Tier Trilogy: Books 1-3

by Cindy Gunderson

Chapter 96

  Chapter 97

  Chapter 98

  Chapter 99

  Chapter 100

  Chapter 101

  Chapter 102

  Chapter 103

  Chapter 104

  Chapter 105

  Chapter 106

  Chapter 107

  Chapter 108

  Chapter 109

  Chapter 110

  Chapter 111

  Chapter 112

  Chapter 113

  Chapter 114

  Chapter 115

  Chapter 116

  Chapter 117

  Chapter 118

  Chapter 119

  Chapter 120

  Chapter 121

  Chapter 122

  Chapter 123

  Chapter 124

  Chapter 125

  Chapter 126

  Chapter 127

  Chapter 128

  Chapter 129

  Chapter 130

  Chapter 131

  Chapter 132

  Chapter 133

  Chapter 134

  Chapter 135

  Chapter 136

  Epilogue

  Free Sample

  Afterword

  Foreword

  “Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world; indeed, it’s the only thing that ever has.”

  —Margaret Mead

  Chapter 94

  “The weight needs to be a little higher up,” Eric instructs, deftly manipulating the line with his fingers.

  “Why?” Bentley asks, standing up to let Eric work.

  “Would you want to eat food that looks like it has a weird piece of metal attached to it?”

  “No, but I’m not a fish,” he argues jokingly.

  “True. But fish don’t like strange looking things either. They can be surprisingly skeptical,” Eric explains, finishing the knot. “There, try that.”

  Bentley and Tal have been fishing with us hundreds of times since we’ve been here, but it’s still a learning curve when they’re preparing their own lines. Especially when rotating our fishing sites.

  “Dad, I got one!” Tal shouts excitedly from downstream. Grabbing the net and bucket, Eric rushes to assist. My line continues to lie still, which gives me pause. We need to hook at least three more for the week, unless Tal’s catch is a big one.

  “How’s it going, Bentley?” I ask, watching him cast for the second time with the new weight.

  “I don’t think this works any better,” he answers glumly.

  “You can assess that after two casts?” I ask, teasing.

  Rolling his eyes, he turns and casually reels it in. Not wanting to micromanage, I remove myself and begin organizing our equipment. Looks like one pole will need repairs again, but it should hopefully be a simple fix. I set it apart from the others so we won’t forget to deal with it at home. Convinced that there isn’t anything more I can do to be helpful, I resume my position, raise my pole, and cast. The sound of the burbling stream only adds to the general tranquility of our fishing spot this morning. Tall pine trees flank the long grasses rooted in the stream bed, allowing the early morning light to stipple the ground in dancing bronze medallions.

  Fishing was not something I was familiar with before living on our own, but I’ve taken a liking to it. Catching food was one of the many things to which I gave very little thought back in Tier 1. Now, I often think of the hours that followed the departure of Nick’s transport. Hours that quickly turned into days, subconsciously dictated by a low, throbbing panic. The elation and relief at seeing Eric and Tal again was tainted by the unknowns of our new situation. I was so wholly consumed by the goal of putting our family back together that I wasn’t able to anticipate the consequences. That moment he pulled away...I don’t think I have ever felt more naked.

  And yet, here we are. Thriving after two hard-fought years. It took time for me to learn how to shut down my need to plan for the future. Here, there’s no such thing. Not really. Unless you count the next two weeks—the next season, at most—as the future. Thinking about what my children’s lives will look like in ten—or even five—years is the only thing that potentially has the power to send me into a downward spiral these days. And there’s simply no time for that.

  “Got one!”

  The sound of Bentley’s high-pitched squeal makes me jump. Eric still hasn’t returned with Tal, so I reel in my line and run to him, dropping my pole in the brush.

  “We did well, as usual,” Eric congratulates as he sets our plates onto the smooth surface of our new kitchen table. His finger lingers on the edges of each dish, as if reminding himself of his fine craftsmanship. Smiling, I turn, not wanting to embarrass him by staring. He has the distinct ability to always sound as if there was never a doubt in his mind that we would accomplish the task at hand. If he is ever worried—deep down—he is incredibly good at masking it.

  “I can’t believe I caught two!” Bentley exclaims, following Eric with a clay pitcher of water, slowly filling each cup to the brim.

  “Your initial assessment of my line adjustment was a tad hasty, wouldn’t you say?” Eric chides. Bentley grins, but doesn’t give him the satisfaction of an answer.

  “Sometimes we just have to be patient,” I comment, turning from the sink and drying my hands on a cloth. “Is the fish almost done?”

  “Should be,” Tal answers. “I’ll go check.”

  He returns a few moments later with four fillets—crisped to perfection—and a bowl of steaming Jerusalem artichokes. Sometimes I miss the convenience of having an oven, but the flavor of food roasted in a pit cooker can’t be beat. Tossing the salad one last time, I move it to the center of the table. Our sunflowers haven’t gone to seed yet, so I was limited to a few blueberries and shallots to compliment the chard, but at least it’s something.

  The boys are silent as we dish up our food, both of them mentally and physically exhausted from our day’s adventures. When they were young, we used to have to invent ways to wear them out so they would go to bed on time. I suppress a laugh, thinking of the relative absurdity of it.

  “I miss yogurt,” Tal says, stuffing a fork full of salad into his mouth.

  “You and me both,” Eric agrees readily.

  “If you could only figure out how to milk a deer, Tal,” I say, and Eric snorts, nearly spitting his food out.

  “What? It might be possible,” I tease.

  “I don’t miss it that much,” Tal chuckles.

  “What do you miss, Bentley?” Eric asks, and I hold my breath.

  Chewing for a moment, Bentley’s eyebrows furrow. “Kids.”

  I exhale. That was his answer last time, as well. I guess I was secretly hoping it would have morphed into something else. The yogurt problem? I can at least pretend to be able to solve that, but peers? Friends? I’ve got nothing.

  “I miss talking to the researchers at the lab,” Eric says, nodding. I purposefully take another bite to prevent myself from saying something unhelpful. Thinking of the parts of our experience that aren’t ideal makes me uncomfortable; I don’t enjoy being reminded of my lack of control. But, I also recognize the importance of validating the boys’ feelings...so I let Eric do it.

  Bentley yawns.

  “Time for bed already?” I ask, and he nods, finishing his last bite of fish. After clearing his plate to the sink, he moves next to my chair and wraps his arms around my shoulders, his chin barely able to rest on the top of my head.

  “Goodnight, Mom,” he says as I rub his back, then exits to the washroom to brush his teeth.

  “Are you off, as well?” Eric asks, motioning to Tal.

  “Almost. I think I want to add one more part to the separator first.”

  I nod. “We’ll clean up dinner. You better hurry, there’s probably only a half hour of good light left.”

  Scooting his chair back, he washes his hands and heads out the door. Eric stands, gathering the utensils and moving them to the sink.

 
“Do you think their tinkering will ever amount to something?” I ask, scooping the last of the salad onto my plate. “Did you want any more of this?”

  “No, go ahead, thanks,” he answers. “I don’t know. Honestly, I barely understand what they are even up to. They both have such mechanically orientated brains. Maybe if I had spent more time working with my hands as a kid…” Eric trails off.

  “I don’t think even an infinite amount of experience would have helped me. I just don’t have a vision for it like they do,” I admit.

  “We were conditioned for a different world,” Eric sighs, beginning to wash the plates with the newly pressed soap. I stand, setting the rest of the dishes on the counter next to him, and lean against his strong back, my cheek pressed against his shoulder blade.

  “I think we’ve adapted fairly well,” I say, breathing him in. He turns, pulling me to his chest. Not for the first time, my brain registers that he smells different here. At least, different than I remember. But who knows what I actually remember at this point.

  “I certainly wouldn’t change anything,” he says slowly, his heart steadily beating in my ear.

  “Do you ever wish we—”

  “No. Never.”

  Chapter 95

  My hands are deep in the dirt when it happens. The normally silent sensor dings, nearly giving me a heart attack. Pulling myself up off of the ground, I brush off and run to the house.

  “Eric?” I call, searching around the perimeter. Realizing that he is likely in the middle of scraping a hide, I rush inside for better lighting. Though I prefer to receive new information together, there’s no way I can wait this time. It’s been too long since our last communication. Sitting down at the table, I pull up the message and begin to read.

  Kate, Eric, Tal, and Bentley,

  I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to connect. While I don’t think I am at risk of being caught communicating with you at this point, I have been so consumed with my responsibilities that I haven’t had a moment to get in touch. I know, it’s a lame excuse, but I think you’ll let it pass when I fill you in.

  First things first, how are your supplies holding up? You were in good shape last time we talked. I hope that’s still the case. Not that I could do anything if they weren’t, but it always makes me feel better to hear it.

  Now, to explain my absence. You won’t believe it, Kate, but Jessica and I now have TWENTY representatives supporting our integration initiative. That last piece of info that went public seemed to be the tipping point for individuals in Tier 1. I am finally seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. Tamara and I have started another round of conditioning trials. We don’t have a perfect solution yet, but the more results I see, the more I am convinced that integration is the only option. I know we’re all on the same page here, but it’s exciting to see proof in the data.

  Beth and Leah are thriving. Getting into trouble as always. The other day, Leah whacked Beth on the head with a spoon and I had to physically pull them apart—you should have seen the fire in Beth’s eyes. Wish I could give more details. Send word when you can.

  -Nick

  The dull ache in my chest, always present in some quantity, heightens as I read the last paragraph. If Nick succeeds in integrating...no. I can’t allow myself to get my hopes up. Re-reading the message, I focus solely on the societal progress that is being made through sheer grit and determination. Nick is truly a force to be reckoned with.

  I quickly respond, giving him a breakdown of our current resources—proud to recognize that we have been incredibly prudent. Sending a few descriptions of the boys’ latest adjustments to their water filtration system, I again express my gratitude for his surprise technological gifts. How he was able to sneak it all in with our supplies is beyond me, but I can’t imagine the boys’ lives without it. So far, they’ve made progress with remineralization, but nothing groundbreaking enough to announce. Likely, scientists in Tier 1 have already surpassed this tech anyway, but I would never tell Tal and Bentley that.

  “What are you up to?” Eric asks, startling me.

  “I didn’t even hear you come in,” I say, my hand flying to my chest.

  “Sorry,” he chuckles, “the door squeaked like it always does. I wasn’t trying to sneak up on you.” Noticing the sensor in my hand, he stops short. “Did we get one?”

  Nodding, I slide it across the wooden surface to him so he can read Nick’s message. He washes his hands, then pulls a chair back from the table and sits next to me. I can’t help but scrutinize his face as he scans the text.

  “Wow, I’m impressed,” Eric admits. “Based on how resistant the Committees were to making everything public, I can’t believe it actually happened.”

  “They agreed to his conditions. Did you really think they wouldn’t comply?”

  “You really didn’t question whether they would?” he asks, incredulous.

  “We’re here, together, aren’t we?” I laugh, snatching the sensor from his grip and snapping it back on my wrist. “If they were willing to do that, I guess I assumed they were serious about all of Nick’s other terms.”

  “You’re still an optimist,” he accuses, and I gently smack his shoulder from across the table. “All I’m saying is that it took them nearly two years to release the full resource numbers and inform the patients that had been treated without consent. I think I’m justified in being skeptical.”

  “I’ll give you that much,” I say, rising to chop vegetables for lunch. “Were you out working on that skin?”

  “It’s all done,” he announces proudly, crossing his arms behind his head and stretching his legs.

  “What is Tal hoping to use it for this time?”

  “New shoes.”

  “Didn’t he just finish his last pair a month ago?”

  “Turns out, when you’re twelve, you grow a lot,” Eric laughs.

  I grin, turning and scrubbing a carrot under the slow stream of water from the tap. When its orange skin is gleaming, I set it to the side and pick up the next one.

  “Hey,” I say, turning my head, my hands still working autonomously, “we have enough ashes for more soap. Can you ask the boys what herbs they want this time and then have them gather enough for about eight bars?”

  “Sure,” he responds, standing. “Should I go get them for lunch?”

  “That would be great. I’m going to pull out some chapatis to eat with the jam.”

  “We still have more? I thought the boys ate them all,” Eric says, looking surprised, but pleased.

  “I never put them all out on the table at once,” I admit, grinning. He crosses the space between us and pulls me close, kissing me softly at first, then with more intensity.

  “Are the boys—” I start to ask, taking a breath, but Eric cuts me off with another kiss. His rough hands tenderly search the soft skin of my lower back. Setting the carrot down on the counter, I turn off the faucet and blindly reach for a towel to dry my hands. As I am lifted off the floor, my legs wrap around Eric’s waist as he walks to the bedroom. The soap can wait.

  I stare as Eric dresses next to my side of the bed, his back muscles stretching as he lifts his shirt above his head. His body has adapted well to the lifestyle we have here. All of us have physically changed in some ways, but Eric’s lean, chiseled musculature is what stands out to me the most. Sometimes I mourn that Eric was sterilized during his time in Tier 2, but at least there is a silver lining. With no procreation restrictions here, I would have loved to have had more children with him. The inherent risks involved with pregnancy and childbearing might not have been enough to dissuade me, so this has saved me from myself in a way. Still, I sigh, imagining what could have been.

  Eric kisses me before he walks out the door to find Tal and Bentley. I stare at the ceiling, breathing deeply and soaking in the last few moments of relaxation. Eventually, I force myself to leave the comfort of my blankets and jump back into the demands of the day.

  Back in the kitchen, I linger near t
he window, anticipating Eric’s return with the boys. I am waiting for the slow, consistent pace of life here to become so commonplace that it doesn’t register as something to be grateful for. But it hasn’t happened yet. These moments of silent reflection—so few and far between in Tier 1—seem to be sprinkled throughout each day here. There are definitely days when we are rushing from dawn until dusk, but they are few and far between. And even then...the rhythm is subtly different.

  After finishing with my meal preparations, I lie down on the bench cushion and prop my feet up, allowing the hems of my cotton pants to slip to my knees— another beautiful, momentary respite from the work still to be done this afternoon. The room brightens as the sun peeks from behind the clouds. Perfect timing. We will be able to make the soap tonight if that keeps up.

  I am grateful every day for the care Nick took in finding this location. I doubt the Director would have been quite so generous. From what Nick told me before we arrived—and what we’ve been able to gather since—this used to be a distribution center in Tier 3, which is why it has so many basic amenities. Eric framed out new rooms for us and built furniture, making it practical and cozy. Detoxified soil, well-water, septic system, and solar panels—all of the necessities, really. Though we don’t have a battery complex, it’s not overly inconvenient to save the tasks that require energy for sunny days. It does get old having to take cold showers in the wet and gloomy winter months, but I can only imagine how much worse it could have been. Even just the thought of how close we were to never seeing Eric and Tal again...I am more than happy to deal with cold showers.