Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 132491 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132491 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
I take a deep breath before continuing. I have to trust someone, and so far, Rona is the closest thing I have to a friend here, other than Olin.
“Do you know what they do to the kids here?”
“The kids are raised together because it’s more efficient. We can’t have women sitting around with babies on their tits all day. It’s hard enough to survive here even with all the women contributing.”
I don’t understand it. Rona sounds like everyone else here. Indoctrinated. And technically, we’re all prisoners. But the Rising Tiders seem almost grateful to their captors. I don’t care what anyone says—I’ll never think this place is anything but fucked.
“But...what’s everyone training for?” I ask. “I saw the kids in their camp and they’re a bunch of mini soldiers. It was creepy and sad. None of them were smiling or laughing. They were training like we do.”
Rona’s sigh is weary. “We don’t smile or laugh, either. Just wait. I’ve seen people brought back from the jungle in pieces after the Dust Walkers got ahold of them. Or the jaguars.”
“Do you ever think about trying to get out of here?”
She snorts derisively. “Out of here? Like out of this camp?”
“Off the island.”
“And go where?”
“Back to the mainland.”
She laughs scornfully. “Back to being beaten and raped every day? No, I don’t think about it.”
I should have realized Rona—or actually, everyone—sees life here through a lens of what their lives were like before. I hated every minute of my life locked away in Lochlan’s gated estate, but I was safe. Well, safe from everyone but him. I was well fed. I could take showers and read books.
Most people don’t have such comfortable everyday lives in the post-virus world. And though I dreamed of escaping his home and returning to scraping by in the shadows, not everyone wants that kind of life.
“I’m sorry that happened to you,” I say.
“It happened to everyone. Women and men. I got sent here for grabbing a guard’s gun and shooting him in the leg with it, and you know what? It’s the best thing that’s happened to me since the virus came. Rape isn’t allowed, and now I can fight and defend myself.”
I nod, even though she can’t see me. “That makes total sense.”
We sit in silence for a minute before she says, “Do you know why Olin doesn’t talk?”
“No.”
“Because he can’t. He’s been here for like two years and he’s still a one. Probably always will be, because he wouldn’t stop asking questions about this place. Pax cut his tongue out for it. The only thing saving you from that is that you’re pretty and Pax wants to fuck you. That won’t keep you safe forever.”
A horrified chill runs through me. Poor Olin.
“Don’t bring up conversations like this with me again,” Rona says. “And if you want to live, don’t bring them up with anyone else, either.”
I respond automatically, my mind still stuck on the image of Pax cutting off Olin’s tongue. I didn’t want to think he was capable of something like that, but that was naive of me. I know better. Those in power don’t use it to make things better for everyone. They use it to make things better for themselves.
“I understand. Thank you for looking out for me.”
She doesn’t respond. I sit down and let my head rest against the concrete wall, feeling more alone than ever as I listen to rainfall beating on the roof.
The next day, a four knocks on our door and tells us everyone is meeting up in the dining shelter.
It’s still raining when I step onto the walkway, but the wind has died down. Beside me, Rona sighs heavily.
“Kitchen’s got to be trashed.”
The camp is still flooded, the buildings across from ours standing in a few inches of water. A tree fell onto one of the buildings, its roof mostly gone. Branches, boards, clothes, and other debris are scattered in the water over the dirt path, drifting lazily.
We follow the line of people from the housing block to the shelter, everyone quiet as we wade through ankle-deep water.
The concrete housing blocks are intact, but pretty much everything else is destroyed. The kitchen is missing most of its roof and one wall. The meat prep area is gone, as are the body parts that were on the table.
A few of the picnic-style tables from the dining area are in the kitchen now, one of them upside down and others scattered in pieces. It looks like Mother Nature reached a mighty hand down from the sky and twisted everything into a mangled heap.
More than a hundred people huddle into the shelter. Pax and Virginia stand on tall wooden boxes that are usually used for jumping over during training, Pax putting his hands out to quiet the talking.
“Our camp sustained a lot of damage from the hurricane,” Virginia says. “Does anyone know of anyone who’s missing?”