Eleutheria | Chapter 1

Inside

'Keep singing it, everything feels better, c'mon, sing it with us, just sing Sarah, sing...'

Sarah opened her yellowing eyes and let a few tears seep out.

'I can't sing it,' she choked. 'I don't believe it anymore.'

The whispered words flooded the hall. She had said what we all feared. No matter how bad things got, we all thought, at least we had hope. Hope was what webbed us together. Hope was the only thing holding us up, and now Sarah had given up. It was clear in her face, she really didn't believe anymore. The hope that had kept her alive had drawn its last breath, and the moment the words escaped her lips she looked more withered than ever. At least before we all believed her lie. We all had hope, we believed Sarah did too. She was pretending; it was cruel. And now we all had to suffer because she couldn't suck it up. A hundred spiteful eyes shot at her. Noreen stood at the pulpit and shook. Her shoulders hunched, her fists balled, knuckles white and skin splintering.

'How dare you,' Noreen spat. 'How dare you blastpheme in my house. How dare you condemn these children for your selfishness? Sarah James, you are banished.'

Banishment. The ultimate torture. Sarah wouldn't survive; it's common knowledge that the only people who survive are whores. Or younger women to become whores, because the soldiers had use for them. That's where my sister went, she's with them. Probably drugged up and knocked up and dying. No Yank wants a child with a Brit. The baby would be cut out of her and she'd be left for dead. Probably gobbled up by the mouths of the few remaining Starving.

Of course, we were all starving. But we prized ourselves on not having to use that status. We had a roof and water and occasional food. We had only forty-seven dead out of an original colony of a hundred and fifty, we were thriving. But with that status came trouble, big trouble. Yank trouble. If they found us we would be slaughtered, the women saved and raped and kept until their bodies were dried up and useless. We only had a few men, and only one was burly enough to protect us. Noreen was our saviour- she would protect us. She had guns. She often said we would fight to the death for our pride. We hail and shout in approval- raising our hands and praising the world for keeping us safe. We were chosen, Noreen said. We were chosen to survive. It was an important difference, she said. We were Survivors. Others were Starving. Or dead.

I am most certainly not dead. Every morning I wake up and touch my face. I am alive, I breathe, life is good. Today is day 730. Days aren't calculated like they were Before the War. That's a phrase we'll use a lot today, because it has now been 2 years. We don't use years anymore though, it doesn't sound nice. We use days, days are short, and we take one day at a time. 730 days is a very long time. But today is a celebration. We have survived for 730 days- a miracle. But out of every other day we spend on this wasted earth, today is probably the most dangerous. While we celebrate our survival, the Yanks plot our death. The significance of the day is a landmark for them too- it's another quota to meet, another thread of statistics shared to the rest of the world highlighting just how many are presumed still living, it highlights failure on their behalf. On day 365, when we had a faction colony attached to our own, over sixty Survivors were lost. Only ten were ours, but they lost two thirds of their colony. The rest left under principle; they said they shouldn't have to hide like mice. Jordan told me he found one of them hanging upside down, held up by a cocoon of barbed wire. He wasn't even dead yet. That's what happens when you get too bold, or when you lose hope. I will never lose hope. I will be the best fucking Survivor there ever was.

Jordan said I will always survive. He said I will probably get captured one day during a raid and taken by the Yanks. He said they will probably make my life hell, but someone will take a shine to me and they will let me free into somewhere like Norway where there's peace and grass and food and beds. I can't imagine beds, or peace for that matter.
Before the War I had a big bed, with a soft duvet and pillows and cushions. And I had peace. Today it is deemed acceptable to talk about BtW. Otherwise you shouldn't, it makes people remember what they had, what they've lost. Most people don't even like to talk about it today, but Noreen says we should never force ourselves to forget. Noreen says today is a day where we should talk about BtW, we should celebrate how far we have come. We will gather in a circle and each share a story. Some will be lighthearted and talk about things they don't miss, so today doesn't seem as bad. Today isn't that bad. We are alive, we are thankful.

Behind her optimism and impossible cheeriness, this day is Noreen's worst nightmare. I know it is. Last time, Noreen spent the entire night crying, and I heard her from the other side of the hall. Today we must go and search for food. We are supposed to have a feast, a feast with as much as the outside will allow us to have. No one knows how much will be available to collect. There might be plenty for each person in the colony, or we might return with nothing. We have saved and scrounged for months, but there just isn't as much as there was last time. There is never enough, and today we are behind. We have to go outside to make a collection. It won't be quick and sly like the others taken throughout the days, we have to plot and plan this. We have a larger group going, Noreen says this is because we need to collect more. I know she is bending the truth here. I know we have a larger group because there's more odds that some will at least make it back. I, as one of the young, have never been out before. Today I will risk my life to provide. I am nineteen now, I have to provide, because others are now too old or too sick, whereas I am healthy and young.

I watched the others last time, I saw them getting ready. The women made themselves beautiful in case they were caught. A beautiful woman will never be shot on sight. She'll be taken and raped, but at least you will still be a Survivor. I have heard some of the women say it would be better to die, it would be more heroic. I don't see why it would be heroic to die at all, I think I would rather be raped than killed. Georgia overheard us talking about this once and asked Noreen what we meant. We got a telling off, because Georgia doesn't know about rape. We suspect it happened to her, but she was too little to remember it. She may have only been 12, but Georgia doesn't remember a lot from BtW. It's like her mind has tried to protect her, and it's blocked out all past memories of the hell we lived through near the end. I wish mine did the same.

I've asked Noreen about outside. She said it's a disgusting place and that I should never be curious. Curiosity killed the cat, she said.

I am not a cat, but I am curious. I only vaguely remember how it was BtW. As independent as the UK proclaimed to be, it soon became clear what life would be like without the support of the US. No more Hollywood movies. No more magazine stories about celebrities. No more Abercrombie & Fitch. No more Chicago Town pizzas. What we didn't realise was how much we relied on them for; suddenly airports shut down- there were no more planes because aviation was closely controlled by the Yanks. As were chemicals and pharmaceuticals, so hosiptals started failing. Medicine was difficult to get a hold of. Supplies for the military were sparse. Then we had nothing. The Yanks were a superpower, and we just couldn't compete. Other countries knew this, and it was infinitely better to be on their side than not. We lost everything. Then the fences started going up; towns were blocked off one by one with massive walls put in place. They were airlifted by copters and dropped off, then assembled to keep citizens in, or to keep people out. We weren't sure which one. The government wanted everybody accounted for, we knew that much. A curfew was ordered, and at 7pm people would come to our houses and search the premesis. They took photos of every person in the household, even pets. Every man over 16 who was able bodied was called upon. Young impressionable men were desirable to them, they could be moulded into anything the government needed them to be. They attacked the Yanks, but it didn't work. We lost everything all over again. Then the Yanks started bombing and attacking. Nothing nuclear, they didn't want to wipe us out, they just wanted us under control. No one really knows what happened, the Special Relationship ended quite abruptly. Then Cameron committed suicide. The Royal Family became unaccounted for. Buckingham Palace is now a military base, and it flies the stars and stripes.


The day begins with the song. We croon every word lazily, we know the drill. Britannia rules the waves and all that. I don't believe it this morning, all night I heard shrieks. I thought it was a girl, probably young like me. It could have just been a fox. But I then thought I heard laughs, and a rattle of a machine gun. The shrieking stopped then. Britain never, never ever shall be slaves.

Noreen pulls me and a few others aside after the song and tells us to prepare for the outing. We should wear black and make ourselves pretty, she says. As I prepare myself, I selfishly regret that I am young and healthy, I realise I am no longer curious. The adrenaline of knowing I was going out there was enough to satiate me. I have now had long enough to prepare, I can see the others walking to a corner. Noreen is standing there, looking at me. She smiles weakly. That is my summons. I have to walk. I have to physically lift my feet and bend my knees and somehow make everything else work in tangent. I robotically process this towards the others. Noreen ignores my strange display and my green complexion. As we are each assigned a backpack to wear, Noreen tells me I should say goodbye to Jordan. He is on watch for the colony while Noreen is absent. I wonder why she feels this is important, he never says goodbye to me when he goes to collect. I think Noreen hopes we will breed together and give our colony some real positivity. I am not bringing a child into this world. No matter how big Jordan's biceps are.

Jordan looks at me blankly. His face is cold and his eyes are empty.
'Noreen told me to say goodbye to you. I'll be back though so it isn't really goodbye.' I say.
'Don't talk to me about it. Just make sure you bring your ass back here.' Jordan growls and turns away. Noreen does not wish him farewell. As we start to leave, Jordan looks back and shakes his head at Noreen. She glares at him. He points his middle finger, kicks his stool over and walks off into a dark corner.

‘He’s angry with me because I’m letting you go.’ Noreen explained before I could ask.
‘I figured’. I replied.
‘Are you nervous?’ She asked.
‘Yes.’ I replied.
I find it is better to be the one replying than the one asking. Asking is dangerous, it can kill your hope.