The Broken Peace

by Martha Adele

  I rise to my feet and squat down to grab another stone. “I enjoy your company as well.” I toss the stone in the air and catch it once. I rub my thumb over the surface, covering every part of it twice, including a small dent; and I take a few steps forward to the lake.

  I twist my arm and body back quickly to get ready to skip the stone when all my surroundings become dark and nonexistent.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Werner

  With tensions high between us, I sit with my newly assigned partner and wait. We watch from the rooftop of a building near the river exit, the same river exit that I am usually assigned to do alone.

  Neither of us has really said anything since we got ourselves situated. I assume that the reason Burris assigned me a partner this time around is because she has become wary. She most likely thinks that I am no longer 100 percent loyal to her and her orders, all because I asked a simple question.

  Well, the truth is, I’m not.

  This is the same river exit that originally made me doubt my allegiance. When I saw the innocent faces forcing their way out of Frieden, a nation I thought to be safe, all my beliefs came into question. With what Mac has been telling me, I am right to be doubting.

  I look over to the man to see a scowl. He has held this facial expression since we arrived. The squinting and disgusted frown causes his nose to look almost pear shaped and his eyebrows to appear even thicker and bushier. His bleached-blond hair falls flat on his head as he raises his gun and looks through the scope.

  The sound of laughter and cavorting catches my ears and forces my focus down by the river. A group of kids who seem to be no older than fourteen frolic out from the woods and toward the flowing play area.

  “Hey,” I whisper to my partner, “Jones.”

  He doesn’t move from his ready-to-shoot position.

  “They could just be playing.”

  Never looking away from the scope, he whispers back to me, “If they get any closer to the wall, I’m going to do my job, and you should too.”

  I look to him and then through my scope at the kids. The leading boy takes off his shirt and jumps in. Jones clicks off the safety setting of his gun, causing my heart to jump.

  “No!” I shout in a hushed tone at him. “They are just playing. They got closer to the wall because the river is close.”

  He looks over to me and growls, “You don’t know that. If they pass that rock, the large stone between them and the wall, I’m pulling this trigger.”

  I sit and watch in anticipation as the rest of the kids follow the boy’s lead and hop in. Most of the girls keep their shirts on, but one of them decides to take hers off. I continue to watch them play and skip around in the water, splashing one another and letting the current sweep them away from the wall. Just before my nerves settle completely down, one of the kid decides it will be fun to run in the opposite direction of the current.

  I find myself on the edge of my seat, watching Jones’s finger tighten on the trigger and the boy forcing his way as hard as he can toward the wall, followed by the rest of the kids. They go and they go until the leading boy is only a foot away from the rock. His arm reaches out to touch the top of the large stone, peeking out above the water in the middle of the river. Moments before he does, a flash of light sweeps over the group of kids.

  My body relaxes almost completely with the adrenaline and lactic acid buildup as three watchmen walk over to the group of kids with their flashlights. I feel a large and overwhelming tingling sensation come over my body and weigh me down like sandbags as the adrenaline wears off.

  “What are you kids doing?” one of the men shouts at them. Before the watchmen can do anything, two of the boys sprint out of the river and take off into the woods without their shirts or shoes. One of the men attempts to run after them but is obviously outgunned in the area of speed.

  The two other men get the rest of the girls and boys out and walk them out of sight, probably to the police station.

  I find myself relaxing and sitting back in my seat, watching Jones release his finger off of the trigger and lower his weapon. I can almost feel the anger from him.

  Though his scowl has grown worse, I cannot tell what it is about: me being right or the fact that he didn’t get to shoot.

  Logan

  The smell is the first thing I notice.

  The smell of cleaners and fresh linen.

  The sound is the second thing I notice.

  The sound of the news over the radio.

  I force my eyes open and look down to see the thick heavy white blanket that I know too well lying over me. I pull my arms out from under it and find something different. There is no bruising.

  “You’re awake.”

  I turn to my left to see Eric in a reclining leather seat.

  He gives me a little smile. “I was wondering how long it would be.”

  I clear my throat and notice how dry it can become when you sleep with your mouth open. “What happened?”

  Eric looks away from me over to the radio as one of the newscasters speaks about the new vial policy.

  “Eric?” I use my arms to force myself back on the bed enough to try to get to a better sitting position and realize my legs feel much heavier than they usually do.

  He slides me a water bottle on the little side table the bed has attached. “Here.”

  I take the bottle and twist the cap open. I am too thirsty to ignore it but becoming quite desperate as I realize I don’t see my toes wiggling, my feet moving, or even my legs shifting. “Eric, what happened?”

  I continue to try to move my feet as he sighs. “When you were at the lake with that woman, something happened.” He looks down to his hands and then back to me. “You twisted wrong. The doctors said that as a result of improper care from the explosions, your spine, um”—he clears his throat again and squeezes his hands together—“you’re paralyzed, Logan, from the waist down.”

  I find myself at a loss for words. Immediately, I continue my attempts to move my legs. Nothing happens. It is as if they are just lying there. Limbs that aren’t mine, connected to my waist, holding me down in the bed.

  How could this have happened? The doctors cleared me. They told me to take it easy, but they cleared me. I could walk.

  The explosions were weeks ago. How is it just now coming to affect me?

  I’m going to be unable to walk, unable to run, unable to move! That was all I was. I had nothing special going for me. Sam was funny. He had that. Mavis was kind and caring. That was her thing. Me? I was the person who could do obstacle courses. That was it. After the explosions, I had that taken away from me, but I could still walk around. I could still move.

  But now?

  My bottom lip begins quivering, and my cheeks seize up as tears flood my eyes. Anything and everything I aspire to do, or was ever going to aspire to do, is now just another lost dream.

  I weep. I try not to, but I do. Eric just sits here with me as the tears fall.

  I force my eyes closed, still allowing a few drops to pass, and sniffle the rest away. I force myself to stop and lie back, waiting for the flooding to die down.

  “How long have I been out?” I ask Eric.

  “Just overnight. It’s pretty early in the morning.”

  Keeping my eyes squeezed closed, I clear my throat. “Aren’t you supposed to be home? You’re supposed to leave in a few hours for State Two?”

  “It’s okay.”

  “What?” I turn to him. I feel my cheeks burning from the salt of my tears and my eyelashes weighed down with saturation. “What do you mean it’s okay? You have to be there for the movers.”

  He shakes his head. The corner of his mouth rises slightly as he looks from his folded hands, back to me. “I’m not going.”

  “What?”

  “I’m going to stay here.”

&n
bsp; “What? Why?”

  Eric gives me a small chuckle. “I couldn’t bear parting with the chessboard.”

  My head falls back into the bed’s pillow. “You’re staying for me.”

  He remains silent.

  “Barnes, you don’t need to do that. I will be fine.”

  “Hey”—he scoots his chair a little closer to me—“you were here when I needed you even when I wouldn’t accept help. You didn’t let my whining or depression or anything else affect your actions. You just did it because you felt you needed to, right?”

  I look over to him with a slight scowl on my face, one that is unintentional, but is slowly scrunching as the tears reflood. “I don’t want you to miss out. You just got your dream job, and now this.”

  He shrugs. “Hey, this way, I get free housing, I get to play you in chess, I have a roommate that I know I can tolerate—”

  I sniffle with a forced smile and use my blanket to wipe the tears from my face. “Thanks.”

  Eric smiles to me and leans back in his chair. “No problem.”

  We sit, not saying another word, and listen to the news channel flip through instrumental music and commercials. I try to remain strong but continue silently weeping throughout the rest of the morning.

  Mavis

  A large amount of mashed food is dropped on my tray as Bram and I pass through the food line.

  “Thank you,” I tell the worker, earning absolutely no acknowledgment from her.

  Bram chuckles at the lack of response, and we make our way over to an empty table.

  A scoop of the fluff finds its way into my mouth. I let it swoosh around as I try to chew and find it has a hardy satisfaction. I swallow and look to Bram, who is eating the same fluff. “How’s Samantha?” I ask him.

  He shrugs. He has been going to visit her a lot just to watch her sleep. “She isn’t waking up. They’re keeping her medicated.”

  I nod as a group of people on the other side of the room bursts into laughter. “Are you happy about that?”

  “What do you mean?”

  I take another bite of my food and shrug. “Do you think they should just end her misery or keep her on medication until she…you know?”

  “I don’t know. If you were in her situation, what would you want to be done?”

  The silence between us grows. I don’t know if she is in pain. I don’t know if she can feel what is happening to her. If she can’t feel it, then yeah. If she isn’t aware of what’s happening, then yeah. But what if she is? If she is fully aware and can comprehend what is going on but can’t act on her own will, would she rather live sedated, or would she rather not live at all?

  “I don’t think it will be much longer anyway,” Bram tells me. “She is all skin and bones now. She honestly looks as if she is already decaying.”

  “Have the doctors said anything?”

  He shakes his head. “Not to me.”

  “Has Janice told you anything?”

  Bram shakes his head again. “No.”

  I look to her as she walks out of the food line with her tray. She tends to sit with some of the other officers or government officials who are down here; but every now and then, she’ll come and sit with us.

  Both Bram and I look at her, hoping to catch some sort of eye contact; and we wait. Never looking over to us, she walks over to her table with the other workers. Bram looks back down at his tray to continue eating, but I keep my gaze fixed on her. The woman she takes a seat beside glances over to me and is a little confused at first. I point to Janice, and the woman does the same.

  She mouths, “Ludley?”

  I nod.

  She smiles at me and nudges Janice in the arm. Janice turns to the worker and then to me. After she sees me staring, she says something to her table and rises to her feet, leaving her tray with her friends.

  “Mavis”—Janice comes over to us and takes a seat—“did you need something?”

  “Samantha—how is she doing?”

  Janice’s face falls, and she looks to Bram. With his head still pointed at his tray, his eyes look up and focuses on her. She clears her throat and looks back to me. “Not good. I don’t think she’ll be with us much longer.”

  I set my fork down and stare back at Janice. “Are the doctors going to euthanize her? Or are they just going to leave her unconscious and wait until she dies?”

  Bram’s eyes flicker over to me. After a moment of them both starting with a hurt facial expression, I realize how blunt I was.

  I don’t apologize.

  “Well, I think they are going to probably give her a few more days before they make any decisions like that.”

  I nod and take another bite of my food. My stomach gurgles as I swallow, and my free hand slides across my waist. After listening to the people around us sit and socialize with their food, I look back to Bram to see him staring at his mashed substance. My eyes then make their way over to Janice, who hasn’t taken her eyes off me.

  “Yes?” I ask her.

  “Mavis”—she gives me a small and unsure smile—“you look really well today.”

  “Yeah?” I ask again. “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know.” She sighs. “You’re just … glowing.” Just as the word leaves her mouth, her eyes grow. She rises to her feet and waves me over to her as she begins walking. “Come with me please.”

  Bram and I share a confused look as I exit the room with Janice. “What? Where are we going?” I ask as I follow two feet behind her.

  Without looking back, she continues, “Nowhere special.”

  “What?”

  We get out of the commons area where we were eating and make it into an empty hallway. She turns to me and crosses her arms. She quickly rethinks her stance and folds her hands in front of her seemingly more nervous than usual. “Mavis?”

  “Yes?”

  Janice clears her throat and looks down to the ground for a moment. “Would you, um, tell me the truth if I asked you a question?”

  “Is this the question?”

  She shakes her head and clears her throat again. “Um, no. The question is, um, well, it isn’t meant to be insulting. And there is a large chance that I’m just taking a leap here, but you are showing some signs, and I—”

  “Janice,” I interrupt her, “what is the question?”

  The lack of words between us allows me to hear into the commons area much more clearly. The commotion in there is a soft mixture of a dozen or so conversations. It is almost soothing to hear from this far away.

  “Are you pregnant?” she asks me.

  I scoff, “Pregnant? Why would you think I’m pregnant?”

  “Well, you have a sort of glowing to your skin. That, and you seem to have gained a bit of weight, which, I mean, isn’t bad. It’s just—”

  “It’s just what?” The longer I think about it, the more I, the more—

  I can’t breathe.

  “Pregnant? I’m, I’m not, I can’t, no.” My breath becomes heavy and yet light. Too light to be able to get enough air in but too heavy and deep to feel as if I am getting all the air in around me.

  “Mavis, I could be wrong.” Janice places her hand on my back. “Have you slept with anyone?”

  A large wheeze finds its way into my lungs. My brain skips around to all the different horrendous thoughts. If I have a child in me, it is John’s.

  John’s.

  He did this to me.

  If I have a child in me, it is the child of a rapist.

  “Mavis?” Janice tries to get closer to me, but I immediately place my back against the wall.

  “No, no, no, no.” I shove her off and slide down. I sit on the floor of the hall and run my hands through my hair, clenching my fists and pulling at each strand I hold.

  Janice quickly sprints out of sight; a
nd as I continue to panic on the floor, unable to breathe or really even speak, she sprints back. My head begins to pound and panic. The room becomes hard to see as the pounding in my head creates the illusion of the room becoming darker.

  Janice administers one large vial into my leg and waves two nurses over. I watch them scurry over to me with a bag but slowly lose sight of them as the vial takes effect. I watch them run over to me in slow motion, and that is it.

  When I wake up, I am on a hospital bed; and Janice is sitting beside me, reading some paperwork.

  “What?” I mumble as I try to sit up.

  “Hey, hey”—Janice places her hand on my arm—“everything is fine. You’re all right.”

  My eyes close again, and I try to regain my ability to speak. I clear my dry throat and force myself to a sitting position. The drowsiness I feel overcomes my willpower, causing me to slowly turn my head to Janice. “What did you give me? I thought it was a vial.”

  She nods. “It was a vial, but it has a different reaction to, um”—Janice looks to me and sighs—“those who are pregnant. It doesn’t do any harm. It will just have a stronger effect.”

  Tears quickly make their way into my eyes. They flood and fall out. I try to stop them. I throw my hands over my eyes and try to hold them in, but they squeeze out anyways. “What?”

  “I’m sorry, Mavis, but you’re eight weeks pregnant.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Logan

  I stare at the chessboard. The more I look at it, the more I realize how detailed each game piece is. The perfectly crafted wood seems to have been hand carved almost it is so detailed.

  “Are you going to play?” Eric asks me as he brings me a cup of tea from the kitchen. “I’m not trying to rush you. Take your time. It’s just that you usually don’t take this long.”

  I turn my head and look at him for a moment. I look down to his leg and find that he has gotten so skilled at working with the prosthetic that I almost forget he is wearing it. He was so down and depressed when he lost one of his legs, not knowing he was going to be able to walk again. With how developed the technology of his new limb is, he can actually do pretty much everything he wants to. He can do obstacle courses, run, squat, and lift.