Eden Box Set

by G. C. Julien

  Castor nudges me when he realizes that I’m in some sort of trance.

  I’m afraid to get up to keep moving because I’m lying on the broken branch that made a loud snap earlier. If I get up the wrong way, I might make it snap again. I slowly roll to my side and wince, scared that I’ll make that one wrong move and Adam will be shooting bullets my way.

  But I don’t have time to overthink anything because a loud scream suddenly blocks out all other sound.

  I throw my head up to find Adam’s men bolting out of the forest, and the four women are running in the field, back toward the prison and tripping over their dresses.

  “Fuck,” I mutter.

  The men are laughing and grunting as they run out into the open, and the women are screaming hysterically.

  “Now!” I say, and I make a run toward the field as fast as I can.

  With the women screaming and the men laughing, they can’t hear me coming. Adam’s jogging behind them with his rifle in both hands. It’s almost like he sent off a bunch of bloodhounds to hunt. Almost like he’s waiting for his boys to catch his prize for him.

  The tallest blonde is the first to be taken by one of the men. He grabs her by her long hair, and she flies straight to the ground on her back. I hear the impact from where I am. He climbs on top of her, pinning her hands over her head, and grins back at Adam while she screams.

  Adam’s men catch the other three women within seconds and slam them to the ground.

  The first woman they caught is now being held by her wrists and ankles by none other than McGaver, the biggest guy in the group. I hate that son of a bitch. She tries to slap him and screams through a waterfall of tears, but she doesn’t stand a chance. McGaver pulls her dress up and it rips. He then spreads her legs apart and looks back at Adam, who’s slowly walking up to her, his thick shoulders pulled back and his rifle over his shoulder.

  My heart’s beating so hard, and my back is drenched with sweat. Everything is happening too fast. Jesus Christ, Gabe, run faster.

  The other three women are held down and forced to watch as Adam pulls out his dick and mounts the blond woman. She’s screaming so hard that her voice breaks and she’s trying to squirm her way out, but McGaver’s grip is so hard I’m scared he’ll snap her limbs. Adam spreads her legs even farther and forces himself inside, and she screams again, but this time, it’s more of a cry. He then thrusts hard, his glutes clenching through his pants and his arm muscles bulging on either side of her. McGaver’s face is all red from holding her so tight, and he just sits there, laughing.

  Adam thrusts again, and the woman cries in pain. But then, McGaver’s eyes nearly pop out of his head when he sees me coming. And then all the men see me, and they look like a bunch of fucking meerkats. McGaver doesn’t even have time to warn Adam, because I reach a hand around Adam’s head, fasten a grip so hard around his chin that I feel his teeth through his skin, and I snap his neck.

  He collapses on top of both the woman and McGaver.

  I yank his rifle off his lifeless shoulder and fire two clean shots into McGaver’s head. I’m about to shoot at the rest of the men when the whole crew grabs the four women and yank them up to be used as human shields. I have Adam’s gun aimed straight at Masterson’s face, the fat slob who always managed to eat everyone’s food. But he keeps ducking behind the dark-skinned girl, only popping out every few seconds to see if I’m still aiming my gun at him.

  “Throw me the gun!” shouts one of the men. It’s O’Connor. I don’t know the prick, but I know his name. He has a veiny hand wrapped around the redhead’s neck, ready to crush her throat.

  “Let them go!” Castor shouts. He’s hiding a few feet behind me, but he means well.

  O’Connor squeezes his hand, and the woman reaches for her throat. Her mouth’s wide open as she’s making weird noises trying to catch her breath. “I said throw me the gun!”

  My eyes scan the situation. Eight men remain now that Adam and McGaver are dead. Two are having a hard time hiding, so I quickly lift my gun and fire another two rounds.

  Bang, bang.

  They both collapse, grabbing at their bloody chests, and O’Connor’s eyes go wild. He digs his fingers so hard into the redhead’s throat that her eyes bulge and the veins on her forehead pop out like little worms.

  Down to six.

  I can handle six.

  “Okay, okay!” I shout. I raise an open palm, hold the rifle in one hand.

  “Toss it!” O’Connor says.

  I listen and throw the gun a few feet away from him. And he does exactly what I expected. He lunges for it like a man at a puddle of water in the desert.

  And I charge for him.

  Right as he pulls himself back up with the rifle in his hands, I punch a tight fist directly at his nose in an upward movement. There’s a loud crack, which I know is the sound of his nose breaking and cartilage crushing. If I’m lucky, I might have sent the fracture up toward the brain and did some permanent damage. Either way, he’s out cold, because his eyes roll back and he falls flat on his back with the gun still in his hands.

  Down to five.

  But I don’t have time to reach for the gun because the five men jump on me.

  I feel a crack in my ribs and a knock against my face. I swing back as hard as I can. Something snaps at the end of my fist, and I kick sideways—another snap. Someone lets out a pained cry and falls to the ground, clutching his leg.

  Down to four.

  There’s another hard blow to the side of my ribs, and a shooting pain brings me to my knees. I look up in time to see Castor’s hairy, openmouthed face. He’s yelling something, but I can’t hear anything because my ears are ringing. He swings his massive fist at one man’s jaw, and it dislocates with a loud crack. It dangles there by the skin, and Castor knocks him again right in the ear.

  The guy with the dislocated jaw falls on his side, out cold.

  Down to three.

  A surge of adrenaline pumps through me because, for a second, I think I might just win this fight. I’m about to smash my elbow into someone’s eye when I see Castor’s face go flush. He breathes so loud it sounds like he’s trying to purposely fill his lungs with air. He then slaps a hand over his heart, and dark red fluid fills up and around the grooves of his fingernails.

  The man beside him is holding a pocket knife covered in blood. He’s smiling at me and gooey black liquid slips through the cracks of his rotten teeth. It almost looks like he’s thinking, You’re next, asshole.

  I shouldn’t have looked at him. I shouldn’t have let my guard down.

  My arms are suddenly locked on either side of me. I realize I’m being held by the other of Adam’s guys. I kick and pull, but they dance with me, holding me in place.

  The man with the knife takes one step closer, ready to slit me open like a pig. He’s so cocky about it, too. Wiggling the knife around like he’s going to enjoy it. Like he’s about to teach me the biggest lesson of my life. The only thing is, I won’t remember it because I’ll be dead.

  His knuckles go white around the knife’s handle, and his face looks like it’s melting now that his smile’s turned upside down. He lifts it up, ready to stab me right in the neck when part of his face is blown off.

  Pieces of flesh splatter on my face and bottom lip, and I turn my head away.

  What the fuck.

  The redhead is standing a few meters away, holding the gun in her hands. It’s shaking from side to side, and her legs are trembling. The skin on her forehead is wrinkled, and she’s letting out loud grunts and shaking the gun at us.

  It’s like she’s too traumatized by everything to talk. Instead, she keeps poking her gun in the air and yelling at us.

  What does she want?

  “Let him go!” she manages to shout.

  The two men who were holding me must realize she’s completely nuts because they raise their hands in the air and slowly step back.

  “Look, lady, we didn’t mean—”

  Bang, ba
ng, bang.

  She’s thrown back a few steps because of the gun, and I duck, because I know she doesn’t have full control of the weapon. One of her bullets skims my shoulder and a hot burning spreads down my arm. I can tell she’s never fired a gun before. The women behind her cover their ears and turn away.

  The man she shot grabs at his stomach, falls to his knees, then lands flat on his face. The other guy beside me is shaking his head from side to side, pleading for her to have mercy.

  Serves him fucking right.

  Bang, bang, bang.

  He dances backward a few steps and his arms flap on either side of him before he lands on his back.

  I realize she might shoot me, too, but all I can think about is Castor. He’s lying in the grass, his knees up to his chest, and wincing in pain. I run to his side and press a hand on his scruffy neck.

  “Oh, Castor,” I say. “Hang in there.”

  The stab wound’s right over his heart. I know he won’t make it.

  He reaches a bloody hand into his loose-threaded pocket, wiggles his fingers around, and pulls out his daughter’s keychain. He brings it to his lips and kisses it, then presses it into the palm of my hand and forces my fingers over it.

  I flinch at the sound of another gunshot and look back to see the redhead. She’s walking through the bodies toward me with her gun pointed toward the ground.

  Bang, bang.

  She shoots one of them point-blank in the face, blowing off his entire head. It looks like she’s killing off the ones who survived.

  “Please find—” Castor says, but he loses all color in his face, and his eyes glaze over.

  “No, no, Castor.” I shake him. “Castor!”

  My throat swells, and I clench my jaw, but the sound of a body falling to the ground catches my attention. I twist my head and see the redhead on her back. What happened? The three other women are huddled around her like cheerleaders around an injured sports player.

  I rush to her side and slide the gun out of her hands just in case. I’m worried she might wake up and shoot me in the face.

  “Gretchin?” one of the women asks, and they all start panicking.

  “Gretchin!”

  “What’s wrong with her?”

  “She’s in shock,” I say. I tap her gently on the face, but she doesn’t wake up, so I scoop her in my arms. Her arms dangle beside her, and her frizzy orange head falls back.

  The women hop around me. Their heads are barely level with my chest, and they’re reaching for their friend, Gretchin, as I move toward the prison. I realize that I’m taking a huge risk walking toward a colony of women, but I don’t care. She needs to rest, and I don’t know if she has any other wounds that I can’t see.

  “Y-you saved us!” one of the women says.

  “I told you,” one of them whispers, “not all men are evil.”

  “Don’t let Eve hear you say that!”

  Eve, I repeat in my head. The way they’re talking about it, it sounds like she’s the leader. I wonder if the rumors are true. If there’s only one woman leading an entire society of females.

  “What’s your name?” the dark-skinned beauty asks me.

  I stop walking for a moment to look down at her. She’s staring at me with such tenderness in her eyes. I never imagined I’d receive a look like this from a woman after the revolution. I expected to have my testicles cut off.

  “G-Gabriel,” I say.

  “Gabriel,” she repeats, and she reaches a warm hand against the scruff of my beard, “like the angel.”

  Gabriel – Flashback

  I feel like I’m in a movie. I put on my equipment and prepare my gun. I can’t get President Price’s face out of my head. A video of him circulated around the room after he declared America in a state of emergency. In the video, he was sitting in the Oval Office, his jet-black hair combed to one side. He was wearing a gray suit with a red tie and sat calmly while talking to the camera.

  “I understand this is a hard time for all of my fellow Americans. For months, we’ve tried, and tried, and tried to get these women to see things from a scientific standpoint—to realize that all we’re trying to do is save this beautiful country. But we can’t go on living in a world where the gender ratio is out of balance.” He then shook his head, stood up, and leaned his body weight against his oval desk. “But the president of the United States stands for his people and with his people. Today, twelve of our soldiers were murdered at the hands of these rioters when a bomb went off right behind the White House’s South Lawn.” He stood up tall and fixed his tie. “America will not back down. These women are a threat to our nation, which makes them our enemy.”

  He bent over his desk, slipped a pen out of his chest pocket, and signed a piece of paper.

  “Today marks the day that the United States of America becomes at war with itself.”

  A few voices are bouncing around the room, and I think everyone’s as panicked as I am.

  “Are we seriously at war with women? Officially?”

  “You heard the president.”

  “It serves them fucking right. They killed twelve of our men!”

  “They killed more than that.”

  I want to say, “And how many women have we killed?” but I keep my mouth shut. The last time I tried to play devil’s advocate, James and a few other men turned against me.

  It’s hard to believe it’s official. We’re at war with our own people. Because they are our people. They’re just angry. They’re outraged. That’s not a reason to kill them. But this isn’t some riot gone bad anymore. This is America crumbling, and I’m standing on the other side, fighting for a cause I don’t believe in.

  A loud bang suddenly shakes the White House and the floor trembles. I stiffen my legs so I don’t fall.

  “The fuck was that?” someone says.

  Everyone rushes to the window, where we can see a massive hole in the ground out at the edge of Lafayette Square. Gray smoke clouds the air all around it, but as it starts to dissipate, all I see is blood and body parts.

  The sound of a fighter jet roars above. They must’ve shot a missile at a group of women. Hundreds of them scatter, rushing away from the horrific scene, but others lose their minds and hop over the barricade, then charge full force toward the White House with arms above their heads and mouths open so wide they look like black holes.

  Hundreds of rounds are fired and a gray layer of smoke floats in the air. Women collapse before even making it to the White House’s fountain. Why are they even trying? They don’t stand a chance. Why are they killing themselves?

  My throat swells at the sight of the massacre, but the voice of a superior vibrates in the room.

  “Out of bed, soldiers. You’re needed downstairs.”

  We’re urged to finish gearing up and led down through the White House’s front doors.

  “Guard the House with your life,” says one of the commanders. “If the women get close enough, shoot to kill.”

  Everything around me is pulsating like I’ve been injected with drugs. Shoot to kill? I’ve been ordered to assassinate American citizens. My eyes dart from left to right, and I watch in horror as millions of women march forward, screaming at the top of their lungs. The sound is indescribable. It doesn’t even sound human… more like the Earth is shattering from its core.

  Blood splatters in every direction as soldiers shoot into the crowd, and women keep hopping over bodies, moving closer and closer. It looks like a mudslide.

  Some of the guys beside me start shooting their energy bullets. It fills the air with a piercing noise, and a quick clunk follows after every shot because the guns are reenergizing.

  Then, the fighter jet comes back.

  For a second, the sound of gunshots is masked because of a sharp, whistle-like noise that gets louder and louder until finally, there’s impact. Everything trembles as hard as an earthquake and hundreds of body parts fly into the air.

  But it doesn’t stop them. They’re not stopping
. Why aren’t the women stopping? My heart’s pounding so hard and all I want to do is vomit. I watch, mortified, as the rioters run forward with shovels, sticks, knives, and swords, sacrificing their lives to move their rebel army one step closer toward the White House.

  CHAPTER 33 – LUCY

  Lucy – Present Day

  I glide my finger across the pages, searching for a green plant with weird blueberry-looking balls on it. It’s like I’m pulling at straws. Then again, the saying might be grasping at straws. My mom used to say that all the time.

  I have no idea if this plant is what Eve’s using, but I find it a bit weird that she’d finally let women step outside of Eden after always telling us how dangerous it is. Obviously, she wants something, which is why she asked Gretchin to talk to the twins. She wants Gretchin to pick something up for her that only the twins know about.

  I flip through hundreds of pages, going through all kinds of alien-looking plants until I finally land on page 379 – Atropa Belladonna. I turn my head sideways and analyze the picture from top to bottom. Unless my memory is really bad, it looks exactly like the plant in the corner of Mavis and Perula’s greenhouse.

  This is it.

  I slide my finger along the faded ink underneath the word Belladonna, then make my way to the first paragraph, where a title in bold black ink reads: Deadly Nightshade.

  I swallow hard. That doesn’t sound good, and it definitely doesn’t sound like medicine. Could it be I’m actually onto something? I start reading the text, feeling like words are literally jumping out at me from the pages: toxic, hallucinations, delirium…

  These are all side effects of ingestion. I don’t know what to think. Why would anyone want something so dangerous? Maybe if it’s prepared properly, it’s safe. It wouldn’t be the first time Perula made some kind of elixir and said to me, “If done incorrectly, this plant can cause…”