“Hurry up.”
The ration slowly crossed the floor and sat down on the edge of her bed. The light disappeared, plunging the room into darkness, and she felt the ration shift as it lay down beside her. She pulled the blanket up, leaning over as she tucked the edge in. Her hands brushed against its arm as she moved; she felt its body tense beneath her touch, and she could hear its heart pounding, matching hers beat-for-beat.
“Go to sleep,” Amber whispered, rolling over and wrapping herself in her arms as the space under the blanket filled with heat.
The ration didn’t move, seeming frozen in place as she closed her eyes.
Even with the additional warmth, the night was still uncomfortably cold. The blanket did little to hold in their body heat, and Amber tossed and turned as she tried to fall asleep. She sighed, staring up at the ceiling with frustration.
Faint moonlight seeped through the layer of plastic that covered the small skylight that had been built into the roof, giving the dark room a blue cast, and she glanced at the motionless form beside her. She almost missed last cycle’s ration; its body had given off more heat than this one’s did.
Part of it was because she had grown used to sleeping in her parents’ bed in the two weeks since the last ration’s harvest. Their bed was cramped but warm, although she knew it was only because she and Alex slept in the middle away from the edges where the draft leaked in. It would take time to get used to being in her own bed again, much less being beside it.
She let her jaw go slack, hoping to silence the sound of her chattering teeth as she shivered. The ration stirred, rolling over beside her. She felt it move closer to her, pressing up against her side, and her tired body instantly relaxed as a wave of warmth radiated from its skin.
It’s like it knows, she thought to herself, then quickly dismissed the idea. It was an animal; it was acting on instinct, nothing more. Every creature, no matter how dumb, knew enough to keep itself warm.
“It’s just a ration,” she whispered, trying to force her shyness from her mind. She scooted herself closer until her face was pressed against its chest. Its heartbeat began to lull her to sleep, and she closed her eyes, sighing as she felt herself drift off.
†‡†
CHAPTER FIVE
The morning came too soon, and Amber yawned as she rolled over. The ration was already awake and changed, sitting on the floor in the corner of the room as it waited for her. It stood up when it saw her stir, holding her work clothes out for her.
“I know, I know,” she groaned, rolling out of bed. It immediately turned its back after handing her the clothes, and she frowned in confusion as she changed. It was an odd creature, that much was certain.
“Where’s your flask?” she asked quietly, taking hers off the shelf and pointing. It dug into its pocket, showing her the small red bottle, and she grunted in acknowledgment.
She removed the bags of supplements from the shelves and quickly counted out two piles. The ration reached forward, preparing to take the pile she had made for it, but she shook her head.
“Water first,” she told it. “Otherwise you’ll choke.”
Amber grabbed her light, taking it outside and setting it on the ground to recharge in the sun. After a visit to the huts, she led the ration into the center of the settlement, getting in line for water. There were dozens of people ahead of them; unlike yesterday, they would have to wait their turn instead of skipping to the front of the line.
John was waiting for her, his cousin, Sydney, in tow.
“Did you finish your book?” he asked, moving to her side.
“Not yet,” Amber answered, rolling her eyes. “It’ll probably take me a couple weeks.”
“Who’s that?” Sydney asked, her little eyes wide as she stared up at the ration. “He looks funny!”
“It’s not a he, Sydney, it’s an it. It’s Amber’s new ration.”
The ration stared down at the little girl; for a moment, Amber could have sworn she saw the corners of its lips twitch in a smile.
“But why does he look like that? He’s old like you!”
“Because IT does, that’s why,” John answered, making a face and glancing at Amber. “You don’t have to take it everywhere with you, you know. It can stay behind while you get its water and food.”
“Well, when you have your own ration to keep, you can do whatever you want with it,” Amber retorted, shuffling forward as the line moved. She was too tired for his attitude.
“Thanks for rubbing it in.”
“I don’t understand what the big deal is, John. It’s just a job, you don’t really do anything different except get its allotments and give it its supplements. Everything else is the same as always.”
“Whatever.”
John moved ahead of her, cutting her in line before she could protest and leaning down to fill his flask. She clenched her teeth in annoyance; this wasn’t the first time he had cut ahead of her, and he knew by now that she wouldn’t turn him in for something that petty.
Amber filled her flask before moving to fill the ration’s. As she handed the bottle to it, a scream of panic rang out through the settlement, and she straightened, her heart leaping into her throat as she scanned the crowd.
“What’s that?” Sydney asked, her voice tinged with fear. “What’s wrong?”
John shot her a worried glance.
“Come on, let’s get you home!”
He spun on his heel and disappeared, dragging Sydney behind him, and Amber frowned as she turned her attention back to the crowd. Her eyes grew wide as her stomach turned. It was Justine Lorel, a young woman only a few years older than she was, and Amber beckoned to the ration as she edged closer to the commotion.
“It’s not true!” Justine screamed. “Dale, tell them it’s not true!”
The council had her surrounded, and her wrists were bound with rope. They were leading her to the holding room inside the mud building that served as their meeting place; there was a deep hole in the floor that was used as a makeshift jail cell for anyone who was deemed a threat. Dale, Justine’s husband of three months, was following close behind.
“Please, Dale, tell them!”
Amber studied his face as Justine was pulled into the holding room. He didn’t seem upset, and her heart sank with realization when one of the council stepped forward and handed him a heavy, plastic sack. It was salt—his reward for reporting his wife—and Amber cringed as she turned away. No one could be trusted, not even family.
She sighed, clenching her teeth. It was Justine’s own fault; everyone in the settlement had been whispering about how miserable she had been acting since her mother’s death a month ago, and it was just a matter of time before someone took notice and seized the opportunity to turn her in. Ultimately, Amber was more surprised by how long it had taken than she was about who had finally reported the woman.
Justine’s cries abruptly ceased as she was thrown into the holding pit, and Amber shook her head as she put it out of her mind. She had more important things to focus on, and wasting her thoughts on Justine’s foolishness would serve no purpose.
She hurried to get in line for the food allotment. The ration still had enough cakes for today, but she needed to make sure the certified order sent from the resource center would be ready for tomorrow.
This line moved much faster than the line for water, and she was soon next. Amber greeted the woman standing beside a clay podium, plastic sheets of ration allotment orders clutched in her hand and sacks of cakes sitting on the ground behind her.
The woman’s eyes narrowed as she studied Amber’s ration.
“So you’re the family that got the bad one,” she remarked, her voice filled with disdain.
“It’s the same strain as the Peterson’s had,” Amber replied defensively. “There’s nothing wrong with it, and it’s guaranteed.”
“Well, it doesn’t look right. But I suppose it makes no difference to me, I’m
not the one eating it. Name and number?”
Amber held out her arm so the woman could scan the code tattooed there. As the light passed over her skin, she couldn’t help feeling a surge of excitement. It was the first time she had ever been scanned without her parents present, and her heart swelled with a sudden sense of importance. The medical and allotment scanners were the most advanced technology in the settlements, and once a month, the data they held would be taken to the resource center to be recorded. Now, part of that record would include irrefutable evidence that she was now capable of taking care of her family’s ration.
“Well?” the woman prompted, startling Amber from her thoughts.
“What?”
“Name and number, I have to match your information.”
“Sorry. Ordell, Amber. 487.”
The woman began flipping through the allotment orders, searching for the right one.
Amber pursed her lips as she watched. She used to wonder why they asked for name and number along with the scan, and she had mentioned it to her mother once. Apparently, a long time ago, people had been sneaking into other settlements and cutting codes off of others to get extra allotments. This way, any would-be thieves would have to know the identity of whoever’s skin they were trying to steal. This made thieves less likely to go into strange settlements filled with people they didn’t know, but Amber didn’t understand how the idea had worked in the first place. It made no sense to her how they could attach someone else’s skin to their own arms.
The woman stopped, pulling a single sheet out of the stack of pages.
“Here it is. You still have ten cakes left, correct?”
Amber nodded, and the woman reached behind her to grab two cakes from the sack.
“I’ll go ahead and give you these now to complete the ration’s allotment for tomorrow. Don’t lose them, they won’t be replaced.”
“My parents already explained it to me.”
“Good, so you understand. You’ll be on the normal daily schedule the day after tomorrow, so I’ll see you then.”
“Thank you,” Amber said, taking the cakes from the woman and putting them in her pocket. She stepped out of line and headed back home, trying to ignore the dirty looks she got from passing people.
She glanced at the ration, comparing it to the others she saw along the way. They were all smaller, almost resembling young teenagers. Even the ones close to harvest weight didn’t appear as large as hers, but it shouldn’t matter. While the final yield varied depending on strain, each was designed to provide just enough meat to last six months per family regardless of starting size.
Maybe the people were jealous that their rations weren’t as big, or maybe they thought her father had managed to bribe the ration officer into giving them more than they were entitled to. She made a face. Bribing officials was impossible, and the amount of salt it would take to even think about trying was probably more than she had ever seen in her whole lifetime.
“I have your allotment,” Mica called as Amber and the ration walked inside. “Did you give it its supplements?”
“Not yet, mom, we just got our water,” she answered, trying to hide the annoyance in her voice. She hoped her mother wasn’t planning on reminding her every single day. She took the food from Mica’s outstretched hand and disappeared into her room.
Amber filled the lid of her flask, drinking half of it before eating the first of her three pieces of meat for the day. The ration did the same, quickly downing two cakes, then it reached for the supplements. It paused, glancing up at her as if asking for permission, and she eyed it curiously as she nodded.
Richard had already started digging by the time they arrived, and Amber quickly joined him. The ration began loading up the piles of dirt after she finished sorting through each one, making the trip back and forth between their grid and the dumping ground over and over again as the hours passed.
She paused in her work to take a sip of water, catching sight of the ration. She hadn’t paid much attention to it since arriving at the grid, but now her heart sank. She had forgotten about its pale skin, and its face was red from the sun.
Amber cursed under her breath, quickly beckoning to it. The ration bent down, dropping the sacks of dirt it was preparing to carry out of the pit and walking towards her. She reached up and felt its skin with the back of her hand, then breathed a sigh of relief. It was a little warm, but not quite bad enough to be burned. She hoped she had caught it in time; her mother would never forgive her if she let the ration get sunsick.
It stared at her as she began smearing at its face, blending the dirt and sweat together to create a thin layer of natural sunblock. Her heart fluttered beneath its gaze; she just wanted it to stop looking at her, and she did her best to avoid meeting its eyes as she stood on her tiptoes to reach its neck.
Her mind flashed back to what she had thought of the night before, and her cheeks instantly flushed with embarrassment. She shot a glance in her father’s direction. Thankfully, he was facing away from her; no amount of dirt could hide the color of her skin, and she was sure he would be able to read her mind just from the deep shade of crimson she had turned.
“Go on, then,” she whispered, dismissing the ration when she was through. It went back to the sacks of dirt it had dropped, lifting them up and disappearing from sight as it climbed out of the grid.
Amber grimaced as she watched it go, wishing it was already time for harvest. If things kept going like this, the next five and a half months were going to be excruciating. She sighed, kneeling down to continue digging.
Her mind wandered, trying to make sense of why she was so uncomfortable, but she already knew the answer. It made her sick to admit it, even just to herself, and she began muttering under her breath, trying to force her mind to remember that the ration’s appearance was the only human characteristic it had. It shouldn’t be this difficult; she had never once encountered this problem with the others. Then again, the others hadn’t looked quite the same as this one.
She made a face, disgusted at herself yet again. It was an animal, barely living—a soulless sack of meat whose sole purpose for existence was to grow quickly enough to be harvested before the end of each cycle. They weren’t even born like people, they were engineered in a lab.
They had nothing in common with what it meant to be human aside from appearance. According to the resource center, rations that were left on their own would starve to death even with food right in front of them, incapable of something as simple as realizing when to eat. Even the animals from before knew enough to do that.
It’s not human, you know this, she told herself for the hundredth time. It’s just food that looks human.
Amber glanced up as the ration came back, watching as it climbed down the steps and began picking up more sacks of dirt. It met her gaze as it turned to make another trip, and she forced herself to look away.
“You’re an idiot,” she muttered, rolling her eyes.
“I think it’s time to call it a day,” Richard sighed, and Amber couldn’t ever remember feeling more grateful to hear those words. She threw her shovel down and darted up the steps without a word, leaving her father standing there in open-mouthed shock.
“Amber!”
She cringed, pausing mid-stride.
“Yes?”
“Aren’t you forgetting something?”
She turned around. Her father was standing at the bottom of the steps, his arms crossed and an impatient look on his face.
“What?”
“You’re not exactly making me feel very confident in your ability to handle responsibility right now.”
She sighed.
“I’m sorry, I’m still tired from the trip. What did I forget?”
He didn’t answer, cocking his head as he began tapping his foot. Realization dawned on her: the ration. It was her job to walk it back after work every day.
She chuckled nervously, slapping her forehead.
“Oh, right. I knew that.”
He gave her a long look.
“I’m sure. See that the hauling sacks get put away when it gets back, I’m going home.”
Amber sighed with frustration, sinking down onto the steps and tapping her fingers on her knee. She just wanted the day to be over, although that would bring its own complications. After all, she had to share a bed with the thing; there would be no escape, not until harvest. She cursed under her breath, counting the minutes as she waited for the ration to return.
When it arrived, she snatched the empty sacks from its hands, rushing to put them away.
“Come on,” she said, walking ahead of it as she set out for home. It jogged to her side, catching up and keeping pace with her, and she stopped.
“Behind me!” she snapped, pointing angrily. The ration froze, its eyes wide, and she instantly regretted her tone. It didn’t know any better. She let out a heavy breath, beckoning to it as she began walking again.
This time, it stayed a few steps behind her. Amber didn’t notice, too focused on getting home.
†‡†
CHAPTER SIX
“It’s been four weeks,” Richard said as he prepared to head home after another long day at the grid. “You need to take the ration in for its weight check today.”
Amber rolled her eyes.
“I know, dad, I didn’t forget.”
“I’m just making sure, my dear,” her father told her, turning to leave. “You’re doing a good job.”
She watched him go, annoyed that her reading time was going to be interfered with. It felt like it had been much longer than just a month, and the discomfort brought on by the ration’s presence hadn’t faded. In her heart, she was counting down the days until it would be harvested. One month down, four and a half to go.
Amber made her way to the center of the settlement after work and took her place in line. There were forty families on the same cycle as hers, all there for weight checks, and even after so many weeks, she could still feel them glaring at her as she waited beside the ration.
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