Almost every cell from where we are standing to the end of the hall has a hand poking out. There are only a few that don’t. Sin reaches into his pocket and pulls out a ring of keys. “At least, my mother wanted to make things a little easier for us,” he says, showing me the keys. Sin leads us up to the first cell. “Hands in your pockets. Keep them there until told otherwise and start a single file line in front of the main exit.”
“How are we trusting these people?” I ask Sin. I realize my words are loud enough to be heard by the surrounding cells but how do we know one of these prisoners won’t snap and try to kill us like they tried to the last time we were in here?
“We want to get out, miss. We haven’t seen the daylight in years and if you tell us there is a way out, we will do whatever you tell us to do.” I hear the words, but I don’t trust the mouth it’s coming out of. I don’t trust any person in this place. If they were able to kill for nothing once, they won’t hesitate to do it again after being locked up in confinement for so long.
It takes Sin less than twenty minutes to unlock each cell that had a hand sticking out. Those cells without volunteer followers all proved to have human remains residing inside. We were too late for them. They died, and God knows when. Based on the stench, it could have been years ago.
More than thirty men and women are standing before us in the lobby of the opaque prison. “The daylight will hurt more than anything else right now. Keep your eyes closed as I open the door and let them adjust slowly. Also, please remember to keep your hands in your pockets as we enter the center of Chipley.” Sin pauses to clear his throat. He places his hand beneath his nose, likely having the same issue with the smell that I am. “While I realize you want what we all want, the townspeople have been informed of your past. They trust nothing and no one. To make this work, we all need to work together with trust regardless of what anyone’s past dictates.”
A muttering of “okays”, “agreed”, and “we understand” rumbles through the core of the crowd. Sin turns to me with question and concern in his eyes. I don’t know what he’s thinking but it looks like uncertainty. As Sin opens the door, most of the people behind us press the backside of their arms against their faces, shielding themselves from the brightness. Slowly, each person filters out of the building, remaining in a solid formation, as surprising as it is.
As we wait for their eyes to adjust to the brightness, there is question after question of where our clothes came from, our bags, the weapon in Sin’s hand. They may all be questioning whether they can trustusbut if I were them, I would be more curious than anything else, considering no other person from the outside has entered this town. Everyone looks the same here, has the same clothes, eats the same food. Even Snatcher, who now remains as the one caretaker in the town, looks the same as the rest of them—dirty, starved, and miserable. “Tell us where you got the clothes and weapons from,” one of the prisoners says, stepping forward, still struggling against the brightness.
“Everything will be explained when we make it to the center of town. We need your help if you want to get out of here. That’s the only point of this.” Sin takes a couple steps toward one of the prisoners, close enough to make his words more private. “You know me, Kelter. Trust me, okay?”
“Yeah, I do, Sin. So where the hell did your clothes come from?” Kelter. I remember that name. He was the one asking us to help him when we were in here last. He murdered his wife with a butcher knife for singing some country song. Note to self: no singing.
“We got out and now we’re back to help everyone else get out, too. But we need everyone to fight alongside us.”
Kelter steps back in with the crowd. “Fine. Take us with you,” he says flatly. These people know they have no choice. They can stay here and eventually die in this miserable existence, or they can take a chance at escaping. At this point, I’d rather die trying to get out of here versus dying in a pit of a dark cell I’ve lived in for years.
In silence we hike back down the hill, hearing only the patter of footsteps and the shuffling of pant legs behind us. As we arrive back in the center of the town, I watch many of the townspeople hide behind one another just at the sight of the prisoners behind us. Two groups of people stand on opposite sides, staring at one another, needing to understand that they are all on the same team right now. They all ended up here for a common reason, some just worse than others.
Sin steps between both of the groups, looking back and forth between each side, but before he begins to speak, clouds cover the sun-lit sky, blanketing us with a slight darkness—a moment of defined symbolism. The clouds darken quickly and raindrops trickle from the sky, slow at first and now a heavy downpour. Everyone looks up, closes their eyes and opens their mouths. This is camaraderie right here—we all do want the same thing—shelter, food, water, and freedom.
The rain feels like a cool shower after a scorching hot day, like a gift from God.Is that what this is?One by one everyone looks back toward Sin, waiting to hear what he has to say. This is it. Either he gains their trust and belief or we will become their next meal.
“We found a way out of Chipley,” he begins. “There is a bunker where patrols are monitoring us, our behavior, and the food we eat. They have been slowly turning us into war machines with chemicals they lace into the small amounts of food they give us. Those who are not strong enough to obtain food, die. It’s their process of elimination for those who are too weak to fight. Those in the prison,” Sin pauses, turning toward that group, “you have all proven your ability to murder, take someone’s life in place of your own. You have always been their key players, which is why they didn’t force you to fight for your food. Releasing you from a dark cage should motivate you to fight for your freedom more than the rest of us. They have more or less been recharging you, preparing you for your release and to attack.” I don’t believe I have taken a breath since the moment Sin began to talk, and from the quiet sound of rain and nothing more; they are all listening, devouring and believing every word he is speaking.
“The world is not the one you left behind when you came here,” I speak up for the first time, hoping they will listen to me the way they listen to Sin. “The patrols have hopes that we can fight the Americans outside of Chipley, the ones who survived.”
“Survived?” one of the prisoners asks.
“A biological terrorist attack hit the United States, and all bodies of fresh water were contaminated with a toxin. Those who drank fresh water during that time were unfortunately infected. The toxin is referred to as ‘Juliet’.” I stop talking to give them all a minute to digest what I’m saying, but not one of them has even blinked. “Each infected person reacts differently, which is the challenge in front of us. Most of the ‘Juliets’, as those exposed are called, cannot tell the difference between a state of consciousness and a nightmare—the figments of their imagination appear as real as the lives we’re living. Therefore, they have a greater ability to fight, just as you would in a dream or a nightmare—we’re all stronger in our minds. There is nothing in their brains telling them that what they are doing is wrong or inhumane. They lack fear and inhibitions and there is no second-guessing or morality. Those who survived the epidemic and are infected by the Juliet toxin need to be abolished in order to repopulate the United States.”
“What happens once we win this fight?” one of the townspeople asks.
“We win our freedom,” Sin says, lying through his teeth. Freedom is not in the cards for any of these people regardless of what Amelia agreed to. I know better than to believe a word she says.
Uproar of agreements fills the air. The people around us are happy to participate as combatants in this war. The simplicity of gathering their trust is unnerving, but we all want out and if we are to succeed, we must do whatever it will take.
As the residents of Chipley digest all this new knowledge, calmness gradually replaces their recent excitement. With what seems like several minutes, an aircraft appears in the distance and moves in toward us. It looks the same as the last one that dropped the food, which is exactly what this is. A crate lowers slowly from the helicopter.
“I will distribute the rations and make sure we are all fed before moving forward. No more fighting each other. We need to work as a team now,” Sin says.
I look from person to person, watching questions arise in many of the pairs of eyes looking at us. The question is trust, and I get it. No one has trusted one another here. Ever. Now we’re asking them to do just that, which for most of them is inconceivable.
The crate reaches the ground and the crowd around us looks like a pack of hungry dogs. Their eyes are wide, and some have drool bubbling in the corners of their mouths. Only one person leaps toward the crate, unable to contain herself. Everyone else watches as she claws at the wood with her bitten down fingernails. “She isn’t strong enough,” one of the prisoners speaks out. “You need to take her out.”
Sin takes slow steps over to the woman and I’m not sure what his agenda is. She’s around my size, short and slender, movable. Sin cuffs his hand around her wrist, pulling her away from the crate as she screams and shrieks. He holds her arm around her body, restraining her as she hyperventilates until she falls to the ground. Sin could have killed her right then and there, but he doesn’t; instead he allows her to cry herself into unconsciousness. “To gain trust, we need to treat each other the way we want to be treated. We will all have moments of weakness, but it will make us stronger when that happens,” Sin says in an authoritative tone.
“Do you think there is enough for all of us?” Kelter asks.
Sin takes a tool from his bag and uses it to pry open the wooden slats on the crate. He’s quick to create a large enough access point to retrieve the food. He reaches in, withdrawing several bags at once. “Please form a line,” Sin says. “There is enough for each of us.” And there is. Each person receives a bag, then sits down where they are standing, quickly devouring the rations. The woman on the ground comes to and finds a bag for herself as well. “Take the next few minutes to refuel. We will leave for the bunker in twenty minutes.”
Pulling me to the side, Sin takes my hands in his, looking me in the eyes. “As well as this is all going right now, we can’t be fooled into thinking it will continue this way. They are all still in a state of shock from everything that has happened today. We must assume they will be controlled by the substance in the food they all just ingested, so in case, prepare for the worst.”
“Do you think they will turn on us?” I ask Sin, knowing the likely answer.
“I think it’s best to assume that, but I’d prefer to be wrong.”
