Grey

by Kayley Barratt

  “Yes,” I say. My eyes glide back to Carol, who smiles at me, despite all the protests occurring around her. “I actually saved her.”

  “The Lord has spoken,” Duncan says slowly and quietly. He really did try his best to make sure that girl is never accepted, and it backfired, and he can’t do a damn thing about it because it’s his own rules. “Carol will now join group C.”

  Carol gradually gets to her feet, biting down on her lip as she fights the pain. She begins to pace down the steps, sticking to the middle to avoid the commotion, but it doesn’t stop group A from stepping out of line.

  A tall girl with a white bandanna tied around her hair to shield her face steps out first—her hand grazing the air until it collides with Carol’s face. Carol stumbles across the path, falling into the men’s group who harshly push her back towards the women. Carol continues, cradling her cheek, until another member reacts by spitting in her face. I hear so many voices, all of them snarling curses at her.

  “Slut.”

  “Demon.”

  “Tramp.”

  “Rot in hell.”

  I step forwards, anger once again rises in my bloodstream. I restrain myself, standing still at the edge of the path as I wait for her to reach me. Carol frailly joins us, her arms tighten around her chest as she keeps her head down. I move over so she can stand beside me, she’s such a little thing, so breakable and scarred. But her strength is an inspiration. Despite all of that, despite being beaten, ridiculed, humiliated, losing the person she loves and being rejected by every member here—she still holds a smile for me. And that is the person that I saved. Someone that still sees well in people, someone that can still appreciate kindness even with so much hate around her.

  I know in my heart that I made the right decision. I know that it might take time for others to see it that way. I know that no matter how long we have to remain here, as long as we have each other’s backs, we can get through it.

  That is what I tell myself, it is what I hope. But as my eyes glance up, the glare from the woman with the haunting brown eyes tells me something entirely different—I’m not going to hear the end of this.

  Chapter 23

  I try to ignore all the daggers in my direction as I follow the blonde supervisor out of the chapel and back into the cool light of morning. We walk for some time across the quiet compound, until we are directed towards another large, low-roofed cabin which has a small chimney and bright blue solar panels attached to the roof.

  As I enter, I instantly pick up the smell of food. I’m not sure what it is, how it’s made, or where it’s coming from—I just know that it’s food. The smell hits me first before my eyes take in the setting of a dull, dusty dining room with rows and rows of long, metal tables, and small wooden chairs.

  I count the rows of tables. There is an uneven number of seven. Six for the groups, one for the leaders. So, group D doesn’t eat with us either? Where are they? Why are they isolated from us? I don’t get it. If there is another group, then how do they become up-graded if they’re never allowed to be given the chance to redeem themselves?

  Madam Katelyn said yesterday that they make adjustments in group C for those that are down-graded and up-graded. So, does that mean that some members of group C came from there? If that’s the case, then they could hold the answers I yearn for.

  It suddenly dawns on me that I’ve only been here a day and I’m already driving myself insane with questions. I shake away the thoughts for now, as I follow Miss Blondie towards the back of the dining hall, which is a long stretch of counter with female members on the other side, separated by a glass screen.

  The food is already prepared into square containers below the glass screen, the smoke rises from it as though it’s just been cooked. How is that possible? How could they get here before us and cook meals in less than five minutes?

  The members of kitchen duty must be exempt from assemblies. Duncan must grant them passes. All thoughts of that disperse from my mind as my stomach begins to rumble at the sight of food, of actual food. It’s right there. I’ve been so concerned about dehydration and sleep-deprivation that I’d forgotten I also need food to stay alive.

  Blondie doesn’t give me any instructions, I just follow what she does, and I grab a tray and a plate from the basket beside the counter. The members behind me do the same and we squeeze together against the counter, hands slowly going out to grab tongs from different containers.

  I drop sausages and eggs on my plate, followed by different kinds of vegetables that I know I need to substitute for the lack of nutrition. Every time I drop something on my plate, I expect a leader to take the plate away from me—like it’s a trick. Will they really let us eat this much? I guess, it would make sense energy wise, they need us to be in a sort of good condition to do work, but I’m still paranoid.

  This building must have been where they were coming from yesterday morning when I arrived, so I know that the dreaded work will be following at some point. I just hope it isn’t the field again, I don’t think I can survive another day out there.

  I keep sliding my tray across, my eyes gazing down at the potato rostis. I pause for a moment, remembering the time when Nathan cooked me them one morning when I visited his house. He over cooked them, of course, but the gesture was what mattered. He placed them with sausage, egg and cheese, wrapped in a toasted tortilla wrap because it amused him—and frightened him—that I had never tried a McDonald’s breakfast.

  I find myself smiling at the memory that I promised myself I wouldn’t dwell on; his smile, his face, his dazzling grey eyes. I hear his strong voice in my head; he tells me he loves me, he tells me that I can do this, he believes in me. I can do it. And I will find my way back to him. I will. However this ends, we will be together again. Not much makes sense right now, but that does. I still need to write a letter home to him, I still need to inform him of where I am. I know that this is a cult and not an academy, but surely, they still allow us to write home? What could be the harm in it as long as we don’t tell them any specific details of what is happening to us?

  I’ll just tell him that I’ll be away for a while and that I’ll look forward to seeing him again. As long as I get a message to him, I don’t care about letting him know about anything else. Duncan probably reads over every letter that anyone sends anyway.

  I ignore the rostis, moving along to grab a cup of orange juice before turning with my tray and following Blondie back to the tables. I glance towards the other side of the dining hall, seeing the long line of members patiently waiting for their turn. The queuing must be across the street, this is only the women. This is only my group.

  Blondie takes a seat at the table closest to the counter, the table that over-looks every other. Her ponytail sways side-to-side as she cranks her neck. I move over to her, unsure where to go.

  “Where do I—” I begin.

  “There,” she says, pointing to the long table which is the last of the rows and furthest from her.

  I nod my head, taking the hint that she doesn’t like conversation. Honestly, I don’t think she’s fully awake yet. I hold my tray tightly as I take a random seat at the table, staring down at my food until I pluck up the courage to taste it. I pick up my fork, digging it into a sausage and I slowly bring it to my lips—just as other members begin to join me, only, they seat as far from me as possible, all except Carol.

  The newest addition sits next to me, making a smile form on my face.

  “I wanted to thank you,” she says quietly. “For what you did.”

  I swallow my sausage before meeting her eyes. “Are we allowed to talk?”

  She nods. “We’re allowed to talk at breakfast. Just not loudly.”

  “Then you’re welcome,” I say, taking another bite. I can’t remember the last time I ate, I don’t know if it’s been days or a week, but it is the best thing in the world right now. “It was nothing.”

  “You saved me,” she says. “No one else would give me the chance,
but you did.”

  I feel bad that I’m so infatuated with this sausage at the moment to pay full attention to her declaration of gratitude—but I’m so damn hungry. This sausage is the only thing that has my attention.

  “Sure,” I say. “Like I said, it was nothing. You don’t owe me anything.”

  Suddenly, a thud occurs across the metal table, as a member slams her tray down across from me. I glance up from my sausage with my mouth hanging open, meeting the sinister eyes of the woman that officially has it in for me now.

  “Did you want something or…” I say with a scowl.

  “I hope you’re happy,” the woman says. “Because of you, none of us will be given the chance to be up-graded for months.”

  I look back to my sausage. “Ah, what a shame.”

  “Is this a joke to you?” she demands. Her wrinkly, shrivelled hands twist around her tray in anger. “I am the speaker of the group. I give the answer for renouncement, is that clear?”

  I flick my eyes up over my sausage, becoming annoyed that I can’t enjoy it. “Is waiting a few months really that bad in comparison to what this girl would have been put through?”

  “That girl has sinned. She knew the consequences of her actions, she knew what would happen if she got caught. Why should we all be punished for her mistakes?”

  I look at Carol, she keeps her head down, stirring her fork around some peas. The woman might have a point, it was her own doing, but what else could she do? She’s in love with Andrew, she’s attracted to Andrew, she might still be young but she has the same urges as any of us.

  “Carol has suffered for her mistakes,” I say.

  “Has she?” the woman sneers. “You’ve been here for what, a day? And you think you know how things work? You don’t have any idea how things work around here. You haven’t been here for years. You haven’t been so close to finally having freedom only to for it to be ripped from you. You don’t know anything, girl.”

  “On the contrary, I know a lot of things,” I say, chewing on another mouthful. “I know how many bones are in the human body. I know that the Cheetah can actually only run its fastest speed for approximately sixty seconds. I know that forty-six chromosomes make up the DNA of a human being and that in turn is quite terrifying. I know that despite us being taught whatever our parents tell us, the cells of our brain function to view the outside perception of everything we’ve come to know. I know that the poison dart frog is the most poisonous and deadliest animal on the planet, and even the mere touch of it will—”

  “Stop!” she says, her fingers tightening even more. “I get it, you know some things. You know things about the outside, that won’t help you here.”

  “I don’t know,” I say, considering that. “I think the fact about the Cheetah only running its fastest speed for a short amount of time could make a great metaphor.” I meet her eyes with a wide smirk. “For certain individuals.”

  She just nods, her tongue clicking across her sharp, yellow teeth. “Be careful, Elizabeth,” she says. “Be very careful.”

  She jolts her body forwards, picking up her tray and wandering across the table to the far side, which is inhabited by women.

  “Hmm,” I say to myself, my attention drifting towards another sausage on my plate, now that the previous one is devoured. “That was interesting.”

  “You shouldn’t have said that,” Carol says. “Salome is a very respected member here.”

  “Salome,” I repeat. “I just got threatened by someone called Salome?” I laugh uneasily, my eyes gazing over to the woman that is still glaring at me from her seat. “I’m not scared of her.”

  “Well, you should be,” Carol says. “Just because she’s a member doesn’t mean she doesn’t have influence over people. She was once in my group.”

  “Really?” I whisper, staring at Carol. “Group A?”

  Carol nods. “She was in A for a while and then she broke a rule. A rule that should never be broken.”

  “What rule?” I say.

  Carol feels reluctant to give the answer to that, so I glare at her until she eventually swallows and lifts her eyes up. “Writing a letter home.”

  Chapter 24

  Carol turns her attention back to her meal; oblivious to the impact she’s just made on my life. I sit stiffer, staring into the air as I process that. It shouldn’t come as a shock that they were lying about that too on their advertisement, but now all hope that I was holding on to has broken—scattered like the pieces of my old life.

  Something Carol said stands out to me and I lean closer towards her.

  “You said Salome wrote the letter?” I ask.

  Carol nods. “That’s why she was punished.”

  “Was it sent?”

  “Sort of. It left the gates but it was intercepted.”

  “How?” I say. “How did she write the letter?”

  Salome had the right idea, she just wasn’t smart or calculated enough to pull it off. If I had access to a pen and paper, if I could somehow pay attention to when the gates open and closed—to when the leaders come and go, I could slip it in amongst Duncan’s letters. He must send letters, the parents of children that were sent here must be receiving some kind of update, otherwise, the police would be storming the compound every day. Not every child here is a victim of parental abuse, most of the parents were probably spun the lie as well.

  “You have to be in group A,” she says. “They’re the only ones permitted to work in the letter room.”

  “You forged letters?”

  She nods. “I had to write letters to parents of teenagers that I’ve never even heard of. I had a script for each parent, so I could write a personal update.”

  “You wrote as the member?”

  “Yes,” she says. “But Pastor has leaders checking them before they’re processed for delivery. Salome managed to slip her letter in, but another member of group A watched her do it and… she told a leader.”

  I read her bruised eyes, the twinkle in them reveals spots of guilt, of sadness—she drops them, swallowing, while continuing to play with some peas. “It was you,” I say.

  “It was years ago,” she says. “I was only eleven. I thought I’d be rewarded if I said something, it never occurred to me that if I had let that letter go, we could all be free right now. Salome has never let it go.”

  “How did you get into group A so young?”

  “I was sent here when I was nine. Pastor thought that children shouldn’t be mixed with lower groups because our chances of sinning would be greater. If surrounded by group A, we would be easier to subdue.”

  That makes sense. Children at nine don’t have a clear understanding of the world yet, they only know what they’ve been taught, they haven’t got the mind-set to break it. Place someone like that into the environment of group A and in a few years, they’ll come to believe anything. But no matter how strong that control grows, human nature will always be stronger. And it was human nature that drew her towards Andrew, towards something that she couldn’t understand; towards love.

  “Do you miss him?” I say.

  Carol freezes, halting her stirring. “Who? My Dad?”

  “Andrew.”

  “Those feelings are not there anymore. Pastor—”

  “Don’t play dumb with me,” I say, giving her a gentle smile. “You’re a smart girl, Carol. You know you can trust me.”

  “I’d like to believe that,” she says. “But I don’t trust anyone. Not anymore.”

  She hangs her head down, giving me the hint that that’s all I’m getting on the subject. The table becomes even fuller and women begin seating themselves across from us because there’s nowhere else. Even though we’re allowed to talk, none of them do. They eat in silence, their thoughts a million miles away, all except Mary. She chats along to the older women either side of her, trying to provoke a conversation out of them, but fails.

  I lean back in my seat, sighing as I observe the other tables. Group B doesn’t talk either,
nor does group A—they eat as though it’s a chore, not a pleasure. I try to pay attention to group A’s behaviour because now it makes sense to me that they really are the most privileged of us. If I’m ever going to get a letter out of here, I need to get into that group. I don’t know how that’s going to happen, or what I’ll have to do to be up-graded, but it’s my only chance. My eyes flick over their table to the leader’s table and I find Elijah without meaning to.

  He sits with the blonde, both of them whispering to each other, with no sign of amusement on their faces.

  “Carol,” I say.

  “Hmm?”

  “What are the names of the supervisors?”

  “Of group C?”

  I nod.

  “Madam Katelyn, Madam Bertha, Madam—”

  “No,” I say, interrupting. “Show me. I know who Madam Katelyn is.”

  She picks her head up, scrolling her eyes across the leader’s table. “The young blonde supervisor is Madam Terry,” she whispers. “Madam Bertha is the older blonde sitting at the far right. Madam Tabitha is the grey-haired supervisor with all the wrinkles, sitting beside Madam Katelyn. And the brunette with the sinister scowl is Madam Joan.”

  I glare at Madam Joan, the supervisor that whipped me to an inch of my life yesterday. She glares across the dining hall, her eyes narrowing at every little thing. She has a long face that makes her chin point out and her eyebrows are unevenly joined together across her forehead. She is one unattractive woman, but also, really terrifying.

  “Their names aren’t Biblical,” I say.

  “So?”

  “I thought that… never mind.”

  I watch Elijah again, he cuts up a piece of egg, chewing on it slowly—and then he glances up, directly meeting my gaze, but I don’t look away. He told me that Duncan changes the names of those that aren’t Biblical. Most of the names are just old-fashioned, maybe that’s what he meant. But he sounded specific.

  There’s something in his face when he looks at me, there’s something there, on the tip of his tongue, that he wants to let loose. He’s trying to tell me something, there’s something hidden beneath the surface. I’m not sure what it is, but it doesn’t frighten me, nor does it leave me feeling uncomfortable. I think I can manipulate that. If I play my cards right, he could be my ticket to become up-graded.