A muttering of “okays”, “agreed”, and “we understand” rumbles through the core of the crowd. Sin turns to me with question and concern in his eyes. I don’t know what he’s thinking but it looks like uncertainty. As Sin opens the door, most of the people behind us press the backside of their arms against their faces, shielding themselves from the brightness. Slowly, each person filters out of the building, remaining in a solid formation, as surprising as it is.
As we wait for their eyes to adjust to the brightness, there is question after question of where our clothes came from, our bags, the weapon in Sin’s hand. They may all be questioning whether they can trust us but if I were them, I would be more curious than anything else, considering no other person from the outside has entered this town. Everyone looks the same here, has the same clothes, eats the same food. Even Snatcher, who now remains as the one caretaker in the town, looks the same as the rest of them—dirty, starved, and miserable. “Tell us where you got the clothes and weapons from,” one of the prisoners says, stepping forward, still struggling against the brightness.
“Everything will be explained when we make it to the center of town. We need your help if you want to get out of here. That’s the only point of this.” Sin takes a couple steps toward one of the prisoners, close enough to make his words more private. “You know me, Kelter. Trust me, okay?”
“Yeah, I do, Sin. So where the hell did your clothes come from?” Kelter. I remember that name. He was the one asking us to help him when we were in here last. He murdered his wife with a butcher knife for singing some country song. Note to self: no singing.
“We got out and now we’re back to help everyone else get out, too. But we need everyone to fight alongside us.”
Kelter steps back in with the crowd. “Fine. Take us with you,” he says flatly. These people know they have no choice. They can stay here and eventually die in this miserable existence, or they can take a chance at escaping. At this point, I’d rather die trying to get out of here versus dying in a pit of a dark cell I’ve lived in for years.
In silence we hike back down the hill, hearing only the patter of footsteps and the shuffling of pant legs behind us. As we arrive back in the center of the town, I watch many of the townspeople hide behind one another just at the sight of the prisoners behind us. Two groups of people stand on opposite sides, staring at one another, needing to understand that they are all on the same team right now. They all ended up here for a common reason, some just worse than others.
Sin steps between both of the groups, looking back and forth between each side, but before he begins to speak, clouds cover the sun-lit sky, blanketing us with a slight darkness—a moment of defined symbolism. The clouds darken quickly and raindrops trickle from the sky, slow at first and now a heavy downpour. Everyone looks up, closes their eyes and opens their mouths. This is camaraderie right here—we all do want the same thing—shelter, food, water, and freedom.
The rain feels like a cool shower after a scorching hot day, like a gift from God. Is that what this is? One by one everyone looks back toward Sin, waiting to hear what he has to say. This is it. Either he gains their trust and belief or we will become their next meal.
“We found a way out of Chipley,” he begins. “There is a bunker where patrols are monitoring us, our behavior, and the food we eat. They have been slowly turning us into war machines with chemicals they lace into the small amounts of food they give us. Those who are not strong enough to obtain food, die. It’s their process of elimination for those who are too weak to fight. Those in the prison,” Sin pauses, turning toward that group, “you have all proven your ability to murder, take someone’s life in place of your own. You have always been their key players, which is why they didn’t force you to fight for your food. Releasing you from a dark cage should motivate you to fight for your freedom more than the rest of us. They have more or less been recharging you, preparing you for your release and to attack.” I don’t believe I have taken a breath since the moment Sin began to talk, and from the quiet sound of rain and nothing more; they are all listening, devouring and believing every word he is speaking.
“The world is not the one you left behind when you came here,” I speak up for the first time, hoping they will listen to me the way they listen to Sin. “The patrols have hopes that we can fight the Americans outside of Chipley, the ones who survived.”
“Survived?” one of the prisoners asks.
“A biological terrorist attack hit the United States, and all bodies of fresh water were contaminated with a toxin. Those who drank fresh water during that time were unfortunately infected. The toxin is referred to as ‘Juliet’.” I stop talking to give them all a minute to digest what I’m saying, but not one of them has even blinked. “Each infected person reacts differently, which is the challenge in front of us. Most of the ‘Juliets’, as those exposed are called, cannot tell the difference between a state of consciousness and a nightmare—the figments of their imagination appear as real as the lives we’re living. Therefore, they have a greater ability to fight, just as you would in a dream or a nightmare—we’re all stronger in our minds. There is nothing in their brains telling them that what they are doing is wrong or inhumane. They lack fear and inhibitions and there is no second-guessing or morality. Those who survived the epidemic and are infected by the Juliet toxin need to be abolished in order to repopulate the United States.”
“What happens once we win this fight?” one of the townspeople asks.
“We win our freedom,” Sin says, lying through his teeth. Freedom is not in the cards for any of these people regardless of what Amelia agreed to. I know better than to believe a word she says.
Uproar of agreements fills the air. The people around us are happy to participate as combatants in this war. The simplicity of gathering their trust is unnerving, but we all want out and if we are to succeed, we must do whatever it will take.
As the residents of Chipley digest all this new knowledge, calmness gradually replaces their recent excitement. With what seems like several minutes, an aircraft appears in the distance and moves in toward us. It looks the same as the last one that dropped the food, which is exactly what this is. A crate lowers slowly from the helicopter.
“I will distribute the rations and make sure we are all fed before moving forward. No more fighting each other. We need to work as a team now,” Sin says.
I look from person to person, watching questions arise in many of the pairs of eyes looking at us. The question is trust, and I get it. No one has trusted one another here. Ever. Now we’re asking them to do just that, which for most of them is inconceivable.
The crate reaches the ground and the crowd around us looks like a pack of hungry dogs. Their eyes are wide, and some have drool bubbling in the corners of their mouths. Only one person leaps toward the crate, unable to contain herself. Everyone else watches as she claws at the wood with her bitten down fingernails. “She isn’t strong enough,” one of the prisoners speaks out. “You need to take her out.”
Sin takes slow steps over to the woman and I’m not sure what his agenda is. She’s around my size, short and slender, movable. Sin cuffs his hand around her wrist, pulling her away from the crate as she screams and shrieks. He holds her arm around her body, restraining her as she hyperventilates until she falls to the ground. Sin could have killed her right then and there, but he doesn’t; instead he allows her to cry herself into unconsciousness. “To gain trust, we need to treat each other the way we want to be treated. We will all have moments of weakness, but it will make us stronger when that happens,” Sin says in an authoritative tone.
“Do you think there is enough for all of us?” Kelter asks.
Sin takes a tool from his bag and uses it to pry open the wooden slats on the crate. He’s quick to create a large enough access point to retrieve the food. He reaches in, withdrawing several bags at once. “Please form a line,” Sin says. “There is enough for each of us.” And there is. Each person receives a b
ag, then sits down where they are standing, quickly devouring the rations. The woman on the ground comes to and finds a bag for herself as well. “Take the next few minutes to refuel. We will leave for the bunker in twenty minutes.”
Pulling me to the side, Sin takes my hands in his, looking me in the eyes. “As well as this is all going right now, we can’t be fooled into thinking it will continue this way. They are all still in a state of shock from everything that has happened today. We must assume they will be controlled by the substance in the food they all just ingested, so in case, prepare for the worst.”
“Do you think they will turn on us?” I ask Sin, knowing the likely answer.
“I think it’s best to assume that, but I’d prefer to be wrong.”
15
Chapter Fifteen
SIN
“Stay in front of me,” I tell Reese. We have led the line of sixty men and women along the ten-mile walk to the broken down house in the center of the field. Knowing we are closely monitored by Mom and the rest of the patrols, I’ve been waiting for a signal of some sort, providing me some guidance on where to lead these people, but with no instructions, I only know to bring them down into the bunker. I haven’t been stopped yet.
“I knew it,” one of the townsmen says. “I have seen this house and I always thought there was something peculiar about it. This is the way out, isn’t it?”
“Follow us,” Reese says. She has kept quiet today. I’m guessing she may be afraid to say the wrong thing to these people, which I can’t blame her for since I feel the same, but it has to be done.
With Reese’s hand held tightly in mine, I open the door to the house and push forward, finding the hatch door already open, waiting for us. I assume this is a clue we are headed in the proper direction considering I made sure this door was closed tightly behind us when we arrived.
“The hallway below is dark; stay together and keep quiet,” I tell everyone. Unsure whether to let Reese go first or have her follow after me, I make the decision to descend before everyone else, cautious for anything unexpected. I lead everyone down with only the glow of my small flashlight as our guide, and as we reach the end, the exit door slides open into the white room full of control panels and computers. Deja vu.
Six patrols stand in front of us, all in their biohazard gear. “Keep your hands in your pockets, your mouths closed, remain in single file, and follow us,” one of them says. He sounds like me. Or I sound like him. God, I don’t want to be like this...like one of them.
The sound of steps echoing through the halls grows louder as each person follows behind until we reach the glass door to allow us out. I’m somewhat surprised that not one of them has spoken out of turn or tried to attack a patrol, or us, for that matter. I’m truly shocked at how easy this was. But the easy part is going to end here as we step back out into the world of the unknown.
“Ready?” I ask everyone. Most of them agree with a silent nod.
The door slides open as a patrol steps in front of the line. “There is a hill a mile ahead. You will need to take caution when ascending but as you reach the top, you will find yourselves directly above the center of Coldhall—a town that has been taken over by Juliets. You should all know what that means by now, and by your presence here, all of you are agreeing to help us fight the Juliets. We will start there in that town, clear the space of all who do not belong and begin reconstruction. At this time, there are only five counties in the United States being inhabited. Most of the Juliets are imprisoned underground, but those are not are our main focus right now. You will recognize the Juliets since those who are not infected are wearing biohazard suits for safety and protection. Again, your only task is to remove the Juliets. It is important that you keep track of how many you take out. There are two hundred seventy-four currently loose in Coldhall. When this county is secure, we will move on to the next one.”
“Should we come back when the town is secure?” Kelter shouts.
“You will be taken care of once this mission is complete,” one of the patrols from the back of the lines says.
Reese and I are pulled from the line and brought to opposite sides of the group. I pull myself from the grip of the patrol, refusing to be held in any sense right now. I struggle to see through the crowd, needing to make sure Reese is okay, but I can’t see a thing as the line of people move through the open door into what they think is a fucked up version of freedom. I repeatedly call her name as I continue struggling to break through the crowd, when suddenly a patrol’s arm wrenches around my elbow as his mouth moves closer to my ear. “You are not leaving the bunker. Neither is Reese. Shut your mouth and stand still.”
I turn my head, finding Locke to be the one reciting my orders. Still, I pull my arm from his grip, gritting my teeth as I seethe, “Get your fucking hands off of me!”
Kelter, the last person in line, steps outside before turning back around, most likely to look for me, but the door closes between us. Guilt fills every part of me as I realize the extent of lies and deceit I unknowingly forced upon these people. I want to apologize, but they won’t hear me and even if they could, they won’t care. The damage and betrayal can’t be undone. If that door reopened right now, Kelter would probably kill me with his bare hands, and I wouldn’t blame him.
Reese and I are standing across from one another. The shock on her face probably mimics mine because like her, I thought we were fighting with them. They thought we were fighting with them. Every person from Chipley is now screaming words we cannot hear and the pounding of their fists on the door doesn’t even echo. It’s barely audible. We can only watch each other. We’re traitors, and without us, the Chipley residents are surely marching to their deaths.
Since no one has forced Reese and me to move from our spots, we continue to watch—both gluttons for punishment, especially now as two Juliets who must have been waiting for this door to open again, begin to circle everyone from Chipley. And a fight begins. A war.
The winner is a resident of Chipley. This time.
“It worked,” Mom’s voice sounds from behind me.
Turning away from the massacre I’ve been left to watch, I face her. “We live in a time where it’s one man or woman for him or herself, Sinon. Let the problems work themselves out.” She places her hand on my back in a motherly way. “You are safe. Isn’t that all that matters?”
“That’s not how you lead,” I tell her. “You lead from the front, not from behind.”
“Dear, you have a lot to learn. Why don’t you two come with me to watch what happens? The people of Chipley will win this battle...you’ll see.”
“Then what?” Reese asks.
Mom only smiles at Reese and places a hand on her back, as well. “Come with me, both of you. I’ll have some food and water brought in.”
“This is nothing to you,” I say, following her as she makes her way down the hall. “You have no problem leaving people behind or putting them in danger and letting them fend for themselves. It is about survival—your survival.”
“I don’t see what’s wrong with that,” she says. The sound of her heels clicking against the floor feels like a nail to my head after the past several hours of trailing through Chipley. “If you want to go after them, then go, but with a choice like that, I somewhat suspect you and Reese will both choose food, water, and safety over fighting the ingrates that have taken over Coldhall.”
“Yes, we will stay here,” Reese chimes in. I look over at her, the side of her face, the intentional avoidance. I don’t look away, though. I wait for her to acknowledge me. I wait for nearly a minute before she looks over with a flat, emotionless look.
“We should go help them,” I tell Reese.
“I’m staying here,” she replies, her voice still monotone, firm.
I take her arm, squeezing my hand tightly around her bicep. “Look at me.” She doesn’t.
“Don’t bother,” Mom says.
Rage simmers in my gut, quickly boiling into pure fury. I gra
b Mom’s arm, flinging her around to look at me just as I’m assaulted by a patrol. An arm wraps around my neck, and my hands are pulled tightly behind my back. “You know I’m always doing what’s best for you, Sinon.”
“What did you do to her?” I growl, fighting the patrol off of me.
“Who? Your lovely Juliet?” she asks, turning around to face me.
“She isn’t a Juliet,” I seethe, I want so badly to punch my own mother in the jaw and I wouldn’t feel bad about it for even a second. “I shouldn't be surprised by anything that comes out of your mouth at this point. You continuously keep proving to me and this entire bunker how fucking stupid you are. You want to control the remaining population with no leadership, truth, answers, intelligence, or appropriate motivation, so instead you continue to spew out information that you wouldn’t be able to prove if your life depended on it.” The thin smile across her lips pulls into a longer line, spreading from ear to ear. This infuriates me. “You would, however, be willing to risk someone else’s life, whether it be your own flesh and blood or a complete stranger. Isn’t that right?”
“Reese Daniels is patient zero. She is the carrier and creator of the Juliet toxin.”
“Again, with the lies. You already said it was a terrorist attack, so why don’t you choose your fibs a little more wisely,” I spit back at her.
“And I am the terrorist, dear. A sleeper—a blonde, attractive, middle-aged woman, posing as nothing but a middle-class, stay-at-home mother with only the dream of being a well-known research scientist. Our country was headed for complete destruction if something didn’t change. Jackson Crownwell, the brave man who heads up Operation Juliet, has paved the way for our country to improve, but to start this process, we needed a way to clean up the pollution—so to speak. And now, we’re almost there—we are close to completion of Phase One, and you will live in a clean world filled with upstanding Americans who have one goal in mind—perfection, wealth, and structure. We have mitigated the weak-minded individuals, weeding out the poor and useless, leaving us with the rich, the government officials, and politicians. What more could we ask for?”
Unlocked (No Way Out Series Book 3) Page 11
