Once An Eve Novel

built so many years ago, and on which it has now been rebuilt.
    “This is all a testament to the success of our new education system, and a tribute to our Head of Education, Horace Jackson.” The short man bowed his head, taking in the burst of applause. I looked at him in disgust, his shoulder just inches from mine. Sweat ran down the sides of his head and caught in the thin ring of gray hair.
    The King kept speaking of my return, how proud he was to bring me here, to this City that had been established on the first of January over a decade before. “The Princess was lucky. On her journey to the City of Sand she was escorted by this nation’s brave soldiers, among them the fierce and loyal Sergeant Stark. It was Sergeant Stark who found her, who put his own life at risk to bring her back to us.” Stark rose to receive a medal. The King went on about his service and commitment, detailing his accomplishments as he promoted him to lieutenant.
    I closed my eyes, retreating into myself. The shouts, the cheers, that booming voice I’d heard on the radio so many times before, all of it disappeared. I remembered lying beside Caleb that night on the mountain, the thick, musty sweaters we wore an unwelcome wall between us. He had pulled me to him, my body resting against his to keep warm. We’d stayed like that all night, my head on his chest, listening to the quiet drumming of his heart.
    “And now to conclude,” the King said cheerfully. “I’d like to introduce you once again to the Golden Generation, the bright young children who came directly from the birthing initiatives. Every day, women are volunteering their service to support The New America and help restore this country to its fullest potential. Every day our nation becomes stronger, less vulnerable to war and disease. As we grow in numbers we come closer to returning to our rich past, to becoming the people we once were—the nation that invented electricity, air travel, and the telephone. The nation that put a man on the moon.”
    At this, people broke out into wild applause. A chant started somewhere in the back of the crowd and rippled forward, a great ocean of feeling. “We will rise again! We will rise again!” they repeated, their voices blending together into one.
    The crowd in front of him looked vulnerable and desperate. Their faces were thin, their shoulders stooped. Some were badly scarred, others had leathery, sunburned skin, deep creases in their foreheads. A man standing on top of a hotel awning was missing an arm. The Teachers had often spoken of the chaos in the years after the plague. No one went to hospitals for fear of the disease. Broken arms were splinted with the leg of a chair, the handle of a broom. Wounds were stitched up with sewing thread, and infected limbs were amputated with handsaws. People looted stores. Survivors were attacked on the way home from supermarkets. Their cars were raided, their houses burglarized. People died fighting over a single bottle of water. The worst was what they did to the women , Teacher Agnes had said, staring out the window, its frame pitted and broken from where the bars had been removed. Rapes, kidnappings, and abuse. My neighbor was shot when she refused to give her daughter to a gang .
    The King cleared his throat, pausing before resuming the speech. “Becoming your leader has been the greatest honor of my life. We have embarked on a long road, and I will see you through to its end.” His voice cracked. “I will not fail you.”
    The King took his seat beside me. He grabbed my hand, squeezing it in his own. Looking out at the crowd, it was easy to believe he was right—that he had saved the people inside the City walls. They seemed calm, happy even, in his presence. I wondered if I was the only one who thought now of the boys in the labor camps, or the girls who were still trapped inside the Schools.
    There were children assembled behind us on risers. They were all about five—the same age as Benny and Silas—but much smaller. The boys were dressed in crisp white shirts and pants, the girls in the same jumpers we’d worn at School, gray dresses with the New American crest pasted over the front. “ Amazing Grace ,” a girl with a long auburn braid sang into the microphone. “ How sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me. I once was lost but now am found … ”
    The chorus joined in, swaying back and forth as they sang, their voices cutting clear across the City. Their mothers