by G. C. Julien
These last few days, however… Maybe she is back.
There’s a bright yellow crack under her bedroom door, which means that’s where she is. I walk up slowly, take a deep breath, and stare at the sign beside the room. It’s a piece of metal, something that looks like a bracket, but it’s empty. I bet the warden’s name used to be here.
I stare at the door handle, but that’s when I realize it didn’t click closed all the way. The bright yellow line extends up the doorframe; only it’s much thinner along the vertical crack than the bottom horizontal crack.
Did she leave her room and forget to close it? If so, where did she go?
But then I hear something.
“Get your shit together, Eve.”
Footsteps pace back and forth behind the door. That was her voice. Why is she referring to herself in the third person?
She lets out a long, frustrated grunt, and although I can’t see her, I’m guessing she’s pulling at the short hair on her head. I move closer to the door and press my ear against the cold wooden surface. I feel like I’m back in our old apartment, spying on Mom when she thinks I’m sleeping.
She’s talking again, but I’m not sure what she’s saying. The door suddenly slips open a bit farther, probably under the weight of my face, and I pull back with my eyes nearly popping out of my skull. I’m ready to run back down the hall. The last thing I need is for Eve to catch me spying on her. That’s not why I came here, but she’ll see it that way. And I shouldn’t be spying, but I don’t want to knock and then have her think I was spying, either.
There’s no winning right now.
It doesn’t seem like she noticed the door move. Her feet are still shuffling around. I take another step, and this time, move my face toward the crack. It’s big enough for me to see a bit into her room. Where’s Eve, though? All I see is a closet, and beside that, a full-length mirror.
My heart skips a bit when I see her appear in the mirror, staring at herself. She’s huffing and puffing with all her teeth bared and it looks like she’s about to lunge at the mirror and strangle herself. She looks nothing like herself, which freaks me out. What’s wrong with her? Is this her other side? Is this what Nola was talking about? The whole Jekyll and Hyde thing? Was she right? Is Eve’s mental health going south?
“Oh God, Eve,” she says, and her face is once again smooth and young-looking. She combs all of her fingers through her hair, flattening it backward against her head. “Pull yourself together. This whole thing… It isn’t real. She didn’t mean what she said. I mean, how could she? I’ve been there most of her life.” She starts pacing again, and now I can’t see her. “She didn’t mean it. She didn’t mean it. Of course, she cares about you.”
Oh my God. Is she talking about me? Does she know what I said to Nola? How would she know that? Nola wouldn’t have come here, would she? No, not after everything that’s happened. Nola’s on my side. Isn’t she?
Shit.
Eve suddenly reappears, her twisted face inches away from the mirror. I can see the back of her head now, her uncombed hair and the back of her white blazer. But it’s that reflection… It’s like there are two of her. Her nose is crinkled so much that it looks twice its size and her eyebrows look like one giant one. Her head is bowed forward, casting dark shadows under her bright eyes.
“It’s Nola’s fault… That fucking bitch,” she spews, and saliva splatters the mirror. “She’s turning Lucy against you.” This time, she throws a crooked finger at herself in the mirror and half her body jerks.
She’s lost her mind. Although I’m terrified now, I’m relieved to know that Nola isn’t the one who told her about our chat. Eve must have overheard us, and it sent her flying over the edge.
Is this Eden’s brave and confident leader? This crazed woman talking to herself? Because this isn’t Eve. At least, not the Eve I thought I knew.
She’s hunched forward with her fingers forming claws at her sides. Her rounded back moves up and down and she breathes hard through flared nostrils. But then, as if injected by some serum, she straightens her posture and raises her chin. Now, she looks like the Eve that I know.
She smiles at herself in the mirror, something I wasn’t expecting.
“The women of Eden worship me,” she says. “I can have, and will have, whatever I want.”
I pull away from the door and plant my back against the wall, my eyes firing all over the place and my heart pounding against the solid surface behind me.
Worship?
Is that what she wants? To be worshipped? Is that the kind of woman leading Eden? I suddenly start seeing flashes of memories floating around in my mind, most of them surrounding my unhappiness here in Eden. The only thing that’s been keeping me sane is that one day, I’ll get to leave Eden.
I’ll run away and leave this prison sentence.
But now… Now that I’ve seen who Eve is… I can’t run. How can I? Hundreds of women are under her spell. They follow her like lost puppies, waiting to be told what to do. And the tea she’s been giving them… She doesn’t mean well. She’s trying to control everyone. She’s completely insane.
If we were in the old world with hospitals and medical care, she would be in a psychiatric facility somewhere getting treatment.
Not here. Not ruling Eden. She’s going to destroy everything.
She needs to be stopped, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do.
GENESIS
PROLOGUE
There’s so much blood.
She looks like a doll, lying still with her neck covered in puncture wounds and blotchy marks. Any minute now, they’ll darken to an inky, orange-speckled purple like the Andromeda galaxy.
She did this to herself.
My breath, slow and calculated, reminds me that I’m alive.
I’m alive, and she isn’t.
And I know exactly who to pin this on.
CHAPTER 1 – EVE
The rain barely looks like rain at all.
It lands against my window, crystalized droplets soaking through the filth on the other side of the iron bars. It’s only a matter of time before it turns to snow.
I reach by my bedside table, pluck a match out of a matchbox, and light my plain wax candle. We have hundreds of these in the basement somewhere. The air is so moist that the cold runs through my skin and into my bones.
I hate this time of year—the gloomy, lifeless period between fall and winter.
How is Freyda doing, anyway? And what about Gabriel? It’s been a week since they left, and I can’t seem to shake this anxiety. It’s as if a metal ball is sitting at the bottom of my stomach. The women of Eden are becoming restless, too. I’m uncertain whether this has to do with the dreary weather we’ve been having, or whether they’re also anxious to leave Eden—that’s the plan, after all. That’s the reason Freyda left with Gabriel—to find a new shelter to call our home.
Although I still don’t trust him, he’s our one hope. I can’t afford to send women out in search of some promised land while this man, Gabriel, speaks of a high-security space that might allow us to regain some form of electricity.
Area 82, he calls it.
I have to trust that what he says is true, or at the very least, that Freyda trusts him. If I begin to doubt this mission, I’ll worry about Freyda, and I can’t allow myself to do that.
The moment we reach safety, he’ll be imprisoned. It doesn’t matter if he helps us. In the end, he’s still a man, and men cannot be trusted, especially not in Eden—in a haven full of women.
A gentle tap echoes through my room and I avert my eyes to the door. It slowly creaks open, and a frizzy-haired head appears.
It’s Nola.
What does she want?
I haven’t been able to look her in the eyes after what I overheard her saying—after catching her warning my sweet little Lucy about me. She’s doing everything she can to turn my godchild against me.
I won’t stand for it.
She must sense my
hatred. She walks in resembling a child caught doing something wrong. With slouched shoulders and a bowed head, she looks up at me with big honey-brown eyes. Her hair is even more damaged-looking than usual today, no doubt from all the rain we’ve been having.
I part my lips to speak, but nothing comes out.
I’m afraid that if I start speaking, I’ll start to yell. But I can’t do that. I need to remain calm—I need to be the leader Eden needs me to be.
“H-hi, Eve,” she stammers.
I want to say hello, but even that is too much for me right now. So instead, I stare at her, waiting for her to explain herself—waiting for her to justify why she’s disturbing me in the privacy of my bedroom at this hour.
The sun has already started to set, which means curfew will take effect any minute.
What could possibly be so important right now?
“I’m sorry to bother you.” She locks her fingers together in front of her belly. “Under normal circumstances I wouldn’t come in at this hour, Eve, you know that—”
“Spit it out,” I say coldly, and her eyes widen a little. I’ve never spoken to her this way, nor anyone in Eden for that matter. But right now, Nola is my enemy and the idea of being kind to her pains me.
“A few women say they can hear someone over the wall,” she says.
“Over the—” I stand up and tug at the bottom of my white overcoat. “Over the wall?”
She nods quickly. “There are a few women calling out. They keep saying your name.” She shifts her weight on one leg, unlocks her fingers, and adds, “It isn’t my decision, Eve, but I think they want inside.”
I fight the urge to glower at her. It most definitely isn’t her decision.
She shifts her weight again, looking uncomfortable this time, and adds, “What would you like me to do?”
I almost say, “You can leave,” but I don’t. If there truly are women on the other side of the wall, they’re here because they’ve come seeking shelter inside of Eden. I can’t deny them that. In most cases, Freyda would be the one to stand by my side as I allow women into Eden, but she’s not here.
I lean over and blow out my candle, turn to Nola, and say, “Follow me.”
She remains only a few feet away from me as I make my way to the front gates. The hallways are quiet, as they often are around this time, with the exception of children’s high-pitched voices coming from the various divisions. They’re most likely being tucked into bed by their mothers or guardians. Several of the children here don’t have mothers—at least, not anymore—which is why so many women have stepped up and now care for children other than their own.
I walk to the security panel at the front entrance and enter my security code. With any luck, Area 82 will possess more electrical power than this penitentiary. I’m grateful to my engineers and electricians who managed to operate certain pieces of equipment using solar panels found in the prison’s basement, but it isn’t enough.
It has been almost six years since America collapsed, and the residual effects of the EMP attack remain. Every few weeks, Freyda turns on our analog radio and listens for survivors outside of Eden’s walls. Though most of America remains a wasteland, colonies of survivors have begun forming across the states.
Nola flinches when the metallic door makes a loud clicking noise, followed by a beep. The door opens with a swoosh, and I step out into the entrance of the prison. Old sofas still decorate the lobby—assumedly a space that was once used for visitors to wait. Beside me, a reception desk is hidden behind bulletproof glass, though it’s so filthy that the interior desk is hard to see. Next to the farthest sofa of the room is a vending machine with its entire right side missing. When we first arrived in Eden, women tore at it until they were able to retrieve what was inside.
I make my way to the front door and unlock the three metallic bolts, then with a swing of my upper body, push the door wide open. A cool gust of wind comes blowing in with thick droplets of water, soaking my pants in an instant.
It feels cold against my skin. I hate that feeling, especially since Eden doesn’t have any form of heating system. Even my specialists weren’t able to connect the furnace to the solar panel, and I’m assuming it has something to do with the prison’s heating system being operated by gas, which we no longer have.
Perhaps Area 82 will have better heating equipment.
I can’t complain, though. Winters in Eden almost never drop any lower than 20 degrees. It isn’t pleasant—quite honestly it’s uncomfortable—but it’s survivable, especially when surrounded by concrete walls.
“They’re at the front gates?” I ask, turning to Nola.
She gives me a brief nod and wipes rainwater from her face. “That’s what Carla and Rosetta said. They said they heard voices—”
When I stop looking at her, she goes silent, most likely realizing that I don’t know who Carla and Rosetta are, nor do I care. I walk toward the front gates and climb the ladder to the watchtower beside it.
As I climb, I look down at my red heels that look shinier than ever with water coating them, realizing I would have been better off climbing this barefoot. When I reach the top at last, I lean the upper half of my body over the concrete wall. It irritates me to do so since I’m going to have a difficult time washing the filth from my overcoat, but I need to see who’s standing down there.
Several sets of eyes roll up at me, squinting as the rain sprinkles on their faces.
Then, as if seeing God himself through stormy clouds, one woman lights up and starts waving her arms over her head. She shouts words I can’t hear through the rain, but it’s obvious that she’s begging for me to let them in. She looks middle-aged with her weathered skin and gray roots—a strong woman who’s endured years of hardship.
Although she’s the one waving and shouting at me, she isn’t the one I’m looking at. Behind her are three men, and beside her, a young boy no older than two years old.
I pull away behind the wall, my fists clenched on either side of me.
Does this woman not know who I am? Does she not know about Eden? Men are forbidden, yet, here she stands, surrounded by four males. With anger, I grab the wet iron railing and make my way down the ladder.
I hate being put in a position like this—a position in which I decide who lives and who dies.
“What’s going on?” Nola asks as I march toward her. “Are we opening up?”
I walk past her, my shoulder brushing against her, and without looking back, I say, “No, we aren’t.”
CHAPTER 2 – GABRIEL
“How much farther?” Miller asks, resting her hands on her knees. Her short curly brown hair lands over her eyebrows, and her dark glossy eyes roll up toward me.
She looks like crap.
Not ugly in any way… just tired. Like she’s ready to collapse any minute. Her eyes are bloodshot, and she seems skinnier than she was six days ago, which is saying a lot. She was already pretty damn skinny to begin with. The kind of skinny that reminds me of one of those insects… A praying mantis, I think they’re called.
“Only a few more hours,” I say.
We passed the town of Shalotville and now we’re getting close to Fayville, an abandoned little village that probably doesn’t look much different than it did before the apocalypse. During my Black Marine days, we used to walk from Area 82 to Fayville to train. It actually became government property a few years before all of this. We’d set up decoys and targets and go at it all day long.
I miss my training days… before things got real. Before I started…
Freyda side-glances me and bites down, her jaw muscles popping out. I can tell she’s aching, but she’d never admit it. She’s barely said a word these last few days. It’s like she’s reserving the bit of energy she has to keep walking instead of talking.
I wish Dakota had that mentality. She hasn’t shut up since we saw the jet fly overhead. All she keeps talking about day and night is knot speed, advanced flight controls, and something about Si
lver Snake engines. I have no idea what that is, but I’m assuming it’s something powerful. It’s like watching a geek enter a comic convention. She knows everything about planes, and she feels the need to talk about things that don’t make sense to the rest of us.
“Think anyone’s living under there?” Jada asks. She looks almost as tired as Miller, only it isn’t as obvious. Her skin is a beautiful dark brown instead of a pale chalky color. She points toward an overpass bridge that sits over what looks like an old highway.
It isn’t the first overpass we see, and it won’t be the last. At least this one isn’t torn down halfway through. The concrete seems to be holding up, and above it, dozens of cars are lined up haphazardly on the road.
I’m getting tired of seeing beat-up old cars. It’s damn frustrating. All it does is make me want to drive. Even if I managed to get a car to start up, I’d never get a clean road to drive on. I’d get stuck behind some beaten old car or in tall grass. There’s no winning.
“Under that?” I ask, eyeing her and then the overpass. “Maybe. But it’s better we don’t find out.”
Dakota sneers and points a short finger at Fayville. “But you want to cross through that?”
Without looking at her, I say, “We can either cut through it, or we can walk around it and add an extra few hours to our walk. Up to you.”
She doesn’t say anything, and neither does anyone else. I’m sure they’re tired as heck now and all they want to do is get this over with, even if it means risking running into someone. But I find it hard to imagine that anyone would hide out in Fayville, especially since no one lived there before any of this happened.
I kick my combat boots through the long grass and press a hand over my forehead to block out the sun. A loud cricket comes flying out making a high-pitched vibrating noise.