Eden Box Set

by G. C. Julien

  My mom forces a smile, then grabs my hand again.

  “Are you leaving?” Bethany asks. “I was about to talk to Eve, but I think you might want to hear this, too.”

  Aunty Eve looks at my mom and lifts both her eyebrows.

  My mom looks at Eve, then at me, and finally says, “All right, what is it?”

  But Bethany Lee doesn’t say anything. Instead, she moves her head sideways and starts walking toward the back of the building, so we follow her. She brings us through a big metal door, then down hard gray stairs until we reach the basement.

  Instead of a big open space, it’s a long hallway with doors all over the place. We walk past a few doors until Bethany Lee turns to the right and opens a door that has the number 9 painted on it. Inside, it looks like the kind of room you’d see on cop shows when they question people. There’s a tiny window at the top of the wall, right under the ceiling and a big table in the middle of the room.

  There are also four plastic chairs, and on the table, some sort of TV. It’s small, and it has an antenna and a bunch of wires around it. Bethany Lee sits at one end of the table, and Aunty Eve sits beside her. So my mom sits down on the other side and taps the chair beside her, telling me to sit down.

  “What’s going on?” Aunty Eve asks. She almost looks worried. I haven’t seen her show any real feeling since Mila died. “Is this about my mom?”

  Bethany Lee places a hand over Aunty Eve’s and squeezes it. “No.”

  Eve looks relieved. Since we’ve been living with her for months now, I know what bothers her the most, and that’s her mom. She disappears for weeks at a time without contacting Aunty Eve. Every night, Aunty Eve sleeps by her phone, waiting to either hear from her mom or from the hospital.

  She thinks her mom is in Washington DC, with all the women who are going to riot at the White House. I feel bad for her because if my mom were out there, I’d be scared to death. Every day on the news, they talk about how many more people have been killed because of this riot. What if one day her mom gets shot? And if that happens, how will Aunty Eve even know?

  Bethany Lee lets out a long breath, and her dark eyes roll up at us. She’s about to open her mouth to start talking, but my mom interrupts her. “Is this something a nine-year-old should be hearing?”

  Bethany looks at me and smiles warmly. “It’s up to you, but if I had a daughter, I wouldn’t want to protect her from the truth. Being blind to what’s happening is far more dangerous than being aware of it.”

  My mom nods and squeezes my shoulder, and Bethany Lee continues. “One of our tech teams intercepted communication from the White House.”

  Aunty Eve’s bright blue eyes go twice their size and she leans forward on the table.

  “I don’t want this getting out yet,” Bethany says, “because the women won’t react well, and we’re not ready. Zoey still needs a few days to finish the EMP.”

  I hear my mom let out a sharp breath beside me, and I know her bad mood is coming back.

  Bethany Lee must sense that my mom wants nothing to do with this because she leans on the table, looking almost sad. “I can tell you’re not up for this,” she tells my mom. “But believe me when I say that we’re already at war. They’re slaughtering women left and right, and people are dying of starvation because grocery stores are phasing out. Is that the sort of life you want for your daughter? I’m fully aware that a nuclear EMP will be catastrophic for our country, but if nothing is done, women will continue to be slaughtered at the hands of men until we either submit to their laws or until they regain control of gender population… And you and I both know how they’re planning on doing that.”

  My mom taps her fingers against the plastic of the table. I can tell she’s thinking hard.

  “The only advantage they have,” Bethany keeps going, “is their advanced military technology. We outnumber them seven to one. We have plenty of brilliant minds who are ready and willing to rebuild a society once America falls.”

  “What about the guns?” I ask. I know I probably shouldn’t be part of the conversation, but I need to know.

  “What do you mean, sweetheart?” Bethany asks.

  “All the guns upstairs,” I say. “Are they gonna be used on men? I mean, what about dads and grandpas who aren’t fighting against women?”

  Bethany smiles at me, then up at my mom. “You’re doing a fine job raising this one.” She turns her attention back to me. “We’re only going for the White House. We’re well aware that there are men who want nothing to do with this war. Most of them are hiding in their homes with their families. They’re not the ones causing this.”

  Aunty Eve rolls her eyes. “Men are men, and in the end, they’ll always turn against women.”

  Bethany doesn’t seem to agree with her, but she doesn’t say anything. Instead, she pats the top of my hand and says, “We’re only going after the bad guys.”

  She then looks up at my mom and asks, “Are you on board?”

  My mom bites her bottom lip, obviously thinking about this for a second, then nods. “Yeah, count me in.”

  Bethany Lee sits back in her chair, smacks her thighs with her hands, and breathes out loudly. “The communication we’ve intercepted… it isn’t good.”

  Both my mom and Aunty Eve slide their chairs closer, prepared to hear the news.

  Bethany Lee rubs her forehead hard, leaving a red mark, then finally she says, “President Price has officially declared war on all female rioters.” Bethany’s staring at all of us, waiting for it to sink in, but it’s so quiet in the room, I can hear myself breathing.

  “He just gave a kill order,” she says.

  CHAPTER 31 – EVE

  Eve – Present Day

  There’s a soft knock at my door, and Freyda slips her fingers through the crack, revealing only half of her face.

  “Come in,” I tell her.

  She bows her head, then straightens her posture and repositions her armored vest. “The women have left Eden.”

  “Thank you, Freyda,” I say. “If they don’t make it back by sundown, the doors are to remain closed.”

  Freyda nods, but then pulls her shoulders back. “There’s something else.”

  I stare at her.

  “Lauren—you know, the pregna—”

  “I know who she is, Freyda.”

  I don’t mean to be so sharp, but her very name aggravates my anxiety. Not only do I not like to be reminded of her rape, but the child she’s carrying has been in my dreams for months. Every time I hear her name, my heart races because I don’t know what I will do if she gives birth to a boy.

  “She had a miscarriage,” Freyda says, bowing her head toward the floor.

  I’m about to say, Oh, thank God, but I bite my tongue, even though I’m rejoicing inside. Instead, I thank her for the information, careful not to show any form of emotion. She’s about to turn around when I call out to her. “Freyda?”

  “Yes, Eve?” she asks.

  I smile at her—the only person I care to smile at. “I don’t know what I would do without you.”

  Her lip curves upward, and she bows her head again as a way of acknowledging the compliment.

  “Well, I’m not going anywhere,” she says, and I can’t help but laugh.

  “Have a seat, would you?” I say, extending an open palm toward the chair in front of my office desk.

  She hesitates, then closes the door behind her and sits in front of me.

  “Can I ask you something?” I say.

  She shrugs, her heavy equipment chafing against her clothing. “Anything.”

  I lean back in my chair, then kick my white-legged pants and red boots up onto the desk. “Do you think they’re out there? The Binaries?”

  Freyda knows who I’m talking about—in fact, every woman in Eden would know who I am talking about. The Binaries are self-proclaimed experts who publicly announced their future involvement in the rebuilding of our society, should it collapse, which it did. I had the privilege of
meeting a few of these women while working alongside Bethany Lee, and they assured me that should the EMP attack be successful in permanently damaging electronic devices throughout the country, they would be the first ones to pull us out of the Dark Ages once the war was over.

  But the war has been over for nearly five years, and no one has heard from them.

  Freyda shakes her head and pouts. “I hope so, but there’s no way to tell.”

  “Why not?” I ask, and she laughs at me.

  “Because we have no way of communicating with the outside world,” she says. “Even if they’re out there, we have no way of knowing. For all we know, half the country’s running on electricity again.”

  I scoff. “I don’t think so.”

  “Me neither,” she admits, “but there’s still no telling what’s going on out there. I mean, unless they’ve been killed, which I doubt given that we outnumbered men ten to one after the war. They’re probably settled somewhere remote, working on developing pieces of advanced technology.”

  Her dark glossy eyes narrow on me, and she tilts her head almost playfully. “Why? Are you starting to miss technology? We still have our solar panels and—”

  But I wave a hand to cut her short. “It’s not the same.”

  “No, you’re right, but—”

  “This place won’t hold us forever,” I say, “especially if more women find their way to us.”

  She pinches her chin with her thumb and index finger, evaluating what I’ve said. “No, it won’t. But what else do you have in mind? We’re safe here.”

  “I know,” I say, gazing absentmindedly across the room. “But as time passes, we’re going to need more resources, which means we will have to keep opening the front gates. If anyone is watching from the outside, they might pay attention to our schedule and coordinate an attack.”

  “You’re still convinced there are a bunch of male Rebels out there?” Freyda asks.

  I stare at her, contemplating whether to be respectful or to accuse her of being a complete moron. She shifts uncomfortably as I watch her, then adds, “Well, I’m sure there are some.”

  “Men are like cockroaches,” I say. “They survive.” I comb my hair with my fingernails. “And the danger in all of this is that most surviving women don’t have semiautomatic rifles. They don’t carry guns. They’re caring for their children and seeking shelter. A few strong men could easily attack a large group of women.”

  Freyda nods slowly, taking it all in. “So, what are you saying?”

  “I’m saying we need the Binaries,” I answer. “If we have them, we have technology, and if we have technology, we can travel and communicate across the nation to gain control.”

  “So, in other words, you want to take over the world,” Freyda teases.

  I interlock my fingers over my thighs and lean back even farther into my chair, a soft squeak filling the room. “Not the world, silly—America.”

  Eve – Flashback

  My head is racing a million miles per minute.

  A kill order? I knew it was only a matter of time, but I didn’t expect it to happen so soon. We’re not ready. We don’t have the EMP built yet.

  “Eve, are you okay?” Bethany asks, her voice carrying across the small room.

  Am I okay? My head is spinning, and I feel like the ground underneath me is melting—as though I’m going to be sucked into the Earth until I reach hell. How could anyone be okay in a situation like this? Millions of women are going to die tonight.

  “We can’t just sit around,” I say.

  Bethany reaches for my hand, but I pull away. “No, Bethany. I respect that you’re in charge, but you’re making a huge mistake if you don’t give the order to attack tonight.”

  Surprisingly, Ophelia cuts in. “I have to agree with Eve.”

  Bethany pulls away, rolls forming underneath her chin. “The EMP isn’t ready yet. This is suicide you’re talking about.”

  What the hell is wrong with her? These are the lives of millions of women we’re talking about. EMP or not, we have to do something. I slam my fist against the table and Lucy flinches. “It’s going to be a fucking massacre!”

  Bethany frowns, looking more worried than frustrated. “What do you propose we do? Gear up and charge toward the White House? First, the crowd’s getting so tight we probably won’t even be able to get through. And secondly, we’ll be the first ones killed. The moment they see women with guns, they’ll take us out. They have choppers flying overhead and snipers positioned all over the city. And if we die, what chance do the rest of the women out there have? They don’t have the guns. They have sticks and shovels and kitchen knives, which aren’t going to do a whole lot against the US military.”

  “Don’t we have snipers?” I ask.

  Bethany hesitates. “Y-yeah, I mean, we do—”

  “Then tell them to get ready. We can take out their snipers first, then have women prepare to shoot down the choppers. They won’t expect it. They think we’re merely a bunch of angry women who want to swing our bras in the air.”

  She looks a bit taken aback by my sudden change in demeanor. I can hear myself talking, and I sound exactly like Mila—stubborn and unwilling to take no for an answer.

  “Bombs have gone off, Eve,” Bethany says. “It’s pretty obvious we’re capable of building weapons.”

  “Bombs,” I repeat. “What about grenades? How many do we have?”

  Her jaw drops, and she slides her chair back to get a good look at me. I can tell Ophelia is looking at me funny, too, but I don’t care. I’m ready to fight even if it means I’m dying tonight. The sudden image of Mila’s bloody, lifeless body flashes in my mind, and I clench my fist.

  Bethany stands up and places her chair underneath the desk. “I’ll talk to the council and see what they have to—”

  “We don’t have time to talk,” I say. “You’re in charge—give them the orders.”

  “Am I?” she asks.

  I’m breathing so hard I might start to hyperventilate. “Are you what?” I spew.

  “In charge?”

  She’s staring me cold in the face, and a dangerous rage builds inside me. Why is she doing this? Why is she even debating the option of attacking when so many lives are at stake? I slowly stand, my hands against the table, meeting her eye to eye, and I grind my teeth.

  “You can either make the order,” I say, enunciating every word, “or I can.”

  Her mouth drops open and her eyes resemble those of a lost child. A heavy silence fills the room, and even Ophelia is sitting still, her lips parted.

  “This isn’t personal, Bethany. I’m trying to save lives.”

  She finally regains some composure, her shoulders drawn back and her long braid reaching her buttocks. “I know,” she breathes.

  “Well,” I say, sounding a bit more impatient than intended. “Let’s round up the women and communicate with any and every underground rebel group we know.” I glance toward Ophelia, who’s holding on to her daughter for dear life and staring at me like she doesn’t know who I am. “We attack tonight.”

  CHAPTER 32 – GABRIEL

  Gabriel – Present Day

  “Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit,” Castor says, pacing back and forth.

  “Take it easy, big guy,” I try, but he’s not listening.

  I watch through the tall birch trees as four women make their way toward the forest and straight to where Adam and his crew are hiding. There’s a redhead who appears to be leading the group. She’s wearing khaki pants and a white shirt, and the three women behind her are wearing beige dresses that are dragging in the crispy grass. What are they doing? Looking for resources? I don’t see why else they’d leave the safety of their walls.

  The sun’s sitting behind a bunch of chunky white clouds, and the air is warm and humid. The redhead’s eyes appear to be darting from left to right, up and down, like she’s on the lookout for danger.

  Why doesn’t she see them? I look toward where the campfire sat
all night, and all I see are a few baseball capped heads hovering close to the ground. The red truck’s gone because Adam put it in reverse and drove it out of sight the minute he saw the women.

  One girl behind the redhead looks young, early twenties, and she’s clutching onto her dress, lifting it from the ground so she doesn’t get it dirty.

  “They’re gonna catch them,” Castor blurts out, throwing a hand toward the women.

  I grab his arm and tug hard. He needs to stay close to the ground.

  “They’re going to do a lot more than just catch them,” I say.

  Castor looks at me with big bug eyes, and I tilt my head, signaling him to follow me. I head south, away from Adam and his crew, and make my way toward them at an angle.

  “Stay low,” I say.

  “What’re you gonna do? Get involved?” Castor whispers.

  He’s obviously scared, and I don’t blame him. But I can’t sit around and watch Adam, the piece of shit that he is, and his disgusting dogs gang bang a bunch of women.

  “He has a gun,” Castor whispers. “A big one.”

  I’m about to tell him to shut up when he steps on a thick dry branch, and a loud snap spreads through the forest. I grab him by the collar and pull him down onto his stomach.

  “Ow, fuck,” he whispers, and I elbow him in the ribs.

  My eyes are sealed shut and I’m lying on my back, praying to God that Adam didn’t see us. “Don’t move.”

  I raise my head a bit, enough to see over the fallen branch and toward Adam’s crew. They’re all staring at the women like a bunch of starved hyenas. If I were closer, I’d probably see them panting, too.

  At last, the women come into view. Their curved figures sway from side to side as they walk. The leader of the women, the redhead, has frizzy orange hair and a freckled face that makes her look sweet. Two of them have beautiful, creamy white skin and long blond hair. And the last one who’s walking behind the three of them has dark skin that’s shining in the sun and shoulder-length brown hair. I can’t remember the last time I saw a woman. I’ve been surrounded by a bunch of hairy, stinky men for the last five years. My jaw loosens, and I stare in awe, almost hypnotized by their beauty. It’s almost like I’m staring at goddesses.