Most days, we have some sort of schedule to follow. Usually, we are expected to eat three healthy meals a day and forced to participate in an exercise activity daily, to keep our bodies fit and physically well. Apart from eating and physical activity, we are left to our own devices—and everyone just ambles around aimlessly. With nothing to test our wits or strength, we settle into a rhythm that seems uncannily similar to a typically human work day: wake up, shower, eat breakfast, do exercise routine, eat lunch, lie around all day, eat dinner, and go to bed—day in and day out. The nights and mornings seem to blur together, so eventually I am unsure what day it is or how long has passed since my arrival. Life is entirely meaningless, and it drives me to the point of insanity.
I spend most of my days outside under the willow tree, writing on the few blank flyleaf pages I find in books. At least ten book fronts are now covered in graffiti and my untidy script. Someday, a person will find these books, read them, and realise the terrible things this government has done to its people. Maybe in ten years, maybe in a thousand years, a new civilisation will dig up the ruins of this facility and find my many diary entries scribbled in various book covers. They’ll put them in museums—the doodles of an eighteen-year-old, soon-to-be concubine.
The only thing that keeps me sane is the rare glimpses I catch of Whil on the other side of the courtyard fence. Warden must have told the guards to keep us apart, because if Whil ever tries to come to me, a guard hurries him away. I feel a ping in my heart every time he is steered away from me to talk to another girl. There are attractive girls on his side of the fence; girls just as beautiful as Madison, and much more beautiful than I am.
After the first week of imprisonment, I find myself becoming bitter towards Whil. Let him flirt with his attractive cellmates! He seems to put a good amount of effort into talking and laughing with them rather than battling the guards to see me. I try to understand his intentions, he can’t fight with these guards as they have proven themselves to be cruel and won’t hesitate to beat people who don’t obey their orders. Yet, Seiger’s guards, who are often on duty, are much more lenient and would have allowed Whil a minute or two to talk to me—and yet after that first week, he doesn’t even bother.
I think about him kissing me that night and whether it meant anything to him. We thought we were the last free people in the country. He didn’t have a choice but to like me; he didn’t think he would ever find another girl to live with. Perhaps I was being stupid. Perhaps I only liked him because I thought the same thing. I should have known better.
Whil isn’t the gentleman I thought he was. After a week and a half passes, he doesn’t even glance my way through the fence. Even if I wave to him or call his name, he ignores it. I feel a constant pulsing anger and an acrid feeling in my throat and in the pit of my stomach that can only be jealousy. I try to push it away and tell myself that it was my fault for getting too attached, but the feelings don’t subside. I’m so angry with him for fooling me, and so furious with myself for falling for him. He’s rude, disrespectful, and selfish. Exactly like the boys from my old school who were only after one thing. It doesn’t take long before I start ignoring him as well and turn my back on Facility Two intentionally.
My multiple wounds have scabbed over and are on the road to recovery. However, they are not pleasant to look at. My back is just a long, rough, off-coloured strip of dry skin. It doesn’t hurt so much anymore because the scabbing protects it, but the rough skin catches on the fabric of my shirt and itches terribly.
My face heals a lot faster and by the time two weeks have passed since my flogging, the gashes on my face have faded to baby pink scars of puckered flesh. The B brand, which everyone in both Facility One and Two was marked with, is livid pink and the many layers of skin tissue that the freezing brand destroyed flake away a bit more each day. All in all, I look atrocious, much more scarred and world-weary than all of my other inmates. Isobelle often comments on how different I look compared to flawless Madison, and I thank her for being so very observant.
While day-to-day activities bore the stuffing out of me, and Whil manages to irritate me without even talking, there is one thing that constantly keeps me on edge: Felix.
I often catch him looking at me during breakfast, his eyes dark and hungry. When I’m by myself beneath the willow, he is always staring at me from the other side of the courtyard, his two bimbos by his side and stroking his arms. I don’t smile or sneer in his direction, I just ignore him. I can feel his curiosity growing stronger, and it frightens me in the same way the branding man did. Madison and Jacob are always around me. I suppose I would call them friends now, but what could they do if Felix came after me? They could try to stop him and then be punished by Warden for slowing down the natural process. What if Warden separated Madison and Jacob like she did Whil and me? I know neither of them would cope.
All in all, I feel miserable and constantly alert like a fox being hounded. There is such a stark, miserable difference between this facility and the Alps. I miss being enveloped by nature. The facility is always clean, tidy, and bustling with movement and noise, but I yearn for the quiet evenings and the relaxed, carefree days at Hidden Valley Farm. I yearn for the freedom of the Alps again. I miss the smell of the trees, the feeling of the cool wind on my skin, and the freedom to stretch my legs far and fast. My entire being aches for freedom.
~
It’s a sunny afternoon when my group of three and I finish our daily exercise with the instructor, who had us play a rather gruelling game of soccer. I’m sweating and panting from exhaustion, but I can feel Felix’s eyes on me as I stand on the lawn and begin to stretch my limbs as the instructor asks. I feel like Felix is looking straight through my clothes. I hide my shudder by pretending to sneeze, and the instructor tells us to bend and try to touch our toes. I do as I’m told, groaning as heat erupts in the back of my knees. I’ve never been very athletic.
When the instructor is satisfied we have done enough, he says goodbye and leaves the facility. Madison, Jacob, Isobelle, and I all go over to our willow tree and sit cross-legged in the shade. Isobelle is red in the face from the physical work and there is the funniest, breathless expression on her speckled face, like a fish trying to breathe out of water.
“Worn out, Is’?” Madison asks. The little girl nods and we laugh good-naturedly.
Then, I see a familiar shape on the other side of the dividing fence. The name escapes my lips before I can stop it.
“Whil!” I say loudly. It’s almost a shout, and although I try to sound casual, the desperate, harsh edge to my voice is easily noticed. I hadn’t even intended to call for him.
When Whil looks up briefly, sees me and looks away without interest, I sink against the willow tree and my chest suddenly feels crushed, either with heartbreak or anger. I see Felix smirk, and I have half a mind to go and give him a good punch in the face. See if he’s smiling then! Madison pats my knee sympathetically.
“Ah, the fickleness of the heart,” she says dramatically.
I can’t help but laugh. “He’s a jerk.”
A sudden ear-piercing screech breaks the peace and all of us wince and look at the loudspeakers, awaiting the announcement.
“Blood tests for all women tomorrow morning. That is all.”
All is quiet again.
“Blood tests?” I ask, frowning. “What for?”
“What do you think?” Madison asks sardonically. “Diabetes? They want to know whether we are pregnant or not.”
“Already?” I gape.
“Of course. We aren’t here to have a holiday. Warden means business. She wants us to be pregnant.”
“A-are you?” I ask, wide-mouthed. Isobelle looks just as shocked by the announcement as I am.
Naturally, neither Isobelle nor I have fraternised at all with members of the opposite gender, except for Jacob. But Jacob is the mellowest and the most sex-reluctant man I have ever met. He certainly doesn’t seem pleased that he is expected to impregnate m
ultiple women. Before the rally, Jacob and Madison had been an engaged couple and every mention of him having to sleep with another woman makes Jacob’s face go green.
“Could be,” Madison shrugs. “The difference is, I’ve been trying to so I won’t be punished. All of the other girls seem to be doing their jobs too. You, Freya, haven’t been pulling your weight.”
I can’t believe she’s taking their side! The thought makes me see red. It’s as if Madison is happy to bow down to the government’s will at the drop of a hat. Like she expects me to be fine and dandy about getting into bed with men I hardly know.
Anger bubbles inside of me. “Well, what am I supposed to do? Go and offer myself up to Felix? No, thank you.”
There are three men in Facility One: Jacob, Felix, and Lance. Most of the girls seem to fawn over Lance and it isn’t hard to see why—he is the teller of jokes and inspiring stories, the one who makes us all laugh in such a dark time, and he is not terrifying and intimidating like Felix, nor sullen and quiet like Jacob. Lance is a naturally charming character. He is of average height, quite brawny, probably in his mid-twenties, with copper-brown hair and brown eyes. But Lance already has his hands full with all of the other unclaimed compound women. We have our own cliques, each headed by a male; Jacob owns Madison and, on a lesser scale, Isobelle and me; Felix owns his couple of floozies: Candice and Hannah. Lance owns the other seven women, but never is he pushy or forceful with those who have chosen him.
I often see Lance or Felix suddenly slink away into their bedrooms in the later hours of the evenings, with a girl who has finally given in to the pressure. Though I’ve never seen Lance treat the ladies unkindly or make an uninvited move on them, he definitely isn’t my type. He’s handsome and sweet-hearted, but he also craves constant attention and is a bit of a clown. Lance calls us Bs the ‘red foxes’, the opposite of the story Seiger told us about the scientist creating domestic silver foxes. Being labelled a red fox means someone wild and cunning, always craving freedom.
I watch Lance on the other side of the courtyard. He’s telling the women around him a story, and they are all giggling stupidly. He hangs his arms around his two youngest women’s shoulders, sees me watching, and winks cheekily.
Rolling my eyes, I look back at my own group and notice Madison has suddenly gone very red-faced. Jacob looks stiff as a board, but that’s hardly irregular.
“What is it?” I ask suspiciously.
“Well, Frey. And Isobelle, too… I suppose. Jacob and I were talking last night. We don’t want you two to get into any trouble or get hurt by Felix. If your blood tests came back positive, you’d be protected from further… harassment, if you know what I mean. Warden wouldn’t let other men jeopardise an already pregnant woman.”
“You mean if we are pregnant the men won’t try to do anything forcefully? There’s just one problem, neither Isobelle or I will be pregnant in these blood tests and hopefully in no others, if I have my way.”
“Well, yes,” she clears her throat and tucks a strand of auburn hair behind her ear nervously. “Obviously tomorrow’s blood test wouldn’t show anything but I think they will be a regular thing, so maybe for the next one, it would be best if…”
“Spit it out, Madison,” I say, not at all liking where the conversation is headed.
“We just thought maybe Jacob could… get it out of the way for you.”
A laugh bursts through my lips but it isn’t echoed by anyone else’s, and I’m instantly reminded of the scene in the van when Seiger had told us about silver foxes. My little group of friends are silent. Then I see how serious Madison and Jacob look. They appear carved from marble. Shocked and repulsed, I look at Jacob and he turns beetroot red under my scowl. As usual, he has no words. He just stays still and receives the brunt of my hostile glare. My voice is lost. The mere thought of making love to Jacob sends a ripple of discomfort, discomfort being a light way to put it, through me. It isn’t as if I don’t like Jacob. He’s respectful and kind, but I have never thought about him in a romantic way! I certainly don’t want to get in bed with him. My voice returns, loud and fierce.
“Isobelle’s twelve years old, Madison!” I say disbelievingly. “She’s a child.”
“It’s better than Felix getting to either of you,” Madison argues hotly. “You have to think about it. I know it isn’t ideal. I’d prefer it didn’t happen either, but I don’t want either of you being hurt. Jacob wouldn’t hurt you.”
Obviously, the whole conversation makes Jacob extremely uncomfortable. He stands up, wipes his palms on his jeans and walks away, arms crossed firmly over his chest and head ducked like someone might try to clobber him. It wasn’t his idea, I know it. He’s faithful to Madison and has eyes only for her.
Jacob doesn’t want to sleep with us, but he does care about our safety.
It’s almost touching that he cares enough to put aside his relationship to keep us safe. Almost touching. Aside from slightly touching, it’s very, very disturbing. I don’t think I could share Whil with anyone. Even if it meant Clara being alive instead of dead. It seems so wrong. It is so wrong!
Then I look down at Isobelle’s wide, innocent face and I doubt myself. I think of how frightened she must be despite her calm, steady façade. How scared she must be of Felix breaking into our room or finding her alone as she heads to the bathroom at night. She must be constantly petrified of attack—more so than I am. If it meant her being safe, would I share Whil with her? I have to remind myself, Whil isn’t yours, before I speak.
“Well, Isobelle maybe,” I tell Madison firmly. “Not me. No matter what happens or how much I am threatened by Warden, I won’t ever do it by choice.”
“I-I don’t wanna either,” Isobelle says shrilly, clutching at the hem of her shirt until her knuckles go white. “Madison, I don’t wanna do that!”
Both Madison and I move to hug the little girl between us. I feel Madison’s soft skin beneath my hand as we wrap our arms around Isobelle, and I know she doesn’t want to offend us or hurt us. She just wants to protect us. A flood of sentimentality strikes me as her green eyes meet mine. She is my friend. And so is Jacob. Both are willing to put so much on the line for my sake.
“You don’t have to Isobelle, but I just wanted you both to know the option is there. You don’t have to have Felix hunting you all of the time,” Madison says.
I don’t plan on sticking around long enough for Felix to catch me off my guard.
But as more days tick by, my escape plans are virtually non-existent and my hopes dim.
19.
Two days after Madison’s startling offer, the guards gather up all of the women in Facility One, including me, and herd us from common room. The three men watch us be led away, obviously just as clueless as we are. None of us put up a fight. We know we are much too precious to Warden for the guards to do anything bad to us, and since the men were left in Facility One, our departure mustn’t be about reproducing with them.
We are taken to a very excited looking Warden. She is dressed in her usual white, although now she wears shorts instead of pants, exposing her very slim, very tanned long legs. I hope she doesn’t strut about like this in front of Whil. I pinch the skin on my arm.
Forget about Whil!
“Ladies,” Warden says as we approach. She stands in front of a steel door and flings her arms wide. “This is it.”
We walk forward slowly, confused and anxious as to what hides behind the steel door. Though I had tried to memorise the route to this point from the Facility One entrance, after the first five turns I had lost my way. I saw multiple doors in the compound, some more formidable than others, some with windows looking into plain hospital rooms where the guards must sleep, for there were boxes of ammunition, guns and multiple maroon jumpsuits strewn over these rooms, and some rooms that were altogether empty.
The door we have come to stop at, however, is much like the one the branding man works behind. Not only I, but also every other woman comes to a grinding
halt several metres from the door, faces falling with horror. Isobelle’s fear consumes her and she lunges in the other direction to escape, but a guard blocks her path so she just latches onto my arm, eyes wide. Madison hisses between her clenched, pearly white teeth.
Obviously, everyone remembers the ruthless branding man, and none have a desire to be reacquainted with him. Heart racing and thoughts muddled with fear, I sniff the air but find no stink of burning flesh. I brush my fingers over the B scar on my arm distractedly and trace its outline, telling myself this isn’t the same room.
Warden sees our stricken faces and smiles. I can tell she tries to make the smile warm and comforting, but the sinister demon behind the mask is too easily spotted. Her teeth seem pointed and her pale blue eyes glint with wickedness.
“Don’t fear,” she says. “This isn’t the branding room. This, my girls, is the AI room.”
Oh, Gods.
“I see some of you know what AI means,” she says, shooting a wicked look at me in particular. Then she looks at Isobelle’s clueless face. “AI stands for artificial insemination. I warned all of you that if we didn’t get results within a couple of weeks, we had other methods of impregnation. Most of you have done your jobs well. Others have neglected it altogether and are still set in your ways. Just let me remind you that once upon a time, humans bred just like animals. They didn’t think about love or chivalry. They thought only about reproducing their own kind. We have given you a chance to mate naturally but some of you haven’t even attempted it. So come in and I’ll show you what awaits those of you who are not complying with orders.”
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