Normally, Amber found harvests exciting, but this time a wave of discomfort washed over her at the sight of the bones and meat piled up on the tables. She grabbed the ration’s arm to pull it away. Somehow, it didn’t seem right for it to see.
“Come on,” she whispered. “We need to get our allotments.”
The ration seemed unfazed as it continued along with her to line up for the taps. She moved as fast as she could, grateful that John wasn’t waiting for her like he usually did every morning, then she hurried home after getting the ration’s food allotment for the day.
Amber spent the workday in silence, trying to shake the strange sense of regret that filled her stomach every time she thought of the ration. She felt bad that it had seen the harvest, but she didn’t understand why. She had never thought twice about it before, and their family’s previous rations had often gone along with her father to help carry meat during other harvest cycles in the past. Something was different this time, though, this ration seemed more…aware, somehow. She sighed, making mental note to leave it behind when it was time for the next harvest.
She felt a little better by the time the day ended, and when she got back home, she was grateful to find that Alex wasn’t screaming anymore. She retrieved her book and went outside, sitting down in the shade and beckoning to the ration to join her. Reading would take her mind off of things, and she flipped to where she had left off the night before as she took a breath.
“Chapter Two: Deities in the Heavens. Early man sought to explain the existence of the celestial bodies, and many cultures attributed god-like characteristics to both the stars and the earth…”
She loved this chapter; almost every page was filled with pictures, and she paused in her reading to explain each one.
“There were so many different stories about the stars,” Amber said, pointing at a picture of an oddly-shaped woman carrying the sky on her back.
“This one is from a place called Egypt. They believed that the sun and moon were born every day from a woman, and this one…” She turned the page. “This one believed that the earth was carried on the back of a turtle.”
She chuckled, rolling her eyes at how ridiculous the words sounded.
“It’s not real, though. Well, at least the part about it carrying the world. There really were turtles, but they were nowhere near big enough to carry a whole planet. Some of the stories are a little crazy, but they were just the way people used to try to explain how the stars came to be before anyone really knew anything about them. They used to believe the world was flat, too. If you think about how old the earth is, that wasn’t even very long ago. Sailors used to think that you could fall right off the edge of the earth if you sailed too far in the ocean.”
She skipped ahead a couple of pages, pointing at a picture of a thickly-muscled man standing beside a horse with wings growing out of its back.
“This is Hercules, the stories about him are my favorites. They were Jude’s favorites, too.”
Amber eyed the ration thoughtfully.
“She would have been fascinated by you. You look a little like Hercules, at the least the way the books show. Except he’s supposed to have lighter hair and his nose is different in the pictures. There was a whole book about Greek gods about six years ago, and a lot of the constellations are named after things that happened in the myths. I’ll show you some of them when the stars come out.”
Amber went back to last page she had read, running her finger along each line of text as she continued.
It began to get dark, and she sighed as she stared down at the last picture in the chapter. It was of a creature with snakes on its head, and she smiled.
“This is Medusa, and that’s Perseus, the god that slayed her. I remember the first time my sister saw her in the book about Greek gods, she had nightmares for almost a week and I was afraid she was going to tell someone about it. She was old enough to be reported for something like that, people would have thought she was crazy.”
Amber looked up at the sky as the picture faded in the dark, watching as the stars appeared in the wake of the dying sunlight. After a while, she felt the ration move as it got up to retrieve the blanket, and she furrowed her brow in thought as she waited for it to return. It always seemed to know when her parents went to bed, almost like it knew better than to go inside alone when they were awake. They would think it strange that the ration was doing something like that, it wouldn’t be good for them to find out. She made a face. It was strange, but she didn’t care, not anymore.
The ration came back, and she moved closer to it as it sat down beside her. She pointed up at the sky.
“That’s Perseus. The nightmares stopped after I told Jude that he was always up there even when we couldn’t see him, protecting her from Medusa. That was the only thing that worked, not even telling her that all the snakes on earth were dead was enough. She was afraid of pictures after that, at least for a while. Then we got a book that was just pictures, a photography book filled with portraits of people who lived hundreds of years ago. She liked that one, but it made her sad that her picture wasn’t in there.”
Amber sighed, her heart sinking.
“I wish I had a picture of her. I don’t even remember what she looked like anymore. I mean, sometimes it’s like I can feel what she looked like, but it’s not a picture in my head, it’s more of how I used to feel when she was around. My parents said she looked like me, but I’ve never seen myself. I found a shiny piece of rock one time when I was digging at the grid, but all I could see was the reflection of my eye. It was too small to see anything else. I know she had the same hair as me, light brown, and her eyes were hazel like mine. But when I try to imagine her, the picture gets all jumbled up in my head.”
The wind was sharp against her skin, biting at her as if it had teeth, but she ignored it, lost in her thoughts.
“I don’t remember my grandma’s face at all, except that it was covered in wrinkles like a picture of a cat I saw in a book once. I remember her voice, though, from when she used to tell me stories. She died right after Jude was born, she was really, really old. She was a little girl when the very last bird died, but she said she could never forget what it looked like. It was in a big cage inside one of the resource centers, and there was a bright purple flower growing in a pot next to it. The bird was dying, and its feathers were floating through the air and landing on the flower’s petals. Then one of the petals fell, just like the bird’s feathers, and she said she knew that the flower was dying, too.”
Amber ran her hands over the cover of the book, her voice growing husky as tears filled her eyes.
“I wish I knew what purple looked like. Some of the books talk about purple sunsets, but that was back when there were clouds. I remember asking my grandma what purple was and she said it was like warm blue, like the areas around the galaxies in the sky at night but brighter, or like the color of day-old bruises from working at the grid only not as muddy and gray. She found a piece of plastic once that she said was close, but it just looked like brown to me.”
She drew a slow breath.
“I try to imagine it but I don’t know if it’s right, though, just like when I look at the pictures in the books. Old books from before used to have color pictures in them, but the resource centers don’t print in anything other than black and white. I try to color the pictures in my head, especially of the animals, but it just doesn’t seem right. The pictures are just so…empty. They look like something out of a faded dream, like they couldn’t possibly ever have existed. Sometimes I feel like they never did, like it’s all just a lie meant to give us something to read about as a distraction from dirt and being miserable. I wish I could see just a tiny little piece of something from before, just to prove to myself that it was all real. I wish….”
Her voice trailed off as her tears finally spilled over, tracing cold streaks down her face. She felt longing appear deep within her chest, a sense of mourning over the loss
of something that would always be unknown to her, and she laughed at herself as she reached up to press her fingers against her eyelids.
“It’s silly, I know. I don’t know why it bothers me, it’s not like I even know what I’m wishing for.”
She could feel the ration staring at her, and she shot it a quick glance.
“You probably think I’m an idiot. Or you would, if you could think.”
It tilted its head back to look at the stars, and she patted its knee, beckoning to it as she stood to go inside.
Amber changed quickly and climbed into bed, holding the blanket up as she waited for the ration to join her, then she closed her eyes, relaxing as its warmth filled the space under the blanket. Her throat still ached, and she drew a ragged breath, trying to control herself. The world of the books was gone, there was no sense in being upset about it.
She felt a light touch on her arm, and her eyes snapped open to see the ration watching her. Her heart skipped a beat. It moved a little closer, its hand resting on her shoulder almost as if it was trying to comfort her. She froze, staring into its eyes in confusion for a moment before shrinking away from its touch.
She rolled over, her tears instantly forgotten amid the hot rush of sudden panic that surged through her heart. The drawing in the dirt flashed through her mind, and she held her breath, trying to force herself to stop thinking. She was being foolish to imagine that this thing was capable of anything outside of basic instinct, she knew she was taking comfort in the presence of something that couldn’t even understand what she was saying.
Or could it?
She didn’t like the thoughts that were spinning through her head or the strange type of fear that was growing in the pit of her stomach, and she shuddered. Talking to the ration had been a mistake.
†‡†
CHAPTER NINE
Amber ignored the ration as she readied for work the next day, resolving in her heart to stop interacting with it the way she had been over the past days. That night, and the following nights, she didn’t read to the ration, instead sending it back inside after returning home from the grid in the afternoons. She didn’t stay out to watch the stars, either; it felt wrong somehow after spending those few evenings with the ration, and the thought of going back to being alone made her heart ache.
Each night, as she finished reading, it took everything in her power to refrain from calling it out to join her, until she found herself doubting her reasons for deciding to abandon it in the first place. The feeling was made even worse by the fact that it seemed to know that something was different. At work, she could feel it staring at her every time it came back to retrieve another load of dirt to bring to the dumping ground, and a sense of shame soon began growing in her heart when she realized that she couldn’t bring herself to look at it. It reminded her of how her mother behaved when thinking about Jude, and she couldn’t ignore how unfair her treatment of the ration felt. It had done nothing to deserve her reaction, but it seemed too late to change her mind.
John had avoided her in the days since their last conversation, but as the week drew to an end, he finally seemed to gather the courage to pay her another visit. Amber was sitting outside with her book like always, reading as the sun sank lower and lower in the sky, when she heard the sound of his approaching footsteps. Her heart leaped into her throat at first, only to instantly sink into her stomach when she realized who it was. Part of her had almost expected it to be the ration coming out to join her, and for a moment, she felt foolishly disappointed.
John smiled warmly, giving her a slight wave as he moved to her side.
“Hi.”
She didn’t look up, pretending to be focused on her book.
“Hi, John.”
“I haven’t seen you for a while.”
Amber closed her eyes, swallowing back her annoyance, then she glanced up at him.
“I know. Any closer to meeting your quota?”
John sighed heavily, sitting down on the ground.
“We found a few pounds of salt yesterday, but today was horrible.”
“More so than usual?”
“Yes.”
“I find that hard to believe,” Amber scoffed. “Every day is the same.”
“Not for me, at least not this week. My dad decided to change things up, he’s had our ration digging along with us instead of hauling. We’ve done three courses in just a few days.”
“That doesn’t sound like a good idea. The discard will pile up and make it impossible to keep going.”
“Exactly, which is why today was so horrible,” John told her, wincing as he rubbed his neck. “We all had to haul loads to the dumping ground just to get caught up. The worst part is that my dad thinks it was worth it since we actually found some salt, and he plans to do it again next week.”
He paused for a moment, eyeing her.
“Just so you know, he was talking to your father about it in the settlement a little while ago.”
Amber frowned.
“I hope my dad doesn’t decide to do the same thing.”
“Me too, for your sake. I don’t think my arms have ever hurt this much.”
She could feel him staring at her, and she closed her book, quickly gesturing at the darkening sky.
“It’s getting late, John. You should probably start heading back home.”
His face filled with disappointment.
“But I just got here,” he said. “You don’t want to look at the stars for a while? I know you like doing that, and I’d like to sit with you if you want.”
She shot him a glance, her mouth dropping open in surprise.
“How do you know about that?”
He shrugged.
“Your dad has mentioned it a few times. He says you’ve been sitting out here almost every night.”
“I…well, not every night. Just sometimes.”
“What about tonight?”
She sighed, thinking for a moment.
“It gets really cold out here.”
“I don’t mind,” he told her, his eyes lighting up. “I can deal with it for a little while.”
“Your parents won’t wonder where you are?”
He shook his head.
“No, of course not. They’re in bed the moment it starts cooling off enough to sleep.”
She wracked her mind, trying to think of another excuse.
“And what about your family’s ration? It sleeps in your bed, it will be cold if you’re not there.”
“It’ll be fine for a little while.”
Amber pursed her lips. She did miss having company, and maybe him being there would help distract her from thinking about the ration.
“I suppose,” she finally agreed. “For a little while, at least.”
She got up and moved to the outer wall of the house, John following behind. He sat down beside her, shivering as he put his arm around her shoulders. For a moment, she stiffened; his touch was unfamiliar after spending so many nights with the ration at her side, and her instinct was to pull away. His presence almost seemed to set her teeth on edge, and she immediately knew that having him with her wouldn’t help anything. It was the ration she missed.
“Are you okay?” John asked, looking down at her, and she nodded, forcing herself to relax.
“I’m fine, just a bit cold,” she answered. He tightened his grip, pulling her closer to warm her up and resting his face on the top of her head.
“Tell me about them,” he said, gesturing at the stars. “You’ve read that book enough times, you probably know all there is to know by now.”
A fresh wave of discomfort filled Amber’s stomach, and she swallowed hard.
“I don’t really know that much. It’s a big book, and it’s hard to remember it all.”
“You have the best memory of anyone I’ve ever met. Come on, what about that one right there?”
He pointed up at a group of stars, and Amber roll
ed her eyes.
“That’s the Big Dipper, but you already know that.”
John’s chest shook as he laughed quietly.
“That’s the only one I know,” he told her. “Tell me another one.”
The thought of sharing this with him made her feel awkwardly exposed, and she gulped.
“I…I’m too tired to think. Let’s just look at them, okay?”
He shrugged.
“That’s fine with me, whatever you want.”
They fell silent for a long moment, then John spoke.
“I’m sorry if I upset you last time we talked, I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“I know you didn’t,” Amber said.
He sighed heavily.
“I just know that sometimes I wish I had someone to talk to, so I figured you might feel the same.”
“What do you mean?”
John shifted uncomfortably, and she could feel a sudden nervousness begin radiating from him.
“I mean, it’s just hard not having anyone to trust. Everyone’s so afraid of getting reported.”
“For good reason. People are always looking for a chance to get the reward.”
“Yes, but you’d think people would care about each other more. It’s hard to be alone, especially when life is…difficult.”
Amber didn’t like what he was getting at; it felt like he was trying to worm his way into her head.
“I like being alone,” she told him, forcing an even tone. “Having people around makes me feel suffocated.”
His body tensed.
“Do I make you feel suffocated?”
“Sometimes.”
“I…I didn’t know that.”
To her surprise, she thought she could hear hurt in his voice.
“It’s not good to get caught up in feelings, John,” she told him lightly. “And it’s not something we should be talking about.”
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