by G. C. Julien
There are bright lights, assumedly gunshots, and then blood splatters on the camera lens. Half the screen is masked with red spots, and the other half fills with images of three women beating down on a police officer with rocks. One woman is hitting him with a chair.
Why is he showing this to us?
He pauses the video.
“As you can see, gentlemen, women have lost control. They’re rioting against laws that have been put in place to protect the balance of our population.”
I know what he’s referring to: the illegalization of aborting male embryos and the enforcing of aborting female embryos. My mama would give him an earful if she heard him bashing women for rioting against President Price.
A few whispers spread through the crowd.
“You may not yet be convinced,” he continues. “I know many of you have mothers, wives, children. This is not to say these women are bad people. They have been misled. They are being brainwashed into believing that men are the root of all evil.
I look at James, whose eyes are glued to the man at the front. Is this some sort of joke? I feel like I’m in a cult. Why is everyone entranced by this guy?
He presses play, and the holograph video continues. This time, there are images of women carrying signs that read, “Death to Men,” and “Men are Evil.”
Where did these images come from, anyway? I’ve seen the riots, and I’ve never seen signs like this before.
“The next few weeks of your life will be spent attending intensive training—nothing like you’ve endured during your thirteen weeks on a military base and nothing like any mission undertaken.”
He walks to the opposite end of the stage, his eyes scanning the soldiers in the first few rows at the front.
“You will begin to question those you love most…”
He turns around.
“As you begin to see the truth in things.”
I’d never question Mama. Who does this jerk think he is? But it doesn’t matter who he thinks he is. In fact, it doesn’t even matter who he actually is, because he’s obviously a powerful man. I’m not an idiot. I know there’s no leaving this mission. And by the looks of this place, I’d probably disappear from the face of the Earth if I attempted to leave.
The man at the front forms a fist and presses it into his chest. “Together, we will save our land.”
CHAPTER 12 – LUCY
Lucy – Present Day
“Lucy, honey, talk to me.”
There’s nothing to talk about. I march my way down the corridor, turn slightly, and head back into Division Five. I want to be left alone.
Why didn’t she talk to me? Why did Aunt Eve leave like that after hurting my wrist? What’s her problem, anyway?
“Lucy!”
I know Nola means well—she’s only looking out for me. But I’m not in the mood to talk right now. I turn around, and she almost bumps into me with eyes round and full of surprise. I wrap my arms around her waist, rest my head on her shoulder, and squeeze.
She’s hesitant at first, but she squeezes back and doesn’t let go. I can’t remember the last time I hugged Nola. She deserves more than what I give her. She’s always been there for me, and all I ever try to do is run from her.
“Thank you,” I say. “For everything.”
She pulls back, her light hazel eyes staring into me. “What’s going on, sweetheart? Are you okay?”
I smile up at her, even though smiling is the last thing I want to do. I’m devastated. Aunt Eve is the closest thing I have left to my mom, and she wants nothing to do with me.
I nod to reassure her. “I’m okay, Nola. I’m just overwhelmed. I’d like to be alone for a little bit if that’s okay.”
She looks carefully at me, one eye at a time like she’s trying to understand what’s going on in my head. But she won’t. She’ll never understand because she doesn’t even know that I have a connection to Aunt Eve.
When she took care of me, after the war, she asked that I stop calling her Aunty Eve. I think it had something to do with the image it would give her, given that she’s the leader of so many women. She didn’t want to be someone’s “aunty”—she wanted to be her own independent woman.
Nola gently pecks me on the forehead with her lips, offers me a big smile, and says, “Of course, sweetheart. Anything you need.”
And with that, she turns around and makes her way back to the main hall. Her long, green cotton dress drags on the ground, almost slithering behind her, and I feel guilty watching her leave.
I make my way into my room. Well, my cell. It’s a prison decorated to look like a room. There’s no door, either. Only blue curtains for privacy. I take off my silly dress, careful not to rip it because it isn’t mine. I’ll have to hand it back to Nola, who will return it to the Preparation Room. I fold it four times and place it on the hand-carved night table by my bed. It’s a soft slab of cedar wood standing on four unevenly shaped legs.
Some girls have modern furniture that was in the prison before we got here, but others, like me, prefer furniture made in Eden. The wood makes me feel like I’m outside when I’m locked away on rainy days like this.
I wish my bed were made of cedar, but it’s an old prison bed made of metal. It squeaks when I lie in it, and it isn’t very comfortable.
I have a big dracaena plant sitting under my window. It’s probably the most colorful thing in this room, aside from a small painting I found in a dumpster (a painting of a fluffy white cat). I brush the tips of my fingers along its leaves, thankful to Perula for having given it to me. She’s one of Eden’s Healers. I’ll be working with her from now on. I’m happy about that even though I’m not so sure she’ll be happy about it.
Perula and Mavis are the two Healers in Eden. They’re twin sisters, and they’re a little weird, with their long scraggly black-and-silver hair and red tribal-like tattoos on both arms. Perula is the calm sister, and Mavis is the loud one. That’s always how it seems to work with siblings. They balance each other out. I wonder if Aunt Eve would still be the same Aunt Eve I knew if her little sister Mila were here with us. Maybe she’d balance her out because Mila was always the more impulsive one. Maybe Eve would go back to being the sweet one.
Perula’s always been nice to the kids, but Mavis seems to be impatient. She walks past us in a hurry most of the time without making any eye contact. I hope we’ll get along.
I slip into my regular clothes which is an old pair of blue jeans and a plain white sweater. I have a few outfits from our modern world that Nola grabbed for me in nearby villages, but at this point, they’re getting worn out, and some are becoming tight on me. Soon, I know I’ll have to wear clothing made by the women of Eden: beige dresses with no designs whatsoever. They’re pretty ugly if you ask me. And I don’t like wearing dresses. So, until that day comes, I’ll wear my clothes for as long as I can.
I plop myself down onto my bed, an old mattress with hay tucked underneath the bedsheet for extra padding. I stare at the ceiling. There’s nothing but gray everywhere. The walls are the exact same color, and so is the floor. But the walls look like water’s been dripping down them for years, and big brown stains stretch from the ceiling to the floor.
It’s funny how on the outside, Eden looks like paradise, but on the inside, it’s ugly. Well, our rooms, anyways. Someone once told me they saw Aunt Eve’s room, and that it’s been completely renovated. Why can’t they find fresh paint and fix up our rooms? Why does she get the nice room? Because she’s in charge?
I stand up on my bed and press my face against the window’s metallic cage. The sound of heavy rainfall fills my cell, and droplets of water slide down the thick glass of the little window. I’d do anything to stand out there… to tilt my head back and dance in the rain.
But they don’t let us. When it rains, we’re not allowed out. I think it has to do with getting sick or something, even though my mom always told me a little rain never hurt anybody.
I wish my H-Cap was working. I brought
it with me to Eden, but ever since the war, it hasn’t been able to turn on. At least tomorrow, Perula and Mavis will start training me. Hopefully, the weather is nicer, but then again, I’ve heard that the twins work outside in their greenhouse, even when it’s storming.
One more sleep, and then maybe, just maybe… I won’t feel like a prisoner anymore.
Lucy – Flashback
I must have imagined it. All of it. I pull away from my door and stare at the carpet in my room. Why would Aunty Eve talk about killing someone? And is it true? Is someone following us? Is this Jason guy trying to hurt us?
Who is he, anyway? I didn’t catch everything mom and Aunty Eve were saying, but I heard enough to know that Jason, whoever he is, is trying to hurt us, and that Aunty Eve said something about killing him. She tried to whisper, but I heard her.
Maybe she was joking.
I heard Mom laugh, so Aunty Eve must have been joking.
CHAPTER 13 – EVE
Eve – Present Day
There’s a knock at my door, and I pinch my eyebrow with my thumb and index finger.
“Come in,” I say, although what I would rather say is nothing—pretend I’m not even here. I don’t have the patience to deal with anything right now.
The door handle turns, and the first thing I spot is a head full of red-brown hair.
“Nola,” I say dully, but I retract and stiffen my posture right away.
Put a smile on, for Christ’s sake.
“How are you?” I stand up and extend both arms, almost as a form of invitation. The smile proves a bit more challenging, but I manage to curl my lips slightly.
“Good day, Eve,” she says, bowing that big head of hers. “I don’t mean to interrupt…” Her pathetic puppylike eyes scan my room, and I feel violated. This is my space, and the women of Eden know better than to waltz in without being called upon.
“What is it, Nola?” It must be urgent if she’s come in here to bother me.
“It’s Lucy, Your Majesty.”
I raise my chin and gaze down at her. Majesty—I like it. It puts a genuine smile on my face.
“I’m worried about her. I don’t understand why she chose to become a Healer.”
I don’t understand either, but I would have assumed Nola to be in a better position to decipher Lucy’s view on the position. Why is she asking me? Does she know of my past? Does she know about Lucy’s relationship with me, despite me telling Lucy to keep quiet about it?
My gaze unintentionally becomes a glare, and I only realize it when she raises two hands up by her face and says, “I didn’t mean to bother you—I just know you always have eyes around Eden. I was wondering if you knew something I didn’t. I don’t know what to do.”
“My dear Nola.” I step forward and brush my fingertips against her oily cheek, instantly regretting doing so. “She’s a child”—I wipe my fingers against the back of my pants—“she’s exploring.”
Nola doesn’t know that I’m as confused as she is, if not more.
“But I have a task for you,” I say.
Her eyes light up. It’s like talking to a dog awaiting her master’s command.
“Keep your eyes on her, would you? I’m worried she may get hurt on this path she’s chosen. If anything strikes you as odd, or unlike her usual self, report back to me.”
She nods quickly. “Of course, Your Majesty.”
I smirk and wonder if this new term will spread among the women. I could get used to being referred to as Majesty.
“I’m lucky to have such a loyal friend like you, Nola.” I squint my eyes with a pretentious look of love.
She nods again, and an uncertain smile creeps on her lips.
“I will. I will. Thank you,” she mumbles and exits my room, walking backward.
The moment she leaves, I turn to my mirror.
Well played.
Now you have someone watching over her every minute of every day.
Which is precisely what I need. Lucy is trouble—I can feel it. She’s too curious, too willing to challenge orders for the sake of discovery. With Nola’s help, I may be able to find out what it is she’s up to. I may be able to stop her.
You’re being paranoid.
She’s a kid.
A kid you once took care of.
My smirk transforms into a grimace, and I clench my fists.
I’m not paranoid—I’m cautious. This is what leaders do for their people; they anticipate danger and take preventative measures.
These women are lucky to have you.
The top button of my overcoat is undone. I clip it back in place, brush my short hair to the side, and stand tall.
Look at you.
Your Majesty.
I twirl around, analyzing every corner of my room, and I envision marble floors and silk bedding.
Your Majesty.
After everything I’ve done for these women, is it so much to ask for? Is it wrong of me to desire a sense of royalty? A sense of importance? I know the women of Eden already view me as their savior for everything I’ve done, but how long will that last? Will my stature remain over the years, or will their appreciation slowly fade?
What must I do to ensure these women continue to love me?
I want them to worship me.
Eve – Flashback
My phone lights up and a notification appears in the air:
Someone’s following me again. I think it’s him.
Poor Ophelia. She says she’ll get it sorted out, but I’m not too sure she will. Jason’s a sociopath and an asshole. He won’t leave her alone. I wonder if our last chat resonated with her.
Hundreds of riots are taking place in the country right now; hundreds of lives have been taken. How bad would it be to rid the world of one prick?
I tuck my pillow under my neck and stare at my windowsill. How would I do it, anyway? It’s easy to say you’d kill someone, but to go through with it is a different story.
I’m not a killer.
But then I remember the police officer, and I’m taken back to that horrific night. A sharp pain radiates from my groin, all the way up into my stomach.
My nostrils flare, and although all I want to do is cry, I can’t shake this indescribable urge to attack a man. Any man. I can understand why there are feminists in this world—why my mom is so passionate about this revolution.
It’s because of men. Goddamn men. All they do is take what they want with no regard for consequences. They’re entitled animals who think they can control the world because they’re bigger than us.
I think back to Jason.
I could find poison somewhere—I could look it up on the Web Database. But then again, that wouldn’t satisfy me enough. And how would I get him to take the poison? I bite down on my lip. I could push him down a flight of stairs. Also too uncertain. What if he survives?
I could find a gun, perhaps. A gun would be the easiest way. I’m sure there are tons of weapons on the streets right now. All I have to do is find the right person and give them the right amount of cash. No one would ever trace it back to me. Or, I’d put a mask on, kill that sociopath son of a bitch, and run into a crowd.
It would work, wouldn’t it?
Am I crazy?
“Eve!”
I roll over and face my bedroom door.
“Eve!” Mila calls out again.
There’s a panic in her voice.
I jump out of bed and run down the stairs.
She’s standing in front of the TV, a stiff finger pointed at the screen, her round eyes glued to mine.
“It’s—it’s mom,” she says.
“What? What’re you—”
The TV is turned on to the news channel. I can tell because there’s a big blue banner at the top that reads TNN and a black bar at the bottom that is forever scrolling white headlines. But the footage in between these two strips is what causes my stomach to sink.
“That’s where she was,” Mila says, her voice trembling. “That’s wher
e mom went. She told me. That’s where she went.”
There’s smoke everywhere, and people are running around like hungry zombies in a postapocalyptic world. It’s hard to make out what’s going on. My heart’s beating so hard I can feel it in my throat.
The screen switches over to a news anchor—a young brunette with soft features. She presses her fingers against her ear, nods at the camera, then says, “Thirty-nine now confirmed dead in today’s attack in downtown Washington DC.”
The room spins around me.
The footage switches to a helicopter view of the disaster. There is thick black smoke everywhere, and the sound of gunshots still echoes through the screen.
The screen switches over to a man standing in Washington DC near the attack. People scream and cars honk in the background.
“It looks like the attack was led by one of Washington’s most notorious feminist groups. We do have the suspected leader in custody, and special forces are coming in now to control the situation.”
The woman appears back on screen. “Control the situation? John, what’s going on over there? Why is the military shooting at civilians? The internet is blowing up with images of women getting shot at by special forces. Is this true? Is this really happening?”
The screen goes bright blue, with white font that reads:
We are currently experiencing technical difficulties and are working to resolve the issue. We thank you for your patience.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Mila shouts, her voice cracking. She grabs at her hair and paces the room. Her wet eyes meet mine. “She’s out there, Eve. Mom’s there right now.” And her lower lip begins to tremble.
The news channel suddenly comes back to life, but the female anchor is nowhere to be seen. Instead, a man wearing a gray suit is sitting behind the news desk. He doesn’t even mention the previous anchor or why she’s been removed from the studio.
“John, can you tell us a bit about what’s going on? Have they found any other ties to this feminist group?”