by G. C. Julien
“You did great!” she says, her eyes so wide they remind me of oversized marshmallows.
Dr. Lewis sticks a little Band-Aid over the hole. “All done, kiddo.”
I try to smile at her, but my lips don’t even move.
I glance back at Nola, who seems like she’s about to break out into a song. She’s so expressive. It’s like anything she feels or thinks, she shows it right away. I’d be scared to see what she looks like if she’s upset. She probably wouldn’t even look like herself. I bet her face would get all twisted and she’d yell. But then again, Nola doesn’t seem like the type of person who gets upset.
That reminds me of Mom.
Mom barely ever got upset. She always liked things to be peaceful. And they were, up until that Jason guy started following us more and more. Then she got stressed out, and it showed. I was scared, too, but Mom was so stressed, I didn’t want to make things worse. I didn’t want to tell her I was scared. It would only stress her more.
“Why don’t we go find you something to eat?” Nola asks. She wiggles her fingers at me like I’m four years old. Doesn’t she know how old I am? I might be a kid, but I’m not a toddler. I can walk myself.
I slide off the stool and stand up. She stops wiggling her fingers when she notices that I don’t want to hold her hand, but the smile on her face doesn’t go away.
I want to tell her to leave me alone, but at the same time, I don’t want to be alone. I don’t know how to feel.
“Come on in,” Dr. Lewis calls out, and a lady comes in with a baby in her arms. It’s crying and she keeps bouncing it against her chest. It must be a girl. Before we left the city, Eve said that anyone with little boys had to stay behind.
A lot of people got upset about that, but obviously, those were the ones who had little boys. The moms with girls still followed Eve.
A nasty feeling sits in the bottom of my stomach. I’m so angry I want to tear the baby out of her arms, and I feel guilty for even thinking this. I’d never do that. But I’m so mad. Why does this little girl get to have her mom and I don’t?
“Come on, sweetheart,” Nola says. She wraps a warm arm around my shoulder, and although I want to pull away, I don’t. Because at the same time, I need the comfort.
I don’t even know this lady, but if I’m lucky, maybe she understands me.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
“Shhhh,” someone says, and a young girl giggles.
It’s pretty dark in the corridors at night, so it’s hard to imagine anyone walking around and knowing where they’re going. And why is everyone up so late, anyway?
Another voice carries throughout the hall, and a few more giggles echo.
Is this Eve’s doing? Did she let everyone stay up past curfew?
“Hi, Lucy,” I hear.
I turn my head to the side to see a black silhouette of a little girl with pigtails. I recognize the voice. It’s June, Eden’s youngest girl. Everyone calls her the miracle child because when we first got to Eden, she was only three months old and still breastfeeding. Most babies that young died.
“Hi, June,” I whisper, unsure who’s asleep and who isn’t.
“Wanna see my Octolololo?” she says, and I smile.
She’s such a cute kid.
“Not now June-bear,” her mother says. Her tall, dark silhouette gently pushes on her daughter’s back to get her to keep moving. “It’s bedtime.”
“But—”
“June, what did Mommy tell you earlier?”
A little sigh comes out of June’s lungs. “I can show it tomorrow.”
“That’s right,” the mother says, her voice disappearing as she moves past my cell.
The sound of little bodies plopping down into their beds fills Division Five’s corridor, and the older kids start entering their cells.
Someone scoffs and I hear a nudge, or a punch, I can’t tell which. “He hasn’t even talked to you. But he talked to me this morning.”
“That doesn’t mean anything, Mal. You can’t assume you’ll get the only boy in Eden to fall for you because you have gorgeous long hair.”
“It’s not about my hair,” Malory says. “It’s about these bad girls.”
I roll my eyes in the darkness.
It has to be Malory—she has this Barbie-like way about her. She talks like she’s the best thing that ever happened to this world, and all she does is flaunt her body. She may be only fifteen years old, but she already has the body of a twenty-year-old with long golden locks that always make her look like she’s stepped out of a hair salon.
There aren’t many people like that in Eden. Most people here have suffered so much that they’re down-to-earth. They’re genuine, and they don’t care about the stupid little things in life anymore. They want a simple, happy life.
I guess some people don’t change even after the end of the world. Or, maybe it’s because she’s a teenager and eventually, she’ll grow out of it.
The other girl laughs. It’s probably Stacey, her best friend. She follows her around like a puppy dog. I close my eyes and wait for the voices and footsteps to stop.
All I want is sleep.
But how am I supposed to sleep when Nola hasn’t come back? She said she was going to check on Emily and that she’d be back to tell me all about it. Is there terrible news to share? Is that why she didn’t come back? I let out a long breath, hoping it’ll take my anxiety of out my body along with it.
This is torture.
I can’t wait until morning.
I throw my legs out from underneath the sheets and slap my bare feet against the cement floor. I consider changing into my regular clothes, but a lot of people walk around in their pajamas before bed. It’s not a big deal.
What is a big deal, though, is that it’s pretty late. Eve must have made an exception tonight, but that doesn’t mean I can abuse that. If I get caught walking around while everyone’s gone to bed, I’ll never hear the end of it.
Those people (the ones who get caught walking around) get called Prison Ghosts.
It started as a joke to scare the kids, but it’s gotten rather annoying. And it’s kind of spooky, too. A few women started saying that anyone who walked around the prison halls after curfew attracted the spirits of dead prisoners.
In other words, they’d be haunted for a long time after they broke the rule.
It sounds like a bunch of hocus-pocus, but I’d be lying if I said this place didn’t freak me out at night. Every time I hear a voice in the middle of the night, I think it’s a spirit, and then I lay there for an hour, convincing myself that it’s only someone having a nightmare.
Nightmares: those happen a lot, too. Especially night terrors with the younger ones. There’s nothing worse than being woken up by the sound of someone screaming.
I stick my head out of my cell, look from side to side, and step out into the corridor.
“Hey, where’s she going?” someone says.
“Shhh, honey.”
I won’t be gone long.
I need to know what’s going on with Emily, and why Nola hasn’t come back.
CHAPTER 30 - GABRIEL
“Dakota, calm down,” Freyda says, holding up a hand.
But Dakota’s like a dog with a bone. She won’t let it go. And even though I could tear that knife right out of her hands, I don’t do it. I don’t want these women to think I’m a threat to them. I need to convince them that I’m on their side.
“Number 98425,” I say.
Dakota curls her lip over her yellow canine tooth that sticks out farther than the rest of her teeth. It kind of makes her look like a vampire, especially given her pale skin.
“The fuck is that supposed to mean?” she says.
“Dakota,” Freyda tries again. “Put the knife down and we can talk about this.”
Dakota leans her head to the side, but her grip around the knife doesn’t loosen. If anything, it gets tighter, and the blade digs even farther into my skin.
�
�You know about this?” she growls.
Freyda’s eyes shift between Dakota and me.
Shit.
I didn’t mean to get Freyda involved.
“I’m ex-marine,” I say, trying to take the heat off Freyda. The last thing she needs is for these women to turn on her. “That’s why I know about Area 82. I’ve been there.”
“So, it actually exists?” Miller says. Her big brown eyes wide, she looks like a kid who’s heard that someone saw Santa Claus fly through the sky. But then she catches Dakota glaring at her and the smile disappears. “We just—we only heard of it when I was in the military.”
Dakota scoffs and turns her hateful eyes on me. “Is it even real, Gabriel? Or is this some plan to get us to follow you, you sick piece of—”
“Dakota!” Freyda says. “Put the knife down.” When Dakota doesn’t listen, Freyda jabs a finger toward the ground and her multicolored eyes widen. “Right now.”
I don’t know what to think. Freyda’s defending me. Me, a man, of all people. I’ve never seen her upset before, and it’s hard to look away.
Dakota drops the arm that’s holding the knife, but her knuckles are still all white around the black handle. When Freyda sees that Dakota is still prepared to stab me in the gut, she raises her eyebrows and says, “Put it away.”
Dakota mumbles something, but it sounds like a growl.
“Does Eve know about this?” Jada asks. She looks a bit worried, too, but she’s calm and collected. She doesn’t seem like the type to pull out a knife and stick it against someone’s throat without having all the facts. That’s a good thing, considering she used to be a cop.
Freyda looks down like she’s embarrassed about the whole thing. Either that, or she’s scared to tell them the truth because deep down, she knows that Eve should have dug up more information about me. That’s what scares me about Eve. She’s quick and impulsive and acts on her emotions. That’s not what a strong leader should do. But on the other hand, she must be doing something right if she’s managed to keep these women safe for the last five years.
Miller takes a step forward, her shoulders drawn back. Obviously, her military background is kicking in. “Why wouldn’t Eve know about this? What’s going on here?”
Everyone looks worried, aside from Yael, who’s sitting at the edge of one of the beds with her legs crossed in front of her. Looks like she’s reading an old magazine. Some techno-science thing about the latest technological advancements. My mama used to love reading those even though she never understood half of it.
“It’s not as bad as it looks,” Freyda says.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
“That looks bad,” the young girl says.
She looks like she’s eleven, maybe twelve years old.
“It’s not so bad,” I say, looking down at my swollen, blistered ankles. “Could be worse.”
The girl’s dad, Cash, he said his name was, crushes his cigarette in the sink and blows out one last puff. “Don’t look so great to me, man. You’re welcome to stay the night, but after that, you gotta go.”
I nod. The last thing I’m going to do is argue with a guy who’s brought me into his home. And I get it, too. If I were him, I wouldn’t want some stranger living with me. Not because of the unknown, but an extra mouth to feed takes away from his resources.
“I appreciate this,” I say, leaning back into the recliner chair. It’s not as comfortable as my mama’s old couch, but it’s something, and it lets me keep my feet up.
“What’s your name?” I ask the girl.
“Callie,” she says with a smile on her face.
She looks like a sweet kid. She isn’t shy at all, something she probably gets from her dad. She looks like him, too, with blond hair and light eyes. They both have overly thick eyebrows, which is both peculiar and charming at the same time, and they both have a bit of an underbite. I wonder if she looks anything like her mother, wherever she is. This girl looks like she was cloned using her dad’s DNA.
Not that it would be possible, mind you. That kind of technology was being perfected inside the military only. I probably shouldn’t be talking about that, though, considering my clearance. Then again, it’s not like I have a clearance anymore.
“That’s a nice name,” I say, and her smile doesn’t even twitch. She’s resting her chin in her palms on the side of my recliner chair, looking up at me like I’m some new shiny toy.
How long have they been out here? This attack only happened recently, but she’s acting like she hasn’t seen another human being in forever.
My curiosity gets the best of me.
“How long have you two been out here?”
Cash shrugs his bony shoulders. “A year and a half, roughly. We knew this was comin’.”
I lean forward and my recliner shortens. “Knew what was coming?”
He laughs, but I can tell he doesn’t find any of it funny. “The end o’ the world.”
“Well, it isn’t technically the end of the world. I mean, as far as we know—”
“Daddy heard it all on the radio,” Callie says.
“Radio?” I ask. I almost stand up, but then I remember how badly my feet are hurting me.
“Yeah,” Cash says, all proud, “got ourselves an analog radio in here. Been catchin’ a few stations.”
“American stations?”
He laughs. “See that, right there?” He points a red finger toward the radio, then up along the wall where wires seem to be running. “That goes all the way up to the roof, and then even higher.”
“You’re catching international signals?” I ask. I jump to my feet and wince when my pads hit the wooden floor. But I can’t help myself. I need to hear what’s going on. I need to know how bad this is. “Is that an S-Viper model?”
Those things came out in 2045, and only a few people ever knew about it. Mostly military men and women or conspiracy theorists who believed the world would come to an end. Apparently, analog radios are supposed to survive any kind of power outage. Guess those so-called “crazies” weren’t so crazy after all.
“Sure is,” Cash says, patting the top of his radio. “Only choppy signal I get is in Australia, but then again”—he rubs his bony-fingered hand back and forth over his head—“everythin’s gonna be choppy real soon.”
I don’t know what he’s talking about, so I limp my way to the radio. I can’t believe I’m looking at one. It’s sleek and black with silver buttons, and the antenna looks like a long thin piece of black rubber. It’s matte, not shiny, so you’d never even know it was an antenna without seeing the source.
I slide the tips of my fingers on top of it and form traces in the grimy layer that’s accumulated on it.
These things have no shelf life. They don’t die. At least not for several centuries, which is what makes them so damn cool.
“Daddy’s talked to people in France! They had funny accents. Especially when they tried to say—”
Cash smiles sweetly at his daughter and gives her a nod like he’s trying to say, “The stranger doesn’t know what words French people have a hard time with.”
She plops her chin against the back of the recliner chair where I previously sat and watches us.
“I could tell you,” he says, “but how’s ’bout I show you instead?”
He reaches to the front of the radio and turns the dial. It makes a faint clicking noise, and then the static kicks in. He turns the volume down, so it isn’t too overpowering.
As he scans through the channels, a few choppy voices jump out, but barely anything audible. With an advanced radio like this, he should be able to catch thousands of stations. What the hell is going on?
At last, a man’s voice comes on the radio. It’s not too deep, and if I had to put a face on him, it would be a terrified face no older than thirty years old. He has an elegant British accent, so I’m assuming he’s somewhere in Europe. He’s breathing hard into the microphone, and he keeps swallowing which makes a sticky noise in the
speakers.
“… talking about this for several months now, but it’s a surprise to all of us here in England how quickly this is all happening. America has gone completely dark, and it’s only a matter of days, weeks, before we join them.”
“What did you expect, Charlie?” comes another man’s voice. This one sounds much deeper and aggressive. “These women are creating a war.”
“To anyone tuning in,” says the younger one, Charlie, “we, Charlie and Archie, will be keeping you informed during all of this. And if you don’t know what is going on, please get informed.”
Archie, the bigger-sounding of the two, scoffs into the microphone. “Either that, or keep your women in line, men. We can’t let the same thing that’s happened in America happen here. These women have gone insane since America’s disappeared off the grid. It’s like they’ve become inspired to do the same. We’re being shot at and bombed every day by these groups of women. Is that what you want for Great Britain? A world ruled by crazy, hateful w—”
“We can’t generalize, Archie,” Charlie says. He’s obviously the kind of guy who likes to keep the peace. It also sounds like he’s been a radio host with Archie for a long time, but now that this war’s happening on their territory, Archie’s opinions are coming out. The hatred, the bitterness… All of it.
Archie laughs and it sounds like a bear coughing. “Can’t generalize? How are you being so blind? Do you not see what’s happened in America?” A loud smacking sound booms out of the speaker, and I’m assuming he smacked a fist against the table in front of him. “We can’t let this happen in Europe. Not here. Not on my watch!”
Charlie breathes out, almost in a whistle. “We’re outnumbered, Arch. There’s nothing we can—”
Another smack against the table and Archie’s growl of a voice comes back on. “Nothing we can do? Get armed, men! We are not letting these bitches launch EMP attacks on our homeland! And if you don’t know what an EMP is, get fuckin’ educated, you fuckin’ twits!”