Humanity Gone (Book 2): Facade of Order Page 5

I freeze and the water bottle falls from my hands.

  The hair is blonder than I remember. But still red.

  Her skin is darker than I remember. But still flawless.

  Her eyes are exactly the same hazel green.

  “Carter?”

  She lets go of the reigns and jumps into my arms. I don't know what to say.

  Jocelyn is alive.

  Chapter 8: Jocelyn

  “Carter. My God,” I cry as my arms squeeze around Carter's neck even tighter. “Carter.”

  Grabbing my sides, he gives a relieved laugh as he spins me in a circle and then sets me back down to my feet. I lean back from him and tilt my chin up to look into his eyes. I had imagined them for the past five years, but here they were - right in front of mine. I take one final hug and step back. My left hand reaches behind me and grabs Angel's reign. Even in all my happiness I don't want to go running after her again.

  I can't believe Carter is here. I thought he was gone. I wrap my arm around the horse's head and stroke her mane. I don't take my eyes off of Carter, and we both seem to hold dumb smiles on our faces for a few moments. My words finally break the silence.

  “Where have you been? Are you okay? What are you doing here? How long have you been free? Have you seen the twins?” I finally calm down for a second. “I'm sorry Carter, too many questions.”

  “That's okay. I'm okay. How have you been holding out here?” he asks. I didn't want to talk about me. We walk back towards the barn. I pull Angel along with us.

  “Not too bad, I guess. They keep us working most of the day. Food is meager, and they don't put up with any talking back. It took me a few years, but I learned that if I just do as they asked it will be okay.” I had a few bruises and swollen faces to claim over the past few years, but I managed. A few times I saw President Matthews; he was the most cruel. They treated us like slaves, but things never got as far as they did at the Sanctuary. The thought of that motel still gave me nightmares occasionally, and it was even Carter who saw the worst of it.

  “I've been around this farm the majority of the past three years. The first two they moved us around a lot, but then they realized it made more sense to isolate us to one location. In the winter, they bussed us further south and we continued to work. As long as we stayed strong in the fields - we would persist. However, a few of my friends became tired... sick.” I stop for a second as I close the door to the stable with Angel now inside. I can feel my hand shake.

  “I had to bury a few that they had believed to be unprofitable to keep working. They took them beside a ditch and shot them in the head.” I feel the tears gathering in my eyes Tears I held in for months because I never wanted them to see me weak. Showing weakness was too dangerous. I shut the stable and hold onto Carter's arm again. Now, I am safe.

  Safe against Carter. It seemed silly to still hold onto him this much. We had barely a few months together at the cabin.

  And only that one night alone.

  I knew there was a good chance things would not be the same, but I wanted to hold onto the dream as long as possible. I can tell he doesn't seem to touch me the same way. It's shocking that I can even still remember it. I let go of his arm as we make our way out of the barn. He wants to tell me something. I can feel it. Not yet though.

  “Have you heard anything about the twins?” I ask. He shakes his head.

  “I asked everyone about you, Caitlyn, and Sara. No one knew anything,” Carter says. I haven't seen them since the helicopters either. Caitlyn couldn't have managed by herself in the woods, and who knows what they would have done with Sara. I think they would be seventeen now; it's hard to imagine. Hopefully we will see them again, but probably not in this life.

  Over the next few hours we sit alongside the barn as the rest of the Carter's friends, the Resistance he says, gathers up supplies and fills the trucks. It was a little unsettling to see someone else now take all of the food we worked so hard to collect. Someone seems to always be taking from us.

  Carter and I talk about everything from the past five years. I tell him how after we were separated, I was given the choice by one of my captors to go to their “capital” and live with him. I knew why the soldier's wanted me to go there, but I would go to hell before I let one of them lay a finger on me. After I spit in his face, my answer was pretty clear. I was chained along with others my age and they moved us from farm to farm to strip the land. Occasionally they held us at an abandoned prison for a few days at a time before redistributing us. A small group of the men and women I worked with stuck together in those early years. There were a few instances where some could have made a run for it, but we stayed with the group. Over time, several of them had been moved to different locations and no one in that original group was with me anymore at the Mill. I spent most of my time alone. Bottling up everything that has happened since the plague has been difficult to cope with, and it's taken a tole. Sometimes I think if I met that girl who left the city so many years ago I would not even recognize her.

  Carter told me about his time in the mines and his escape and all about his new leader Ryan. He seems like an okay guy. But then-so did Saul. So did some of the New American's who owned us. I don't trust anyone in charge. I have no reason to trust any of them. I'll put some hope into this “Resistance” because Carter is there.

  Carter hands me a slice of the apple in his hand and finally tells me what I know he kept inside.

  “Listen, Jocelyn. I thought you were dead. I turned over every single rock those first few years. Then I moved on.” He pauses. “I'm with someone.”

  “Good for you,” I lie. I spent the past few years hiding my emotions so I could do it another couple of minutes. “I'm happy for you. What we had was like forever ago. What's her name?”

  “Paige.” he says. “I will introduce you when we get back tonight.”

  “Great,” leaks from my mouth. I turn away for a second and look up into the sun. Tears gather in my eyes, but I keep them from falling.

  “I'm sorry Jocelyn. Are you okay?” he answers. I turn back.

  “I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be fine?” I force a smile and place my head on his shoulder.

  “I'll still always be here, you know.” he says.

  “And I will always be here for you.” I look back up at him. I may have even fooled him that I am fine. I almost fool myself.

  He was the hope I held onto everyday these past years. Finding Carter, and maybe, just maybe, having some resemblance of that family again was all that mattered. That last hope was shattered apart.

  Why God? Why couldn't I even have this?

  Because you don't deserve it.

  No, I don't believe that.

  Yes, I do.

  No. Please stop. I'm not alone anymore.

  Chapter 9: Paige

  The caravan from the Mill finally returns around eight o'clock. The series of cars moves around the cul-de-sac of our small town. From the looks of it, they saved a lot of people today. An old school bus of the workers pulls up and they begin filing off. A few of the residents take them to the hundreds of cots set up in the nearby school gymnasium. All new residents spend a few days there for medical treatment, until they can sort out if they want to stay with us or move on. Many of them have homes or families that they want to try to find, so we give them some supplies and wish them well. Some seem a little shaken by all the soldiers here. I can't blame them for their concerns, but it is better to be too cautious in this world.

  We also keep them there to weed out any potential spies. The Resistance is still largely ignored by the New Americans, but as these missions continue to escalate, that will not last too much longer. Especially after this past one.

  Carter is usually on these buses. He spends the trip asking each one of the workers about the twins: Sara and Caitlyn. Those he wouldn't get a chance to talk to on the bus he would talk to in the gymnasium. He used to ask about his old girlfriend, until he learned she was dead.

  I'll never forget when he finall
y stopped asking about her. It was bittersweet for me. I was in the gymnasium helping with a fractured pointer finger when he talked to that old man. I was the one who lifted him to his feet and took him back to his house. I don't think he remembers that it was me.

  My eyes continue to search the crowd under the light of the propane lanterns along the sidewalks. Carter usually sticks out among the many white faces - just as I do. The bus empties, and he is nowhere. My heart starts to race as my head turns frantically around the caravan of cars to all of the workers and soldiers filling the streets. Some of the men are obviously injured. I walk closer towards the cars and the people brush by me as it becomes more crowded. Where is he?

  My heart settles as I see Carter get out of the third car in the convoy. He helps a woman behind him out onto the asphalt and into the crowd. The darkness hides their faces, but I am sure it is him.

  Is the woman one of the twins? I feel warmth spread throughout my body. This will really make him happy. They both share smiling looks and then look from person to person in the crowd. As their faces arrive under the lantern, it illuminates them both and I can see them clearly. It isn't one of the twins. I remember her from his picture.

  Jocelyn.

  The warmth from before quickly fades to numbness. I don't know how to feel or what this means. Before I can comprehend it, they are both standing in front of me and Carter is introducing me.

  “I'm so glad you turned out to not be dead,” I reply while awkwardly shaking her hand. Well that sounded awful. “I mean... this is great.” I force a smile. She seems to force one, too. There's something off about the movement of her eyes, but I can't quite figure it out. They seem to dart from side to side a lot. She spent five years essentially being a slave. I don't know much, but I imagine that will leave some kind of damage. Many of the workers who have joined us took a while to acclimate themselves to living normally.

  “Carter has talked about you,.” she says. I guess she is cutting to the chase. “I'm glad things are okay for you two in this hell-stricken world.”

  “Thanks. Here let's show you where you will be staying. I don't think you need to go to the gymnasium with the rest of them.” I feel like I sound desperate to try and appease them both. I don't know what to expect. Carter has two rooms ready just in case he would find the twins. Despite my uncertainty, I know he probably wants her to be in one of them.

  The three of us make our way through the commotion on the street and head down a side street that leads to Carter's and my house. Dozens of the houses we pass are occupied by those who live with us in the Resistance. I try to take my mind away from Jocelyn and Carter...

  The neighborhood has grown a good bit since that first winter when Ryan saved thirty of us from freezing to death. From there, we grew and now we number nearly two hundred spread out over a few square miles of houses that surround a middle school. During the heat of summer, many sleep in tents in their yards to stay cool. When winter comes, the majority of us move to the school where proximity, and a modified gas furnace keep us warm.

  The world beyond our neighborhood turned to chaos in the beginning, and many of those who survived the plague came to our home looking for trouble in the first year. Ryan had already prepared us for such violence, and we kept one another safe from looters and thieves. We struggled, but we survived. That was until the New Americans showed up.

  Towards the end of the first summer, we awoke one morning to the roar of the vehicles coming down the street. We never imagined having to defend ourselves from something like that. I stayed in my room while grasping a .22 rifle and peeking out the window. The soldiers below had machine guns that made my rifle look like a toy.

  The New Americans went into several houses and dragged some of my friends from within. Most were barely even adults. The soldiers threw them to their knees. Even behind the window I could still hear their muffled yells. The soldiers were not hearing the answers they wanted.

  And then I heard the gunshot.

  They shot one of them in the head. Then they received the answer they wanted from the remaining ones. The soldiers stormed the house where all our food was kept. We had worked hard that spring and summer and had created a stockpile large enough to last the entire winter. I cringed as they loaded up their trucks. Just as they were about done loading it, Ryan attempted resistance.

  With a war cry, Ryan, David, and eight others began to fire on the New Americans from the first floor of a brick house. Ryan must have gathered them all secretly as the New Americans worked on gathering the food. As they began to fire, I considered opening the window and joining in from my perch, but nearly as fast as it started, the gunfire ceased. At least that's what I tell myself. What difference could I have made with a .22 rifle anyway? I would just have been killed with the rest of them.

  Ryan's retaliation was quickly silenced. The first floor of the house that they shot from nearly exploded from several grenades thrown into windows. The New Americans finished packing and then drove away while screams emitted from the house. Everyone else, including myself was too afraid to do anything.

  After they left, I ran quickly down the steps and to the first floor where Ryan and all the men were. It was a massacre. Pieces of my friends were thrown about the room and the walls and ceiling dripped red. Ryan and David were both injured, but they were the only two that recovered. They had managed to get on the other side of a large cedar desk before the explosions. The desk was in splinters, but it saved their lives. I originally wanted to yell at Ryan for the thoughtless plan, but I guess they had to do something.

  We struggled, but were able to survive that winter with the little we were able to salvage.

  After the that, we started to arm ourselves and create a much tighter perimeter. David went back to his police department and managed to break into the armory. He took everything. Then, Ryan and David worked a complete year on a fence that went around a school several miles away. It was made from a hodgepodge of fencing materials, cars, and buses. More recently they have even further fortified the wall with barbed wire and booby traps. It was an impressive feat. Where we lived naturally gravitated to around this safety net they created.

  The wall was the first line of defense, and the school became our fall back point if any of our lookouts spotted trouble coming. Luckily, we have seemed to go unnoticed in suburbia by the New Americans and most others who would want what we have. Yet again, each time we meddle with the New American food supply, the more resources they will spend on finding who we are. I doubt they realize that the once pathetic group they stole food from years ago was the one giving them difficulties.

  We approach Carter's and my house. The outside is mostly brick with a gray roof. Paint on the shutters has been peeling off, and it is beginning to look rather worn. On my most recent scavenging trip we found some supplies to fix up many of our houses. The aging house belonged to an elderly couple before we started calling it home. We still kept a picture of them on the fireplace mantle. It reminds Carter and me of our own parents. There were many nights we laid on the couch and sipped wine as we imagined what those two white-haired faces managed in their lives. We sort of made them a part of our family. Family means everything after the plague.

  It is a little strange. But Carter and I really have no one else left who we care about in this world before the plague. They are a simple reminder of good times past, of family.

  The three of us walk up the porch steps and Carter opens the storm door to allow both of us inside. They continue to converse, and I can't help but feel like the third wheel at the moment. It is not a comforting feeling to say the least. We head up the steps and I show her to the room.

  “We have a few rooms that no one uses. It can get a little hot in the summer, so just leave the windows open. A nice breeze rolls through the house.”

  Letting her sleep across the hall from us didn't feel safe at all. Yet, just like the couple in the photograph, and even if it made me uncomfortable, Jocelyn is a part of his f
amily.

  I grab her a few things from my closet and throw them on the bed.

  “These should all fit you and feel free to use the shower across the hall. Last year, one of the resident geniuses modified the plumbing so you are good to go. The water should be hot.”

  Attached to many of the roofs were large black rain basins that brought rain water into the house with a good bit of pressure via the elevation on the chimney. A few filters clear the water and it is usually pretty warm because it sits on the roof all day in the sun. The black basins look odd balancing on the chimney and over a bit of the roof, but it is water. Several houses had theses water towers. Although the resident geniuses managed to get the old plumbing to work this year, we are stuck with this older method. I don't mind.

  I mind this new girl who will be living in our house.

  However, when I mention the hot water, the darkness in her eyes vanishes for a second. I see her the same as me. She goes into the bathroom, and a few seconds later I hear the water turning on. Carter and I are finally alone.

  “Are you sure about this?” I ask Carter while grabbing his hand. We both start to walk down the hall. “I mean I'm not worried that you and her...”

  “I know, and you shouldn't be. That was five years ago.” He looks over at me and seems to search for the right words. “Nothing could change what these last years have given us. So much has happened since Jocelyn and I were at that cabin. We, us, have been through so much these past years together. You think I'm going to throw that away?” He kisses the back of my hand as we both sit down at the dining room table.

  “I just worry what five years being treated like that could do to someone. The way her eyes shift from side to side and the way she keeps looking over her shoulder – something is not right, Carter.”

  “I worry about it, too. There's definitely something different, but we don't have anything to worry about. She's not violent or anything, but we don't even know if she was completely honest about what they have forced her to do these past five years. I'm the best person to make sure that she is okay.”