by G. C. Julien
It seems like common sense to me. What if someday, by some freak accident, the key gets lost? Then what? I know Eve can open all gates electronically, but what if our solar panels stop working? We’d all die in here.
Or, like, worse… what if we’re attacked? What if whoever takes over kills all the adults and makes us prisoners?
The thought of being trapped in my room for all eternity makes me claustrophobic, so I move away from it and stand in the middle of the corridor. Sometimes, I blame my mom for my fits of paranoia. Before Eden, we spent years running away from some invisible man. From Jason. Maybe that did something to me and I don’t even realize it.
“Don’t worry,” Mrs. Greensmith says, “There’s a—”
“Lucy!”
I turn around. It’s Nola. She’s running straight toward me with her long green skirt pulled up in both hands, and her flat shoes squeaking on the floor with every step. It sounds like her shoes are wet. As soon as she reaches me, she throws both arms around my neck and I feel a pop.
“Oh, thank goodness you’re okay!” she says.
My face is pressed so hard into her chest I can hardly breathe.
I pull away. “I’m fine, Nola. It was a short alarm.”
She’s freaking out. She keeps brushing her poufy hair back and looking around in every direction possible. Looking at all the kids who are slowly coming out of their rooms, then back at me, then back at the kids.
“What’s going on, anyway?” I ask. “Do you know what the alarm was for?”
She leans forward, and Emily suddenly appears beside me to hear the gossip.
“I can’t say for sure,” Nola says, “but there’re rumors that a woman’s voice was heard from outside the walls.”
“A survivor,” Mrs. Greensmith says.
“So where is she now?” Emily asks. “Is she coming into Eden? It’s been so long since we had an outsider come inside.”
Mrs. Greensmith and Nola give each other a look. And it’s not just any look, either. It means something, but I can’t figure out what.
“What?” I ask.
What do they know that we don’t? I’m sixteen, for crying out loud. When will adults stop treating me like a friggin kid?
“There’s another rumor,” Nola says. This time, she hurries inside my cell, and we all follow like a bunch of cats around a can of wet food. “A few women found Eden after we came here. Grace, Anedi, Florence… They were told by Eve not to repeat what had happened, but you know how women are—they like to talk, especially with their friends.” She lowers her voice even more and I lean forward, my back curved like an old lady. “Rumor has it that Eve put them in some sort of holding cell in the basement.”
“In the basement?” Emily lets out, and Nola slaps a hand over her mouth.
“They were kept prisoners?” I ask.
Nola nods. I look at Mrs. Greensmith. It’s obvious that she’s heard this rumor too, but she doesn’t want to encourage gossip.
Then, I look at Emily, who’s probably the spitting image of me with her mouth wide open.
“Aun—Eve’s the one doing this?” I ask.
I have to stop thinking of her as Aunt Eve. No one knows about this, and with the things I’m hearing, I’m not so sure I even want that link to her.
Nola nods again.
“Could it be for our own safety?” Emily asks. “Eve’s been nothing but good to us. I’m sure there’s a reason.”
“Three days,” Nola says.
Everyone stares at her.
“One of the survivors,” she continues, “was kept down there for three days without any food. Grace says it was cold and dark, and that she was only given a liter of water for the three days.” She then makes a disgusted face by turning her mouth upside down. “She was forced to go to the bathroom in an old toilet that doesn’t even flush.”
I can’t believe what I’m hearing. Would Aun—would Eve do that? I know she’s changed, but I can’t imagine her intentionally hurting people. Could someone else have done that, and everyone assumes it’s Eve because she’s in charge? But then I remember her cold blue eyes and the way she looked down at me when I announced my decision to be a Healer. It was like she wanted to strangle me with her bare hands. Like she hated me.
Nola points a stiff finger in the air and shows her teeth at me and then at Emily. “You can’t repeat this to anyone.”
I nod and Emily shakes her head, but we both mean the same thing. We won’t repeat a word.
“Do you think there’s anything else we don’t know about?” I ask. “Anything secret that Eve’s doing?”
“All right, that’s enough,” Mrs. Greensmith says. “Come on. Out you go.” She brushes air behind our backs. “To the courtyards. Time to stretch those legs and get some exercise.”
I quickly shove my book, Magical Herbs, under my pillow. I’ll have to catch up on some reading later.
We make our way down the corridor and toward the exit door to step out into Division Five’s courtyard. The sun is in the middle of the cloudless blue sky and it warms the skin on my head. Kids are playing with balls of hay, and it looks like Ruby found her way to our Division. I friggin love that dog. She’s wagging her long, golden-haired tail from side to side and barking at the kids like she’s trying to say, “Come on, throw the damn ball!”
The moms and the women are doing their day-to-day jobs: filtering water and plucking berries from bushes. I take Emily against Eden’s outer wall, where a long strip of shade is cooling part of the grass. It’s too hot to be out in the sun, anyway.
Emily turns around and pulls her long braid over one shoulder. “Do you honestly think Eve would do that?”
I’m about to say, “I don’t know,” but a short, squat, agitated woman rushes toward a group of women. I know her. I’ve seen her before. I think she’s from Division One, which is the Division located beside the main entrance. I wonder if she knows something we don’t. Is she one of the ladies who heard the survivor on the other side of the wall?
I slowly wave a finger at Emily. That’s my way of telling her to keep quiet because I can’t hear a word the stubby woman is saying. I grab Emily’s wrist and rush around some of Division Five’s tallest shrubs. They don’t serve much of a purpose, but one of the gardeners was real pushy about leaving them there. She said that greenery is important for mental health reasons or something. There’s a small opening inside the shrub, so I force us inside, cracking a few of its tiny branches, and place a finger over my lips.
Emily leans sideways and closes her eyes, obviously trying to catch a few words. I do what I’m good at. What I used to do all the time when I was seven: I cup the backs of my ears and pull them forward. I probably look like a rat, but I don’t care because it works. I can hear them.
Even though I can’t make out every word they’re saying, I do catch a few things. A few important things. Did I actually just hear that?
My eyes go big, and I stare at Emily. She didn’t hear what I did—that’s obvious.
“What?” she mouths.
I lean in and my mouth brushes against her left ear. “Something about a boy on the other side of the wall.”
Lucy – Flashback
“Government-regulated abortions? Is this a hoax?” Grandma says.
She’s leaning into her laptop, and all I see is the outline of her gray curly hair in front of a bright screen. I’m not sure what’s going on, but it sounds like the government wants to start killing babies that are little girls. My mom told me about this. She explained to me what abortion was. She didn’t want to, but it was all over the news. She also told me that it was soon going to be against the law to kill a boy inside a mom, but I don’t think that’s what Grandma’s listening to. She sounds so surprised, so I think it’s something new that the president did.
“Goddamn it, Mom! Turn that off!” my mom says.
My grandma’s jaw drops. She looks insulted. “Ophelia Cain. Thou shalt not take the Lord’s name in vain.”
My mom rolls her eyes and slams my grandma’s laptop closed. “She’s eight years old,” she says. “She doesn’t need to hear all of that.”
I’m playing on my H-Cap and pretending that I’m not listening to anything they’re saying. But when Grandma was watching the news on her computer, I was watching it, too, but she didn’t know. It’s not the same type of news they have on TV, either. On TV, it’s always a man who talks now. He’s always wearing a fancy suit and talking about how the government is doing everything they can to make sure people stay safe during all this fighting. I know he’s lying. I can tell. He always blames women, too, like all the men on TV. They’re always blaming women for everything.
On my grandma’s computer, though, people are posting videos they’re taking with their cell phones or G-Cameras (cameras that look like glasses and go on your face). It’s a new cool thing. If I wore glasses, I’d want them. Anyways, my grandma tried to turn down the volume when people were shot, but her hearing is bad, and I don’t think she realized I could hear it just fine.
Most of the videos were taken in New York City. I guess there’s a lot of bad stuff going on over there right now, and the government’s hurting people. In one video, I thought the man in the black uniform was trying to help stop the fighting, but he lifted his gun and shot the person taking the video.
I won’t lie. I’m scared. I’m really scared. I wish I hadn’t seen it. I almost started crying when I saw and heard some of the stuff going on in those videos, but if I cry, Grandma will know I’m watching. And I don’t even want to watch, but I can’t help it. I don’t want to pretend it isn’t happening. I know how bad things are. Mom won’t even let me go back to school anymore. She said that I could take a break. I miss my friends already. At least I get to play on my H-Cap as much as I want.
“Hey,” my mom says, and she sits beside me. The cushion of the couch sinks down a bit.
I try to ignore her and pretend like I’m into my game, but it doesn’t work. She knows me too well. She brushes my hair out of my face and kisses my forehead. Her lips are warm and so is her breath. “You okay?”
I nod, but my throat feels tight. It even hurts a bit, because I’m trying to hold everything in.
Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry, I tell myself. Mom is scared, so I need to be strong.
“Sweetheart,” she says, and she’s playing with the hair behind my neck. I love it when she does that. It tickles, but it feels so good at the same time. “I’m sure you heard some of that.”
I’m trying so hard not to cry, but I can’t help it. My throat hurts too bad now, and my bottom lip starts to shake, so she wraps her arms around me. “Come here, shhhh, it’s okay.”
I’m so sad and so mad. Why are men hurting all those women? I know that women are causing some trouble by doing these riots, by that’s not a reason to kill them. They’re people. They have eyes, noses, and ears like everyone. They have hearts and feelings. They have families who love them. And now they’re all being killed. They’re all dying. Men are putting bullets through them like they’re objects. Like they aren’t people.
Why are these men allowed to take someone’s life away? It’s not fair.
I cry so hard my head starts to hurt, and my mom doesn’t let me go. I’m scared to lose her, too. What if she wants to go to a riot? What if the bad men hurt her, too? What if this Jason guy hurts her?
“It’s okay, honey,” she says. “I’m right here.”
I squeeze her tight and don’t let go.
“Please don’t leave,” I say.
CHAPTER 22 – EVE
Eve – Present Day
Freyda’s pacing back and forth as if I just told her we were invaded by a group of male Rebels. It’s one boy, for God’s sake.
She waves a frantic hand in the air, her fingers resembling a panicked spider on the verge of being killed. “What are we supposed to tell the women?”
“The truth,” I say.
She wasn’t expecting that. Her mouth is half open, and she won’t break eye contact.
“The truth?” she repeats. “You want to tell the women of Eden that you’ve locked up two survivors and that one of them is a boy?”
I get up from my office chair and lean against the window. “Not exactly.”
“Eve,” she says, “think about this for a minute. You yourself said that the male gender is forbidden in Eden. Do you honestly want to go back on that decision? It’ll make you look weak and inconsistent.”
“It’s not about my image,” I say. “It’s about our women. The decision should be left to them.”
I know what she’s thinking—that I’m undermining my own leadership. But, I’ve sensed some tension in Eden. What better way to regain the women’s trust than to provide them an opportunity to make such an important decision? I need them to follow me, and to do that, I need them to trust me.
I’m hoping they make the right decision—I’m hoping they ban him from Eden, but if they don’t, eventually, they’ll pay the price, and I won’t be the one to blame. When that happens, they’ll follow me without question; they’ll realize I know what’s best for them.
“And what if they make the wrong decision?” she asks.
“What is the wrong decision, Freyda?”
She cocks an eyebrow at me and rests her hands on her belt. “Is this some kind of test?”
“No,” I say. “I mean it. I want to hear your opinion.”
She’s reluctant, and I don’t blame her. But I do want to hear her opinion. If there’s one person I admire most in Eden, it’s Freyda. I don’t think she realizes that.
“I believe that with the right surroundings, a male can be trained to behave properly,” she says.
I rub my chin and gaze outside, where two women are crouched and cultivating carrots from their garden. I don’t say anything because I don’t agree with her. The problem with men is that they’re programmed to reproduce and to fight—nothing more. I don’t see how any man could ever be stripped of his instinctual sexuality or his anger caused by an abundance of testosterone.
“You don’t agree,” she says bluntly.
She knows me well. I smirk at her and sigh.
“Unless a man is castrated, I don’t think any amount of training will do,” I say.
Her eyes nearly lunge out of their sockets and I look away, wondering if I’ve crossed a line. She has the same look that Ophelia had when I suggested we kill Jason, her abuser—one of shock and confusion.
“What’s the matter?” I ask, breaking out into a nervous ramble. “Have you never thought about what it would be like to have a world in which men aren’t controlled by their penises?”
Why do I care so much what Freyda thinks? I’m Eve—I don’t care what anyone thinks.
She shrugs. “No, not really. I’ve always pictured a world without men altogether. I guess I never gave much thought to one day coexisting again.”
“And what if the women decide to allow the young boy to stay in Eden?” I ask. “What then?”
She tilts her head and makes a twisted face. “Are you suggesting we castrate him?”
I stare at her, searching. Would it be such a terrible idea?
I brush my bangs out of my face and laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s only a fantasy.”
She smiles at me and I feel at home.
“I’ll order a meeting,” she says, making her way out of my office.
How Freyda manages to keep her humanity, I don’t know. She took countless lives during the war, yet, she’s still capable of differentiating right from wrong—something I’ve been unable to do for the last five years.
I don’t believe in right or wrong anymore. I believe in a world of peace without man’s corruption, and I believe that this can only be achieved by bold action. If I hadn’t made half the decisions I did during the revolution, we wouldn’t be here, and Eden wouldn’t exist.
Most of these women have no idea what I’ve done to save us.
; They have no idea who I truly am.
Eve – Flashback
I reach for Mila’s hand, but she pulls away. I’m as shocked as she is to find out what’s happening in New York City, but Mila’s taking it a bit harder. She has friends in New York, and right now, they’re being massacred by a bunch of men in suits.
The sound of gunfire blares through the television’s speaker, bouncing off every wall in our living room. I can’t believe this is happening. The last time we spent this long staring at a television screen in disbelief was when we were young—when North Korea launched a nuclear attack on California only to prove a point, killing millions of innocent citizens.
Mila doesn’t remember it, but I do. I was eight years old or so, and I remember it like it was yesterday. My mom kept changing the channel, almost as if she thought it was some big hoax—as if it wasn’t happening. It’s as if she thought she’d land on another news broadcast announcing the whole thing as fake news.
But it wasn’t fake and neither is this. It’s all over MeFile—or as my mom would say, a glorified version of something called Facebook. I’m scanning through my phone, and to my surprise, everyone is using the hashtag standourground. I say everyone, but to be honest, they’re all women—women from all over the world.
Goose bumps appear all over my arms. Women around the world should be terrified right now, but they’re not. Instead, they’re angry. They’re fed up, and they aren’t going down without a fight. What astonishes me most is the support we’re receiving from other countries. Although they’re handling the gender imbalance far more gracefully than we are, they’re still willing to stand with us in spirit.
Mila’s jaw muscles keep popping out, and her eyes are round and unmoving. I can’t tell whether she wants to cry or throw the television remote at the wall.
The news anchor—some prick with an overcoat suit and a blue tie—presses his fingers against his ear and nods before looking at the camera.