Page 14 of Taken

3

Jolie

My stomach growled loudlyas I swept the hallway tiles in the men’s section of the shelter. After briefly glancing at a nearby clock, I saw that it was around half past six. I let out a sigh. The boys and men ate together at seven after we served them, and the rest of us didn’t eat until whenever they were done. Usually around eight o’clock. Sometimes even later.

I would have to wait quite a while to satiate my hunger.

I kept sweeping. The men had brought in a lot of dirt from outside today, and it was my job to get the floors clean and polished in this particular area while the other women prepared dinner or worked in different areas. If I wasn’t careful enough to get it done properly, my laziness could affect the whole commune. For all I knew, the dirt the men brought back could contain some poisonous materials from the nuclear fallout, and that could make the currently-pregnant women miscarry.

“…and you don’t need to worry too much about avoiding our girls,” I heard my father saying from somewhere up the hall, his footsteps thudding on the tiles along with someone else’s. “A few of them serve the meals to us, but they don’t sit and eat with us.”

“I see,” came the reply in a strangely-familiar voice. “I have to say, I’m shocked at how big this place is. I was expecting something tiny and cramped.”

I stopped sweeping and cocked my head to the side. Where had I heard that voice before?

My father chuckled. “Well, we have a lot of space out here on the ranch. May as well use it. Besides, I can’t expect the men to sleep in dirty, cramped quarters.”

“Of course not. I presume the women’s section is less… lavish.”

“Oh, yes. Our women do not want or need anything fancy. They are simply grateful to be alive and safe down here,” my father replied.

I crept down the hall and peeked around the corner, still curious about the other man. His voice was so familiar, and yet, I could tell from the context of the conversation that he must be an outsider.

We had outsiders visit us on occasion, but they usually stayed above ground with some of the men. I’d only ever seen a few actually come into the shelter, and they always ended up staying permanently. All of those new arrivals were male (only men could survive the Wastelands beyond the ranch, as they were stronger than women) and all of them had been determined by my father and the Elders to be suited to life in our commune.

Perhaps this man would be the next to move in with us?

Just as I began to wonder how he had survived the bombs and where he might’ve come from, I caught a glimpse of his face. My heart immediately seemed to stop beating. The man was tall and muscular with thick dark hair and chiseled features… and he was undeniably familiar.

It was Mason Ashwood. He looked exactly as I imagined him last night when my sinful mind conjured up all those images of what he might look like if he was still alive.

With a gasp, I ducked behind the corner so he and my father wouldn’t see me. My heart was racing from the shock now, and I was finding it hard to breathe properly. I couldn’t believe it. Not only was Mason alive after all this time, he was here.

Perhaps the Devil had sent those images to me last night. That could be why my imagination had proved so accurate, and also why I’d even thought of Mason at all. Then again, it might’ve been our God instead. Perhaps He was letting me know in my moment of need that someone I once knew and cared for had survived the Great Reckoning and was on his way to us here at New Eden.

Yes, that had to be it. If Mason was bad, he would have been killed in the bombs and fires. But instead he had survived all these years. That meant he couldn’t be a sinner, sent to me by the Devil himself. He was good.

I risked another glance around the corner, just to make sure I hadn’t daydreamed the whole thing. After all, I’d always had an active imagination.

Mason was still there, nodding every so often as my father explained some sort of drainage logistics to him. “Sorry, is there a bathroom nearby?” he asked a moment later.

“Yes,” my father replied. “Just down the hall and on the left. First door. I’ll quickly go and check what we’re having for dinner, and we’ll meet right back here in five minutes.”

“Thank you, Mr. Chastain.”

“Remember the rules,” my father said in a warning tone.

“I will.”

I drew back and stared up at the ceiling, my heart still pounding. I had a choice to make. I could follow the will of my father and stay well away from this outsider, as we were not allowed to speak with any of them until they were official members of our commune, or I could purposefully loiter near the bathroom Mason had been directed to so I could catch a closer glimpse of him.

I scurried down the hall before hiding around yet another corner. I didn’t have to speak with Mason. I just wanted to see him for a few seconds. That wasn’t against the rules.

I heard him push the bathroom door open. A moment later, I heard the sound of a tap turning on. I stepped into the hall right outside.

Mason emerged from the marble-tiled room a few seconds later. His eyes met mine, surprise flashing in their smoldering hazel depths.

“It’s you,” I blurted out as our gazes locked. “It’s really you.”

---