until I feel something hard and cold. It’s hiding in the corner, behind my big yellow Camaro car. I pull it out and hurry back to my spot beside the door.

  The only bad part about listening is that if my mom opens my door, she’ll catch me sitting right beside it. Sometimes she knocks, but sometimes she doesn’t. I once told her that I want some privacy, and she said I’m too young to need privacy, whatever that means.

  I put the glass against the door, and I’m careful. Then, I put my ear over it. It’s cold on my face, but it’ll warm up.

  “They won’t fucking stop ….” my mom says.

  She swears a lot when she thinks I can’t hear her. It’s funny. But if she knew I was listening, she wouldn’t find it so funny.

  “O, come on. Talk to me. Sit down and talk to me,” Aunty Eve says.

  My mom whispers something, and I can’t hear it.

  But I don’t give up. I keep my face pressed hard against the glass. I know it’s leaving marks on my skin, but I don’t care. If Mom asks, I’ll say I fell asleep on one of my toys.

  I want to know who’s following us. I usually only get to hear Mom when she’s talking on the phone. I can’t hear the other person. But now Aunty Eve is here, and they’re talking about what happened at the store.

  If I listen long enough, I’ll find out.

  CHAPTER 10 – EVE

  Eve – Present Day

  A Healer? Why on Earth would Lucy choose to become a Healer? The teachers know all too well that this profession is to be heavily discouraged. We already have two highly capable Healers, both of whom report to me directly.

  To encourage children to become a Healer is to encourage death and disease. For every light, there is darkness. To become a Healer is considered bad luck in Eden.

  Not only that—the idea of having a child meddle with toxic ingredients and potent plants is also not something I condone. But, as with any other profession, it’s a choice the child has to make. If we deny them the option altogether, they’ll start to question my authority, which is how rebellions begin.

  And the truth is, we do need some children to train in this domain, but the plan was to select them ourselves—to select a child who’s suitable for the position. A child who’s moldable and compliant.

  But Lucy? She’s an overly inquisitive creature by nature. She’s the last person I’d want in such a powerful position. I grind my teeth, careful not to let my anger show.

  Even though the children are given the choice, they aren’t supposed to actually choose it.

  She’s standing onstage, her back facing me, and the women in the audience are staring at her. Their smiles have all vanished, and there’s a heavy silence in the room. My lips twitch and I step up beside her.

  I grab her hand, a little tighter than intended, and pull it up above her head. She lets out a little whimper as I tug, but the women don’t seem to notice.

  Just finish the damn ceremony, Eve.

  “Lucinda Cain,” I say, “a Healer.”

  The women exchange confused glances, and I can tell they don’t know if it’s okay to clap.

  “Wishing you wealth and prosperity, Lucinda Cain,” one woman says choppily, and everyone else repeats her words.

  I lean my head back and grin, almost painfully, at the audience before me, before letting go of Lucy’s hand. She pulls away and rubs her wrist before rushing by her fake mother’s side—Nola.

  “Congratulations on your graduation, Lucinda,” I say, and she’s looking at me like I’m a complete stranger.

  But I don’t care. It’s better this way. I walk off the stage and make my way out the door.

  Who does she think she is?

  No child has ever selected Healer. What is she trying to prove? Is she trying to sabotage our paradise? Everything I’ve worked for? Is she trying to attract darkness into Eden?

  I rush back to my room. I need to be alone—I need to think. As trivial as it may appear to be, Lucy’s decision has opposed everything we teach in Eden. Her decision has proven her to be defiant. It’s proven that she’s prone to temptation, to select what’s out of reach.

  I march down Division Four’s hall, careful not to make eye contact with any of the children wandering the halls. On Graduation Day, there are no classes. It is a sacred ritual, and the children are left to enjoy themselves in all of Eden. But the last thing I want to do right now is smile at a child who expects me to be nice to them.

  When I reach my room, I gently brush the silver nameplate that hangs to the left of the door. It reads, C-1-354—a plain room number like any other. But this room is mine, and I intend to keep a clean plate.

  I admit it’s much nicer than any other living quarter in Eden. It’s located directly beside my office—my Throne Room—and I’m assuming it used to be the staff room. There’s a white, yellow-handled fridge in the corner and on the right wall, an old beige kitchen sink without any running water.

  We’re still working on obtaining our own water supply being that the prison’s pipe system is completely corroded. And even if it wasn’t—city water is a thing of the past. For the time being, we have stations set up in each Division to collect rainwater and several wells dug throughout Eden. It supplies enough drinkable and cleansing water for the women. To connect the pipes to the well system is a different story, but Renata, my plumber, has assured me that with the proper equipment, she can do it.

  Obtaining the equipment, however, is what’s proven most difficult. I’ve considered letting her use one of the military combat vehicles to explore old cities nearby, but I can’t risk losing her. She’s the only plumber we have.

  I close the massive industrial door and make my way across the room, my heels ticking against the wooden floor. When we first established ourselves in this prison, this room was carpeted with the same ugly gray industrial carpet as found in my Throne Room. But a few of my carpenters volunteered to rebuild the floors with oak. They found some cans of varnish and cherry stain in
the basement’s supply room and used these to refinish the surface.

  I’ll admit, my room makes me feel like royalty. Golden-laced curtains hang on either side of my window. Iron bars run horizontally across the Plexiglas, but most of the time, I forget they’re even there. I’ve considered having them removed as a safety measure, but I am less worried about fire hazards than I am about male Rebels attempting to break their way in.

  My bed, a queen-sized project constructed of two single mattresses, lies at the very back of the room with its head against the wall. The comforter is thick and of a rich purple, with gold stitches to match my curtains. I found these in Acitok, an abandoned village we crossed before settling here.

  There is a large, full-bodied mirror hung up near the window. It’s old with its mahogany frame and dust-encrusted corners, but it does the trick.

  I step in front of it and straighten my posture. I stare at myself for a minute or so—something I do every day—and attempt to center myself.

  I reach a hand to my face and gently brush the tips of my fingers down my fuzzy cheek. Right now, there is no pain. Some days, however, I see my sister in the mirror’s reflection—crisp blue eyes, long blond hair, and a light beige skin tone—and my heart breaks. My cheekbones are slightly higher than hers, and my face is narrower. Yet aside from that, she’s all I see.

  But right now, I don’t feel sad—all I feel is anger.

  What is she trying to prove?

  I inhale a deep breath, my nostrils flaring into pointed pink triangles.

  She’s a child.

  She’s not trying to sabotage anything.

  But if she does anything to get in the way…

  I turn my head to the side, unable to look at my reflection. She’s only a child, for God’s sake. How could I even think of harming her? Of banishing her?

  She’s not just a child—she’s little Lucy.