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CHAPTER FOUR

Everyone was on edge. The fortunate few who were able to afford luxurious survival sat in the drawing room, no one saying a word. Music from the Cooperative issued radio filled the silence.

Ms. Venable observed the pathetic creatures, counting heads.

One person was missing. That was fine for now. Nothing was happening, anyway. She would wait until dinnertime to talk about the rules of the outpost she had crafted herself.

As time ticked on, the group began small talk, realizing there was nothing else to do. Still no sign of Isabel.

Dinner was ready to be served. The group sat around the dining table, the candles that were eerie before now setting an obscenely romantic mood. Right away Ms. Venable noticed the empty chair. She gestured for Ms. Mead to approach.

"The young woman who's missing, has she left her bedchambers at all?"

"I don't believe so, no," Ms. Mead replied, much to Ms. Venable's displeasure.

It was essential for everyone to act in accordance with the rules of the outpost. The rules were there to maintain order in an otherwise chaotic world. To ignore them would be anarchy, and Ms. Venable would not be having that.

She stood up from the table, and Coco said, "Where the hell is the food? I'm starving; I can feel my stomach trying to digest itself!"

This one was going to be trouble, Ms. Venable could see that. A nuisance to deal with at a later time; there were more pressing matters. "You will eat when you are served. You will be served when everyone is at their seat." She left before Coco could utter another complaint, though no doubt there would be plenty of those in the near future.

There was no knock, or warning. If there had been, Isabel wouldn't have noticed. Her mind was too ensnared by the tendrils of questioning and depression. Names kept flashing before her eyes; names that no longer meant anything. Tate, Addie, Constance, Dad, Nancy, Nora, Chad, Moira, Larry….

Larry.

Isabel closed her eyes, tears burning.

Her birth father had been alive. He wasn't one of the dead in Murder House. He had been alive when the bombs hit. Now he wasn't even a spirit; only ash, if that.

She could feel the hot tears on her cheeks, but was powerless to stop them. Death had now claimed every member of her family. Not only that, but now there was no evidence that they had ever been alive in the first place. The bombs destroyed everything.

Isabel had never been so lonely before.

The bedroom door opened without preamble, startling Isabel. She studied Ms. Venable's figure in the threshold. "If surprising me is going to become a regular thing, could you let me know so I can start mentally preparing myself?"

Ms. Venable didn't reply to the sarcasm. Her eyes roamed over Isabel's body before narrowing. Isabel was still wearing the same button-up blouse and jeans she arrived in. "You aren't dressed."

Isabel looked down at her outfit. "Yes I am. Trust me, this would be a lot more awkward if I wasn't dressed."

"Enough," Ms. Venable snapped, her voice dangerously soft. "There are rules that everyone is to follow. No exceptions. You had a ticket, and therefore have agreed to adhere to the rules." Early acts of defiance needed to be crushed immediately. "You were asked to change."

"Yeah, well, I've been a bit busy," Isabel said, sloppily wiping away the remnants of her tears. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'd like to continue mourning humanity."

Ms. Venable's grip on her cane tightened. Day one and already there were issues with submission. She could not allow that. "Dramatics will not be tolerated. This outpost is for survivors, not victims. If you are so devastated by the loss of the world you knew, you are welcome to go back out into it, but I can assure you that radiation poisoning will not be so merciful."

No, it wouldn't. But that didn't make it sound unappealing. If anything, temptation grew from this suggestion. She could leave and be ravaged by nuclear aftermath. She could join her family.

"Stand up," Ms. Venable ordered. She didn't yell. She didn't raise her voice. She didn't even yank on Isabel's arm to pull her up, though she desperately wanted to. Instead, she kept her composure, her voice an eerily calm, even tone.

Isabel wanted to resist. She deserved to mourn, goddammit! She didn't fight, though. Something about Ms. Venable's eyes and voice told her that fighting was an idea worse than leaving the outpost. So she obeyed and stood up, holding Venable's gaze and still contemplating being difficult but not daring to act on the impulse.

"Get dressed." Ms. Venable didn't move after giving the order. Isabel waited expectantly, but when it became obvious that she lost her privacy privileges, she went to the closet to pick out the least garish outfit she could find.

With a mauve Edwardian tea dress laid out on the bed now, Isabel once again waited for Ms. Venable to leave.

She didn't.

"Are you really going to watch me change?"

"If you didn't break the rules in the first place, I wouldn't need to supervise." Ms. Venable didn't bother to hide the triumphant glint in her eyes as she watched Isabel shift her stance; the girl was clearly uncomfortable.

Isabel's throat became dry, and she tried swallowing it away. The dryness remained. Straightening her posture to feign confidence didn't help at all. In that moment, the power dynamic was blatant to the both of them. If Ms. Venable asked Isabel to jump, Isabel better not waste time with asking how high.

She tried not to bite down on her lower lip; a habit she was trying to break. Instead, she clenched her teeth together, her jaw so tense that it took mere seconds for it to start to ache.

"I will wait as long as I need," Ms. Venable said when Isabel made no attempt to undress.

There was no getting out of this.

Aware of the slight tremble in her hands, Isabel began to unbutton her blouse. Her cheeks burned and she had no doubt they were a fiery red.

Ms. Venable's gaze never wavered; her eyes did not molest Isabel's body but instead remained focused on her face. Isabel no longer looked at her, and instead focused on the floor. Ms. Venable was the victor of this battle.

When Isabel was wearing the mauve Edwardian tea dress, Ms. Venable spoke, "I see you're capable of shame. Perhaps then you won't be as inclined to break the celibacy rule as the others."

Forgetting her humiliation for a fleeting moment, Isabel quirked an eyebrow. "The what rule?"

"Another regulation from the Cooperative that we enforce here. There is only so much supplies; we cannot risk a growing population."

"Oh, so it's like only for straight sex."

"All forms of unauthorized copulation are strictly prohibited."

All forms? Isabel couldn't understand that. Why would all forms be forbidden if it was a measure to stop pregnancies? Isabel wanted to point out that it didn't make sense. But there was one detail that struck her.

"Unauthorized?"

Ignoring her, Ms. Venable said, "As I've said before: you will respect the Cooperative and adhere to the rules, or you will find yourself fending for your life outside of these walls."

Isabel inhaled deeply. She had barely been here a day, and already broke what she could see was the unspoken but most important rule: always do exactly as Ms. Venable instructed. A few hours at the outpost and she was in trouble, and she was sure that she would find herself in trouble on plenty more occasions; she had a nose for it.