Eden Box Set

by G. C. Julien

  Her lips curve into a pout and she makes a funny face. “Of course I didn’t pay for them, silly. But I didn’t steal them, either. Laws don’t exist anymore.”

  “Why not?” I ask.

  I think I’m starting to annoy her. Maybe I’m ruining her excitement.

  “The world you knew doesn’t exist anymore, Lucy.”

  My name doesn’t sound too great coming from her mouth. Not like it used to, anyway. Not like when she used to bring me a cookie every time she came to visit Mom. I’m a bit old for cookies now, but the thought was still sweet. And every time she’d see me, she’d give me a big hug. She was like a second mom. She always has been. So, what’s changed? Is this because she lost her sister? I mean, she has been bizarre ever since. But it’s like she’s getting worse every day since Mila died.

  Although I’d never say this to her, it’s like she’s gone crazy.

  She walks toward me, her boots making a soft ticking sound against the thin carpet. She then kneels without losing her balance. It’s like she’s walked in those boots her entire life.

  “I need you to make me a promise, Lucy.”

  She grabs my shoulders and stares at me until I become uncomfortable.

  “You can’t call me Aunty Eve out loud anymore.”

  Why did she say it like that? Aunty Eve. Like it’s some abominable or poisonous word. I don’t say it like that.

  “Can you do that? Can you keep that our little secret?”

  “Why?” I ask. I’m not trying to be rude; I’m confused.

  Her lips go tight and she breathes out through her nostrils. “It wouldn’t be fair to the others.” She brushes my cheek with her bruised-up hand, but I pull away. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t hurt. I just lost my mom, and now she wants to run away from me, too? Afraid I’m going to cry, I bite down.

  “These women,” she says. “All of them… They’ve followed me here because I promised to protect them. They see me in a certain light. I can’t have you going around calling me Aunty Eve. It’ll ruin everything.”

  What she means to say is I’ll embarrass her. I yank myself out of her grip and start walking toward the door.

  “It doesn’t change anything, Lucy,” she says. “I’ll still be here for you.”

  I look back at her, and I can’t help but glare. How could she do this to me after everything that’s happened? We only have each other left. Why’s she trying to push me away?

  “Don’t worry,” I say, “I’ll keep my big mouth shut.”

  * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

  “Lucy?”

  Poor Nola. I’m always zoning out on her when she’s talking to me.

  “Sorry,” I say. I remember what Eve told me five years ago. I remember the day she broke my already broken heart. Eventually, I got over it. I realized that it was just a name. She still came to visit me, though not as much as I would have liked. But she hasn’t been supportive at all. It’s like she doesn’t even care about me anymore. So why should I keep her secret? Why should I lie to Nola about Eve being my aunt? Eve doesn’t deserve my loyalty.

  “Eve asked me not to tell anyone,” I admit.

  “Tell anyone what?” Nola asks, tilting her head to the side.

  If there’s one person I now know I can trust, it’s Nola.

  I look up at her. “Eve’s my godmother.”

  CHAPTER 18 – GABRIEL

  “I don’t even get to take a nap, first?” I say.

  I know I’m being a smart-ass, but I can’t help myself. I want to make her smile. It’s not working, though. She still has that same rigid face she always has when she comes down into the basement.

  “What do you need before we leave?” she asks, matter-of-factly.

  Straight to the point. I like that.

  “Well,” I say. “It should take us about a week, give or take, if we’re walking twelve hours per day.”

  “Twelve hours?” she asks, and for the first time, she shows some form of expression on that beautiful face of hers. Her eyes bulge out a bit and her thick bottom lip hangs open.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask.

  “That’s a lot to expect of women who’ve been secluded inside prison walls for the last five years.”

  I didn’t look at it that way. I’ve spent the last few years traveling throughout America. Walking doesn’t faze me. I’ve walked twenty-four hours straight more than once. It’s no wonder I’ve had to swap my boots a few times.

  “We’ll start slow,” I say. “Maybe four hours on the first day.”

  She crosses her arms. “I don’t understand. What makes you so sure this place hasn’t already been taken over by a bunch of military men?”

  I don’t mean to laugh, but I can’t help myself. “You think the few surviving military men give a shit about fulfilling their duties as soldiers? They’re human, too, just so you know. I’m sure they’re more preoccupied with trying to find food than they are trying to rebuild some kind of military team. And what would be the point of rebuilding an army, anyway? What’re they gonna do? Storm through America and kill women? Come on. The war’s over. Aside from a few savages out there, no one gives a shit about gender anymore.”

  She gazes up at the ceiling, an obvious sign that she’s lost in thought. She must believe part of what I’m saying.

  “We need a good supply of food and water,” I say. “Maybe extra layers of clothing. It’s getting a bit chilly out there.”

  She dismisses my comment and instead walks closer to me, her boots clapping against the floor. She puffs out her chest and pulls her shoulders back.

  “So, is that the real plan?” she asks. “You’re going to take us to some old military base and we’re going to try to repair a plane? I mean, am I the only one who thinks this whole idea is fucking insane?”

  I’m about to start listing off all the reasons why staying here is an even worse idea than the far-fetched possibility of getting a plane to work, but she keeps going.

  “I mean, it doesn’t make any sense. First of all, I highly doubt that the base is empty. If it’s as protected as you say it is, I’m sure survivors have found it by now.”

  “It’s pretty secluded. I doubt anyone has traveled that f—”

  “And second, even if we somehow got a plane to work again, where would we get the fuel? You’re telling me the fuel hasn’t evaporated over the last five years?”

  I cock an eyebrow. “It’s a massive tank…”

  “And what if we get lost? Who’s to say you even know how to get there? It’s not like you have some GPS to follow. You’re going based on what, exactly? Memory? Visual cues?”

  I can’t help but smile. She’s completely freaking out. I never thought I’d see her like this. She always looks so composed, but right now, she’s having a meltdown.

  “What’s so funny?” she snaps.

  I shake my head. “I’m not laughing.” I instinctively reach for her shoulder to comfort her. Surprisingly, she doesn’t pull away. “I don’t know you. I’ll admit that. But from what I’ve seen, you’re a strong woman. I’m assuming you’re stressed out because Eve asked you to lead the group. Trust me, I know the feeling. I’ve led a few missions myself, and the stress can get to you.”

  Her intimidating eyes narrow on me. “Missions?”

  Fuck.

  She pulls away and looks at me like I’m the vilest thing she’s ever seen. “Oh my God. How did none of us realize this? I mean, it all makes sense. You’re taking us to a goddamn base. You’re fucking military.”

  “What? I—”

  “Don’t even try to smooth talk your way out of this one, Gabriel. Admit it. Fucking admit it!”

  Her raspy voice carries throughout the basement and her face contorts, creating shadows around her eyes.

  I raise my hands. “Hear me out.”

  “Oh, I’m listening, and you’d better start talking.”

  “It’s not like I joined when all of this was happening,” I say. “I didn’t join the Black
Marines to fight a gender war.”

  She throws her head back and lets out a snicker that makes me think she’s losing her mind. “And on top of it, the Black Marines! Oh, this keeps getting better and better.”

  “No, no—it’s not like that.”

  “Then what’s it like, Gabriel?” she says with a hiss. “Because from where I’m standing, you’re the enemy. Why the fuck should we follow you to your goddamn military base? Does Eve know about this? I mean, how dumb would we be to follow a Black Marine onto military territory? What’re you planning, Gabriel? To make us your prisoners? Huh? Is that it?”

  She has so much fury inside her that it makes me weak in the knees. I never intended for any of this. The last thing I want is for Freyda to hate me. And that’s what’s happening right now. She’s looking at me like she wants to rip me in half with her bare hands.

  “How many did you kill?” she says, but it sounds more like an accusation.

  “What?”

  “Women!” she snaps.

  “I didn’t—”

  “Bull fucking shit!”

  “Would you just hear me—”

  “I knew this was a bad idea. I knew you were like the rest of them. I can’t believe I let you convince me that—”

  “Freyda!” I growl, and I immediately feel guilty for raising my voice.

  But it seems to work. She stops rambling and looks at me, obviously taken aback by authoritative tone.

  “I swear to God, I haven’t killed a single woman during all of this.” I aim a finger at the cement under my feet. “You have no idea what I’ve been through. No idea how bad the corruption was. I saw men being dragged away for not wanting to take part in the war. The military was wiping them out. Making them disappear. I shouldn’t have stayed when I found out about the gender war, but what was I supposed to do? I’m human. I have survival instincts, too.” I don’t break eye contact. I need her to know how serious I’m being. “I had to blend in. You think I enjoyed hearing that my mother was nothing but a useless piece of shit? That all women deserved to be raped and beaten? You don’t think it took everything in me not to want to kill my commanders where they stood? My mother meant everything to me. So no, I wasn’t on their side. I risked my life trying to protect women during this war. You have no idea how many men I’ve killed. Men I considered friends… because they got brainwashed into believing that women were the root of all evil. You think that was easy for me? Watching my friends try to rape innocent women? I had no side, Freyda. What was I supposed to do? Women hated me for being a man, and my own gender started hating me for not being hateful enough. If I were like the rest of them, I wouldn’t have killed Adam and his goons. I wouldn’t have stopped them from raping your women. I would’ve joined in.”

  She wants to believe me, I can see it in her eyes. She’s searching me. Analyzing every muscle on my face to detect a lie. If she was a good police officer, then she’d know I was telling the truth.

  “If I could go back,” I say, “I wouldn’t have tried following in my father’s footsteps. I became a Black Marine because of him. Because I was searching for something. If I’d known they were going to assign me to this whole nightmare against my will…”

  “Okay,” Freyda say. “I get it.”

  My heart rate slows down a bit. “So, you believe me?”

  She averts her eyes. What’s bothering her? It isn’t about me anymore. There’s something she isn’t telling me.

  “Freyda?”

  “It’s nothing,” she says, but the moment her eyes meet mine, it’s like something inside of her softens.

  Maybe she does trust me, somewhere deep inside. Somewhere underneath that unbreakable guard of hers.

  “Eric,” she says, “that was my husband’s name. He was a cop, too. Masculine kind of man, but not overly, you know? Not macho. You remind me of him. He was a good cop, too. Great cop, actually. But when this whole revolution started… I don’t know. Something changed. He started getting crabby after his shifts. Started raising his voice at me… Punching holes through our walls.” She rubs her forehead and starts pacing back and forth like she’s reliving the whole thing. “Then, when the force let me go, he said it was probably for the best. He would’ve never said that before. He would have fought for me, but he didn’t. And it only got worse after that up until the day he got shot on duty. I never understood what happened. This whole time, I’ve been trying to understand where all his anger was coming from. But it all makes sense now.”

  She stretches her back and clears her throat. I’m assuming she’s trying to get rid of a lump. Trying to mask any form of emotion from me.

  “Anyways, I guess that answers it,” she says.

  “The brainwashing, you mean?”

  She nods but doesn’t say anything.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. I know an apology isn’t much, but it’s the only thing I have to offer.

  “It’s not your fault,” she says. “I appreciate you telling me about it.”

  “You going to tell Eve about this?” I ask.

  She scoffs like I’m a complete moron. “She’d kill you. Honestly, I don’t understand how she doesn’t already know—”

  “Is that a no?”

  “Relax, I’m not an idiot.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask.

  “If Eve kills you, we don’t stand a chance trying to find new territory.”

  “So, this isn’t about wanting to spare my life?” I ask, and I smirk, even though it’s probably not the time to be a smart-ass right now.

  She pulls a knife from her belt and walks toward me. My heart skips a beat. What is she doing?

  “Whoa,” I say, but she rolls her eyes and grabs my wrists.

  “You’re a bit of a wuss for an ex-marine,” she says, slicing the knife through the rope’s knot.

  “Maybe you intimidate me,” I say, towering over her. She looks up at me, her neck craned back, and for a second, it looks like she’s about to smile. She rips the broken ropes from around my wrists and steps back.

  “No, Gabriel, this isn’t about sparing your life. You happen to have something we want, which makes you valuable. Nothing more. And to be honest, when this is all over, I can’t guarantee Eve won’t kill you.”

  I swallow hard. Was that supposed to be her motivational speech? Her pep talk? If that’s the case, she needs a lot of practice.

  She gives me an impatient up and down and arches one eyebrow. “You ready to go, or what?”

  CHAPTER 19 – EVE

  It looks like an old rock you’d find by a river: matte gray with green and brown muck all over it. I rub my thumb against the green parts, trying to clean it off, then run my fingers along its cold metallic chain.

  Mila loved this necklace. My mother bought this for her when she was twelve years old. It’s a metallic egg that opens up, and once open, it projects a holographic screen displaying the wearer’s name, address, and contact information for the family in the event the child ever gets lost. It was a huge fad back then. I remember watching Mila open it for Christmas, and the way she’d jumped up and down so hard her glasses fell off her face.

  My mother bought it to make Mila happy, even though she didn’t quite understand its concept. Mila, on the other hand, constantly raved about it, explaining how DDGs (short for Digital Dino Eggs) were the next best thing to replace holographic phones.

  “They’re solid, and… and… and,” she’d said, her mouth wide open and her bright eyes bulging out behind her thick-rimmed glasses. “They can do just about anything! How’re you guys not excited? I mean, look.”

  And then she went on to project a prepopulated video on the wall. It had something to do with a wild flock of birds—something short and cheesy. It wasn’t at all interesting, but the look on her face made it worthwhile.

  It was one of those things that all kids had and the kind of jewelry that was offered at different levels of quality. The real ones, golden eggs, sold at around twenty thousand doll
ars. Each one provided access to the internet, among hundreds of other cool functionalities, including video projection. The DDG was also virtually impossible to steal thanks to its technology. It could be found anywhere and couldn’t be reprogrammed to belong to anyone else. The coolest functionality, at least in my opinion, was something called the Leash. Basically, no matter how far you distanced yourself from the DDG, it always brought itself back to you. If you were stupid about using the thing, you’d scratch it up, but kids didn’t seem to mind—at least, not about the ones of midrange quality that had this functionality. Usually, the rich kids had the better ones, and you could distinguish social class by watching them throw their eggs into an open field only to watch it come rolling back.

  Most kids, including Mila, didn’t have a high-functioning DDG, but she didn’t seem to care. It was the principle—the idea of even wearing one around her neck that made her feel important.

  I’d always promised her I’d buy her a real one someday, when I had enough money to buy a car. Even if I had to finance, I’d do it.

  And now, Mila’s DDG looks like it’s gone through too many laundry cycles. Only one patch of it remains shiny, and it’s no bigger than a pinkie nail. I crack it open and rub my index finger along its little black screen. There’s no battery left and it doesn’t work anymore. But what strikes me as odd is that following the EMP attack, it still worked. It may have had something to do with the metal structure.

  I sigh and tuck it back into my desk.

  I cannot allow myself to be reunited with feelings of grief. The best way to honor Mila’s memory is to continue ruling Eden—to continue providing the best life possible for women who have endured far too much suffering.

  You don’t even care about these women.

  I stand up and roughly brush my pant legs, even though they’re clean as always.

  I do care. If I didn’t care, I wouldn’t be allowing Freyda to leave with some man we don’t even know to chase after some promised land.