Thank you for the continued support on this story! I've been trying to keep the updates weekly but the next one may take some time as I've got midterms and a thesis proposal to work on. I will update when I can!
CHAPTER FIVE
Isabel stared at the gelatinous cube on her plate, holding back disgust whenever someone hit the table with a foot or elbow and caused the cube to jiggle. She believed that it held every vitamin and nutrient needed to survive, but Isabel knew that unless it had a sufficient amount of calories, it wasn't going to do much in the way of giving energy.
Rules were explained as everyone inspected their pseudo-meal, but Isabel didn't hear any of them. She was focused intently on the cube, her heart and stomach twisting from the memory of Moira's Sunday brunches. Her stomach ached, not from hunger but from loss. In fact, she wasn't hungry at all, and not because her dinner looked like colorless Jell-O. As some people cut up the cube into smaller bites or swallowed it in one go, Isabel didn't touch it. She knew that if she tried eating anything, she'd throw up.
"You may be living in the lap of luxury, but you will still need your strength," Ms. Venable said, eyeing Isabel's untouched plate.
"Yeah, the apocalypse is so luxurious," Isabel murmured. In a louder voice, she said, "I don't think I can stomach anything right now," without ever lifting her gaze from the plate.
"I'll take it if you won't eat it," Coco offered. "I'm going to need to have at least five of these." She reached over to Isabel's plate with her fork.
"Everyone is allotted one per meal, no more," Ms. Venable reminded Coco, pleased to see the fork stop mid-air. "We must ration our supplies so that we may all survive here as long as possible."
"May I be excused?" Isabel asked. Without waiting for a response, she got up from the table and left. The idea of limited survival supplies made her feel claustrophobic. She needed to get away; needed to breathe.
Ms. Venable watched as Isabel left, frowning faintly. Perhaps she really would be as much of a source of trouble as the others. She was willing to let this incident go, if only for the sake of not wanting to deal with the headache.
Muffled music floated through the corridor that Isabel found herself wandering down; a faraway song that beckoned to her like a Siren to an unfortunate sailor. She followed it to the main drawing room. The Carpenters played from a radio that looked both vintage and futuristic.
"It's been on a loop for hours," Mallory said from by the fireplace.
She was wearing a gray dress and apron; she was incredibly plain compared to the others from the private jet. Mallory wasn't wearing purple. Ms. Venable said that purple was for the elite. So what did that make Mallory?
"Venable calls us Grays the worker ants of the outpost," Mallory explained, seeing Isabel stare at the dress. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised. I was Coco's assistant before all of this. Might as well stick to the status quo."
A snort of a laugh escaped Isabel before she could stop it. "Sorry," she said quickly. "I'm not laughing at you, I swear. I just literally can't hear that phrase without thinking of―"
"High School Musical," Mallory finished, grinning. "Yeah, me neither. I've got a love/hate relationship with Kenny Ortega because of it."
"He may have given us Descendants, but he also gifted us with Hocus Pocus. So I get it."
The two shared a laugh that was more enthusiastic than necessary. They both seemed to understand that if they didn't laugh at this stupid something, they would cry at the depressive nothing.
"Isabel, by the way," Isabel said as the laughs faded.
"Mallory."
"And you worked for Coco St. Pierre Vanderbilt?" Christ, her jaw got a workout from saying that.
"Still do. I'm her personal Gray."
"What's that like?"
"As hellish as you'd think." Catering to Coco's every whim then and now wasn't ideal, but then again, none of this was ideal. "But at least it's familiar." There was a pause as Mallory remembered that Isabel didn't have anyone with her. Despite being annoyed by Coco 24/7, Coco was someone. Isabel was just as alone now as she had been on the jet. "So um, how do you know Coco?" Mallory asked.
"Just from Instagram. We've never talked before." Isabel never even liked Coco's photos. To be fair, she barely ever double tapped anyone's photos. "I'm not really a social media enthusiast." Her job didn't allow for it. The hours at her laptop were spent staring at blank word documents… and Tumblr (which she regretted, but had never been able to bring herself to delete her account). Instagram and Facebook were different worlds entirely.
"Yeah, I get that. Honestly, if I didn't run Coco's account, I probably wouldn't be on it. It's kind of funny, actually. People work so hard to document their lives, and make sure the world can see it. Now it doesn't matter." There was no world to see anything. The past was completely obliterated. Mallory frowned, unsettled by her own unpleasantness. "Sorry, things are already gloom and doom without me adding to the darkness."
"I think sometimes we need a little darkness."
The truth of Isabel's words hung in the air like a fragile glass menagerie, only to be shattered by the low mumble of conversation coming from the corridor.
"Ah fuck," Isabel muttered, not in any mood to interact with any of the other Purples.
"They're so intolerable," Mallory said, picking up on what Isabel was dreading. "And that was before all of this. They survived because of money. Imagine how awful they'll be once that gets to their heads." Mallory had to wonder if Isabel would be the same way; if at one point she would realize the power she wielded because of riches. She had a strong feeling that this wouldn't be the case. Isabel didn't radiate humbleness, but she seemed to be aware of where she stood in the world.
Isabel supposed she would have to meet everyone at some point. The outpost was only so big; she couldn't avoid them forever.
"It was nice meeting you," Mallory said quickly to Isabel, leaving the room before the others appeared. She had responsibilities as a Gray; she couldn't be caught socializing unless it was with Coco.
And so, Isabel was left alone to meet the gang.
She moved to stand beside the fire, deciding not to sit down in case she needed to make a quick escape. There wasn't a shred of doubt in her that Mallory was right: these people were intolerable. She braced herself as the voices got louder.
"I see you haven't run off to your room. I suppose you've finally decided you weren't too good for us," Evie said as she swept into the room. She claimed a spot on one of the sofas. "Oh what I wouldn't give for a glass of champagne."
"An end-of-the-world bunker with no booze. Clearly someone didn't think this through," André bemoaned, fingers laced with Stew's, only to have his mother say, "Better to keep our wits about us," much to his annoyance.
There was so many of them, Isabel realized. Was a doomsday bunker really meant to sustain life for all of them? There was all of the Grays to consider as well. She began feeling claustrophobic again.
"Though I can't say I'd mind being able to imbibe," Dinah continued, approaching Isabel. "You look hardly old enough to even know what that means."
"I'm twenty-three." Isabel wanted to be defensive, but found saying her age out loud made her feel more childish.
"I'm sorry," Dinah said. She wasn't apologizing for offending Isabel. No, she was sorry that such a young woman was in this situation alone. "Dinah Stevens." She offered her hand out to Isabel.
"Yeah, I know. Well known talk show host." Not that Isabel ever watched her. She shook Dinah's offered hand. "Isabel Noble."
Dinah raised her eyebrows. She supposed Noble wasn't too uncommon of a last name, but the thought that crossed her mind was the same thought many people had. "May I ask where your family is?" If this was who she thought it was, then Dinah already knew the answer. It would make sense. No way could this girl afford the Outpost 3 ticket on her own. And everyone else managed to bring loved ones.
Isabel hesitated. She wasn't immune to the effects of death, but it never bothered her much before the apocalypse because no one was truly gone, except for Derek. Now, she really would never see any of her family again.
"Dead," Isabel finally managed.
A hush fell over the room. Yes, the world was gone, but Isabel was the only one who lost everything. It was as if it never occurred to the others that losing absolutely everything was a possibility. Even now, they all had something; someone.
"Your father was the author, Derek Noble, wasn't he?"
"Yes," Isabel answered Dinah.
"I'm sorry," Dinah repeated, this time more solemnly.
"It's fine. Sometimes dead is better."