The Oath Keeper Pt. 01

I unpacked some things from my backpack, leaving only the teaching materials inside, and put the badge for the room in the pocket of my worn slacks. The blouse I was wearing was just as thin, and the bra was old and ratty, and what underwear? I owned none—but this would have to do. I fitted my mask on my face, packed my sanitization kit, and headed out into hell.

"Good morning," said a cheery voice as I stepped out into the hall. I closed my door behind me, listening for the click of the lock. When I turned around, I found David Hall standing there with the corners of his eyes crinkled, as if he was smiling.

"Is it?"

"Not a morning person?" he guessed.

"Bingo," I said, and we made our way out of the trailer and followed the morning procession to the dining quarters. Many long picnic benches stretched for up to 50 feet, and a line wrapped around them as people waited patiently for their turn. David and I joined them.

"Speaking of bingo..." David cleared his throat. "There's a bingo night in the community center this Friday. Would you like to join me?"

I nodded. "That'd be nice."

"Smell that? I think those are eggs," David said excitedly.

I took a sniff. He was right. It did smell like eggs. It seemed impossible, considering how expensive they were. Could the government really afford to feed us proteins?

When we reached the front of the line, sure enough, there were eggs—or what might have once been eggs. Powdered eggs were being added to big vats of boiling water, making the "eggs" rise to the top. I was handed a tin tray with eggs, some bread, and a small pat of butter. The butter I would savor. I hadn't had any in years, not since before the pandemic. We got some water in cups that had been freshly sanitized and took our seats at the picnic tables. There were clear plexiglass dividers that separated every person so that they could take off their masks and eat with minimum exposure to others.

"I'm curious," David said, putting his tray down on a seat across from me.

"About?"

"What you look like."

I gently pulled down my mask, fully aware that I probably looked like shit. I hadn't gotten the chance to wash my face, and sleep still clung to my eyes, making them heavy. I knew what he was looking at: tanned skin, an endless splatter of freckles, and brown eyes, the color of dirt after fresh rain, dark and rich. I was no beauty queen, but I wasn't ugly either. I guess you could say that I'm average, and I was more than okay with that. It beat being hideous, and I didn't have to suffer from the attention of being some great beauty. I liked blending in, liked fitting like a puzzle piece into the world around me.

David took off his mask, and I was surprised to find a youthful face there, one with a few wrinkles, but not as many as I had been expecting. He was exactly the type of person I avoided—he was good-looking and outgoing, attracting the attention of an Army private who had been passing by. She turned around and took a seat beside me, her green eyes sparkling, eyeing David with interest.

"Hey folks," she said, lowering her mask. "I'm Ana St. Germaine. Mind if I join you?"

"David Hall, nice to meet you," David said, and I could see his hand flinch, as if his brain was telling him to go for a handshake instinctively. Thankfully the dividers seemed to remind him of the times we were living in.

"Join us. I'm Jaden Clayborn," I said, giving her a small smile. She returned it with a wide one, big and bright, with brilliant straight white teeth. She dug into her meal, talking in between mouthfuls, warning us not to venture too far out of our neighborhood.

"It's dangerous out there," Ana said, and leaned forward, dropping her fork on her tray. "The homeless are getting sicker and sicker, but you didn't hear it from me."

David and I shared a look but said nothing. We couldn't risk saying too much in front of her. We had no idea who she answered to and what her real job was. She could be scoping out the newcomers for potential rioters. Her presence alone was a warning.

After breakfast, I adjusted my mask back on my face and took my tray and cup to the carts that were being wheeled down the aisles between picnic tables. David followed me, and surprisingly, so did Ana. She hung around for a little bit, chatting with us, and it was making David and me more and more uneasy. Finally, she gave us the directions for the school and bid us farewell, waving and heading off into the crowd.

"That was..."

"Terrifying," I finished for David. He nodded in agreement.

Together, we made our way out of the neighborhood and walked the streets, headed six blocks west, just as Ana had instructed. We were now passing real buildings, even a hospital and some ambulances that sat on standby in the driveway. Army trucks drove down the dirt paths, and as we got further from our neighborhood, more tents began to appear. This must be where the homeless lived. We passed a dining area where I was disturbed to find frail families standing in line, rail-thin children with gaunt faces looking hungrily up the line at the food. They were being served some sort of soup, no bread, and likely no protein. It was heartbreaking.

"Don't look," David said quietly. "There's no point in torturing yourself."

He was right. There was nothing to gain in watching their struggle. Still, I couldn't tear my eyes away from the desperate look in those children's eyes, hunger permanently etched into their expressions. My stomach wasn't full, but I would have gladly given my meal to any of them. It hurt, really hurt, like a sharp pain right to the heart. This wasn't right, but this was reality. We were a starving nation experiencing famine, war, sickness, and death.

All because of Them...

"Look, there it is," David said, pointing to a row of trailers. A sign had been put up on a post, reading: Braxstaff Elementary School. We made our way to the main trailer, the one closest to the dirt path. A sign indicated that it was the front office.

"Newcomers!" a woman practically screamed when we walked into the office. She was sitting behind the reception desk, a pile of papers neatly stacked in front of her. "Come, come, I'll get you your week's schedules."

David and I awkwardly approached her, nervously introducing ourselves and flashing our badges. The woman was named Hilary Jensen, and she was the secretary of the school. The principal entered from an adjoining room and introduced himself as George Buckley. They looked like regular people, skinny like the rest of us, and with that same hungry look in their eyes.

I reviewed my schedule and was a little disappointed to find that I was on dinner duty at the time of bingo on Friday. I'd have to serve food instead of being able to play a game; go figure, it was just my luck. I told David and he looked sympathetic.

"It's okay," he said, shrugging. "Maybe next time."

The principal walked us to our classrooms, dropping David off at a trailer just a few feet from the front office. He'd be teaching a sixth-grade class, and I was led further into the grounds, taken to a trailer where I'd be teaching first-graders... and third-graders.

"The third-grade teacher is out sick," George said, sounding sad but unsurprised. "We're afraid she may have contracted the virus."

"That's horrible," I said. "I hope she recovers quickly." For her sake and mine. I couldn't handle teaching two separate grades. I had no experience in something like this. It was daunting, but what choice did I have? I'd have to make it work.

"The kids should be arriving soon," George said. "Why don't you go get settled in and prepare your lesson?"

"Do you know where the last teacher left off? Do you have a curriculum?"

"Afraid not," the principal said. "Darla took all her materials with her when she left for her family emergency. We have no idea what she was teaching at the time, or how much she'd covered. You can try asking the kids."

"They're six."

The principal shrugged, clearly thinking it was my problem and not his, and wished me well before heading back toward the front office. I went into the trailer, finding a bunch of tables and chairs for the children and a desk and chair for myself. There was a chalkboard, a few books on a mostly bare bookshelf, and a few supplies like rulers and markers and erasers in a tin can that I found in the desk drawer. I'd no sooner sat down than the first kid walked into the classroom, a little boy with thin hair and cheeks caved in. He approached my desk, and in his hand, he held an object.

"My mom sent this for you," he said and placed the object on my desk. It was... a tomato. A small one. "We didn't have any apples."

My heart caught in my throat. His family was starving, and they still wanted to keep the age-old tradition of bringing an apple to the teacher. They'd tried, and I'd accept a tomato any day.

"Thank you," I said. "I'm Ms. Clayborn."

"Nice to meet you," the boy said. "I'm Samuel."

"What's your last name, Samuel?"

"Vance."

I checked the paperwork I'd brought from the front office and found his name on the attendance sheet. He was a third-grader, technically not even my student, but the boy's mother had been kind enough to send me a gift. He was wearing a mask, but it wasn't like mine. It was made of cloth, hardly any defense against the pollution and disease. The military should have provided masks for the children, but they hadn't.

"My mom made it," Samuel said.

"Made what?"

"My mask. You're staring at it."

"Oh, I'm sorry," I said quickly. "I didn't mean to stare at you. Please, take a seat and relax before class starts."

"I can't, Ms. Clayborn. I gotta go get the third-grade supplies from our classroom. We'll be sitting on the floor. First-graders get the chairs since this is their class."

"Oh. Let me help you," I said, getting to my feet. I followed Samuel back out of the trailer, down a ways to another class and together we gathered some slates, chalk, and a few of the teacher's supplies. I carried as much as I could and Samuel carried the rest. By the time we made it back to our classroom, there was a group of children inside. They stopped talking when we walked in.

"Hey, guys," Samuel said. "This is Ms. Clayborn. She don't bite."

"Doesn't," I corrected.

"She doesn't bite," Samuel said. I could hear a smile in his voice.

"Please take your seats," I said, helping Samuel pass around the supplies. The third-graders took to the floor and the first-graders sat in their desks, their little feet hanging, not quite tall enough yet to touch the floor. The first-graders were small, smaller than I was expecting. The third-graders were frail, but they weren't as tiny. The kids could have been five years apart rather than two.

Everyone had a seat by the time the bell rang, indicating the beginning of the school day. With some help from the students, I was able to figure out where everyone was in their studies. I gave the third-graders their daily reading and taught the first-graders some math, which they moaned and complained about. After that, while the first-graders worked on some math problems, I taught the third-graders their social studies. The day went on like this, switching from subject to subject, trying to squeeze in as much learning as possible. In these towns, school lasted almost ten hours. These children's parents were put to work, and so there was no one but the school to look after them. Only one meal was served at noon, which had been a cabbage soup, and that was it. No snacks, no other meals. My kids were starving as they worked.

When the final bell rang, the children left in a hurry, running out of the classroom. I would find out later that their dinner time was almost immediately after school, and so they hurried to keep from missing it. Samuel was the only one who stayed behind to help me, picking up the slates and stacking them on my desk. He cleared the chalkboard, collected the books, and returned the pencils to my cup in the front of the room.

"Don't you have somewhere to be, Samuel?" I asked as we waited for the principal to come lock up. We could see him in the distance, locking up for David's class.

"My mom told me to always help the teacher after school."

I was touched. "That's not necessary, Samuel. I can get by."

"It's no trouble, Ms. Clayborn. I'm happy to do it."

I just wanted to hug the kid. He was special, carrying a kindness in him that was rare in this world. When George came and locked up, Samuel finally bid me goodbye, waving and bounding off with his long hair tangling in the wind. If I were his mother I would have told him to slow down before he hurt himself, but he wasn't my kid, and he had places to be.

"Better hurry before you miss your dinner," George said.

I nodded, thanked him for his help, and went to the front of the school where David was waiting for me, patient with tired eyes. The day had taken a lot out of him.

"Long day?" I asked.

"My kids are a nightmare," he muttered, leading the way back home. I followed behind him, deciding not to mention that despite teaching two grades, my day had gone conflict-free. I wasn't exactly teaching angels, but my kids were young, tired, and hungry, and I'd let them nap during the day to make the time pass faster. They were young souls on a trek through the universe, taking it day by day, navigating life with more perseverance than should be expected of such small children. I admired the kids that I'd volunteered to teach—except they were teaching me, too; I was learning to be humble, to be selfless, to love outside of my small circle which consisted of my father and my aunt. Now my heart was growing, making room for little people.

"I'm starving," I said. I hadn't gone to the teacher's line to have my lunch. It was a better lunch with actual protein and bread, but I'd passed it to have cabbage soup with my students. If their bellies would ache from hunger, so would mine. I would have it no other way. The only thing I had that they didn't was my tomato from Samuel. It was in my hand, the blistering skin of the tomato like slippery paper in my gentle grip. I was looking forward to biting into it, to taste something fresh.

"Me too," David said. "I didn't see you at lunch. Did you get anything to eat?"

"I ate with my students."

David's eyes bulged. "What, the soup?" He turned to me, looking surprised. "You know there's a separate lunch for teachers, right?"

"I do," I said. "I just didn't think it was fair that they only get soup while we get real food. I guess I wanted to experience what my kids were experiencing."

"Well, I hope you'll abandon the experience tomorrow. You'll need your strength. We have chores after school."

I shrugged. I didn't plan to ever eat the teacher's lunch, but that really wasn't any of David's business. We hurried through the dirt paths, passing the tents of the homeless and their dining areas where they were being served... more soup. My stomach grumbled in protest, and pain latched onto my heart as I thought about my students, filling their bellies with water and a few pieces of vegetables. No protein, no grains, no dairy. Not a balanced diet at all, but what could we do? We were in a famine.

David and I got immediately into line at our dining area. We were served some mystery meat, corn, and one slice of white bread. We also got a little packet of mustard, which I tore open and sucked out to get some energy. The packet was old, something left over from before the famine. It was probably expired, but it tasted okay.

"Think we'll see Ana St. Germaine again?" David asked warily. We both knew that it was dangerous to befriend the military. We didn't know if they were spying on us and reporting back to superiors. Our words, our actions, even our thoughts could get us killed; that was the kind of world we lived in. I was keeping my head down, chewing my food slowly when I heard the sound of construction. I saw hammers and nails and wood and fences, over fifteen feet high. The military was corralling us like cattle.

David dropped his bread, watching as a part of the fence was put up. We shared a worried look. Something was off about this place. I had the most horrible fear that we were being quarantined, that there would be no more going in or out of the town. At least, that would be the case soon enough. I wanted to leave immediately, to get out of here before I died in this godforsaken sad little town, but I also couldn't abandon my students. They needed me.

I was almost finished with my dinner when Ana St. Germaine made a sudden appearance, sitting down beside me with a tray of food she'd brought from her own neighborhood. The military was best-fed with chicken thighs, green beans, bread, and a cup of milk. She took off her mask and smiled.

"Hey, guys," she said, picking up her fork. "Find the school okay?"

David and I nodded. "Yeah, thanks for the directions," David replied.

Ana waved off David's comment. "It's no biggie." She was pensive for a moment, and I could tell that she was waiting for one of us to ask about her day.

"What's new with you, Ana?" I asked, swallowing down my fear. This was dangerous. I shouldn't have asked. Why was she even sitting with us?

"Oh, nothing really," Ana said, her eyes darting. She looked over her shoulder, then leaned in close, her voice coming down to a whisper, slightly muffled by the plexiglass barriers. "They're moving. The Horsemen."

"Moving?" David asked in horror.

"Yes. They crushed us in the East. I think they're dispersing now, going to the four corners of the earth. It's rumored that..." Ana looked around again, and then lowered her voice even more. "...that Pestilence is crossing the Atlantic as we speak. He is headed to the Americas."

No.

I got up from my seat, taking my tray.

"I have to go," I said.

"Jaden—" David called after me, but I was already rushing away, putting my tray on a cart and frantically pushing through the crowd to get to my room. I bounded up the ramp to my trailer, got to my door, slid the keycard through the slot, entered my small room, and fell to the floor, breathing hard.

"This can't be happening," I said, tears falling down my cheeks. Ana had confirmed my worst fears. What the fuck was I supposed to do? There was no stopping a Horseman. Their presence would mean only one thing:

Death.

In the weeks that followed, I got into a routine with my life, settling into the strange town of Braxstaff while trying to stay alive. I wore my mask at a tight fit, and I kept my sanitation kit with me at all times. I'd started my chores, doing everything from breakfast duty to tending crops to cleaning at the nearby hospital. I was a part of this community, and so I had to do my part. I got two days off a week from chores, usually on the weekends, but not always. I'd begun exploring, wandering as far as my nerve would allow me. I'd pass all the tents, seeking things to do, people to meet. I sought out the mayor to discuss school supplies, but could never get a moment of her time. I also found the cobbler, a middle-aged man who measured my feet, and then promised to have shoes ready for me in two weeks. When I returned to pick them up, I was surprised to find how well-crafted they were. He quickly patched the soles of my old shoes, gave me some homemade shoe shiner for the new shoes, and sent me on my way.

On my walk back to my trailer, I saw some kids playing. We were at the very edge of town, near where the fences had been erected. There was a gate here, and from it passed military vehicles, transporting supplies for the town. The tents nearby were where many of my students lived, including Samuel. He was on the dirt road, whistling with his fingers in his mouth and kicking a ball around with a group of kids. He didn't notice me in the distance. His long blonde hair was falling into his eyes, and his ragged clothes rustled in the wind. He was skinny but tall for his age.