Eden Box Set

by G. C. Julien

  The last thing I want right now is to get into a fight with a civilian, so I take a step back. I don’t want to hurt anyone, but if it comes down to it, I’ll be the one to walk away. “No, sir,” I say. “I haven’t seen her. If I do, I’ll send her this way.”

  He looks like he wants to punch me and cry on my shoulder all at the same time. I can’t even imagine how many parents are going through this right now. What did the women do? Leave their kids at home with the fathers? Mind you, that view is the result of the media. The truth is, there were a lot of men fighting alongside women. Many of them, those who hadn’t followed the brainwashed mindset, disagreed with what the military was doing. The news just didn’t talk about that.

  When all of this started, I remember hearing on the news how divorce rates skyrocketed and reached an all-new record. I was sitting at my mama’s house one evening when a bald news anchor appeared on her old-school 2040 TV (the kind of TV that still had a solid screen). He kept talking about how eight out of ten married couples were splitting up. What shocked me the most was to find out that a bunch of men started segregating themselves in certain places all over the United States. So, in some neighborhoods, it was only men, and in others, only women. You can imagine how dangerous it was crossing through the opposite sex’s neighborhood. I’ve never done it, and I wouldn’t have tried it, either.

  I watch as the father takes off, throwing metal debris and airplane parts into the air, looking for his daughter. It looks like a 797 passenger plane. Its nose is smashed into the pavement and its wings are in a bunch of pieces, but it’s obvious they sliced through a few buildings on the way down. Glass lies everywhere, and a bunch of apartment buildings have collapsed. Bodies are piled up all over the place, and I do my best not to look at the carnage.

  I can’t stay here.

  I know how this works. I’ve been trained for it. People are panicking right now, trying to find survivors, but for the families that are still together, they’ll try to find some sort of shelter and they’ll wait. They’ll wait for the government to step in and come to their rescue.

  But that isn’t going to happen.

  An electromagnetic pulse attack is so unpredictable, but given the way those planes came down, I’m assuming the weapon was launched over the city. And if the blast was big enough, it probably affected a good chunk of Washington. But what scares me about all of this, and what has my heart pounding against my sweat-stained T-shirt, is how shitty America’s electrical grid actually is. No one talks about it, but for those of us in the military, we know all about it. And with all the new equipment and nuclear weapons that have been exposed over the last decade, I wouldn’t be surprised if this EMP’s residual blast wiped out America’s entire grid.

  I don’t know.

  But what I do know is that people who stay inside the city are as good as dead. It’s only a matter of hours, days, or at the most, a week, before people start acting like a bunch of savages. Killing each other for food, shelter, or water. This place is going to turn into a real shitshow, and fast.

  I pull a backpack off a dead teenager’s back and scavenge through its contents. A big plastic water bottle, which I keep, some music player and a bunch of school books, which I dump beside him.

  Now, all I can do is try to find an analog radio somewhere to find out what’s going on. Find out if this is nationwide or an isolated case. If it’s nationwide, I’m going to start walking until I’m as far away from people as possible. I’ll pick up supplies from bodies, even though I hate doing that. If I can find an abandoned cottage somewhere in the woods, or somewhere up on a mountain near a source of water that I can filter, I should be able to survive for a bit.

  If my mama were still around, I’d do everything in my power to protect her. But now, what’s the point? Who do I have? Why would anyone even want to live in a world like this?

  I wish that humans’ survival instincts weren’t so goddamn strong. There’s so much suffering around me, and it’s only going to get worse. But I can’t give up. Maybe after this nightmare… this hell on Earth… Maybe after all of that, I’ll be able to help rebuild what’s been torn to pieces.

  That’s what Mama would want.

  * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

  “You deaf?” Freyda asks.

  I look back at her and realize we’re back in the cold, dark basement.

  “Sorry,” I say. “I zoned out.”

  “Yeah, well, I hope you aren’t this spacey when you’re leading us to this oh-so-special place of yours,” she says.

  “Leading us?” I ask. “Are you coming?”

  She drops my ropes, and I pick at the knot around my wrist. “Half these women aren’t cut out for the outside world. You seriously think Eve’s gonna send any of them with you?”

  I’m trying hard to fight the urge to smile, but it isn’t working. The corner of my lip twitches, so I clear my throat, but it comes out like a deep cough. “I don’t know,” I say. “I’m sure Eve knows best.”

  Freyda isn’t buying it. She rolls her eyes, opens the big metal door, and steps behind it, leaving only a portion of her face inside the candlelit basement.

  “Get some rest. I’ll be back for you when it’s time.”

  CHAPTER 16 – EVE

  She walks faster at the sight of me, her fluffy hair looking like a bonnet atop her head.

  “Nola,” I say, and her shoes squeak against the main hall’s tiles. She turns around, her shoulders hunched forward.

  “Y-yes? Oh, Eve!” she says, and she lets out a laugh. “I didn’t see you there.”

  I’m not an idiot—she was clearly trying to avoid me. But why?

  “Where are you off to?” I say as softly as I can. “I saw you leave during our meeting.”

  She flicks her wrist as if it’s no big deal. “Had a little”—she rubs at the air in front of her stomach—“belly issue, if ya know what I mean.”

  I tilt my head back and watch her, but I realize I’m staring when her eyes begin shifting from side to side—an obvious sign of discomfort. “Ah, yes,” I say. “Of course. I understand.” I let out a sharp breath through tight lips in an attempt to fluff it off. “I hope you feel better soon, Nola. When you do, could you please swing by my office?”

  She plucks an invisible thread from her dress and shifts her weight.

  “I want to tell you about the meeting,” I say. “The part you missed, I mean.”

  “Oh,” she says, and it comes out almost too quickly. She lets out a forced laugh, bows her head, and says, “Yes, of course, Eve. I’ll head over shortly.”

  I watch her as she takes short, quick steps toward Division Five. What is she up to?

  “Oh, Eve,” I hear and turn around. “You were wonderful.”

  It’s Madelaine, Zack’s mother. Her big brown eyes are wide open and she’s grinning from ear to ear.

  “What a place,” she says, extending her arms on either side of her. “Eden, I mean. It’s… It’s incredible what you’ve done here, Eve.”

  What I’ve done? I smile at her, hoping she’ll continue. I want to hear more. I want to know how she views Eden, and why she finds it so incredible. After all the work I’ve put into creating this paradise, it’s an extraordinary feeling to have someone remind me of it—to have someone express their gratitude for all I’ve done.

  “How long did it take you?” she asks. “I mean… the gardens, the livestock, the solar-paneled electricity. You saved these women, Eve. Out there—” She doesn’t even give me the time to answer. Instead, the smile on her face disappears as if it were nothing more than a sticker being peeled off. “It’s horrible, Eve… There’s nothing left. I mean, aside from a few survivors who are trying to build societies, there’s nothing. The only reason I survived with Zack is that we followed a group of women…” She’s so animated, slapping the air around her. “They kept us alive. They knew what they were doing. Two of them were ex-military, and they protected us. For a while, I mean… And this place, Eden. I’d
heard about it from other women. But I thought it was a myth. I can’t believe you pulled this off. We’d talk about you, you know, at night, around our fire. Women cherish you, Eve. The word’s spreading across America like wildfire. You’re the reason so many women survived that day. I heard it myself… Someone said Bethany didn’t want to attack. Is it true? Did you turn against Bethany to save the rioters? I heard they were planning on launching missiles and bombs on everyone around the White House.”

  There are so many thoughts rushing through my mind that I’m not sure where to begin. My name is known to women across America? Because I disobeyed Bethany, the leader of Washington’s most notorious underground resistance? What else was I supposed to do? She’d intercepted military communication regarding President Price’s kill order. How could anyone stand around and let that happen? Let thousands upon thousands of women be massacred at the hands of men?

  “It’s true,” I say. “I became privy to classified information that would have killed countless women. So yes, I reacted.”

  Her lips stretch so wide I can see the back of her throat.

  “How’s your son doing?” I ask.

  Truthfully, I don’t care about her son. I wish she’d come to understand that one day, he will grow up, and he will pose a threat to all of Eden. But she’ll never see that—she’s his mother.

  The smile on her face doesn’t fade one bit. “Oh, he’s doing great. I mean, aside from all the looks he’s getting, he seems pretty happy. He’s already made a few friends—”

  “Friends?” I say. “Who?”

  Does she think I’m being inquisitive? Why should I, leader of Eden, care who this boy is making friends with? It must seem suspicious, but all I want is to ensure that Eden is safe.

  Her eyes shift from me to a crowd of women crossing behind me, the sound of their soft shoes tapping against the tiles.

  “Oh, um, some girls his age,” she says. “I think he said their names were Emily and Lucy.”

  I clench both fists but immediately loosen my fingers and tilt my head to one side. “Oh, isn’t that wonderful.”

  * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

  “Wonderful, just fuckin’ wonderful,” Freyda growls. “Hello? My name is Freyda Mills. Can anyone hear me? Hello?”

  She’s hunched over the radio with one hand pressed on the earpiece and the other hovering over many buttons. She presses something else, and the static grows louder, filling the room with a disturbing sound.

  Two women stand at the edge of the table, their eyes wide and their arms wrapped around each other. I can’t tell if they’re sisters or lovers, but they look terrified.

  “What if there’s nothing out there?” one of them asks.

  The other one, a young short-haired woman with a dragon tattoo on her shoulder, squeezes her hand and says, “You can’t think like that, babe. I’m sure there’re people out there trying to fix this whole mess.”

  Freyda looks up at the couple, but her lips don’t part. It seems as though she’s about to say something but then decides against it and instead changes the radio’s channel. Maybe she doesn’t want to discourage them, but I know precisely what she’s thinking—there’s nothing out there and no one is coming to save us.

  “This is Freyda Mills. Is anyone receiving this?”

  The static sound is intermittent, crackling inches away from her face. Her fist is clenched so tight around the microphone that her knuckles look like sharp icicles. Poor Freyda. She’s been doing everything in her power to find a solution to this disaster.

  The problem is, there is no solution—at least not out there. I’ve had weeks to prepare for this, months, even. I knew a war was coming and that everything would eventually collapse. Men would rather die than submit to women’s demands.

  So, while these women may dread the future before them, I can’t help but revel in all of this. What more could they want? The world is at our fingertips. We can rebuild a society as we see fit without the presence of men to bring about heartbreak and destruction.

  “What about Canada?” says the young woman with the tattoos. She rubs her arm with her dirt-stained fingers, her thick brows slanted in despair. “Or Mexico? Or… or Europe? I mean, someone’s gonna come for us, right?”

  I clench my teeth and wish I could say, “You shouldn’t have fought in a war if you weren’t prepared for the consequences.”

  But I can’t turn on her. Right now, we need to stick together. I understand she’s afraid—everyone’s afraid. Our future, or at least the future these women thought they had, has been stripped from us.

  Right now, I need to be strong. I need to show these women that a better life is possible now that the corrupt society in which we once lived has been abolished. We have the power to create our own laws—to decide what’s right from wrong.

  I shake my head and reach for her tattooed shoulder. “There’s no telling how much damage the weapon caused.” I’m not about to get into the technicalities of an EMP attack based on everything Vrin explained to me. “All we know is that right now, more than ever, we need to focus on surviving. There’s no telling what’s going on in other countries or if anyone is coming to help.”

  This woman’s girlfriend, or wife, winces and parts her slobbery lips. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this. N-n-not this bad. How the fuck did a few marches and protests lead to the end of the fucking world?”

  “A few marches?” I clear my throat when I realize I’m about to rip her head off. “This isn’t about marches and protests. It’s—it was,” I correct, “about everything. How long have women lived under the rulership of men? How long?” It takes everything in me not to swear, but I can’t help the tone of my voice anymore. “You all heard the stories.” I twirl around in a circle, eyeing the dozens of women who followed us into this room. “Your mothers, your grandmothers. They’ve been fighting a war against men for decades! The harassment, the abuse, the objectification! And the only reason”—I let out a short laugh, even though nothing about this is funny—“the only reason men finally got scared is because we started outnumbering them. Maybe that was God’s way of telling them their time was up. And what did they do? They retaliated.” I point a stiff, white-knuckled finger at the ground. “They removed women from the government, from the military, from the police force… All for what? To control us like they’ve always done!”

  The women around me nod aggressively, and one at the back yells, “That’s right!”

  “So no,” I continue, “this isn’t about a few marches or protests. This is about all the women of America finally coming together to put a stop to the bullshit we’ve had to endure for centuries! We aren’t objects. We’re human beings. It isn’t up to men to decide what we do with our bodies, or what we don’t do. It isn’t up to men to decide which career path a woman is allowed to follow. Men are the reason we’re here today. Were you not there when they started firing?” My voice cracks and I take a deep breath. “They fucking shot down women point-blank for stepping too close to the White House. If that’s the America we once had, I want nothing to do with it.”

  “Me neither!” someone shouts.

  “Eve’s right,” someone else says.

  The woman in front of me wipes her tears, clears her throat, and opens her mouth to say something, but an unexpected noise fills the room—the sound of a woman’s choppy voice through the radio’s speaker.

  “H-h-e…o? Da…y Wy…t here from Pens… W-w-e’re f… vivors. Is an… ther—” and everything goes quiet as if the radio’s been compromised.

  “Fuck!” Freyda shouts, slapping another open palm against the table’s flat surface. She twists the nob over and over again, hoping to catch the same signal.

  She slowly turns around. The zippers on her pant pockets scratch the chair underneath her and her chin touches her shoulder before she lets out a long breath. “We lost the signal.”

  * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

  “Close the door,” I say.

  Freyda
slips into my office and carefully closes the door. “You okay?”

  I lean on my desk, my chin on my closed fist. “Am I being crazy?”

  She walks across the room, pulls the chair out from under the desk, and sits down with a soft thump.

  “Depends on your definition of crazy,” she says, winking.

  How does she always manage to lighten the mood? She’s my rock. All this stress—this anxiety—would be unmanageable without her by my side. A knot sits in my stomach, and I know the reason for it. Freyda is the only woman I trust to follow Gabriel to this promised land of his. If he gets out of line, she’ll straighten him out, and she’ll protect my women.

  But how can I ask her to leave? What will I do without her? And how long will it take? What if they’re gone weeks… months?

  She must sense my anxiety. She clears her throat and slides her chair a bit closer. “I don’t think you’re being crazy.” She reaches for me across the desk. Her skin is warm and soft, and I immediately feel comforted. “What other option is there? We can’t stay here. Gabriel’s right. It’s only a matter of time before some crazy assholes find us. And we’re not prepared—”

  I let out a sharp breath. “I know, Freyda, I know.”

  She means well, and although for the last five years, I’ve done everything in my power to avoid training women for combat, I’m beginning to wonder if she’s been right all along.

  “I’m not trying to undermine you—”

  I shake my head and offer a soft smile. “I know, Freyda. You’ve done nothing wrong. It’s me. I don’t even know what I’m doing anymore.”

  She squeezes my hand and leans forward. “You’re doing what’s best for these women.”

  Am I? I stare at her blue eye, and then her green one. Some days, when I look at Freyda, I’m mesmerized by her beauty. Other days, especially when I’m feeling as anxious as I am right now, those eyes frustrate me beyond belief—they don’t match, and I don’t know which one to look at when I speak to her.