Schism (2 page)

As other survivors throughout the island starved, vicious fights broke out every day over a couple of cans of food. Inevitably, the older survivors formed what could only be described as gangs. Controlled by older children, much of the mischief was carried out by the younger members who stole food and supplies from other gangs as well as hapless children. Fortunately, these gangs kept to their own neighborhoods and rarely roamed toward the west end of the island. On the rare occasions when they strayed too close, Andy and her friends remained fortified inside their home until the threat moved on. They armed their home with a sufficient stock of guns and ammunition, which were found after extensive scavenging of neighboring homes, buildings, and the nearest police station. Andy and Charlie practiced their marksmanship by targeting sea gulls on the beach, and anything they killed usually became supper. At first, the power of a gun was intimidating, but their comfort with the weapons gradually increased. Morgan hated guns, but she forced herself to learn to use one just in case.

Chapter II

A
ndy looked in the mirror and suddenly realized that she was no longer a child. Five years had passed. Now eighteen, her long blond hair—nearly white from years in the sun—framed a face that had become more oval in shape over time. Her bright green eyes sparkled not with the carefree air of youth but with the wisdom of age beyond her years. And despite the years of living on a meager diet, Andy’s hips and chest had swelled just enough to create an hourglass figure. These changes, however, were imperceptible to her. She only saw the muscles in her shoulders and arms from swimming in the ocean, and the calluses on her hands from fishing and gardening.

Morgan, meanwhile, grew both taller and more beautiful. With her delicate features and high cheekbones, she resembled the models plastered on the pages of the tattered women’s magazines that she and Andy had skimmed through millions of times.

“With your looks, you could’ve been one of these women,” Andy often told her friend, who would laugh and say, “Why would I want to be one of them? All they do is stand there with weird looks on their faces.”

“I know that. I’m just saying that you’re as pretty as they are.”

“Thanks. So are you.”

As usual, Andy would scoff at this and quickly change the subject. The truth was that both girls had become attractive women in their own right.

Charlie had grown a foot taller, and his voice deepened with the onset of adolescence. Now a good-looking young man of fifteen, he had emerged from the typical awkward phases of a boy’s early teens into to a teenager full of confidence and desire for adventure. He proved to be a terrific athlete, and over the years he and Andy would race each other swimming along the shore. During the first three years, she remained victorious, but around Charlie’s fourteenth birthday, he finally matched her speed, and by the fifth year, Andy was the one trying to keep up.

“I need to face it. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to beat you again,” she said breathlessly one morning after another defeat in the ocean.

“Aw, you’re fast, Andy…for a girl,” Charlie teased, provoking a large splash of saltwater in his face.

“Oh, yeah? Well, if I
were
a boy, I’d beat you every time!”

Along with his athletic skill, Charlie’s mental knowledge expanded enormously over the years. He read extensively, and his days were often spent learning practical things like fixing car engines or hooking up a generator to their home. But it was sailing that became his passion. Using an abandoned sailboat left at a nearby pier, he could maneuver around the island with expert skill.

Charlie’s love of sailing pleased Andy, for she knew the day would come when leaving Bermuda would no longer be a possibility but a necessity. Though they had managed to stay alive for five years, the gangs’ methods for controlling the island’s food and water supply had become more punishing, and the resulting violence had crept closer to their home. On more than one occasion was Andy was forced to use her gun to deter trespassers. It was no longer a question of
if
but rather
when
extreme measures would need to be taken.

***

The night everything changed, Andy was busy mending the bloody leg of a boy who had taken a nasty spill down a rocky slope near his home. Using medical skills inherited from her father, who had been a surgeon, she stitched up a deep gash on the boy’s kneecap.

While finishing the final stitch, Charlie appeared. “Have you seen Morgan? I can’t find her anywhere, and I need to ask her something.”

“She’s at school. English class,” Andy replied as she dabbed the boy’s leg with disinfectant. “She should be back any minute.”

Morgan had been teaching English for the past two years. She viewed it as a way to give the children she taught some structure and sense of accomplishment in their otherwise chaotic lives.

“That’s right. I forgot,” Charlie replied and left Andy alone with her patient.

An hour later, Morgan still had not returned. Outside, the darkness of a moonless sky enveloped the island. In the kitchen, Andy paced back and forth across the floor while Charlie sat huddled in his chair with his knees hugged to his chest, making him look ten years old again. Neither spoke; both were consumed with worry.

In a sudden flurry of movement, Andy grabbed a flashlight from underneath the sink before dashing upstairs to retrieve a pistol from the lockbox in her bedroom. When she returned to the kitchen, she began loading the gun. “I’m going to look for her. Stay here, and if anyone comes, grab the shotgun.”

Charlie glanced from Andy to her pistol and stood up. “I’ll get it now,” he said and retrieved the large weapon from the small closet by the front door. Andy despised the shotgun because of the large bruise it left on her arm every time she fired it, but Charlie was now strong enough to suppress its fierce recoil.

“I should be the one to go look for her,” he said. “She’s my sister.”

“But that’s why
I
should go look for her. I’ll be thinking more clearly than you.”

Charlie opened his mouth to protest, but stopped before saying, “Fine. I’ll guard the house.”

Andy began making her way toward the school. Even with the flashlight’s wide beam, the road was pitch-black. She moved as quickly as possible, both out of concern for her own safety and the urgency to find her friend.

There was no sign of anyone when she approached the school. The classroom Morgan most often used was empty, except for a young girl sitting on the dingy floor in the back corner. No more than six or seven years old, she was curled up in a terrified ball of gangly arms and legs. Slowly, Andy tucked the pistol behind her back so as not to frighten her.

“Hey, sweetheart. What’s wrong?”

Streaks of tears glistened on the girl’s cheeks. Between sobs, she managed to blurt out, “They took Miss Morgan!”

Andy felt her stomach plunge. “Who—who took Miss Morgan?”

The girl could only shake her head as tears streamed down her face. Andy tried her best to remain patient. “Please, honey, you have to tell me where they took her. I need to help her.”

“They—they took—her to—the bathroom. And then—and then they—locked the door!” The girl choked for breath as the blood in Andy’s ears began to pound. “Some—some of the boys try—tried to open the door—but they—couldn’t!”

The girl began to shake uncontrollably, and Andy jumped to her feet and bolted into the hallway. The door to the women’s room was locked. She withdrew her gun, chambered a round, then aimed at the keyhole and fired. The bullet ripped through the lock, and she kicked the door open. The room was dark, and once she aimed her flashlight inside, it took a moment to register what she saw, and when she did, she vomited in the nearby sink.

Morgan lay on her side in a crumpled heap on the bathroom floor. Naked from the waist down, her thighs and torso were covered in fresh bruises. Her left eye had already swollen shut, and blood ran from her nose to her mouth. Through the intense beam of light, Andy could see that she was unconscious but still breathing. She crouched down and slowly lifted Morgan’s T-shirt, then gasped in horror upon discovering more bruises on her back and ribs.

God, what have they done to you?

Opposite the door was a window with missing panes, providing a clear indication of how the assailants managed to leave the school while keeping the bathroom locked. It wasn’t enough for them to beat Morgan within an inch of her life, but they had to make it difficult for anyone to find her.

Dazed, Andy attempted to put Morgan’s underwear back on but they had been torn apart. Stifling another wave of nausea, she reached for Morgan’s jean shorts laying a few feet away and carefully slid them onto her friend. Then, with every ounce of strength she had, she hoisted Morgan off the bathroom floor and flung her over her shoulder and carried her home.

***

Morgan’s physical condition, though horrific to behold at first, slowly healed. Some stitches and antibiotics ensured a full physical recovery while sleep took care of the rest. Soon her bruises lightened from purple to yellow, and the swelling receded. Her emotional wounds, however, would need much more time. She would cry for hours on end, then suddenly stop and stare out her bedroom window toward the endless ocean for an hour or two. Her appetite had vanished, and Andy and Charlie’s mutual urgings for her to eat went ignored, while her tranquil and generous nature had transformed into one of heavy silence.

For days, neither Andy nor Charlie knew how to act around her. They tried being supportive, but that only seemed to irritate her. When they tried to pretend as though nothing had happened, it only compounded her depression. About two weeks after the horrible incident, Andy and Charlie had a serious discussion alone in the kitchen. It was Charlie who suggested leaving Bermuda, and Andy agreed. It was time to go. What had happened to Morgan had tainted their home that even the little joys like watching the sun set beyond the ocean or swimming among the fish had lost their splendor. When Andy brought up their idea to Morgan, tears of relief quickly filled her eyes. She nodded weakly but said nothing more.

***

The United States was the only realistic destination. At a distance of six hundred miles from the shores of North Carolina, Bermuda’s location offered few options. Though Charlie was confident in his sailing skills, he admitted that the six hundred mile journey would be a huge challenge.

“I may overshoot Cape Hatteras by more than a few kilometers. And if the weather’s bad, we may land somewhere north of Nags Head or somewhere south into Cape Lookout,” he warned.

“I’ll just be glad if we hit land that’s somehow connected to America,” Andy replied as she followed along with a map.

The two of them did most of the packing while Morgan continued to recover. Her mental condition remained fragile, and Andy worried how she would handle the voyage. Would she have the strength to save either her brother or her if one of them fell overboard? What if she fell overboard herself? Would she have the will to swim and save her own life?

When she cautiously voiced these concerns, Morgan’s brusque reply was, “I was raped. If I can live through that, I can live through anything. I just want to leave this island forever and never return.”

Andy let the matter rest.

Few items were taken for the journey. Besides sufficient supplies of food, water, clothing, and medicine, Andy brought along her collection of medical journals and pistol. Charlie took his favorite books, sailing tools, and the shotgun. Morgan, however, brought nothing more than her clothes and shoes. Amazed how five years of living could be condensed into a few hours of packing, they closed the beach house for the last time and departed.

The sky was beautiful that morning and the wind perfect for sailing. They got off to a quick start as Bermuda disappeared over the horizon.

As she gazed westward, Andy wondered what her home—her country—would be like.

It was her nineteenth birthday.

Chapter III

T
hey reached the outer shores of North Carolina after five days and nights at sea. Dehydrated, seasick, and exhausted from restless sleep, all three collapsed onto the sand under the sun until their equilibrium returned and their stomachs stopped churning. With their balance regained, they turned their focus inland.

With the sailboat securely anchored, they walked north along the shore to determine where exactly they had landed. After a mile, buildings materialized in the distance. Leading the way, Andy headed toward the buildings until reaching what appeared to be the main road dividing a small beach town. Derelict homes and storefronts just one bad storm away from crumbling to the ground were scattered along the road. Another quarter-mile further, they approached a tilting sign that read ‘Salvo.’

Charlie retrieved a folded map labeled ‘Cape Hatteras National Seashore’ from his back pocket and found the town of Salvo. After a quick mental calculation, he pointed out their location. “We’re here, about fifty kilometers south of Nags Head, which is…” He traced the map with his finger, “…here. From there we can take the bridge on this road…I-64…over to the mainland. Or this road…158.” Charlie shrugged. “I guess it all depends on where we want to go from here.”