CENTER 82 (RATION)

by Christina J Thompson

  “Damn you, Brian,” she whispered, scowling to herself. Despite her protests, he had still managed to drag her into whatever was happening.

  “Let’s go!” the guard called from outside, and Amber forced herself to relax. Taking a deep breath, she stepped back out into the room.

  †‡†

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  John’s eyes snapped open in the dark, his ears straining to hear past the sound of the wind whistling outside. A sudden rush of adrenaline surged through his veins as a shiver of fear raced up his spine. Something wasn’t right.

  The space beside him was empty; the ration was gone, and the last of the sleep instantly vanished from his mind as he focused in on the quiet gasps that echoed out in the early-morning stillness. He turned to look, inhaling sharply when he caught sight of a shadowed figure huddled in the corner of his room.

  The ration.

  He bolted upright and threw his blanket back, his heart racing as he stumbled out of bed and fell to his knees. The ration’s short, shallow breaths quickened as his eyes widened with panic, and he flinched as John reached for him.

  “It’s okay,” John whispered. “It’s okay, just calm down. I have food and water for you—if we hurry, you can leave before everyone wakes up! Do you understand?”

  The ration didn’t answer; instead, he began to whimper quietly, and John’s stomach twisted with dread. His parents were going to hear if he didn’t think of something fast.

  “Come on,” he breathed, taking the ration’s hand. “We have to go, I’ll explain on the way.”

  The ration stood up, and John hesitated as he eyed the boy’s bare feet. He hadn’t thought about this part; traveling without shoes would be impossible, but Terry kept the ration’s shoes in the other bedroom and John wasn’t about to try sneaking in to get them. He quickly grabbed his own shoes from underneath the shelf on the other side of the room and began adjusting the straps. They were better than nothing.

  He helped the ration put them on, then pulled his mattress back to retrieve the bundle of food and water he had taken from Amber’s old room. By his estimate, there was just enough to make the trip plus a little extra water, and he had drawn a crude map on a scrap of fabric he had torn from his clothes. It wasn’t ideal, but it would have to work, and he slung the bundle over his shoulder.

  “Quiet,” he warned, beckoning as he stepped out of his room.

  John led the ration into the darkened streets, cautiously looking around before heading towards the outskirts of the settlement. Excitement bubbled up inside of him; it had been a little less than twenty-four hours since he had successfully emptied the supplement capsules, and with the harvest scheduled for later that night, he had almost been afraid that his plan wasn’t going to work in time. Until now, the ration had shown no signs that the supplements were wearing off, and as John cast a quick glance at the pre-dawn sky, he knew he had to hurry. There was a lot to explain.

  He paused when he reached the abandoned house beside Amber’s, contemplating for a moment. The cold, winter wind that howled through the settlement was loud, but he couldn’t be sure that his voice wouldn’t carry. There was only one place he could think of that would be safe enough for them to talk freely, and he turned towards the mining grid.

  “Come on,” he prompted, beckoning to the ration. “We don’t have much time!”

  The ration stumbled as he followed, his steps awkward and unsure as if fighting against some unseen force. John pulled him along, and as the blackness of night began to give way to gray, he could see a dazed look lingering in the ration’s eyes. He frowned. He could tell that the supplements hadn’t worn off completely, but he hoped that the effects had weakened enough.

  John stole through the empty mining ground, passing by the salt mine and veering off towards his family’s grid assignment.

  “In here,” he called, ducking under the edge of the tarp that covered the pit and carefully making his way down the dirt steps. He headed for the far corner and crouched down as he motioned for the ration to do the same. He pursed his lips, trying to sort through the flurry of thoughts that poured through his mind.

  “Can you talk?” he finally asked. “Can you understand me?”

  The ration didn’t move, and John muttered a curse.

  “I hope you can, because this is our only chance to save you. Everyone’s going to be waking up soon, but I have a plan. There’s a place you can go that might be safe. You have to leave now, though, the harvest is tonight.”

  The ration’s eyes were fixed on the ground, his frantic gasps growing louder as he trembled. John moved his hand to touch the ration’s arm.

  “I have enough food and water―”

  The ration let out a sudden cry, reeling back and pressing himself against the wall of the grid. He reached up and clamped his hands over his head, his teeth chattering loudly as he rocked back and forth.

  “It’s okay,” John soothed. He raised his hand reassuringly as he inched towards the ration’s trembling form. “Just listen, I’m trying to help you―”

  The ration bellowed a scream this time and jumped to his feet, tripping over himself as he clawed his way towards the far side of the grid, and John shook his head in confusion as he watched the boy cower in fear. This wasn’t going according to plan.

  The plastic tarp that covered the top of the grid snapped loudly as a gust of wind lifted it for a moment, allowing a bit more light into the space, and he could see the whites of the ration’s wild eyes rolling back and forth with the unmistakable sheen of raw terror. John opened his mouth, preparing to speak again, only to feel his words die in his throat as the ration’s dazed look vanished in a single instant.

  John’s heart stopped. The ration’s demeanor was shifting right before his eyes―the frightened, quivering form grew suddenly and eerily still, and if not for the clouds of breath that huffed out from the ration’s nose in the morning cool, he almost would have appeared lifeless. He remained that way for a long moment, then his head slowly began to lift, his gaze drifting up until it met John’s.

  Their eyes locked.

  John’s stomach instantly clenched as an inexplicable sense of urgency tore through his veins. The ration’s stare was piercing and cold, his unwavering gaze seeming to focus in as if finally fully realizing that there was another person there.

  Now, though, instead of terror, the look on the ration’s face was one of rage.

  John gulped, fear burning through his chest as he began to consider the possibility that he had made a terrible mistake. Never once had it occurred to him that the ration could pose a threat, but as he studied the dangerous gleam that had appeared in the creature’s unblinking eyes, he couldn’t ignore the horrifying realization that was forcing itself into his mind. Whatever Ayn had possessed, whatever had made him special, didn’t exist in this thing.

  The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, his senses suddenly acutely aware of just how alone he was. He didn’t stand a chance against something this big, and he instinctively began edging back towards the steps that led out of the grid.

  “It’s…it’s okay,” John stammered, his voice cracking. “I…I just wanted to help you.”

  The ration was frozen in place, only its head turning as it tracked John’s movements. John hesitated for a moment before lifting his foot towards the first step, his muscles tensing in anticipation, and he held his breath as he prepared to make a break for it.

  The ration let out a roar of fury the exact moment John turned to run, launching itself forward with lightning speed and crossing the grid in mere seconds. John screamed with panic as he felt strong fingers dig into his ankle; he managed to tear himself free, scrambling up the steps on his hands and knees until he reached the top. He burst out from under the tarp’s covering and fell to the ground, fighting against the paralyzing terror that threatened to overwhelm him as he leaped to his feet and sprinted towards the settlement.

  He c
ould hear the ration’s pounding footsteps behind him; he didn’t have to look to know that it was gaining on him. It was much faster than he was, its long, muscular legs propelling it forward, and John instantly realized that the settlement was too far for him to make it. He turned left towards the salt mine, darting between the grids as he gasped for breath. The ration was at his heels, he could feel it, and he hit the ground, his body skidding in the dust as his momentum carried him over the edge of Amber’s grid.

  John landed halfway on the tarp, pulling one corner down with him as he crashed onto the steps. He rolled down head-over-heels before tumbling off the edge of the dirt staircase, his stomach lurching into his throat as he braced himself to land. The breath was knocked from his lungs as he struck the floor of the grid, and he groaned, trying to force himself to his feet. He staggered upright and stumbled back; the fallen tarp blocked his view, but a moment later, he caught sight of the ration’s furious glare.

  “Stop!” John begged, stepping to the edge of the mine’s opening. “Please, I was trying to help!”

  The ration roared again as it barreled forward, its thick, dangerous hands outstretched, and John clenched his teeth as he met its gaze once more. There was no understanding there, only pure, instinctual rage, and he readied himself as the ration lunged.

  John twisted away, jumping out of the ration’s path at the last possible moment. It let out a shriek of terror as its body careened over the edge of the mine’s opening, and John closed his eyes, cringing at the hollow, echoing thump that soon followed. He rolled onto his back, guilt and shame filling his heart. He was a fool.

  A gurgling cry of pain drifted up out of the mine only a moment later, and John clenched his teeth against the sickening, sorrowful regret that instantly cut through him. Tears welled up in his eyes; the sound of the ration’s final, agonizing gasps grated through his bones, and he let out a sob as he clapped his hands over his ears. He held his breath, counting the seconds as the minutes slowly ticked by until he was sure it had to be over.

  He cautiously lifted one hand and listened, then he crawled forward to the mine’s opening, staring down into the darkness as he strained to hear. Mercifully, there was nothing but silence.

  The last of the adrenaline faded away, and John’s throat ached as he covered his face with his hands. He had made a mistake, a terrible mistake, and instead of saving the ration, he had led it to a horrible death. At least the harvest was quick, at least it wouldn’t have suffered.

  The sound of footsteps caught his attention, and his eyes grew wide as a new type of fear washed over him. Explaining this was not going to be easy. He looked up just in time to see a hand reach out to push the fluttering tarp aside, and a moment later, Richard appeared.

  “What the hell is this?” he demanded, his face darkening with suspicion. “What are you doing here?”

  John swallowed hard.

  “Something happened,” he managed to respond, wincing as he stood to his feet. “Our ration—it fell.”

  “What do you mean, it fell?” Richard growled. “Why are you here?”

  John pursed his lips as his mind raced.

  “The ration…it wandered away this morning,” he said. “I woke up and it was gone.”

  “You’re not its keeper! Where’s Terry, where’s your father?”

  “I didn’t want to worry him,” John quickly answered. “I…I thought I would go look around for myself first.”

  The loose corner of the tarp caught his attention, and he lifted his hand to point.

  “I saw the tarp for your grid had been pulled down,” he continued, the story taking form in his mind. “So I thought maybe I should check down here. I saw our ration standing on the edge of the mine, and I tried…I tried to grab it, but it was too heavy…”

  He let his voice trail off as he stared down at his bare feet, holding his breath, then he heard a whispered curse.

  “They’re going to hold me accountable!” Richard gasped, his voice edged with panic. “Terry’s going to have me by the throat!”

  John felt a slight twinge of relief, but convincing Richard was just the beginning. The real challenge would be selling his story to the council; his family would need to get a replacement unless the ration hadn’t been damaged beyond use by the fall, and he swallowed hard, his stomach turning as he remembered the creature’s final breaths.

  Richard began pacing back and forth, mumbling to himself, then he sighed heavily and glanced up to meet John’s gaze.

  “We need to go tell the council,” he said, groaning to himself as if in pain. “But first, I need to talk to your father.”

  John nodded, moving to follow Richard out of the grid as the first rays of morning sunlight appeared on the horizon. A wave of heat billowed across the cracked, dusty ground only moments later, furiously chasing away the cold of the night as if possessed by the same rage the ration had held, and he hung his head as he trudged along. Frustration burned in his heart. Nothing could have ever prepared him for the ration’s response.

  He furrowed his brow. It reminded him of the stories of wild animals that Amber used to talk about from her books; there was no reasoning with a creature like that, no talking to it. It was nothing but raw instinct housed within a human-like shell, not at all like Ayn. Ayn had been different for some reason.

  John rolled his eyes, cursing himself under his breath. He couldn’t believe he had allowed himself to get caught up in the excitement of such an unbelievable secret, and he realized now how desperately he had wanted to be part of it, how much he had wanted to prove that he was also capable of doing something special. It made him feel unbearably pathetic, especially in the face of what his foolishness had just caused.

  “Stay close, John,” Richard called over his shoulder, picking up his pace as they approached the settlement’s outskirts. “I don’t want to try explaining this to Terry without you, I don’t think even fear of the council would keep him calm.”

  John grimaced with dread. He couldn’t imagine how his father was going to react. He winced in pain as he felt the sharp edge of a rock beneath his bare foot, and he paused, lifting his leg to inspect his calloused sole. A tiny drop of blood seeped from his heel, the bright color quickly melting into the layer of dust on his skin and blending in to match the rest of the dirt-caked cuts he had gotten while fleeing the ration’s attack. He sighed, preparing to continue, when a sudden realization sent a wave of nauseating panic ripping through his stomach.

  His shoes. The ration was wearing his shoes.

  John clenched his teeth as another thought occurred to him, and he shot an agonizing glance back at the mining ground. Sitting in the corner of his family’s grid was a bundle of food and water, his hand-drawn map tucked safely inside.

  †‡†

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Amber sat in the corner of the room she had been brought to, her heart racing. All of the new arrivals that had been present for orientation were there, along with Paul and the other guides. One by one, they were summoned into a second room off to the side, and she could hear Executive Smith’s loud, gruff voice yelling through the door as he interviewed each of them. He sounded livid, and she swallowed hard as yet another person emerged from the room with terrified, tear-filled eyes.

  “Ordell!” Executive Smith bellowed.

  Amber instantly leaped to her feet. Brian was sitting across from her; she could feel him staring at her, and she put her head down, intentionally refusing to look at him as she stepped towards the door. Bracing herself, she walked in.

  There was a long desk near one wall, and pages of maps covered another. She barely noticed anything else, her attention drawn to the single chair that had been positioned in the center of the room. Executive Smith was pacing back and forth in front of it, his heavy footsteps thundering through the black, tiled floor with each step. He paused as she entered; his rage-filled face relaxed into a smile, but the dangerous glimmer in his eyes betrayed his
feigned calm.

  “So this is the famous Amber Ordell, the girl who broke through to the salt mine.”

  His voice dripped with forced politeness, and his arm swept out to gesture at the chair. Amber returned his smile as she sat. He was eyeing her, almost as if expecting her to respond, and she gulped.

  “It’s…it’s nice to meet you, sir,” she managed to say. He frowned.

  “There’s no need to pretend, Ms. Ordell, I can see that you’re scared.”

  She bit her lip.

  “Maybe…maybe a little,” she admitted.

  Executive Smith stepped closer, placing his hands on the armrests of the chair as he leaned in to look at her.

  “Why do you think I’ve called you here?” he asked. Amber shrank back; his face was inches away from hers, and she could smell his hot, sour breath as he waited for her to answer.

  “I…I don’t know. Did I do something wrong?”

  “You tell me.”

  His eyes were boring holes into hers, and she stared down at her hands, clutching at the hem of her shirt.

  “I don’t think I did, but I’ve only been here a few days. I’m still learning the rules.”

  “What happened in the ration dome yesterday?” he snapped, his voice rising with impatience, and Amber’s breath caught in her throat.

  “We had a tour,” she quietly answered. “We saw the piers―”

  “What else did you see?”

  “Um…one of the rations. Paul opened the slot to show us―”

  “You saw someone breaking into the piers, Ms. Ordell!” Executive Smith suddenly roared, his hand flashing out to grab her face. “Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”

  Blinding panic rushed through her veins―someone else must have seen her with Brian, someone else must have told him. She stared at him in shock, her mouth moving soundlessly as she tried to think of how to respond. Perhaps he would have mercy on her if she just confessed what little she knew.