Divided
Kaesey Stobaugh
Hannah Chumley
Preface
I seem to spend a lot of time worrying about whether or not I’m doing the right thing or the wrong thing. Sometimes it’s hard to tell. People say the truth will set you free but that isn’t always the case. In my current situation, the truth would actually get me strung up and hung. That’s not so much an exaggeration either.
So, when you find yourself in a situation where lying and breaking the rules is actually the better option, the right thing to do, where do you go from there? Lying will only lead to more lying. Next thing you know, I’m the most boldface liar you’ll ever meet. Cheaters never win. You’re only digging yourself into a deeper hole. The truth will set you free. None of those warnings apply to me at the moment, which leaves me with the same unanswered question. I’ve been committing a lot of wrong deeds since that fateful morning when my whole world flipped me upside down and dropped me on my head. The right thing to do is actually wrong…and the wrong thing could never be right.
Maybe someday I’ll figure all this out. But today, in this moment that I’m staring into the eyes of the girl I love, I know I’ll continue to lie and cheat and steel to be with her. It’s wrong. But it’s right.
Jeez, how hard did I hit my head?
Chapter One
Nathan
You know that tiny noise you hear in a dark room by yourself? Or when you enter a dusty storage space? That tiny little creaking noise that makes your heart beat a little faster, like someone’s walking behind you? But then when you turn around, there’s never anyone there? Well, that’s the noise I’m listening to right now.
I hold my breath a bit until the steady rhythm of my heartbeat is the only other sound to be heard, the same way I do when I’m hunting, lining up my aim with my prey. I lie perfectly still on my cot, the same way my prey does when they make eye contact with me. I listen closely to the footsteps, creaking against my bedroom floor.
It stops, then happens again, then it stops. It sounds like someone is in my room, trying very hard not to be heard. But when your floor is made of mostly rotting wood, it’s tricky to walk on it without it creaking. I listen; it stops, it starts, it stops, then starts again. And I know exactly what it is.
I jump awake, sitting up straight and causing my hunter to fall out of balance and tumble to the floor.
“Gabe, what’s the matter with you?” I hiss, reaching for my pillow and chunking it at his head.
“Are you serious?” He snaps back, dodging it --but only barely-- as he pushes himself from his knees to his feet, “Quite the morning person, aren’t you, Nate?”
I glare at my thirteen-year-old kid brother, my head still fuzzy from sleep. Gabe is nothing but trouble, I should've seen something like this coming. He's only annoyed the life out of me fifty times this week. Being woken at the crack of dawn for no apperent reason was most certainly due. I sigh at the thought.
“Someone better be dying.” I croak.
He opens his mouth to reply before I cut him off.
“Why are you in here? It’s like four in the morning.” I push myself into a sitting position, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes.
“Well, I wanted to catch you before you left. I was hoping to go with you today.” He says, painting on a hopeful smile as if he can guilt me into taking him along.
“Not a chance.” I grunt, standing to get dressed.
“Why not? C’mon, I can keep up! I promise!”
“Would you keep your voice down?” I snap, “You’re gonna wake up the girls.”
“But-”
“Are your ears clogged or something? I said not a chance, Gabe.”
He shoots me the evil eye, clearly stating that he’s cursing my guts as he marches out of my room.
I follow close behind, shrugging me arms into my leather jacket as I go.
“You know Mom’s rule. I can’t take you guys along.” I add, “It’s too dangerous. Besides, you’d only slow me down and get in the way. Now go back to sleep before I find you some work to do around here.”
He doesn’t answer. Instead, he throws himself into one of the chairs around the kitchen table, sulking silently. I decide to ignore him too while grabbing my belt from its hook, pulling up my boots and swinging out the door without even a glance back at him.
The sun hasn’t even peaked over the hills yet, but here I am, running down the dirt road that leads from the rotting pile of sticks that I call home. The chilly morning air stings my cheeks as I pass by four other shacks, each looking identical to the one before it; falling apart, rotting, and barely standing. There’s almost no one outside, but then again, there’s almost never anybody out on the streets. That’s only because everybody is scared to leave their homes. Each family has one or two that come out as early as I do to hunt, fish, gather firewood, or care for their farm animals. But most of the strong and able go to work in the Teck’s factories and send their pay home to their families. They only send their strongest family member out to provide. In my family, the strongest person is me. It’s a small miracle that no one in my family has been chosen to work for the Tecks yet. But The Taking is coming.
I never realize how much I hate being around so many miserable homes until I’m standing in the middle of them. The silence is always intimidating. I want nothing more than to step over that wood line and enter the peaceful silence of nature. But while you’d think this place would be a ghost town, that’s not always the case. In some families, the strongest members are children or the elderly. I’ve seen kids no older than nine out by the river fishing, or around town, building wire fences for only a handful of pennies a week. And then there’s always the older people just sitting outside their houses or walking around town, just waiting for something to happen, for something to change. But for most of us, we’ll probably look into the eyes of death before we see a glimmer of hope or change.
It didn’t used to be like this. I didn’t always have to get up at the crack of dawn and work my butt off until dusk. I used to be like my brother. I got to sit around all day while people fed me and looked out for me.
I bite my tongue as I hurry by a group of children all huddling around a small, sqaure garden. They don't so much as glance at me as I pass, too engulfed in their work. I have to remind myself not to think bitterly of my designated job. I'm lucky to have found paying work, and I don’t mind doing it, really. I don’t have much of a choice, not if I don’t want to see my sisters crying from hunger or worse. It can always get worse.
Lost in thought, I reach the wood line and break through the brush. Entering the wild and leaving the tame. I’ve traveled into this forest every day for as long as I can remember. I have these paths memorized by heart. I prowl carefully around the thicket, not making a sound. I run up to the now-hollow, decaying oak that’s been there as long as I can remember, to where my shotgun is buried inside. I heave in a shaky breath as I pull it out from its hiding place, the familiar feeling of wishing for better and being thankful for what I’ve got rising up inside me once again. It can be tricky hunting deer and other small critters when all you have is a one barrel shot, but at the same time, I’m pretty sure I’d be doomed without it.
I can’t be caught with it though. Having this weapon is against a law I’d be executed for breaking if I were seen. All the same, I’ve been breaking it for years, I’m just quick enough that no one catches me. Getting bullets for the gun is the hard part. I traded a whole deer I killed with a bow and arrow two years ago for this gun. The man wasn’t supposed to be selling it or its bullets, but a man’s got to make a living. He didn't tell me where he'd got it, and I didn't dare ask. Unfortunately, the very next day he paid for that mistake. He and his f
amily received a public beating in the sqaure. That’s why I can’t afford to get caught; I have my sisters to think about.
I hunt for at least three hours with nothing to show for it. I hate wasting time like this, just sitting by the river and waiting for something to come along for a drink. It’s like all the animals know I’m there. But it doesn’t matter; I can’t waste any more time on these predictable creatures anway. I still have a day’s worth of things to get done.
This is my life, I think pointlessly to myself. Up at four to hunt for a few hours --most of the time without any luck-- then I head back to town to work on the same old fence I’ve been building for Mr. Thompson for weeks. I'd have it done by now, if he'd only give me the currency before hand. Stubborn old man.
He’s been unable to take care of anything around his land for a while now, I know, and he doesn't exactly have the extra money. That's why I wonder whether he even has what we agreed on. How does he make money at all anymore, he can barely clean his own shutters. Lucky for him, he lives alone. He’s never had a family, never been married, never had kids. It’s just him.
That’s exactly how I want to do it, I tell myself somberly. I’m never getting married, that way I’ll never have to worry about protecting and providing for a family. I’d never want to have kids anyway, not in this place. It wouldn’t be fair to them. I’m never having kids.
Mr. Thompson took care of himself great up until now. His body just shut down oneday, and now he can’t do the things he needs to. He must be in his late seventies by now. I could last longer than him, I'm sure. I've got the will power and work ethic. If I weren't at my familie's beck and call in my spare time, I'd already have started building my own house. I snort at the thought. Yeah, no I wouldn't.
I arrive at Mr. Thompson’s place and I know he won’t be happy I’m running late. I took too long hunting this morning.
“Hello.” I call halfheartedly as I approach him sitting on his front step.
“Boy, you’re late again. I don’t pay you to do nothing and be late every morning!” He snaps. Mr. Thompson isn’t the jolliest old man in the world, but I don’t blame him.
“Yes, sir, I understand.” I say respectfully. He might be an old grump, but if there’s one thing my mother taught me, it’s to respect my elders.
The hours tick by like days. I measure out each foot of land and wire, keeping the planks straight as I work my way up a short but steep hedge of earth. I swear under my breath when my finger slips and slices open against the spikes while tying the barbed wire together. I shake my hand fiercely to numb the pain, inspecting the cut before squeezing my fist in a wad of my t-shirt to stop the bleeding. I shake my head in exhaustion, relief overcoming me when I look up at the sky to get the time and the sky is darkening. I worked on the fence all day, trying to make up for the hour I missed this morning and get back on Mr. Thompson’s good side. It’s back breaking work as always, complete misery every moment. And now that the sky is dark, it gets harder to see what I’m doing while I tie wire together and nail in stakes. Sweat drips down my body, even with the bitter cold night wind moving in.
I hear Mr. Thompson call out to me in a rough, frog croak of a voice, “Alright boy, you can go now.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you.”
As I pack up and start to head back, he says, “You’re doing a good job on that fence. A few more miles and it should wrap around the whole property.”
“Thank you, sir. I think I need about three more miles of wire and I should be good.”
He looks at me as if I hadn’t said anything. He just turns around and goes back inside, slamming the door behind him.
“What a joy.” I mumble under my breath as I start the hike home.
I’m greeted by happy screams as I walk through the door. Gabby and Cinda scamper from the kitchen table to the front door to greet me.
“Nate’s back!” Cinda screams as I scoop her up in my arms and kiss her cheek. Gabby isn’t far behind, waiting by my side where I kiss her too.
“Keep your voices down. Your father is trying to sleep.” My mother hisses.
Yeah right, as if he hasn’t been sleeping all day.
My father is crippled, he can’t walk and he almost never leaves his bed. He hates his life because he can’t do what he wants and he hates his wife and children. I can live with that, he can be a sorry let down for the rest of his life for all I care, but he never talks to the kids. That makes me angry. Cinda treats me as her father most of the time and I’m sure Leila will do the same. I never want to be like my father.
I shoot my mother a look that I’m sure she catches just before peeking into my parent’s room to see the baby, Leila, is fast asleep in her cradle next to my parent’s bed.
“How was your day?” Cinda asks me, hanging on my legs while I wobble to the table. Cinda’s four and she’s probably the sweetest kid alive, but she’s wild and free spirited and constantly getting herself hurt. Sometimes it’s nothing more than a split finger, and other times it’s a bloody gash down her leg. I don’t understand how she hurts herself so much. It’s not like she’s here unsupervised. Our mother just doesn’t care, I guess.
“It was fine,” I reply, “Nothing too exciting happened. What about yours?”
She looks over at Gabe who is sitting at the table –looking guilty–than back to me. She pulls her bangs up off her forehead and says, “Gabe told me to jump off my bed and try to land one my hands. But I missed.”
The swollen blotch of purple has already formed bitterly, and it makes me flinch. I stare at her for a minute before turning to Gabe.
“Are you kidding me?” I shout, pushing myself from the chair I’d found myself in.
“I didn’t think she’d actually do it! It’s her own fault she’s so stupid!”
“I am not stupid!” Cinda barks back quickly, “You said it would be cool.”
“Stop it!” I demand, “Gabe, I can’t even trust you to look out for the girls while I’m gone!”
“That’s not my job!”
“Not your job? Well, I got news for you, pal, it is now!”
“You’re not my dad, Nate,” he grumbles as he leaves the room.
I roll my eyes, flopping back down in my chair. That’s just like him. Half the things that happen around here are because of that kid.
“Nathan,” My mother starts, “He’s just a child.”
“That’s the thing, he’s not a child. He’s almost fourteen and he acts like he doesn’t know jumping off a bed head first can kill someone! Doesn’t he know that if she cracked her skull open we wouldn’t be able to help her? And that she’d most likely die or-”
“Stop it! Stop yelling!” Gabby screams as she runs to her room. And in that moment, I realize what I’ve just said. Cinda looks up at me with tears in her eyes. My heart sinks to the pit of my stomach. Why am I such a big mouth idiot?
“Hey, I’m sorry.” I say softly as I bend down and stroke the hair in her face behind her ear, “I didn’t mean that. But I need you to be more careful, okay?”
She wipes the tears from her eyes, “Okay. But I really thought I could land on my hands.” She sniffs.
I can’t help but chuckle, “Yeah, I’m sure you could have.” I kiss her forehead and leave to comfort Gabby. Gabby is eight years old and almost never talks, so to hear her scream like that isn’t usual. She’s quiet and shy but very kind.
“Aren’t you going to talk to Gabe?” My mother asks before I open Gabby’s door.
“Gabe needs to grow up and you’d be doing well to teach him that.” I say to her harshly. She looks at me like she’s shocked I’d say such a thing but in her heart, she knows I’m right. I don’t want this to be our mother/son relationship but it just is. Because I know how she feels about me.
It’s hard to love somebody who doesn’t love you in return.
Chapter Two
Willamina
“It’s time to get up, Miss Willamina.”
Slowly, I force my eyes to
flutter open. Raya, my maid, is standing at the end of my bed, hands clasped in front of her with a rehearsed smile on her face. I yawn and stretch. Usually during the summer I’m allowed to sleep in late, but Mother has scheduled a luncheon for eleven o’clock sharp, so I must be ready to receive guests.
I force myself to climb out of bed, grab my bathrobe, and head to the shower. As the pleasant, warm water hits me in the right places, I start waking up. Our shower is programed to know the temperature and water pressure preferences of everyone in the family and when someone enters, it scans to see who it is, to pick the right setting. The shower feels nice and attempts to relax me, but my mind is already at the upcoming luncheon. I’ll have to talk to silly people about silly things that no one really cares about, and they always stay late.
I’ve always felt like I’m different from everyone else. An outsider, looking in. They’re all trend followers who never question anything. These are the people that surround me at all times. These are the people I’ll have to endure at the luncheon. Mother won’t let me leave early either. She says she’s “training me in the art of being a hostess.” Rubbish, I say. I’d much rather be upstairs in my sunny bedroom, finishing a good book.
Sadly, I can’t stall in the shower any longer or I’ll make myself late. I step onto the drying platform next to the shower and press the button. I watch as every little drop of water on my body floats away in peaceful little bubbles and then flows down the drain. Now, completely dry, I step into my bathrobe and head back to my room. Raya is waiting for me with my outfit all picked out.
Raya is probably about twenty-five and I’ve always thought she was very pretty. She isn’t like the other Workers, but that’s because she was trained to serve the people in our town. None of the Workers are allowed to cross the border into our town without an authority purpose or service training. It keeps us safe. They’re like animals. I’ve only seen a few in my lifetime and almost all of them were servants, but the warnings that the Controllers give us about mixing with them is convincing enough.
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