The Last Girl (2 page)

A knock.

“Come in,” she says. The door opens, and Simon stands there in the hallway. He wears his usual Cleric uniform—a black button-up shirt, closed tight at the throat, and dark cargo pants above hiking boots. His handsome features are wrinkled by lines on his forehead as well as on either side of his thin mouth. His dark hair, always combed so carefully to the side, seems to have grayed more at the temples overnight. He looks at her with eyes very blue against the slate concrete, though there’s a softness to them that always reassures her no matter what’s happening at the moment.

“Good morning, Zoey.”

“Good morning, Simon.”

“You rested well?”

She nods.

“Good. Are you ready for breakfast?”

“Sure.”

He holds the door open for her, letting it coast shut when she steps into the hall, the lock hidden in the frame snapping quietly. They walk slowly down the hallway, their steps nearly matched.
How many times have we done this?
She could do the math, she supposes, but what purpose would it serve? Because she knows why they do it. It’s the same reason for the calendars in all the rooms, it’s why they’re taught to read the months and days only after the rules are memorized. It’s to add another wall around them, knowing how long they’ve been here doing the same thing day after day.

They near the end of the hall and turn a corner. Zoey glances at their strange, bulbous reflections in the curved mirror mounted near the ceiling. She makes a face at herself. The stairs are ahead of them, but she slows as she sees another Cleric standing outside one of the last doors on the left. He’s younger than Simon, but not by much. He has close-cropped blond hair that reveals his scalp beneath the fluorescent lighting. She knows him as Abbot, but most call him Abe. Zoey stops, and Simon halts as well.

“What’s wrong?” Simon asks.

“I was wondering . . .” She blinks and licks her lips. “I wanted to talk to her before she goes.”

Simon tips his head back, his mouth thinning until it’s only a bloodless line. “Zoey, you know you’re not supposed to speak with her in her room. Especially today.”

“I know. But what will it hurt? She’ll be gone this afternoon, and I won’t see her—” She starts to say
ever again
but corrects herself. “—for quite a while.” Abe has overheard them talking and is watching Simon, unmoving, unaffected. Simon frowns and glances down the hallway at the domed shape jutting from the ceiling. The cameras are everywhere, their opaque eyes always watching, judging.

“Please,” she says, surprising herself. Simon returns his gaze to her before looking at Abe. Abe shrugs, as if to say
Fine with me.

“Only a few minutes,” Simon says.

Abe turns and knocks twice on the door. A murmured reply comes from within, and he holds his bracelet up to the reader beside the lock. The door clacks, and he opens it for Zoey as she steps past him.

The room is a duplicate of her own. There is the desk, the chair, the hateful calendar, and the room’s sole occupant sitting on the bed.

Zoey’s struck, as she always is, by how beautiful Terra can be. Her hair is long and blonde, bordering on white. It is straight and will do almost anything Terra wants it to. Now it’s pulled back from her face, accentuating her long nose, high cheekbones, and dark eyes that Zoey has never seen shine with true surprise until now.

“Zoey, what are you doing here? You’re not supposed to be in my room.” Her voice is commanding and powerful. She stands from the bed and rises a full three inches above Zoey’s height. It’s not so much that Zoey’s short, but more that Terra is tall. Everything about her cries
leader
,
and that’s why Zoey is so afraid.

“I needed to talk to you. Before the ceremony.”

“About what?”

Zoey hesitates, hovering on the brink of an abyss before stepping off.

“Pretend you’re sick,” she says in a low voice. Terra tips her head and squints at her as if she didn’t hear what Zoey said.

“What? Why?”

“So you don’t have to go.”

Terra sighs. “Zoey, we’ve talked about this. You know it’s what we all want. I’ve been waiting for this day for years and years. For . . .” Terra’s voice falters, and Zoey sees a sheen appear in her eyes. “. . . for as long as I can remember. The Program isn’t something to be afraid of, it’s something to embrace. It’s for the greater good of—”

Zoey turns from her, staring down at the floor, and moves to the desk. “Please don’t say that to me.”

“Say what?”

“
‘The greater good.’ Please don’t say that.”

Terra comes up behind her, places her hands on Zoey’s shoulders. They are strong and sure, radiating strength that seems to be the only thing other than kindness that Terra can produce.

“It’s true, Zoey. Today isn’t something I’m afraid of, and you shouldn’t be afraid either. I’m going to get to see them today. I’m going to see my parents.” Terra’s voice falters again, and Zoey knows that she’s crying behind her, but she can’t bring herself to look at her friend. “There’s a place outside of these walls that’s safe for us, and after the waiting period I’m going to see it with them.”

Zoey turns then, gazing up at Terra’s tear-streaked face. “I don’t believe it. I think they’re lying to us.”

“How can you say that? They’ve always kept us safe here, sheltered from the plague, those that would hurt us. Why would they protect us if they were lying?”

Zoey ignores the question. “Pretend to trip, to fall down the stairs. If you’re injured even a little, they’ll send you to the infirmary, and we’ll have a few more days.” Zoey can’t stand the pleading in her voice, but there’s no straining it out.

Terra smiles, and Zoey suddenly hates the expression. It’s full of knowing, and comfort, and regal condescension. “You know I won’t do that. I can’t. Don’t worry, it will only be a little while, and we’ll be in the safe zone together. We’ll get to see Grace and Halie, and we’ll be able to meet each other’s parents.”

Zoey steps away from Terra. “It’s a lie,” she hisses, unable to contain the sudden fury that’s bloomed within her. “I don’t know what’s after induction, but it’s not what they say. It’s all a lie. I can see it on Miss Gwen’s face whenever she tells us about the safe zone. She’s lying, and so is the Director.”

Terra looks like she’s been slapped. One of her hands reaches up to cover her mouth, which has dropped partially open. “Zoey, stop. You don’t know what you’re saying. That’s heresy.”

Zoey shakes her head and realizes she’s trembling all over, like after a long run. “Please, Terra, don’t go.”

Terra draws herself up, becoming once again the leader, the keeper of order that she’s been for the last decade among the other women. Her eyes harden, and she blinks away the last of her tears.

“I love you, Zoey. You’ll see soon that everything is okay. Everything is going to be all right.” Zoey looks at her and feels something shrivel in on itself within her chest.

“Goodbye, Terra,” she says, and moves to the door without looking back.

2

The cafeteria is quiet as usual, only the tinkle and scrape of a spoon or fork on plastic breaking the silence.

The room will easily seat over three hundred people elbow to elbow at the long, low tables that are attached to the plastic stools lining their sides. But only one table is occupied.

The other women sit in two different groups, dotting the stools. There are only five of them altogether. When Zoey enters along with Simon, several sets of eyes glance up at them, Rita’s cruel, green orbs holding the longest before she sneers and returns her attention to her plate. Sherell and Penny, the two women on either side of her, give Zoey only a cool glare, though Penny’s gaze never fails to make Zoey squirm internally no matter where she is. It’s as if the other woman is dissecting her with her eyes, taking pieces of her off and enjoying it.

Zoey moves past the table to where the plates are kept warm beneath low-hanging lights. There are three meals left sitting on the steel serving tray, hers separated by nearly three feet from Simon’s and Abe’s. Her plate and bowl are red, while the Clerics’ are dark gray. She picks up her food without really looking at it, knowing it will be the same mixture of vegetables, the same pallid oat cereal, the same purified water that’s so clean it is as tasteless as air.

Zoey sits down beside Lily, the smallest and youngest of them at only sixteen. Lily has a spoon in one hand and a fork in the other. She is struggling to bring the cereal to her mouth. Her hand shakes, and most of it slides off into her bowl. A spray of frizzy, light brown hair obscures the right side of her face. No one has helped her tie it back today.

“Good morning, Lily,” Zoey says.

Lily shifts awkwardly on the stool, one shoulder raised above the other. When she sees Zoey she smiles, drawing up the features that appear smeared on her face. One of her eyes lazes to the side.

“Hi, Zee,” she says enthusiastically. “Hi,” she adds, leaning forward, still smiling. There is cereal stuck to the corners of her mouth and bits clinging to her loose hair. Zoey returns her smile before throwing a deep look of hate at Steven, Lily’s Cleric. He stares back at her from the opposite end of the table before taking a long drink of water.

Zoey returns her attention to Lily, wiping her hair clean first before dabbing at her mouth. Lily laughs quietly and bangs one hand on the table.

“Will you shut that retard up?” Rita says, without looking away from her plate. Zoey glances at the bigger woman. “It makes me sick watching her eat.”

Zoey opens her mouth to say something, but Crispin, the guard on duty, steps forward, putting a gloved hand on the table. “I won’t allow that kind of talk,” he rumbles, his baritone voice coming from deep in his chest. Rita glances at him, giving him a smirk before pushing a lank tendril of her red hair behind one ear. Zoey quivers with rage but nods a thank-you to Crispin as he steps back, tucking his thumbs beneath the wide leather belt he wears across his uniform.

“Don’t listen to her,” Zoey whispers to Lily as she strips off an extra elastic band from her wrist. Lily doesn’t look at her but blinks rapidly and begins to wave her fingers in front of her face. Zoey gently ties the girl’s hair back, smoothing it from her brow before helping her eat the last of her cereal. When Lily’s done, Zoey starts on her own food.

“You aren’t going to have time to finish eating now,” says a voice from across the table.

Zoey looks up at Meeka, who is leaning casually on one elbow, her hand propped beneath her jaw. Meeka’s slanted, almond-shaped eyes are almost black, matching her hair. Today her tresses descend from her sharp widow’s peak and hang down on either side of her oval face.

“I don’t care,” Zoey says, taking a bite of carrot. The vegetable snaps between her teeth.

“You will when they haul you up to the infirmary for being malnourished and plug you into one of the feeding machines. I mean, look at you. If you fell down in the hallway, you’d slip under a door.”

“Like you have any room to talk,” Zoey says. “You weigh about five pounds more than I do.”

“Yeah, but it’s pure muscle, and you know it.” Zoey can’t help but smile.

“Meeka,” says Thomas, her Cleric, from where he’s finishing his meal. “That’s enough.”

“We’re still allowed to talk to one another, right? Or did they add that to the list of the damn rules while we were all sleeping?” Meeka’s voice rises, and all heads in the room turn toward her.

“Meeka . . .” Thomas begins, standing partially from his seat.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Stow it, or I’ll get tossed in the box.” She rolls her eyes at Zoey and pulls a face for Lily that makes her laugh again and begin to rock on her stool. Thomas grumbles something and returns to his seat.

“You are going to get yourself time in there if you keep up your attitude,” Zoey says. “You can only push them so far.”

“When was the last time someone got sent to the box? Hmm? I’ll tell you. It was over a year ago, right before Halie was inducted. Remember how she quit eating and they force-fed her up in the infirmary?”

Zoey sets her fork down, suddenly not hungry anymore. “Yeah, I remember.”

“When she attacked that guard, they tossed her in the box for two days. You remember what she looked like when she came out?”

Zoey meets Meeka’s hard gaze, and her jaw clenches. “Yes, I do. You can stop.”

“It looked like something had burned out in her head. Like whatever happened to her in there was beyond terrible. She never spoke again before they inducted her.”

“I remember!” Zoey nearly yells. Lily jumps and puts her hands to her
ears, rocking harder on the stool. Zoey glances around, meeting Simon’s frown. He shakes his head once. “I’m sorry,” she says before picking up her tray to dump the food, mostly untouched, into the large garbage bin beside the shuttered serving window. A short chime intones from all of the speakers mounted throughout the ARC. It echoes down the empty corridors and vacant rooms, and the women rise along with the Clerics.

Meeka takes a step toward Zoey but hesitates and continues through the doorway and into the hall. Steven assists Lily with her tray and helps lead her out as well, her hitching gait making Zoey’s throat tighten as it always does. Simon appears at Zoey’s side but says nothing, waiting as she looks down at the floor, until the lunchroom is silent once again.

“Okay. Let’s go,” she finally says.

The lecture hall is on the same floor as the cafeteria and is equally large. It is centered in the building so that it has no windows to distract from the lessons. The footsteps of the women echo as they file in, the space meant for so many more bodies. The emptiness of it holds a disappointing air as if the room itself is disgusted with their lack of numbers.

The Clerics take seats near the door while the women cross the room to where a makeshift partition has been set up. The sound-deadening boards that make up the walls of their cubicle stretch nearly to the fifteen-foot ceilings. Inside the space is still enough room for at least fifty desks, but only six wait for them near the very front. Zoey pauses as she rounds the corner, unable to keep her eyes from traveling to the place where Terra’s desk has sat for as long as she can remember. Now there is only a stark void, four abrasions on the floor the only sign that anything has ever rested there.

Zoey takes her seat directly in front of the empty spot, all the while trying to ignore the absence at her back that is like a chill wind.

Miss Gwen is at her desk, as usual. She smiles at them all as they file past like this is the first day she’s ever met them. She is a pretty woman, perhaps in her late forties, with dirty blonde hair and a short forehead above hazel eyes tucked behind dark-rimmed glasses. Her cheeks are round and always red, as if she has either been outside in brisk weather or just heard some bit of inflammatory gossip. Zoey knows it is neither.

When they are all seated, Miss Gwen continues to smile at them for another moment before standing and rounding her long, old desk that looks to be from another era when everything wasn’t made of plastic or concrete. She wears her usual dress, the same color as their own clothes. It reaches down below her knees, stopping above her flat-soled shoes. The smile on the instructor’s face is as artificial as the plants that adorn the hallways in some places.

“Good morning,” Miss Gwen says.

“Good morning, Miss Gwen,” the women reply in unison, except for Meeka. She hasn’t said good morning to the instructor in two weeks. Lily makes an excited sound from the back row where she’s been placed, and Miss Gwen’s smile falters. There is a tinge of disdain in her eyes as Lily quiets, so quick that Zoey’s not sure if any of the others even notice.

“How are we this morning?” the instructor asks.

“Very well, thank you,” they intone again. Miss Gwen beams.

“We will all rise now and recite the creed.”

There is a shuffling of feet, and all the women stand. The instructor returns to the side of her desk, picking up a narrow, wooden pointer and jabbing it at a brass plaque affixed to the wall.

They begin to recite the words, none of them needing to read what is etched into the brass and inlaid with black paint.

“We are of the greater good. We live for the chance to rebuild the world that is no longer. We are one in our knowledge and stand steady before the challenges that face us. We give thanks for our shelter and for the guidance of the Director. We will not stray from the path.”

Miss Gwen smiles at them and taps the separate list of words below the creed, each line numbered and set in bold, capital print. They begin to speak again.

“The greater good is more important than any one life. We obey the Director and his edicts. We do not disobey the Clerics or the guards, for their words are the Director’s. We will not make a decision lightly, for
everything we do affects everyone else. If we break a rule, the woman clos
est to us will receive the same punishment as the offender. For we are never
alone. All of the commune that is left of the world depends upon us.”

“Very good. Your voices are so beautiful together. You may sit,” Miss
Gwen says. They all slide into their chairs. Zoey notices Meeka looking at
her, but when she turns to meet her gaze she sees that Meeka’s eyes rest not
on her, but the vacant space where Terra’s desk used to be. Meeka looks back to the front of the lecture hall. After a moment Zoey follows suit.

“Now, before we continue,” Miss Gwen says. “I’m sure you’re all aware that this is a very special day for one of us. As you know, it is Terra’s twenty-first birthday today and she will be inducted into the Program this afternoon. This is momentous because it’s been over a year now since Halie left us for the safe zone with her parents.” Miss Gwen clasps her hands before her and shivers. “Soon all of us will be there with them and as sad as it will be to leave our home here, it will be an unparalleled occasion! I hope you’ve all reflected on how to say goodbye to Terra in your own way this afternoon and take comfort in knowing that soon it will be your turn to travel with the Director as well.” She gazes at them all, hesitating for a brief moment on Meeka’s stony profile before nodding. “Now, if we can all open our texts to chapter twenty-two, page one hundred three.”

There is a rattle and thump as the desks open and each woman pulls out the single textbook inside. The books are hardcovers and glossy black. The silver letters N, O, and A in the center shine as Zoey flips to the correct page. “Now. Who would like to read first?” Miss Gwen says, as if it is the greatest honor she can think of. Lily’s hand rises immediately, and she breathes heavily through her nose. Zoey watches a look of disgust ripple across Miss Gwen’s pretty features before she shifts her attention to Penny, who raises her hand nonchalantly, her bobbed, greasy hair swinging above her narrow shoulders.

“I will, Miss Gwen,” Penny says.

“Excellent, Penny. You may begin.”

Lily lowers her hand, blinking, and begins to run her fingers over the text of the page as if she is reading through them. Zoey stares at Miss Gwen’s frozen smile and has the insatiable urge to run forward and drive the older woman into the wall hard enough to break her back, crack her skull—anything to wipe that incessant grin off her face.

“The Dearth,” Penny reads from the chapter heading. “Late in the year two thousand sixteen, a noticeable drop in female births became apparent across the globe. At first it was by only several percent but soon after, in mid–two thousand seventeen, the rate dropped to well below half of the previous year’s. By fall of the year two thousand eighteen, despite an unprecedented, scientific undertaking by the National Obstetric Alliance, female births were recorded at less than one in one hundred million.

“During this time, a rebel force consisting of several militant groups rose up against the United States government as well as the National Obstetric Alliance and waged open war on those that were trying to find a cure for the Dearth, see chapter forty-three for more information on the rebellion. For three years a civil war unlike any the world had seen before raged until an astonishing discovery was made. NOA scientists pinpointed the source of the Dearth as a singular virus that attacks embryonic nucleotides within pairings of X chromosomes, thus halting the births of females. This same virus then mutated and became deadly to all who encountered it. The greatest nation, and soon the world, became plague-ridden and fell into complete and utter chaos.”