Once An Eve Novel

ten



THE SUN SLIPPED BEHIND THE MOUNTAINS. THE WOODS WERE giving way to wide stretches of sand. I sat tied to the Jeep’s metal insides, my body stiff and sore from so many hours in the truck. We were forced to drive on the bumpy, bare ground beside the asphalt to avoid the many motionless, scorched cars blocking the roadway. The Jeep passed under giant signs, their paper ripped and peeling, images faded in the sun. PALMS, one read. ONE RESORT. TOO MANY TEMPTATIONS. Another showed bottles of amber liquid, the glass beaded with sweat. The word BUDWEISER was barely legible.

We sped toward the City’s walls. Massive towers rose up from the desert, just as we’d been told at School. My thoughts were with Arden and Pip, strapped to those metal beds, and with Ruby and her unfocused stare. Ruby’s question kept playing in my head—What about me? The guilt returned. I hadn’t done enough. I had left that night, assuming there would be a chance to come back. More time. Now, with my hands bound, just outside the City of Sand, there was nothing I could do to help them.

As we approached the fifty-foot wall, Stark pulled a circular badge from his pocket and held it out for the guards to see. After a long pause, a gate opened in the wall’s side, just big enough for the Jeep to pull through. We drove inside, then rolled to a stop in front of a barricade. Soldiers circled the Jeep, their rifles drawn. “State your names,” someone yelled from the darkness. Stark held out his badge and recited his name and number. The other two men in the truck did the same. A soldier with sunburned skin studied the badge, while others checked the car, shining lights beneath the metal carriage, on the men’s faces, and on the floor around their feet. The beam ran over my hands, still in their plastic restraints. “A prisoner?” one of the troops asked. He kept the flashlight on my wrists. “Do you have papers for her?”

“No papers necessary,” Stark answered. “This is the girl.”

The soldier studied me with beady eyes, smirking. “In that case, welcome home.” He signaled for the troops to fall back. The metal barricade rose up. Stark pressed his foot on the pedal and we sped toward the glittering City.

We passed buildings lit from within, bright blue and green and white, just as my Teachers had described. I remembered sitting in the cafeteria at School, listening to the King’s addresses over the radio, telling of the restoration. Luxury hotels were being turned into apartment buildings and offices. Water was supplied by a local reservoir called Lake Mead. The lights shone in the top floors of every tower, the pools glowed a perfect crystal blue, all of it powered by the great Hoover Dam.

The Jeep sped through a sprawling construction site on the outskirts of the City. Sand drifts were ten feet high in some places. Troops walked along the top of the wall, their guns pointed out into the night. We passed crumbling houses, piles of debris, and a massive pen filled with farm animals. The smell of waste stung my nostrils. Giant palm trees towered above us, their trunks withered and brown.

As we neared the center of the City, the land opened up. Gardens spread out on our left and a concrete lot on our right. Rusted airplanes sat in front of a decrepit building with a sign that read McCARRAN AIRPORT. We sped past wrecked neighborhoods and the shells of old cars, until buildings rose up around us, each one grander than the next. They were all different colors, buzzing with electric light.

“Impressive, right?” The soldier with the scar asked. He sat beside me in the backseat, twisting open his canteen.

I stared at the building in front of us: a giant gold pyramid. A green tower rose up on the right, its glassy surface reflecting the moon. Impressive wasn’t the word. The polished structures were unlike anything I’d seen before. I’d only known the wild—broken roads, houses with their roofs caved in, black mold that spread over the School walls. People strolled on metal overpasses above the streets. At the end of the main road a tower shot up into the stars, a bright red needle against the night sky. We’ve survived, the City seemed to say, with every glittering skyscraper, every paved road or planted tree. The world will go on.

The Jeep was the only car on the street. It moved so quickly that people went by in a blur. I could tell they were mostly men from their broad shoulders and heavy builds. Tiny white dogs roamed the street, nearly a third the size of Heddy. “What are those?” I asked.

“Rat terriers,” the scarred soldier said. “The King had them bred to deal with the rodent infestation.”

Before I could respond, the Jeep was turning left, cutting up a long road that snaked toward a massive white building. Rows of government Jeeps sat out front. Soldiers were stationed along a strip of narrow trees, machine guns slung across their backs. I stared up at the expansive white structure. The main entrance was lined with sculptures—winged angels, horses, women with their heads cut off. After driving so many miles, we were here. The Palace.

The King was upstairs, waiting for me.

Stark took me from the Jeep, his hand clamping down on my arm. I could barely breathe as we entered the circular marble lobby. The King’s face had haunted me for months. I thought of the photo I’d grown up with in School. His thin gray hair hung over his forehead. His skin was loose around his jowls and his beady eyes were always watching, following you wherever you went.

Soldiers milled about the lobby, some talking, others pacing in front of a fountain. Stark took me through a set of gold doors into a small mirrored elevator and punched a code into a keypad inside. The doors slid shut and then we were moving, up, up, my stomach rocking as the floors flew past—fifty gone, then fifty more.

“You’re going to regret this,” I said, straining against the plastic bands around my wrists. “I’ll tell him what you did. How your men threw me onto the ground in that parking lot. How you threatened to kill me.” I looked down at the gash in my arm, the crusted blood turned black.

Stark shook his head. “Whatever it takes,” he said, his voice flat. “Those were my orders. Do whatever it takes to bring you here.” Then he turned to me, his eyes bloodshot. He clutched the collar of my shirt and pulled me toward him so my face was just inches from his. “Those men you killed were like brothers to me. They served with me every day for three years. The King will never punish you for what you did, but I will make sure you never forget what happened that day.”

The doors opened before us with a terrifying bing! Stark’s nails dug into my arm as he led me to a room across the carpeted hall. “You’ll wait for him here.” Then he pulled a knife from his pocket and sliced the plastic restraints in two. My hands tingled from the sudden rush of blood to my fingers.

The door closed. I leaped up and grabbed the handle, knowing before I even tried it that it would be locked. A long mahogany table sat in the center of the room, surrounded by a few heavy chairs. A massive window looked out onto the City, a two-foot ledge just a few inches below. I went to the glass, wedging my fingers beneath the pane, straining against it. “Please open,” I muttered under my breath, “please just open.” I had to get out of that room. It didn’t matter how.

“They’re sealed shut,” a low voice said. My spine stiffened. I turned. Standing in the doorway was a man of about sixty, with gray hair and thin, papery skin.

I stepped away from the window, my hands dropping to my sides. He wore a deep-blue suit and a silk tie, the New American crest embroidered on his lapel. He stalked forward, taking one slow lap around me, his eyes scanning my tangled auburn hair, the linen shirt soaked through with sweat, the scrapes around my wrists from where I’d been bound, and the wound on my arm. When he finally finished his survey, he stood before me, then reached out and stroked my cheek. “My beautiful girl,” he said, running his thumb over my brow.

I smacked his hand away and staggered backward, trying to put as much space between us as possible. “Stay away from me,” I said. “I don’t care who you are.”

He just stood there, staring. Then he took a step forward, and another, trying to get closer to me.

“I know why I’m here,” I spat, circling the table, moving backward until I was pressed against the wall. “And I would rather die than bear your child. Do you hear me?” I raised my arm to strike him but he caught my wrist instead, his grip firm. His eyes were wet. He leaned down until his face was level with mine.

When he finally spoke, each word was slow and measured.

“You aren’t here to bear my child.” He let out a strange laugh. “You are my child.” He pulled me toward him, cradling my head in his hand, and kissed my forehead. “My Genevieve.”