by C. B. Stone
Jacob glances at me and raises his eyebrows in question. “What do I think?,” he asks me silently.
I hesitate.
Being out in the ruins of the Old World is dangerous for a lot of reasons, but the most pressing one right now is we don’t know what’s inside that building. It could house another wild cat like the one we saw earlier, or could be filled with toxic mold, or be ripe with some other unexpected danger.
When we get inside the building though, it isn’t what either of us thought it would be. It isn’t filled with poisons or dangerous predators—at least, from what we can tell—but it also isn’t quite as exciting as we’d hoped. Instead, it’s a school. For younger kids it looks like. At least that’s what I think, based on the rotted and molding smiley faces plastered on the walls.
“So much for the hospital,” I mutter, my voice echoing through the long hallway, sounding eerie.
Jacob shrugs and acts as though it doesn’t matter, but I can tell he’s disappointed, too. He was really hoping for a library. Or a church. I mentally sigh, my innate worry for him rising up again.
“There might still be something good,” he says with a smile.
I shake my head at him, amused. “Ever the optimist.”
Together we walk down the hall, our steps cautious. Debris taking the form of everything from bricks to shoes to scraps of old, shredded clothing litters the ground. We’re treading lightly, because although it doesn’t look like anything is here, we know better than to assume there isn’t. I glance at the doors along either side of the hallway and cringe back, trying to put more distance between them and myself. There are large X’s on some of the them. Both Jacob and I avoid these automatically. There aren’t any history books that talk about the Old World and the Last War much, not in any detail at least, but we have been out here enough times we know exactly what’s behind those doors.
And I have no desire to see it.
“Must have been close to one of the bomb sites,” Jacob murmurs, as though afraid to wake the dead. Or maybe he’s just showing respect. “My dad used to say that when the population got exposed to toxins from the bombs, a lot of people suffered. Some decided it was better to just... go out quietly instead.”
Jacob’s dad has been dead about as long as mine’s been missing. I don’t think they’d been friends or anything, but I think that if they’d gotten to know each other, they would have been. At home, neighbors didn’t like mixing, it was too risky. Anyone could be an Elite hiding out, just waiting to make their move. The only people you can trust are your family members.
It was a fluke me and Jacob even became friends. And if I’d been older, like I am now, I don’t think it would have happened.
I glance at him sideways, studying his strong profile as he stares at the X on one of the doors. I’m glad we met when we were kids... even if we can never to agree on much of anything.
Folding my arms across my chest, I mutter, not able to help myself, “Or this was a testing site, just like the Elite always says. How people used each other to test out new drugs, new weapons, not caring what happened to them.”
Jacob looks back at me casting me a sharp glare. He has always hated the Elite—I do, too, if I’m being honest—and he’s not afraid to say it either. Contradicting something his dad said in favor of something the Elite say... well, if it wasn’t necessarily very nice of me, it was important to do. I lift my chin, my stubborn streak stirring to life as I glare back at him. He forgets sometimes we live in a world with specific rules and breaking them comes with dire consequences.
Besides, the world we’re standing in right now is ruined. That’s kinda the point. If they hadn’t been awful, cruel people, why is their world obliterated, nothing more than X’s on the doors to mark where their people died?
“Let’s keep going,” Jacob’s tone is gruff, revealing just a hint of anger, so I keep quiet as I follow him.
When we decide the place is safe enough, we split up after finding a map on a wall. Jacob goes to the left toward the library (of course) and I go to the right, heading down the hall toward the nurses office.
I don’t know if there will be anything there worth scavenging, but I figure it will still be my best bet. I pass at least ten doors with X’s on them, and knowing each one of them holds a room full of bodies elicits an involuntary shiver as I walk. I can’t help it, it just feels creepy. I know they’re nothing but bones, mostly, but sometimes, if the room was sealed up tight... that’s why we never check the rooms anymore. We go where we think there will be the best stuff, look around, and leave as quickly as we can.
The nurse’s office is toward the back, near the big gymnasium that students used for physical activities.
Sometimes I wonder what it would have been like to go to a school like this... and then I decide it must have been terrifying. All those other kids, none of whom you could trust, and a teacher at the front telling you what to think.
I imagine it is a lot like Assembly. We have it every other day in the After World, usually, although less often as we get older. All of us, kids eighteen and under, gather in the courtyard in the middle of town and watch the large glass screen light up. Most of us can’t read, so when the scrolling words travel across the glass there’s a voice that accompanies it. It’s always a bland, toneless man’s voice. He lists off the three main rules that govern the After World.
Don’t repeat mistakes of the Old World.
Don’t seek love, don’t engage in war.
And above all else, don’t Believe.
There are other things after that, usually. An update on Rehabilitation camps, success stories and sometimes failed escape attempts. Occasionally we get news of political things, but politics are only for the Elite, so no one cares too much about those.
Most of us are more worried about surviving.
I reach the nurse’s office to find it’s mostly intact, only a few things obviously searched through. Some places look ransacked already when we get there, making me wonder if there are others who search the ruins like we do, or if people of the Old World were scavengers, too.
Pulling my bag off my shoulder, I start throwing things that look promising into it. Most of them, I don’t know what they are or what they do, especially since most of the labels look deteriorated, but it doesn’t really matter. People will trade for it anyway.
I stuff all of it in my bag, as much as I can fit, and I’m about to leave the room when I glance to my right and see something sitting on a desk. It’s covered in a thick layer of dust, but it still catches my eye. I can only make out the words healing and prayer, but that’s enough. My lips tighten, feeling a rush of gladness Jacob isn’t with me.
I leave as quickly as I can and pretend I never saw the book at all. I meet up with Jacob further down the hall. He’s found some books too—picture books in fact, which are great, because people will be more inclined to buy them since they don’t need a lot of skill as far as reading goes.
“What did you find?” Jacob asks as we head out.
“Nothing,” I answer automatically, mind recalling an image of the book I left behind again and again. I remember the words written on it.
Healing and prayer.
Eyes grim, I repeat again as we step out of the building to head home, “Nothing.” Thankfully Jacob leaves it at that.
Continue reading Rehabilitation (Unbelief Book I).
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Desperation- Sneek Peek copy-1
Standing with Dave at the edge of the pier, I stare up at the big ship that’s going to transport me to my own personal hell. I swallow hard, refusing to allow the anxiety and fear tying my stomach in knots to show on my face. A girl has to have some pride.
I offer Dave my hand, and he shakes it, before apologizing again. “I’m sorry, Reagan. I really am. Just keep your head down kid, do as your told, and follow orders. Stay out of trouble and maybe I can get you out of there early for good behavior.”
Yeah, right. I make a face and swing my backpack over my shoulder, before offering Dave a tight smile. “Thanks Dave. See ya around sometime.”
I make my way up the ship’s gangway, stopping to allow a guard in uniform check my paperwork and stamp my hand. He grunts, then waves me on. There are about 15 other people, all around my age or slightly older, boarding along with me. Yay. It’s gonna be a party.
When I reach the deck, we’re all herded into a holding area with chairs set up, and bottles of water set out. I mentally sneer. Why yes, mustn’t let the prisoners get dehydrated.
The captain of the ship appears, speaking over a megaphone. “Listen up folks. We’re heading out in about 10 minutes. Find a seat. Make yourself comfortable. The journey is about 3 hours. There’s water available for those of you who may be thirsty, and we will be providing dinner about midway through the trip. We will reach the island after nightfall. I’d highly encourage you to be on your best behavior for this excursion, because your actions will be reported to your overseeing officer once you make it to Grandy Island.” He glances around, taking a moment to look each of us in the eye meaningfully.
I shift in the uncomfortable chair I’d commandeered when hustled on board, and drop my gaze. Better that than allow him to glimpse any hint of rebellion on my face. Best behavior gets you nowhere, Reagan. The silent reminder is truthful, but stings nonetheless.
Another prisoner plops down in a chair next to mine with a huff. His hair is dirty blonde, a tad too long, and stringy. He looks over at me with a grin. “First time headed to Grandy Island?”
I slide my eyes in his direction, keeping my expression bored. “Yep.”
He lets out a bark of laughter. “Awesome, a noob.”
I glance at him, lifting a brow. “And?”
The guy shrugs. “Nothin’, you’re just in for a treat’s all. Know anything about Grandy Island?”
I shake my head, my curiosity piqued in spite of myself. “Why... what do you know about it? You’ve been there before?”
The man’s lips twist. “Yeah, I’ve been there. More times than I care to count. It definitely ain’t no fancy rehab center, like they try to play it off as on paper.”
He leans in closer, lowering his voice. His eyes have a feverish sheen to them, and his breath is sour. I resist an urge to recoil. “It’s more like a freakin’ concentration camp. A hellhole, where inmates toil in the sun for hours on end.”
He shakes his head. “Trust me, it’s misery. Hard physical labor, and sometimes, the labor doesn’t even make sense. Serves no purpose. Like, you have to work your ass off just to make clothes and food for everyone living there, but then you’re also made to dig and refill holes, for no apparent reason. Break down and rebuild stone walls. It’s... I dunno... modern day torture or something.”
I swallow hard, squirming in my chair as I stare at him. I’m sure incredulousness is written all over my face, but I don’t care. This dude is crazy. No way could this “reintegration camp” be anything like that. It sounds downright medieval.
The guy leans back in his chair and flips his hair out of his eyes, a smirk on his face. “You’ll see.”
My mind starts racing as I begin picturing all sorts of wacky scenarios in my head about where I’m going and what life there will be like. The minutes tick by, turning into an hour. Which means we’re an hour closer to Grandy Island. I look at the ragtag bunch spread out in chairs around me, and feel a surge of panic.
I can’t do this. I can’t go to this place. I can’t go to this... this... little island of horrors. If what this guy says is true, I can’t do it.
I glance around the ship, noting the guards patrolling the perimeter of where we’re all sitting. We’re allowed to get up and move around, we just can’t go beyond the guards. As I watch, a girl stands up and walks over to one of them, and he points her down a hallway behind him. Except when we have to use the bathroom, apparently.
I watch the girl disappear into the darkness, and a flash just beyond her catches my eye. Looking out over the railing of the ship, I realize the flashing I see is lights in the distance. We must be passing another island or something. If I can see lights, that must mean we aren’t too far from the shoreline.
I leap to my feet, mind racing, as I give a nod to the man sitting next to me who so kindly shared his tale of woe. I grab my backpack, draping it over my shoulder. My forehead is damp with cold sweat, and my heart pounds like it’s going to bust out of my chest, but I don’t care. I have to find a way off this boat.
Calming myself and arranging my features into some semblance of, I don’t know, not panic, I approach the guard.
Clearing my throat, I ask, “Sir, may I use the restroom?”
The guard glances at me, clearly bored, and nods. “Sure. It’s down the hall, to the right. Make it quick though, I don’t want to have to come looking for you.” He gives me the requisite stern look, before pointing in the direction of the bathroom.
Swallowing hard, I nod. “Sure, no problem, I’ll be fast.” I shift my backpack, and the guard puts a hand up. “Wait a minute. What do you need your back pack for if you’re just going to the restroom?” He squints at me suspiciously.
I shrug, remaining nonchalant as possible. “Umm... you know... girl stuff.” I give him a pointed look, and then glance down my belly.
The guard flushes crimson, and backs up a hasty step. “Oh, I see. Right. Okay, yeah, no problem. Like I said, right down the hall, to your right. Make it quick.”
I nod again, ducking my head and letting my long dark hair hide the small grin I can’t keep from breaking across my face. I shoulder past him and make my way down the hall, mentally gearing myself up for what I’m going to do next.
Looking behind me, I check to make sure the guard isn’t watching as I make my way down the hall, and hang a right. Then I pick up the pace, following the hallway past the bathroom, right around to the other side of the ship. Thankfully it’s not a huge vessel, or my reckless plan would never work.
The wind whips at my hair as I step close to the railing and grip it, staring down at the dark water churning below. I take a deep breath, questioning myself. Reagan, maybe you need to think on this a bit more.
I shake my head. There’s no time. We’re already halfway to Grandy Island. If I’m going to make a move, it has to be now, before those lights I saw a few minutes ago fade to oblivion. Tightening the straps of my pack around my shoulders so it’s snug, I look around once more, making sure no one is nearby.
Gingerly, I begin to climb up onto the rail. My foot slips and I almost fall, eliciting a surge of terror. Gasping, fingers wrapped around the iron railing in a death grip, I inhale a few deep breaths, soothing myself.
Easy, girl. You want to jump so you can make it away from the boat, not fall and bonk your head so you wind up shark bait.
Taking another bracing breath, I navigate over the rail and balance carefully against the iron. I hesitate one more second before closing my eyes and leaping into the murky darkness below. Eyes squeezed tight, I try not to scream as I drop through blackness.
Suddenly water closes over my face, stealing the breath from my lungs. I choke, and start kicking, hard, instinctively propelling myself away from the churning water frothing in the wake of the small ship.
Frantically, I kick my feet, trying to propel myself up, straining toward air. Drowning would not be good. After a few seconds that feel more like hours, I break the surface with a gasp, gulping in giant lungfuls of oxygen as I kick harder and start using my arms to swim. My backpack feels like dead weight on my back, but I’m loath to ditch it. Even though everything will be a soggy mess, it’s really all I’ve got.
Determined, I kick harder, pumping my arms and pushing myself through the warm water with every ounce of strength I can muster.
Please God, don’t let there be any sharks looking for dinner, I pray silently.
Then I push fear of the deep unknown back, chalking it up as an unnecessary focus tha
t’s only going to freak me out if I keep thinking about it. Bobbing along the surface of the water, I keep my head tilted skyward and make my way around the back end of the ship. My goal is to, God willing, reach the lights I estimate to be about a mile and a half away.
Swimming hard, fighting the strong current paired with lazy swells, I start panting. Exhaustion is wearing me down. I glare up at the night sky, sprinkled with cheerful stars as I engage in a battle against the sea.
What the heck were you thinking, Reagan, you big dummy? The mental chiding doesn’t make me feel any better. It’s clear I vastly underestimated just how difficult it would be to jump off a ship and then swim to shore.
Flipping over on my back, I float for a few minutes, still kicking in the general direction of the lights, but with less vigor. Staring up at the speckled, moonlit sky, I can’t help but appreciate the beauty, even if it does feel as though it’s mocking me right now.
The moonlight flashes in the whitecaps of the waves, and despite my rising fear, it’s almost peaceful this far out. Then the word shark invades my head again. I resume kicking faster and use my arms to windmill me in the direction of shore, my backpack serving as a floaty of sorts.
It feels marginally easier to swim this way, so I stick with it, clenching my jaw in sheer stubbornness, refusing to stop kicking. My legs quiver from exertion, and my arms ache, but I grit my teeth and ignore all of it. At least my stubborn streak is good for something.
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