K
I fought to stay awake, since both of us sleeping whilst in this truck-trap seemed a bad idea of monumental proportions, but it was hard. Sitting in the darkness, the truck swaying gently, exhaustion pressing on me... Eventually I resorted to pinching the backs of my hands, harder and harder. I had to stay awake. Our lives depended on it. My family’s lives depended on it.
I pictured my fifteen-year-old sister, Margaret—Margo, as we all called her. So bright, yet she was a Borderline, just because she was bad at Math. Dyscalculia, her condition was called: Math dyslexia. If she failed her Sorting tests, she’d be sent to the Facility to be dismantled for spare parts to cure those perfect enough to be granted adult status—which was what they wanted to do to Joe. But only just a Borderline, surely? She always said no one at school even realized. And she had three more years—well, two and a half—to get her Math up to the required level, before her Sorting tests at eighteen. And a really good teacher. Uncle Peter could teach Math to dogs and cats.
“Why didn’t you bring her with you?” Joe had asked me, when I first revealed my sister M’s Borderline status.
“She’s confident she’ll pass,” I’d told him. “She wouldn’t leave without B, anyway. He’s her best friend. She wants to marry him someday.”
Joe had rolled his eyes at this romantic notion, making me grin. But then he’d said, “Wouldn’t he come with her? If he wants to marry her.”
That’d pulled me up short for a moment or two. Because Bane, oh, hot-headed Bane, with a relationship with his own family several degrees below zero, he would have been prepared to run away in a heartbeat. Especially if it helped Margo.
“She has a chance at a normal life,” I’d tried to explain. “Why would she want to throw that away?”
“Did you ask her to come?”
“Not flat out,” I admitted. “I never got the impression she wanted to.”
“Or that’s what she wanted you to think. We both know how dangerous it is for you having a preSort-age kid along—I expect she knew that too.”
Joe’s quiet words had haunted me every mile of the way since then. Had Margo simply pretended that the idea of fleeing the EuroBloc didn’t interest her simply to avoid burdening me with her incriminating teen self? That would be just like her.
And the worst thing was, there was absolutely nothing I could do about it now. Except not get caught, and trust in the Lord.
And in Bane.
Sleep was tugging at me again. Along with a sensation I’d become very familiar with since meeting Joe—pins and needles. In my leg. As usual. I tried wiggling my toes, slowly and gently, but even that much made Joe stir, his fingers knotting even tighter into my pant fabric. I desisted, and he settled, dropping back into deeper sleep.
Poor kid. My heart bled for him. Actually, on a purely selfish level, despite the added dangers and difficulties created by his presence, I loved having him along. It was like having a little brother. I’d always wanted a little brother—I mean, not instead of Margo, I wouldn’t have swapped her for the world, but as well as would’ve been good. No hope of that, with the EuroBloc Genetics’ Department’s strict breeding laws. Except now, and thanks to them—ha ha, so there, EGD!—I did.
Perhaps if Joe could come to consider me his brother, it would help heal the deep wounds inflicted on him that fatal evening three weeks ago when his world was so completely shattered. Though to heal, above all, he needed to forgive. Lord, I’m trying to help him to understand that. Please give me the right words.
He drank in faith facts like a sponge, clearly fascinated, but any mention of God’s love or God as Father was met with steely resistance. Go figure.
How keen he was to get to Africa, to freedom and wide open skies and, well, trains, but…I couldn’t help hoping that maybe, somehow, he could stay in Vatican State. I’d a nasty feeling I’d heard that all unaccompanied children were sent on to Africa as a matter of course, but…there were several cadet corps. Swiss Guard cadets was out, of course, since Joe was as British as I was, but the Vatican Police Cadets or something? I was pretty sure I’d also heard that the absolute youngest you could be to be admitted to the cadets was fifteen, so that was still a problem.
I suppose if Joe accepted me as his big brother by the time we got there, he wouldn’t exactly be an unaccompanied child, would he? Well, I’d still stow us away on another truck if the opportunity presented, since the sooner we got there the safer for both of us, but I couldn’t help almost hoping that we’d have to walk again. Give Joe that little bit more time to come to trust me, despite his understandable paranoia.
But then…if I did have a vocation, four years and I’d be ordained and on my way, and then what about Joe? But to Joe, four years were almost a third of his life. Four more years, and he’d be almost my age. Grown-up. Worrying about probably having to leave him in four years was stupid. He’d be old enough for Africa and trains by then, anyway. Right now, he just needed steadfast, reliable TLC, that’s what he needed. And unless I was totally barking up the wrong tree with this vocation of mine, if he was going to get it from me, he needed to stay in the Vatican. And I kind of hoped he was going to get it from me.
My belated little brother, such an utterly unexpected gift from God.
Such a heavy responsibility too, though I did not begrudge him that.
My eyelids dragged, so heavy, despite the increasing discomfort in my leg. I really didn’t want to disturb Joe, though. The constant walking was tougher for him than for me, and he tried so hard not to slow me down.
No! I jerked back from a doze at the last minute. No, I must not sleep. Not tonight. I should concentrate on my leg, maybe that would wake me up.
Okay, concentrating on the leg was not such a good idea. The pins and needles were getting really vicious.
Offer it up, huh? For Joe’s healing and for a safe journey. What are you complaining about, anyway? This is nothing. Think of it as practice for the all-too-likely reward for your priestly work.
Conscious Dismantlement.
Normally I pushed thoughts of that away at once, but I desperately needed to wake up, so for once I allowed my mind to follow the thread.
Could anything really count as practice for Conscious Dismantlement? Just at the thought of it, my heart pounded harder, sweat squeezing out onto my suddenly cold forehead. I felt icy right through, in fact. Yes, I tried not to think about it too much—because whenever I did, things suddenly looked very different.
I mean, what was I doing? I was a New Adult, I’d passed my Sorting, I’d gotten great exam results just two months back, I’d had everything before me. A scholarship to university, excellent job prospects…maybe I could one day have even found myself earning enough to afford a third child.
And I’d thrown it all away. Thrown it away by faking my death and risking my life on this perilous journey to the Vatican, all so that I could spend four hyper-hyper-intense years of study and that all so I could return to the EuroBloc for an all too brief ministry ending in…in a slow, agonizing, tortuous death as every organ was harvested from my conscious, still-breathing body. That or risk damnation by apostasy should my courage fail me.
Lord, why am I doing this? My mind-whisper was confused, chilled, bewildered.
The answer came at once, like a warm breath into my fearful soul: Because I did the same for you.
Ah yes, He’d done the same for me. How could I not risk the same, for the sake of His beloved children, my own brothers and sisters?
My breathing steadied a little, and the chill fear eased—leaving me shivering and clammy. What a big brave priest I was going to make.
Lord…Lord… Now this was a prayer I had prayed for years. Lord, if I’m not strong enough, please don’t lead me to that choice. I beg You. Let the seminary turn me down, let me study for four years and then be turned down for ordination, let me be ordained but sent to Africa, but let me not be brought to that moment unless I will be strong enough to stand. I beg You.
>
For I simply do not know if I can open myself to accept Your strength in that most dire moment of need or whether, in the dread and terror of it all, I will simply rely on myself…
And fall.
JOE
“Joe! Wake up!” K was shaking my shoulder, hard. “We’re being pulled over!”
“What?” My eyes flew open. It wasn’t dark, now. Light blazed around the front of the truck, and blue and red lights flashed from behind. “But you said—”
“I don’t know why it’s happening, but it is! We’ve got to jump and run. We mustn’t be caught!”
He didn’t need to tell me that! With a loud rustle-rustle that only we could possibly hear over the engines, he crammed my blanket back into his rucksack and fastened it, heaved it on. He never ever removed his gloves, but he yanked a balaclava down over his face. I did the same. As he’d explained early on, in the circumstances, there was just a slight risk that identifying me might put them onto K.
K craned his neck to get the best look outside that he could without actually showing himself, jiggling one leg up and down as his fingers unfastened more of the tarpaulin to enlarge the slit.
“Argh!” he hissed. “I think it’s just a random check, but the police car is herding us into a floodlit area they’ve set up for the night. Police cars around it, one army truck with soldiers. Blasted French Resistance are always busy,” he added under his breath, in explanation, then went on firmly, “We’ve got to jump as soon as we’ve slowed enough, before we’re surrounded. I can see forest; we run straight into it and keep going, okay? Ready?”
I swallowed. I was shaking, but I knew K was right. Jump and run like heck was our only chance. Oh why did they have to choose our truck?
“Now!” K dropped out through the slit and ran alongside, waiting for me. I forced myself to move, slipping through and jumping to the road. My feet came down hard, and I stumbled, but K grabbed my shoulder, steadying me.
“Come on!” he whispered, gripping my arm, pulling me after him. I got my feet sorted out and started to run in earnest, at right angles away from the truck. The police car following let off its siren, beeping the horn madly. They’d seen us.
We ran on.
Shouts in Esperanto from the army truck—“Halt!”
Yeah, right! The forest loomed ahead, we’d nearly reached it. I drove my feet into the pavement, running absolutely as fast as I could, though K’s longer stride meant he was half-towing me behind him.
Crack! Crack!
Panic exploded inside me. Gunshots! They’re really shooting at me? Can’t they see I’m just a kid? Oh no, run, Joe, run.
K pushed me along ahead of him, now; somehow he’d gotten behind me…but the forest was only a few strides away. We were going to make—
Something slammed into the small of my back with incredible force, sending me sprawling on the road. My chin skidded painfully along the pavement. Oww. I needed to jump right up again and run, run, run. My mind planned it, yet somehow when I finally came to a halt, I couldn’t seem to move. Just lay in a numb, swimming, echoing dullness.
Get up, Joe! Get up and run! Why am I lying here like this?
K
Something plucked at my sleeve and my pant leg, spinning me off balance and almost bringing me crashing down on Joe, but I caught myself just in time and threw myself beside him in a more controlled manner.
“Come on, Joe!” I was horribly sure that he’d been hit, but there was no time to even look. Dragging his arm over my shoulder, I pulled him to his feet. I glimpsed his face in the lights, pale and confused, but his legs moved feebly as he struggled to help me.
Crack. Another bullet yanked at my sleeve, but drag-carrying Joe, I’d taken the last few strides, and we were in among the trees. Solid, bullet-proof… Not close enough together, though.
From the sounds of shouting and clanking and thumping, many of the soldiers were still getting themselves together, but the couple who’d been shooting were rushing towards our sanctuary. No time to stop, no time to do anything. But Joe slumped against me, his chest heaving weakly, clearly unable to even stand.
I hefted him up, over the top of my shoulder and backpack, and began to run.
Oh God, don’t let it end like this. Don’t let it end like this!
3 Weeks Earlier
Salperton-Under-Fell, Yorkshire, British Department,
EuroBloc
JOE
“Can’t we watch the program about railway signals?” I asked Dad, as he selected the motor racing. “It starts in five minutes on the technology channel.”
“The race will still be on, Joe.”
“But it’s important! It’s really competitive becoming a train driver! I’ll have to prove that I’ve been interested for ages and know loads!”
“You don’t have to know loads beforehand,” said Dad—like always. “That’s what training is for. Anyway, you’re…”
“…rather young to be thinking about career paths.” I mouthed it with him. It must’ve been a boy/girl thing, because whenever my little sister Daisy started talking about how she wanted to be a midwife one day, all she’d get was encouragement, and she was almost three years younger than me. All I ever got was encouragement not to think ahead.
I sighed, flopped back on the sofa and tried to watch the race. Daisy was already in bed, so there wasn’t much else to do. It would be more interesting with signals. And tracks. And timetables. All the stupid cars did was drive in circles. As usual. Eventually one of them crashed and a wheel flew off. The driver jumped out and waved to the camera. Still alive, yay. Now there was a stupid career and a half. Driving in circles, trying to get killed. Dad wished he was a racing car driver, though. I could tell from the way he stared at the screen, like he wanted to get inside it.
The camera had gone back to following the cars that still had wheels on when I heard an even more boring normal car pulling up outside our house. I glanced at the clock. Almost eight. Were we expecting a visitor?
The doorbell chimed, followed by the sound of Mum heading out of the kitchen to answer it. I got up and lurked by the lounge doorway to listen. More interesting than cars.
“Hello, are you Karen Whitelow?” A man’s voice, calm and professional.
A really long, odd silence greeted this normal enough question. When Mum finally spoke, her voice sounded tight and strained, like she could hardly get it out. “Who…who are you?”
“We’re from the EGD, Mrs. Whitelow. UnRegistered Child 6349531 is required to attend Salperton Facility tonight, and we have been sent to provide escort. Is unRegistered Child 6349531 in the house? May I remind you that any attempt to obstruct an EGD official in the course of their duties carries a charge of Sedition: Category 2 and will result in the immediate removal of any other child. Now, where is unRegistered Child 6349531?”
What on earth was this guy going on about? I peeped around into the hall in time to see Mum, her face the most ghastly white I’d ever seen it, raise a trembling finger and point silently towards the lounge. Our eyes met but she jerked hers away, her face crumpling.
A big man in a grey civilian uniform pushed past her, followed by a slightly less brawny guy holding a clipboard. Both had pistols at their belts. Whoa. Who were they? What had the guy said? EGD…that and the reference to unRegistered meant…EuroBloc Genetics Department. Bad guys. But they’d obviously come to the wrong house. Why didn’t Mum just send them away?
Their eyes fixed on me. “Are you Joe Whitelow?”
Why did they know all our names? My skin prickled, uneasily. “Yes…”
“Good.” The man muttered to his clipboard-wielding companion, “Put him in the car.”
What? No way! I skipped backwards into the safety of the lounge, where Dad was. “I’m not unRegistered! Dad? Dad, these idiots think I’m unRegistered!”
But Dad sat motionless in his chair, his eyes still glued to the television, but now they were totally unfocussed, like he couldn’t even see the cars on t
he screen.
The big man reached for me, and I darted behind Dad’s chair, shaking his shoulder. “Dad! Tell these idiots they’ve come to the wrong house! Tell them!”
“If you’re Joe Whitelow, unRegistered Child 6349531, then we have not come to the wrong house,” said the big man impatiently, advancing towards me.
“Dad!” I yelled, but he just sat there. I’d have to tell them myself. “Yes, you have! I am not unRegistered! My parents are Registered! Since before I was born! Just look it up! My mum can get out the Registration certificate. They’re Registered!”
But even as I spoke, I realized that having parents who were Registered when you were born wasn’t good enough. They had to be Registered when you were conceived. For the first time an icy finger of doubt stroked my spine. I couldn’t actually be unRegistered, could I? How could they not have told me?
“Come on.” The big man reached for me again. I evaded his grab and raced to the back door. Dad just sat there, doing nothing. I had to get away! I turned the key in the lock and yanked the door open, hurtled out…straight into the grasp of a third man in grey. In a trice, he’d grabbed both my wrists, snapped a pair of handcuffs onto them and bundled me back through the door.
“Got him, sir,” he said.
“Good. Let’s go.”
They walked me through the kitchen, to the hall. They were going to put me in that car, drive me to the Facility and… Everyone knew unRegistered kids got taken straight to the Lab and dismantled right away. By morning all my organs would be packed in medBags en route to some hospital freezer.
Terror overwhelmed me—gasping, I began to struggle as hard as I could, fighting them every step of the way.
“Oh, stop it,” said the big man. “It’s not like you’re going to feel anything. Not one thing. Only the very worst superstitious idiots get Conscious Dismantlement, you must know that. And it’s a top notch lab, of course, everything hospital grade.”
Not going to feel anything? Hospital grade? What did that matter? They were going to kill me! They were going to—
Brothers Page 2