Eleutheria | Chapter 5

Outside

I am Eve, and I am a Survivor. We were all given new names on Day 365 after we lost so many, to mark the fact that we were the Survivors. Noreen gave me a new name, she called me Abira, meaning strong. In my mind I had always been a Survivor from Day 0. I have always Survived, so why should my constant name be any less successful? I never adopted my new name, so nobody ever called me it apart from when Noreen had a black mood. Georgia would never call me by any other name than my birth one. Georgia loved her new name, even if her mother Dawn was insulted by it. Noreen called her Georgia, meaning farmer, because Georgia had the little red freckles of a girl always out in the sun. She said she could see Georgia’s future after all the war was done as dancing in fields of green and yellow, red hair flowing and little red-haired children scuttling around her too. I had a dream the field burned so nothing was fertile and Georgia’s red hair turned to ash. I’m sure it was of no significance.

I think perhaps I am going mad. The darkness has been here too long. I smell the fresh air but I don’t know where it comes from. I always pictured the outside as more… open. I felt less claustrophobic in the sewers. Here the trees swirl and tangle together overhead to block out any hope of sunlight, and the air can’t circle properly. I miss Noreen. My pride doesn’t want to admit that, but I really, really do miss her. She was my mother, my Commander, my leader. She made the decisions that would impact my life. Now I have to shoulder that responsibility on my own, and the burden is suffocating me a little. Maybe more than a little. I haven’t run into Jordan yet and I am glad. Well, I was glad at first. Now I think I’m a bit more worried than glad. And though the darkness that is a constant factor here seeps in all around me as I stand and walk and pace on my own, I have never felt more myself. My thoughts flow quicker, freely, without suppression. I don’t have to worry about any negativity. I can be as negative as I wish. I can pee by a tree without worrying that someone in the colony will see me. Namely Daniel, who has the proverbial habit of sneaking up on people when he shouldn’t. Fucking pervert.

I laugh out loud. I can swear without anyone telling me to hush. Even though I haven’t sworn out loud yet, I can think it without feeling suppressed. In a moment of reckless ability I open my mouth and say ‘fuck’ as loudly as I can, forgetting the danger always one step behind and one step ahead. It sounds richly rebellious, and I savour the motion of my lips as the word forms, putting that memory safely in the bank that holds some of my most intimate memories; the stars glinting down at me, Jordan’s hands as they wrapped around my body in that cold abandoned building where I almost lost my life, Georgia’s watery smile as she told me I was more of a mother to her than Dawn, Noreen’s almost smile as she told me Day 730 would be my day to make a collection, and the soft pat she gave me on my arm.

I try to not store images from Before the War in there; it can get a bit overwhelming. At first I clinged to them with every fibre of my being, but I soon felt how unhealthy it was. Things would never be the same as they were Before the War. As soon as Day 0 struck, our lives ended as we knew them. There was no going back after that, you either moved forward or you stayed stuck in that day forever, a distant memory, lost to the world. I can’t count how many of the people I would have known then are nothing but distant memories now. Every time a colony joined to us, I thought perhaps someone would come along that I knew once. The only thing in common was the fact that we all seemed to be from the same area. Noreen acted as if this should give us hope; there were Survivors among our section other than ourselves. I never voiced my thought; had nobody made it any further?

I will make it further. I have probably made it further than anyone else, other than Jordan. Every time he sneaks into my head I can’t help but wonder where he is now, whether he still lurks in the same forest I am in, whether I am even in that same forest or whether I have crossed some invisible border into a different section. There are no walls here, if any are even left standing after the bombing. The forest is limitless. I know one day it will come to a gradual end and I will be forced to make a decision, but right now I am surviving by eating wild berries and drinking rain water as it tumbles through the canopies. I persist though. I walk on and on, alone and kept company by my thoughts. I cannot wait and yet I fear the day that I walk into another human being. Will it be Jordan, or another wanderer? Or a soldier? I don’t know what would be most dangerous.

Days continue. Perhaps it has been weeks, I don’t know and I can’t tell. My wounds are bad and I am struggling to continue. But I am a Survivor, which is what is important. I survive and I will do until the bitter end, whenever that comes. I keep limping towards a non-existent finish line and pray that one day I will see some residual end that can stop this aimless wandering. I shake myself and remember that I am not aimless, I have a very clear aim; survive at all costs. The novelty, however, is wearing thin.

As I reach a particularly sparse section of the forest I hope that maybe I am near an end, but the sparseness seems to continue forever as far as the eye can see. As I think I am maybe too tired to continue I stumble on a thick tree root and graze my already battered knee. I look down and realise it is not a tree root at all, it is an obstacle covered in leaves. It has been placed strategically to ensure whoever walks this path trips on it, it is a trap. I am hurled into the air with startling force and bundled together in some kind of worn fishing net. The Yanks have got me. It is all over.

‘What’s your name?’ A small voice calls from beneath me. It is a child, a boy, maybe only ten or eleven. His voice is Irish, not American, and I sigh with relief even though I am still strung up like the catch of the day.
‘My name is Eve, I’m British and I’m unarmed. I was with a colony but I had to leave.’ I decide not to tell them Noreen banished me for being infected. If I am infected, nothing feels any different.
‘Why d’ya have to leave?’ He asks. I realise the boy’s small skinny hands are twisted firmly around a black handgun, but he doesn’t look fazed and the gun doesn’t look awkward on him. In fact, it almost suits him. I am stuck for an answer. I can’t tell him I was infected. I can’t tell him they were infected because I would be cast with the same iron. I can’t tell him any specifics about the leadership in case his colony is the same and he thinks I would in that case be a bad fit.

‘The leader… she was in love with one of the guardians and didn’t like fighting for his affections. She cast me out like I was nothing,’ I say, almost believing the tale I have concocted in my head.
‘Understandable, you have a pretty face. I think you can stay, we don’t really need more women, but you can never have enough, you know?’ He throws me a cheeky grin and I grimace.
‘Are you going to let me down, or not kid?’  I ask impatiently.
‘I think I like you up here, it’s a nice view to look up at,’ his grin grows bigger and he whistles loudly into the air. Suddenly I am being lowered at an impressive speed and I thump to the ground.
‘Eve, we never had an Eve before. We got an Evelyn, but not an Eve. Maybe one day if you stick around long enough I could change my name to Adam, ‘eh?’ The kid winks at me. His shaggy brown hair is muddy and his face is dirty, but he has the biggest smile I have seen in a long time.
‘How many of you are there?’ I swallow. This determines everything; how successful they are, how well they have survived.
‘Eh, about seven hundred I’d say for now but people come and go, you know? Some never like to stick around long. We’re not no hotel though; everyone has to earn their keep. I do this, I check on the traps once they’ve been scouted by the Trees. You’ll meet them later, their shift ends before sundown. Nice fellas, just don’t say a lot. Take their job too seriously if you ask me. So what’s your story?’ His Irish lilt is pleasant to my ears. People have jobs here. They have a thriving community. I am still a Survivor.
‘My colony went from building to building through the sewers. Some were nice; some didn’t talk and preferred to keep to themselves. I don’t know how long they’ll be able to keep up the constant moving, and having to go and collect rations. They had guns though.’ Guns were the staple sign of a prepared colony.
‘Oh yeah? You had guns eh? Can’t have been doing too sorely then. We got a whole munitions department here, the girls who run it are a right laugh, you’d probably like them if you don’t mind the lewd and giggly type. Massive tits on one of ‘em too. You’ve got a nice pair too an’ all,’ he nods down at my chest and keeps walking down a slight hill. The trees are getting denser and I wonder where we are travelling to. In the distance I can hear something, bustling; maybe the noises of a community at work. ‘Here we are, home sweet home.’

The trees thin out completely and give way to an actual gravelled road. There are connections of roads. Dotted around are little houses with smoke piping out of chimneys, larger buildings that have had things like trucks added on to them to give more space, people moving things like wood and boxes around. Everyone looks happy and settled. A young child runs out into the gravelled road chasing a small dog, and is promptly called back by a young pretty mother.
‘You look like you could do with a shower and some clean clothes eh?’ The boy says to me. I am too astounded by my surroundings to absorb what he’s saying. ‘Huh, perhaps we’ll take you to see Jonathan and Evelyn first,’ he chatters and leads me away from the main little road. We walk through a connection of wide gravelled roads with little buildings lining it. Every building has a vegetable patch in front and grass surrounds everything. People are walking and smiling and nodding at me, welcoming the newcomer. Some people look like they are living Before the War, partners walking hand in hand with dogs on a lead and little children toddling behind. The sight is remarkable, I am just sad Georgia can’t see it too.

We reach a modest wooden cabin with various pots of growing vegetation outside it. A few flower and make the slightly stark surroundings look hopeful and full of life, not just survival. The Irish boy leads me up a few short steps and onto a porch, where he stands and waits, knocking purposefully on the door. It swings open and a tall, well-built man stands there. He could have been Jordan twenty or so years ago, but his face is more tired and his skin is more leathery. His hair is a greyish brown, faded and worn, slightly sandy and coarse. He looks like a solid, decent man, an outdoorsman probably. His laughter lines are pronounced and his grey eyes sparkle charmingly.
‘What have you brought us here Carney?’ Jonathan’s voice is gruff and faded American. The accent throws my panic sensor off-touch. I immediately don’t trust him; as I have been trained. But the boy stands strong, and looks up at him with respect.
‘Found her wandering through the woods, caught her with me trap from yesterday. Said she was with a colony but they were no good. Here, you tell him,’ Carney pushes me forward. I feel ashamed of my shoddy appearance because Jonathan, although rough around the edges, is clean and stain-free. Although Carney’s little face is speckled with dirt and grub, his clothes are clean and his teeth are white. I, on the other hand, am filthy.

‘I’m Eve,’ I say, my mouth moving without my brain being aware of it. ‘I’ve been in the woods for weeks it feels. I was with a colony that last settled by a reservoir back through the forest. The leader took a disliking to me, she was threatened by another young woman being alongside her,’ I lie through my teeth, the story coming as naturally as the truth.
‘The reservoir huh? Didn’t know no folks was up there. Thought the Yanks napalmed the place long ago. How long they been there?’ Jonathan’s voice is drawly, his ‘r’s rolling lazily on his tongue.
‘Depends how long I’ve been in the forest. They’d only settled there for a day when I left,’ I answered truthfully. It feels nice to tell the truth.
‘Huh,’ Jonathan says thoughtfully. After a moments pause in which I stand nervously, Carney stands impatiently and Jonathan stands chewing something in his mouth, he straightens up and walks into his cabin slightly. ‘Well c’mon in, no use letting the fire out.’

‘That there’s my wife Evelyn,’ Jonathan motions to a young, pretty dark-haired woman bustling about a kitchen. She glances up at us and smiles with a kind face. I could be friends with her, I decide. Jonathan’s cabin is luxurious. Once I would have called it rustic and homey, but not anymore. There is a blazing fire, a leather couch and a rug, there’s a wooden dining table with a vase of flowers on it, chairs surrounding it, and a kitchen area with a stove. There’s even a fridge. There are a few doors on the right, where I presume a couple of bedrooms and a bathroom lie. I cannot wait to shower and lay in a bed.
‘So we got a couple of cabins in the East sector but you might have to fight for your own room there, most girls have to share. As the newcomer you get last pick so… not much I can do to help you there.’ I notice he has a small but intricate tattoo on his neck. From a distant inspection I see Evelyn has the same. ‘We’ll take you over to Maury to see what’s available.’ Jonathan leads us out of his cabin and walks down the steps in his heavy boots. ‘Carney, you got somewhere to be?’
Carney looks disappointed. Jonathan may have structured his statement like a question, but it was an instruction. He nods at me and gives me one more cheeky grin before running off in the opposite direction across the gravelled road.

‘So we got about 600, maybe 650 people here now. We never used to have as many but people just kept coming and coming, before we knew it we were shaping out new roads. Funny how that happens huh? How large was your colony?’ Jonathan never looks at me when he speaks; he keeps his head high, staring out to the blue sky with purpose.
‘Under a hundred by the time I left. Their best protector left too, their only one besides the leader I suppose…’ I trail off, thoughts of Jordan and his whereabouts consuming me. Could he be here?
‘Oh yeah? What was he like? Still stuck in the forest?’ Jonathan seems genuinely interested by the heroin I have introduced to my story.
‘What makes you presume it’s a he?’ I ask, smiling. Jonathan tips his head a little, raises his eyebrows and gives a slight smile. ‘He was brave, very brave. Incredibly strong, but stubborn. He was proud and stubborn and infuriating, and cared about little but himself. He left me in the forest. I was injured before I left, badly so. He left me and walked off in to the forest with all the supplies and weapons.’

Jonathan doesn’t know what to say to this revelation. It’s a twist in the story he’s not entirely comfortable with. He wants to be on the heroin’s side, he believes in him, but he doesn’t see how he can work around this without offending me. He’s right to be wary, he can’t.
‘What’s his name? Maybe I’ll be able to tell you if he passed through,’ is all Jonathan proposes.
‘Jordan. He’s tall, maybe 6’1, broad and muscular. But he’s quiet and keeps himself to himself,’ I respond. As we reach a white pre-fab building I try desperately not to give Jonathan a commentary on everything I know about Jordan. How he frowns almost constantly, the way his brows knit together and make him look frightening but attractive, how his whole face almost softens for a moment but hardens once again, the dancing glint in his eyes still sparkling… the way his arms tense when he gets mad, fists balling together in one massive brick, ready to lunge at someone’s face and break jaws. The way he looks up at the stars and makes you feel like there’s no one else in the world out there but you…

I break off from my Hollywood romance scene and face the reality that is Maury. She’s broad and burly for a woman, even though she wears a purple flowered dress and has dark pink lipstick on thin disappearing lips. Her greying black hair is perfectly curled in an old-fashioned style just above the shoulders, and the glasses she wears are held on to precisely the end of her nose by a gold chain looped around her neck. Her thick chins wobble as she lifts her face to greet us, most of her body devoured by paperwork that sits in stacks around her at the small wooden desk. She smiles insincerely at Jonathan, and flickers her eyes onto me, the smile switching off as she does.
‘Jonathan, how can I help you?’ She’s Scottish, I notice. It fits her all the more. She’s like a character that could be directly pulled out of a book, every quirk about her is so ironically perfect it almost makes me want to laugh or take a photo of her just to capture her comic essence. It appears, though, that Maury finds little in life amusing.

‘My dearest Maury, I wonder if you could find this little lady a bed in an all-girl cabin,’ Jonathan says, his emphasis on ‘all-girl’.
‘My dearest Jonathan, an all-girl cabin would be perfect if we had any available. Sadly, it seems that “all the girls” have decided to break the rule and invite young lads into the cabins. With dwindling contraception supplies I suggest you instead hire an abortionist, or at least a few more priests.’ Her accent is fantastic, every ‘r’ perfectly rolled in the stern Scottish fashion. Her face stays completely still and expressionless as her voice edges up and down in various octaves, doing all the work for her.
‘You mean to tell me that all the 16+ girl cabins have been inviting men up?’ Jonathan asks, his voice not giving anything away.
‘I mean to tell you that all the 15+ girl cabins have been inviting men up. Not necessarily to do the deed heaven forbid, but just to make my life a sheer bloody nuisance. Three times I was up in the last week telling 4D to pack it in. My Ira is getting over a head cold; I can’t have him being woken by a bunch of giggling idiots.’
‘Right, I’ll get it sorted,’ Jonathan says. ‘Get Eve here in the cabin with that irritating redhead who calls me Sir. Oh and, can you check the records and tell me if anyone called Jordan passed through recently?’
‘Jordan…’ Maury pulls a large notebook out from underneath a pile of paperwork and flicks through it expertly. Each page is scrawled on with inky black, a testament to the success of this colony. Name after name goes on for pages, until Maury finally reaches an entry from maybe a week ago. ‘Yep, Jordan, very broad guy, tall too,’ she says in her severe Scottish accent. ‘Didn’t stay long, only a couple of nights. He worked out in the fields for a day to earn some food, and then went on his way. Is he a friend of yours?’ She looks at me, and I realise it is the first time she has openly acknowledged my presence.
‘I used to know him,’ I say sadly, offering no more explanation than that. Maury wasn’t really listening to me, or just doesn’t care, because she goes on to talk to Jonathan about the scandalous commotion of the girls in 4D and how something must be done to ensure a revolution doesn’t occur.

I don’t pay attention to the rant. My mind is busy obsessing about the man who left me at my most vulnerable, and didn’t even stay long enough to think that he might find me here one day. I am finally surrounded by a community of happy, bustling survivors, and I have never felt more alone.