by G. C. Julien
What was the big deal, anyway? In parts of Canada, the legal drinking age has been eighteen for a long time. Or maybe it’s nineteen. I don’t remember. But I do recall hearing people complain about it.
Point being—if I can drink at eighteen, I’m technically an adult, and I’m only two years away from that.
I grind my teeth and glare at the Herb Shack’s dirty wooden floorboards. A purple-shelled beetle runs across one of them and disappears into a hole in the wood.
“Dagnabbit!” comes Mavis’s voice.
The twins come in with hunched postures, throwing their arms around animatedly as they bicker.
“Oh, this is bad,” Perula says.
She rushes by me, her long green dress brushing against my cotton T-shirt. She hovers over the plant they showed me—the nightshade plant that’s only starting to sprout. Then, in one swift motion, she turns around and scoops up the other nightshade plant, the one that’s either dead or dying, from the shelf on the wall.
It looks like it’s been set on fire. Not a single flower is growing from it, and the tiny dark balls it once had aren’t there, either.
“I thought Eve wasn’t ’avin’ another meeting for least another month!” Mavis rants. “That’s what it’s supposed to be! Once a month. Oh, frog-on-a-stick!”
“Calm down,” Perula says, her gentle eyes fixated on her sister. She’s always the calm one, but I can tell by the way she keeps biting her bottom lip and playing with her thumb that she’s nervous about something. “We have other ingredients.”
“Other—” Mavis shouts, and she swings a closed fist at the rotten plant Perula placed on the table.
My shoulders jerk forward and I take a step back.
“We need the Devil’s tea,” Mavis says. “You ’eard Freyda! This meeting’s about the man.”
“Man?” I ask. “What man?”
Mavis’s eyes shift my way, and after a moment of silence, she flicks her wrist in the air. “There’s a man in Eden. He’s being held in the basement. Eve is calling a meeting to announce—”
“Mavis!” Perula exclaims.
Mavis cocks a curly-haired eyebrow. “What?” Her eyes dart from her sister to me. “She’s gonna hear about it sooner or later.”
Perula lets out a soft sigh. “I suppose you’re right.”
“So, what?” I ask. “Eve wants Devil’s tea to keep the women calm? Because she knows this is all gonna blow up in her face?”
I’m about to keep ranting when Mavis points a stiff finger in my face. “Bite your tongue, girl.”
I hold my breath and count to three. It’s ridiculous that Eve has to drug up the women of Eden to have meetings with them, but Mavis is a huge believer in Eve’s methods. Questioning Eve’s ways in front of Mavis again is going to get me nowhere fast.
“What’s the problem, then?” I ask, my tone a bit calmer now. “You don’t have enough of the ingredient for it?”
Mavis lets out a growl, and I’m assuming that’s her way of saying, No.
“There are other ways,” Perula says. She turns around and plucks a few plants from their shelf. As soon as she places them on the table, Mavis lets out a loud scoff.
“Do you have a better idea?” Perula says. She’s getting impatient.
Mavis rolls her eyes. “Eve isn’t going to like this. Not one bit. Not one wrinkle-toed bit.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
“She isn’t gonna like this,” I hear someone whisper.
Aunty Eve’s holding onto my hand like it’s going to disappear forever if she lets go. I don’t know how long we’ve been walking. A few days, at least. We’ve stopped to sleep a few times, but when we do, we don’t sleep long. We even walk at night, when the air gets a bit cool against our cheeks.
“We don’t have a choice,” says another voice.
“Excuse me!”
Who are they yelling at? I turn around and see two older women waving their arms over their heads like people do when they’re trying to call a taxi.
They’re looking at me. Well, maybe not directly at me. But they’re looking over here. Eve’s talking with the woman who’s been by her side this whole time. The one who keeps shooting her guns and protecting us. She’s the reason Aunty Eve has to keep covering my eyes and ears. I think her name’s Vrayda or Horayda.
Not sure what kind of name that is, but that’s what I hear coming out of Aunty Eve’s mouth when she talks to this lady. They seem to be getting along well.
“Excuse me!” the voice yells again.
This time, Aunty Eve turns around with her hand still wrapped around mine, and everyone stops walking.
“Eve,” this woman says, “we need to stop. We can’t keep walking.”
She looks twice as old as Aunty Eve. She has gray hair that’s short and sticks out from behind her ears. She looks so tired. She must be tired. Even I’m tired. Looking at her makes me sad. All I can think about is Grandma.
Aunty Eve said it would be too dangerous to go back for Grandma, so what am I supposed to do? It’s not like I can go find her on my own. I wouldn’t even know how to get to her house. Mom always drove us there. I just sat in the car playing my H-Cap.
“We can’t stop,” Aunty Eve says.
She doesn’t sound like she used to. She used to be kind to strangers, but now, she talks to everyone like she hates them. I wonder if this is because of my mom and whatever happened to her. Maybe Aunty Eve is hurting inside like me. The only reason I’m not crying all the time is that my legs hurt so bad and my feet feel like they’re bleeding inside my shoes. If I cry, I’ll look weak, and Eve will think I can’t continue walking. Mom wouldn’t want that. She’d want me to be strong. She’d want me to get to this safe place, wherever it is.
“We have to,” another woman says.
This one looks a bit younger, but it’s hard to tell with all the dirt on her face. She has beige lines that run from her eyes to her jaw. A lot of women have them. They’ve been crying a lot. They’re probably hurting in so many ways, not only their bodies.
Aunty Eve tries to protect me from all the awful things out there, but I’ve seen some of it. I know how violent everything got. I’ve seen tons of dead bodies, and I’ve smelled them, too. I wonder if these women saw their friends’ bodies or dead family members.
I don’t know what I would have done if I saw my mom…
I swallow hard. I can’t think about that right now. I need to be strong.
Be strong, Lucy, be strong.
“Some of us can barely walk anymore, Eve,” the woman with the tear lines says. “We’re starving… dehydrated… exhausted beyond belief.”
A few women around her start cheering at what she’s saying. They’re probably tired too.
Eve looks at her friend, that Vrayda lady, then back at the huge crowd following her.
“If we stop, we could die,” she says. “We don’t know who’s hiding here.” She points toward the damaged buildings and abandoned cars.
We’re walking through a small town right now. It looks like something you’d see in an ancient photo. In one of those black-and-white pictures from way before Grandma’s time. Everything is dark gray or black, including the sky. Even colored cars look black, but that’s only because of all the dust and ash.
I can understand why Eve doesn’t want to stop here. I don’t want to stop here, either.
“If we continue,” the older woman says, “we could die.”
Aunty Eve bows her head and lets out a soft breath. She places a hand behind my neck and tickles my hair. Mom used to do this to make me feel better when I was scared.
“I’m sorry,” Aunty Eve says, and she actually does sound sorry. Maybe she’s still in there somewhere. “But we can’t stop. If you can’t follow, be sure to stay in numbers. Hide as often as possible. We need to keep moving. I can’t risk the lives of so many by staying here.”
A lot of women are upset. They start arguing over each other, but Aunty Eve doesn’t stand around
to listen. She tugs on my arm and we keep walking toward the sunset.
“You go, sweetheart,” someone says.
I follow the voice. It’s a woman with long blond hair who looks like she’s about to collapse any second. Her face is all twisted, and she keeps grabbing at her leg.
“Mom, I can’t—”
“Go, Elizabeth. Once you’ve made it, you can come back for us. You can take us all there.”
The younger lady, this woman’s daughter, nods fast and wipes tears from her face. She grabs her mom by the back of the neck and presses her forehead against hers.
“I love you,” she breathes, and her mom says the same thing.
I look up at Aunty Eve, but she’s staring straight ahead. The setting sun makes her blue eyes look orange right now. Everyone behind her is heartbroken, but she keeps walking. They’re all saying their goodbyes because the crowd is splitting up in two. Those who are strong enough to keep going are coming with us, and those who can’t do it anymore are staying here in this destroyed town.
Are they all going to die?
Aunty Eve looks down at me from the corner of her eye. I think she knows I’m staring at her. Her jaw muscles pop in and out, like whatever she’s going to tell me is some big secret only she knows.
“Sometimes, Lucy, sacrifices have to be made for the greater good.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
“You deaf, you little brat?”
Mavis is looking at me like she wants to kill me.
“Been callin’ your name for the last five minutes!” She slaps her forehead. “Kids these days… Couldn’t use regular electronics. Had to use holographic ba-heegies and all that fancy shi-zaz. See? See what it did?” She flicks her wrist at me. “Fried ’er brain up like cauliflower mashed potatoes.”
“Cauli—what?” I ask. “Cauliflowers are vegetables, not potat—”
Mavis lets out a bark-like laugh and reaches for my cheek. I pull back. She could probably slice me open with those long nails of hers.
“Oh, sweet soul,” she says. “Bet ya woulda turned out as a Holo-Model in the real world.”
I glare at her. Aside from having indirectly called me beautiful, this isn’t a compliment. Holo-Model is a job given to people with good looks and nothing else. You sit there, in a room, reading off a script like a robot while they record you. Then, they use you in holograms around shopping malls or on city billboards for advertising purposes.
It pays well, but everyone makes fun of the hologram people. My mom told me that in her day, when it first came out, it was a huge thing and it was something to be proud of. But now, since holographic ads are so common, it’s an insult.
She probably thinks I’m too stupid to know that, too.
I almost say, “Better a Holo-Model than someone’s old broom closet,” you know, because of that crazy hair of hers, but I keep my mouth shut. It would have probably made me sound immature.
“Mavis is only teasing,” Perula says, smiling at me. The look she gives Mavis is like something out of a horror movie.
When Mavis finally stops laughing, she leans forward and sniffs the air like she has a cold.
“Get yourself on over to see Georgia,” Mavis says.
“Who’s Georgia?” I ask.
“The one who runs the gardens,” she says, slapping the table again. “For cryin’ out loud… What d’ they teach you in school? You should at least know who runs what round here!”
“She’s often wearing overalls,” Perula says. She reaches two fingers a few inches over her head. “About this tall. Gray hair tied into a bun at the back of her neck.”
I nod. I know who they’re talking about. She’s always outside, even when it’s raining. If it weren’t for her, the women of Eden would starve. I’ve seen this woman maintain dozens of gardens at a time. She has people who help her, but for the most part, she does all the work.
“I need forty-five strawberries, seventy-three blueberries, and three handfuls of blackberries,” Mavis says, counting on her fingers.
“Was that seventy-four, or seventy-five blueberries?” I ask, and although I’m laughing inside, Mavis doesn’t find this funny at all.
“Seventy-three!” she spits.
I don’t bother questioning her. She probably needs these fruits for the tea they’re putting together. My only guess is that whatever drugs they’re putting in it are strong enough to taste, so they’re going to try masking it with a fruity flavor.
I pluck an empty wooden box from the end of the table and make my way to the door. I look back at Mavis. I should keep my mouth shut, but I can’t help myself.
“If I don’t make it back,” I say, “I probably got caught up practicing my Holo-Modeling.”
Mavis’s upper lip curls up over her front teeth, revealing dark red gums and browning teeth, but I don’t stick around long enough to hear her lash out. I hop out of the Herb Shack and let the heavy door slam shut behind me.
CHAPTER 6 – GABRIEL
The orange glow reflected on the ceiling grows smaller and smaller, like a flashlight’s zoom being turned all the way to the right. The candle’s wax has melted on its little ceramic saucer, and the flame’s dancing around, fighting to stay alive even if only for a few more seconds.
Any minute now…
It flickers one last time before everything around me goes black.
I let out a sigh.
How long do they plan on keeping me down here?
Alone in the dark?
I suppose it could be worse.
I could have entered some crazy society where any man found is strung up by his penis and left to die. I’ve been given shelter—even though it’s freezing down here—food, and water.
That’s all I need. I shouldn’t be complaining. I shiver with my back against the hard floor, and goose bumps travel along my skin. What’d they do with my clothes, anyway? I’m wearing a pair of old briefs and nothing else. I’d say I was a bit embarrassed when I met Freyda, wearing nothing more than underwear, but in this world, nothing embarrasses me anymore. When you live every day knowing it could be your last, you stop caring about the small stuff.
Like nudity.
Like smelling like a rotten asshole.
Like shitting yourself in public.
The last one on that list was a one-time thing when I got jumped and beaten badly by a group of women. I didn’t do it on purpose. It just happened. But I’m over it now. Besides, that’s probably what saved my life. What better way to get your attackers to back off than to fill the air with the smell of fresh shit? To soften their blows with a warm, mushy texture in your pants?
Either way, after that, I’m lucky to be alive.
I stare into the darkness above me and think of that woman’s beautiful face. Will I see her again soon? Will she come back to check on me?
Flashes of women screaming and blood splattering in the air suddenly fill the dark space around me. Back on the day the war ended, I remember thinking, is it truly over? How could it be over?
But it was over. And where was I? Hiding in the Oval Office, too scared to step out. If I did… if I stepped out, I’d see President Price’s body. I’d see his lifeless face, looking like pale playdough on the floor, and everything would become too real.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
This can’t be real.
My shoulders jerk forward when another explosion goes off outside.
“Let’s get outta here,” someone says.
I’ve pressed my back against the inside of the cabinet’s cool metal, my heart thumping against my ribs. I don’t want to look through the keyhole. I can’t. I won’t. I already saw her… that blond woman. She stabbed that bayonet right through President Price’s heart.
Maybe if I stay here and close my eyes, everything will go back to the way it was.
I won’t be hiding in the Oval Office, scared for my life. It’s pathetic, really. I’m a goddamn marine. I shouldn’t be hiding, and I shouldn’t be scared
, but if I step out, I’m a dead man. I’d rather be hiding than dead. Maybe this is all just a dream and I’ll wake up at Mama’s house to the smell of baking cookies. I’ll have listened to her when she told me not to join the forces, and I won’t even be a Black Marine.
Why didn’t I listen to her?
“I-I-I.” The blond woman gasps. The last thing I saw was her swinging that rifle around and accidentally slitting her friend’s throat with a bayonet. She’s probably still hunched over her friend’s body, sobbing. I know she didn’t mean it, but it happened. And it wouldn’t have happened if she hadn’t killed the president. “Oh… Oh…”
I rub my palms against my eyebrows and slide my fingers through my hair.
“Ophelia,” the blonde moans. “Oh God…”
“We have to go, now!”
“I can’t leave—” the blonde says, and now it sounds like someone’s pulling at her. “Get off me! Get your fucking hands off me!”
She’s lost her mind. Her voice breaks and she screams at the top of her lungs.
“Eve,” someone says. “Please. There’s no time.”
This woman, Eve, doesn’t say anything. She sniffles, then movement fills the room. Another bang shakes the White House and I cup my hands over my ears. What the fuck is going on?
Heavy footsteps shuffle until finally, I can’t hear anything. No more voices, no more footsteps. Did they leave? I’m afraid to check. All I want to do is sit here and pretend none of this is happening. But I can’t sit here forever. I’m about to piss myself and my legs are cramping up.
I stick my face against the cabinet’s door and press my eye up to the keyhole.
Everyone’s gone.
With my elbow, I give a little nudge to the door and it creaks open. I poke my head out.
Nothing. Not a single sound. They must have left the White House as fast as possible. I slowly stand, my knees popping and my legs almost completely numb, and limp my way over to President Price. He’s lying flat on his back with his chair still under him. His legs dangle in an odd way and his shiny shoes point up toward the ceiling.