He waited in the wide-open compartment below, which served as a gym. It stretched the width of the mess deck and the racks combined, and since the compartments on the lower decks were larger, the ceiling was higher as well. After the claustrophobic spaces on the upper deck, this room always helped newcomers breathe easier. He smiled as Evie reached the landing and took it in, her shoulders visibly relaxing.
He took in the room with her eyes. How strange it must look from her perspective. Old-fashioned workout machines were carefully spaced throughout the room, bolted down. A remnant of the past. Jeremiah had left them not only because they were too bulky to be removed easily, but also because they still served their purpose of keeping bored off-duty crew members busy.
A couple of his officers were using the treadmills on the far side of the room, as well as a new passenger, in brown attire from head to toe, trying out one of the rowing machines.
“At the front end of this level, there’s a small sauna,” Jeremiah told Evie, pointing in that direction. She gasped in surprise. But he turned towards the aft of the ship, away from the sauna, walking down the wide aisle between machines as he told her, “My favorite compartment is this way. We call it the ‘living room’ because it’s where we like to relax and hang out when we’re not on duty. It’s technically called the rec room, but we like the reminder of home.”
This smaller compartment was his favorite because it was filled with couches and chairs, also bolted to the floor, that smelled old and musty, their hideous puke green and neon orange colors reminded him of his childhood home.
Entering the room, he paused in the middle and glanced over his shoulder to find that Evie hung back. He studied the room, trying to find what upset her. Maybe that there weren’t any other passengers? He still didn’t know who’d attacked her back in Eden, but he understood her not wanting to be alone with him. “You can leave the door open,” he suggested, not sure how else to put her at ease.
That helped a little. Enough that she crossed the threshold.
Jeremiah settled into his favorite chair while he watched Evie slowly step further into the room, taking it all in. “This is my favorite place on the ship,” he told her, hoping she would relax a little and sit. “Reminds me of my parents’ house. Small but cozy.” Resting his elbows on the soft arms of the chair, he clasped his hands loosely on top of his stomach, slouching to get even more comfortable.
Walking around to take a seat on the couch at least half a dozen feet away and leaving multiple chairs open between them, Evie’s eyes examined him as she settled into the cushions. Jeremiah realized a tiny house would be odd for a high Number. But he didn’t want to lie to her outright.
“Do your parents live on the island?” she asked, interrupting his thoughts.
He brought his hands up to his mouth, taking a deep breath, and sighed. “No.” Staring at the opposite wall, he spoke more to himself than to her. “I don’t usually talk about my parents. Not sure why I brought them up… They both died in the Bloom Rebellion.”
He was aware this tidbit about his past was revealing. Any intelligent person would immediately assume that his parents had somehow been involved in the unrest. And in his case, they would be right.
“I’m sorry,” she said, and he saw her lean forward a little out of the corner of his eye. “My mother died during that time as well.”
Jeremiah turned his head to look at her directly. “Really?” Remembering how she’d compared him to her mother before, he hazarded a guess that the woman had died in the same way as his parents. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he said softly.
Itching to get up and move to a chair closer to her rather than have so much distance between them, Jeremiah lifted his feet and propped them up on the coffee table instead. He forced himself to speak casually, as if there weren’t nearly ten feet of space separating them. “It was a hard time for both of us then.” He winced at the understatement of the year. “Is your father still alive?”
“He is,” Evie nodded, averting her eyes again.
Touchy subject. He didn’t pursue it. “My father was one of the leaders in the Bloom Rebellion,” he said instead, enjoying her reaction. She’d probably guessed it, but it still surprised people when he was so straightforward about it. “My mother too. I’m proud of both my parents,” he continued. “They stood up for people who couldn’t fight for themselves.”
Jeremiah rested his chin in his hand, staring into space as the memories came back to him. “My dad argued with his coworkers that our country needed to change. He didn’t think he said anything that would get him into trouble with the Regulators, but he said enough. People started to suspect him.” He risked a glance at her face. She’d put a hand over her mouth, and her eyes were glued to his own as he half-smiled. “My mom was more stealthy. She whispered to the women at the market that she’d ‘heard from a friend of a friend’ that an uprising was coming. That’s how she’d determine who was interested and who might report them.”
Evie lowered her hand and her lips were parted in amazement. Jeremiah admired her. She seemed unaware of how beautiful she was, and clearly intelligent as well. Why she thought she deserved such an awful Number was beyond him.
Leaning his head back to rest against the cushion, he stared up at the ceiling. “My mom would drop me off with the neighbors, even though I was nearly Numbered. Old enough to stay home by myself. Just so I would get fed and go to bed on time, she would say.” He smiled slightly, recalling how she’d kiss him on the cheek goodbye, and hug him so hard, even as he protested that his friends would see.
He felt his smile disappear. Still gazing at the ceiling, he swallowed but kept his voice light, as if discussing a regular weekday. “My dad disappeared a few weeks before my mom. One day he just never came home. Didn’t show up for work. We guessed someone had informed on him, but without a trial or any official notice, we had no way of knowing.” It had been some of the worst weeks of his life.
“A few weeks later, my mom left me with the neighbors and never came back either.” He crossed his legs, sinking deeper into the chair. Despite his casual body language, he’d never told anyone else the full story besides Luc and Lady Beryl. He blew out a breath of air.
“When we finally realized they weren’t coming back…” That day would haunt him forever. It had taken years to get over his bitterness at everyone involved. They had all done the best they could for a poor 12-year-old boy who’d just lost his parents. “The neighbors were good people. But they could barely afford to feed their own family.”
He saw Evie frown at that. Why did he keep hinting at his real Number?
He chose his words more carefully, to mislead her. “The neighbors were low Numbers.” That was true. “They helped out my parents by watching me.” Also true. “My parents would pay them.” The lie at the end soured his mouth.
He moved on. “When we saw my parents’ bodies displayed on TV by the Regulators, the neighbors told me they needed to bring me to – to someone else who could take care of me.” He had been about to say orphanage, but only low Numbers went there. A high Number orphan would’ve been taken in by a family member or friend of the family. Even without her knowing that last detail of his story, it still sat heavy in the air between them. Evie pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, hugging herself.
He was about to apologize for sharing too much when she spoke up. Her voice was just a faint whisper. “You saw their bodies?”
Jeremiah nodded. Evie didn’t say anything for a moment, then she met his eyes and he saw the glint of unshed tears. She licked her lips and said softly, “I never saw my mother’s. We buried an empty casket. I never knew what happened to her body.”
Jeremiah received the little bit of information, honored that she would tell him that. He was certain now that Evie’s mother had been involved in the uprising.
Evie didn’t cry once, but her voice was thick with tears. “I wish I was more like her. Brave. Fearless. She didn’
t run away…” She trailed off, but he knew she was referring to herself.
Jeremiah pulled his feet off the table, sitting up to lean towards her. “Evie, I know I’ve hinted at our plans for a revolution...” He waited for her to nod before continuing. “I don’t want to lose anyone in this war, man or woman. But no matter how peaceful I plan to be, the Number One has no problem with bloodshed. He isn’t going to let us win without a fight.”
He leaned forward earnestly. “I’m planning to bring a small group of volunteers with me, separate from those who will fight. Men, women, even children, who won’t ever be in the line of fire. We have an entire company of men dedicated to protecting them. Each person volunteered to come, to share their story with everyone in Eden.”
He waved his arm towards the door even though no one was there. “Luc is going to tell his story. I’m going to tell mine.” But she thought both of them were high Numbers. “Many of the low-Number refugees we’ve rescued will tell their stories. We’re going to broadcast the truth to every television in every home. We are going to expose the Number system for what it really is and demand that people take a stand!”
In an effort not to stand and pace, and risk making her nervous again, Jeremiah gripped his hands together until his fingers grew numb. “Once we prove to everyone that the world is not right, that we should not have Numbers, we will have the support of the people as we remove the Number One from power.”
Evie’s brows rose in interest. “Remove him?”
“Yes,” Jeremiah said simply. “He claims God called him to rule this country, but he’s the exact opposite of who God is.”
That sparked her curiosity. “Are you one of those…” She paused and he knew she’d been about to say heretics. That was the official title in Eden for those who believed as he did. “…true believers?” she finished, hesitantly, using the word that the underground house churches preferred to call themselves.
He appreciated her kind choice of words. “I am.” Beryl had prayed unceasingly until he gave God a chance again as a teenager.
“I don’t think God exists,” Evie whispered the heretical statement, checking out of habit for a television that might be recording, though of course, there were none here. She bit her lip and added, “I think the Number One made him up.” A brave declaration. It held even more weight because she trusted Jeremiah enough to say it out loud.
He sat forward, trying to remember how Beryl had spoken to him when he was young. His natural tendency was to state his beliefs confidently, as facts, but he tried to hold back, framing his words as a question instead. “Haven’t you ever wondered if maybe God is real, but He isn’t who the church or the Number One says He is?”
Shaking her head, Evie frowned at him doubtfully. “Not really.”
The Number One had people so convinced of who they were and who God was. Why couldn’t she understand that both came from the same deceitful source? Jeremiah tried a different tactic. “We’re no longer in Eden. You can be honest with me. Do you believe everything the Number One tells you?”
“No,” Evie answered, but she was hesitant. “But what about the church?”
“The church is filled with people who say whatever the Number One tells them to,” Jeremiah argued. “Just because the Number One and the church tell you who God is, and give you a Number, doesn’t make it true.”
Her eyes squinted at him as she took that in. Jeremiah sensed that he should stop, but pushed her just a little bit further. “Have you considered getting to know God for yourself?”
She stared at him thoughtfully. “I wouldn’t know where to start.”
“Just ask Him.”
Evie looked completely mystified by that idea. “So you’re going to start a revolution because you think God is different than the Number One says?”
“No, that’s only part of it,” Jeremiah shook his head, laughing. “Yes, I believe God is very different from what the Number One says, but we need to remove the Number One from power for so many reasons. Everything about him and his leadership is corrupt. People should be allowed to decide for themselves who they are and what they believe. We want to incorporate a new government where people have rights, like they used to in the old world.”
He crossed his legs again, leaning back, his casual movements clashing with the gravity of his words. “We can’t win the fight or make changes without the support of the people. That’s why we need both high and low Numbers, like yourself,” she flinched at the reminder that he knew her Number, “to tell everyone else why it’s wrong. People all over Eden are kept in the dark. They only hear what the Number One chooses to tell them on the nightly news. They need to know the injustice going on all over the country. Every story – no, every truth – will make it that much harder for them to go on blindly the way things are now.”
Jeremiah felt a sudden certainty that her presence would have more of an impact than he even knew. Maybe it was an impression from God or possibly just his own personal response to her, but he always listened to that quiet voice when he heard it. “Evie, we need you.”
She started shaking her head, but he held up a hand. “Not to fight, but to tell your story. You can stay safe while making a real difference in the world by telling people the truth. And when we succeed, you could live in a world where your family and friends are free. Without Numbers. You wouldn’t have to start over, or be alone. You could go back to your home.”
But she was already shaking her head. Pulling back against the couch, she said, “I can’t.”
Jeremiah took a breath to speak, but she didn’t let him.
“Listen… Jeremiah,” she said his name for the first time. She stood, pacing in front of the couch. Her voice trembled. “You have no idea what you’re asking. As much as I want to help – and I do – I can’t go back.”
“I have some idea.” He understood the hardships of a low Number life more than she knew, but he couldn’t say that. “My parents fought because they wanted the world to be a better place. And I think your mother did as well.”
Evie’s eyes widened at the mention of her mother. “I know she did,” she whispered, stopping in front of a chair a few feet away from him. “And I want to help.” The desperation in her face said she’d give anything to go back home. “But what if it fails again?”
She meant like the Bloom Rebellion. A valid question. One Jeremiah asked himself privately often. He didn’t have an honest answer for her, except to say, “We’ll do everything in our power to make sure it doesn’t.”
Nodding, she stared at a spot on the floor in thought. “I know. But you don’t understand. As a high Number, they’d probably let you go after a few months. But I’d be arrested and executed for treason. Or, if they somehow let me go, I’d be a slave again, probably forced into an arranged marriage, or just… alone. Forever.” She backed away from him towards the open door. “I’m sorry. I want to, but I can’t.” She whispered, “I can’t go back.”
Jeremiah let her go, wanting to go after her, but holding himself back. He brought his hands to his face and rubbed his eyes.
He wished she knew just how well he understood.
21
Exploring
E VALENE WOKE UP TO the sound of Olive’s voice singing slightly off-key, something about a sailor drowning at sea, which felt at odds with the bouncy tune.
Groggy, she blinked the sleep out of her eyes, and shook her head a little to wake up. As soon as her blankets started rustling, her curtain swung open wildly. Olive’s head popped in and she grinned at Evalene, unabashed, the corners of her eyes wrinkling in amusement.
“Good morning, good morning!” Olive said with a playful flourish of her hand. “The other ladies all went to breakfast already, but I’ve been waiting for you! The smell of eggs and bacon and especially the maple syrup have been tickling my nose for hours!”
“Hours?” Evalene blinked.
“Well, probably just a half hour. But c’mon, hurry up!” Olive’s head vanished
as fast as it had appeared. Evalene sighed and pulled herself up out of the bunk to sit on the edge, still wearing her clothes from the escape, feeling grubby and uncomfortable.
Olive danced up and down the narrow hallway, not discouraged at all by the confined space or the fact that she might be waking people up. Pulling her boots on as Olive pranced towards her, Evalene whispered, “Aren’t people sleeping? You’re going to wake them up.”
“No I’m not, sleepyhead,” Olive protested, smiling undeterred. “Everyone is in the mess deck for breakfast or below decks. It’s almost 10 o’clock!” That shocked Evalene. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept past seven. It must be due to the lack of sunlight, confusing her body into thinking it was still night.
Moving towards the door, dancing backwards now, Olive said in a sing-song voice to go along with her dancing, “If you don’t hurry up they’re going to put the food away. Do you want to starve?”
“No,” Evalene mumbled. She was hungry. Evalene ignored Olive frolicking back up the aisle toward her again as she fought with the laces on her boots. The girl was humming a lively tune under her breath as she spun in circles.
Finishing the laces, Evalene sat for a moment, still waking up, taking in her surroundings more closely as she did. No one else seemed to be in the racks, like Olive said, but even so, Evalene would keep an eye out in case Talc appeared.
Olive was still twirling around. The blonde girl wore a soft, green tunic, which was shocking enough on its own, but instead of a skirt, she wore pants like a man! They were black like Evalene’s leggings. None of the women would dare to wear pants back home. Was it just Olive or did all the women on the island dress this way? “I like your outfit,” she offered as she stood.
“Thank you!” Olive beamed, coming to a stop. “I like yours too, it’s so different from what I usually see women from Eden wearing.”
Evalene's Number: The Number Series Page 15