by Hart, Stella
His smile widened into a grin. I felt as if I were melting right into the floor. He wanted to see me?
“It is nice to see you again too,” I said softly. “But I am not permitted to speak with outsiders. Even if I knew them… before.”
“Oh, come on. Who’s gonna find out?” he asked, amusement glimmering in his gaze.
I pointed to the ceiling. “He will know.”
“I’m sure your God wouldn’t mind if you were simply polite to an old friend,” Mason said. “But if you insist, I’ll leave you alone.”
When he said that, I realized just how desperate I was to speak with him. I needed to know where he’d been. How he survived. How he made it here after all this time.
“Wait.” I looked around to make sure no one else was watching, and then I picked up my cleaning materials. “There is a place we could speak for a few moments.”
He held out a hand. “Lead the way.”
His fingertips brushed against my back as I turned and led him down the hall. I felt as if I had been shocked, and I darted forward so that he wouldn’t touch me again. He seemed to have electricity in his fingers, and I wasn’t allowed to deal with anything like that. All forms of electricity and technology that still functioned after the Great Reckoning were gifts from God for the men. Such things interfered with female organs, so it wasn’t safe for any of the girls or women to use them.
As we rounded another corner, I caught a glimpse of Martha Chase, one of the other women at New Eden. Her fiery red hair made her stand out at any distance. I drew in a sharp breath and took a few steps backward, motioning for Mason to do the same.
“We must go another way,” I said in a hushed voice.
Martha was the same age as me, but far more pious. I was often envious of her ability to serve Him so utterly and completely. She spent most of her spare time praying and asking for His guidance, and she observed punishments meted out to other girls with fervent, shining eyes, as if seeing their pain pleased her just as it pleased our God.
If she saw me sneaking around with an outsider, she would no doubt tell the Elders immediately. In fact, the only two people in this entire place who wouldn’t tell on me at all were my closest friends, Elena and Lauren, and they were nowhere to be seen.
Fortunately, there was another way to the room I wanted to take Mason into, so we could avoid Martha. I led him down another hallway which looped around, and then I ushered him into the Museum of the Damned.
It was a large room with dark gray stone walls and small flaming lamps which always remained burning. The walls were covered with photos taken when the bombs dropped on the world outside, along with all the other awful events which occurred in 1999.
We didn’t take the photos ourselves, of course. Some of the brave men who went out into the Wastelands to find food and other survivors had found cameras buried in the rubble of cities, and they managed to develop the photos for us so that we could witness the sinners’ last moments, which had been captured on film.
The horrors portrayed in the pictures reminded us how lucky we were to have been spared from the fate of the damned, and it also reminded us to be grateful for every day we spent down here in the shelter. Life wasn’t always easy here—sometimes it was downright bleak—but whenever I visited the Museum, I was left with a renewed sense of hope and gratification.
The women were expected to visit the Museum at least once a week, so it was usually quite busy, but no one would be around at this time. Everyone was busy with their evening tasks, either child-minding, helping to prepare dinner, or cleaning the shelter.
“We can talk in here for a few minutes,” I said to Mason, looking up at him. I set my broom, feather duster, and dustpan by the arched entrance.
I should have been panicking more about the possibility of getting caught by someone like Martha, given the rules about women speaking with outsiders, but something strange had taken hold of my insides, and it was squeezing… squeezing hard. I needed to do this. I needed to stand close to Mason and warm myself in his wonderful presence.
“Good. I really am glad to see you, Jolie,” he said. The timbre of his voice made me feel like I was melting all over again. It was deep and rough, yet there was also a hint of softness within. “It’s been so long. How are you doing?”
I gaped at him. He must’ve gone through hell and back in the Wastelands, and he was asking me how I was?
“I…um… I have been well,” I replied, wishing I wasn’t so tongue-tied. “I am very glad to see you too. To be honest, I did not think I would ever lay eyes on you again.”
He smiled. “I promised you I’d come back for you when you were eighteen, didn’t I?”
My eyes widened.
When I first met him as a child, I somewhat embarrassed myself by asking him to be my boyfriend. He rebuffed me, as he was nine years older and probably thought of me as nothing but a silly little girl, but he’d been kind enough to say that he would come to visit me again when I was older, so we could be friends.
I couldn’t believe he still remembered that promise, even after all this time and all the horrors he must have endured.
“You did,” I said with a nod. “But after what happened back then, I didn’t think it would happen."
He tilted his head to the side. “You mean the terrorist attack?”
“Yes, and the rest as well, of course.”
He was silent for a moment, and then he drew closer. “I wanted to come back here and make sure you’re okay. I’ve actually thought about you quite a lot over the years.”
I didn’t tell him this, but over the years I’d thought of him quite a lot as well. Meeting him was one of the last good things that happened to me in the outside world before the Great Reckoning. The happy memories of playing and chatting with him had run through my life like a thread of gold in the darkness throughout the subsequent years.
“Thank you for making such a long journey to check on me,” I murmured, my cheeks growing hot again. “I still cannot believe you would go to such an effort for me.”
“Anytime,” he said. “So you’re okay here?”
My brows knitted. Why wouldn’t I be? “Yes, of course I am,” I said, nodding fervently. “I thank our God every day for my good fortune, considering the state of the outside world. Not many people are as lucky as I am. They do not have food, water, shelter, and protection from all those horrors.”
Mason’s lips pressed into a firm line as I spoke. Then he nodded. “I suppose that’s true.” There was a reluctant note in his voice, though I wasn’t sure why. “The world can be a harsh place for a lot of people.”
“I would like to hear about you now,” I said shyly. “I still can’t believe you’re alive.”
His brows dipped downward in a puzzled expression, as if I’d said something very stupid. “Of course I’m alive. I mean, my teen years were kinda rough, but it wasn’t that bad.”
I nodded slowly. It was probably painful for him to talk about the things he’d experienced after the Great Reckoning. I should not press him too hard for details. “Where have you been all these years?” I asked instead.
“New York, mostly.”
My brows shot up, and my right hand flew to my chest. “New York City?”
“That’s the one.”
I shook my head slightly with confusion. “I was told it was impossible to live there now.”
He let out a light chuckle. “I wouldn’t say it’s impossible. Sure, it’s got its ups and downs, but it’s still a great place.”
“So part of it has been rebuilt by the survivors in the area?”
“Rebuilt?” His brows drew together. I was confusing him, though I wasn’t sure why. “What are you talking about?”
I stepped over to a photo on the back wall of the Museum. “This is what happened to the big cities,” I said, pointing to the picture. It showed a nuclear bomb reducing tall skyscrapers to nothing but rubble.
Mason stared at me for a few seconds, and th
en he laughed. “You always were funny, Jolie,” he said. “You’ve totally perfected that deadpan delivery since I last saw you.”
“Deadpan delivery?” I shook my head. “I don’t understand.”
“Well, you’re kidding, right?” he said, waving a hand toward the picture.
“I don’t think it’s funny to joke about the Great Reckoning,” I said stiffly. “Billions of people died. I know they were sinners, but still, it was a terrible time. Our God did not enjoy punishing the world. He simply had to.”
The mirth faded from his eyes. “Jolie, these pictures are all stills from stupid old apocalypse movies. You know that, right?”
I shook my head slowly. I remembered movies, vaguely, but these were photos. Why was Mason lying? Was his experience in the Wastelands so terrible that he found it easier to deny that anything happened out there?
I was so confused by him that I did not speak for a full minute. I turned back to the photo and stared at it, wondering just how badly Mason’s mind had been affected by whatever trauma he had gone through. Could he be saved?
“There you are.” A curt voice sounded from the entrance. I stiffened. It was my father.
Out of the corner of my eye, I watched him stride in. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” he went on as he approached Mason. I didn’t dare turn and look at him, but I could tell he was furious from his tone alone.
“Sorry, Mr. Chastain. I couldn’t find my way back to the meeting spot. I must’ve taken a wrong turn after I left the bathroom, and it’s like a maze down here. Wound up finding my way into this room. I’ve just been waiting and admiring your… er, pictures.”
“You didn’t speak with my daughter, did you?”
I dared a quick glance at my father. His eyes were steely.
“You mean her?” Mason said, pointing over at me. “We didn’t speak, no. But is that really little Jolie? Your daughter?”
I silently praised our God that Mason was lying on my behalf. Lying was usually a sin, but in this case, I felt it might be acceptable. After all, Mason and I weren’t doing anything wrong. We were just innocently talking about our lives. My father and the Elders were harsh, though. I might’ve been punished by having my lips sewn shut for a week if Mason told the truth. At best, I would’ve been beaten severely.
“Yes,” my father replied, his voice softening slightly. “I apologize for my tone, Mason. When I walked in here and saw the two of you, I presumed you had spoken.”
“Of course not. You made the rules very clear.”
My father stepped over to me and pulled on my arm so that I was forced to turn around. “What are you doing in here, Jolie?” he asked sharply.
“I…” My tongue was tied all over again.
“I believe she was dusting,” Mason said. “At least that’s what she was doing when I walked in here.”
“Dusting? With what?”
I breathed a quiet sigh of relief and pointed to the cleaning materials I’d left by the entrance a few minutes ago. “The feather duster,” I said, finally regaining the ability to form words. “But I left it over there for a moment so I could polish this photo with my sleeve. There was some sort of smudge on the frame.”
“I see,” my father replied with a slow nod. His grip on my arm loosened. “I think the girls in the kitchen need some help. You wouldn’t want dinner to be late, would you?”
“Of course not.” I turned to leave, and he escorted me to the door. As I picked up my broom, pan, and duster, I gathered the courage to ask him a quiet question. “Father, will this outsider be staying with us?”
“No,” he said curtly. “He will be spending the night with us, and part of tomorrow as well, but after that he will return to where he came from.”
I felt as if he had slapped me right in the face. For a few seconds, I couldn’t even breathe. How could this happen? After all these years, Mason had finally returned to the ranch, just to see me… and he wasn’t even going to remain in the safety of New Eden?
It didn’t make any sense.
“Come along. Both of you,” my father said, stepping out of the Museum. I risked a look back over my shoulder as Mason trailed behind us.
He was staring right at me, interest and confusion sparking in his eyes.
I wanted to talk to him again, wanted to ask him more questions. But I couldn’t. I wasn’t allowed.
Then again, I had already sinned a lot today, and I hadn’t been struck down by a bolt of lightning yet. Surely saying one more thing wouldn’t hurt.
I looked into Mason’s eyes and mouthed two words at him. ‘Please stay.’
4
Mason
Jolie stared back at me, mesmerizing green eyes fixed on mine. “Please stay,” she mouthed at me before darting up the hall and disappearing beyond a corner.
A hazy mix of desire and confusion loomed in my chest. While I was enamored with her beauty, I had no idea what the fuck was going on in this place.
When Jolie first saw me, she had an almost star-struck look on her face. Clearly, she remembered me, and I received solid evidence of that only seconds later when she gasped, ‘It’s you. It’s really you,’ before falling to the floor as if she was a subservient peon and I was her king.
When I pulled her to her feet so I could get a proper look at her, I let my eyes wander over her, still unable to believe I’d run right into her so soon after my invitation to the shelter. Her thick honey-blonde hair hung in two braids behind her back, and her eyes were fringed with naturally dark lashes, which made the sea-green color of her irises stand out even more.
While her beauty was exquisite, the thing I noticed the most about her was that she was clearly terrified of breaking the rules. Her hands shook the whole time she was with me, and her eyes constantly danced around as if she were afraid another person might walk in and catch us together at any moment.
Despite her palpable fear and the long, loose dress she wore, I was still drawn to her like a moth to a flame. The fabric of the dress might be thick and drab in color, but it did nothing to hide her sensual curves. It simply wasn’t possible for a woman with a face and body like that to hide herself. Men would always take one look at her and picture what lay beneath before imagining what it would be like to strip away the modest garb and reveal every gorgeous line and curve.
I was no different.
I longed to feel her pale skin beneath my hands, and I longed to bring light to those troubled, fearful eyes of hers. My cock hardened and strained against my pants at the heady thought of peeling back every layer until I had her at my fingertips, trembling and vulnerable yet eager to learn what passionate men could do to girls like her.
But first things first. I needed to know exactly what the fuck was going on here.
I knew this place was weird and old-fashioned before I arrived, but since I stepped into the shelter with Jacob, I’d been simultaneously astounded and horrified by what I saw. This wasn’t just your regular ‘living off the land and honoring the old ways’ type of commune.
For one, the living conditions the women had to endure were nothing short of archaic and torturous. Jacob had taken me through the men’s quarters, which were wide and bright and filled with artwork and marble tiles, but I’d caught glimpses of the female section when Jolie led me through the labyrinthine halls after she agreed to speak with me.
While the men’s section was well-lit by the golden glow of lightbulbs in chandeliers and sconces on the ceiling and walls, the women’s section was dark and musty, lit only by black candles stuck in cast iron holders along the dark concrete walls. The floors were the same—dark gray concrete, lying in sharp contrast to the expensive marble tiles and polished dark wooden floorboards the men enjoyed.
We’d passed one room which seemed to be some sort of laundry room, and I’d spied great big tubs with washboards sitting in them. Fuckin’ washboards. Like this was the nineteenth century or something. I could only imagine what the kitchen and bathrooms were like. Or the
bedrooms.
The most alarming thing I saw on my way through the halls with Jolie was a dim room with what appeared to be chains, manacles and whips hanging off the walls. We walked by too fast to see exactly what it was, but I could only assume it was some sort of punishment dungeon. Why else would something like that be down here?
I also heard cries and what sounded like whip-cracks coming from another room right next to that one. This room had a painted red door with an enormous lock on it. The thought of Jolie or the other women being subjected to any sort of abuse made my stomach churn. I hoped I’d simply misheard, but fuck… I couldn’t be sure.
The subservient way Jolie spoke to me and acted around me further confirmed my theory that something really fucked up was going on down here. I’d never felt so goddamned uneasy around a woman before, because she was so clearly afraid of displeasing me.
Like a lot of men, I enjoyed submission from women in the bedroom, but this was something different entirely. These women were submissive in every area of their lives. They acted like they existed only to serve men, and they seemed more than happy to do so.
I was starting to get an idea as to why, though. When Jolie led me into the stone room with all the weird movie stills, a few pieces of the giant jigsaw puzzle fell into place. She seemed to think all the pictures on the wall were fucking real. Even the shots taken directly from Independence Day, which was a goddamned alien invasion movie.
Before that, she’d also acted shocked to see me, which I initially attributed to the fact that we hadn’t seen each other in over eleven years. But then she kept saying weird shit like ‘I can’t believe you’re alive’ and ‘I thought New York was impossible to live in’. At first I figured she was just wording things strangely… but then she made it clear she believed something had actually happened beyond New Eden Ranch.
Something terrible.
Something apocalyptic.
After coupling that with the abject terror I saw in her eyes when her father caught us together, I began to form a picture in my mind. A sinister tapestry woven with dark threads of deceit.
