Disorder

by Martha Adele

  Caine adds, “We have them placed to where the wind tunnels itself through, directly to the mills. It’s more efficient that way.”

  “Do the bombs not affect your … things?”

  Grayson shakes his head. “No, they don’t affect our … things. Not usually anyways, and if they do, we go up and fix them when the time is right.”

  “What would you do if they all got destroyed at once?”

  “Well,” Caine answers, “if that ever did happen, which it won’t, we have backup power stored for cases like that.”

  A few more bombs drop, earning a jolt of fear from Sam and Mavis.

  “Oh yeah,” Caine adds. “Grayson forgot to mention our solar panels on the sides of the mountains and how we have machines that filter oxygen through the mountains to the floors and bunker.”

  Grayson shoots Caine another look but shoves his comment off.

  “What about the medicine?” Sam moans, still in his defense position with his hands over his ears and his eyes squeezed shut. He lifts up his head a bit but keeps himself sealed off. “What about the medicine they gave us?”

  “What about it?” Caine snorts.

  “Where …” Sam takes a deep breath and forces out his words as fast as he can. “Where did you get it? How did you make it?”

  A few of the men with the wrist cuffs begin walking our way with their hologram screens pulled up. They walk by bunks and pull people’s names up to check them off. Grayson ignores their approaching presence and answers, “We have a team of scientists that help engineer these sorts of things. They came up with the formula a long time ago with the help of their genetically modified plants and natural plants found in the woods.”

  One of the men walking around taking attendance stops by our bunk. Without even giving us a second look, he types something into his hologram. “Names?”

  “Grayson Andrews.”

  “Caine Jacobs.”

  I follow their lead and answer, “Logan Forge.”

  We wait for Sam and Mavis to answer, but they don’t. I turn to the man and tell him their names, but he takes a moment to stare at them before listening to me. “I need to see their faces,” he says.

  I nudge Sam in the arm and whisper to him that he needs to look up for a moment.

  He does, but for only one moment. Sam swings his head up from Mavis’s back, and with his eyes closed, he smiles. I tap Mavis on the shoulder, and she sits up straight. Her hands remain over her ears, but her eyes open, unlike Sam’s.

  The man nods his head and walks off to check the other bunks, leaving Mavis and Sam to go back to their “crippled in fear” position. We wait in silence, listening to each bomb drop one after another, each shaking the mountains. I lose track of time as I think about everything and wait for the walls to cave in.

  Why do I feel the need to squeeze my eyes closed when I blink?

  Another bomb drops.

  Why do I feel the need to rub my fingernails?

  The lights in the bunker flicker, and one of the men who took attendance walks by.

  What am I going to do? Just start a new life in a mountain? What are these two going to do? Stick a needle into their leg every time they get upset? What about me? When do I know when to use the medicine?

  Another bomb drops, earning a smug chuckle from Caine. Grayson shoots him a puzzled look, but it does nothing. A shuffling beside me grabs my attention, and I watch as Mavis pulls a vial out of her pocket and sticks herself in the leg. Still tense, she sets the vial down on the bed between Sam and me, then lies back down in his lap. Mavis puts her hands back over her ears and lies in that same position that she has been in this whole time, but her breathing becomes much more steady, as if her holding her ears is just a precaution. Sam puts his hand on her back and rubs up and down, just as my mother used to do for me when I had trouble sleeping at night.

  I watch as Sam keeps his eyes closed and takes deep breaths, trying to calm himself. I wonder why he isn’t taking the medicine or if he still feels the effects from his earlier dose. I wonder if his BPD is really as mild, as the nurses say it is. I wonder if my OCD is really as moderate as they say it is. The nurses and doctors said that Bestellen kicks out people with disorders that aren’t manageable without medicine. What do they use to determine what is severe and what isn’t?

  Another bomb drops.

  How do they choose who they throw out?

  The lights flicker.

  Why do they kick people out?

  Another man walks by.

  “Why don’t they want us?”

  Grayson looks back up from the floor to me, surprised at my question.

  Caine shakes his head and loses his smirk. For one moment, he answers seriously, “They think that people with disorders are … ‘hindrances’ for any advancements in their society. That, and they are too cheap to help people who need it.”

  Taken aback by Caine’s sincere, yet slightly cocky answer, I nod.

  Shaking his head and maintaining focus on his shoes on the floor, Grayson sighs. “Their twisted ideas seem logical to them.” He lifts his head and meets my eyes. “And that is one of the reasons their reign has got to come to an end.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Sam

  I lie restlessly on the bunk above Mavis, trying to keep my eyes closed and sleep. The bombings stopped hours ago, but when the announcement came on the overhead speakers that the threat was cleared, they also announced that we would be staying down here for the rest of the night until the structure has been checked for security and stabilization.

  “Don’t worry,” Grayson tells us. “They always check after bombings. Everything will be back to normal in the morning.”

  The morning …

  I can usually tell what time it is by looking out of my window at my house, but here? Where there are no windows? Where there is no sunlight? No moonlight? It’s just a dark gray ceiling with an extremely dim orange light lining the edges of the room. As I look around, I can see the bunks all around me enough that I wouldn’t run into them if I got up to walk around, but not enough that I could make out any details of the bed or the person sleeping in it.

  I lie here, on the mattress with a spring digging into my back, with my eyes squeezed closed, listening to Mavis’s rapid and short breaths and the light squeaking noises of the rest of people shifting in their beds. Logan is on the bottom bunk to our right while Caine and Grayson are sleeping in the bunks to our left. The front branch of the bunker is packed. Every bunk bed is occupied. The branch we are in has a lot more room than the first and second branches, which means we have beds to spare.

  I listen to Mavis’s small and slight murmurs beneath me. She murmurs something I cannot make out. It is probably something about how crazy this all is. Probably something about her family she may never see again. Probably about something that is making her nervous or scared. Probably something about Bestellen or Bergland. Maybe something about Bestellen and Bergland.

  Beneath me, Mavis’s bloodcurdling scream screeches through the room, spooking everyone in its path. I feel her jump up in her bed, causing the whole bunk to shake. She gasps for air and begins to wheeze once again. Before either Logan or I have the chance to do anything, two girls hop down from the bunks in front of us and come rushing over.

  Peeking over the side of my top bunk, I see one of the girls rummaging through her greenish-brown bag and the other leaning inward to Mavis. The girl who is rummaging through her bag looks up at me and smiles while the other one, the older-looking one, continues trying to calm Mavis.

  “Hey, hey, shh … It’s okay.”

  Mavis, no longer screaming, slows her breathing a small bit. Her hands find their way through her hair as her fists clench, seemingly pulling some of her hair out of her scalp. She holds this position as the girl who is going through her bag pulls out one of the vials and hands it t
o the other woman, who sits down on the bunk with Mavis. The woman waves off the girl holding the vial and continues to whisper to Mavis. “Hey, listen, if you want some medicine, we can give it to you. But only if you want it.”

  I watch the girl holding the vial out toward them, and I watch Mavis and the woman’s heads underneath me. Mavis shakes her head and slowly releases her tight grip on her hair. “No. It-it’s fine. I’m fine.” She takes another deep breath and rubs her eyes with the palms of her hands.

  The woman beside her nods and places her hand on Mavis’s leg. “Okay, okay. I want you to know that this will get better.”

  Mavis continues to rub her eyes. She takes a deep breath and scrunches her face. “What?”

  “Your anxiety,” the woman answers. Two men in white clothing come rushing over with a bag but get waved off by the woman sitting with Mavis. The men nod to her and walk off as the woman continues, “It will get better once you know how to handle it.”

  Mavis lowers her hands and sniffles. She looks down to the woman’s hand on her leg. “What do you mean ‘handle it’?” Mavis looks up and points to the vial in the other girl’s hand. “Take more medicine? Stick a needle in my leg every time I get upset?”

  “No, no, honey,” the woman answers. “One of the reasons it is so bad right now is because you have never experienced it before. This is all new to you. Once you find what soothes you and what helps you, you can get past the worrying …” The woman slowly reaches for Mavis’s hand but hesitates. She and Mavis make eye contact before the woman takes her hand. When she does, Mavis doesn’t seem to mind. “And the nightmares. They won’t be perfect, but they won’t be nearly as bad.”

  Mavis looks down to the woman’s hand and stays quiet.

  The other girl slips the vial back into her bag and joins in, adding, “She’s right.” Mavis looks back up to the girl, earning an easy smile from her. “Trust me.”

  They wait for a moment before leaving our bunk to make sure Mavis is okay. When they leave, Mavis lies right back down. Though she lies down, I can tell that she never fully goes back to sleep.

  Sometime in the night, I managed to doze off. I only realize when my eyes flutter open, and I find myself in the fully lit bunker, along with everyone else who is rising with me. I wipe my eyes as Caine and Grayson both hop out of their beds and stretch beside us. I look over to Logan, who is holding his pillow over his face, and over to the girls from last night. The woman who sat with Mavis is gone, but the girl with the bag is rising just like Caine and Grayson. After a few minutes, I sit up and look around to see most of the people filing out of the room. Everyone who has already left piled their bedsheets at the end of the bed in a ball, leaving their mattress and pillows stripped.

  “Look who’s up!” Caine groans as he pulls his arms behind his back. “Are you ready for your first day?” I glance over to him, then to Grayson.

  Grayson nods. “Good morning.”

  The bed below me creaks as Mavis sits up.

  Grayson smiles down to her. “Good morning.”

  I crawl down the ladder and stretch a bit with Caine and Grayson, earning a chuckle from Caine. “These mattresses are supercomfy, right?” He groans, “Every time I sleep down here, I end up with a crick in my neck. And my back. And everything else.”

  After Caine finishes complaining and trying to be funny, I head over to Logan.

  “Hey.” I knee his mattress and shake his bed. “Get up.”

  Logan grumbles something and slowly pulls the pillow off his face. He turns his head to me and stares at me with large purple bags under his eyes.

  I take a step back. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah,” he moans. “No sleep.”

  I nod my head. Logan rises and follows me over to where Caine, Mavis, and Grayson are. The room has almost completely cleared of people, and every bed has been stripped, and every sheet has been balled up and put at the end of the bed.

  I point to the sheets at the end of Grayson’s bed. “Do we need to do that?”

  “Yes,” Grayson answers. “We have workers that come through after we leave to take the dirty sheets and change them out for clean ones.”

  Logan turns around and heads back to his bed to take off his sheets, as the rest of us do likewise. As I finish rolling my sheets into a ball, a few men and one woman with those hologram bands walk by us, checking each bunk. At first, one of the men stops and looks us up and down, but Grayson nods him off. When they all leave, Grayson turns back to us. “Are you all ready for breakfast? We can take you up when you are ready and show you the restrooms on the way.”

  “No, that’s okay,” Yate Groves interrupts as he walks up from behind us and closes his holographic screen. Groves turns back to Caine and Grayson. “You two can go ahead to breakfast. I will take care of them.”

  Caine shrugs. “Okay.” He walks off immediately.

  “Are you sure?” Grayson looks from Groves to us, as if asking permission to leave.

  Yate nods, and Grayson leaves.

  “Okay, I don’t know if you guys remember me, but I am Private Yate Groves.” He extends his hand to Logan, shakes it rapidly, then does the same to Mavis and me. “But you can call me Yate. Or Groves. Or Yate Groves. Just don’t call me Private. I don’t like that. Major Mason does, but I don’t. He calls me Private sometimes just to get on my nerves, but whatever.” Yate shakes his head and places his hands on his hips in a proud manner. “Anyways, welcome to Bestellen!”

  Logan lets out an unsure chuckle. “Thanks?”

  “You’re welcome! All right, before we get started, I need to ask you guys a few questions. Well, ‘need’? No. More like ‘want to.’” Yate sits down on one of the stripped beds and pats it. “Come! Sit! Or go over to the one right there and sit. Or stand. Do whatever makes you most comfortable.”

  We scramble and end up all sitting on the one bed across from Yate. Once we get “comfortable,” Yate picks back up. “Okay! So my first question, how did you sleep last night?”

  A pause. No one answers, so I shrug.

  “Ah,” Yate chuckles. “Would that be a good shrug or a bad shrug?”

  Logan meets Yate’s eyes and stares at him for a moment. Not glaringly, nor in a loving way, but more in a blank and mindless way.

  “Oh. No sleep? I understand. These beds can be pretty difficult to rest in.”

  Mavis shoots him a look as if he was crazy.

  Yate’s eyes grow wide, and he jolts with what seems to be surprise. “Oh yeah! And those dreadful bombings. I forgot for a split second that you all are not used to the attacks. I am so sorry about that. I was going to ask about the bombings next! Well, not about the bombings, more about how you guys handled them. Are you okay? Do you have any questions?”

  Yes. We do.

  Or I do.

  I want to know if we will be subjected to such fear every night.

  I want to know how safe we really are, not how safe everyone hopes or thinks we are.

  I want to know when the war will be over …

  War …

  Up until last night, I didn’t even know we were at war. I want to know what caused the war! I want to know how many innocent people have died! I want to know … “Who dropped the first bomb?”

  Those words jump out of my mouth before I get the chance to stop them—not that it is a bad question; it just isn’t the first one I wanted to ask.

  Groves takes a deep breath and looks to each of us on this bed, as if it was time for a long and hard explanation. But with the few minutes I have just spent with Yate alone without Major Mason, I can guess that he will turn this answer into a very long one.

  “Bestellen did,” he answers.

  I guess I was wrong in assuming he would elaborate. Why did he elaborate on something as trivial as his name? I don’t know. Why isn’t he elaborating on the things I need him to?
I still don’t know.

  Logan croaks, “Why?”

  “Before we lived in the mountains, we had multiple aboveground bunkers, cities, and towns—all of which were hidden very well, though not well enough. When the Amiables took over, they captured most of the Diligent and stole all of our land. Some of the Diligent, however, managed to escape and created some of their own hidden cities.”

  I look from Groves to Mavis to Logan. Each of us has a mixture of confusion and suspense written on our faces.

  Not taking time to breathe between words, Groves continues, “The Amiables, oblivious to the Diligent’s cities being built, then built themselves a huge wall, which took ten years to complete, around their country that spans about two million square miles. They built up their cities, their population, their military, and their weapons. Years passed, and somehow, the Amiables found a few of our small cities and bunkers. They bombed them all. To this day, there is nothing left.”

  “What?” I protest. “Then how did any of you survive?”

  “Lucky for us, we had already started building Bergland from old mines, and Bestellen had no idea. There were over one hundred workers in those mines during the bombings and even more people outside of the cities, hunting, harvesting, and planning where to put the next hidden cities. After the bombings, everyone salvaged everything they could and made their way to the mountains.”

  I shake my head, trying to prevent the twitching I feel rising in my eye. “That was years ago. Why are the bombings still happening?”

  “Yeah,” Logan adds. “And how did they even find out about the mountains?”

  “One day, we sent one of our rescue teams out to look for people that Bestellen had exiled, and I guess we got way too close to the wall. An official saw our van and had someone track us. They watched us enter one of our tunnels. After that, they began bombing us again. We destroyed that tunnel, but they still knew we had ways in and out. Within a week, they had sensor bombs placed throughout those woods that would blow up our vans if we drove past a certain point. These bombs don’t harm any wildlife, just large and steel vehicles.”