by Anna Abner
Finally, the precious things in the very bottom of my pack, my most special belongings, I left in my backpack and then hid it under the dresser. My iPad. My song diary.
And now my guitar was one of those precious things.
I opened our barracks room door and stood, half in and half out. I didn’t want to sit by myself in the dark and stuffy room. I was too jumpy, too worried about Ben and Hunny, to sit still.
My guitar lay on my bed like a blinking neon sign. I snatched it up and carried it onto the landing. I sat with my back against the exterior wall and stretched my legs toward the railing.
My fingers found comfortable chords on instinct and I strummed a few times, tweaking a couple strings that had gone wonky on the walk from Raleigh. Satisfied it was tuned and my fingers were adequately warmed up, I queued up a G chord.
“Must be summertime,” I sang softly, plucking a fun, upbeat tempo.
But it wasn’t loud enough. The men at the picnic tables didn’t even look up.
I inhaled deeply, readied my second chord, and then sang as if I were playing on stage at the county fair, imagining Ben hearing the beautiful tone of the guitar he’d picked out for me. Maybe it even cheered him up a little bit. Hunny, too. Music would make her happy, even locked in a room alone.
Playing with a purpose made me brave.
Malcolm’s men were watching me. I didn’t care if they heard me, and I tried not to be embarrassed, though it was tough. If those guys down there heard me, then Ben and Hunny heard me, too.
I played it again, and then broke into a cover of “You Belong With Me” by Taylor Swift. I hoped whatever they were doing across the way, Ben and Hunny knew I was thinking about them. That I hadn’t forgotten them.
Dinner broke up and men either went off to their assignments or their rooms. Pollard and Simone came straight upstairs with Juliet tagging along.
The girl didn’t even say hello, just stood beside the window with hands clasped. Life must have been awfully boring for her if brooding silently in our room was better than being in her own.
Someone knocked on our barracks door. “Is Juliet in there with you?” Without waiting for an answer, the door swung open and Hoyt, one of Malcolm’s favorite followers stepped inside wearing a full set of camouflage gear.
“Juliet,” he said, spotting her immediately. “I told you I was coming by tonight. Did you forget?” He offered her his hand.
She curled in on herself even further and the look on her face, what I could see of it, made me uneasy. A happy person didn’t make that expression.
Pollard placed a hand on Juliet’s hunched shoulder. “She’s busy tonight. Sorry.”
The guy thought better of arguing. Without saying good-bye or even closing the door, he marched away.
“Sorry I didn’t even ask,” Pollard said to the girl. “Did you want to go with him? ‘Cause it seemed like you didn’t.”
She shook her head, and I thought that was the only response we’d get, but then she said, “I didn’t want to go.”
“Good.” Pollard sat on the single bed. “Then make yourself at home.”
I closed the door, and as I did, my eyes went straight to Ben’s window. There was a light on across the way, but the curtains were drawn and I couldn’t see him, Smart, or anyone else inside.
“So,” Simone said, wiggling under the thin blankets of her bottom bunk, “do you like it here or not, Juliet? You never answered my question.”
The girl shrugged.
“Is that a yes or a no?”
Juliet crossed to the door, checked that the landing was clear, and then faced Simone. “No,” she said. “I hate it here.” She slipped out the door and was gone.
“What was that about?” Pollard leaned forward as if he might follow her.
“Let her be,” I said. “I thought she was shy, but…” I crossed my arms over my chest.
“Is it just me,” Simone added, “or is she straight up terrified?”
“Terrified of what?” Pollard asked.
“I don’t know,” I admitted in a whisper. But I was going to find out.
“Well, she’s gone now.” He closed and locked the door. “I’m so tired,” he complained, hovering over me. “I don’t care if it’s still light out. I’m going to sleep.”
He hadn’t slept at all the night before and I felt guilty for letting him stand guard alone. “Get some sleep.” I smiled warmly. “You need it.”
He glanced guiltily in Simone’s direction, and then pinned his blue eyes on me. “Do you, uh, want to share a bunk?”
My gaze flicked from the top bunk I’d called and his narrow single under the window.
No offense to him, but no. I didn’t. “I like being by myself,” I said, hoping I wasn’t hurting his feelings. Hunny was the only person I could stomach sleeping beside and she wasn’t there.
“Sure.” Pollard gave me an it’s cool nod. “Sleep tight.” He got busy fixing his bed for the night.
I climbed the bunk bed’s narrow ladder, more tired with each step. By the time I hit the musty-smelling mattress, I was exhausted.
I flopped onto my back, and the wall and ceiling wrapped me in a cocoon of beige paint and cinder blocks. It wasn’t very different from my panic room back home.
As I closed my eyes I heard men talking down in the common area, a loud laugh, and Pollard tossing from side to side on his bed. The world faded away and I fell asleep, safe on the second floor, safe in a real bed, safe shut behind a closed door.
My last conscious thought was of Ben. I hoped he was safe, too.
Chapter Eleven
Malcolm wasn’t kidding about an early wake-up time. In fact, before the camp’s six a.m. bell rang there was a knock at our door. Pollard, who was closest, answered it in his pajama bottoms.
“Morning,” Malcolm greeted brusquely. “I have your daily chore assignments. Datsik, you’ll be in the hunting party with Harris. Solomon will help Durand in the kitchen. And Doyle will work in the garden with Rodriguez.”
Pollard just stood there, but I sensed the wheels turning in his mind.
“See you downstairs in thirty minutes,” Malcolm said. “Breakfast will follow morning PT.”
Pollard closed the door and leaned against it. “Well, I guess chores aren’t too much to ask. Since they’re letting us stay here.” But he didn’t sound very enthusiastic. He peeked through the curtains at the building across the parking lot where Hunny and Ben were being held behind separate locked doors.
“You should be in the kitchen,” I grumbled, sliding over the edge of the top bunk. My feet hit the tile floor with a sticky smack. “I’m awful at cooking.”
“Do you think I’ll have to shoot things in the hunting party?” he asked, still peering out the window.
Pollard was an awful shot. He’d be a disaster with a shotgun. He’d probably scare all the animals away.
“What are you two complaining about?” Simone swerved around me carrying clean clothes into the bathroom. “I’ll trade you. I don’t want to pull weeds all day in the sun, I’ll tell you that much.” She snapped the door closed and locked it.
I joined Pollard at the window, pressing myself into the warmth of his chest. “Can you see them?”
When he curled his arm around me, I knew he wasn’t upset about the night before. And it was a relief. I couldn’t handle Malcolm’s regulations and Pollard’s withdrawal, too.
“No.” The curtain fell back into place. “I’ll find out if anyone’s bringing them food and water. Maybe they’ll let me do it.”
I took my turn washing up from a bucket and dressing in the bathroom, and then went downstairs with Pollard. It was already hot, though the sun hardly peeked above the horizon, when we joined the others in the grass.
“Line up,” Malcolm ordered, organizing the camp into rows. “Jumping jacks.” The men snapped their arms above their heads and counted each movement in unison. I tried to keep up.
The jumping jacks morphed into push-ups a
nd then sit-ups. As I did my best with tired muscles that hadn’t seen a proper workout in weeks, I observed the others.
There was one obvious no-show. Juliet was nowhere to be found. Why was she the only member of the camp off the hook? In our new world it was a plus to be in good shape. So why did Malcolm let her slide?
The men, though, were quick and sure. No one complained. No one dropped out early.
Simone, however, struggled. She was off rhythm with Malcolm’s count and her face brightened to strawberry red. Sit-ups weren’t her thing. Apparently.
Keeping my eyes down, I hurried over and held her sneakers flat to the pavement. “Breathe,” I advised. “Each and every crunch, exhale. Inhale on the downward stroke.”
“Breathing’s not the problem.” She grunted into a sitting position while glaring daggers at me. “This is bull. We’re not soldiers.”
“What’s the problem?” Malcolm stood over us, hands behind his back.
“We haven’t been doing strength training,” I tried to explain. “We’re out of shape.”
“Not all of you.” He gestured to Pollard who was having no trouble with the workout. “Just you.” He stared pointedly at Simone. To the group, he shouted, “On your feet. Six laps. Extra pillow for the fastest runner.”
My muscles tensed to race, but I didn’t trust Malcolm not to punish Simone. After locking up Ben and then Hunny, how hard would it be to shut Simone behind a third door?
“You better hurry,” he said to me. “You’re getting left behind.”
I hopped to my feet. “What about her?”
“She’ll finish the workout.” His smiled his cold doll smile. “Just like everyone else.” He took my place holding down Simone’s sneakers. “Twenty more,” he ordered her.
With a disgusted groan, Simone struggled into a sitting position.
Sneakers pounded the asphalt behind me as the men came out from behind the west barracks. I took off after them, feeling light as a feather, fast as the wind. My twisted knee was back to normal, strong as ever, and I sprinted. By the third lap I’d caught up to the group, but one man had a big lead over the others. Stein, one of the guys who’d taken Hunny away the night before.
By the final lap I was only steps behind, and exhilaration rocketed me beyond fast and into fifth gear. I blew past him and the imaginary finish line in first place. I took a cool down lap, completely wrung out, but in the best possible way.
“You’re fast,” Malcolm observed as I strolled back toward the cluster of men loitering under the trees.
Behind him Simone was on her feet and jogging her first lap. She didn’t look so good.
“She’s not a runner,” I said, pointing. “Why can’t she stop for the day? Try again tomorrow?”
“That’s not how we do things here,” he said. “We’re only as strong as our weakest link.” He sent Simone a telling look. “Get in line for the shower, and I’ll see you at chow.” He marched off to get a better view of Simone.
Pollard walked up, sweaty and breathing hard. “Go ahead,” he said to me. “I’ll hang out here for a while.”
The idea of a shower was too tempting.
Behind the east barracks, out of view of the camp, I stepped into a plywood shower stall and undressed. The water was cold, but clean, and I scrubbed the sweat from my hair and body with a rag and a bit of soap.
“Nice run.” Stein, the man who’d been in Juliet’s room, joined me in the adjacent stall. “No one’s ever beat me before.”
I didn’t know what to say. The plywood most likely shielded everything below my neck from his view, but it didn’t matter. I felt very, very naked.
“I was on the track team,” I stuttered, snatching a towel off a hook and rubbing myself dry.
“Well, it shows.” There was something icky about his tone, and I just wanted to get out of that wooden cubicle.
I pulled on my old, sweaty clothes and stepped out as Simone, followed by Malcolm, jogged by. The poor woman’s face had gone from beet red to chalky white.
“Is she—” I started to say when she bent over and threw up in the dirt.
“That’s enough for today,” Malcolm announced before I could protest further. “Hit the showers.”
I held the door open for her, made sure she was okay on her own, and then hurried upstairs to change into clean clothes and comb my hair.
But Pollard joined me and then Simone showed up, dripping wet, and still slightly green around the edges.
“Are you okay?” Pollard asked me, taking my hands and steering me into the light from the window in order to scrutinize my face.
“I’m fine.” The run had reinvigorated me from the inside out. “What about you?”
“Yeah, that was a good workout. I’m glad they’re staying fit. It makes me more optimistic the camp will succeed.”
“Excuse me.” Simone weaved around us and crawled into her bunk, wet and fully dressed. “I can’t believe I had to do that.”
“Are you gonna be okay?” Pollard asked her. “Here,” he grabbed a bottle of water, “drink this.”
“Did you notice little miss Juliet didn’t have to participate?” Simone asked, guzzling water. “I’m going to figure out how she pulled it off. I’m not doing that stuff every morning. No way.”
“Nobody said anything about Ben or Hunny,” I mused.
“We’ll find out at breakfast.” Pollard changed quickly, and once Simone was dressed and feeling stronger we ambled downstairs.
Malcolm held court at the picnic area as freshly showered men milled around eating MREs. I headed straight for the man in charge.
“Morning, Solomon,” he greeted and nodded at my companions. “Datsik. Doyle.”
“How are Hunny and Ben?” I asked.
“They’re both fine.” He stood up from the table as if he suddenly remembered he had somewhere to be. “Take my advice. Focus on your new chore assignments and do all you can to benefit the camp. Everything else will work itself out.”
“I can deliver their breakfasts,” Pollard said in a rush before Malcolm had a chance to dodge us. “I mean, I’m volunteering to carry them food. So none of your guys have to do it.”
“Very generous of you,” Malcolm said with a sigh. “But Smart has it covered. Harris is waiting for you at the gate, Datsik. You better hustle.” And he was off to organize something else, anything else, away from us.
“Well, we tried.” Pollard shrugged, but I saw behind his eyes that he was just as worried about Ben and Hunny as I was. Short of open rebellion, though, there was nothing to do except wait Malcolm out. If he was being truthful, we’d see our friends soon.
“I’m off.”
I watched Pollard leave with his hunting partner until I couldn’t see him through the trees and brush anymore. Finally, with no more excuses, I ducked into the kitchen to start my daily chores. The large room smelled like flour and sweat and ran on two generators powering an oscillating fan and an oven.
I stopped dead in my tracks at the sight of those electricity-generating machines. Each about the size of an ice chest, they ran on gasoline and produced small amounts of power. Enough to run a radio or a kitchen appliance.
Or an iPad.
After our welcome there—or lack thereof—and considering all Malcolm’s rules and regulations, I didn’t think he’d let me use a generator for such a silly reason as plugging in and charging a tablet. Maybe if I snuck down at night…
But that wouldn’t work, either. I didn’t know the first thing about operating a generator. I could just as easily blow it up as get it running. Maybe my luck would change and Durand would teach me how to use it.
“You made the rolls last night?” I asked him. “They were good.”
Durand offered his hand to shake, and I briefly clasped it. “Thanks. We have the resources so why not, right? Go ahead and sanitize your hands. This won’t take long if we work together. But don’t let Malcolm know we get done early or he’ll assign us a second chore in the afterno
ons.”
I rubbed antibacterial gel up and down my arms, and then while I was at it, I soaped a rag and wiped down the counters and the stovetop.
“I’m not good at cooking,” I admitted. The most complicated dish I’d ever created was scrambled eggs. Before the red virus my meals had either been purchased or heated in a microwave. I was also really good at heating frozen casseroles in the oven. But three hundred fifty degrees for one hour was as intricate as my recipes ever got. “My friend Pollard is a really good cook. He should be here.”
“You don’t have to be a chef to make rolls. I’ll show you.”
But it wasn’t as easy as he made it seem. He mixed evaporated milk, powdered eggs, yeast, flour, sugar, salt, and shortening. With his bare hands he kneaded dough into perfectly smooth, puffy mounds of yeasty goodness. My dough was wet cement that stuck to my fingers and lay as flat as a tortilla.
“The dough hates me,” I complained.
“It takes time to learn the little things,” he explained, pinching his dough into roll-sized puffs. “Pressure. Timing. I only really ‘got it’ after making rolls twice a day for a week straight.”
“How long have you been here?” I asked, trying to fix my lumpy glob and not getting anywhere.
“Uh.” He wiped sweat from his brow with his shirt sleeve. “A couple weeks.”
“Did you find a flyer, too?” After picking up a neon advertisement promising an evacuation to government-controlled Camp Carson, Pollard’s friend Russell had imagined a safe and prosperous utopian society flourishing at the base. Obviously, he had exaggerated the situation.
“A flyer? No. Malcolm, Smart, and I heard on the radio this was a safe place for people. But when we got here the whole base was deserted. All the weapons and ammo were gone, too. I don’t know what happened.”
No weapons or ammunition? At all? “This is a military base. How is that possible?”
He laughed derisively. “Some genius blew up the armory on his way out of town.”
“You don’t have any bullets?” I was torn about how to feel. On the one hand I was relieved, but on the other fewer usable weapons meant we were all vulnerable.
