CHAPTER FOUR

Ryan leads Ben and me across the length of Fort Noix, heading for the arsenal, and as we go, I feel satiated for the first time in months. My stomach is almost uncomfortably heavy. It feels good. It also feels good to be heading to guard duty, to have a mission, a purpose, and something to take my mind off everything. Without it, I think I might go crazy.

We pass plenty of people, all as clean and well fed as Ryan is; none have radiation scars or melted flesh from nuclear fallout. None are missing limbs or teeth or dragging a deformed leg behind them as they walk. I haven’t seen so many healthy-looking humans in one place since before the war. It’s almost disconcerting.

Ryan walks beside me but Ben lingers a few steps behind. There’s an undeniably tense atmosphere, one I attempt to ignore by focusing all my attention on Jack the pit bull, who has been tagging closely at my heels as if I’m his master rather than Ryan.

“He’s taken a shine to you,” Ryan says with a chuckle.

Ben’s head immediately snaps up. He frowns. I can’t help but wonder why Ben insisted on coming with us. I don’t want him lingering around me like a dark storm cloud, casting suspicious glances in my direction. We’re on the same team, we always have been, and I don’t like seeing him like this. It reminds me too much of the way he acted with Logan; jealous, wanting more from me than I am able to give.

At least Ryan doesn’t seem to pick up on the tension. He strolls confidently across the compound, like someone who has never seen real death or destruction. Not like Ben and me, whose very steps seem to reveal our past torments.

“Here we go,” Ryan says with an air of pride as he hauls open a huge steel door.

A cloud of dust swirls into the air, obscuring my vision. As it settles, I get my first glimpse of the treasures inside the arsenal. My mouth drops open as I step inside and take in the sight of pistols and sniper rifles, automatic crossbows and AK47s. I feel like a kid in a candy shop.

As I scan the walls, something catches my eye. A shotgun. It reminds me of the antique one Dad used to have displayed behind glass at home. I go over to it and pick it up.

“Are you sure you want to take that thing?” Ryan asks, as I test the weight of it in my hands. “Something smaller would be better for your stature.”

In a matter of seconds, I lock and load the shotgun, before hitching it on my shoulder in firing position. I go through the motions expertly; thanks to Dad, I’m at ease with a shotgun.

“I think this one will suit me just fine,” I say.

Ryan’s eyes widen with surprise. He seems impressed by my knowledge of the weapons and I can’t help but feel a surge of pride.

Ben narrows his eyes and grabs his own weapon, a rifle.

“So you guys have used guns before?” Ryan asks.

“Of course,” Ben replies, a little too harshly.

I think back to the first time I met Ben, when we were speeding through the frozen wastelands chasing after the slaverunners who had kidnapped our siblings. He’d been useless with the gun, and had even dropped it at one point.

“Ben’s more of a bow and arrow kind of guy,” I say, gently mocking him, trying to coax him into the conversation.

Ben frowns, clearly not taking the joke well. Ben’s always been sensitive, but he’s clearly feeling more sensitive than usual. I remind myself to be more careful with him. I don’t want him to think I’m making a joke at his expense or that I’m letting Ryan’s jovial attitude rub off on me.

“No problem,” Ryan says. “We have plenty of bows and arrows if you’d prefer.”

“I’m fine with this,” Ben answers tersely.

Ryan shrugs, once again seemingly oblivious to the building tension in the air.

I then notice a wall display of knives. I go over and see the same kind of knife my dad had when I was a kid, with a military insignia brandished into the handle. A wave of nostalgia washes over me.

I touch my fingertips to the cool metal blade. “Can I take this too?”

“Of course,” Ryan replies, suddenly coming up very closely behind me. “Take what you want.”

I can feel the warmth radiating from his body as I snatch up the knife, holding the weight of it in my hand. It feels like mine, like it was always supposed to be in my grasp. Then I dart out of Ryan’s shadow, stashing the knife at my hip as I go. I load up with the gun on one shoulder, and a bow and arrow slung across my back.

Ryan whistles as he takes in the sight of me.

“Ready for duty,” he says, giving me a light-hearted salute.

I can’t help but smile to myself. I feel every inch a guard and I’m practically itching to get out there, to learn the ropes and prove to the Commander that I deserve my place here.

Ben, on the other hand, is fumbling around and getting frustrated with a twisted strap. Ryan goes over to help him. As he tightens his straps, I can’t help but think that Ben looks like a lost, vulnerable child being dressed by his parent on their first day at school.

We head out of the arsenal and my stomach swirls with anticipation as I catch sight of the group of ten other guards up ahead that we’ll be patrolling with. They’ve congregated by one of the huge iron barbed-wire-topped gates. A few dogs mill around, pawing tufts of grass at the base of the fence, sniffing the air, cocking their heads at every noise. It occurs to me that they’ve all been trained to help with patrolling and to offer protection against attacks. The Commander was right when he said everyone at Fort Noix has a job to do – even the animals. I’m grateful again that he conceded to keep Penelope, and I hope she gets a chance to prove that despite being the size of a cat and having only one eye, she’s the smartest dog he’ll ever meet.

Jack breaks away from us and rushes up to the other dogs, barking excitedly. His presence alerts the group to our approach. Heads begin to turn in our direction, taking in the sight of Ryan leading two strangers toward them. I can’t help but feel like I’m being scrutinized, sized up, and I try to calm my racing heart. After all, this is nothing compared to the leering eyes of the biovictim spectators in the arenas.

Ben doesn’t seem to be faring as well as me, though. As we get closer to the group, I can see his face becoming paler. He’s not ready for this at all. Being with strangers, packing weaponry – it’s all too much for him, like being back in an arena. I don’t get a chance to tell him to turn around and go home, though, because we’re suddenly at the entrance. Ryan’s clapping people on the back, reeling out names that fly in one ear and out the other. The only one that sticks is Molly, because the girl it belongs to has shockingly ginger hair.

She looks over at me.

“You’re living with Neena, right?” she asks with a friendly grin. She looks about my age, with bright green eyes and freckles across her nose.

I nod, a little overwhelmed by all the names and faces.

“Me too,” she replies. “I guess that makes us roomies.”

Roomies. The word seems alien to me, like it’s a term that belonged to an old, ancient world that I thought had ceased to exist. Not for the first time since arriving here, a wave of happiness washes over me. I have a feeling she might become a friend. Friend. A word I had never thought to use again.

The group begins to move and we follow, sticking close to Ryan and Molly. We pass through several layers of fencing, guards stationed at the gates of each one. The amount of security they have here is crazy, but I understand their need to be so heavy-handed. The only way to keep the people inside Fort Noix safe is by making it impenetrable to all the monsters lurking outside.

Between one row of fencing and the next, nestled in the trees, I see a row of wooden cabins.

“Do you guys stay in those overnight?” I ask Molly.

She shakes her head. “No, people live in them.”

“Really?”

Before Molly has a chance to reply, Ryan speaks up, practically salivating at the opportunity to impart his wisdom.

“We call them the Forest Dwellers,” he says. “They’re sort of a part of Fort Noix but not at the same time.”

“Why?” I ask.

“Well, not everyone wants to live by military command. They want to structure their lives differently. They want to have families, homes, pets, that sort of thing. You know, the whole men and women being separated thing isn’t so great for that.” He smiles and wiggles a knowing eyebrow. I blush and avert my gaze as he continues. “Anyway, they’ve all taken the pledge to keep the fort secret, so they’re pretty much a part of us really, especially as they are within our perimeter. They’re just not on the same job rotation system – and they don’t get rations.”

Just then I notice a barefoot young girl sitting on the wooden doorstep of one of the cabins. In her lap sits a huge rabbit with light brown fluffy fur, which she strokes gently. As we pass, she looks up and waves. I wave back. She must take it as an invitation to come over, because she places the rabbit on the ground, leaps to her feet, and bounds over. Her patchwork dress swishes as she skips toward us, and her blond ponytail bobs.

“Oh, here we go,” Molly says under her breath while rolling her eyes, giving me the distinct impression that she’s not much of a maternal type.

“Trixie,” Ryan says in a gentle warning tone as she draws up beside him. “You know you can’t come on patrols with us. It’s far too dangerous.”

“I just wanted to say hello to the new people,” the little girl says breezily.

She’s absolutely adorable. I can hardly believe that such a smiley, carefree child can exist in our brutal world.

“I’m Brooke,” I say to Trixie. “And this is Ben.”

I look around for my companion, realizing he’d been so quiet I’d completely forgotten about him. The whole time that I’ve been chatting with Molly and Ryan he’s been silent, just taking it all in. As I look at him now, I can see how distracted he seems, looking over his shoulder, flinching at every noise. My worry for him magnifies.

“Do you want to come to my house to play?” Trixie says to me, breaking through my thoughts.

Her sweetness and innocence warms my heart. She can’t have seen any of the atrocities of the war, or have the constant terror of being kidnapped by slaverunners at the back of her mind. She’s carefree, just as a child ought to be.

“I’d love to,” I say, “but I’m on guard duty. It’s my job to protect you.”

Trixie beams up at me. “Well then maybe another day,” she says. “My mom will make you soup if you like. Dad made a Scrabble board out of wood. Do you like Scrabble? My sister’s better than me at it but it’s still my favorite game.”

The thought of hanging out with a family playing games and eating soup seems like a dream come true.

“That sounds like a lot of fun,” I reply, feeling a strange pang in my stomach as I realize that I haven’t played a game since before the war, that my childhood, and the lives of many, many others, was cut short by all the fighting. “Maybe I’ll be able to come back and see you,” I finish.

This seems to placate Trixie. She trots off back to her home, although not before stroking each one of the guard dogs.