Ink Stains, Volume I

by N. Apythia Morges

The world ended on October 1. Because mass communication is non-existent, there’s no consensus regarding what precipitated the Infection. Campfire lore and the ramblings of the disgruntled and displaced suggested it was a new cancer drug that awoke something in the cells of the users, or it was the result of bioterrorism. Maybe it was truly black magic. Perhaps it was nature’s way of fighting back. Either way, it happened.

  The Infection’s effects on the body are grotesque, the stuff of nightmares. Before civilization collapsed, CNN and Fox News fueled the panic with gore-porn, recycling images of the terrible symptoms of the Infection. They seemed fond of one particular image of a small child clutching his heart to his open chest, as though it was a bird trying to escape his grasp. His eyes were simultaneously glassy and alert, unable to register anyone around him but hyper aware that death was close by.

  Before Hell broke open and unleashed its despair upon the Earth, a Pentagon doctor developed a device that supposedly identifies the illness, even detects it before the symptoms appear. Little wands, much like the wands used by airport security, that beep when it gets within three inches of an infected person, were passed out at hospitals in the Southeast. No one had time to test its accuracy, but so far I’ve never had a false negative. I found it comforting that somehow medicine and technology could identify the Infection. That had to mean it was something natural, not inherently evil. This wasn’t some shaman’s curse run amok, I reasoned. These devices made it all the way out to the middle states before everything shut down.

  And everything went down fast. On Monday, CNN was running a story about an “Infected child” in Africa, and by Friday, the entire Western world was in a panic. After that, Tennessee didn’t get news anymore.

  On the Wednesday before the world ended, I’d returned home only to find my family dead. They’d been shot and our house cleaned out.

  I set fire to the house. By acting out this crass cremation, I alone could hold onto the memory of the life I once had with the people I loved. No one else would ever know the life I lived there, nor could they infer anything about the people I loved. The memories could never be appropriated by someone drifting by their remains. They would be mine for the remainder of eternity.

  I packed what I could and left for Johnson City with my boyfriend Brett, hoping that a city with a bigger population and one of the best hospitals in the eastern side of the state would be safer, or at least saner.

  I was wrong.

  Stores had been broken into and looted. Wrecked cars lined the streets. Only bones of those whom the Infected had consumed remained. Not even animals dared to venture out into the sunlight. Before we discovered the hospital, Brett and I came across a group of fraternity brothers in a mostly destroyed Waffle House. They stood over the body of a small boy.

  “What happened?” I asked.

  “He was hiding in the closet. I thought he was one of them,” one of the brothers cried. He pulled a revolver from his hoodie and shot his brothers without a word. He looked at me with tearful eyes and said, “I’m sorry but I only got one more shot.” I held Brett’s face away from the carnage as the brother’s blood splattered across the grease-smudged window of the building. I prayed for their souls, prayed that they could find peace now that they had escaped Armageddon.

  I looted the bodies, obtaining some change and a small Zippo lighter. Brett asked me to leave the gun. I conceded.

  They say that hell is materialized through war, but a pandemic is a more accurate description. There was no “good” or “bad” side, there were no morals fueling the violence. There wasn’t even greed—everything was random, and Death showed no preferences or prejudices. It was order-less and chaotic, and we couldn’t hide behind man-made causes and values.

  Finally, after two days of aimless walking and cowering at every suspicious sight and sound, we found the Johnson City Medical Center. The West Wing and the South Tower were virtually destroyed in a fire. Brett, who had stayed up to date until the very last transmission, explained that this hospital had taken Infected victims, but it had been evacuated during a fire. It was estimated only a third made it out alive.

  The hospital was a miracle really, a large building, equipped with beds, stocked kitchens, and medicine. Brett and I explored, combing through closets and stairwells and the rooms that were still accessible. Most of the building had crumbled, but the East Tower stood sturdy and proud, largely unaffected by the fire. The East Tower became our new home.

  The fire had started in the neonatal center on the third floor, and quickly took out the upper levels, as well as the west side of the building. The parts that weren’t directly affected by the fire were dilapidated. Only about a fifth of the hospital was intact. At least, intact enough to provide a decent shelter.

  Brett had vomited at the sight of the burned bodies. I found great comfort in them. If it was a germ or bacteria, something science could explain, then it was likely killed in the fire along with the patients who resided here. We were probably safer here, because charred flesh meant no Infecteds. Fire was cleansing. We could start again here.

  We found usable supplies on the upper floors we dared to explore. Pain killers, water bottles, various surgical blades. The freezer in the cafeteria had remained cool despite the power outage, thanks to the unusually cool fall and the doors remaining closed. And we found what we would later call The Wand, the tool that would decipher who lived and who died.

  “We can stay here,” I told Brett.

  He didn’t say anything. We barricaded the doors that night with random debris and slept in the lobby.

  I held Brett when he woke up screaming. I kissed away his tears.

  This was the Eden that I created.

  A week later, we took in our first Survivors. A mechanic named Bubba and his five-year-old stepdaughter, Anna-Marie, climbed up the collapsed third floor and made their way down to the first level, where they found Brett and me.

  “Can we stay here?” Bubba asked.

  And my heart broke for him. We stood at the end of the world, and Bubba had asked for my help. He appeared to be in his mid-thirties, a lifetime of smoking and drinking doing little to keep him young, but he still asked to stay, paying no attention to my youth or physical strength. In that moment, this hospital became mine and with that question, he became mine to protect and provide for.

  We scanned them with The Wand. Both were clean. I opened my arms and embraced them.

  “You will have certain duties around here,” I told him that night as he ate.

  He nodded. Brett kept Anna-Marie in his arms, rocking her to sleep with the half-burnt teddy bear she’d discovered in the neonatal remains.

  A few days passed before Bubba went to retrieve some knives and firearms from a pawnshop near the hospital. I told him he would have to be rescanned before he could rejoin us. He didn’t argue. He kissed his daughter goodbye. I said a prayer for him.

  He returned with a Red Flyer wagon full of tools and weaponry. I was relieved when the scan came up negative. He also brought with him five new faces. Two were ETSU bioscience graduate students, Anala and Ravi; one was a homeless Gulf War veteran who called himself Thor; and a twenty-year-old named Beth and her younger brother Ethan.

  “Ethan,” she told us, “hasn’t spoken since they came for our parents.”

  Once again, we were lucky. Their scans were clear. We let them in.

  After a day or two of finding beds and medicines and food for these newcomers, I developed a deep sense of purpose and loyalty to these people. They were mine. God sent them to the hospital so that I could care for them when there seemed to be no hope in the world. It was my duty to care for these people, to provide for them, to protect them. And I vowed that I would do right by these people. I would reinstate order.

  This was the Eden that I created.

  Soon, more people started showing up at our door. We had to send away two-thirds of the people that asked for our help. Our first positive was exceptionally ha
rd.

  I was testing them at the front of the building. We’d barred all other entrances so no Infected could just wander in. That day, about ten people had showed up from North Carolina.

  “We...we need help,” said the leader of their company. She was a short, squat woman with a soft face. I thought she could be an elementary school teacher. “We’ve been traveling for days and...we just need some food and some water.”

  “I’ll have to test you,” I answered. Getting their hopes up when there was no guarantee seemed sadistic.

  “Test us?”

  “We’re not giving our supplies to people who test positive for the virus or whatever it is. We’re only giving to the healthy.”

  When I pulled out The Wand, the leader wrinkled her nose. “Aren’t those wrong half the time?”

  “No false negatives,” Brett answered. Bubba had followed him outside, armed with a rifle just in case there was trouble. “Better safe than sorry.”

  The woman thought it over, her followers trying to persuade her to either move on or do as we asked.

  Finally, she consented. “We’ll do it.”

  And I scanned them. She revealed her name was Barbara Fuller, and she was travelling with her family, which included her husband and their two children, her mother and father and her sister and her boyfriend and her boyfriend’s son. Fuller’s daughter was six months pregnant. I initially sneered at her, being pregnant in her mid-teens, but then I was overwhelmed with sympathy. She looked frail and overworked, and she couldn’t quite catch her breath. To make such a mistake right before the apocalypse must have been heartbreaking.

  Barbara and her husband were negative. Her daughter Gail, sixteen, was negative and so was her fourteen-year-old son, Max. The Fullers were thrilled. In hindsight, it seemed obvious that they would be; not only would they receive food and water, they weren’t sick. Walking around for weeks wondering if you’d been Infected must’ve been pure hell. Bob Fuller raised his hands and praised God. I smiled.

  Next, I tested Barbara’s mother Pauline and her father Jerome. Pauline passed. Jerome did not. He paled. He reached for his wife’s hand but immediately stopped himself. His chapped lips parted as he tried to say something but nothing came out. Shaking, he covered his mouth and tears welled in his eyes.

  “There must be—”

  “Pauline,” Jerome croaked, “get in there and—”

  Pow

  Jerome’s eyes faded out of focus, and he hit the ground before the blood started flowing. We stared, dumbfounded. Finally, I whipped my head in Brett and Bubba’s direction. “Guys! What the hell?!” I felt sick.

  They stared back like deer in headlights.

  “Max,” Barbara whispered.

  I looked to the boy. He was holding a small handgun, his own face pale and wet with tears. It fell out of his hand as he collapsed to the ground. Pauline wailed, “No, no, no, what have you done, you wretched boy! Oh, you little bastard, how could you do that to your grandfather?” She came after him, wrapping her hands around his throat. “You ungrateful little bastard!” Tears rolled down her face.

  Barbara and Bob wrenched their son free while his aunt Carla held her hysterical mother.

  “I—I had to, Mom,” Max whimpered. “He was gonna die of thirst or hunger or get eaten. This was...” he broke into sobs, “this was easier, Mom. Mama, I had to. Mama...” He broke into a mantra of “mama” while his father rocked him back and forth. His mother just stared at him as though she was seeing him for the first time.

  I looked at Brett. He vomited. I wanted to as well, but these were my people now, and I couldn’t be scared or upset when they already were. They needed peace for now, and I was offering that to them.

  “Go inside,” I said to Barbara softly. “I’ll take you to your rooms in a moment, but let’s get Gail here out of this sun.” She nodded, her gaze empty. Bob and Max followed, but Pauline wept over her dead husband.

  “Bubba,” I said after I’d tested the remainder of the family (no more positives), “will you take Pauline out and let her pick a place to bury her husband?”

  Bubba nodded. “Lemme getta shovel.”

  Bubba was a good man. Over the next two months, he repaired the generators that were damaged in the fire, rewiring them to work with solar panels. Soon we had hot showers and working stoves, meaning we could stop making fires in the trash cans to cook frozen hamburger. Brett started a large garden in the remains of the neonatal center and taught the rest of us to care for the growing vegetables.

  This was the Eden that I created.

  Turning people away for positives got easier and easier. Many begged me to let them in. Others threatened me. But I stood firm in my resolve. “We can’t waste supplies on the Infected. I have to take care of these people. I have to use my resources wisely.”

  Bubba took care of the ones that got violent.

  The three months following the apocalypse brought me about five hundred people. I had no doubt that God had His hand in this. All these people, five hundred people found me in the midst of a catastrophe, and I provided them with everything they needed.

  Gail’s baby was born in our hospital. He was like our own. All of us saw Adam as proof that the human race would survive, that we collectively would make it through this horror story.

  Adam died three days after he was born.

  My people wept.

  Barbara came to me one night while I was pulling my shift as lookout from the collapsed helicopter pad on top of the hospital, still the highest point amid the devastation. She skipped the formalities; we always did. When everything stopped, the need for niceties and politeness ended; we were open and honest, but we never stopped being good people. We may not have maintained society but we maintained our humanity, and I was proud of my people for that.

  “I don’t know how to go on, Sam,” she said to me. “The sun keeps coming up, and I just want to tell him there’s no point. It’s over. The world has ended; your services are no longer needed. And yet...every morning, here he comes. And now my grandson…. The sadness was a thick, dull pain, you know? And I felt it everywhere, like my whole body had been thrown against a wall. But Adam...and my dad….” The tears poured down her face but she maintained her composure. “It’s so sharp, you know? Like being stabbed. And I’m so mad!” She gritted her teeth, her words coming out in soft hisses. “The sun keeps fucking coming up, completely unaware that my grandson and my dad have fucking died! The whole world needs to stop because they died!” She wiped away the tears, sniffling. “But it doesn’t. All my pain, all the pain of the people in this world, it doesn’t mean a thing. The sun in the sky doesn’t need us. He just comes up every day. Each day passes.”

  I took her hand, pulling her into my arms, rubbing her back. I said nothing; comfort seemed so meaningless nowadays. All I could do was embrace, and somehow that seemed to ease the pain. My people were hurting, and I was helpless to fix that, but somehow just holding them in their darkest times gave them that little bit of strength necessary to move forward into the next day. I was glad to be of service.

  These were my people; I would get them through. I loved them as a mother loved her children. I would protect them in the face of danger, and I would comfort them in their times of need. God had given them to me, and I would not fail them.

  Our gardens flourished. Color and life quickly returned to the faces of the Survivors. One day, Anna-Marie laughed. The laughter spread to Thor. It was the first sounds of happiness I’d heard since the end of the world.

  This was this Eden that I created.

  One night we had a break in. I didn’t recognize the kids, but they claimed we had turned them away. They were about fourteen and ten, haggard and thin, and my heart broke for them. I ordered Bubba to take them outside and do another scan. They both ran positive.

  “Please,” the oldest girl begged, “please, we won’t stay. Just give us something to eat! Please! We’re so hungry!”

  I cl
osed my eyes. “You’re infected. You won’t be in pain much longer,” I told her gently.

  “No! No, you can’t do that! You have to give us food! You just have to! Please!”

  “I can’t waste my resources on someone I can’t save.” I kept my voice even. “Do not come here again, please.”

  I shut the door on her, as she wailed loudly and continued to beg. In the morning, she and her brother were dead, killed by shots to the head. I didn’t ask; I didn’t want to know. I didn’t speak about it at breakfast.

  I stopped praying.

  Our hospital became more and more of a utopia. Five months after the world ended, Gail got pregnant again, this time by a boy named Eli. As the leader, I took her aside to tell her that we simply could not afford for everyone to have children, that this would need to be her last pregnancy. She wept but agreed. I held her for a long time.

  I appointed Barbara the head of our kitchen, and she elected five people to work with her. Brett headed up our green team, aka the people who grew our fruits and vegetables and herbs. Bubba started a maintenance team, who kept the hospital clean as well as safe. Anything that needed boarding up, Bubba’s team was on it. Lastly we had our medical team, which was led by a pediatrician and a nurse who joined our ranks. Everyone was important; everyone was equal. My people were happy, and, more importantly, they were safe.

  Then one night, Thor started rambling on about Anala and Ravi, about how they were conspiring against him, how they were descendants of Judas Iscariot, born to destroy him. He removed all of his clothing and sat unprotected in the freezing early March rain.

  “What do we do?” Brett asked.

  I steeled myself. I would have to protect my people. “Tonight, I’ll have Bubba take him out back. I can’t waste resources on the mentally ill.”

  Brett’s eyes deadened. He didn’t argue.

  Anna-Marie didn’t laugh again.

  A few nights later, Anala came to me. “How could you do that to him?”

  I’d almost forgotten the ordeal. The winter’s shorter days hadn’t been kind to our generators, nor had the cold. I’d spent the last three days trying to balance the energy we had with the energy we needed. “I had to. We were out of his medicine. Weren’t you tired of being called names? Weren’t you tired of the accusations?” I asked gently.

  She licked her lips. “He was crazy. That was all.”

  “He was racist. And it came out when he was off of his medication. I have to protect my people. We can’t afford discord from something as meaningless as skin color.”

  “It’s just...sad.”

  I reached out to touch her shoulder. “It’s also empowering. You’re a Survivor, Anala. You survived the end of the world. You were strong enough, physically and mentally. Why should I take food and water from you to feed Thor? There’s no guarantee he’ll survive. I choose to protect you.” I smiled gently at her. “You’re safe. Take comfort in that.” I handed her a fresh cucumber and kissed her cheek. “We’re going to be okay.”

  I watched her leave, making her way to the room she shared with Gail.

  At the highest point of the building, what we would later christen “The Crow’s Nest,” sat Bubba and Max, keeping watch. Bubba nodded in greeting when I joined them. Max never looked anyone in the eyes.

  “Bubba,” I said, “I can take over from here. We haven’t seen any Infecteds in a few weeks.” I patted his shoulder. “Go to sleep.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You’ll make yourself sick,” I said fondly. Darkness pooled under his eyes, and his sun-chapped lips were white and peeling. “We need you, Bubba. Take care of yourself. I’ve got it from here.”

  Bubba shook his head, but complied. I listened to his footsteps echo through the halls until he climbed into bed. Only moments later, I picked out his soft snoring from the others’ sounds of sleep.

  “I wanted to talk to you, Max.”

  He paled.

  “It’s nothing bad.” I wrapped my arm around his shoulders. “I wanted to make sure you are okay.”

  He shook his head and said nothing. As a young teenager, one of the things that I had learned from my therapist was that people usually wanted to fill up silence. In other words, sometimes the best way to get someone to speak was to remain silent and be patient.

  I studied his face for a long time. He opened his mouth to speak but quickly closed it again. I rubbed his back. He did it again, and then again, and I waited patiently.

  Finally, he said, “I killed my grandpa.” A dam burst inside of him, and he was sobbing. I pulled him to my chest and rocked slowly.

  “You had to, Max. He would have suffered otherwise. You did the right thing.”

  “He might have survived,” Max managed. “He could’ve made it. He survived the Korean War, he could’ve survived this.” He wailed loudly, and I brought his head to my shoulder to muffle the sound. “And I took that away from him.”

  “Max,” I whispered, “you did what you had to do. You did the right thing. You protected your family. You made sure we all survived. We couldn’t do this without them. We couldn’t do this without you.”

  His tears faded into exhaustion and soon he was asleep in my lap. The next morning, life seemed to have crept back into his face. I smiled, knowing he was a Survivor. These were my people, my Survivors.

  This was the Eden that I created.

  Six months after the world ended, our numbers reached close to eight-hundred. Bubba’s and Brett’s teams worked together to restructure the rubble into a new makeshift tower around The Crow’s Nest. It stood four stories above the ground and provided security teams a new vantage point, protecting us from raiders and the Infected.

  Ravi rebuilt a CB radio found in one of the ambulances. He approached me with a request to head up a scavenging team.

  “Why?” I asked. So far, I’d denied all requests to leave the hospital since Bubba returned with weapons in early October.

  “I want to up the wattage on the radio. We can’t be the only place in the world that has survivors.”

  “Why would we want to find them?”

  His eyes met mine. “What if they need us?”

  What if they did? I would turn away no one in need, as long as I was actually capable of saving them.

  Since Thor’s death, I was unsure of where Anala’s loyalties laid, and because of Ravi’s close alliance with her, I didn’t trust him to lead my people. I appointed Bubba to lead a party of fifteen, armed with guns and sedatives and the knowledge that they would have to be scanned before reentry. I held a brief meeting, asking my people what they needed, reminding them that all items must be scavengeable and available, and that there was no guarantee the items would be obtained. Among the requests were prescription eyeglasses, aloe for sunburn, fluoride, and binoculars, but mostly my people had everything they needed.

  From The Crow’s Nest, I watched them scatter about the ruined city as the sun rose in the cloudless orange sky. My stomach tightened whenever even one of them dropped out of my sight. I counted all of them obsessively, willing their quick return. I didn’t leave The Nest until they returned at dusk, and I didn’t rest until everyone tested negatively for the Infection. I embraced each of them.

  “You are so important,” I told them. “We couldn’t do this without you.”

  In the coming weeks, Ravi and Eli worked on the radio amid a bout of food poisoning. Again, my people survived with minimal effects, thanks largely to our pediatrician, Dr. Dixon, quickly identifying the source and eradicating it from the kitchen.

  In the seventh month, the Senator arrived. It was an unseasonably warm afternoon in early May, and his group of five-hundred showed up at the newly-erected electric gate, most of them suffering from the early stages of heatstroke. Even if they tested negative, I wasn’t sure treating them was a wise use of my resources. Granted, we were well-stocked, but remembering the crushing anxiety I felt when I sent out the last scavenging team, I had no desire t
o organize another raid anytime soon. I went out to meet them, Bubba at my side with a gun and Dr. Dixon behind me with The Wand.

  “Well, hello there,” a man with a deep Southern accent said. He was dressed in a pin-striped slacks and a matching blazer, his dirty hair slicked back in an effort to style it, and the warmth in his voice didn’t match the desperation in his eyes. “My name is Senator Robert Cuthridge.” He offered his hand to Bubba, who didn’t accept.

  “Might be infected,” Bubba grunted.

  The Senator withdrew his hand, his smile never fading. “I understand, son. I completely understand. Now, we’ve been walking for months, and it appears y’all have plenty of space here, son. How can I get my constituents in here tonight?” He laughed lightly at “constituents.”

  For the first time since I accepted a Survivor, I felt emasculated. My authority had been questioned, and that would not stand. I nearly sent him away right then. My people needed a leader, and I would be the leader they needed, even if I had to fight for the position.

  Bubba did not take kindly to the Senator’s mistake either. Glaring, he jutted his jaw in my direction, aim fixed on the Senator’s chest. “Ask her; it’s her operation.”

  “These are my people. This is my hospital.”

  The Senator nodded, understanding dawning across his face. “Of course, of course, I apologize. I’m Senator—”

  I interrupted him to control the ebb and flow of the discussion. “We don’t take in the Infected, Robert. Everyone will be tested by Dr. Dixon before they are allowed entrance. Once they’ve tested negative, they’ll have access to our supplies and shelter. Be advised,” I told the group, “once you enter, you will be charged with certain assignments. We’ve remained safe and alive by cooperation and teamwork. I expect the same out of you.”

  “What happens if anyone tests positive?” the Senator asked. “Y’all know those wands aren’t terribly accurate.”

  “These are my conditions, Robert,” I answered, keeping my voice soft. “Please abide by them or please leave. These are my people, and I will do everything in my power to protect them. Surely you understand.” I motioned to the vast crowd behind him.

  “Of course, ma’am, of course.”

  From The Crow’s Nest, Max and Eli kept watch, weapons at the ready. When an Infected reacted violently to a positive result, he was quickly and painlessly put down.

  Two hundred and seventy-three people entered my hospital, and I provided them with medical care, food, water, and warm beds. During the night, three of them passed away, and I mourned their loss. They had reached paradise but could not reap the rewards. This was the first night that Brett did not share my bed. I worried that I’d lost his love. In the morning, I had Bob bury the bodies in plots chosen by their families.

  The newcomers assimilated quickly. Two were screenwriters, and they began writing stories for a nightly program which followed dinner. My people had moved past simple survival and were now producing art. I glowed with pride.

  This was the Eden that I created.

  With the influx of extra hands and a greater need for space came a new structure, and I termed the hospital Camp Phoenix because from the ashes of the fire rose a new, sturdy building which buzzed with life. This annexed building became living quarters, additional rooms and a library. Slowly, wildlife returned to the city, which was now overgrown with plant life. We settled into our new lives.

  Ethan came to me one night while Brett and I kept watch from the Crow’s Nest. “Miss?” he said. It was the first time I had heard him speak. His voice was small and broken from disuse.

  I nearly wept with joy. “Yes, Ethan, what can I do for you?”

  “There are, um, lots of deer, and I know you don’t like people to leave, but...I think we could hunt them.”

  I smiled at him, so proud of the progress he’d just made in less than a minute. He spoke, and it was with a suggestion to help my people. “That’s an excellent idea, Ethan. Can you hunt?”

  He shook his head. “I could, um, learn though.”

  I wrapped my arm around his shoulder and pulled him close. “Good man, Ethan. That’s the attitude I like to see.” I gave him an affectionate squeeze. “Now, go to bed. I’ll call a meeting in the morning, and you can tell the Survivors all about it.”

  Ethan reddened when his audience applauded his idea. “Who knows how to hunt?” I asked them. About twenty hands rose into the air.

  A week later, we set up hunting teams of five. They would rotate on a monthly basis. The same rules still applied in terms of being scanned upon re-entry. About twenty others signed up to learn how to hunt so that they could contribute. Three experienced hunters would go out with two learners once a month. The next month, a new team of three hunters and two learners and so on.

  My people were risking their security and possibly their lives for their communities. Again, I was overwhelmed with pride.

  As I watched the hunters from the Crow’s Nest, Ravi approached me, the radio in hand. “There are others,” he told me in an awed voice. “In Virginia. They’re holed up in a prison, and they need supplies.”

  Once more, I found myself grappling with reservations regarding sharing. Technically, these people had not come to me, and yet, Ravi had sought them out, and the relief on his face when he told me there were other Survivors gave me pause.

  I had claimed the Survivors as my own, and the people north of us had survived. It was my duty to protect them. If there was a God, He had given them to me.

  I called another meeting. “I wanted you to know,” I told my people, “that Ravi has initiated contact with others.”

  Soon I was discussing trade with their spokeswoman Kendal. Eight months after the world ended, we were trading starter vegetables and feminine items for weaponry and chain-link metal to reinforce the areas around the electrified fence. But I never let my people outside of the fence. All of our trading happened through an opening in the gate.

  We were safe and we were happy.

  This was the Eden that I created.

  The trouble started ten months after the world ended.

  One day at breakfast, the Senator took a seat across from me. I felt Bubba tense, but I patted his thigh to ease him. “What can I do for you, Robert?”

  A plastic smile split his face. “Some of our tomatoes have blossom rot.”

  I nodded. “I am aware. Barbara told me. We still have plenty of tomatoes, and once Kendal’s team ships in some new dirt, we will grow more.”

  He nodded his head. “Of course, of course. I shoulda known you were already taking care of that, sweetheart.” He rose and turned to leave. Bubba let out a low sigh and picked up his fork to continue eating.

  “However,” said the Senator, turning on his heel, “if our resources are low, and I’m just spit-ballin’ here, maybe we shouldn’t be trading our healthy starter veggies for metal.”

  I offered him the kindest smile I could manage, given the rage that was coursing white hot through my veins. “Our resources are not low, Robert. We actually have a surplus of tomatoes and onions, but we do need more metal for the next stage in the wall build.”

  “Oh, I’m not suggesting that we eighty-six the wall build. No, I know how you feel about protecting our borders, and that’s fine. A lotta people in here agree with you. No, what I’m sayin’ is, instead of giving them our food, let’s give ’em money.”

  Brett snorted, speaking up for the first time in two days. “They have no need for money, Senator.” I flinched at the title spurting off of my lover’s lips. “None of us do.”

  “Now, see, son, that is where you’re wrong. When all this is over and done with, you better believe the United States government is gonna come out on top, and just like Miss Sam here, I want our people at the head of the class. We are gonna survive and thrive, just like she said,” he flashed a greasy grin in my direction, “and the only way to do that when things go back to the way they were there is to make sure everyone’s got
money in their pocket.”

  “While I can appreciate your sentiment, Robert,” I answered, “things aren’t going back to the way they were.”

  “Samantha, dear, we can’t live like this forever. America’s all about progress. Do you really intend to have generation after generation live here in this little camp?”

  My temper flared, and before I could stop myself, I was growling at him. “This camp is a good and safe place. It’s simple, but it’s helped nearly eleven-hundred people survive. Don’t you dare insult what my people have created.”

  He nodded sympathetically. “I understand that, sweetheart, I really do. But you gotta have plans for progress, and it’s gotta go beyond a bigger fence. Veggies are good, but lettuce,” he chuckles here, “speaks much louder.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Are you suggesting that we buy Kendal’s loyalty? Because I doubt she’ll fall for something so passé as cash.”

  “I’m not saying we buy her loyalty. I’m saying that we need to make sure that they do just as well as we do. We’re just making sure that when the economy is restored, and we can go back to living like civilized folks, Kendal’s people will be taken care of, too.”

  Brett shook his head. “Even if we wanted too, we don’t have money. And most of the banks got looted after y’all declared a state of emergency.”

  “Excellent point, Brett. You’re a smart kid. Maybe one day the two o’ you can come work in my office,” he chuckled. I didn’t laugh. “I pulled two-hundred and fifty thousand out of one of my accounts before everything shut down. I’d be more than willing to share it with y’all if it means helping our people as well as those in Virginia.”

  “I appreciate your generosity, Robert, but there’s no room for money for now. We need tangible supplies and so do they. That money is worthless.”

  He sat back in his chair, looking as though he had just uncovered some long-lost treasure. My blood ran cold, and I couldn’t explain why. “I understand, I understand. You’re right. You are so right, little lady. Thanks for your time. I really do appreciate how approachable you are, Sam.”

  He turned and left, his stride much quicker this time.

  “I don’t like him,” Bubba hissed. “We gotta get rid of him.”

  “We can’t do that, Bubba.”

  “Why not?” Brett asked. “That’s what you did with Thor.”

  My jaw dropped. I looked him dead in the eyes. “Brett…” I couldn’t find the words to accurately express my hurt.

  “I’m sorry, Sam. That was out of line.”

  We ate our breakfast in silence. I tried to hide my anger and sorrow from my people. I watched them go about their day from the Crow’s Nest, and I found great comfort in the smiles on their faces. I had done what was best for them, and their joy was proof of that. They gardened, they played, they ate, they laughed, and they talked. Some of the smaller kids took to drawing on the brick walls in the kitchen with burnt objects from the neonatal unit.

  This was the Eden that I created.

  I nearly cried when Brett sat on the edge of my bed. I opened my arms to him. I would always take my people back, especially Brett.

  He didn’t draw nearer, only sat at the edge of the bed. “Sam, I’m worried.”

  I motioned him to me again, and again he didn’t move. “Today at lunch, Eli paid Barbara twenty bucks for an extra pound of venison.”

  I laughed lightly. “She’ll figure out it’s not worth it soon enough, Brett. Don’t worry about it.”

  “No, Sam, you don’t understand. Eli didn’t have any money when he first got here.”

  “So?”

  “So, the Senator’s been paying people to do things for him.”

  The anger started to swell up in my heart. “Like what?”

  “Like his duties. Money is being passed around.”

  I shook my head, chuckling. “I don’t understand. What are they going to buy? Everything they need is provided for them.”

  Brett was silent.

  I nudged him with my foot.

  “I don’t know. Anala has been telling people that you’ve got a communist agenda. And she told some of the newcomers about Thor.”

  My eyes dropped to the floor. “I did what had to be done. He wasn’t a well man. It was no secret what happened to him.”

  A tear rolled down Brett’s cheek. “A few weeks ago,” he started, “I...I gotta cough.”

  I nodded slowly, silently prodding him to continue.

  “I can...I’ve been taking some cough medicine from Doc, but…” He licked his lips, picking at the callouses on his hands. “My dad died from lung cancer, Sam.”

  I grabbed his hand, smiling. “Brett, a cough doesn’t mean you have lung cancer.”

  “I’ve been coughing up blood, Sam.”

  The news smacked against me like a rogue wave, leaving me breathless and stinging. For the first time since the world ended, I felt powerless, like I was lost out to sea, frantically searching for land or a ship but finding only water surrounding me. In less than a second, I was reminded of how infinitesimal the space that my body and my consciousness took up was, how very little control I had over my life and the lives of others. I had protected my people from the Infected, and I had protected my people from insanity, and yet, I was helpless to stop the abnormal cell growth inside the body of my lover.

  And a moment later, I regained that control. “Coughing up blood doesn’t mean lung cancer.”

  “There are genetic factors—”

  “Your dad smoked, Brett. I’m sure it’s fine. I’m sure it will pass.”

  Brett’s face contorted as tears of fury poured from his eyes. “I could be dying, and yet you choose to waste your resources on me? You didn’t afford Thor that courtesy!”

  Another verbal stab, aimed directly for my heart. “Do you want me to kill you, Brett?”

  “I don’t want special treatment because I fucked you two months ago,” he spat.

  Had it been that long?

  “I love you, Brett. You won’t tell anyone but Doc about the coughing, do you understand? We need you. I need you. We couldn’t do this without you.”

  “So the length of my life is measured in how long I can be useful? Tell me, when I can barely move anymore, will you kill me then?”

  My jaw tightened. My fist physically ached to swipe across his cheek in one swift blow. I felt more than saw him retreat. His shoulders slumped, his eyes back on the floor, and in those three seconds that we sat in silence, I hated him. I hated him for being sick. I hated him for challenging me. I hated him for backing down. Coward.

  “You may leave now, Brett.”

  The next morning, I called a meeting. The Senator and a few others chose not to attend. I had never mandated meetings, so I did not fault them, though I would make it clear that all meetings thereafter were mandatory.

  “I’ve heard that money is being passed around,” I explained. “While I understand your concerns and your motivations for accepting cash, I’m afraid I have to forbid it. Everything is equal and everyone has enough. I don’t want shortages to come about because someone has purchased more meat, taking it from their neighbor’s plate. There is no need for money. Furthermore, there isn’t really room for money in Camp Phoenix—”

  “We need money,” Anala shot back, “because our value to the Camp only goes as far as our health does.”

  Heads turned to look at her. I could see the Senator smiling.

  “I don’t understand, Anala.”

  “When we get old, or sick, God forbid, what keeps you from taking us outside the fence and shooting us? Or rather, having Bubba do it?”

  My eyes widened. I felt cold. “Anala, I’m not out to kill those who are sick.”

  “No, just those that are useless.”

  “That is not true.”

  “Then why did you kill Thor when he could no longer function without his medication?!”

  “Because he was working against us. He was working against
you! Think about what you and Ravi have accomplished since you arrived! Think about how far behind we would be if it weren’t for the two of you.”

  “So then my worth only extends to what I contribute to the group?”

  “No, Anala, of course not.” My heart ached. “I care about you. I cared about Thor. I care about all of you.”

  “Then why don’t you let us decide for ourselves what we can accept as currency?”

  “While I understand the merits of accepting money, I don’t want to create scarcity for food or water or space. We all need to work together to make sure that no one starves.”

  “That’s not fair. I work my ass off studying under Doc and working with Barbara in the kitchen, but I get the same amount of food as a hunter who slacks off all day?”

  Bubba got to his feet. “And what makes you think that the hunters slack off all day?”

  “I know they get a day off of work to go out in the wilderness, which is off limits to everyone else.”

  I straightened my shirt and said in a calm voice, “Anala, I understand what you’re saying. However, I watch from the Crow’s Nest. No one is slacking off. What I admire most about the Survivors of Camp Phoenix is that no one takes advantage of the system in place. So far, we haven’t had issues of stealing or wasting or shirking chores. I am afraid that with the introduction of money, our system will fall apart, and the Survivors won’t survive. Money won’t protect you from illness, but we won’t kill those that are ill.”

  “Even if it’s infectious?” Anala challenged.

  I swallowed. “That hasn’t happened Anala. We will cross that bridge when and if we come to it. I just want to protect you from the Infection and hunger. How can I do that when you want to steal food from your neighbor?”

  “I don’t want to steal food from my neighbor. I want a guarantee that I will still have food if my neighbor doesn’t do his job.”

  A few shouts of agreement followed her sentiment.

  “None of you! None of you will go hungry!” I shouted. “I will starve before any of the Survivors of Camp Phoenix do. Do you understand? There will be enough food. Hold each other accountable! This is not Big Brother; this is trusting each other. I trust that you will do the right thing. We’ve survived this long on trust. The bare bones of this building is trust. Do your job and assume that everyone else is. Trust that your brothers and sisters are doing the right thing. Trust each other, or we have no hope to survive!”

  Brett shot himself in his left temple that night. Scrawled on the wall in burnt charcoal was “Trust each other to do the right thing.”

  I didn’t cry. We buried him beside Adam in a quiet ceremony, which nearly everyone attended. Anna-Marie wept silently, her face stoic as she held her stepfather’s hand. She placed the half-burnt teddy bear she’d clutched the night they arrived in Brett’s arms and kissed his forehead before we tucked him into the Earth. I told him I loved him when everyone was gone.

  I wish he could have heard me.

  It quickly became known that Brett had killed himself because of his illness. It both weakened and strengthened my reign. Some believed that I had forced Brett to kill himself to reserve resources. After all, I did not feed those I couldn’t save. Of those believers, some thought it was good thing—evidence of my dedication to the betterment of my people. The remainder of those believers, thought it was evil. I had no loyalty to those I claimed to love and that everyone would eventually have to face the threat of being “put down” if they got sick.

  Others believed that I had no knowledge of Brett’s illness, and that Brett had killed himself of his own accord. Within this sect, there were believers that I had brainwashed him. Others believed that he had taken my words to heart, that he was an example to us all. We live for one another, and we die for one another. He did the right thing, and so others must do the same.

  Some had a renewed sense of purpose, a drive to survive and make the camp thrive. Others were distrustful, fearing that at any moment, they would be deemed “inefficient” and killed. The Senator and Anala fueled this flame. Still, Bubba and Max estimated that I had the loyalty of at least seventy percent of the population.

  When had this become so political?

  All I had wanted was a safe place for my people.

  This was not the Eden that I created.

  Twelve months after the world ended, the wall was finished. In case of an emergency, a switch could be pulled, effectively locking down the building, electrified chain-linked fence and sheet metal falling around the Camp, protecting my people and our resources from the Infected.

  It became necessary to establish a task force to ensure that the rules were followed. While most of my people obeyed the rules about cash exchange, a few people continued to buy extra meat or vegetables. Eventually, Beth had to make an arrest. To quell any fear or riots, I had to address the Survivors.

  “Eli has only been detained to stop old currency from being passed around. It’s essentially stopping theft and fraud. He will be released in two days. This is not a punishment, this is our attempt to reason with him. We do not need an atmosphere of distrust but of cooperation. Eli has been a valued member of our Camp. We hope he will return to that old Eli who worked for his brothers and sisters, not against them.”

  “You want the money for yourself!” Bob shouted. Barbara glared at him.

  I couldn’t help but laugh. “Bob, my very dear Bob, I have no use for the money. At all. None of us do. We’re trying to get rid of the money, not hoard it.”

  That night, Bubba discretely burnt the money recovered while I kept watch in the Crow’s Nest. We hoped that with Eli’s arrest, a message would be sent. We hoped that the Survivors would see that money would only complicate a perfect system.

  I was wrong. Beth made two more arrests the following week. Ethan and Gail had gotten into a fight. Gail had, apparently, raised the price of tomatoes due to the root rot of the starters. Ethan had attacked her. Beth broke up the fight and brought them to my room. The Senator came to their defense.

  “This is still the United States of America. These kids deserve a trial—”

  I snapped back, “There is no trial. This is not the United States that you knew. The world ended, and we’re starting over. You have tried from the beginning to upset what we worked so hard to create, but I’m putting a stop to it now, Cuthridge. If you want to stay here, you will fall in line. You will do your chores. You will contribute like a productive member of society, or you will leave. Do you understand?”

  His eyes flashed dangerously. “So you insist on holding these kids without due process? No plans for a trial? You’re just gonna lock ’em up like dogs?”

  “Everything has changed, Cuthridge!” I shouted. My blood was boiling. “And no matter what you do, we’re not reverting back to your broken system of law and order and economics. You can be a part of this camp like everyone else, or you can leave. It’s up to you.”

  “So you’d let me outside?”

  “With the complete understanding that you would never set foot within our gates again.”

  He started to speak but was silenced by Bubba stepping between the two of us. Bubba stared him down. The Senator’s mouth snapped shut.

  I turned to Gail. “What were you thinking? Why did you do this?” I asked. My heart was broken. “Why would you sell something when it’s being given freely?”

  Gail shook her head, one hand on her full belly. “I–I don’t know, Sam. I just worried is all. I wanna make sure that I can take care of my baby when she comes.”

  I studied her for a long moment. “Why,” I asked sadly, “do you think I won’t take care of your baby? Have you spent a single night without food in your belly or a roof over your head?”

  “No, but the Senator said—”

  Bubba reached for the Senator’s neck, expletives and insults on his lips.

  “Bubba, let him go!” I ordered my head of security. I turned back to Gail. “Don’t listen to him. He
only wants to scare you. It’s not true, Gail. Those pieces of paper he gave you have no value here or outside the wall. You don’t need to put your trust in money. Put your trust in the Camp. I promise, I will take care of you.”

  Tears slipped out of her eyes. I brushed her hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear. I lifted her chin so that our eyes met. “Gail, I don’t want to arrest you. You understand that I have to, right?” I fought back tears of my own as she nodded her head.

  I sentenced Gail and Ethan to two days in a makeshift jail, during which time I had them write essays on what they loved about the camp, how the camp had improved when they joined. I just wanted their loyalty to the camp to be at the surface of their minds. I wanted their writing to reflect that this was heaven, and that they wanted for nothing.

  They emerged from their cells with smiles on their faces. I hugged them. “Promise me this won’t happen again.” They did and were released back into the camp.

  The week that followed was pure bliss. My people worked in harmony. I could see no division, no anger in their hearts. Even Anala seemed to have relented in her pursuit of my downfall. Gail gave birth to another little boy whose breathing and heartbeat sounded normal. She named him Daniel. My people adored that baby, lavishing him with blankets and toys and various baby food recipes.

  The only spark of displeasure I could see was the Senator’s. Bubba kept a close eye on him. My people faced no immediate threats as long as they stayed within these walls. As long as they were within my gaze, they needed nothing. Everything was as it should be.

  I had no idea it was poised to end in fire.

  A group of a dozen showed up at the gate just as Barbara’s team was serving breakfast. They were a haggard bunch, their skin hanging off their bones, their eyes heavy with exhaustion. It was the worst I had ever seen. I wondered if they were in the beginning stages of the Infection.

  With Bubba at my side, I met them. “May I help you?”

  “Let us in,” a man in a dirty sports jersey croaked. “Please, let us in. We need water.”

  I studied the group, taking note of a young girl with what was likely Down’s Syndrome. She had a sweet smile on her face, though it was somewhat tarnished by her thinness and fatigue. I wanted very badly to help her. To be completely honest, I wanted to keep her to show Anala that my reign was not ableist, that someone with a different mental capacity had just as much right to be in Camp Phoenix than anyone else. With the walkie-talkie that Ravi had refurbished, I radioed Doc.

  “We have some new prospects,” I told her, trying to maintain a gentle smile.

  “Be there in a few,” she answered.

  “Prospects?” the man asked. He swayed, one of his companions catching and righting him. “Just...just let us in.”

  “Let me explain to you how Camp Phoenix works.” I proceeded to tell him about my rules: no one gets in without being tested. Anyone who tests positive is sent away. Once inside, resources are not to be wasted on outsiders. Chores will be completed daily and under no circumstances was money to change hands. I asked them if they agreed.

  One of the woman glowered at me. She asked me in broken English, “You send us away?”

  “If The Wand says you are sick, yes.”

  “It’s been a year!” she shouted back. “No more sickness.”

  “I have no way to confirm that. My people come first. These are my rules. You can abide by them or you can leave.”

  “When the last time you saw Infected, huh?”

  Bubba gripped his rifle. “You can move on, ma’am. Ain’t no one telling you you gotta stay here.”

  They stared each other down. I think the smell of deer bacon and sautéed peppers is what brought her around. Her shoulders sagged, and she said she would wait to be tested. The good doctor came out to the gate along with Barbara and Beth, the Senator and Anala close behind. I glared at the Senator and pointed him back inside. Had his fury become tangible, it likely would have killed me. His eyes burned with white hot rage, and I felt a small amount of satisfaction that I had stripped him of his influence enough that he could express himself more honestly.

  “This is Dr. Gabrielle Dixon and her apprentice Anala Vora,” I introduced them. “They will be scanning you for signs of the Infection today. If you are negative, Barbara and Beth will tell you a little more about the camp and help you get adjusted.”

  The first three were negative, and I was overjoyed to see the relief on their faces. I would meet with them later, to discuss their needs and what they could contribute to the camp. The fourth was positive. The fight in her eyes was clear as day when she said, “I don’t have the Infection! No one does! It’s gone!” Her voice wasn’t pleading as most Infected were; it was furious.

  “I’m not wasting my resources,” I reiterated. “You may leave.”

  “Bitch, I’m not going anywhere!” she growled, lunging at me.

  A shot sounded and she was dead before she hit the ground. I looked at the newcomers, their eyes wide as saucers as they watched their companion bleed out, a glower plastered on her face. I shattered the silence that followed with an order to continue the scans. A quick glance at Bubba assured me of his loyalty. His rifle was poised, an even, steady expression on his face. I smiled.

  The girl with Down’s Syndrome was named Katie, as Anala soon discovered. As Doc continued about her work, Anala came over to me to ask, “Well, do you think you’ll let Katie in? I don’t know how ‘contributive’ she will be.” She did nothing to hide hatred of me in her voice.

  “Of course, Anala,” I answered, my level of sweetness matching her nastiness. “You mustn’t be so closed minded. She’s just as capable as anyone else here.”

  “Given your record, I didn’t think you’d allow someone with a mental defect.” Something about the way she said that made my blood run cold. Her icy gaze unnerved me. I realized then that she’d resigned her activities to discredit me, but there was no doubt she would stab me in the back at the first opportunity. I maintained my smile, hoping to ease her. “Anala, don’t be ridiculous.” I reached out to grasp her shoulder, but she abruptly pulled away. She was making it more and more difficult to love her.

  Bubba came to my side, eyes fixed on Anala. “Everything all right?” The doctor’s assistant walked away without answering. When she was working again, he leaned over to whisper to me, “I don’t trust her, Sam. We gotta get ridda her. She’s poison.”

  “Not now,” I answered. I don’t know if I meant we would discuss it later or if I meant we would kill her later. I didn’t want to start down that path, didn’t want to discover that much about myself.

  Katie and her family were the next ones to be scanned. Ensuring that Anala’s eyes were on me, I made my way over to them, ready to welcome them once they were tested. I smiled at the mother, who appeared too dazed to acknowledge me. Poor dears.

  The father tested negative, then the mother. I reached out to shake their hands, noting their weak grips.

  Katie, unfortunately, tested positive. I looked up and saw Anala’s panicked eyes focused on me.

  I ordered Doc to scan her again. It beeped once more. Her mother and father ran to her, clutching her close to them, and I could see the hysterics building beneath the surface.

  “You have to let us in,” the mother said in a hollow voice.

  What was I supposed to do? Katie was Infected. Her parents weren’t. No amount of maternal love could protect her from the Infection, and no amount of my love for my people could protect them from Katie. I swallowed thickly. I briefly considered having Bubba shoot her right then, to protect her from anything she would face outside the walls of the camp, and thus give her parents the freedom to stay with me.

  I shook my head. “I can’t let her in. I’m sorry.”

  The mother shrieked, startling Katie. “I’m hungry, mama,” Katie whined, her voice shaking.

  “Just—just give us some food. Please. Give us some food, and we will be on our way,�
�� the father pleaded.

  “I don’t waste resources on those I can’t save.” The cold voice coming out of my head seemed so foreign suddenly.

  “You said,” Katie cried, “you said we could have some food!”

  I opened my mouth to speak, to apologize, to compromise—I don’t know. I might have stepped forward to offer my condolences. I don’t remember anything about that moment except everything seemed to move in nightmarish swirls of gray. I felt something dull split apart the skin on my arm. And suddenly there was red. Just a few drops beading on the underside of my forearm.

  And then a gunshot and a series of distressed screams. I didn’t look up, I just stared at the miniscule dots of blood on my arm.

  “Are you all right?” Bubba asked me, bringing me out of my trance. I was inside the camp, leaning against the wall of the empty makeshift library.

  I shook my head, a pathetic attempt to orient myself. “I’m fine. I’m fine. She didn’t touch me.”

  Bubba sighed, relief washing over his face. “Thank God. I’m so sorry. I shoulda been faster.”

  I tried to laugh, but it came out as a forced cough. “You were fantastic, Bubba. As always. We couldn’t do this without you.” I took a deep breath. Bubba believed me. As long as he believed me, I was safe. He would protect me. “Are they still testing?”

  Bubba nodded. “Don’t worry. Beth came out when she heard the second gunshot. A few of ’em got kinda handsy, so only about five of ’em are left.”

  I wrinkled my brow. “Handsy?”

  “Pissy that I killed the retard.”

  I winced at the term. “Watch your verbiage, Bubba.”

  He rolled his eyes. “And I thought the end of the world meant an end to all the PC crap.”

  “So, five new members?”

  “Well, like I said, they’re still testing.”

  As the sun moved across the sky, I moved to greet my new charges. Some didn’t look at me, others glared at me, blame painfully evident in their eyes. I hugged them anyway. “Welcome. Let me know if you ever need anything.”

  When the sun went down and my people snuggled into bed, I crawled up into the Nest. To my surprise, the Senator soon joined me. “You’re not on duty,” I said in disbelief.

  “Trace wasn’t feelin’ too well, so I said I’d take his shift.” His grin, dim in the moonlight, sent a shiver of worry down my spine.

  “What do you want, Robert?”

  “Anala tells me you got scratched by that little girl.”

  My heart stopped. “Anala is a liar,” I answered evenly, “and will do anything to discredit me.”

  “Oh, I see.” Despite his tone of acceptance, I could tell he didn’t believe me. Not that I expected him to. “Well, just for safety’s sake, can I see your arm?”

  Cold sweat beaded onto my skin. My nerves were suddenly on fire. I rolled my eyes, trying to appear annoyed. “I don’t answer to you, and I don’t answer to Anala.”

  “Then who do you answer to?”

  “My people.”

  “Am I not one of your people? Isn’t Anala?”

  I didn’t breathe. “You’ve both worked to undermine my authority. This is simply something you’ve concocted so my people will betray me.”

  “So bitter, Sammy.” He shakes his head, clucking his tongue. “You know, every politician has his expiration date. What you’ve done is great for these people, but your time’s up. You don’t know anything about runnin’ a large group of people.”

  “I’m not a politician,” I spat. “I care for them. I feed them. I sacrifice for them. I make sure this camp runs smoothly.”

  “All behind that big galoot, Bubba. How powerful would you be without your guard dog by your side?”

  I gritted my teeth. “It would make no difference. I’ve done right by them. They trust me. I don’t want power over them. I want to save them.”

  “But you’ve made it quite clear that you don’t trust them to make decisions for themselves.” The conversational tone he was using to argue with me was infuriating. Just beneath the surface was a dark undercurrent, something knowing and threatening that made the hair on the back of my neck stand at attention. “You won’t let them go outside the gates. You won’t let them use currency to procure what they need. You make them abide by what you deem necessary for them to have. You kill them when they get sick.”

  “Thor was not safe!” I shouted. “I stand by my decision, Cuthridge. I’ve made decisions for this camp because someone has to. These are my people. They followed me first. This is the Eden I’ve created, and I won’t have you coming in here making trouble where there is none just so you can reclaim whatever illusion of power you had as a Senator! If you don’t like the way this place is run, I suggest you find your own camp, because this is mine, and as long as you reside here, you are subject to my laws.” My face had contorted into a snarl, my voice low and lethal.

  There was a long silence as we stared each other down. When he finally spoke, the courteous conversational tone was gone, replaced with something primitive and real, and I somehow found comfort in this dark side of the Senator. “Let me see your arm.”

  “No.”

  His eyes darkened, a triumphant grin splitting across his face like ice cracking on a lake. “What do you have to hide?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Then why not show me your arm?”

  “I owe you nothing, Cuthridge, and you owe me everything.” I stepped closer to him, staring directly into his eyes, refusing to blink. “Watch yourself.”

  His smile did not fade. My stomach churned. The fear in my heart spread wings and escaped in the form of a shout for Bubba. The Senator laughed. “You see, Miss Sam, Anala’s taken the precaution of making sure Bubba sleeps soundly through the night.”

  My heart sunk. For the first time since Brett’s confession, I realized how powerless I was, even inside these walls. The only thing protecting me was social constructs. Outside of those, I could rely only on my own physical strength and brains. My muscles were wound tight, ready to spring. Every fiber of my being was vibrating. “What?”

  “Little lady, we are staging a mutiny.”

  And something snapped inside of me. I lunged at him, knocking him to the floor of the Nest. He howled. I was only vaguely aware of my fists breaking against his face like waves during a hurricane.

  “Shut up,” I hissed. But it was too late. Below I could hear my people shuffling from their beds. I could hear the newborn screeching his displeasure at the jarring awakening.

  In less than a minute, Beth was making her way up the ladder of the Crow’s Nest. “What’s going on?”

  The Senator’s fist smashed into my stomach, knocking the breath out of me. I doubled over in pain. He got to his feet quick as a flash. “Looks like your princess hasn’t been one-hundred percent honest with y’all!” the Senator announced, his powerful voice resonating off of the walls. He grabbed my wrist and held my arm up to the light of Beth’s flashlight, revealing the freshly scabbed over scratch. “She’s been scratched by the Infected! Hasn’t said a damn word to anyone!” He paused for dramatic effect. I jerked my arm out of his hand, hiding the scratch as if that could undo the damage. Below us sounded gasps of disbelief and outrage.

  “She’s lied to you about everything!” he continued. “She’s been keeping you in poverty so that she can control you! She’s imprisoned and threatened and brainwashed and even killed anyone who opposed her! And now here she is hiding the wounds she got from the very child she murdered!”

  “No!” I shouted, but my voice wasn’t as resonant. “I didn’t murder her!”

  “I saw you kill her!” someone shouted, but when I looked down I could only make out yellow orbs littering the sea of humanoid silhouettes.

  “Don’t listen to him! He’s trying to poison you against me!”

  “I’m trying to free you!” he shot back. “She’s been keeping y’all in fear, telling you that you have to stay within these walls, t
elling you you can’t make a living, telling you that this infection is still a threat! This isn’t a democracy! This is tyranny!”

  A few shouts of agreement followed. I gaped, too shocked to respond. How dare my people betray me? My people...my followers. I had provided and cared for them and with just a few words they were swayed against me. I couldn’t breathe.

  “And now,” the Senator continued in a softer voice, “she won’t subject herself to the same laws she enforces. Ladies and gentlemen, this is not a leader—this is a Nazi.”

  “That’s a lie!” I shrieked.

  “Do you deny that you were scratched by one of the so-called Infected this morning?”

  He was holding a trial in front of my people. He was kicking up enough rage and hatred so that when he turned them over to me, they would rip me to pieces.

  “Do you deny that you killed anyone you deemed to be Infected?”

  I couldn’t speak.

  “Do you deny that you’ve kept us in fear of the Infection to control the population?” He turned back to the crowd below. “When was the last time any of us saw an Infected? Is there any proof that the Infection is still around?”

  “She lied to us!” another voice answered.

  Bastards. Those ungrateful, scared bastards. I wanted to scream for Bubba. I wanted Brett. Why were none of my people offering to protect me?

  “Scan her.” It was Anala. “Scan her!”

  My heart pounded so loudly I couldn’t hear myself shout. “No! Those scans are faulty at best! Who knows how many false positives there have been?!” I covered my mouth when I realized what I had said.

  An anguished cry echoed across the camp. “So you killed my daughter, knowing she might not have been Infected?”

  My blood ran cold. I was terrified, and I was furious. I turned to the Senator. “Look what you’ve done!”

  The Senator moved suddenly, and for the second time that day, I could barely piece together what happened. Something sharp jabbed up into my side, but it didn’t hurt. “Go and face your people,” the Senator sneered. His face was bright in the moonlight and for a moment I thought I saw Lucifer in his countenance. Suddenly I was grasping at thin air, my body hurtling toward the ground. Only when I heard the sickening crack of bones breaking did I realize that I’d been thrown from the Crow’s Nest to the ground, and when I saw the bone jutting out of the skin of my arm, everything went dark.

 

  The jarring pain of the stab wound and my broken arm brought me back to reality. I was shaking. I had vomited at some point. Anala stood before me, her gaze cold as ice.

  “Anala, please, help me,” I begged.

  “We’ve not decided if you’re to live or die, so we haven’t wasted any resources on you.” A dark smile split her lips. “I’m sure you’re happy to hear that.”

  Fury surged through me as my words were misused. I moved to grab her neck but any movement was stopped by handcuffs. I was bound to the bed. “Anala,” I growled, “how could you do this to me?”

  “I’m just practicing what you preached, Sam.”

  I had never hated any of my people, but now I absolutely loathed Anala. I would have gladly marched through the gates of Hell if I could have handed her over to Satan himself. I would have traded my life for the opportunity to slice the skin from her bones.

  Her unfeeling gaze stayed fixed on me as I writhed in pain.

  At some point, I was given painkillers, just enough that I could stand during my trial. Funny that the Senator would toss me from the Crow’s Nest and in less than three hours offer me a trial. Probably to save face. Would the Survivors follow a murderer?

  Bubba pleaded on my behalf, reminding them of the systems I had implemented, reminding them that none of them had wanted for anything. Anala reminded them of Thor’s death, how I’d ordered his execution while the others slept.

  I was returned to the infirmary while the Camp decided my fate. They would vote, individually, and somehow I doubted that the Senator and Anala would play fair.

  It was in the dark of that room that I turned my people over to the Senator. They were no longer mine. They had rejected me, and I could no longer protect them. They were no longer my responsibility. I mourned.

  And then I raged.

  I would destroy them.

  This would end in flames.

  I built this camp up from the ashes. I knew areas that were rarely trodden; I knew which areas were stable. I knew where to hide from the watchmen at the Crow’s Nest. While Anala slept, I slipped my wrists from the cuffs, biting on the blankets to quell my screams. I stabbed her with a scalpel. I don’t know if she screamed, and I don’t know how many times the blade penetrated her skin. I don’t know if she was actually dead when I left her bleeding on her bed.

  After raiding the supply closet for pain killers, I gathered the lighter fluid from the kitchen, and I barricaded the exit with firewood and debris. My rage far surpassed the pain. In fact, my body was buzzing with adrenaline.

  While the Survivors slept, I set fire to Camp Phoenix using the Zippo I’d looted from the body of a small boy one year ago. I stood in the abandoned concrete street that led to the hospital, close enough that I could feel the heat that would snuff out the lives of the bastards that betrayed me, close enough that I could hear their screams. Anna Marie’s. Max’s. Daniel’s.

  I did not weep.

  This is what happens you bite the hand that feeds. This is what happens when you betray your Goddess.

  This is the Hell that I created.

  About the Author

  A fan of the “books and beer” culture, A. O’Neal moved to Asheville four years ago to work as a ministry assistant and hasn’t looked back. She holds a bachelor of arts in Psychology and English from Mars Hill University. She is also the proud mum of sweet Labrador and a very grumpy hedgehog.

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  Ink Stains, Volume 2

  Trust. Sometimes it is freely given. Other times it is hard-earned. Either way, it’s is a fragile thing. Give it to the wrong person, and it just might cost your life.

  The second volume of Ink Stains literary anthology explores the complexity of placing your trust in another person and what can happen when that trust is betrayed.

  Ink Stains, Volume 3

  The past has a horrible habit of haunting us all.

  Sometimes it surfaces in regret and a lifetime of what ifs. Sometimes, it is horrors made real in other-worldly beings hell-bent on revenge for wrong-doings.

  Join authors Diane Arrelle, Marc E. Fitch, Andrea Hansell, Ann Liska, Derek Muk, Olga Munroe, Clint Orr, Terry Sanville, Kristi Petersen Schoonover, and K.W. Taylor as they explore the darkest deeds that keep us up at night, the past that cannot be undone, and the heavy chains these ghosts trap us in. This collection of literary tales gives life to ghosts, both real and imaginary, and all the sins of the past that haunt us in the present.

  From grieving, betrayed lovers to guilt-born demons, those that haunt the characters in these stories crafted by our authors bring pain, heartache, stunning revelations, and a stark reminder that the past will never die.

  Ink Stains, a quarterly anthology published by Dark Alley Press, is about shining a stark light on the shadows of life, exploring those dimly lit corridors, and unearthing those long-buried secrets. We don’t believe good will always triumph over evil or that someone will always be around to save the day. Sometimes all we have is ourselves. And the stories that keep us turning the page.

  Ink Stains, Volume 4

  Death. He plays a cunning role in our lives. Sometimes he uses us to do his bidding; other times, we can elude him, play him for a fool. But in the end, he always wins.

  In this volume of the Ink Stains anthology, our authors examine both Death and death and the power and pain that can accompany it. />
  Mackenzie Cox, Layla DeGroff, Miranda Forman, S.D. Hintz, Anna Mavromati, Bekki Pate, Holly Saiki, and Jon Steinhagen lead us through a journey of eight tales exploring our connection with death in both the mundane and supernatural realms.

  Ink Stains, a quarterly anthology published by Dark Alley Press, is about shining a stark light on the shadows of life, exploring those dimly lit corridors, and unearthing those long-buried secrets. We don’t believe good will always triumph over evil or that someone will always be around to save the day. Sometimes all we have is ourselves. And the stories that keep us turning the page.