Chapter Six

I never knew what a cold sweat was until that moment. I thought I experienced it when I was examined to determine what breeder level I’d be, but no. That was nothing compared to this. Sweat descended slowly down the back of my neck, damp the curly wisps at the hairline. From there, it traveled down my spine, trickling slowly like a lazy rain drop on a window. 

I had to say something. The longer I stayed silent, the more his smiled curled into a knowing grin. I licked my bottom lip before saying, “I guess…I guess you’ll find out in three days.”

My eyes stayed on his face even as he toyed with me, flicking his gun between both hands as if he was playing hot potato. He finally stopped and holstered his weapon. 

“This should bring you peace of mind.” I raised an eyebrow in confusion. “You’ve met your potential executor face-to-face. You should be comforted knowing that I will be the one to pull the trigger if you’re not a pure bred wolf. It’s as the saying goes, ‘You rather the devil you know than the devil you don’t.”

“I rather not associate with devils.”

“You don’t have that luxury when you live in Hell.”

Judge Jackson was wrong. He wasn’t a devil. He was the Devil because there was no other reason why he would taunt me the way he does. He’s a cat and I’m a mouse trapped by him that he will toy with until he became bored and finally put me out of my misery. Chances were I wasn’t a purebred wolf–all the signs were there. And because of that, I have to live the next three days in unspeakable fear and anticipation that anchored in my heart. It wouldn’t move, sway, and it couldn’t be prayed away. Comfort in my final days would come to me. The only comfort I’d receive was when I took my last breath and the lights dimmed behind my eyelids. 

The elevator doors slid open and I didn’t hesitate to run past him. I didn’t stop until I arrived in my room. I slammed and locked the door behind me–locking myself away from the psycho with the piercing blue eyes and murderous threats. 

My back hit the door and slid to the floor in defeat. With my time ticking down, I only had two options if I want to stay alive; avoid Judge Jackson at all cost or escape Eden. Escaping would prove difficult. The exits to Eden always changed and I wouldn’t be prepared for the outside world. The best opportunity I had to escape was two days from now when a feast was thrown for the girls before Judgment Day. Sadistically, the elders called the dinner The Last Supper. 

At that point, the only being I could put my faith and trust in was the Moon Goddess. If she allowed me safe passage and haven from Eden, then it was my fate to live, but if I was caught, then it was her will that I died. As long as I wasn’t sent to be a breeding machine then I could accept death. But I wouldn’t accept it without a fight.

***

I stared at myself blankly in the mirror as I tied the white bonnet to my head. I managed to tie the satin laces into the perfect bow. Supervisor Rachel would be proud of me. The white bonnets disgusted me, reminding me of the baby bonnets they put on children when they were born. It was unsettling. The Supervisors assured us that the white bonnets represented purity and new beginnings, along with the white dresses we were forced to don for The Selection. It was time; our 18th birthdays.

If our white attire represents purity and new beginnings, then what do their black bonnets and dresses represent? The only logical answer is death.

Although the supervisors fed us soothing words about the symbolism of The Selection, it did very little to assuage our growing fear. We were lambs being sent to slaughter. We were cursed to symbolically die by leaving Eden and being filled with a man’s seed or we were cursed to physically “bite the bullet.” 

A red light pulsed above my door, signaling that we were to gather in the hallway. I glanced at myself a final time before filing out of my pen to join all the other little lambs in the hall. We were forced to line up according to our breeder sequence. I closed my eyes and shook my head as I ventured to the back of the line. The girls in Breeder Group A were giggling like school girls, spinning around and watching the long white skirt twirl around them. They were sick in the head–numb to the reality of their situation. Or, perhaps, they chose to make the best of their situation. Yes, they were subjected to being animals but there was a pot of gold at the end of their rainbow–literally. 

I passed the Breeder Group B girls and they were a little more demure in their behavior–chattering softly to their group mates and not drawing attention to themselves. They were more grounded than all of us. They had accepted their fate, and knew they had to make the best of their situation. Then there was me in the back of the line, so far out of touch from reality with what some might call delusions of grandeur. 

“Girls, listen up,” Supervisor Rachel said, herding us lambs to attention. “Before dinner, we will be making a pit stop. There will be no dilly-dallying. Supervisor Sarah, please supervise the back of the line. We don’t want to have anyone getting lost,” she said, staring directly at me. 

“Agreed. We don’t want a repeat from earlier,” Supervisor Sarah growled, taking a spot beside me. She gave me a knowing look. Instead of responding, I faced forward and stared at the bonnet in front of me. 

“Let’s go, my little darlings. A lady is never tardy.”