Page 110 of Beyond The Maples
"I don't buy it. The guy was a mess when you left. You two are meant to be," Willow clucks matter-of-factly.
I shake my head, bemused. She will be the death of me. Dark green eyes flash in my mind, and I feel a pinch of guilt that they're the first thing I think of when she says that.
I used to fantasize endlessly about Deacon; about a future together I secretly wished for— when I was brave enough to wish.
Something changed for me when I got to The Centre. I'd like to blame Tane— his annoying smirk, and the way my body seems pulled by an invisible thread in whatever direction he is. But it's more than that, I think. It's all the relationships I've built, and how each one has healed parts of me I didn't realize could be fixed.
Time goes by too fast. Willow falls asleep on the couch, and Linden and I stay up late agonizing and arguing over details, and coming up with codes for our letters. There's a low hum of anticipation when we talk about the future—one that's never really been there before. I'm not sure we've ever looked to the future and been excited by the possibilities. Maybe that's the real reason the council decided to start drugging the population. So people would forget to hope.
I wake to the sound of Willow's soft snores. We all fell asleep in the living room. Linden is slumped in the chair, looking studious, even in sleep.
I take a moment to watch them. They both seem older than when I had left. More than I had expected. I both hate and love it simultaneously.
They hear me packing up and groggily wake, offering to follow me to the station.
"No... no, you guys stay here. Go back to sleep for a bit. Besides, it won't be too long before I see you." I bend to hug them both so they don't have to get up. Willow is asleep again before I've reached the door, making soft murmuring noises as she nuzzles into the couch.
"Be smart," Linden says softly.
"Be brave," I whisper back, taking one last look at our home, knowing this time I truly won't see it again.
My eye catches on that fourth chair before I head out, and it haunts me my whole walk. I know he's never coming back to Strayton. I know he's probably not alive. But a part of me can't help but worry that if he ever did, there'd be nothing here to find, and that stings. My pack feels heavy on my back as I walk, and my uniform feels irritating against my skin.
I wait for the truck. There are only two new recruits coming, so I guess the next cohort will be small. I close my eyes and let my mind wander as the bumpy road lulls me to sleep, dreaming of clean air and untainted food, a place where I can finally breathe.
"What's going on?" I whisper to Berkley, who's perched beside the rest of our crew, as I sit down beside him in the compound's largest auditorium. It's filled with our cohort, and dozens of others. New and old.
He shakes his head and motions for me to be quiet.
There are five people up front. Zander stands among them, and they look serious as they talk amongst themselves by a raised platform. Zander checks his watch and motions for the group to take the stage. All of them are dressed impeccably; in tweed suits, pencil skirts and blazers. They must be the esteemed Council members. No one in New Providence dresses like this anymore. There's not a patch or stitch missing, not a hair out of place. They all look rested, clean, and healthy. The antithesis of everyone else across the country.
The woman in the center clears her throat. She's tall and slender, with golden skin and sleek black hair, she looks utterly perfect but I can't help but feel a coldness from her as she stands there, her spine locked unnervingly straight.
"Hello, New Providence officers, soldiers, and cadets. I want to thank you all for taking the time out of your busy schedules to come to this meeting. We thought addressing you as a group would be beneficial, so there isn't any confusion or lost information along the way." She clears her throat again, a nervous tic, maybe.
An older man to her left passes her a folder.
I wonder briefly why Zander isn't addressing us. He's supposed to be a head Council member, and he's led all things military over the last decade. An uneasy feeling wraps its way around my middle, seeing all the Councilmembers together like this.
"We have some unfortunate news. Over the last week, we have seen significant civilian and military casualties. Conflict has been reported in several areas throughout our portion of the continent. We're not clear yet on the motive, but we have concluded these have been calculated attacks. Unlike previous conflict along the Zaphira border, this was a strategic deployment. They are consistently coming in through The Mouth, and our crews have been struggling to hold ground." She pauses, hurriedly flipping through the papers.
The Mouth is the small valley between the mountain ranges and tar pits. A sliver of land where New Providence and Zaphira meet when otherwise divided by natural borders. The long tar pits from the north are almost impossible to get through unscathed, and the mountain ranges to the south are just as treacherous. The Mouth was the safe route that wasn't dangerous to travel, until humans made it so. Most of our ongoing conflict is there. It's where most soldiers are posted for their first placement. Unless a crew is ranked well, and then placed in a more elite section.
Officers are ranked higher than soldiers, and their duties are often more residential. They enforce the Council's laws within our population, aiding the churches, and enforcing law and legislation.
I'm struck, once again, by how haphazard the structures are here. It's evident in the odd hierarchies and placements— like someone slapped together several systems and just hoped for the best. The fact that more people don't question it is a testament to the energy they've put into pacifying everyone. The coercive control in the military and the reduced mental capacities of our citizens has obviously been effective. People no longer bother questioning anything at all.
"We are also seeing activity near the barrier. Reports are classified, but there is some concern that the structure of the barrier itself is becoming more volatile," she states, wrinkling her nose in open disdain. As if the thought of something so disorderly would dirty her impeccable skirt.
Frustration bubbles up inside of me as I wait for her to give us more information. For instance, maybe what the fuck the barrieractually is? What does she mean by volatile? But she says nothing, in typical New Providence fashion, and assumes this tidbit of half-information is adequate.
The anger that I feel overflows inside me, until it's a storm I can't ignore. I lean over to Leo. "Ask what the barrier is made of and what she means bymore volatile," I whisper to him. He looks at me, confused, then shakes his head, I nod mine. I’d ask myself, but the last thing I want to do right now is draw more attention to myself from the Council. We have a silent fight with one another until a gruff voice breaks it.
"Can we get a little more clarification on what you mean by the barrier being volatile? Do we have any more intel on what the barrier is?" Berkley's loud voice booms confidently across the room.
I hold my breath waiting for the response.
The woman's eyebrow twitches, just slightly, enough I catch it, even from here. She recovers flawlessly.
