by Jill Cooper
The glistenings smirked at each other and it stilled her beating heart. Of course, they knew what was going on in there. Everyone knew and she was a fool to think otherwise. “I’m sure he did, Miss, but one of us still needs to escort you.”
Liz didn’t outwardly sigh even though she wanted to. One of these days, she would find a way to ditch her guard. She just hoped it was in time.
****
In some ways, the kitchen was Liz’s favorite room in the old White House. Not because of the food, but because of the atmosphere. When she was in that room, she could forget what was going on outside and only focus on the inside. Being with the women while they peeled, diced, shredded, and prepared meals, three times a day for the glistening men and children.
There was laughter and it was the only room in the house that Liz felt lighthearted. Even when she was peeling a hundred pounds of potatoes, or cutting onions until she cried, her heart hadn’t felt that normal since all of this began.
With a smile, she ran water over her potatoes and then used the hem of her dress to wipe her hands dry. When she returned to the prep table, everyone was talking. Most of the women there were glistenings, but a few were humans from the encampment centers, where they had pledged his or her loyalties to Victor.
Meghan was peeling a vat’s worth of carrots. “I’ll be, I’ve never seen this many carrots before, not even back in the old days of Potluck Tuesday Bingo night at church—back in good old New Haven 56.”
Liz knew it was a setup, but still, Meghan must have thought of her children, her husband—and Jake’s mom, who was once her best friend.
Liz took her opening. “Well not that much has changed for you ladies since New Haven, right?”
“What do you mean?” Jacqueline asked. “We’re free now. Victor’s given us our freedom.”
Liz nodded. “Oh sure. I’m glad you’re free and we are friends now, but . . . well, didn’t you cook and do all the cleaning then?”
Jacqueline’s face clouded but Meghan stepped in to answer. “Well, that’s just how things are done when you’re a glistening, Liz.” Meghan’s eyes shined. “The men work and we’re just so good at being domestic. Aren’t we ladies?”
The ladies glanced at each other with a series of nods. Liz played it off with a shrug. “I guess, but what if you wanted something more. Doctors? Nurses? Why, if the men are always in charge, telling you what to do, what difference does it make if you’re in New Haven or not? It seems to me, you traded in one master for another.”
“It’s not like that, Liz,” Jacqueline said, but her voice was meek. “We work together, as a team.”
“Except well, we don’t have a vote,” Mary said and held up her veggie peeler. “I get to say what veg. I’m preparing for this meal, but no one has asked me what I think about this . . . war.”
“Me either,” Meghan admitted softly. “I’m here to serve Victor. Whatever else happens . . .” Her voice trailed off as she picked up her bucket of potatoes and brought them over to the sink.
Liz watched her go as planned, but it looked like the act was wearing on Meghan. “Are you happy to follow, Victor?”
“My husband is.” Mary looked around the group. “My husband said he is a strong leader and will make sure we’re safe, provided for.”
“But what did you want?” Liz asked.
Jacqueline swallowed hard and raised her hand, her dirty potato peeler gripped tight. “Before this, I was in Saskatchewan with the others. I . . . was friends with Marie, Jake’s sister. I wanted to follow Jake.”
A hush fell over the crowd and Mary leaned in. “You trying to get us killed?” she hissed.
The group broke up. Liz was afraid to push them further right then, afraid she might lose them for good. She joined Meghan at the sink, where she was scrubbing her carrots. “Is it working?” she asked in a hushed voice, without looking over.
“I think so. I think it’s starting to sink in.”
But would it be enough? Could Liz make the timetable if she was set to carry out the final act of their plan tomorrow?
****
The plate of food for the prisoner down in the bunker was laid out as usual on the gray tray. A protein, a starch, some vegetables, a piece of stale bread with butter, and a glass of water; this time Liz was allowed to put an ice cube inside the glass. She guessed that Jane Morgan was cooperating if she was allowed to have a cold drink.
“It’s ready to be taken down.” Liz wiped her hands on her apron. Her face was sweaty, and the bandana that pulled the hair out of her face was covered in grime.
Liz glanced behind her at the guards. The glistenings nodded, but waved her away.
“Not you. Have one of the others take it.”
They still didn’t trust her even though Liz gave them no reason not to. Maybe they saw through her charade of love and devotion to Victor. Maybe they could see how disgusted she was to have him touch her.
Still, Liz signaled to Mary and moved away from the table. She watched as the guard looked over the food. When it was clear it passed muster, they covered it with a tray and Mary was sent on her way.
As she cleared the room, Liz took a shaking deep breath. She didn’t allow her gaze to linger long, she dared not cast suspicion on herself. Turning to the counter, she picked up the container of vanilla buttercream frosting. It was absurd that she needed to frost her own wedding cake, but Victor wanted nothing anymore but to humiliate her.
Meghan stepped up beside her with a stack of dirty dishes. “Do you think she’ll find it?”
The small memory chip Liz hid in the ice cube? The one she had been carrying under her skin since she left Jake and camp? God, Liz hoped so. She couldn’t do it on her own. She needed an ally.
Additionally, an ally like Jane Morgan would be a gift. Liz just hoped she found it. Better yet, she hoped Jane had the equipment in the bunker to read it.
A bell chimed through the speakers and Liz squeezed her eyes shut. It meant the latest shipment of blood was there from the human encampment center. It needed to be separated, bottled, and chilled.
Meghan gripped her hand. “I swear upon my own child’s soul, I shall never drink that blood, Liz. Never will I allow human blood to strengthen me.”
It didn’t help. Meghan said it every delivery day, but God help her, it never helped.
****
Concentration Camp
DC, Outer Fringe
Winter had come early. The first snowfall cascaded from the sky. It was greeted without fanfare, but instead, with fear and dread. It was late November and the remnants of autumn weren’t washing away, but instead, they were freezing. DC hadn’t always been cold, but since the nuclear winter after the first glistening war, winter temperatures plummeted to artic levels.
The sun was still high in the sky and the cast of its glow was muted. Still, Ginny stood in line with the other inmates, everyone in matching gray outfits. The lucky ones had hats and sweaters, but everyone shuffled their feet. Ginny licked her lips with impatience as others in front took their trays with thanks from the guards.
When Ginny took the measly meal she was given, she too, was thankful but didn’t say anything. She wouldn’t lower herself to that. Her grand meal of a piece of bread and a small cup of soup was more than she had the day before. Today it would be both her lunch and dinner. Grateful, she slid behind a picnic table with other inmates.
Everyone ate in silence. Ginny didn’t want to rock the boat so she kept to herself, hunched up on her bench, head down, and prayed no one would cause a problem.
Some had been there a long time. Their eyes were sunken and dark; the skin on their faces saggy and their bodies ravaged any natural fat just to stay alive. Those on good behavior had sweaters and caps, while those that misbehaved and always caused a stink shivered in t-shirts or tank tops branded with their number.
Ginny’s number, 6001-2, was hidden under a fluffy, brown sweater she was allowed to wear because she was new. Still learning the rules, sh
e kept to herself, and hoped one day she’d be rescued. Maybe find a way out of this place one way or another that wasn’t in a body bag.
The bread was stale and the broth was watery, but Ginny dunked her chunk of crust into the soup. It softened and the soup was warm, which was better than nothing.
Chase stepped over the bench before he sat down with a thud. Ginny smiled at him the best she could and watched as he slurped his soup and crunched on his bread. She raised her eyebrows when she noticed he had two bowls of soup.
Two? How’d he get lucky enough for two?
She opened her mouth to ask him when he slid the extra bowl over to her. Staring at her, Ginny blinked “Chase . . .”
“A guy owed me, all right?” His voice was full of attitude, but the sound of it warmed Ginny’s heart. Things couldn’t be so bad if Chase was still determined to be tough all the time.
“We’ve been here for two days, how could someone owe you?”
Chase smirked. “I have my ways. Someone was giving him trouble, so I went and gave that someone trouble.”
“I’m sure you did.” Ginny noticed Chase’s sweater was missing. “You excel at trouble, Chase, but your sweater . . . You’ll freeze.”
“I’ll be fine.” Chase sipped his soup. “If you’re not going to eat that soon, it’s going to cool off. Have it now, while it’s still warm.”
Ginny took it in her hands. “Thank you. I don’t know how to repay you.”
Chase leaned in and kissed her forehead. Her skin tingled where his lips met her skin. “Stay alive. That’s the only thing you can do for me.”
His voice was soft, low with a hidden passion. Ginny returned in kind. “And they say romance is dead.”
****
Huddled together, they sat ‘crisscross apple sauce’ or that’s what Ginny’s mom used to call it before she died—before she was killed by the glistenings. The ground was wet, cold—making Ginny’s butt numb, but she dared not move. She barely begged a breath of air while the glistening guards were present.
The guard in front of them paced and read off the clipboard. “Serial number 61003-2,” Ginny’s heart skipped a beat because she thought he called her number at first. Chase squeezed her hand as the guard read off more numbers. It was clear he thought it had been her number too.
A near miss, Ginny breathed a sigh of relief. She would get to survive one more day.
Those that were called stood. Some cried, some cheered. Some saw it as a death sentence and to some, it promised the simple comforts of home, like heat, a place to sleep, and a job.
They were marched off with glistening guards to keep them in line, down the center path toward the warehouse. Once, it had been a bakery and now, either it was an oasis amid a sea of death or a house of horrors. Ginny knew what she wished it was, but the reality of where they were, what was happening?
Ginny hoped her number was never called.
“What do you think happens there?” Ginny’s voice was smaller than it had sounded in a long time.
They snuggled close to keep the warmth between them and to keep the heat building. “I hope we never have to know.”
****
Ginny couldn’t hold it in any longer.
She had to relieve herself, but God; it was horrible and disgusting.
In the encampment, there were no bathrooms. There was only an area of filth and disgust toward the rear of the compound where they were allowed to go—the ones that could still move—the ones who hadn’t withered away to nearly nothing.
Among the piles of stench and feces were buckets, but they weren’t cleaned well. Only well enough, for them to be emptied by the guards to God knows where, but Ginny didn’t have a choice. No matter how much she hated it, Ginny patted her hand to scatter the fly larva and grabbed her bucket that stank of feces.
Ginny had been holding it for twelve hours. She unbuckled her pants, sat down low, and let the slow trickle wash away her grief. Wasn’t much, should’ve been more, but when you barely had enough food to survive, the upside was that you didn’t have to relieve yourself as often.
Was that a small blessing? Or did that mean death was right around the corner?
Trying not to smell it, pretending she was anywhere but here in this horrible place, Ginny’s nose scrunched and she kept her face high toward the sky. The sun was out, but it barely warmed her skin. Instead, Ginny’s lips quivered from the cold.
When she was done, Ginny zipped up her pants and left her bucket with the others to be collected later. She hadn’t realized how low a person could feel, how depression could sink you, pull you down, and not allow you to get back up. Memories of home and friends, family and kisses, all seemed so far away now.
Had it ever happened? Now it was like a dream.
When Ginny was about to turn away from the ‘shit center’ as Chase called it, she saw something being dumped from the back of the bakery. Curious, Ginny tiptoed toward it and hung onto the fence. Out past the stairs and around the side, she saw people in HAZMAT suits. They wore masks over their faces.
Ginny’s nose scrunched as an odor of blood, metal, and meat assaulted her. She covered her face to keep from smelling it as she saw a pile of clothes dumped outside.
A uniform like the one she was forced to wear, only thin strips of tissue like dried flesh clung to the sleeves. On the sleeve, Ginny could make out the markings etched in the blood. 61003-2. That was an inmate, just like her, which had just been sent to the factory.
They weren’t working there, they were—Ginny suppressed a scream and backed up. She hit a wall before she should’ve and arms went around her. Fighting against them, she struggled, but the guard overpowered her and she was thrown to the ground.
Ginny fell with a thud into a large pile of cold crap. She held her hands up defensibly as the guard pulled a gun and aimed it at her head. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing.” Ginny’s hands shook and she couldn’t hear her own voice over the pounding of her heart.
The guard narrowed his eyes. “What’d you see?”
“Nothing,” Ginny repeated and squeezed her eyelids tight. “I didn’t see anything, I swear!”
The guard lowered his gun. “You stay away from his area, do you understand me?” He kicked Ginny in the stomach and she moaned, struggling to her feet, desperate to avoid the stench of the crap.
But the guard slammed his foot down on her back and her bones cracked. Ginny fell face down into the feces and sobbed, her hands digging through it. She flung some at him, and hurried away toward camp.
*****
“Ginny!” Chase’s worried voice was a pitch higher than normal when he saw her coming. He launched an assault, slamming his body toward the guard. Elbow first, it hit the guard in the throat. His head reared back and Chase throat punched him with the palm of his hand.
Other guards seized Chase from behind. The inmates around him shuffled backwards as a woman’s voice screamed, “Silence! Be still!”
The guard put his arm around Chase’s neck from behind and he was forced to his knees. He thought of a move or two that could get him out of it, but it would all end in his death, so he did nothing but gaze down at the ground, at Ginny.
She was hurt, dirty, and covered in filth. He saw only red seeing her that way and when he looked up at the image of Sally, with purple stripes in her hair, Chase nearly lost his mind.
“Whatever is going on here, it ends now. Do I make myself clear? The both of you?” Sally cast a gaze at Chase and then Ginny.
Ginny nodded ever so slight, but Chase glowered at her and tugged his arms to get free. The guard only strengthened his grip. “This guard mistreated her. You can’t expect me to—.”
“I expect obedience.” Sally leaned over and smiled at Chase—devious and seductive. “But I will cut her a break this one time since she’s new. Guards, get her inside. Allow her the luxury of a cold shower. But see to it, her sweater is not returned.”
Sally turned her back and Chase roa
red. “You can’t do that!”
But she never stopped and never turned around. “I can do whatever I like and to prove it, tonight there will be no food rations.”
Chase slumped to his knees and stared at his hands as the guard let him go. He then turned his attention to Ginny. Chase’s hands were already cold as the snow continued to fall, building in intensity.
A long winter was setting in and Chase’s hope of survival was slipping away.
*****
There were no blankets. The only shelter they had was a low overhang beside the rear fence, but it wasn’t big enough for everyone in the concentration camp; so, the elderly and sick were top priority for those spots.
Ginny didn’t fit into either of those categories and at night, she could barely stay warm. Her back was to the overhang and she was just about as close to it as she could possibly get, but her head and shoulders were covered in a faint smattering of snow. Her hair shone as the snow glittered, even while her body shivered.
Her long sleeve shirt was pulled over her shoulders and her knees pulled tight into her chest. She was just about as tight as she could get, but it didn’t seem to help. Ginny couldn’t feel her toes no matter how much she tried to wiggle them.
Terrified, but with an eerie sense of calm, Ginny stared out at the fence that kept them in here. Glistenings in uniforms patrolled to make sure everyone behaved and up on the high towers, glistening dragons sat perched, ready to launch if anyone got out of line. But Ginny was out of ideas. She managed to survive, but finally saw the finish line closing in on her.
Too bad just past it was a casket. It would be her casket if she would even be afforded such a luxury; but Ginny didn’t think so. She was afraid her body would end up in the bakery, which was now refitted as a warehouse. Ginny knew what happened in there. She heard the whispers, the talk. If you went in, you didn’t come out, not unless you could work the machine.
And Ginny refused, absolutely refused. She would rather greet death warmly—maybe with hot cocoa and a blanket in hand, could death be any worse than this?
