Backs Against the Wall

It’s then that I realize I’m naked in the shower under the hot water, my dirty, wet clothes a sodden pile on the perfect white floor. I honestly don’t know how I ended up in here covered in lavender scented lather. There was no conscious decision to do it, it just… happened. Too late to turn back now.

I stay in for ten minutes, washing my hair and body once per minute. I would stay in and do it all again if I wasn’t worried about letting the guys have a go at it. I’m trying not to be selfish, to think of others every now and then, but it’s hard because I desperately want it all for myself. As I climb reluctantly out the warm shower into the chilled air, I decide that being civilized sucks.

Dressed in my cold wet clothes again, I head back out to the cage. I’m surprised to find the boys’ mattresses have arrived and we’re not alone. A cot has been set up on the far side of the room near the door where a blond haired guy about my age is covering it in a blanket. It’s another comforter. Another genuine blanket that looks clean. Like it would smell of the lavender soap.

He glances up when I come out, giving me a sharp nod. “’Sup?”

I glance at Ryan, unsure.

“This is Sam. He’s our guard for the night,” Ryan explains.

He’s sitting on the floor on his mattress looking like he’s ready to tip over. I don’t know why he doesn’t just go to sleep already.

“I thought we weren’t in a prison. Why do we need a guard?”

“In case you decide you want to leave,” Sam says, sitting down on his bed with his back against the wall of books. “Taylor is all about you having easy access to the exit at all times.”

“Taylor is the stocky guy?”

“Yeah. He’s head of security. Whenever we have visitors, which lately is never, he’s in charge of making sure they don’t cause any problems.” Sam smiles at me. “You’re messing up his routine right now. He hates you.”

“Great.”

Our chances of getting to talk to someone important here seem slim to none. I’m not exactly anxious to wait out this two week period just for the chance to talk to a council, but it might be our only option.

I sit down heavily beside Ryan, getting so close that our sides touch. He glances over at me and smiles weakly, dark crescents forming under his tired eyes.

“You need to sleep,” I whisper to him.

He shakes his head, his smile fading. He turns to Sam. “So you’re part of security?”

“Yep.”

“You seem kind of young for that.”

Sam snorts. “What are you? Like a year older than me? You seem kind of young too. Or is it because you grew up on the outside so you think you’re tougher than I am?”

“Mostly that.”

“Whatever,” Sam says, sounding angry. “I grew up in it too. We weren’t always this safe. I was in the first quarantine zone when it first started going down.”

“So was I. Woodburn, Oregon. You?”

Sam eyes him shrewdly. I’m sure he’s wondering if he can believe him.

“Albany.”

“Longview, Washington,” Trent says absently. He’s sitting in the corner in a chair with a book in his hands, his head hovering over it. He’s barely listening to us but that’s probably still more focus than the average person.

“Seattle,” I say softly.

“You were outside it when it started,” Sam says. He’s not asking. He knows. We all know. We all remember, even all these years later, exactly where the lines were drawn. The cities that they encompassed that mean nothing now. That are dead and buried. Forgotten.

“Yeah,” I admit, feeling a little like an outsider. Like somehow even though I lost everything just like they did, I didn’t suffer as much because I was spared a few more months of normal. I got one more summer of being a kid, of being carefree and happy. Of swimming pools, popsicles and bike rides. I was given more time, no matter how meager that time feels now. “It didn’t reach us until December, back when the secondary quarantines broke down as they started testing the cure.”

“The cure,” Sam mutters with disgust. “What a load.”

“They never fully tested it,” Trent says, turning a page. “They made one small breakthrough, a

“Then whose fault was it?” Ryan asks.

“The people on the outside.”

“Excuse me?” I ask hotly.

“Yeah, like you,” Trent says, finally looking up from his book. “You and your parents.”

“My dead parents? That’s who you blame for the fake cure?!”

“Not them specifically,” he replies calmly, “but everyone on the outside played a part. They were demanding a cure be found. They were terrified the sickness would get out and kill everyone else on the planet. It was either find a cure or firebomb the entire quarantine zone, something they had started to do. They tried it out to see how the public, how you and your parents, responded to it.”

“Portland,” Ryan says darkly.

I don’t dare look at him. I can feel the anger rolling off him as he thinks about this, as he talks about a time I don’t even like to remember let alone speak of. I’m worried some of that anger he’s feeling is directed at me, as though I as an eight year old girl contributed to the hell he went through during those first few months.

“You can’t blame the people on the outside,” I tell Trent defensively. “We were just as clueless as you.”

“I didn’t say it was entirely your fault, but the pressure the world was putting on the doctors and scientists to get that cure was unreal. It was too much. They rushed it and we all paid for it. Luckily, those of us already on the inside knew how to survive it. Didn’t really change our world too much other than the gates were flung open and we were free to roam.”

“Only it was better not to,” Sam says, “so we were still trapped.”

“Were you in one of the Safe Zones?” Ryan asks him.

Sam nods. “Warm Springs down in eastern Oregon. That’s where most of us here are from.”

“How many people are here?” I ask.

He shrugs. “I don’t know. Almost 3,000 I think. When Warm Springs fell apart most of us came here and some others joined us later, but a lot of people bailed. Followed the psycho.”

I frown. “Who are you talking about?”

Sam looks at me like he thinks I’m messing with him. I glance at Ryan and Trent to see if they know something I don’t, but they look as confused as I feel.

“You guys really don’t know, do you?”

I shake my head, see the boys do the same.

“Wow, maybe you really aren’t Colonists.”

“We’re not,” I insist angrily.

“Taylor says you know stuff, though. Insider stuff.”

“Yeah, because I was inside a Colony as a prisoner,” I blurt out, deciding to go for the truth since my lie was weak anyway.

“And you got out?” Sam asks skeptically.

“Barely. The people inside, they feel just as trapped as I did. They helped me escape so I could get help and come back to free them too.”

“Please,” Sam spits, scowling at me, “they love it in there. They’d follow their Messiah to the ends of the earth and back.”

“What Messiah?” Trent asks, suddenly very interested in us.

“The psycho.”

“Who are you talking about?” Ryan demands.

Sam looks at me. “You say you were on the inside, how do you not know this? He’s the leader of the Colonies. He founded them. The people, they practically worship him and all his crap about keeping everyone clean and pure, about how the Fever was retribution from God for all of the evil in the world and only the righteous will survive. That’s why they lock themselves inside so tightly, it’s why they cruise the streets saving people.”

“Who is this guy? Who are you talking about?” Ryan asks again.

“Dr. Westbrook.”

“Who is Dr. Westbrook?” I ask. “Should that name mean something to me?”