by R A Doty
“What choice do we have?” Elana stroked her child’s hair, who was still gripped tight to her leg. “She won’t survive the winter.”
Steven knew his mother was right. The weakest would die first. “Why can’t we all go? Why does she have to go alone?”
“Because they only have enough room for children.”
Stevie touched his little sister’s arm. “But she’ll be all alone,” he said, staring into her eyes. “She won’t know anyone, and she’ll be afraid.”
Elana’s eyes filled with tears. She had already considered everything her son was saying. “I know.”
“I’ll go with her if they let me,” Josh said.
Weston had already been eyeing the boy standing silently on the side. Would the mother give him up as well? How could he possible ask? And then the boy spoke and saved him from doing so. It was almost too easy. “The boy can come, too, if you’d like.” He nodded to one of the men standing beside him, and they walked up to Elana to take the girl. Weston continued. “I hate to rush this along, but we must be on our way. There are others that may need help.”
The man reached out for the child, who clung tighter to her mother’s leg.
“I don’t wanna go, Mommy.”
Elana pulled her daughter from her leg and held the child at arm’s length. “I know you don’t, honey, but you have to.” Words came hard, and she had to pause to compose herself before continuing. “These people can provide you with a good home and plenty of food for you and Walter.” Jessie squeezed the teddy bear as if she had forgotten he was in her hand. “Don’t you want Walter to have a good home, honey?” Jessie nodded. “Then you have to trust me and go with these men.” Elana placed her daughter’s tiny hand in the hand of the man. She covered her mouth as he pulled her child away. It’s for the best, she convinced herself.
AN EAR-PIERCING WHISTLE came from the helicopter as its propellers began to spin overhead. Elana and Steven ducked lower to the ground and shielded their eyes while staring at the windows, hoping to see Jessie and Josh one last time.
Elana cried when Jessie’s face appeared behind one of the many squares of glass running the length of the chopper. She waved to her daughter and studied her face, knowing she would never see it again. When the chopper left the ground and slowly ascended toward the sky, she and Steven backed up.
“Stop them!” a man’s voice yelled from behind.
Elana turned to see Colton running toward her.
FROM HER VIEWPOINT high above what was once her home, Jessie stared down at her mother and brother. She was drawn to the roof of the house, having never seen it before, and the tops of the trees. Behind the house, not more than twenty yards away, she spotted the cow standing under the shade of a tree. She pushed her hand to the glass; her fingers spread open.
“Bye, Daisy.”
Josh was very much enjoying the opportunity to ride in this magnificent aircraft. The leather seat contoured perfectly to his body as he sat next to Jessie with his head turning in every direction to study the enormous, dome shaped cabin. He barely noticed the sad-faced children as he tried to count the many seats, giving up after counting to fifty. Wow! he thought. He squeezed his head next to Jessie’s to stare out the window. His smile faded when he noticed the two men running up to Elana and Steven. “Is that, Dan?” he said, squinting at one of the men. Maybe she’s still alive, he thought, thinking about his mother. He jumped from the seat and ran down the aisle. “We have to go back!” he yelled, rushing toward the cockpit. “I wanna get off!” A man dressed in red grabbed him. “Let me go!” Josh yelled. “I have to tell the pilot to go back.”
“Calm down, son,” the man said, holding tight. “There is no going back.”
After hearing the commotion, Bill Weston appeared from the cockpit. “What’s the problem?”
“We have to go back,” Josh said. “I have to go home to my mother.”
“Ancada’s your home, now. Your mother agreed that you should come with us.”
Josh struggled to break free from the man. “But you don’t understand. She isn’t my mother.”
From halfway down the aisle, Jessie saw Josh struggling with the man. She began to cry, thinking the man was hurting him.
“Son, you’re upsetting your sister, now calm down,” Weston said. “It’s impossible to go back.” Weston turned toward the man holding Josh. “Bring him back to his seat.”
The man in red brought Josh back and buckled him into the seat. Josh immediately leaned toward the window, but everything below now resembled tiny ants. Soon, the land disappeared and he only saw water. He settled into his seat and held Jessie’s hand as she cried.
Chapter Thirty-Six
AFTER SPENDING THE night alone in what could only be described as a prison cell (a small, windowless room with only a bed and waste receptacle) Calla rushed to the door when she heard it opening. Two men entered, with a third pushing a gurney behind them. “Can I see my parents now?” Calla asked.
The men were trained to say nothing, no different than when they were retrieving a nutrimen. They took Calla by the arms and placed her on the gurney. The third grabbed her legs and spun them around, forcing her to lie down.
“What are you doing?” Calla asked, a hint of panic in her voice. As the men strapped her to the stretcher she thought of the nutrimen. “I’m not a nutrimen. There must be some mistake.”
One of the men pulled the front of the gurney through the doorway, while another pushed it from behind. The third man followed and closed the door after leaving the room.
“You can’t do this!” Calla yelled. “I wanna talk to Mr. Weston.” Calla struggled to break free, but the straps were too tight. She had no choice but to lie quietly and accept her fate.
Within minutes she was pushed into a larger room and rolled beside another gurney. She smiled, eyeing the person lying next to her, while tears formed simultaneously in her eyes. “April! she yelled, her head tilted sideways. “Are you okay?” She bent her wrist just far enough to touch April’s hand. The girls locked fingers.
April nodded with a wide smile. “I’m fine, Calla.”
“Well, well,” Carla Briggs said, walking up to April. “You didn’t forget how to speak, after all.” She glanced at Calla. “I didn’t expect to see you here for at least another year, Miss Wilkinson. ”
Bill Weston walked into the room and immediately headed to a computer where he stood tapping a keyboard.
“Mr. Weston!” Calla yelled. “Why am I here? I think there’s been a mistake.”
Weston said nothing at first, and then walked over to Calla. “There is no mistake, Callarina.”
“But why am I here?”
Weston stroked Calla’s face with the back of his hand. “Because it’s time for you to fulfill the task you were created for.” He nodded to Carla and said, “let’s begin,” before walking back to his computer.
Carla grabbed a handheld devise from a stainless steel cart and scanned the inside of Calla’s wrist. She looked at a portable computer sitting on the cart and studied the information that appeared on the screen. She tapped the computer’s keyboard to reset the device and then raised April’s arm to repeat the procedure. As she compared the information on the monitor, a smiled formed on her face. “You’re not gonna believe this, Bill,” she said, verifying the results.
Weston walked over and studied the monitor.
“Look who the sperm donor was in both cases,” Carla said, touching a small icon. A picture of a much younger and clean shaved Colton North appeared on the screen.
Twenty years earlier, Colton and his colleagues considered it an honor to donate their sperm and were extremely excited to do whatever was necessary in the name of science. To have a hand in creating a stronger race that would ultimately be impenetrable to disease would be like guiding the hand of God himself. Little did Colton know at the time that his offspring would someday be harvested for food or forced to give birth to a race of human cattle.
Bil
l Weston smiled at the face staring back at him. “What are the odds?” he said. “I wonder what he’s doing now, that is, if he’s even alive.”
Bill Weston, Don Wilkinson, and Colton North were all part of an inner-circle that helped to create a new world order. With the assistance of some very wealthy investors, the new world order formed their own government and branched out around the globe by settling in geographically strategic locations, much like Ancada, that were easily defended against attack. As each of the world’s existing governments fell, theirs ultimately became stronger, thereby becoming increasingly appealing to the remainder of wealthy people seeking refuge. Eventually, survival in a world where food had become a luxury was no longer determined by strength, but by wealth. All that was left to do for this new world government to dominate the globe was wait for the remainder of the world’s population to decrease their numbers through starvation. That time was very close.
“They do have his features,” Bill Weston said, glancing at Calla and April. “I can see him in their eyes.”
“I guess that makes you girls sisters,” Carla said with a smile.
Calla glanced at April. “But how can that be? My parents never said anything about having another child.”
Carla snickered. “Your parents? That’s rich. I hate to be the one to break it to you sweetie, but Don and Jillian Wilkinson aren’t your parents. Sure they raised you until you were of childbearing age, but to call them your parents would be a major misconception. They were just doing what the Power Elite expected of them, as all of us are. You, my dear, as well as your sister lying beside you, were carefully created for a specific purpose—you for bearing nutrimen, and her...” As Carla stared into April’s eyes she searched for the words to clarify why, specifically, April was created. To just come out and say it somehow seemed wrong, especially now that April could speak. She struggled to find the right words.
“I know why I was created,” April said. “You don’t have to say it if you don’t want to.”
“If what you say is true, Carla, and I was created like April,” Calla said, “then why wasn’t I raised in the confines of a cage and forbidden to speak like she was? It isn’t necessary to speak in order to give birth.”
“Because the surrogates also serve another purpose until they’re of age to perform their duties. They fill a motherly void for the women of Ancada who can’t bear children. It’s also much healthier, mentally and physically, for the surrogates to be raised in what is considered a normal environment. It was all carefully thought out by the Power Elite. Think about it,” Carla continued, “when was the last time you remember getting sick?”
Calla considered the question and realized she had never been sick a day in her life. Free of disease and biological defects. She stared blankly at the ceiling above. All of the fond memories she had shared with her mother were just a charade. She remembered her mother styling her hair and teaching her how to wear makeup, being dressed in pretty clothes with matching shoes. “Like a doll,” she said, in a low voice. “I’m just a doll.”
“Correction,” Carla said. “You were a doll up until now.”
“We should proceed,” Weston said. “We’ll do the nutrimen first and then the surrogate.” To not refer to April and Calla by their names somehow helped Weston to de-humanize them. Could one consider them human if man and not God created them?
Carla handed him a hypodermic needle, which he inserted into April’s arm and pushed the clear liquid into her body. After removing the needle, he taped a cotton ball to the puncture. A wide smile crossed his face. “Another monumental breakthrough in the name of science has been launched.” He stared down at the nutrimen. “You, my dear, have had the privilege of hopefully being the first of many that will propel the human race to new levels.”
A warm sensation coursed through April’s body, rapidly increasing her heart rate and breathing. For a few seconds she became totally deaf, but soon everything became increasingly louder. Almost deafening. She wanted to cover her ears but couldn’t move her arms. Her heart rate soon decreased, and her breathing went back to normal. Fatigue set in, and she had no choice but to close her eyes.
“What did you do to her?” Calla said, studying April’s face. “April! Are you okay?”
“I gave her life,” Weston voiced proudly. “More life than either of us will ever know.” He approached Calla. “Now it’s your turn.”
“What will you do to me?”
“I believe you mean, what will you do for us.” Weston turned to Carla. “Tell them we’re ready.”
Bill Weston had complete authority over raising and harvesting the nutrimen, but the insemination process was controlled entirely by the reproduction department. A staff of two females, a nurse and a surgeon, entered the room and went to the sink where they sterilized their hands. When finished, they walked over to the gurney and the nurse exposed Calla from the waist down so the doctor could begin the procedure.
“We’ll leave you to it,” Weston said, and he and Carla rolled April’s gurney from the room.
“This may feel somewhat uncomfortable,” the doctor said to Calla, her gloved-hand resting on Calla’s thigh “but it will be over shortly. Normally we would anesthetize you, but Dr. Weston said there’s no reason to.” The doctor smiled at Calla—a warm smile that brought a momentary calmness to an otherwise horrible day. “I guess you already know why you’re here, unlike the others who experience it for the first time.”
Calla nodded.
THE FOLLOWING MORNING, Calla awoke in a much more comfortable room than she had the previous day, but comfort wasn’t at all on her mind. It was as though her insides were twisting in knots and no matter how hard she pressed her hands to her abdomen the cramping wouldn’t subside. She remembered her dreams of one day meeting the perfect person she would spend the rest of her life with, but now those dreams were an empty thought she would have to forget. It was as though her mind and body were equally violated beyond repair. She pulled her legs into a fetal position to ease the discomfort while studying her new home—home until the Power Select decided she was no longer needed. She would then be appointed to some menial task or be chosen by one of the more affluent members of society to do whatever bidding they deemed necessary, as was the case with the woman she mistakenly thought was her biological mother.
The room was comfortably sized, exactly twelve feet by twelve feet, and contained a twin-sized bed; a dresser; a closet with an opened door revealing seven identical white dresses hanging from a center rod; a bathroom with a shower, sink, and waste receptacle; and a comfortable looking sage-colored chair facing a wall-sized television—a chair that would be used for hours on end as she watched the television. There were no windows, but the television displayed a three-dimensional, animated image of a pond in the center of a meadow—one of many images that would randomly appear on the screen to give the illusion of freedom. From the bed, Calla listened as crickets chirped and bullfrogs croaked from hidden speakers mounted in the ceiling. She could almost feel the warmth of summer and smell the wildflowers spread throughout the meadow. For now she seemed content, but when sensors implanted throughout the room to monitor her vital signs detected a decline in her attention levels, a different scene or prefabricated program would appear on the screen.
When Calla turned away from the television to stare at the door, the image on the monitor changed from the meadow to a woman dressed in red, sitting on a high-backed burgundy colored chair.
“Welcome, Callarina,” the woman said, staring directly at Calla. The sensors could also detect the location of the room’s inhabitants, and the image faced them accordingly.
Calla’s attention went back to the television. The sensors recorded a rise in her heart rate. She recognized the woman as the Power Select, the highest position attainable as a member of the Power Elite. She had seen her face many times on the public messages displayed on every television in Ancada at least once a week. And all of the messages always ended the s
ame: We, the Power Select, hope each and every one of you is enjoying the nutrimen—a perfect food source, free of disease and biological defects.
“I first want to say how grateful I am to you,” the woman continued, “for contributing to the wellbeing of our society.”
Calla was surprised that the Power Select, herself, was speaking directly to her. She remembered how her father had said he spoke to her in person when he got promoted. It made her feel important and think that maybe she was part of a bigger plan. She didn’t realize it was the same video feed that was shown to each new surrogate, with the exception of a simple name change to customize the experience to the viewer.
“If not for dedicated citizens such as you, Ancada, and our similar cities, would cease to exist. You are a very important part of the fabric that keeps our society strong, happy, and most importantly, fed.”
The grin on Calla’s face vanished as she focused on that last word—fed. She could hear the words in the background of her mind as the Power Select continued, but her thoughts turned to April. Where is she? What will become of her? Is she frightened? When the room sensed a change in her attention, the image on the television quickly changed to a snow-covered mountain. Seconds later, it changed to a tornado destroying everything in its path. The wind howled and thunder pounded from the speakers, but Calla just stared down at the floor. When she eased herself off the bed and walked to the door, the image changed to an erotic video of a young couple, similar to her age, as a last effort to tap into one of humankind’s natural desires. Calla continued walking.
When she reached the door, Calla stared out a wire-reinforced square window. From her viewpoint, similar doors extended down a long hallway as far as she could see. She shrieked when a face appeared before her.
The door opened, and Aaron rushed into the room. “Are you okay? Did they hurt you?”