To Darkness We Fall

The Outsiders

As if it all changed overnight, the New Youth lost the underground to the Founders. I guess their name held true, even if it shouldn't have.

Damon had assumed the role of Father, the only role that stands equally to Mother. In some ways, though, I felt as though Mother was wilting, falling behind his shadow. Though I couldn't count too high, the 10 Founders who were supposed to join our camp tripled in size within the span of a few days. They wore large, thick armor and carried large machinery with them at all times; rifles were only used when the New Youth would fight off raiders before the excess tunnel entrances were sealed off from the inside. Now the outsiders guarded these doors, watching us work as they stared at us with hard eyes and metal pointed at us.

Even the food rations changed; Damon, though promising fresh meat and vegetables that would feed all of us, the hunt he would get largely went to his men. I remember the stench of bloodied deer that made me drool, starved by the rotting fruit my table and I were given. Our thin bodies became even thinner, and our distrust in those from above grew even larger as we watched deception unfold within our own home.

Michigan, before the lights went out for bed, sneakily shoved a shank made of a piece of steel pipe underneath her makeshift pillow.

"I don't like the way that one looks at me," she whispered. She pointed at a young man with an aged face, wrinkles just forming on his forehead. His arms looked strong, though he was small in stature. Still, there was something threatening about him, with a yellow toothy smile that showed no goodness. She flicked her cheek and made a pulling motion, still staring at him as he stood nearby. Bad man.

When the lights went out, Michigan lay down on the floor uneasily, between me and another girl who never spoke or cared to listen to anyone. Rumor has it, her parents hated her so much that they made her drink acid. When Mother found her, her breath smelled of burnt flesh. It was either that, or simply a tall tale that soothed the possibility that she never wanted to be saved. Only she could sleep soundly that night, but something inside me wouldn't rest. Maybe it was the sound of the wind knocking rubble at the window, or maybe it was that we slept undefended while gun-equipped men watched us, ready to attack whenever they pleased. Nonetheless, the hairs on my neck stayed standing and I couldn't escape to the black dream that held nothing but apprehension for tomorrow. I lay motionless, with my eyes going in and out of focus of the florescent light that flickered slightly. With only the sound of my shaky breathing and fluttering heartbeat, I drifted into an uncomfortable sleep.

The next day was a long one; I was assigned to digging again, with my hours extended to eight hours at a time. Thomason, who had been demoted to common Youth, dug across from me. His lips were pressed so tightly I'd thought they disappeared. He shoved the pipe into the ground and pulled it up aggressively, spraying metallic-smelling dirt toward me. As I coughed the natural earth out of my mouth, he wiped away the soil on his hands to reveal a golden donut, rusted and dirtied.

"What's this?" He showed me, his deadened eyes meeting mine.

"Donut." I guessed, though I honestly wasn't sure. It was much too small to be one.

Thomason shook his head as he released my hand from my shovel and brought it toward him. He loosened my ring finger and slid the piece of metal on, wiping away the remaining dirt once it was on.

"Ring," he pointed, "it's jewelry. My ma used to have some, 'till she sold it for some food." I admired its slight glistening under the dim lights. It fit just right. "Now keep it with you, but hide it." He looked around us, with his face growing closer to mine and his voice lowering to a whisper. "They're always watching, and they'll cut your legs off for it."

The thought frightened me; I knew those Founders were strong, but I didn't know how much. Would they use pure manpower to rip them apart, or did they have stronger weaponry to make it a clean amputation? As if seeing my worry, Thomason's hand found my cheek as he caressed it.

"They won't hurt you as long as you don't give them a reason to." His hand quickly reached for his shovel as footsteps approached. I wasn't fast enough. The butt of a gun found its way to the center of my back as it sucker punched it. I arched, then fell to the ground as I felt crippled.

"Who told you to stop digging!" The low, growing voice boomed. I realized that my vision was blurred as I searched for Thomason, who was now charging at the soldier. Though tall, he was no match for the padded guard as the man remained upright even after making impact. He pushed Thomason to the ground and threw thunder-like punches at his face. His nose went inward, and his face grew three times the size it was before. I swore I heard a crack. Even through foggy eyes, I knew he was dead.

A strained scream erupted from my throat, tears spilling out of my eyes. Our last and only teacher, our friend, lay motionless with a gruesomely unrecognizable face in the dirt. The guard stood and wiped Thomason's sprayed blood off his cheek, just as a monster would after raveging a home with a friendly little family inside. He didn't silence me; all I saw was him kneel by my face and push it upwards toward him, forcing me to look at the murderer of a close friend. He smiled, one that displayed his blackened teeth. No words were spoken, but I knew exactly what he was telling me:

We will always win.