The Apocalypse Blog
by Melanie Edmonds

Despite all of Simon’s hard work, Clancy slipped away from us today. His shoulder started bleeding again and we couldn’t stop it. Before we knew what had happened, he was pale and fading, and there was a red puddle growing on the floor. Then he just stopped.

Simon, Peter, and I were quiet for a moment after we realised he was gone. I felt like I should say something but nothing would come out – my mind was as blank as his eyes. Simon nodded to us and straightened his thin shoulders, then went to tell the injured resting up in the main room. They had all worked with Clancy and were his friends, andd I don’t envy him the job of breaking the news. I drew the blood-soaked sheet over the dead man’s face, trying to ignore his eyes, and strained to hear the fallout out there.

There was barely a peep. It was creepy – the murmur of Simon’s voice carried through the closed door and then there was nothing. I knew it wasn’t a surprise to them – the medic wasn’t expecting Clancy to last this long – but I thought there would be a reaction. It seemed like they just sucked it up like bitter medicine.

The patients were quieter than usual when I came out of Clancy’s side room. A couple of them were well enough to head back to the dorms, and they were promising to pass the news on. There was a weight on the room, pressing words down into a hush and keeping glances on the floor. I saw one fella cross himself and another spat over the side of his bed.

It was more than just losing Clancy. They’ve been like this since the roof came down – this death has made it worse, darker. The morose feeling is palpable now; sometimes it gets so thick that it’s hard to breathe.

They wouldn’t say much to me, so I went outside to get some air. After the cloy of blood and the atmosphere in there, even the low orange sky was a relief. Jonah was out there, standing watch, and scowled when I stepped outside. I waggled a hand at him and leant against the wall, assuring him that I wasn’t going anywhere.

“Did you hear?” I asked him. I could feel the sky lowering as the cutout’s expression darkened. I took that to mean ‘yes’. “I’m really sorry.”

“I didn’t know him that well.”

“Oh. You just seemed– something wrong?”

“I’m fine.”

“It’s not the first time something like this has happened, is it?”

Jonah speared a glance at me, weighing my worth against his distrust of me. “Yeah. Couple of accidents before this one.” Apparently, he didn’t think there was any danger in telling me.

“Like what?”

“Truck lost control and took out a wall, destroyed a month’s worth of parts. Then a fire gutted a building – only reason it stopped was the rain.”

I’ve seen a shell of a building with blackened walls, out towards the far edge of the compound – that must be the one that burnt. “Sounds pretty bad. Were many hurt?”

Jonah shook his head slowly. “Not like this. Minor stuff.” He glanced at me and then frowned at the door to the boys’ dorm across the courtyard. “No-one died.”

“Yeah, it’s awful.” I feel like I should be more used to it by now, but I still couldn’t shake the look on Clancy’s face after he was gone. I rubbed my arms as if I could drub the feel of it off me.

“Yeah. And each time, we get set back.”

“With the Converter?”

Jonah nodded and kicked a heel at the ground. The gesture made him look like a kid wearing grown-up shoes, and for a second, I was tempted to straighten his collar.

Jonah seemed more disturbed by the whole business than he wanted to share, so I left him alone after that. I have to admit that it seems strange. I’m not superstitious – I don’t believe that these things come in threes, or that there’s some kind of curse. There has to be more to it than that, or possibly a lot less.

I’m hoping for the latter, but a part of me can’t help seeing the former. What happened to me to make me so paranoid? Or is it cynicism?

Matt came to the infirmary to have his leg checked today. Simon says it’s doing fine – just needs time to heal fully and for Matt to stay off it as much as possible.

When I heard he was coming in, my heart beat all out of time, thudding against my breastbone. I’ve never been nervous to see my best friend before – I didn’t get the chance after our last brush with intimacy, way back in the time Before, because the bomb went off so soon after. It took me a moment to realise how scared I was.

I felt like a little girl with a crush, desperate to see that spark of acknowledgement and reciprocation in his expression. Wondering if he’d even meet my eye, or laugh it off as if it was nothing. It didn’t feel like nothing. At the time, the kiss was like a sigh we’d been holding in for a long time. Now that we’ve had a chance to draw breath again, what do we do with it all?

I hovered in the background while Simon checked Matt’s healing stab wound and busied myself with changing the dressing on the arm of a middle-aged man who got caught in the roof collapse. Then I was finished and Simon was wandering off to do something else, and there wasn’t any avoiding it any more.

I walked over to Matt, but while my legs were working, my tongue had abandoned me. I looked at him and had no idea what to say beyond a pathetic, “Hi.”

He didn’t seem to have trouble speaking. He asked how I was and how things had been here. If I was all right after losing a patient. All those things that friends talk about when they catch up. I found my voice enough to answer. I felt like there was a neon sign over our heads and we were talking about the weather. There was a smile lurking around Matt’s expression and a slide to his gaze that suggested he felt it too.

“I hear you’ve been keeping busy,” I said. Even Jonah was sporting shorter, neater hair since the discovery of a hairdresser in our midst.

Matt grinned and I saw my mischievous friend from the time Before. “I have. It’s all your fault, y’know. You started a trend.” He gestured to his own hair, which I’m sure is neater than when I had finished cutting it. He probably fixed it as soon as he had access to scissors and a mirror.

“And I haven’t even got to enjoy it. You do do girls, right?” The question was out before I could censor myself and my mouth formed a little ‘o’, as if it might be able to take the words back.

I don’t know if it was the phrasing or my expression that made Matt laugh. “Sometimes, but I’ll always make an exception for you. Come on.”

And off he hobbled to one of the side rooms. I followed him, not quite sure what we were talking about any more, and sat where he asked me to. He fussed around my head, leaning on his crutch with the ease of practice, and let his usual patter fall around us. Do I want this or that, it could look cute like this. If he had gel, he could make this bit stand up – maybe we could make do with something else like in that movie. I poked him for that.

I closed my eyes and let him do whatever he wanted. It was the old Matt. The friend who fixed my hair when I got to parties, undoing the wind’s work, and rescued me after my dyeing disasters. He tidied me up and made me feel pretty. I haven’t felt pretty in a long time, among the dirt and the grime.

When he was done fussing over me, I stood up and thanked him with a hug. He wobbled, so I made him sit down, but he didn’t want to let me go. He had a hand on my cheek and I couldn’t move away.

“What are we doing?” I asked.

“I dunno. What we want?” he suggested.

Could it really be that simple? It felt that simple as he wound his fingers through mine.

I looked down at our hands. My head couldn’t hold it all. My oldest friend, the one who knows that I ate worms when I was nine to drive my mother up the wall, who knows about each boy I’ve been with, each success and failure. And I know about his habits, his encounters, the few times he’s got close enough to someone else to get hurt and how badly they ended. Here we were, tangling up with each other. It was crazy and I was bursting with it.

The next thing I knew, we were kissing and winding in close. It was good, and right, and made my heart race.

The clatter of the door yanked us apart and Simon stopped abruptly to stare at us. He said something cutting and left again. The slam made me jump, but Matt was grinning. Then we giggled like kids and I was at home.

Today, it was hard to keep from smiling – my cheeks itched every time I tried to hold it back. It feels like things might actually work out, like there’s a weight lifted off Haven. Or perhaps it’s just me. Nothing has changed, nothing concrete. But now I have something – someone – warm and beautiful. Together, we belong. That makes all the difference in the world.

More of the injured returned to the dorms today, leaving only two still in our care. Draskill, the cutout with the broken shoulder, is still in a lot of pain. He’s white with it a lot of the time, though he has enough pride to hold back complaints. Pauly is a die-hard mechanic with tattoos like intricate sleeves stitched under his skin. He has internal injuries that Simon is unhappy about, but is holding his own. Liberal use of antiseptic and fresh dressings seems to have fended off any more infections so far.

Outside in the compound, the rebuilding is underway. All of the teams have been drafted in to help – only the sick, small, or injured are exempt, along with those of us caring for them. They’re picking up the pieces and salvaging what they can from the wreckage. There’s something heartening in that, in the silent determination to keep going despite the hurdles and setbacks. We’ll make it in the end.

There are still grumbles. Even the cutouts have dark expressions as they work; as Matt said, they’re fellas too. They’re as prone to superstition and pessimism as the rest of us. It’s easy to believe in the black when it feels close to us all the time.

I suspect that there’s something in the rumours and fears. Nothing supernatural; I think it’s more mundane than that. There’s no denying the pattern and the only reason that no-one is crying foul play is that it doesn’t make any sense. Why would anyone attack their best chance for survival? Even if someone was that malicious, the cutouts would have posted guards over the Converter and scoured the place for culprits. There hasn’t been a whisper of it. It was the acid, they said. An accident.

It shines a curious light on the cutouts and the General. I don’t think that the General has as much control as he would like us to believe, but I also think that if something is going on, he knows about it. I just can’t fathom why he’d hide a problem like this, why he hasn’t solved it by now.

I wonder if I can get to see him tomorrow, while the rain falls. They’re starting to get wise to my little tactic now, so maybe I should go earlier and see if he’ll talk to me willingly.

Maybe I should go tonight. I feel so light that he can’t possibly say no to me. I itch, to smile, to spin, to run down and find Matt. Or to request answers from the General. Some options are nicer than others, but I’ll take what I can get right now.

Yesterday, I forgot about Jonah. All caught up in my own determination, I didn’t give a single thought to the chain lashed to my leg.

When I cheerfully went to head to the admin building after the rain, he planted himself in front of me and asked where I was going. I gaped at him like a guppy and told the truth on reflex – I was going to see the General.

“He doesn’t see anyone this late,” the cutout said with an edge to his voice that wanted to end the conversation right there.

“Not even if it’s an emergency?”

“Except if it’s an emergency. Is it?”

I didn’t think I could pull off a convincing lie, so I didn’t try. I couldn’t think of anything suitably emergency-like to use beyond ‘we’re almost out of bandages’.

“I just really need to talk to him. It’s important,” I said.

Jonah was unmoved. “You have to return to the dorm now.”

I thought about asking if I could visit Matt instead, but that would have flown as well as a crumpled paper aeroplane, so I didn’t bother. Back to the dorm with me it was.

Today, Jonah was watching me much closer than usual. If it wasn’t his eyes making the back of my neck prickle, it was nurse Peter’s. I don’t know if it was coincidence or if they’re double-teaming me, but it was annoying. Every time I looked around, one of them was there.

Dad swung by for dinner and that gave me some relief. He’s still allowed to do that, despite my close cutout monitor. When I asked him how he was able to come, he just shrugged and said they had no reason to keep him away. And why shouldn’t he be allowed to see his daughter? Someone has to try to keep me in line.

Like they’re not already trying. I didn’t mention that; he knows well enough already. But maybe his visits are a reason for my relatively mild punishment.

I asked him about the Converter. What it’s supposed to do, how it’s supposed to work. He shrugged and said he didn’t know; it was a different mechanical team and they didn’t share that kind of information. But his expression gave something away – it clamped down the way it did when he didn’t want to talk about something. He was holding back something he didn’t want me to know. He used to look like that when I mentioned my mother in the months after she left us.

I never pressed him about my mother. He was hurt so badly when she left and I didn’t feel like I should pry. It was between the two of them and that’s where he wanted it to stay. I tried to respect that.

But this is bigger than us and I’m a different girl. If my mother came up in conversation now, I’d probably press him about that, too, because we might not have time to get to it later. So I didn’t let him get away with claiming ignorance; he knew something and I wanted to know what it was.

“It’s nothing, Faithy,” is all he said.

It’s not like Dad to refuse me like that, even if he did it with a note of sadness. Normally he would give in when he saw that I was determined about something. When he wouldn’t do that this time, I got upset and gave up. I had to bite my tongue against saying something we’d both regret; instead, an awkward silence descended. I wasn’t sure what to say next and Dad isn’t the most verbose person in the whole world, so we finished our dinners in silence.

What kind of secret would he hold back like that? From me? It must be important for him to keep it to himself. It makes a trickle of fear sneak up my spine – what would be so big, or so bad? Maybe he just doesn’t know what I can handle these days.

Besides, he’s not the only one who knows; I’ll just have to get it out of the General. As soon as I figure out how to get to him.

For the past few days, I’ve been trying to think of a way to get to the General. I have considered many ways to escape Jonah’s watchfulness, though they made me feel guilty in advance; I didn’t want to get him in trouble. He has been good to me when he didn’t have to be and I don’t have anything against him. I even tried asking him to take me to the admin building a couple of times, but he shook his head and said that I had to stay in my designated areas – the infirmary and the dorms, with brief trips to the mess hall.

It was so frustrating. The General is so close but I can’t get to him. There’s something going on that no-one will talk about, and it just killed three men. One of the survivors might never use his arm again. There are fresh stains on the infirmary floor, none of them pleasant. We’re running out of disinfectant to scrub away the smell with.

Then suddenly, there he was, right here in the infirmary: the General, in his neatly-pressed uniform with its shiny buttons and impressive epaulettes. He looks so neat until you get up close and see the frayed threads. He was talking with the patients quietly when I saw him, patting shoulders and hands reassuringly. I thought his hair looked greyer since I’d seen him last, the ageing creeping out from his temples to swathe his whole head.

My pulse juddered uncertainly as I went to position myself close to the doors. I wasn’t going to interrupt him – the two injured fellas, Draskill and Pauly, seemed heartened by whatever he was saying to them – but I wasn’t going to let him leave easily either.

As it turned out, I didn’t need to ambush him and demand his attention. He stopped in front of me and looked me squarely in the eye, with a sharpness to his gaze that made me self-conscious. I restrained the urge to tug my shirt straighter or glance away.

“I hear you want to talk to me,” he said. Straight to the point – I like that.

“Yeah, I do. Probably not in public, though.” He had his usual escort of cutouts with him, a grim-faced man behind either shoulder. And I didn’t want Draskill and Pauly to hear what we were talking about. Those guys need to heal up.

The General gave me an assessing look – the kind that makes my skin crawl uncomfortably – and waved his escort away. We moved off to the side of the room, but not out of it. It meant I had to make an effort to keep my voice down, just between us. I was nervous – I had gone over how I’d approach this a hundred times, but it still felt like a test I was about to fail. I took a breath and grabbed hold of my courage, and opted to just dive right in there and see which way the tide was flowing today.

“I want to know why you’re not doing anything about the sabotage,” I said. My courage sat on the back of my tongue, waiting to see if it had to run and hide.

The General’s eyes narrowed and demanded to know what I was talking about. So I told him what I knew: that this wasn’t the first time the Converter had been damaged, and each disaster in this place seemed to involve it. At least, the ones I knew about.

“I don’t believe in curses or that God is doing this,” I said. “It’s being done on purpose, and it’s killing people.”

His expression clamped down, trying to shut off the conversation right there, but I caught a glimpse of something that stabbed ice into my belly. It was so much more – so much worse – than I had assumed. The pieces shifted in my head into a pattern, a sickening picture that I didn’t want to look at. The whole room got darker.

That was when my dad’s words rang in my head, carried on his sadness. “It’s nothing, Faithy.”

I thought he had been fobbing me off, but he had been telling me the truth. It was so obvious. The Converter was nothing: an illusion. The roof collapse was keeping the citizens of Oz from seeing the curtain that hid the wizard. The General didn’t just know about the sabotage; he ordered it.

My mouth opened but nothing came out. In hindsight, that was probably a good thing – who knows what kind of trouble I would have got myself in if I had been capable of forming words at that moment.

“They were accidents,” the General said, biting off the words precisely. He leaned in closer to me and I suddenly realised how big he is: as tall as Thorpe and almost as wide. I’m tiny next to him, and I felt it. “Nothing more. Do yourself a favour, Faith. Leave it alone. You’ll only end up hurting yourself if you push this. Do you understand?”

I stared at the General like a horrified rabbit and nodded. Usually, I’m the first one to speak when others can’t; this time, it was me who couldn’t make a sound.

His heel squeaked when he turned and stalked off, tugging his escort along with an imperious gesture. I could feel my heart thumping out of time with his boots as he stomped out of the infirmary.

I wish I had pushed him. I wish I had made him explain to me what the hell he thinks he’s doing, setting this thing up and then tearing apart its edges so that no-one can see the whole thing. Once anyone sees the Converter, they’ll know it won’t work and this whole place will come crashing down around us.

If I had pushed him, I think he would have had me killed to keep his secret. I think he still will, if he thinks I’m a danger to his project.

I remember the look on the General’s face when he told me about the other bases when I visited his office last. He told me how they imploded and tore themselves apart, one by one. Matt told me that cutouts are just men; their discipline is thinner than anyone would like to admit. Give them a little of what they want and they’ll accept the rules and the restrictions; letting them become unhappy is dangerous for everyone.

I thought that was just about sex, but it’s so much more. This whole place is a construct of compromises and lies designed to keep people just happy enough to stop them rebelling. There’s no truth in any of it. There’s no future here. Any real hope was left out in the rain long ago.

The question now is: what do I dare to do about it?

After yesterday’s realisation, I’ve been walking in a fugue of uncertainty. I couldn’t decide what to think next, about anything, which leant the world an unreal feel. I caught myself trailing fingertips over objects as if checking their solidity.

It was the perfect night for the girls to tell me it was my turn to entertain the men. In the dark hours after the rain, three of them came to my bunk: Nadine, a young woman with a scar marring her left cheek; Lavinia, showing each of her sixty-some years in tough-tanned lines and crow’s feet; and the matronly woman who called herself Mama Prusco. Ranged behind them, and listening more than they were letting on, were the rest of the women.

Their message was simple. I had been in Haven long enough to know how and why things work. I had had my chance to settle in and take advantage of the gifts available here. Now it was time to give back and take part in the things that make Haven work.

I almost laughed in their faces. I almost asked them if they knew that Haven was barely working at all and there would come a time when all their offered comfort wouldn’t save them. It was tempting; I wanted to tear all of it down. I wanted to show the bones of what they were protecting, harsh and bare.

I had to clamp my jaw shut to stop the words from falling out. I knew I’d say too much of all the wrong things. I let them talk, I let them start to explain to me how it wasn’t that bad – the men were grateful and usually very considerate. I could have fun, too. They had no idea at all.

“I understand what you’re doing,” I said at last. It was enough to make them stop and listen. “And I admire your courage for being able to do it. But I can’t. I’m sorry, but the answer is no.”

They weren’t used to being refused so firmly, or so calmly. They had been expecting histrionics but I couldn’t bring myself to be that upset about it. I didn’t want to do it when I thought Haven meant something, and there was no way I was going to give up that part of myself for a lie.

Besides, I had something – someone – better.

They started to argue with me. I told them no, and then Jersey came over and told them to back off. That prompted Mama Prusco to turn to the girl in the next bunk over from mine and ask if she was finally ready. That’s when I got angry with them.

Iona, the girl in the next bunk, is of an indeterminate age between sixteen and twenty-five. Something broke in her when the bombs went off, leaving her unhinged from the world and vague in her responses. She smiles easily and wishes she had flowers to tuck into our hair, we’d look so pretty. Last night, she was murmuring to herself about a field of glass and the pretty flowers when Mama Prusco turned to her.

I got in the way and so did Jersey. Iona barely understood a simple question; she certainly couldn’t understand what was going on with the men and it was cruel to try. Putting her in that position would be rape.

Nadine blamed me. If I would just go along and do my duty, then they wouldn’t need to ask Iona. I wasn’t going to let them bully or blackmail me into it, and I told them so in short, sharp words. If she was so regretful, she could go pleasure the men herself. Jersey looked like she wanted to punch one of them in the face; I think if they had pushed any further, she would have.

The trio backed down and grumbled off to find another ‘volunteer’. I checked on Tia to find that she had been wise enough to make herself scarce while they were looking. The wariness in her glance makes me wonder if she wasn’t always so quick to hide from this; it was a little too knowing for my liking.

Part of me wonders if I’m being foolish. Is this really something to get so wound up about? But the thought of doing what they want me to do makes my stomach roll over uncomfortably. And then there’s Matt. I just can’t find a good reason to do it and plenty to make me say no.

I don’t know who they took in my place. I think they’ll ask me again tonight if they find me. I’m in the back cupboard here, posting instead.

Screw them. Screw their deal and their hungry men. I’m not going to give in to their pressure. They’re not having a piece of me or my friends, not if I can help it.

Things are quiet at the moment, but not comfortably so. The infirmary has one less patient – Pauly’s internal injuries have been deemed not so serious and Simon sent him back to the dorms. That leaves just Draskill with his broken shoulder, and he’s no trouble. He’s dosed most of the time or playing cards with Peter.

In the dorms, I’m being shunned. The other Seekers talk to me, and disturbed Iona talks to anyone. Everyone else is keeping their distance – nothing overt, but there is a distinct bubble where I walk. Jersey gets away with refusing to play ball because she helps protect the girls, but I have no such kudos to trade on.

I can see now why Tia caved. She made friends quickly here, and having them go cold on her would have hurt her badly. She wanted to be accepted and they are making the price for that perfectly clear. Like a kid bullied at school, she gave up her lunch money and now hunger is gnawing at her belly.

I feel responsible. Trevor asked me to look out for her but I’ve hardly been here for her. There was Dad, and Matt, and everything at the infirmary to deal with – but they’re just excuses. I should have been here. I don’t know what I could have done – I might have been able to support her when she came under pressure.

At first, I thought about getting upset. They are breaking us down, one by one. Fitting us into this uncomfortable Haven mould. Lines are being drawn around me, separating me from friends, from potential friends, from having the kind of life I can live with. Every door is being slammed in my face, and the more I see of the room I’m stuck in, the more tarnished and fake it is.

I didn’t get upset. Not a tear for how this place is turning out. I’m sick of it. I’m tired of being disappointed by an institution that is supposed to be our hope and salvation. I’m fed up of them making me feel bad because I don’t want to play their compromising games. I’ve had enough.

I don’t know what I’m going to do yet. I have to do something, but there are a lot of factors to consider. Men, guns. Food, shelter. My dad, my friends, Matt. I have a lot to lose and a lot to work out. I just wish I knew where to start.

Today, I woke up looking forward to my day at the infirmary. With all of the tensions and sharp sideways looks, it’s nice to be out of the dorms and away from the other women. There’s only Draskill to care for and he’s getting stronger every day, so my days are mostly trying to clean equipment. Rubber gloves and try to use as little disinfectant as possible, please.

A new patient arrived around mid-morning. One of the kids was brought into the infirmary with a fever and a cough. I remember hearing that cough in other throats. A quick check of the little girl turned up a splashed scar on her calf that looked like it was made by acid.

My stomach was like a small, cold stone when I saw the scar. Her name is Debbie. She has beautiful red hair that glows in the orange-tinted sunlight. In a few days, she’ll be dead.

As I was tucking her into a bed, my mind went to a Rat-infested mall we visited once upon a time. There was a room full of sick kids, all coughing and overheated by an internal fire. One of them travelled with us for a while, poor Alice with only half a face. We never saw them afterwards, but I don’t think any of them made it.

Then I thought about the kids we left behind at the University – Estebar and Nugget. How are they now? Has either of them been burned yet? Have they fallen prey to the Sickness, or its resulting shamblers? I wish I dared to steal a radio so I could call them and find out. I want to know that they’re okay.

I can’t bear the thought of such a small thing as a shambler. All that promise turned into gnawing hunger that breaks itself, ruining its perfect potential. I wanted to ask Simon if he would chain Debbie in the basement when she finally turns. I wanted to ask him if he had chains small enough for that. I didn’t dare form the words in case he had an answer for me.

There are only a handful of kids here – I don’t know how many, but it’s not enough. With so little to look forward to, so few of us left, each young life means so much more than they used to. Children were always precious, and in the After we’re all aware of how much we need them if we’re going to cling to any form of future. But we can’t save this one. She’s only just getting Sick, but there’s nothing we can do. We offer small comforts in this last journey of hers because it’s all we have.

It tears at me every time I smile and force cheerfulness out of my lips for her. She’s six years old and her name is Debbie. The Sickness is just starting to take hold of her. In a few days, she’ll be dead and I wish I didn’t know her name.

Today started about as well as can be expected and then slid downhill at a dizzying pace. Debbie is still Sick, though Simon is unwilling to diagnose her. It could just be flu, he said. We can’t know for sure yet. I wish I shared his cautious hope.

As I was heading towards the infirmary’s storeroom this afternoon, I caught sight of Matt. Simon was checking his leg and seemed to be nodding. Just the sight of my best friend made me feel lighter. Warmth blushed in my chest as I busied myself, wondering if ‘best friend’ is really what I should be calling him now and waiting for him to come free.

The next thing I knew, he was heading for the door. I hurried after him; his head was down and I had to call his name three times before he stopped. His face was taut with a fixed look to it that scared me; it closed him off and I wasn’t used to that from him.

I thought he must have had bad news from Simon. Maybe he’d never get rid of the limp, maybe something else had gone wrong. I touched his wrist and asked him what Simon had said to make him so upset.

“Nothing,” he said. It was so hard to read his eyes. “My leg’s going to be fine.”

“Then what is it? What’s wrong?”

“I know what you did.” He spat the words at me and at first I thought he was angry. My fingers fell away from his arm. “Derek told us all about it.” Not angry: hurt.

“Derek?” I was so lost. I don’t know a Derek.

“The one you were with last night.”

Panic started to claw at the inside of my abdomen. I had no idea what he was talking about; the only fella I spent any time with last night was Jonah, when he escorted me back to the dorms. When I said that, Matt scowled and went to push past me towards the door. I had to latch onto him and beg him to stop before he’d even look at me. By then, we were causing such a fuss that everyone in the infirmary was staring at us, even little Debbie down the far end.

I had to plead with him and practically drag him into an exam room so that we could have some kind of privacy. I saw Peter smirking before the door closed, but I was too scared to make much of it just then. I was losing the best thing to happen to me since I discovered my dad was alive and well, and I wasn’t sure that I could get it back.

It took some prying to get the story out of Matt. He didn’t attack me with it; he was upset and hurt, but he wasn’t angry with me. I think that made it worse.

This fella named Derek had come back to the dorm after the nightly ‘entertainment’ visit and boasted about what he’d been up to. He’d used my name, said all kinds of things about how much fun he’d had and in what positions. In some detail, by the sound of it; Matt wouldn’t repeat most of it.

It was the last part that brought tears to my eyes. “It’s not like we made any promises to each other,” he said. He couldn’t look at me. “I know how things work here.”

He thought I would actually do it. He was excusing it. He thought he had no right to be angry with me, because we had barely started being together. It was hard to tell which part hurt most.

“We might not have made any promises out loud, but that doesn’t mean they’re not there,” I said. My voice was thick and it was hard to push the words past the lump in my throat. “Matt, I love you. I’d never do that to you. Never. You know that.” Not after what Cody did to me. Not after what I thought Ben did. I know how that betrayal feels, so it’s the last thing I’d do to someone I cared about.

I kept speaking, afraid to stop in case he said he didn’t believe me. It wasn’t me. This Derek was lying, or mistaken. Maybe someone put him up to it. Maybe one of the girls lied to him, knowing what it would do. But it wasn’t me. I was being ostracised because I had refused to take part in it. I had no proof to offer him except words and what he knows of me already, and that felt so thin.

By the time I stumbled to a stop, we were standing a few inches apart and both had damp cheeks. My hands were cradling his head, in case that would make him hear me better, wanting to hold onto at least a small part of him. Wanting to stop him from turning away from me and leaving me so alone. He hadn’t looked at me since we had come into the room and I so desperately wanted to know he believed even a little of what I was saying.

“Have you?” I asked him suddenly, not knowing where else to go. “With anyone?”

It was enough to make him meet my eyes. “No.”

I clung to his gaze; I wasn’t sure which of us was drowning, but if I could hold on, we’d both be able to breathe. “Please, Matt. Don’t let them do this to us. It’s not true.”

He closed his eyes and bowed his head towards me. There it was: the sign I was waiting for. He believed me; finally, he dared to let himself believe in me. “When I heard him, I nearly–”

“I know,” I told him. I remembered how it felt when your whole world tips and everything is stained with uncertainty and lies. I didn’t want any more words; I wanted to make it up to him, make him feel better, make him understand how strongly I feel about all of this. So I lifted my lips up to his.

Once we had latched on, we couldn’t let go. Cold, sickening doubt burst into sudden heat. The roil of released emotions burned through us with an intensity that made my head spin. There were only feelings between us; it was all about hands and mouths and bared skin. Giving ourselves up to each other and snatching desperate breaths. Holding on so tight we left marks.

I don’t remember how or when we wound up on the floor, but that’s where we were when it was over, tangled and shivering. I tucked my face in against his neck and didn’t want to let him go.

After we’d stopped shaking, we talked a little. I was worried about his healing leg in all the exertion and he laughed. The least of his worries at the time, he said. I can’t bring myself to mind.

We sobered out of our giddiness when we made promises to each other, putting our feelings into words in the hope of chasing away fears. There’ll be no more doubt about that any more. He asked if I thought I could deny the deal forever, and I told him my answer would always be no. I wouldn’t bow to their pressure. It made him unhappy, knowing that pressure would be there.

I told him the other things I had discovered about Haven. About the Converter and the ‘accidents’. He frowned as he absorbed it all, and then he said something that has been rattling around in my head for days. It was a relief to hear it on someone else’s lips.

“Let’s leave Haven.”

Let’s leave Haven.

The words have a beautifully simple shape to them. They ring with a rightness that my bones yearn for. Let’s just go, get out of here, leave the shattered promises and compromised morals behind us. My heart expands as if we’re already free.

Matt and I talked about it yesterday. Lying on a bed of discarded clothes, we talked in hushed voices while the rain rattled on the window. He’s going to talk to the boys and I’ll approach the girls, quietly, casually. We’ll find out who wants to come and work out what we need to do. And then we’ll do it.

If only it really was that simple.

We can’t just walk out of Haven.

We’re not officially prisoners here, but we might as well be. We can’t even walk the compound unhindered, never mind up to the gates. There would be demands and orders and stop right there or we’ll shoot.

Even if they opened the gates and invited us to leave, they know we wouldn’t dare to walk through them. We’d never make it to shelter on foot before the rain came; our journey would have a short, screaming end. Everyone knows we won’t make it far on our own and they won’t give us the equipment and supplies we need. Not even the gear we arrived with.

So we’ll have to take it. Somehow, we need to amass enough food, water, fuel, and vehicles to get out of here. Not much – just enough to get to somewhere where we can forage for more. It’s hard to know how far away that somewhere is now; so much of the suburban sprawl had been picked clean before we got here. How far will we get before we realise we’re going to starve?

More importantly, will they chase us? I don’t know. Will they waste even more resources in a pursuit? Is their pride and anger greater than their pragmastism?

If they do chase us and catch us, we’re not going to get a slap on the wrist. They have weapons. Worse: they’re trained in how to use them and have stocks of ammunition. I remember the people begging for help outside the supermarket depot, gunned down before they realised what was going on. I don’t want to become those poor, murdered survivors.

The more I think about it, the more the task swells before me. There’s so much to organise and many secrets to keep. I have to work around the weight of my watchers – not just my pet cutout Jonah, but also Peter and sometimes Simon. Not much gets past those guys. The women are keeping an eye on me, too, waiting for that weak moment when I’ll agree to their deal. That moment will never come.

I won’t have to do it all on my own. There are others I know will come with us – most of the Seekers, if not all of them. I don’t know how many of them have made themselves a real place here. They’ll all help make this happen.

What we’re going to do is risky, and tricky, and difficult. We’re going to try it anyway. Just as soon as we figure out how.

The path to the gates is glistening wetly in the dark. I need a better flashlight if we’re going to find our way there safely.