Chapter 21: Chapter 21

I realize I could die. My life has always been controlled by the Masters or threatened by foreign enemies. But now, for the first time, I’m not dependent on anyone else. I’m only dependent on myself.

There’s no one around to dictate my feelings, and there’s no one to save me. I’ve been wandering aimlessly for what feels like forever. Days turn into weeks, and I lose track of time.

Silence surrounds me. The occasional overhead plane shatters it. It’s been ages since I’ve heard another human voice. I haven’t even spoken to myself.

I try to escape my own thoughts, weary of my own company, desperate to get away from myself, from the voice in my head.

I trudge across the ash-covered moors, collecting rainwater. Hunger gnaws at me. I consumed all my food too quickly. I didn’t anticipate Albion being this desolate or vast. But I’m smart enough not to eat the roots I find underground.

The air might be clear of toxins and the skies might be blue, but Albion—and the entire world—was once a nuclear battlefield. There’s a high chance the soil is still toxic.

Days morph into nights, nights into days. Maybe weeks pass. Each night I sleep longer, and each day I can’t walk as far as the day before.

One morning, I can’t stand or walk. So I crawl. I have no other choice. I have nothing else to do. I listen to the voice in my head that urges me to keep going.

I make a promise to myself that I’ll find Beth, even if it kills me. I promise myself that I’ll see her again, and that keeps me going.

Ash blankets a ruined and devastated Earth. My hands quickly blister and start to bleed. I rip Sanoske’s bandage and wrap it around my hands. Eventually, I abandon my bag too.

I secure my water bottles and revolver around my waist and press on. I wear all the clothes I brought but still shiver in my sleep every night.

Slowly, memories bubble up. Memories of my childhood. The day I turned eight and moved from the little girls’ room to the big girls’ room. The week Beth and I argued and didn’t speak to each other.

The long hours spent assembling weapons, imagining them exploding and annihilating Foreigners. Organizing two-year-olds to get out of bed and get dressed when I was only six.

Watching the older girls mature and discuss going to establishments. The day I shot my first arrow.

It was a bright day outside, and even the usually closed curtains were open to let in the brilliant light. A woman we’d never seen before arrived at school. Her name was Daniella.

There was something special about her. Maybe it was because she was so young, yet she’d already given birth to eight Perfect children, seven boys and one girl. She was an elite Perfect, we could tell.

But she didn’t want us to call her ~Teacher~ or even ~Daniella~. To us, she was Dan. After meeting her, I insisted on being called ~Alex~.

I must have been six or seven, and she didn’t stay at my school for long. She didn’t teach any classes, but one day we were summoned to the Great Hall and she was there to greet us.

She wore traditional gray clothing, and like us girls, her hair was pulled back tightly. But she held a bow in her arms, something I’d never seen before.

It was long, almost as long as her body, and made of gray metal. Her arrows were made of steel and kept in a metal container attached to her back. She was an awe-inspiring image of power, and I felt truly proud of Albion that day.

First, she told us a story. She’d lived in Sector 1 and was raised there, but she’d left for her first establishment two days before it was destroyed, and she lost all her friends.

She said Brazilians had destroyed Sector 1. Together, we prayed that her dead friends would be reborn as strong soldiers and avenge all those lost lives.

Then she showed us how to shoot an arrow. She said it was an ancient weapon from before the Great War, something taught to the elite Perfects in Sector 1, and that she believed all Perfects should learn.

We had a choice, of course. To my surprise, most girls opted out. But Beth and I were eager to learn.

That day, she had a class of fifty girls, ranging from six to fourteen. She laughed with the older girls and was very kind and patient with us younger girls.

My aim was always accurate. I hit the target on my first try. Dan and the other girls were very impressed.

Dan showed me how to hold the bow correctly and how to quickly notch the arrows. I remember the weight of the metal bow in my hands, the click of the arrows as they slid into place, the sting of the bowstring under my fingers.

On the second day, only twenty of us came back. Beth had no talent and quit after the second day. And over the next three days, our numbers dwindled until there were only five girls left. I was the youngest one.

Dan equipped us with arm guards and gloves so we wouldn’t get hurt. My aim improved each day, and soon I hit the center of the target with every arrow I shot.

I might have been the youngest, but I was the best, and Dan began to spend more and more time with me. She taught me how to shoot while moving, first walking, then running.

She stayed for two months. Then one day, she was gone. She wasn’t in the training room the next afternoon. She had left without saying goodbye.

I was furious. I couldn’t understand. The other teachers told me it was time for her to move on, but I couldn’t accept her leaving without saying goodbye.

They didn’t expect me to continue, of course. The other girls didn’t. But at least once a week I found myself in the training room, gradually moving up bow sizes, shooting faster and faster, more accurately each time.

The teachers let me. I was never allowed to carry the bow or arrows upstairs into the Great Hall or classrooms, but in my free time, I could spend as much time as I wanted shooting.

I always understood that it was just something to keep us girls busy, one of the things they used so that we wouldn’t get bored and curious and want to leave.

That night, I shiver, clutching my revolver tightly and wishing that I could transform into an arrow. For the first time in a long time, I long for the weight of the arrows on my back and the bow in my hands.

I picture myself taking down the Masters with my arrows, watching them crumble, and finding Beth waiting for me amidst their lifeless bodies.

I think about Beth, her big brown eyes, her soft white hair. Her dimples, her long dark lashes, and her laugh. I yearn to hear her laugh as I stand here, surrounded by the whistling winds, distant explosions, and rain.

Her laugh echoes in my mind. I try to remember the soldiers, their sturdy bodies, their determination, their fear. I can’t tell which one gave me Beth. With a different one each night, there’s no way to know, but I’m grateful to them all.

I can say with certainty that most of them are dead now, that they died just a few days after our night together. I didn’t feel exploited by them; they were just as scared, just as young as me.

They knew no more about the world than I did, and I will outlive them all. They weren’t using me; they were giving me hope. They give all of Albion hope. Not one of them hurt me, not one was cruel. No one was even unfriendly.

They all held me close, caressed me, made me feel safe. They all promised to fight for me and all the children that I bore. They pledged their lives to me.

I’m the only person they can remember when all their friends die around them. I’m the one they think about before they die. I comfort them in their dreams.

I’m alive when everything around them is dead. They think of me on that night they’re with me and picture me with a child in my arms. Me alive, safe, happy. I’m their hope, the only person left for them in the world before they die.

And I’m the one they imagine coming home to.

It was my duty to a dying man, and I feel no regrets, no disgust. No, I have no bad memories of the soldiers in the establishment. I pity them for being born men.

I think of them often. I don’t want to forget them, those precious lives. They were manipulated, I was manipulated, and we were all pawns in the Masters’ games.

After thinking of the soldiers, my hatred for Eric intensifies. His greed to possess me, to take me away from all those soldiers. He used me. He might have loved me, in some small part of his heart, but he was cruel and selfish.

I was never his to claim. I should never have been his. I should have been Albion’s. I should have belonged to every soldier who I spent the night with.

Eric, who didn’t sacrifice his life for Albion, who selfishly enjoyed me night after night, who needed to dominate me, overpower me, who took everything and gave nothing. Who took Beth from me. He’s the one who disgusts me.

I scream. It comes from deep within me. Tears stream down my cheeks and soak into the ashes on the ground. My body shakes with sobs, and I shiver and cough violently.

I stare for a few breathless seconds at the red blood staining the ashes. I watch it seep in. I’m glad it’s there. Marking my journey, marking me, leaving a part of me here forever.

I cough again and double over, clutching my empty, burning stomach. I taste the blood in my mouth and feel it dribbling down my cheek. I collapse to the ground.

In front of my face, I see my hands. Small, white, paler than the ashes, scarred and cut, rough and hard. They don’t look like mine. Mine have always been small and delicate.

These hands scare me. They look foreign, like a worker’s maybe. They tremble, and I notice the revolver clutched tightly in my fingers. I stare at the blood on it. I stare at Beth’s name.

My heart pounds in my chest, and suddenly my body stops shaking and I feel warm. Too warm. I’m hot. Sweat breaks out on my forehead.

The revolver slips from my fingers. I want to hold it tighter, but it falls from my grasp.

“You thought you could survive out here? No one can! Did you think you were special? Different? You’re not. You’re a Perfect, you fit into the mold of hundreds of others.

“Do you think you’re the first one to figure it out? To try to run away? You could have lived with me. Loved me. But you were a fool. You’re a stupid girl, Alex. Stupid. And you always will be.

“Do you think Beth misses you? She forgot you a long time ago. She’s enjoying being taken care of by teachers and older girls. She’s with babies her own age. She doesn’t care about you.

“Do you love your mother? No, of course not. Why would Beth love you? You’ve wasted your life, Alex. Wasted it. There’s nothing here for you. Nothing everywhere. Nothing. You are nothing. Nothing!”

Eric’s voice cuts through the fog, pierces my consciousness, and tears my heart apart.

I find myself standing up. He’s in front of me, towering over me. Dressed neatly in gray. His hair is combed, and his dark eyes shine. He’s more handsome than ever, more cruel than ever.

But he’s alone. Slowly I lift the revolver and aim it at his face. He doesn’t flinch; he just stares at me.

“You can’t kill anyone, Alex. You can’t. You’re nothing. How could you? You’re weak. You’re nothing. You have nothing,” he whispers to me.

“Then I must be someone. I must be strong. I must…I must…”

He laughs at me. His laughter echoes in my head. The revolver shakes in my hands. I take a deep breath. When I exhale, my arms are steady. I lift my eyes to meet his.

“You will never have me again. You will never hurt me again. I promise.”

The revolver fires. It finds its mark perfectly in his heart. I wait for him to fall, to collapse, but he continues to stare at me. He’s not laughing anymore, he’s glaring at me.

Then suddenly he vanishes into the mist. I’m alone again. I let out a gasp and feel my knees give way. Everything goes black before I hit the ground again.