Unfit

by Karma Chesnut

  As they wound through the streets, they could hear some sort of commotion up ahead. They rounded the corner, but their path was blocked by a large crowd gathering in the street. They congregated around a young man in a fine navy suit with gold buttons, standing authoritatively on top of a wagon. His clothes indicated he was on official Council business. Holding up his hand to silence the crowd, the man unrolled a large piece of parchment and began to read aloud.

  “In this, the sixty-eighth year of the reign of the Council, let this address be recognized as law,” he shouted.

  The crowd murmured amongst themselves. Council addresses were common enough, but they were always grand, formal affairs. Not something shouted through the streets in the middle of the night.

  “What’s going on?” Katherine whispered to Morgan.

  “I don’t know,” Morgan replied, but she doubted it was anything good.

  “We, as civilized men,” the Council representative continued to read, “have granted asylum to Haven’s unfit, the physically and the mentally inadequate. Year after year, we have continued to shelter them, feed them, and care for them—an act that has proven detrimental to us all. The weakest members of our society must no longer be allowed to demand the fruits of our hard labor. They are unworthy of our resources or our compassion, and if we continue to bear their burden, it will lead to the degeneration of our city.”

  “What’s going on?” Katherine shouted over the crowd, but Morgan was fixed on the address, unable to believe what she was hearing.

  “We have tolerated them long enough,” the man announced, “and now is the time to rid ourselves of the obligation of caring for the unfit. Only the ignorant allow a rabid dog to live.”

  Cheers erupted from the crowd.

  A shudder coursed throughout Morgan’s entire body and her knees shook. “He’s talking about the asylum.”

  Katherine’s eyes went wide. “When?” she asked in a panicked voice.

  Morgan turned to the west, towards the asylum, and as she watched, a cloud of black smoke rose above the trees.

  The world fell mute. This had to be an unrelenting nightmare. Morgan shut her eyes tightly, but only saw Charles’s glassy eyes staring up at her again and imagined those same, unseeing eyes now on John’s face. Wrapping her arms around her stomach, as if the simple act would somehow shield her unborn child from the chaos now closing in on her, she cried out and crumpled to her knees. And she knew.

  It had already happened.

  Only the ignorant allow a rabid dog to live.

  -Council Address, reign of the Council, Year 68

  The small asylum hallway turned into a battleground as patients and keepers threw punches and tackled each other to the floor. A few keepers abandoned their posts and fled before the wave of unfits crashed upon them. As John tried to push his way through the crowd towards the door, someone grabbed him around the leg, sending them both crashing down. A tangle of limbs, John kicked his free leg back as hard as he could, looking back just in time to see the bottom of his foot collide with Fisher’s ugly face. Fisher released his grip and John wiggled free.

  He pulled himself up and slammed against the asylum door, but the door didn’t budge. John frantically looked around and spotted a glint of silver reflecting off the ring of keys hanging on Fisher’s belt. Diving back at his unconscious body, John grabbed the keyring and fumbled to unlock the door, trying key after key as screams and punches continued to fly all around him. Frantic inmates began to anxiously gather.

  The lock disengaged with an audible click and John pushed against the door one more time as several other patients did the same, first pinning John and then sending him sprawling into the visitor’s room.

  A few keepers had gotten back on their feet and were again pursuing the escapees, who threw chairs and overturned tables to block their path. Charging straight for the exit, John shouldered the door without slowing down. He threw it open and slammed it against the brick exterior of the asylum, then ran out onto the grass, the bitter late-night air rushing against his face. More patients flooded out of the asylum, running into the open field and towards the fence.

  John checked every face that flashed past him, searching for signs of Buck and Tim. He had lost them somewhere in the chaos. Had they made it out? Were they even alive?

  Shots rang from the rooftops, sending patients tumbling to the ground with each explosion of gunpowder.

  “Buck,” John screamed over the chaos. “Tim!”

  “John!” a voice replied from nearby. Buck and Tim were already outside, pushing past bodies and dodging gunfire as they tried to flee.

  John ran after them, pushing through the current of escaped patients, flinching as the sound of gunfire rang out again, sending another wave of bodies to the ground. The man directly in front of John fell, a shot ripping through his shoulder and spraying John in a crimson mist. Without even stopping, John jumped over the man’s body. He was almost to Buck and Tim now, mere yards away.

  The first group of patients had made it to the fence, fumbling as they tried to scale the chain-link, some screaming out as they became hopelessly tangled in the barbed wire lining the top of the fence.

  Another round of gunshots tore through the field, knocking several men off the fence, some lifelessly dangling from where they had been caught on the metal when the keepers had fired.

  Buck was at the fence already, but instead of jumping to climb it, he reached down and pulled hard on the links, exposing a tear. Tim crawled through first, then Buck, still ducking as he held the chain-link open for John from the other side. John didn’t slow, sliding on the slick grass through the gap. An exposed metal wire caught his arm and ripped a deep gash through it.

  Once all three of them were through the fence, John, Buck, and Tim ran for the cover of the tree line. More gunshots rang out. Tim stumbled and fell. John tried to stop, slipping on the wet grass as bullets shot past his ears. He turned towards Tim, now curled in a ball, holding his stomach. Hoisting him up, John slung Tim over his shoulder. Buck had stopped too and was turning back towards John.

  “Keep running,” John shouted as he pressed on towards the forest, hobbling along under the extra weight, his adrenaline-fueled body threatening to give out. The warmth of fresh blood soaked through his clothes, seeping down John’s shoulder, where Tim was draped, motionless.

  He followed Buck deep into the forest, away from the gunshots and screams.

  “What happened?” Buck said when he saw the blood now soaking John’s left arm and torso.

  “Help him,” John gasped and fell to his knees. Tim’s limp body toppled off his shoulder and onto the ground beside him.

  Blood poured from a large hole in Tim’s stomach. Buck covered the wound with his hands, Tim crying out in pain as he pressed against it.

  “We need to stop the bleeding,” Buck said urgently. John unzipped his jumpsuit, removed his undershirt, and handed it to Buck.

  “How did he get shot in the stomach?” John asked.

  “He didn’t,” Buck said, frantically trying to treat Tim’s wounds. “I think the bullet went clean through.”

  “What can I do?” John asked.

  “Continue applying pressure,” Buck said, and John took his place pressing on the wound. Buck turned out his pockets.

  “It hurts,” Tim whimpered between sobs.

  “I know it does,” John said. “But you’ll be all right. Buck is going to fix it.”

  “I don’t—I don’t have anything,” Buck said, his voice shaking as he continued to search for any medical tools he might still have on him. “I don’t have any of my supplies. I need to clean and close the wound, but I don’t—I can’t—” Buck kept his voice low and calm, but his panic was building.

  The color drained from Tim’s face and John could feel his pulse begin to slow as the forest floor beneath him turned red.

  “Buck,” John began, shaking his head, his voice trembling.

  “Don’t,” Buck said sharply. �
��You’ll be okay, Tim. You’ll be okay. I’m going to fix this. You’ll be okay.”

  “Bucky,” Tim said. His eyes fluttered and rolled back into his head.

  “Tim,” Buck shouted, taking Tim’s hand in his own blood-soaked hands. “Don’t you dare close your eyes, Tim. You keep your eyes open, understand?” he shouted again.

  “Bucky,” Tim whispered, “I’m so t-tired.”

  “I know you are, and you can go to sleep soon. I promise. But I need you to stay awake right now.”

  “Am I g-going to go meet Anna and the baby?”

  “Not yet, Tim,” Buck said as his eyes filled with tears. “You’re not going to see them for a very long time. I still need you here.”

  “I’m s-scared, Bucky,” Tim cried.

  Buck closed his eyes and rested his head against Tim’s. John still pressed against Tim’s stomach, but it was already too late.

  A sob escaped Buck’s throat as his entire body shivered. “I know you are,” Buck said, “but everything will be okay. It’s as easy and painless as falling asleep. You’ll close your eyes, and before you know it, you’ll be with Anna and Teddy. And they’ll look after you until I can get there, I promise.”

  “I’ll take c-care of them, too, Bucky,” Tim said, his voice now a hoarse whisper. “I’ll do a good job.”

  “I know you will.” Tears freely streamed down Buck’s face.

  Tim looked over at John and smiled one last sweet smile before staring up at the trees. He inhaled slowly, seemingly free of pain. As he closed his eyes, John hoped he was reveling in the fresh, pine scent in the air, the soft rain dripping on his face. For a boy who had been forced to grow up in a prison, this was a perfect moment of freedom.

  And then he slipped away. Away from the asylum, away from the keepers, away from the reach of anyone who would ever hurt him again.

  “I’ll be there soon,” Buck whispered and kissed Tim on the forehead before gently laying him on the ground. They sat there for a moment that seemed to last for eternity, holding Tim’s lifeless little body.

  “We have to keep moving,” Buck finally said, his voice lifeless as he wiped his eyes. The words felt strangely detached, as if John was hearing them from far away. “These woods will be crawling with keepers any minute now.”

  “What do we do?” John asked. “We can’t just leave him here.”

  “I don’t know. If the keepers find him, they’ll just take him back to the asylum and throw him in a mass grave.”

  “He shouldn’t ever have to go back there,” John said. “We should bury him here, in the forest. I think he would like it here.”

  They carried Tim’s body to a nearby oak tree and laid him to rest at the base. John and Buck collected branches and rocks, covering the body as best they could with what little time they could spare. Then they walked away in silence, the two of them feeling as though they were leaving a piece of them behind.

  It was dark now, the light of the full moon providing barely enough light for them to make their way through the trees. Eventually, they reached the wall. One hand on the wall to help guide their way, Buck and John headed south.

  They had been walking for what felt like hours when small flakes suddenly began to fall around them through the branches. A few at first, then slowly building.

  John exhaled, his breath barely showing in the chill night air. “Is it snowing?” But that wasn’t possible. Even though he was shivering, it wasn’t nearly cold enough for it to snow.

  John looked down at the ground, at the collecting flakes. They didn’t melt away the way snow did, and the color was wrong, too gray. There was something else mixed in with the flakes, gossamer threads that glinted and shimmered as they danced in the moonlight.

  “Looks like they got the crematorium running again,” Buck said bitterly, pressing forward through the forest as human ash and hair collected on their shoulders.

  The Council discarded their sense of sympathy and replaced it with reason, not realizing they were forcing themselves, and all of Haven, to reject the noblest part of human nature.

  -Excerpt from Theodore’s journal

  John and Buck came across a small, dilapidated cottage on the outskirts of the city and traded their filthy jumpsuits for whatever was hanging on the clothesline outside. Thankfully, it was just a temporary fix. The clothes were too baggy and the pants about an inch too short. John would change into his own clothes once he made it to his apartment, but in the meantime, he needed something a little less conspicuous than the bright red jumpsuit of the terminal ward. Truth be told, John was more than happy to leave his old asylum uniform behind. The journal was the only thing he cared to keep, careful to slip it from his waistband and into the pocket of his stolen trousers.

  Once dressed, John and Buck walked until the city’s buildings loomed over them. Buck opted to stay behind, still insisting that venturing into the city was a terrible idea. But Morgan was there, somewhere in Haven, and John refused to leave her behind. They agreed to meet back up once he had found Morgan.

  It was close to sunrise when John arrived in Southend. The streets were deserted except for the occasional beggar sleeping in the shadows. John concealed himself in the shadows as well, lurking in the alleyways until he arrived at the familiar brownstone building where he had once lived.

  John’s head felt light as he climbed the narrow staircase to his apartment. It was an odd sensation, being so close to home again. Much like the feeling of waking suddenly from a dream, unsure of what was real and what was imagined.

  He pushed the door to his apartment open and stepped inside, careful to close the door behind him as quietly as he could. The room was cold and dark, illuminated only by the cold haze of early morning streaming through the windows. Everything felt strange and foreign, as if it all belonged to a man who no longer existed.

  “Morgan?” he said as loud as he dared, but he was met only by the echo of his own voice.

  John’s heart quickened as he took in the state of the room. Drawers had been pulled from the dresser and clothes were strewn about everywhere. He recognized some of the items on the floor; they belonged to Morgan. She had been here, that much was clear. What was equally clear and horribly heartbreaking was she was not here anymore.

  John walked to the bed and climbed on top of it, sinking into the mattress. He didn’t remember it being this soft. He closed his eyes, too tired to confront the situation screaming at him. He was alone, a fugitive with no friends and nowhere to go. He had no idea how long ago Morgan had left, or why, but it seemed apparent she had no intention of coming back.

  John tugged on the corner of the bandage still covering his forearm and began to slowly unwrap it. Layer after layer, the bandage fell freely to the ground as he examined his brand for the first time since receiving it. It had started to heal, leaving an inflamed red scar. Holding his arm above him in the morning light, John ran his fingers over the raised letters that spelled “unfit” across his inner arm.

  Wherever you are, Morgan, please be safe, John thought, letting his arm fall on the empty pillow beside him. But as his arm landed, it hit something coarse that crumpled under the weight. John lifted a single, folded sheet of paper and saw his name inscribed across the front, written in Morgan’s unmistakable handwriting.

  Sitting up, John eagerly opened the letter, his eyes straining to read the words in the dim light. It was written in black ink and smeared with large teardrops.

  Dear John,

  I’m not sure why I’m writing this, but I don’t know what else to do. I feel like an idiot, writing a letter to a ghost, but there is so much I never had a chance to say to you. So much I wish I had done differently.

  I’m so sorry, John. I’m so sorry. I wish I had found a way to come and see you again. I can’t even remember what my last words to you were. I failed. I don’t know how I’m going to live with that, but I have to because I refuse to let losing you be meaningless. I have to find a way to live. I have to live for what’s left
of our family and I promise you that I will. We will.

  Your apartment still smells like you. I used to find it comforting during those days when I missed you so much it hurt to breathe, but now it just reminds me I’m going to feel that way for the rest of my life—like I’m slowly suffocating. It just makes it that much easier to leave, I suppose.

  I used to be terrified of the idea of raising our baby alone. You were always the brave one. You sacrificed everything for us, but I know you well enough to know you wouldn’t have had it any other way.

  So now it’s my turn to be brave.

  I’m not going to say goodbye, I’m not ready to say it yet. So, if by some miracle these words can reach you, I just want you to know I love you. You always were and always will be the best thing that ever happened to me. The very best thing.

  Always.

  John wiped his eyes and sighed in relief. She did not say where she had gone, and he had no idea where to even start looking for her, but at least she and the baby were safe for now.

  He wished he could have spent at least one night in his old apartment, the place he and his wife had once called home, but as the sun began to rise higher in the sky, John knew it wouldn’t be long before the keepers would be sweeping the streets of Haven, looking for any stragglers who may have survived the massacre.

  Everything was different now. He was different now. He didn’t belong there anymore.

  Grabbing a change of clothes and whatever small supplies he could fit in his pockets, John slipped away just as quietly as he had come, leaving his apartment behind once again for what he was sure would be the final time.

  He made his way down the back streets and alleyways to where Buck was still waiting for him.

  “She’s wasn’t there,” Buck said. “What now? Where else could she be?”