by G. C. Julien
She comes out of the water and I wrap one of Aunt Peligrina’s towels around her. She shivers, her blue lips resembling pieces of candy.
“You’re freezing,” I say.
“I-I’m okay.”
She runs up the pier, her bare feet slapping against the wood, and disappears into Aunt Peligrina’s wooden cottage. I jog behind her and go inside, greeted by the smell of freshwater fish and steamed green beans.
Aunt Peligrina places two floral plates of steamy food on the table and smiles at us. She looks nothing like my mom; she’s dark featured, taller, and healthier-looking overall. Her skin, a creamy beige, would look brown beside Mom’s. I’d never admit that to Mom, but the truth is, Mom looks sick half the time. She also takes a bunch of meds, so I’m sure that’s not helping.
I sit down at the wooden table. It looks like something Aunt Peligrina built herself, but in a good way. It’s so nice and surprisingly comfy.
Taking a bite of my food, I thank Aunt Peligrina for supper and a piece of fish flies back out into my plate.
Mila bursts out laughing, and food flies out of her mouth, too.
Aunt Peligrina smiles but quickly clears her throat. “Mind your manners, ladies.”
Manners? What does that even mean?
Mila giggles again and says, “Manners. Manners what? Mom says mans are all evil.”
* * * * * *
Men are evil, I think, gazing around Elysium’s courtyard.
I feel sick to my stomach; for every six or seven women, a man is present. It’s apparent that the female sex still outnumbers males, but what I don’t understand is why Vrin’s allowed them to coexist.
Elysium is large enough—why not separate the sexes?
Why put us in harm’s way like this?
Most of the men are located at the far west side of the courtyard, which is surrounded by tall iron gates. I’m not sure whether the gates are to keep us inside or to keep predators out—perhaps a combination of both.
In this location, at the far west side is an area filled with obstacle courses, painted markings in the grass, shooting targets, bales of hay, and bags that appear to be used for either target practice or punching bags.
Two short men tackle each other to the ground, releasing muffled grunts. I clench my fists at the sight of the aggression, but when no one reacts, I realize they are either playing or training.
Fucking dogs.
That’s when I catch a glimpse of Freyda—what I was most afraid of. She’s staring at me, though the moment I make eye contact with her she turns away and fires an arrow at a target. The arrow lands at the very center of her target—a small red dot—and I can’t help but wonder if she’s visualizing my face.
How is she, anyway? She’ll have to forgive me at some point. As I stare at her, I wonder where her horse Pearl is. I saw them bring her onto the plane. What about Ruby? The children love that golden retriever.
“Have a seat, Eve,” comes someone’s voice.
A crowd has formed around me. I was so busy observing Freyda that I hadn’t noticed. She must be happy now; she’s receiving precisely what she wanted—combat training and an army of women to train. Around her, dozens of women appear to be following her command. Men, too, are carefully analyzing her techniques.
“You ready?” comes a familiar voice.
I turn around in time to see Yael marching out of Elysium, head held high and intense green eyes gazing out into the courtyard. Her hair, long and dark, sits still all the way down her back until she scoops it up and ties it back.
This isn’t the Yael I remember—the Yael I remember was timid and soft-spoken. Who is this woman? She’s walking forward with drawn shoulders and a man at her side. They share similar features, which leads me to wonder if they’re related.
She slaps two hands together—both of which are wrapped in elastic bands—and turns to the man beside her.
“I’m gonna kick your ass, akhi.”
Akhi? Is that his name? The way it came out of her mouth, it sounded like another language. It sounds Hebrew. What’s happened to my women? Why is everyone so happy here? They’re supposed to realize what a mistake this was—they’re supposed to come crawling back to me, begging for me to help them.
“I don’t think so, sister,” says the man, rubbing his short bristly beard with the back of his hand.
His biceps form small balls at the ends of his T-shirt, and a rage rises inside of me. What is he going to do? Force her into submission? Teach her that men are superior because of their muscular strength? This is precisely how it begins—slowly, men feel superior to women until they choose, by force, to be in control.
I’m not certain what’s caused Vrin to be so delusional. It’s as if she believes that she’s tamed the men enough for them to coexist within a female society. The truth is, no matter how tame they may be now, it is not their nature; sooner or later, they will want to rise and take her place.
As she passes me, Yael catches my eyes and smiles at me. “Oh, hey, Eve.”
I’m too stunned to talk back. Not once has she ever called me by my first name or spoken to me as if we were friends.
Her brother shoves her and she playfully punches him in the shoulder, though by the sound of the impact, I have no doubt it will leave a bruise.
“Eve?” comes that voice again.
I turn sideways where a woman is standing next to an oak chair. I’m about to thank her and sit down when something hard hits me against the head. My vision blurs and I stumble forward, before falling to my knees.
What’s happening?
“You fucking bitch!”
This time, the blow reaches my ribs. Although my attacker appears fuzzy, I know precisely who it is: it’s Loretta, Ireela’s mother—the same woman who tried to attack me in Eden, accusing me of being responsible for Ireela’s death.
She raises her leg, prepared to drop her boot into my face when four women jump on top of her and pull her to the ground.
“Break it up!” comes a man’s voice.
Women are piled on the ground, refusing to move. They’re not Eden’s women, either. I don’t recognize them, and yet they still came to my defense without hesitation.
“Enough!” comes that same aggressive voice.
I sit up and rub the side of my face when the man storms toward the dog pile and with one hand, pulls one of my protectors away from the fight. They’re so different in size that she dangles in the air as if she’s made of paper, arm twisted backward and face contorted in pain.
“Let me go!” she shouts.
Then, without thinking, I lunge to my feet and charge straight for the man.
“Get your fucking hands off her, you fucking male piece of shit!”
Swinging both arms, I punch him in the chest and in the face. I’m not certain whether I caught him off guard, or whether I’m stronger than I give myself credit for, but he retreats covering his twisted face with his arms for protection, and I don’t stop swinging.
A droplet of blood splatters onto my lip and I lick it up. Voices grow louder around me, but the only thing I can think about is killing this man. It’s as if I’ve lost all control of my own body—as if it’s no longer my own, but rather, controlled by some unseen force.
Adrenaline surges through me as footsteps approach.
I’m not certain who is near, or who is involved, but the next thing I know, I’m being pulled back by two firm arms. I kick the air and throw my head backward, attempting to break the person’s nose.
“It’s okay,” comes the voice behind me.
It enrages me even more when I realize it’s another man.
“It’s okay,” he repeats, his voice smooth and monotone. “I’m not going to hurt you. I need you to calm down.”
I’m not sure how long it takes me to finally calm down, but once it happens, the pain in my face sets in and my eye begins to swell. I watch as Loretta is pulled away by two women in combat clothing. What are they going to do with her? Lock he
r up? What about the man who hurt that small woman? Are they going to do anything to him?
My heart is beating so hard I’m afraid I resemble a frog croaking with how hard my throat must be pulsating.
The man I attacked is on the ground with a face so bloody he’s beyond recognition.
Did I do that? Why can’t I remember? I remember attacking him, but I don’t recall injuring him so badly.
Vrin storms through the crowd. She must have been contacted by one of her soldiers the moment the fight broke out. “What the hell happened here?”
“A woman attacked Eve,” someone says.
“And he hurt Daisy,” says another woman, pointing at the bloody-faced man. “So Eve protected her.”
Vrin glowers at me. “You call that protection? You could have disfigured him.”
She stares at me, nostrils flared, then at the man lying motionless in the grass. I can imagine what she must be thinking: she wants to punish me for my act of violence but is afraid of retaliation from her women.
If I were in her position, that’s what I would be thinking.
She’s powerless.
“I don’t tolerate violence,” Vrin growls.
Her stare is so hateful I wonder if she regrets bringing me along.
“She was protecting us!” comes another voice, and several supporting “Yeahs” spread through the crowd.
Vrin’s jaw muscles pop out. Surely, her brain is firing so fast she doesn’t know how to respond. So instead of punishing me, she threatens me.
“If this happens again, Eve, I’m locking you up.”
I smile, and although it may come across as an apologetic smile, it’s the farthest thing from it. The truth is, Vrin has given me power; she’s unknowingly put me in an advantageous position.
I’ve proven myself capable of protecting these women, and now I’m being unfairly treated by the leader of Elysium. I, the one person who’s responsible for saving all of these women’s lives, am being threatened.
The moment Vrin turns away with clenched, bony fists, the women rush to my aid.
I reach for my bloody eyebrow and wince.
“Are you okay, Eve?”
“Oh my God, is she all right?”
I raise a hand, and when I try to stand, two women help me to my feet. “I’m all right thanks to you. All of you.” I glance toward the beaten man, who is now being transported toward the Medical Unit on a gurney. “I’m sorry for how I reacted,” I say, even though I owe no one an apology. “I didn’t mean to become so violent. But the way he touched you—” I press the back of my hand against my mouth and turn away as if on the verge of crying.
“You did the right thing, Eve!” says a woman with chaotic hair and torn clothing. I’m assuming she’s one of the women who grabbed Loretta. “We can’t let men think they can get away with that!”
Everyone around me nods furiously.
I smirk. “No, we can’t.”
CHAPTER 26 – GABRIEL
It reminds me of my old room.
Overall, it’s pretty plain. The walls are as white as they were when this place was called Area 82. The bed at the corner is perfectly made, almost like the sheets are made of plastic. Not a single ripple or crease is visible.
I drop my bag down and sigh.
Two weeks of therapy to end up where everything started. At least I’m not having violent flashbacks. I guess the therapy does work after all. It’s sad to think that people in the past suffered from PTSD for years and years, or that a bunch of them committed suicide because of it.
Now, here I am, healed after a few lousy weeks. It makes me feel guilty, in a way, even though I shouldn’t feel that way. That’s how technology works. One day, some new piece of equipment is released, and it saves hours and hours of work in manual labor or it saves someone who would have otherwise died.
“How are you feeling?” Valeria asks.
She stands at my doorway with a small black booklet held firmly against her chest. I’m not sure why she’s carrying around a booklet when all she does is take notes with her glasses.
“I’m fine,” I say.
She lowers her head, and without saying anything stares at me over the rim of her glasses. I’m guessing that’s translation for, Are you sure? Either that, or she’s trying to figure out whether or not I’m lying about how I feel.
When I don’t say anything, she straightens her head and says, “You may be tired in the coming days. This is a residual effect of the Nepalt 4000. I am, however, clearing you for release into the general population.”
General population? What the fuck is this? Prison? I don’t voice it. I’m scared she’ll write me up as being aggressive or something. Then I’ll really be in prison. Or, I’ll be spending another two weeks with wires attached to my brain and a mouthguard in my mouth.
No thanks.
Again, I don’t say anything, so she forces a smile that looks like a painful twitch.
“It was a pleasure working with you, Gabriel. If you begin to experience any side effects,” she pauses like she’s expecting me to ask her what she’s talking about, “come and see me.”
I won’t lie. I want to question her on it. She didn’t say anything to me about side effects before the program started. So what kind of side effects is she talking about? But I keep my mouth shut. All I want to do right now is sleep.
She spins on her heels and walks away. Without turning around, she says, “Close door 521,” and my door slides shut. I’m guessing she has the authority to control pretty much anything around here.
The moment I throw myself onto my bed and close my eyes, I disappear like I drank an entire keg of beer.
* * * * * *
“Rodriguez!”
Where’s that voice coming from? Why can’t I see anything? A gunshot goes off, but the moment it does, I forget what the sound was. Fireworks? An instrument?
A flash of light makes the blackness around me go away, and for a split second, I see a lineup of men wearing military uniforms and firing guns at each other. But every time a bullet comes out, it melts to the ground and instead, confetti comes pouring out of the gun barrels.
What the fuck is going on?
“Oh, my sweet Gabriel.”
I turn around to find my mom standing next to me. With rosy cheeks, she carries a tray of freshly baked muffins. A small line of steam comes out of them and the chocolate chips on top look soft and tender.
“Are you hungry, my sweet Gabriel?”
* * * * * *
A soft beeping sound echoes nearby.
I crack my eyes open. Where am I? I turn onto my elbow in my bed, realizing where I am. How long have I been out? And why’s my back drenched in cold sweat?
The beep goes off again. What the hell is that?
“Gabriel?”
That voice. It’s Freyda.
“Open door,” I say.
The second the door opens, Freyda steps into my room with Justice by her side. I’m happy to see Justice, but I can’t stop looking at Freyda. She smiles at me, her long dark hair pulled over one shoulder.
“How’re you?” she asks.
I sit up, clear my throat, and rub my hand through my hair to try to make it look presentable. I’m sure it looks like shit. I haven’t had a haircut in months and there’s a good chance it’s flat at the back from the pillow.
“I’m all right. Close door.”
Then, almost as if Justice only now realizes I’m in the room, she freaks out and runs toward me. Well, she tries to, but the first ten seconds is spent running in the same spot, her nails scratching the hard, tiled floor.
She jumps onto the bed and lunges straight for my face. At first, it’s warm and it tickles, but then it gets slimy.
“Okay, okay,” I say, pulling her off. “I missed you, too.”
She wags her tail as I pat her on the head. I make my way behind her ears and she closes her eyes.
“Someone missed you,” Freyda says.
I look up
at her. Maybe deep down, she’s referring to herself. Probably not. But a guy can dream.
“Have a seat,” I say, pointing at the white metal chair by my dresser.
Instead of sitting, she smiles and removes a bag from her shoulder. Justice hops off the bed and stands on her hind legs to sniff it. That’s when I notice her pink collar and leash. It’s pretty cute and it suits her gray coat. Her little tail wags from side to side and she tries to shove her whole head in the bag.
“So apparently,” Freyda says, “pets aren’t supposed to live in these quarters. Ruby and Pearl are both in the East wing.”
I’m assuming she’s talking about her horse and maybe another pet.
“But I spoke with Vrin,” she continues, “and convinced her that Justice is going to be a therapy dog.”
She pulls from her bag two stainless steel bowls and a container of dry food. It looks like kibble, only broken up in a weird way. It isn’t the kind of dog food you’d find in a grocery store, so I’m assuming it’s made right here in Elysium.
“When you run out,” she says, “go see Hani Rahn in room 103 of the East Wing.”
I cock an eyebrow at her. How the hell does she expect me to remember that? She must know what I’m thinking; she gives me a crooked smile, places the bowls down, and sits beside me on the bed.
My palms get clammy the second she sits. I look down at her thigh, now a few inches from mine. It’s firm and small and makes me want to move closer to her.
Jesus Christ. How does she make me this nervous?
“Don’t worry,” she says, patting my thigh, “I’ll remind you where it is when you need it.”
I look at her, and for the first time, she doesn’t look away or tell me off. Why? Before all of this, she was pretty harsh with me. So what’s changed? Was it me being gone for so long?
She must have some sort of sixth sense. She forces a smile and looks away from me.
“I don’t know you well yet, Gabriel, but I can tell you’re a good guy. I’m sorry for being such a bitch before. You just…” She looks up at me, but only for a second before staring at her fingers again. “You feel familiar, and I guess that scares me. I’ve lost everything familiar to me. You know?”