RATION. Text and Cover Art Copyright © 2019 by Christina J. Thompson. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written authorization of the copyright holder. Unauthorized distribution of a copyrighted work is a violation of Title 17 U.S.C. For information or questions regarding this work, including authorizations, please e-mail the author at:
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TITLES BY THIS AUTHOR
August Shadow
The Moments Between
Ration
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Catherine, you were the very first person to delve into this world that I created. Without your enthusiasm, I don’t know that I ever would have finished.
Carolyn and Cynthia, your constant support and reassurances about my writing kept me from giving up. Thank you.
Julia, your help and feedback when this story was in its infancy mean the world to me.
Maggie, thank you for reviewing the final draft.
A special thanks to Bethany, Kim, Kristin, Mema, and Nina. I love you!
To the rest of my friends and family: I wish I could name you all. I am eternally grateful for your encouragement throughout the process of writing this book.
Finally, I thank God for giving me a story to write and the words with which to create it. Without You, I am nothing.
For Catherine, Carolyn, and Cynthia—
Thank you for believing in me.
RATION
by
Christina J. Thompson
PROLOGUE
The end was always coming. We all knew, we all saw it even as the world came crashing down around us. Science predicted so many scenarios, hundreds of potential theories for the Armageddon that rose up on the horizon and threatened to snuff us all out. We were warned.
Yet we did nothing. We could have stopped it, but we didn’t.
In the end, none of those theories were right. It wasn’t an apocalypse brought on by disease that destroyed us, and we weren’t wiped out by meteors or nuclear war. It was just us, nothing more. Our daily lives were a poison to our planet, striking it deep with a mortal wound from which it could not recover.
There was no emergency space mission sending humanity to a new world or a life among the stars. There was no underground city built to escape the raw, blistering sun that a destroyed atmosphere exposed us to. No sudden change of heart that would stave off the cold silence of the final moments that marked the threshold between before and after.
More importantly, there was no scientific breakthrough that would offer salvation to a murdered planet, at least not like we had hoped. The earth was dead, killed by apathy and disregard, but humans didn’t die with it like many of the fictional scenarios described. Perhaps that would have been better, perhaps that would have made more sense. It would have been less cruel, at least. But as so many have said throughout the history of this place we have always called home, there are few things more determined than humanity’s will to survive.
Life always finds a way, but oftentimes there are sacrifices required to appease the universe in exchange for that life’s continuation. This world we now live in is a perfect example of that sacrifice: we traded our humanity for the right to see another day.
Some say that when the question first arose, many argued that we weren’t trading our humanity but rather embracing it. History proved this: how many times in the centuries past were the lives of some exchanged for the lives of others? This concept, no matter how dark, is the very foundation of what it means to be human, or at least that’s what we’ve chosen to believe. The alternative would require dignity, and humanity is most certainly not known for that.
That’s how we arrived here in the first place, by trading dignity for existence. You would think that we would learn eventually, that we would do something to change the course of our lives. It would be the difficult path, though, and no one wanted to do that. Even when the last of the cattle went extinct and plant life withered into ash underneath a blazing sun, we still trudged along on the course we had set for ourselves, unwilling to take the steps necessary to prevent anything worse from happening.
But worse did happen, and now it’s too late to go back. We should have listened to the warnings, we should have done something sooner. We should have done something before the oceans became hollow caskets adrift with skeletons and the birds vanished, before every other creature in creation became nothing but stories and memories from a time long lost. Before starvation swept across the world like an insatiable predator, requiring the life of everything in its path.
For a while, the scientists tried to harvest the algae that had formed in the oceans as a food source, but there was a significant problem with that venture: oxygen. Life requires it, after all, and with all the land-based vegetation dead, the algae was the only source that remained. Some pushed to go forward with the harvest anyway, insisting that the algae would replenish itself as needed. Fortunately—or maybe unfortunately—that idea was dismissed. The powers that be wouldn’t risk losing the very breath they needed to continue ruling their subjects.
Instead, they turned to the one solution that didn’t die with everything else: genetic modification. We had managed to outlive all other forms of life, and some believed that trait would be our salvation. So far it’s proven to be true, but the cost…well, apathy isn’t the only thing humanity is known for.
There’s also the ability to turn a blind eye.
†‡†
CHAPTER ONE
“Number 485!” the officer at the desk cried out, holding his hand up to signal to the crowd.
“That’s me. Wait here with mom.”
Amber’s father, Richard Ordell, stood to his feet and approached the desk. She sighed; the resource center’s ration auditorium was filled to overflowing as hundreds of families waited their turn, and the noise made her head hurt.
Her mother, Mica, watched him with tired, dark eyes.
“Almost done,” she said, brushing a wayward strand of blonde hair back from her forehead.
They had been waiting for nearly eight hours, but at least the building was air conditioned. They had no such luxury at home, and as much as Amber hated the noise, she was not looking forward to the sweltering, dry heat that awaited them just outside the doors. Her parents claimed to be used to it, promising that she would eventually come to prefer that over air conditioning, but she didn’t believe them for one second.
Amber watched her father talk to the officer. His arms gestured wildly; he was haggling, she could tell by the look on his face. He wouldn’t settle for less than the best, which was why they always ended up having enough to make it until the next rationing unlike so many other families.
“I want to go home!” four-year-old Alex cried, tears of misery filling his blue eyes. She glanced at her little brother, surprised that he had already lasted this long without having a meltdown. He was going to start screaming soon, and she rolled her eyes. It wouldn’t matter, there were already dozens of crying children in the crowd.
She wished she could just stay at home for rationing, but the rules demanded that she go along. Apparently, it was due to the fact that the administration required proof that no one in each family had died between cycles, as family size impacted which stock was allotted. That meant that twice a year, everyone had to make the trek to the resource center. They were lucky, they had arrived a day early to get in line. Some of the others weren’t so fortunate and would likely be waiting two days or more before receiving their ration.
Richard smiled, his teeth shining bright white against his tanned, d
usty skin, and Amber tried to read his lips. He seemed pleased, and he turned a moment later to walk back and rejoin them.
“What happened?” Mica asked, eyeing him nervously.
“They wanted to give us one of the new strains, but I talked him out of it!”
“What did they give us?”
“There was one left of the same batch the Peterson’s had last year.”
Mica’s face lit up.
“And you got it?”
“I got it! It’s a bit past its prime, but he promised it was still good.”
“Thank God!” Mica breathed, clapping her hands to her chest in relief. “Hopefully it does as well as the one they had!”
“It’s the last guaranteed strain, my dear,” Richard told her, smiling proudly. “At least 250 pounds after harvest or we get two next time.”
“Why aren’t the other strains guaranteed?” Amber asked.
“They’re too new,” her father answered. “They require at least three cycles before they guarantee them, and the new ones have only been in circulation for one cycle. The ration officer said that everyone else is getting one of nine new strains, so we’ll need to keep an eye on the neighbors to see which one to try to get next time.”
Alex began to wail and Mica shushed him, rocking him back and forth on her lap as she ran her fingers through his disheveled brown hair.
“You can go wait outside,” Richard said. “I’ll stay here. It won’t be long before they bring it out, and I still need to get the supplements.”
Outside. Into the blistering sun.
“I’ll stay here with you!” Amber said, quickly grabbing her father’s hand. “Mom can take Alex!”
Mica rolled her eyes sarcastically.
“Thanks, sweetheart.”
“Go with your mom, Amber. I’m sure someone else would like these seats, there are still a lot of people waiting.”
“But dad―”
He silenced her with a look, and she crossed her arms.
“Fine.”
Sighing, Amber followed her mother through the crowd until they reached the doors. She closed her eyes, trying to memorize the way the perfectly cooled air felt on her skin. It would be six months before she would feel it again, and until then, she would have to be content with either roasting alive or freezing.
Bracing herself, she stepped outside.
Her throat closed up with the first breath she took, her lungs burning as she gasped. There were oxygen pumps inside to provide for all the people, but outside, the air was thin. The sudden adjustment made her feel lightheaded, and she leaned against the whitewashed building, trying to regain her balance, only to jump back as she cried out in pain. She had forgotten how hot the metal exterior would be, and she winced, inspecting the light burn that reddened her hands.
The one benefit to the low oxygen saturation was that Alex’s cries halted almost instantly, his eyes growing wide with panic for a moment as he tried to breathe. She watched him struggle, feeling sorry for him, but that was life.
Her mother seemed unfazed.
“Let’s go stand over there,” Mica said, pointing. The massive building cast a huge shadow on the ground, and nearly every inch of shade was occupied by people trying to stay out of the baking sun. A few of them had managed to fall asleep on the ground, and as the shadow moved with the sun, they hadn’t noticed. This left a tiny space for Amber and her family to squeeze into.
She shielded her eyes, looking up at the sky from underneath the makeshift hat she had made for herself out of scraps of plastic. It was around four o’clock, and in a few hours, the heat would be replaced with a near-freezing night. There was no in-between, not in this hellhole. The days were unbearably hot and the nights unbearably cold, and there was no escape from either save for the twice-yearly rationing.
Heatstroke was the concern during the day, but hypothermia could easily set in at night. The only clothing items provided to them were thin shirts and pants; jackets were considered unnecessary as there were few reasons to be caught outside after dark.
Even sleep offered no reprieve from the elements. The resource center issued one blanket per bed in each household, made from the same recycled plastic threads as their clothing, and they did little to stave off the cold. Additional blankets could be bought with salt, but they were too poor for that, which was yet another reason to be grateful for the rationing. For the past two weeks, Amber had slept in her parents’ tiny bed with them and Alex. Tomorrow night, she would finally be able to return to her own room.
She sank down to the ground, drawing her knees up to her chin as she felt her scalp bead with sweat. Her short, sunbleached brown hair was soaked through within minutes, sending a slow, salty trickle running down the side of her face. She reached up to wipe it away, smearing the sweat into the dust that caked her skin as she tried to ignore how tired she felt. They would be walking all night to get back home, which meant no sleep until the next night since resting in the heat of the day was near impossible. Alex would be miserable, and she was not looking forward to his exhausted, cranky screams.
Amber leaned back, staring up at the building’s façade. There was an entire community housed within its steel and concrete walls, a community she wanted to join one day. She had turned eighteen this year, which meant that she was finally eligible for consideration, and all of her applications had activated a little over a month ago. She had submitted almost a dozen of them, but so far, she hadn’t heard anything back. There were rumors that a few applicants might be chosen for the next cycle, but nothing was for sure yet.
More than half of the country’s surviving population lived at the resource centers, with almost four thousand people housed within each one. That hadn’t always been the case; the populations of the settlements used to outnumber those at the resource centers by nearly twice as many, but the death toll wrought by starvation and dehydration had changed that.
While Amber wasn’t quite sure what the people there did, she knew that they weren’t part of the workforce like those who lived at the settlements were, and just the thought of escaping from the never-ending tedium of her current life was enough to prompt her to put in the applications. Even better, being lucky enough to become a resident of the resource center would practically guarantee that she would never starve, and her family would receive double rations for ten years as compensation for her leaving. It was unlikely that she would be chosen, but at the very least, clinging to that tiny hope gave her something to look forward to.
“There’s your father,” Mica said, snapping Amber out of her thoughts. “He’s waving, he probably needs help getting the supplements. Take Alex, I’ll be right back.”
Amber nodded, holding her arms out. Alex wriggled unhappily, fussing as he struggled to follow in the direction Mica had disappeared.
“Stop, Alex!”
“I want mommy!” he wailed, throwing himself forward.
“She’s coming right back, just stop!”
“Nooooo! Mommy!”
Amber tightened her grip.
“I’m going to pinch you!” she threatened, giving him a severe look. He stopped fighting and glared at her.
“I’ll tell mommy on you!”
“So? It’ll be too late by then.”
He crossed his arms and huffed, his lower lip sticking out in a pout. She smiled to herself. At least he wasn’t fighting anymore.
He shifted in her arms, and she flinched as a sharp pain shot through her side. She reached into the folds of her tattered clothing, searching for the flask of water that was now digging into her skin.
“I want some!” Alex demanded, holding his hands out the moment he saw it.
“This is mine. You can’t have any.”
“But I’m thirsty!”
“I won’t have enough if I give you a drink.”
“Pleeeeese! Sissy, I’m thirsty!”
The small flask held all the water she would have fo
r the entire day, and giving him even a sip would drastically reduce what she would have for herself. Besides that, sharing was strictly forbidden, and being caught would result in having her allotment reduced by nearly half for a whole week. Many didn’t survive the cut, and she wasn’t willing to risk it even for his sake. There were too many people around.
“I can’t, Alex,” she said, quickly putting the flask away. “Mom has yours, she’ll be right back.”
“But I’ll forget to ask her!”
“No, I’ll ask her for you, I promise.”
He began to cry, and Amber sighed heavily, muttering under her breath. Maybe he wouldn’t be so damn thirsty if he didn’t waste all his hydration on his constant tears.
As frustrating as it was, though, she understood the purpose of the rule. Water was the most important resource, even more important than food, and the amount everyone was given had been calculated down to almost the exact drop. Because of this, death by dehydration had been practically eliminated save for when someone was penalized for disobeying the rule itself, and any such deaths were thoroughly investigated.
From what Amber understood, it was to prevent people from stealing their children’s water allotments or trying to trade them, which used to be a common occurrence. The rule had been put into effect years ago after the weekly death toll for the region had climbed into the thousands, and now, just the suspicion of sharing water was enough to warrant the half-allotment penalty.
Alex’s tears began to slow, and Amber wiped his face.
Hurry up, mom.
As if on cue, her father appeared. She stood up.
“Where’s mom? Alex wants a drink.”
“She’s right over there,” Richard answered, jerking his head to the left. “Stand up and take these, the strap broke on a couple of them.”
His arms were filled with opaque plastic sacks, each one overflowing with small bags of brown pills. Two more were slung across his back, and she quickly obeyed, grabbing the two with broken straps. They were heavy, much heavier than she expected. He had always carried half of them on the walk back home, saying that she and her mother didn’t need to worry about it, and now she couldn’t help feeling a bit sorry for never insisting on helping him.
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