by G. C. Julien
A woman in the back begins sobbing, and I can only assume she’s friends with one of the dying women. I don’t mention this—I don’t tell them that, as per Dr. Lewis’s analysis, their prognoses aren’t looking good. She came to me last night, a delicate knock on my bedroom door. When I told her to come in, she did so, but not in her typical medical attire. She’d slipped into a pair of beige cotton pants and a white T-shirt, explaining that her medical outfit needed to be washed every evening after treating anyone with this bug.
* * * * * *
“It’s not looking good, Eve,” Dr. Lewis says.
At first, I don’t understand what she’s talking about. I’ve been so preoccupied thinking about Freyda and Gabriel and this Area 82 he promises that I’ve completely forgotten about the threat Eden faces within its very walls.
“It appears to be an influenza virus—”
I glower at her, though I know it isn’t her fault. “Influenza? As in, the flu? Ezri, how is that even possible? We haven’t allowed anyone into Eden these last few weeks other than Gabriel, who didn’t appear sick at all.”
“He could have been carrying the virus,” she says, “but I’m more inclined to believe this is influenza A, which means it could have spread from an animal.”
I scoff and lean forward on my desk, my elbows flat on the wood. “You’re telling me that some dumb—” But I cut myself short. I don’t want to revert to my eighteen-year-old self. “You’re telling me an animal, like a bird, could have carried this into Eden.”
She nods matter-of-factly as if she’s answered this question countless times before.
I let out a sigh and drop my forehead into my palms. How is this happening? Why is it one problem after another? Not only do we need to relocate the women in Eden due to limited resources, we now have a pandemic situation inside our walls.
And what if Gabriel and Freyda return shortly? We can’t relocate women who are sick.
“Might I offer a suggestion?” Dr. Lewis says.
I don’t answer her, but instead, stare at her, which is a translation for, Keep talking.
“We have a dozen empty rooms in the Medical Unit. They have lockable latches on the outside, and even toilets on the inside.”
“They sound like prison cells,” I say.
She smirks, her teeth resembling shiny pieces of mozzarella cheese in comparison to her dark skin. “A bit. The walls are padded, and the beds are more comfortable.”
“Were they psychiatric units?” I ask. “For the insane?”
“Patients suffering from psychosis,” she corrects, and I can’t help but roll my eyes.
“No one cares about political correctness anymore, Ezri.”
She smiles again, and continues. “The point is, I think we should begin isolating those who carry the illness. At least until we can contain it.” She chews on her bottom lip and stares at me. “If we can.”
“If?” I blurt. “What do you mean, if?”
“The influenza virus tends to spread incredibly fast; it can spread up to six feet the moment an infected individual sneezes or coughs.”
This is bad.
I’ve heard women coughing around Eden for the last few days, which means they have been sharing their germs with the walls, door handles, the floors.
“What’s the final outcome?” I ask, though I’m afraid to hear what she might say.
“It depends,” she says. “Some women will get over it within a week, as they’ve surely done countless times before in our old world. There’s no medicine I can give them. The women need to rest most of all. For some, it will be an unpleasant flu. For others, like the two women in my care right now, it could mean death.”
My eyes nearly pop out of my head. “They’ve died?”
She shakes her Afro and casts her eyes to the floor. “Not yet.”
* * * * * *
“Eve?”
“Is she okay?”
I glance up, realizing I’ve been staring absentmindedly at the main hall’s floor tiles for the last few minutes.
“I understand the things you’ve heard,” I continue, “about the isolation units. Inside, you will be provided with food, water, and comfort. If this virus is not isolated and continues to spread throughout all of Eden, it could mean the lives of many. It could mean the lives of your children.”
Women nod, and it’s apparent by their slanted eyebrows and large, doughy eyes that they’re worried, and they understand what I’m saying. Surely, they do not want to be the cause of someone else’s death.
“If you have been experiencing any flu-like symptoms, I urge you to go see Dr. Lewis. If you cough or sneeze, please, cover your mouth. Do not allow your children to touch their eyes, their noses, or mouths, and remember to always use the sanitizer stations located throughout Eden.”
I hate to promote the sanitizer dispensers, especially being that we are running low, but I have no choice. If I want my women to survive long enough to see Area 82, I’m going to have to allow them to deplete whatever resources we have.
I catch a glimpse of Lucy’s velvety red hair as she exits the main hall, followed by who I can only assume is Emily. Why is she spending her time around that girl when a few days ago, she was bedridden in Dr. Lewis’s care? She shouldn’t be exposing herself to those germs.
Women begin forming a line toward Dr. Lewis’s office. Several of them have red, snotty noses, while others do not appear sick at all but are most likely taking necessary precautions after my speech.
“Come on, honey, this is important,” one mother says, bending forward to reach her daughter at eye level. “The doctor will make you all better, okay?”
I should feel empathy—heartache, even. I should be afraid for the lives of these children, but right now, all I can think about is my Lucy. It’s as if nothing else in the world matters beyond her.
These thoughts are foolish—I’m well aware that the lives within Eden are important to me, otherwise, I wouldn’t be standing where I am today; I wouldn’t be the ruler of Eden, fighting to keep everyone within these walls safe.
Deep down, I care, but on the surface, I feel like a machine; emotionless in that regard. It’s as if my emotions have been siphoned and stored within a glass bottle—a bottle reserved for very few individuals in my life.
Some days, though I admit these are few and far between, I wonder what Eden would be like with someone else in charge. Would it be a better place? Or, have I done the impossible? Have I created a haven no one else could have dreamed of ever creating?
The latter pleases me, so I decide to focus on that.
Without me, these women are nothing.
Elevating my chin, a sense of pride and accomplishment fills me in an instant. Despite how I feel in this moment—despite not feeling any form of attachment toward these women—I will not allow something I’ve built to come crumbling to pieces.
I brush past a young couple holding hands, and they gaze at me as if I were the CEO of a multibillion-dollar industry. One of them wipes her nose and sniffles, while the other, ignoring my warning, wraps her arm around her lover’s shoulder and kisses her grimy forehead.
I turn away, repulsed—not by their affection for one another, but by their exchange of germs. This is precisely what I worried would happen. Women, especially mothers, will comfort those in need, regardless of the danger it puts them in.
This has to stop. Instead of returning to my office, I turn in the opposite direction and march toward Division Three, which will lead me to Mavis and Perula’s Herb Shack.
Eden will survive, no matter the price.
CHAPTER 5 – GABRIEL
I blink hard, trying to get the bright light out of my face. Voices are yelling at me, but I can’t tell where they’re coming from.
“On your knees!”
“Hands in the air!”
Who’s shouting? I raise two hands over my head and kneel in the dirt when another clicking noise fills the air. This time, it sounds electronic, high-pi
tched, and it’s followed by the sound of something heavy being unlocked.
Are they opening the gates?
Then, I hear another sound, and a knot forms in my stomach.
It’s the sound of guns being cocked.
Not pistols, or shitty little handguns, but energized weapons that only Area 82 would carry. Obviously, these people know what they’re doing. I hope to God I didn’t bring Freyda and the others to an all-male military base.
That’s why I wanted them to stay behind.
I can’t risk it.
But then, a husky voice carries louder than all the others, and I look up to find her standing there, two firm hands planted on her weapon belt. She’s wearing a typical black and green uniform, which makes her stand out seeing as all her soldiers seem to be wearing BIO-8 Skins: skin-textured armor that literally covers a soldier from head to toe with a click of a button. I used to have one, too. It was onyx gray, and every time I put it on, it was cool on the skin, like silicone, and didn’t interfere with anything. It was like wearing a layer of air.
The woman’s hair, a dirty blond that looks blanched under all of these blazing fluorescent lights, is pulled back into a tight, greasy ponytail. She searches me like I’m an ex-con… Like she’s trying to figure out how many people I’ve killed.
I can tell she’s in charge before she even opens her mouth, and I can also tell that whatever comes out of it is going to be loud and authoritative.
“State your name.”
“Rodriguez,” I say, not surprised by her tone. “Gabriel Rodriguez.”
“Where are you traveling from?” she asks. “Are you alone?”
Am I alone? If I said no, would they spare the women’s lives? Or, would they take me inside and leave them behind? I hesitate, my eyes stupidly darting sideways as if pulled by a mind of their own.
Fuck.
Why did I look over there?
“What’re you hiding, Rodriguez?”
She takes a step forward, energy rifle held firmly in her hands.
“I asked you a question,” she says, but it sounds more like an order.
She’s about half the size of all the men around her, but I can tell this woman’s got everything under control. They respect her, and they won’t hesitate to launch an energy blast through my skull if I don’t make it clear that I’m not here for any trouble.
“I’m coming from Eden,” I say. Hopefully, this will satisfy her.
Her blond brows come close together and one nostril goes up like she caught a whiff of something rank.
“Eden?” she scoffs. “You expect me to believe that a man set foot inside of Eden?”
So she knows what Eden is.
“I asked you a question, Rodriguez. Are you alone, or do you have any followers?”
I flinch when she jabs her gun in the air, shadows forming all over her face.
“Wait!”
Jesus Christ, Freyda.
She runs up beside me, her shoes kicking through the dirt, and kneels by my side with both hands in the air.
“What the fuck is this?” the leader says.
This time, instead of taking a step toward us, she takes a cautious step back and raises her gun, her bright her eye staring down the long barrel.
“He’s not lying!” Freyda’s voice cracks as she waves two hands in the air. “We traveled from Eden. We came here because Gabriel promised us safety… H-h-he promised all of us safety. He said there was technology here. We’re running out of resources in Eden, and…”
“Avi?” comes Yael’s voice.
I turn my head to spot her emerging from the darkness, fearlessly jogging toward the blond woman and her small army of soldiers. What the hell is she doing? She’s going to get herself killed. The sound of metal against armor echoes around us as the soldiers prepare to fire.
“Yael?”
Who said that? I swing my head back toward the soldiers, trying to figure out who spoke Yael’s name. I don’t have to stare long to figure out who it was. He lowers his gun and steps out of rank.
He stops beside his superior and leans down to whisper something in her ear.
“At ease,” she says, and everyone lowers their guns.
At the same time, Yael throws herself into the arms of this man. It automatically feels like the air got lighter. Like I can breathe without worrying about a bullet splitting my skull in half.
I look at Freyda, who shrugs, arms still in the air.
Can we take them down now? Do I still have to stay on my knees?
Not wanting to piss off the leader, I don’t move. Instead, I watch Yael press her face against the man’s and kiss his cheek.
He’s tall, taller than her, which is saying a lot. His hair, a dark curly mess, matches his beard that looks like it hasn’t been trimmed in months. I can’t determine the color of his eyes with the brightness blinding me, but they look light in color. A bit like Yael’s, now that I think of it. Across his chest is a black BIO-8 Skin, and through it, his muscles bulge.
“Oh, brother,” Yael says, wrapping her arms around his neck again.
She stands on the tips of her toes to reach him, and he digs his face into the curve of her neck.
“I thought… I thought you were dead,” she says.
The leader clears her throat like she’s about to vomit if she has to watch another minute of this mushy reunion. Avi, Yael’s brother, stiffens his stance and takes a step away from his sister, obviously also not wanting to piss off the leader.
“They aren’t lying,” Yael says, more to her brother than the leader.
The leader glances toward us, then back at Avi, who gives her a brief nod as if to say, Whatever Yael says is true.
She lets out a long sigh and swings her energy gun to her back, a clicking sound locking it into place. “How many more of you are there?” she asks, and at the same time, Jada and Dakota come walking out slowly with hands above their heads. Miller follows close behind with Justice still in her arms.
The soldiers get antsy, gripping their guns over and over again even though they were ordered to back down.
I hate that sound. I also hate this place, but it’s our best shot at survival. It’s the combination of my surroundings, the familiar smell of long grass and hay that seems to linger around no matter how much jet fuel evaporates into the air, and the sound of guns being manipulated that makes me remember some of the horrible shit I went through here.
* * * * * *
“Get ready, boys!”
I hate Master Sergeant Brown.
He seems amused by this in some sick twisted way that only he understands. From where I’m standing, I don’t see the point in this drill. Well, I do, but I don’t agree with it.
He’s extremely unprofessional, too. He almost never uses military terminology. Instead, he makes grotesque remarks that make me want to turn my gun on him, instead of on the targets.
I readjust my shooting ear muffs and side-glance James. I shouldn’t have looked at him. These days, he makes me sick to my stomach. He and Master Sergeant Brown deserve each other, that’s for sure. He grins from ear to ear, his face so close to mine that I can actually see specks of orange in his freckles instead of a bunch of brown dots. It’s like he’s ready to show Master Sergeant what he’s made of, which isn’t something to be proud of.
The other thing that bothers me most about this drill is how realistic the targets look. As I’m thinking about that, one of them comes running out into the city streets, arms flailing above her head. She isn’t real, but the holograph is so vivid that I feel like I’m literally standing ten feet away from an innocent, frantic woman. At first, it looks like she’s begging for a cab driver to let her into his car, but when she runs past it, I realize that isn’t at all the case.
She’s wearing a blue skirt that reaches down to her knees, and shiny modest heels that are no doubt meant to signify she’s an office worker. Her button-up shirt, a baby blue color only one tone lighter than her skirt, draws the
eye in with its flashy pink buttons. That’s obviously meant to be a distraction, because above her head, in her right fist, she’s holding a grenade.
It’s our job to see this, and not an innocent woman frantically running down the street.
I’m too busy staring at the holograph and James beats me to it. He fires his gun, an imitation version that if shot in real life, would fire a solid burst of pure compressed energy strong enough to burn a hole in a typical, non-Area 82 wall. Although it may be simulated, the woman’s head literally explodes.
Blood and brain matter flies toward us and I jerk my head sideways to avoid getting hit in the eyes, even though it isn’t real.
“Yeah!” James yells in his rugged voice.
He sounds like a fucking idiot. What’s he trying to prove? That he can shoot down any woman he aims his gun at?
“Well done, Walsh,” says Master Sergeant Brown. He gives James a big thumbs-up. “You saw a threat and you took the bitch down.”
I cringe. How can someone in such a high position say something like that?
Goddamn asshole.
Then, the scene in front of us dissipates into thousands, if not millions of little pixels, and white walls appear, but only for a second, before the new scene sets in. I can’t tell where it is, but it kind of looks like some underground rebellion facility. Could be industrial. It looks a bit like an abandoned warehouse with its filthy windows and gray exterior. Through one of those windows, several women are gathered around a circular table, carving knives and filling guns with bullets. At least, that’s what it looks like.