by G. C. Julien
His eyes are wide open, and it looks like he’s staring at me. I don’t bother checking his pulse. His skin is dull and his lips are pale. Blood stains his collar, his shirt, and his wrist cuffs, probably from trying to fight off this woman.
A few other bodies fill the room. Two of them wear fancy suits and wired earpieces, but the other guy has full tactical gear on. How the fuck did these women pull this off? I think back. I remember running in here, into the Oval Office. I didn’t do it on purpose. I was being fired at, and the doors burst open.
It’s all coming back to me now.
Those blasts. They were like nothing I’d ever heard before. Homemade explosive devices or grenades. The women must have set a bunch of them off. And they weren’t alone, either. Every hallway, every room, every space in the White House was filling with smoke and gunfire.
President Price didn’t anticipate them bringing the fight inside.
That’s how they pulled this off.
It was a surprise to everyone. All military personnel were too busy fighting them off on the outside.
I straighten my back and walk toward the Oval Office’s window. Everything outside looks gray. The grass, the trees, the people…
The people.
I duck behind the president’s desk and peer over through the window.
Hundreds of women are running wild, waving weapons over their heads. Some have broomsticks, others knives, others pieces of wood. Five of them beat down on a man wearing military gear and he isn’t moving. He probably died a while ago, but they keep bashing him and the sound of bones crunching fills the air.
The shouting sounds like something out of a horror film, and even though the Oval Office’s windows are still in one piece, it’s as though I’m standing right out there with them.
A combination of anger and hatred almost seeps through the walls.
My heart beats hard, a pounding drumbeat that lets me know I’m alive… and terrified. I don’t know what to do. I can’t go out there. They’ll kill me. They’ll beat me until my bones turn to soup. They’re killing off any man they find. I crawl my way back over to the cabinet and slip inside.
Call me a coward, but I’d rather rot in here with piss and shit all over myself than be beaten with sticks and stones out there.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
I wake up to the smell of sulfur near my face.
“Freyda?” I moan.
She’s crouched beside me, waving a flameless match over a freshly lit candle.
“You’d better get cleaned up,” she says. “The women of Eden are going to want to meet you after they find out about you.”
CHAPTER 7 – EVE
“What do you mean, you don’t have it?” I hiss.
I pace back and forth in the theater’s Preparation Room and run my fingers through my hair.
“We have something else,” Perula says. Her voice is soft, as it always is, but this isn’t enough to calm me.
I need my Devil’s tea. How am I supposed to tell these women that we’re hiding a man within Eden’s walls? I’ll lose their trust, their loyalty. For years, I’ve advocated against the male species, and today, I stand to risk my rulership by contradicting what I’ve fought so hard to prove to these women—men are the reason our world fell apart.
Why associate with a man? I think of Zack, Madelaine’s son, and my world begins to crumble around me. First, a boy, and now, a man. And what will happen when this boy reaches adulthood?
I clench my teeth. I won’t let it happen. He will be gone before his sixteenth birthday—I will make sure of it. Sooner or later, his instincts will kick in, and he will show the women of Eden his true colors.
But that isn’t the problem. Right now, Gabriel is the problem. Not having my Devil’s tea is the problem. I grab the back of my neck and tug on the skin. My skin is moist and warm, and sweat drips from my hairline.
“Eve?”
“What?” I snap, but the frightened look in Perula’s eyes reminds me to compose myself.
“This’ll work,” Mavis cuts in, pointing at her big glass jug.
The liquid is reddish brown with little fruit pieces floating in it. Blackberries, strawberries, and blueberries.
“What is this?” I ask. “Alcohol?”
“It’s a brew,” Mavis says.
Is this supposed to make me feel better? I slow my breathing when I realize my chest is heaving and wipe my clammy palms against my pantsuit.
“Sorta like Devil’s tea,” Mavis continues.
She’s a lot bolder than her sister, which is what I need right now. I need someone to take charge—someone to explain to me that this is our only option and that it’s going to work. Someone who can put up with my anxiety by calming me, not cowering from me.
I tilt my head back and close my eyes, the fluorescent lights making me see yellow through my eyelids. I inhale a deep breath, eyes still closed. “What’s in it?”
“Does it matter?” Mavis asks, and I’m about to lose it on her when she says, “Don’t you worry yer pretty lil’ head, Your Majesty. We wouldn’t let you down, Eve. No, ma’am.”
Your Majesty?
I let out a long breath, almost instantly relieved. I’ve fought long and hard to regain the respect of these women after we separated—after families were torn apart so that the strong-bodied survivors could make it to Eden.
To be addressed with such respect is all I’ve ever wanted.
I’m the reason these women are alive.
I killed the fucking president of the United States. I killed my best fr—
I turn my head away. They should worship me for what I’ve done.
You aren’t this person, Eve.
Some days, I wish that little voice inside me would disappear forever. I’m not little Eve anymore—I’m not Mila’s big sister or my mother’s daughter. I’m Eve Malum—ruler of Eden. If I allow myself to remember who I once was, I’m afraid Eden will collapse.
“You’re sure this will work?” I ask, hovering over the jug of dark tea. I lower my head over the liquid and breathe in. It smells like a combination of herbs, nuts, flowers, and fruit. “And what’s it taste like? Because the women are used to their Devil’s tea.”
“Oh, it’s fine-dandelion-fine, my queen,” Mavis says.
My queen? I’m a little taken aback by all of her royalty references, but I can’t say that I mind them. She smiles at me, and her eyes narrow and cheeks lift.
“Mavis, are you high?” I ask.
“No, ma’am.” But she lets out a chuckle, followed by a tiny burp.
My eyes shoot toward Perula, who cowers further into herself and raises two open palms. “We had to test it somehow.”
“Oh, for God’s sake!” I say, and the pacing starts up again. “You two are like children!”
“Calm your knick-knockers,” Mavis says, and I glare at her. “You should be ’appy!”
“Happy?” I say. “Why the hell would I be happy about one of my Healers being as high as a kite?”
“It’s only temporary,” Mavis says. She chuckles again and makes her way to toward the jug. “Let me get ’em all ready for these fine ladies.”
She reaches for the jug’s handle, but Perula rushes to her sister’s side with a noticeable limp. “I’ll do it.”
“Oh, huff and puff, you big ole stick,” Mavis says.
“Is this how the women are going to behave?” I ask, giving her a full up and down. “Like petty children?”
“No.” Perula sticks a thumb out at Mavis who’s now grinning from ear to ear for no apparent reason. “She tried each ingredient as we mixed it in, you know, to make sure everything was in”—she makes air quotes—“‘working order.’ She may or may not have also eaten some of my new edibles thinking they were snacks. Clarisse made me a new batch yesterday—”
“Edibles?” I say. “What on Earth are you talking about?”
And why is Clarisse, Eden’s Chef, involved in this mess?
“Ede
ebables?” Mavis blurts out. Then, as if the memory of it has flickered on in her brain, she points a stiff finger in the air. “Oh, right. Well ya shoulda told me—hey, would ya look at this?” and she moves toward the big wood-framed mirror standing at the back of the room as if seeing it for the first time—as if she hasn’t spent hours in this room.
“They’re for my pain,” Perula says. “Clarisse agreed to make me some marijuana biscuits.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, shake my head, then wave a few fingers in the air. I don’t know how much longer I can handle these two. “Just make the drinks, Perula.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
“I don’t know how much longer we can keep going,” Freyda says.
If this were coming from anyone else, I’d probably snap. But Freyda means well, and she’s only vocalizing what everyone is thinking. I’m even beginning to wonder if this place—this paradise that I envision so clearly—exists.
When will I know when I’ve found out? How will I decide what’s a safe space for us to build a society? What am I even looking for? A cavern? A bay? A forest? I look down at Lucy. She’s so exhausted she can barely keep her eyes open.
Poor kid.
I have blisters on my feet that scrape against my socks and shoes that are now damp inside. I don’t understand how I’m still walking, but I can’t stop—I can’t give up. We’ve been walking for over three days with limited supplies—a few water bottles taken off the shelves of a grocery store, snacks that have to be eaten sparingly, and suitcases full of supplies such as clothing and tools that the women take turns dragging.
Surely, we’re close.
Soon, we’ll find land that’s safe and habitable.
“Eve,” Freyda presses. “We’ve already lost another dozen women. If we keep going like this, you’ll be the only one who makes it to wherever it is you’re taking us.”
I look back. Only several hundred women remain out of the thousands who initially followed me. Their eyes are sunken in, their bodies are shaking, and their steps are slow and staggered.
“All right,” I say. “Let’s take a break.”
Freyda waves an arm over her head and shouts out, “Let’s rest!” and everyone drops to the ground in a dramatic motion. Sighs and bellows are released as women land on the grass. Children burst out crying and grab on to their mothers or caretakers, and Lucy lets go of my hand to lie flat on her back. She stares up at the sky, her bright eyes darkening underneath the thickening clouds.
I can’t even begin to imagine her pain.
I don’t want to think of it. When I look at her, she reminds me of Ophelia and of what I’ve done.
“Oh God… Oh God!”
I scan the crowd of women until I see heads moving about sporadically. What’s happening? I push my way through, nudging bodies out of my way.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
But no one answers me—no one has to answer me. Lying in the tall grass is a little girl, no older than six years old, with clammy skin and a shiny forehead. She looks pale beside her mother, a frantic woman who rocks back and forth beside her daughter’s body.
Is she dead?
The mother focuses her hateful eyes on me. “This… This is your fault!”
She tries to stand but trips and lands on her hands and knees. “P-p-please, help her!” Her face is wet, covered in tears. “If you’d have let us stay longer in Acitok, we could have found medication!”
Acitok is the last town we walked through. Many women raided the stores for supplies—clothing, food, batteries, electrical wires, light bulbs, anything that might be useful to us in the future was collected. But after several hours, I decided it was time to go. Some women argued, stating that we could build a new home in Acitok, but it was too risky. It wasn’t a safe space.
“I didn’t stop anyone,” I say. “You could have stayed.”
Her eyes narrow into hateful slits and she bares her big, gummy teeth at me. “You know damn well we would have died if we stayed behind!”
She shifts her body weight upward, and this time makes it up onto her knees. She’s about to lunge at me when Freyda’s pistol appears in front of me, its muzzle aimed straight at the woman’s head.
“Back off,” Freyda says, and the woman’s eyes go wide.
She takes a few steps back, as do several women behind her, and raises her arms in submission.
“What’re you gonna do?” she asks. “Kill me? You promise to take us to safety, but we’re all dying! You aren’t protecting us! Where are we even going?” Her voice cracks.
A few women start arguing back and forth.
Freyda’s the only one who knows that I’m walking into this blind. If I admit to these women that I don’t have a destination in mind, I can’t protect them. All I sense in my gut is that if I keep walking a bit longer, I’ll bring them to safety.
“No one’s killing anyone,” I say.
“So where are we going?” she cries, and others join in.
“We want answers, Eve.”
“Where’re you taking us?”
“How long do we have to keep walking like this?”
I turn around, my gaze fixated on the horizon. What do I tell them? How am I supposed to—
But then, I see it, and memories flash in my mind like photographs. That mountain—I’ve seen it before. It has a dip in the middle, almost as if forming the letter “M.”
Where have I seen it?
I bite down on my teeth.
Think, Eve, think.
And then it hits me. There’s a prison located near this mountain—a massive penitentiary that used to house prisoners. A news article I found lying on Ophelia’s coffee table said as much. The picture, which was black and white, was of the prison with flames and smoke coming out of it. The damage was so severe they relocated the prisoners.
They were in the process of renovating and landscaping before the revolution began.
This is it.
This is where we’ll establish Eden.
I point toward the mountain that was referenced as Alpa in the news clipping. “That’s where we’re going.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
“The women are ready,” Freyda says, poking her head into the Preparation Room.
I give Perula a brief nod as a way of telling her to distribute the tea, and she scoops up the first tray of drinks. I sit down on the velvety red couch and scrape my nail against one of its big yellow buttons.
Everything will be fine.
Everything will be fine.
I know why I’m nervous—I’m afraid of retaliation. I’m afraid to lose all that I’ve worked for. What if these women turn against me? What if they no longer view me as a strong, capable leader?
But then something crosses my mind.
Why didn’t I think of this sooner?
Just as I did with Zack, the young boy, I will give the women of Eden the illusion of a choice. If something goes wrong—if Gabriel turns out to be like every other man on the face of this planet—the women will blame themselves.
I swing my body forward and land on my feet.
“Where ya goin’?” Mavis asks.
She’s seated on the floor’s filthy gray carpet that smells a thousand years old, her legs crossed in front of her. I wish this room had caught fire. Maybe then this carpet would have been replaced with tile.
I stare at Mavis. With that old body of hers, she’ll regret her position the moment she tries to stand.
Perula comes in for the second tray and gives me a big thumbs-up as if to say, “They’re loving it.”
I cross the Preparation Room, my heels barely making a sound against the carpet.
“Let’s get this over with.”
CHAPTER 8 – LUCY
“Lucy? It’s Lucy, right?”
I turn around, though I’d have recognized that voice anywhere. It’s the only male voice in Eden. Zack scratches the back of his neck and his bushy eyebrows move up on his face
. He looks uncomfortable. Probably as uncomfortable as I am right now.
I wipe my blueberry-stained hands against my pants.
What does he want?
A dozen little girls poke their heads out from behind a garden bed as if playing hide-and-seek. Every time Zack turns his head to the side, even in the slightest, they all duck and start giggling.
“Yeah, that’s me,” I say.
“S-sorry to bother you,” he says, “but have you seen Emily?”
What, are they best friends all of a sudden?
“She said she’d meet up with me today for school, but I haven’t seen her,” he rambles on.
I’m not sure how to feel about Zack. For the most part, he strikes me as a good person. He has soft brown eyes and a skin tone that reminds me of wet sand at the beach. I know I shouldn’t be judgmental because he’s a guy, but it’s hard not to be. With everything that Eve’s taught us, it feels like he’s the enemy.
“She’s sick,” I say, and it comes out meaner than I’d hoped.
“Oh,” he says. He looks around Division Three, still scratching the back of his head.
“Nice clothes,” is all I can think of saying.
He smiles at me, then rubs his palms against the fabric of his shirt. It’s beige, like most dresses here in Eden, but it’s a guy’s tunic with short sleeves and a small V-cut at the neckline with thick thread giving it a unique design. His matching pants look soft to the touch—almost like pajama pants.
“That Indian woman,” he says, “Sahana—”
“I know who she is,” I say.
He’s still smiling at me, but his expression is forced and uncomfortable. It’s hard not to feel bad for him. He seems likable.
“Do you know where to go?” I ask.
He shrugs his broad, bony shoulders and his shirt slides up at the same time. “No… I was waiting here for Emily. We were supposed to go to class together.”
I smirk at him. “Let me take you before you end up being found by someone like Mavis or Perula.”