She made mental note of the weights of the other rations as they were announced, trying to compare them to what she expected hers to weigh. So far, most of them seemed a little low for the one-month check.
Jeff Thompson was recording the weights, and he beckoned to her when it was her turn.
“Got the last guaranteed strain, I heard,” he said, eyeing her ration. “You’re lucky, all the newer ones aren’t doing that well so far.”
Amber smiled proudly; he was the first person to offer anything other than jealous criticism.
“My father knows what to look for, even if it is older than most.”
Jeff grunted in acknowledgment as he reached out to scan the tattoo on her arm, then Amber led the ration to the makeshift scales, guiding it up onto the plastic platform and lifting sacks of dirt onto the other side until the rod that spanned the device leveled out. He furrowed his brow, making a note before announcing the results.
“Ordell, Amber. 487. Strain 27680, weight 246 pounds.”
Her eyes grew wide.
“Are you sure?”
He nodded, and excitement filled her heart. It was more than she had expected, and it meant that the ration was already much further along on its way to the yield her father had hoped for. She did the math in her head; if it kept increasing the way it should, it would exceed its projected harvest by almost thirty pounds even after accounting for bone waste.
“With its current weight I’m going to put you at…six weeks for the next check instead of four,” Jeff told her, tapping on the scratched, worn screen of his tablet. She nodded, unloading the bags of dirt and lowering the ration back to the ground. Her father would be thrilled with the news.
A cry rang out on the other side of the settlement’s center, and Amber glanced over her shoulder. She thought it was another report at first, but the sight of dozens of people running out of their houses quickly put that idea out of her mind. Whatever was happening, it was much more serious than a report.
“Thief!” a woman shouted. “She was stealing water!”
Amber grabbed the ration’s arm. The people screamed and jeered, surrounding a young girl that was being dragged along the ground. She was bleeding, gasping for breath, and Amber inhaled sharply. It was thirteen-year-old Sara Parks, and the woman that stood accusing her was her mother, Sandra.
The crowd took up a chant, calling for the council. Several of the council members appeared and the crowd fell silent, parting in the middle to let them through.
“What’s going on?” one of the council asked, glaring down at the girl.
“She took the rest of my water!” Sandra screamed, holding her flask up. “It’s empty, I had four capfuls left!”
Amber’s heart sank at the loathing on the woman’s face, but she was not foolish enough to think that her own parents would react any differently. Stealing from a parent was the ultimate form of betrayal, and family meant nothing when water and food were on the line. As much as she knew her own parents cared for her, she had no doubt as to what her fate would be if she ever did the same.
“Please, mommy, don’t do this to me!” Sara moaned, crawling forward and reaching up towards her mother. Her face was streaked with tears, and blood from the cuts on her head stained her blond hair bright red.
“This is how you repay me? All the years I’ve worked, all the effort I put in trying to reach our quota, and this is what you do?”
Sandra spat on her daughter, lunging to stomp on her face, but one of the council stopped her.
“Enough,” the man said. “We will deal with this.”
He nodded at another man standing off to the side, and he approached the girl with a small medical scanner in his hand.
“No!” Sara screamed, fighting to break free as he grabbed her arm. He pinned her down, trapping her flailing arm between his knees and holding the device against the tattooed code on her skin. A drop of blood appeared on her wrist when he released her, and the crowd held in a collective breath, waiting.
“Sample confirmed, Sara Elaine Parks, female, thirteen years old,” the man announced, glaring down at the girl. “Calculated daily hydration level of 38 points, current level 39.27 points.”
The crowd murmured in disapproval, and the man raised his hands for silence as he continued.
“Calculated daily protein level of 143, current level 156.”
“You’ve been stealing food, too?” Sandra screamed, her eyes wild, and the crowd roared with fury.
“Please, mommy, I’m sorry!”
Amber scanned the angry faces, catching sight of Sara’s younger brother. The boy’s face fell and he turned away, quickly leaving the crowd behind. He likely did not want to witness the swift justice that would come next.
The council members surrounded Sara, dragging her to the harvest station on the north side of the settlement’s center. Almost two dozen plastic tables formed a circle, troughs for collecting blood during harvest beside each one. They deposited the girl on the first table they came to, kicking the trough aside. It wouldn’t be needed; people weren’t harvested, only rations.
Sara dissolved into sobs of despair as someone tied her arms and legs down before beckoning to her mother. Amber’s stomach turned. The offended party was required to deliver the penalty, but she felt like there should be an exception in the case of family.
Sandra stepped to her daughter’s side, reaching for the knife that hung from a string tied to the table’s edge.
“You brought this on yourself,” she said, raising the knife. “You knew what would come of it, this is your own doing.”
“I’m sorry! Please don’t, I’m sorry!”
Sara’s pleas for mercy dissolved into panicked, unintelligible screeches, and Amber grimaced, turning away.
“Let’s go,” she whispered, grabbing the ration’s arm as the sound of gurgling filled the air.
Her heart was heavy as she made her way back home. She hated executions, but it was the girl’s own fault. Everyone in the settlement over the age of six was held to the same consequence when it came to stealing food and water allotments, and this girl had been more than old enough to know better. Her body would be placed in the graveyard outside the settlement on the eastern side, left to rot in the sun like all of the dead until the dust blown in by the night winds covered her up. Sandra would receive her dead child’s water allotment the next day as compensation.
While there were many rules that governed the settlements, only offenses related to food and water were punishable by death. Stealing was the least of them, which is why the girl’s death had been quick, but other offenses, like harming a ration, would result in much more painful executions.
The consequences for breaking lesser rules usually involved losing part of one’s daily allotment, like willingly sharing water or damaging property issued by the resource centers. Though harsh, the system was effective; people were too afraid to do anything that might result in any kind of punishment, and executions were extremely rare.
Being reported, on the other hand, occurred a bit more often, and unlike executions, seeing one barely fazed Amber. The process was designed to handle anyone with mental, emotional, or physical ailments that rendered them incapable of being productive, and if a report was made, the resource center would remove the afflicted person from the settlement. No one was entirely sure what became of them, but to her knowledge, they never returned.
Mica was sitting on the floor with Alex, watching him play in the dirt when Amber walked in.
“Hi, mom.”
“Amber.”
Her mother glanced up, giving her a slight smile before quickly looking away. Amber froze, immediately noticing that Mica didn’t meet her gaze, and guilt instantly stabbed through her heart. She knew full well what that meant. Her mother must have already heard about the execution.
Amber quickly put her head down as shame flooded her veins, almost tripping over herself as she rushed back
outside and sat down in the shaded space between her house and the neighbor’s. Homes were built in blocks of four, and their door faced the one across from it. The neighbor’s roof had started to collapse several months ago, and no one had gotten around to fixing it which meant that it was vacant. It was a stroke of luck for the family that had lived there; they were permitted to move into one of the inner homes in the meantime, and they certainly weren’t in a hurry to do the repair. Amber was grateful, too: it meant she had a place to sit that was quiet and uninterrupted, which is exactly what she needed right now.
She closed her eyes, leaning her head back against the wall. It was like this any time a young girl died in the settlement, but she knew her mother’s heart was triggered twice this time. Amber’s little sister would have turned thirteen this year, just like Sara.
“I saw you at the weight check,” John said, appearing at her side. She barely acknowledged him, but he didn’t seem to notice.
“Stupid Sara, huh?” he went on, sitting down next to her. “She never was very bright, everyone knows better than to steal.”
Amber drew a ragged breath.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
He shrugged.
“Okay. What do you want to talk about?”
“Nothing, John,” she answered, gazing down at her hands. “I want to be alone.”
He moved closer, putting his arm around her shoulders.
“What’s going on?”
“It’s nothing, you already know that. It’s always nothing, I’m fine.”
John eyed her for a moment, then drew a deep breath.
“You and I both know that’s not true,” he said slowly, his blue eyes soft as he gave her a meaningful look, and Amber’s heart instantly filled with suspicion.
“What are you trying to say?” she demanded, her eyes meeting his in defiance, and he raised his hands defensively.
“Nothing, nothing at all. Just…I mean, you can trust me, Amber. You can talk to me if you need to.”
“Why would I need to?”
“I…I don’t know,” John stammered. “No reason, I just thought―”
“Thought what, that I’m as gullible as Justine? I heard all about it, Dale told her the same thing before he reported her for feeling depressed. Or did you think I’d forgotten?”
“I’m not Dale,” John told her quietly. “I would never do that to you. I…I care about you, Amber.”
She pulled out of his grasp, edging away from him.
“It doesn’t matter. There’s nothing to talk about, John. I’m fine, I just want to be alone.”
“Okay, I guess,” he sighed, standing to his feet. “I just…I just hope you know that I’m here. If you ever do decide you have something to talk about.”
Amber didn’t answer, watching him leave, then she returned to staring at her hands. As tempted as she was to drop her guard, she was not about to make the same mistake Justine had made, regardless of how sincere John seemed.
The sun went down, and she moved around the corner to the ground on the outward-facing side of her house, crossing her legs underneath her as she stared up at the sky. She didn’t want to talk to John about her sister’s death, but she did sometimes wish that she could talk to her mother about it. It wouldn’t do any good even if she could, though. While she was almost certain that her mother’s occasional silence was a sign of the same sorrow she herself felt, confirming it wouldn’t bring her any closer to being able to make amends for it.
Amber sighed, drawing her knees up to her chin and resting her face on her folded arms. Mourning, like any other show of emotional attachment beyond meaningless terms of endearment or a simple hug or kiss, was seen as a weakness. Weakness was frailty, and frailty was a step towards being reported.
Even John’s claim to care about her was toeing the line, which made her even more suspicious of his intentions. Emotions were trivial things that interfered with survival, and it was understood that they must be kept secret. As a result, people were careful to hide any signs of sorrow behind cold, stoic façades, and life went on as if nothing had ever happened. As if the dead had never existed.
When her sister had died, Amber had known even at thirteen years old that crying would be a violation of the unwritten rules. There were no tears to be shed over something as commonplace as death, not when preventing one’s own death was of such higher importance. Attachment, even to family members, was unacceptable.
She believed that she loved her parents and that her parents loved her, at least in a way, but even that revolved around survival. People loved the ones they needed, nothing more. The loss of a family member was always seen as the loss of a worker rather than anything else, and losing a child was losing years of investment in potential work. That was part of why she felt so alone in her sorrow over her sister’s death: her sadness was because her sister was gone, not because of the nine years of allotments that would never be recouped.
No one had even so much as uttered her sister’s name since that night, a fact that bothered her nearly as much as the guilt she felt for what had happened. Sometimes, it seemed as though her memories were the only evidence that her sister had ever drawn breath in this life, but even those were fading as the years passed.
Four years, almost five. The anniversary was drawing close, marking the ever-increasing distance between the short time she and her sister had shared and the present. Soon, the scales would tip, and those few precious years would represent less and less of her life. If she lived that long, anyway.
Amber shivered as the wind cut through her thin clothes. She could hear her parents readying for bed; she knew she should go inside, but she felt like she didn’t have the energy to move. She took a deep breath, forcing her muscles to relax. It wasn’t cold enough yet, but in a few weeks, the night temperatures would drop and it wouldn’t take long for someone to slip away. Sometimes, she wondered what it would feel like. Her throat closed as tears welled up in her eyes, and she leaned forward, burying her face in her hands.
Then, a moment later, she felt the weight of her blanket appear on her shoulders, and her tears instantly died as she froze. It had to be her father given the mood her mother was in. Amber cringed with embarrassment and fear, quickly wiping her face. Hopefully, he hadn’t noticed her tears.
The blanket settled down over her as she forced a smile, trying to prepare herself for the disapproving look she expected her father to have. She took a deep breath, glancing back just in time to see a figure disappear around the corner of the house, and her mouth dropped open with shock.
It was the ration, not her father. The ration had brought her the blanket.
She turned back around, confusion filling her mind. It was a stretch of the imagination to think that either one of her parents would show such a gesture of tenderness in the first place, but the idea that the ration would do so seemed even more impossible. She grabbed the edges of the blanket, almost as if trying to prove to herself that she wasn’t seeing things. It was really there, and she shook her head in bewilderment. She needed sleep—she was losing her mind.
Amber gazed up at the stars one more time as she stood to her feet.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she whispered up at them, grabbing her light as she turned to go inside.
She clicked the light on as she entered her room. The ration was sitting on the edge of her bed, shivering as it held her sleep clothes in its hands. Remorse stabbed through her heart at the sight of it; it stood the moment she walked in, holding the clothes out to her, and she quickly took them from its outstretched hands. It turned its back as she began to undress.
The ration stepped to the edge of the bed as she climbed in, waiting as it always did. She sighed.
“Come on, then,” Amber whispered, beckoning to it, and it immediately obeyed.
A different kind of awkwardness washed over her as it settled in beside her. She felt a twinge of gratitude towards it, but thankin
g it seemed foolish. It’s not like it would understand, anyway, the words would be wasted. Then again, it obviously understood enough to recognize that she would be cold sitting outside in the night.
She shivered, and the ration nudged closer to her. As she closed her eyes, she realized that she didn’t mind its presence quite as much as before.
†‡†
CHAPTER SEVEN
The next several days passed in much the same manner, with Amber’s mood darkening more and more every time she saw her mother’s averted gaze. She dreaded having to get her food allotment in the mornings before work, the one time of day she couldn’t avoid interacting with her mother, and in the afternoons, she hid away in her shaded spot outside. John seemed to realize that she wanted him to stay away, and so her evenings were spent alone, waiting for her parents to go to bed before she would even consider going inside.
Every night, without fail, the ration brought her the blanket, and by the seventh night, she had come to expect it. The gesture comforted her in a way, making her feel less isolated, and she found herself almost looking forward to it. She began to wonder if it could sense that something was wrong somehow, and for the first time since she could remember, she felt as if she wasn’t entirely isolated in her sorrow.
Amber wrapped her arms around herself as she listened to her parents go to bed. Sure enough, a few moments later, the ration appeared, and she glanced up as it placed the blanket over her shoulders. It turned around, preparing to go back inside, and she felt a twinge of compassion tug at her heart. For the past week, it had sat alone in the dark of her cold room, patiently waiting for her to bring the blanket back so it could go to sleep.
Without thinking, Amber grabbed its hand.
“Stop.”
The ration paused, and she gestured at the ground beside her.
“Stay with me. It’s too cold in there.”
It obediently moved to her side, and she wrapped half of the blanket around it as it sat down.
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