People kept to themselves outside of daily life, relying on each other only for help with basic survival like how her father would be called upon when the well was blocked or how her mother would care for a few of the smaller children. Beyond that, personal interactions didn’t exist. It was nothing like the story described, the book made companionship sound almost magical in a way.
Amber sighed as she closed the book. Like all the others, it described yet another aspect of existence that was foreign to her, but something felt different about it this time. This time, some of what it told of was not entirely out of reach; the earth was dead, but emotion would exist as long as there were people to experience it. It was simply hidden somewhere in the shadow of the tragedy brought on by the world they lived in, it was not actually gone.
She stole a glance at the ration. It was staring up at the sky as it always did when she finished reading, and she felt a twinge of sorrow in her heart. It would be harvested soon, in only a few short months, and she realized that she was going to miss it. She huddled up beside it, leaning against it as she looked up at the sky.
A flash of light streaked across the horizon.
“Did you see that?” she gasped, tracing its path with her finger. “That was a shooting star! You’re supposed to make a wish when you see one, and if you’re lucky, your wish will come true!”
Amber closed her eyes for a moment, whispering in her heart. What she wanted was impossible, but it wouldn’t hurt anything to dream.
The ration’s body shuddered as it drew a breath, and she straightened.
“It’s too cold, we need to go inside. We’ll read the next chapter tomorrow.”
The ration seemed to move a bit slower than usual as it followed her inside. She glanced back as she stepped through the doorway; it was still gazing up at the stars, and she reached out, placing her hand on its shoulder.
“Come on,” she said, giving it a slight smile as she bent down to pick up the light. “Don’t worry, we’ll see them again tomorrow night.”
The ration followed her into the house, but instead of retrieving her sleep clothes like it usually did every night, it began digging in its pocket the moment she turned the light on. She ignored it, stepping around it to grab her clothes then waiting for it to turn its back.
“Well?”
The ration didn’t move, and Amber waved her hand, gesturing for it to hurry.
“The light’s going to die, turn around so I can…”
Her voice trailed off as she glanced down; its arm was outstretched, like it was trying to give her something.
“What?”
It stood there motionless, staring at her. She sighed, holding out her hand, and the ration opened its fist.
A small piece of flat, dark rock dropped into her palm, and she stared down at it in confusion.
“This is the wrong kind of rock, salt rocks are light colored.”
Amber tilted her hand, letting it slide off onto the floor, but the ration bent down and quickly picked it back up. It stepped closer to the light and held out its hand again. She opened her mouth, preparing to dismiss it, but something made her hesitate.
“Okay, fine, let me see.”
She moved to its side, taking the rock from its hand and leaning down to inspect it. It was just a rock, nothing more.
“I don’t understand,” she whispered impatiently, glancing at the ration as she turned the rock over in her hand. “It’s trash, worthless…”
Her words died as her heart leaped into her throat, realization finally dawning on her.
Etched on the dark surface were the fine details of a delicate pair of wings, thin membranes whose first moment of decay had been captured and permanently stamped on the stone. Between the wings was the unmistakable shape of an insect’s segmented body, including two small strands protruding from a tiny, triangular head. It was small, much smaller than the images the pictures in the books had brought to her imagination.
A flood of emotion surged through her veins, instantly making her skin sweat despite the cold. Her hands began to tremble, and her throat closed up as her vision went blurry from the tears that filled her eyes.
“It’s…it’s beautiful.”
The light began to dim, announcing its dying battery. Amber ignored it, unable to tear her eyes away until finally, with a quiet click, the light disappeared. She moved beneath the thin beam of moonlight that streamed in through the ceiling above, lifting the rock to her face as she tried to see the details one more time. It was too dark.
The ration reached for the rock, gently taking it from her and placing it on the shelf. Its tall silhouette was barely visible as it began to change into its sleep clothing, and she managed to break from her shock long enough to do the same.
Her mind raced. She had never thought to look for anything like that before, casting aside any rocks that weren’t the right color without a second glance. How many of these shadows of life had she discarded, how many had she missed?
As Amber moved into place beside the ration’s quiet form, another thought occurred to her. It knew the rock would be important to her, it really did understand what she said to it every night. It seemed impossible, but somehow, it was true.
Just like her dream of ever seeing any of the old world’s life outside of a book—that had been impossible, too, until tonight. Tears began to fill her eyes once more; it didn’t matter how, she didn’t care. Seeing that little creature’s form had been more than she ever could have hoped for, and she couldn’t wait for the light of morning so she could look at it again.
Amber rested her face against the ration’s chest, listening to the rise and fall of its breathing as her heart swelled with appreciation. She moved her hand, slipping in under the ration’s arm and pulling herself closer to it as she fell asleep.
†‡†
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Amber couldn’t stop smiling the next morning as she got ready for the day. She changed quickly, fighting off tears of happiness every time she glanced at the tiny rock sitting on her shelf. It was more amazing than she ever could have imagined, and she wished she could spend the whole day staring at it instead of going to work.
Part of her wanted to show her parents, but it felt too precious to share. She picked it up, her heart swelling with excitement as she stared at it. It was her secret, something that, like the reading and nightly conversations, existed only between her and the ration.
“Hurry up, Amber!” Mica called. “Your father is waiting for you!”
“I know!” she responded, placing the rock back on its shelf and quickly portioning out the supplements. She beckoned to the ration, grabbing her flask on the way out, then she paused. Today was the first day of this cycle’s harvest.
“Stay here,” Amber whispered, motioning for it to give her its flask. “Just wait, I’ll be back soon.” The ration put its head down as it stepped back into her room, and she couldn’t help feeling ashamed as she left it behind. It knew enough to bring her the rock, and she wondered if it somehow knew why she didn’t want to bring it along today.
Her spirits fell as she made her way to the taps. Only a few more months until she would be leading the ration to the harvest station, just a handful of short weeks before it would be gone forever. Her throat began to ache the moment she caught the first whiff of fresh meat; in the past, it had always made her mouth water, but now, the smell made her stomach turn.
“Amber!”
She glanced up to see John approaching. She was surprised by his greeting; he had been avoiding her since the night of their last conversation.
“Hi, John.”
“How have you been?”
“Fine.”
“Where’s your ration?”
Amber shrugged.
“I left it behind today.”
He seemed like he didn’t know what else to say, and he was silent for a moment as the line moved forward.
�
�How’s your dad?” he finally asked. “Any problems after the well accident?”
“No. He took a couple days off when it first happened, but he’s been fine ever since.”
“That’s good.”
They were next, and John gestured for her to go ahead. She eyed him suspiciously as she moved forward to fill the flasks; he never offered to let her go first. He glanced away when he caught her looking at him.
“Any word on your applications?” he asked as he began to fill his own flask. It took her a moment to realize what he was talking about. She hadn’t thought about the applications in weeks, her mind too preoccupied with spending time with the ration. She shook her head.
“No, not yet.”
“They probably won’t choose yours,” John told her, stepping out of line and filling the lid of his flask. He took a sip. “They usually pick older people, you know that.”
Amber scowled.
“Thanks for the encouragement.”
“I’m not trying to be mean,” he said quickly, shooting her a look. “You know it’s true.”
She knew full well that it was true, but it didn’t make his reminder sting any less.
“Isn’t your dad waiting for you at your grid?” she asked, trying to change the subject.
“Not today,” John said, his focus instantly shifting as his eyes brightened. He gestured towards the harvest station. “We’re helping my dad’s cousin with their harvest. Their ration did pretty well this cycle, you should come take a look.”
Amber swallowed hard, a sour taste filling her mouth.
“That’s okay, I need to get back―”
“You can spare a minute or two, can’t you?”
“My dad’s waiting for me,” she told him, turning her attention to the woman handing out the allotments. “Ordell, Amber. 487.”
Amber took the cakes and moved to leave, but John grabbed her hand.
“Come on. They actually let me strip some of the meat this time, I want to show you how I did!”
She pulled away from him in annoyance.
“John, I really―”
“Amber! How’s Richard doing?”
She spun around to see John’s father, Terry, standing behind her. She smiled impatiently.
“He’s fine, he made a full recovery weeks ago. I’ll see you later, John, I have to―”
“That’s good to hear. He asked a few months ago about the new strain Ray and his wife got, we just finished harvesting and we’re about to weigh. Come over here for a minute, you can pass the number along to Richard.”
It was obvious that protesting any more would be pointless, and she clenched her teeth as she nodded.
Amber could hear bones snapping as she approached the harvest station, following behind Terry and John as they led her to one of the tables. She tried not to look at the bare skeleton that lay there, but she couldn’t help flinching as Terry’s cousin continued breaking the joints apart. He wrapped the pieces in heavy black plastic; they would sit out in the sun on a solar heating pad provided by the resource center, the marrow steaming throughout the day so it could be removed and dried like the meat and organs.
The empty bones would be delivered to the centers, where they would be processed into fine powder to be used in supplements. No part of the rations went to waste, and she glanced at the plastic tent that had been draped over the blood-filled trough. The water would be distilled off, collecting in a small pouch, while the iron-rich slurry that remained was considered a treat that would be divided between the family members.
The skin was laid out flat, and John grabbed a knife, slicing strips off and layering them in plastic to receive the same treatment as the bones would. In her mind’s eye, she imagined her ration on one of the tables, and she could feel the blood drain from her face.
“I…I have to get back,” Amber croaked, averting her eyes. “My dad’s waiting.”
“This will just take a minute,” Terry told her, reaching out and gathering up handfuls of meat. “Now, this is the raw weight, make sure you tell him that when you see him. And it’s for a family of two, so it’s a smaller ration.”
She nodded, fighting against the nausea that roiled in her stomach. He placed the meat in a plastic tub, grunting as he hefted it onto the scale.
“One hundred and sixty seven,” he announced, grinning happily. “That’s for strain 58697. I’ve been keeping an eye on yours, it seems to be filling out nicely, too.”
“Thanks,” she said, swallowing hard. “I have to get going, I’ll be sure to tell my dad what the weight was.”
She turned on her heel and began walking away.
“Bye, Amber!” John called after her, and she gave a quick wave over her shoulder.
She hurried home, avoiding the ration’s gaze as she walked in.
“What took so long?” Mica asked, appearing in the doorway of her room.
“The harvest,” Amber answered, swallowing her supplements. “Terry wanted to tell me the weight for Ray’s ration.”
Her mother’s eyes lit up.
“How did it do?”
Amber choked on the capsule, reaching for her flask and quickly taking a drink. Her mother tapped her foot impatiently.
“Well?”
“The raw weight was 167,” Amber coughed.
“That’s not very much,” Mica mused, turning to walk away. “Although I supposed it is for a smaller family. Don’t forget to take ours in for its weight check today after work.”
Amber’s eyes grew wide, and she shot a glance at the ration. Had it already been six weeks? Her mind raced; the other half of this cycle’s harvest would be dispatched that evening, and she would have to hurry if she was going to avoid it. She made a face, trying to remind herself that it didn’t matter, that the ration wouldn’t know what was happening, but a tiny voice in her heart told her that she knew better.
She stood to her feet, looking over at the rock the ration had given her as she prepared to leave for the grid. She sighed. It didn’t seem to elicit the same excitement as it had when she first woke up. Now, all she could think about was what life would be like without the creature that had found it for her.
Jeff Thompson was waiting for her after work.
“You’re late,” he told her gruffly, scanning the code on her arm. No one else was in line, and she could tell he was annoyed. He wasn’t allowed to go home until every scheduled ration had been weighed.
“I had to stay a little longer at the grid,” Amber explained, nudging the ration towards the platform. She began loading the bags of dirt on the other side, glancing nervously towards the harvest station. The families were already there, their rations lined up and waiting.
“Ordell, Amber. 487. Strain 27680, weight 253 pounds.”
She barely heard him, quickly moving to unload the bags, and he frowned.
“That doesn’t seem right,” Jeff said, furrowing his brow as she beckoned for the ration to get down.
“What doesn’t?”
“Your ration’s growth is seven pounds behind schedule, and that’s without the extra six pounds it was ahead the last time.”
She froze. Growth issues for new strains were recorded and sent to the resource centers at the end of each cycle, but the process was different for guaranteed strains. Issues with guaranteed strains were supposed to be reported immediately, which would result in them trading out rations mid-cycle. If Jeff decided to report the problem, he would be required to take the ration with him to the resource center the very next evening to exchange for a new one.
Amber flashed a nervous smile, thinking quickly.
“It’s because we’ve been working a few extra hours each day,” she said. “We haven’t found any salt, so we’ve been staying late. That’s why I was late today.”
“How many extra hours?” Jeff asked, eyeing her. “At this rate, it would have to be quite a few.”
“It’s also an older strain, thou
gh. You know how they are, they level out on gains towards the middle of the cycle and pick back up at the end. This one was further along when we got it, probably already close to mid-cycle. I’ll make sure my father knows, though, we may have to cut back on work a little.”
She held her breath, hoping she sounded confident enough to be convincing. Jeff would personally have to travel all the way to the resource center to make a growth report, and she was banking on him wanting to avoid the trip.
Much to her relief, she was right. Jeff waved dismissively, standing up as he prepared to leave.
“Good luck making your quota,” he said. “Our grid is the same, we’ve only found about half of ours. I hope things turn around for you. With the current number, I’m going to put your next weight check at four weeks from now, I’ll see you then. Do me a favor, Amber, don’t be late again.”
“I won’t,” she promised, grabbing the ration’s arm and prodding it towards home. “Sorry.”
Her father was waiting for her.
“How’s it doing?” Richard asked when she arrived. She swallowed hard.
“Still gaining, it’s at 253.”
His expression darkened.
“Are you sure?”
Amber nodded, and he sighed heavily.
“That’s not right. I was sure it would be further along.”
“We’ve been working late though, dad.”
“I know, I know. But it shouldn’t have affected it that much, it’s only a couple extra hours.”
“It’s probably just because it’s an older strain,” she said, repeating her earlier excuse. “It’ll pick up later in the cycle.”
Her father nodded slowly.
“I agree. Is Jeff going to report it?”
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