Eden Box Set

by G. C. Julien

  “Yeah, why is she so opposed to it?” I cut in. “Maybe she wanted to hide the fact that she drugs people.”

  Her nostrils flare and her eyes go huge. I slouch against the wall at the head of my bed and shut my mouth.

  “All I’m trying to say here is I think you’re right,” she says.

  What? What’s she talking about? I perk up. This was the last thing I expected to hear from Nola.

  Her eyes shift from me to the entrance of my room. Squeaky footsteps echo from down the hall, but for the most part, it’s quiet no doubt because the kids are in one of the classrooms drawing their version of Octopula.

  She leans in closer, her grip fastened gently around my shin. “About Eve, I mean. She said a few things about your mom that didn’t add up. I knew your mom, but Eve doesn’t know that… Earlier, you said Eve was the reason your mom was killed.”

  That’s exactly what I said, and I nod. I said it out of anger, but at the same time, part of me believes that to be true. Mom didn’t want to go to the White House. She only went because of Eve.

  “That’s not what she told me,” Nola says. She lets out another long breath and stares at me, her hazel eyes looking like little glass balls. “I don’t think we can trust her, Lucy.”

  CHAPTER 27 – GABRIEL

  “I’m not gonna force you to eat,” I say, crunching down on the rabbit’s crisp leg, “but if you plan on surviving out here, you’d better get used to meat.”

  Jada looks like she’s about to throw up, her cheeks ballooned and her hand pressed so tightly over her mouth that her knuckles have gone white.

  Yael, though, doesn’t seem to care. She grabs at the rabbit and tears off whatever she can. I’m assuming most of these women have been living off a plant-based diet. It makes sense if you think about it. It’s not like they’ve been going out hunting. From what I’ve heard, Eve’s been keeping them inside the walls for the last few years.

  I pull a long piece of meat off the rabbit’s back and wiggle it in the air, under Miller’s nose. She hesitates, her dark eyes darting between Freyda and the other women. But the second she gets a whiff of it, something that would typically make any meat eater hungry, she turns her head away. “I’ll pass.”

  “You guys don’t—” I correct myself. “You women don’t eat meat at all?” I probably look like a barbaric caveman. My beard’s already starting to grow back out. It’s prickly, but it grows fast, and I’m hunched forward with my back round and my greasy fingers in my mouth. They must think I’m repulsive.

  “Some women do,” Freyda says, “but not many. We’ve been trying to maintain some livestock, but we can’t keep up with the reproduction. Not only that, but the kids get attached to the animals. They give them names.” She smiles, and I stop chewing. I want to see every second of it. “Can you imagine how hard it is to slaughter an animal for meat after that? After these kids think of them as their best friends?”

  “Sammy was my favorite,” Dakota says, biting down on what looks like a piece of bread. She pulled it out of the bag I’m carrying. It won’t sustain her, but it’ll do until she’s starving enough to eat what I catch.

  The women laugh, and I feel like I missed out on a joke.

  “Sammy the Piggy,” Miller says, shaking her wavy locks away from over her eyes. “Poor guy.”

  “Did you kill it?” I say, my mouth full of food.

  “We couldn’t,” Jada says. “Everyone loved him. He used to chase some of the kids to play.” She stares toward the darkening sky. It looks like clouds are moving toward us, and a nasty breeze is following them. “So, he grew old until he died. Never wanted to reproduce, either.”

  I chuckle and a small piece of meat flies out of my mouth.

  I don’t like the way the sky looks right now. Seems like a nasty storm is on the way. Thankfully, we’re sitting beside an abandoned camper parked on the side of some old campground. The sign’s been shot and part of its corner is missing, but it’s a big green sign that reads, “Watercrest Campground.”

  I won’t go inside the campground to rest. God knows who’s in there. What a shame. It’s the perfect place to hide out and build a shelter. But the side of the road will have to do for us, for now. We could keep walking, but if we get stuck in the rain, it won’t be pleasant for anyone. There’s nothing worse (well, okay, there’s a lot that could be worse) than traveling with drenched clothes. And wet boots… I won’t even get started.

  The camper looks like it’s a 2040-something model. With its cylindrical shape, it seems like a giant bullet, and it’s an all-in-one, meaning, there’s no vehicle attached to it. It runs on all four wheels. It’s black and blue, for the most part, with chrome plates running along its side. I guess if I look back at the old campers they used to have in my mama’s time, this one would look like a spaceship in comparison.

  I had to shoot at the door to get inside, but it’s big enough for all of us. There are two beds in there, so I’m sure if some of us need to rest, we can figure out how to take turns. I’d be scared to lie down in it, though. I don’t even want to imagine how many dried-up insects are hiding in there, waiting to be crunched under the weight of someone’s body. Or mold… I stood in there for five minutes and my throat started hurting. I have allergies, like most people on this planet, but they’re not severe. But with my reaction to this place, it must be bad. I’m sure it was once nice, though. There’s even a little kitchenette with metallic counters and glass appliances. I don’t know how glass appliances became a fad in the forties, but they did. And, most important of all, there’s a bathroom. So, I can’t complain. I think, for now, this will do. At least until the storm passes.

  It would’ve been awesome to get the thing working, but there was no key inside, so I’m pretty much fucked. Not only that, but I doubt there’s any fuel in here. And if there was, that whole hot-wiring thing you see in the old movies, well, it doesn’t work. At least not on new cars. They’re too advanced for that. The biggest problem my generation has, or, had, with cars, was when they were hacked because the whole thing ran on a computer.

  Often, when someone’s car was stolen, it happened when someone else knew how to break through its security and start the car from either an H-Cap, a plain old computer, or even those freaky, super-advanced eggs: DDGs.

  And even if we had electricity, it’s not like I have hacking skills.

  “Shit,” Miller says, and she reaches for the top of her head.

  I’m about to ask her what’s wrong when I feel a big cold droplet land flat on the tip of my nose. It explodes into even smaller droplets, and then more start coming down.

  * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

  I wipe the cold water from my face and blink hard.

  I’m not the kind of person who enjoys taking a life. It isn’t something anyone enjoys, really. The only ones who do are sociopaths or people who are fucked in the head. If I have to, or if it’s part of my job, I’ll do it, as I did in North Korea, and I hated it every time. But after a while, you get used to it. Well, not used to it, but it becomes easier.

  Now, I don’t have a job. The only reason I’d have to kill someone is to defend myself.

  This man is probably thinking the same thing, but he’s being an idiot. The short-muzzled shotgun in his grasp is shaking from side to side while heavy raindrops splash off its metal. Every time he opens his mouth to talk, he spits out a bunch of water. The rain’s coming down so hard, it’s hard to hear him, too.

  “G-give me everythin’ you have!” he shouts.

  There’s so much running through my mind. We’re all struggling in this. I think of my mama and the way I found her lifeless body, and a rage starts to build inside me until all I can think about is killing this son of a bitch.

  It wouldn’t be hard, either.

  But that’s not who I am. My life is not at risk, and it would be senseless. If he wanted to shoot me, he’d have done it already. He’d have shot me and taken everything I have. There’s a reason he’s trem
bling, too. He’s probably never shot a gun before.

  He looks like a typical hillbilly. I don’t mean that in a condescending way, but I don’t know how else to describe him. He’s thin… really thin. He doesn’t look much older than thirty. He’s wearing a white tank that’s gone transparent because of the rain, and two dark nipples are visible under the cotton. He has a bit of a beard growing in, but it appears he has a hard time growing it. There are patches here and there, and it looks prickly. His head is shaved on both sides, but not the top. It’s probably blond, but it looks brown now that it’s wet, and its folded over his head likely in a hawk style.

  His jeans are ripped and there’s a big hole in his left pant leg. A long cut runs down his knee.

  I wonder how long he’s been out here or if this is where he lives. It looks more like a hunting cabin than a home, though. Maybe he got stuck out here. We’re standing in the middle of some forest off the highway. It’s a pretty big forest. I’ve been here before. A lot of hunters come out this way, so it doesn’t surprise me that there’s a cabin here.

  Hell, there could be a bunch of them.

  “Daddy?” comes someone’s voice.

  The man snaps his head toward the cabin, to where the voice came from, but his gun stays pointed at me. A little girl’s head sticks out the front door. Her eyes look like something on a toy doll. They’re big and bright like she’s seen a ghost. The poor kid is probably terrified.

  “Madison, get back inside!” the man yells, his country accent obvious.

  The last thing I want to do is traumatize a kid, but I have no choice. This is my best chance. I run up to him and grab the muzzle of his gun, tearing it right out of his hands. I’m about to smack him in the nose with the stock, but that little girl’s eyes are even bigger now.

  I can’t make her watch me break her dad’s nose, even if he is being a dick.

  So instead, I snap the gun open and pull out the shells. He probably has a spare pistol hiding in his belt, but he’d be a complete moron to take it out. Unless he wants his kid to watch him die, he’ll cooperate.

  “There’s no need for this,” I shout.

  “Look, man,” the guy says, throwing two arms in the air as if I’m pointing a gun at him. But I’m not. I’m standing there with his unloaded gun. “I-I’m sorry. I’m just tryin’ to take care o’ my little girl.”

  “I know,” I growl, and I stand there staring at him.

  My feet are killing me and my boots are drenched inside. I know he tried to kill me, but all I can think about is getting inside that cabin. I need shelter. I’ve been out here for a few days trying to build a shelter, but then the rain started and it wouldn’t stop. It’s fucking cold, too, and I’m shivering. I can barely feel my fingers.

  The rule of thumb is that a person can survive three hours without shelter in harsh conditions… I’m not too sure this would count as harsh conditions, being that we aren’t in the dead of winter, but I know my body, and I’m reaching my limit.

  He must see me eyeing his cabin or me shaking. Hesitating for a moment, he says, “Uh… You wanna come in and warm up? I got us a fire goin’.” He grins, revealing a set of crooked teeth. “I promise I won’t try ta shoot ya.”

  It’s almost like the animal side of him disappeared and he’s back to being a decent human being. I suppose that’s what happens when people are scared… When their survival instincts kick in and all they can think about is themselves and their family. They’ll do anything to protect what’s theirs.

  He must know I’m not a bad guy. If I were, I’d have shot him the second I took the gun from him.

  I nod, and he takes me inside.

  * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

  “Looks like this place has been empty for years,” Miller says, lifting one of the bed’s thin sheets. It’s brown, but it looks like it used to be blue.

  “Well, what d’you expect?” Dakota says, scrunching her freckled face. “Everyone’s dead.”

  “Not everyone,” I say, but Dakota gives me a dirty look. She was obviously exaggerating, and I didn’t catch on.

  She lets out a rough breath through her nostrils. “Well, no one’s been here in ages. Hopefully, the rain stops soon, ’cause this place is disgusting.”

  “At least it’s shelter,” Jada says. She sits down against the side table beside the bed, probably too freaked out to sit on the actual bed. I don’t blame her. She rubs her thin legs, stretches her neck, and sighs.

  She looks exhausted. They all do. Except for Freyda, who’s good at holding herself together. She’s probably tired as hell, but she’d never show it. She stands at the front of the camper, gazing out through the windshield. The rain makes the glass look wet, but on the inside, the camper is caked with dust. I can barely see the road from here.

  “How often did you find survivors?” she asks, turning her head sideways. She doesn’t make eye contact, but she’s looking at me.

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  “What are the chances we’ll run into someone?” she asks.

  They all stare at me like I hold the answers to everything. In this case, I guess I do. At least if I’m comparing myself to them. They’ve spent years locked up inside of Eden. They have no idea what’s out here.

  “The first year,” I say, “a lot of people died. I mean a lot.” I stare out through the camper’s windshield. I can almost see it all again. People screaming at each other, guns going off, glass shattering in the cities. It’s like the rain is recreating a scene in the road. “The second year felt eerie. Everything was empty. Running into someone was rare, and if you did, more often than not only one person came out of it alive. It’s a dog-eat-dog world out there.” I lean back against one of the kitchenette’s cupboards and bow my head. “It’s been downhill from there.” I glance up at Freyda who’s staring at me now, almost like she can see exactly what I’m thinking. Like she’s experiencing all of the pain, too. “I can’t give you an exact formula.” I rub my forehead. “Sometimes, I went months without seeing a single person. Other times, I saw a few families within the same week. It depends where you are. All I can say is that if you do come across someone, don’t trust them. The first year, maybe. But everyone’s grasping at straws now, trying to survive this shitty life. Most people have probably already killed someone else by now. They won’t hesitate to do it again.”

  I might have just traumatized them all. What have they been doing in there? In Eden? Living in some delusional paradise? Pretending the world around them wasn’t a complete hellhole?

  Freyda clears her throat and glances at the others. “We knew it was bad, but we didn’t realize it was that bad.”

  “That’s why we’re doing this, isn’t it?” Yael cuts in. Her accent is so interesting, it’s hard not to want to listen to her talk. “Trying to find a better Eden? Imagine the lives we could save.” She brushes her long black hair over one shoulder and her green eyes dart my way, but she doesn’t look at me. I can’t tell if she’s freaked out because I’m a man, or if she doesn’t trust me.

  “Yael’s right,” Jada says leaning the upper half of her body forward, her fingers wrapped around the side table’s ledge. “If we succeed, we could be saving countless lives.”

  “So, what aren’t you telling us, Gabriel?” Dakota asks. She crosses her arms over her chest and leans against the fridge’s glass doors.

  Not understanding what she’s getting at, I stare at her.

  “You’re obviously taking us to Area 82,” she says.

  My heart almost stops. I look at Freyda in a panic. How does Dakota know where we’re going? The plan was to get there first and then explain. They knew we were heading somewhere safe, but Freyda’s the only other person, aside from Eve, who knows it’s a military base.

  “What’s Area 82?” Miller asks.

  I’m surprised it’s Miller who doesn’t know about it. She’s the one with the military background. Dakota, though, is the pilot. What kind of shit was she involved in? How doe
s she know about Area 82?

  She smirks, but it isn’t a happy kind of smirk. It’s a cocky one. It’s like she has me right where she wants me. I part my lips, though I have no idea how I’m supposed to explain all of this right now, but I don’t have time to say anything.

  She jumps forward with what looks like a kitchen knife and pushes the blade hard against my neck. I look down at her without moving my face and she’s looking up at me like a wild animal. Her yellow teeth are visible, and her skin pulls so tightly across her face that her freckles seem to expand.

  “Who the fuck are you, really?” she says.

  CHAPTER 28 – EVE

  The sound of children laughing fills the main hall as I make my way toward Division Five, where Lucy sleeps. I may be pushing my luck with her, but I need her to know how serious I am about everything I said—about feeling reborn and wanting a connection with my godchild.

  Surely, she must sense it. She must know that all I want is to have her back in my life. Something’s changed inside me; something has shifted. I tilt my head back and gaze up at the ceiling, admiring every design, every cobweb, every color.

  I’m alive.

  I’ve never felt more wonderful.

  The rain pours down hard overhead, hitting the glass windows in the ceiling, but the sound doesn’t depress me. It relaxes me, makes me feel whole.

  I breathe in the scent of cool humidity and exhale a long breath, my lungs deflating. I bend forward and remove my heels to feel the cold tile against my skin.

  I want to keep feeling alive.

  “Eve, is that you?” comes someone’s voice.

  I turn to the side to find Agatha sitting on the same bench she does every day. A smile splits her wrinkled face, and her glazed eyes are narrowed on me as if she’s having a difficult time seeing me.

  Poor Agatha lost her glasses last year after a few children bumped into her while playing. Her glasses shattered the moment they landed on the tiles, and little pieces of glass slid underneath her bench. I suppose that’s what happens during the winter months—children become restless and climb on anything they can find.