The Duty and the Gone (The Fertility Plague Book 1)

by Claire Vale

  COPYRIGHT

  The Duty and the Gone

  The Fertility Plague

  Book 1

  Published by Claire Vale

  Copyright © 2019 by Claire Vale

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or resold in any form or by any means without permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations for non-commercial uses. To obtain permission to excerpt portions of the text, please contact the author.

  All characters in this book are fiction and figments of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to people, living or otherwise, is purely coincidental. If real, names, places and characters are used fictitiously.

  First they named it: The Fertility Plague.

  Next they categorized it: An extinction level event.

  The last naturally conceived child was born over a century ago. The Fertility Plague stripped us of the ability to conceive. Then it stripped our freedom.

  Born inside the walls of Capra, I’ve spent my life preparing to be a wife, homemaker and mother. Graduation means marriage to a practical stranger and fulfilling my role society. Girls who don’t graduate are removed. Life isn’t perfect, but the alternative is unacceptable.

  This is the Eastern Coalition.

  This is what’s left of civilization and the future of the human race.

  This is me, a girl trapped between duty and rebellion and a darkly beautiful boy.

  1

  I took my seat in the front row between Jessie and Brenda, crossed my legs at the ankles and folded my hands in my lap. Behind us, eight other girls would be doing exactly the same. Except for maybe—probably—Jenna Simmons. Always the odd one out. Always careless in her disregard for our society and its purposeful structure.

  Uncustomary silence invaded the room as we waited for Mrs. Brownfield. We could be well-behaved, perfect caricatures of a Capra lady at the drop of a pin, but we weren’t docile and braindead. Any other day we’d be chatting up a storm to fill the ten minute gap between classes. But this was the last lesson of the last day of our last year at St. Ives Academy for Girls.

  Tomorrow we graduated.

  Our class of eleven girls had been together forever. Through all the fights and bitchiness, we’ve stuck together when it counted and even though we’d see each other around town after today, it wouldn’t be the same.

  After Graduation tomorrow, nothing would ever be the same.

  Mrs. Brownfield arrived with her tight smile and snow white braid wrapped around her head like a crown. Heels clicking on the tiled floor, she crossed to take a seat behind her desk. “Good afternoon, ladies.”

  “Good afternoon, Mrs. Brownfield,” we murmured in unison.

  She spread her palms on the desk and skimmed a look across us. “I’d like to take this opportunity to say how much I’ve enjoyed guiding you. I watched you grow from girls into remarkable young ladies and I know each of you—“ Her gaze snagged on Jenna, moved on rapidly “—will graduate with a high achievement. You will be a proud accomplishment for St. Ives, for the town of Capra and for your parents.”

  The gracious farewell speech from the stern Mrs. Brownfield didn’t surprise me. This was Social Conscience, after all.

  We’d studied the same subjects as the boys in junior year. Reading, writing, math, geography, history and all the sciences. That elementary knowledge was considered sufficient once we reached secondary school and then our curriculum narrowed to the three sciences. Maternal Science, Domestic Science and Social Conscience because, you know, conscience.

  Mrs. Brownfield never missed an opportunity to remind us that if we failed, we wouldn’t just be letting ourselves down. We’d fail the academy, our families, the town, the entire Eastern Coalition and quite possibly the future existence of mankind.

  “Now…” Mrs. Brownfield stood and turned from us to pull down the white screen as she spoke. “After five years in my class, you’re well aware of the state of our world and the importance of your role in society. The only thing left is to send you off to your future with inspiration and encouragement, and for that our council has prepared a short film.”

  Jessie and I shared a look. Short films from the council meant another propaganda blast. Although to be fair, propaganda wasn’t the right word. These films always left a tart taste in my mouth, but they certainly weren’t all lies and deception.

  Mrs. Brownfield put her hands together in a sharp clap as she walked to the back of the classroom. The projector was housed behind the dry walling with a small cut-out window, but there was a control panel on this side. She pressed the play button and a banner lit up across the white screen in front of us.

  CELEBRATING 95 YEARS

  Ninety-five years since the Eastern Coalition had formed, a strip of civilization along the eastern strip of what had once been North America.

  The banner faded out and the handsome face of Councilman Julian Edgar faded in. The ruling council consisted of five men, four grey-heads and the much younger, charismatic Julian Edgar who’d succeeded to the position when his father had passed away from heart failure a couple of years back. The positions weren’t strictly hereditary, but since only the existing council members voted, that fact was rather moot.

  “It warms my heart to welcome the graduating classes of young men and women of Capra to take their rightful and valuable place in our society. Ninety-five years ago, the Eastern Coalition was the start of a dream and look where we are now. Nearly one hundred and ten years after the fertility plague threatened to wipe out our existence, we’re stronger than ever…

  Tuning out his introductory speech, my attention sharpened on Julian Edgar’s features with that familiar twist in my gut. By the end of tomorrow night, this man could be my father-in-law. To the delight of almost every eighteen-year-old girl in Capra—and their mothers—Daniel Edgar had graduated with us this year.

  Of course, it wasn’t absolutely required for boys to marry immediately, their graduation didn’t depend on it. In fact, they’d graduated last week. They already had their job assignments and by now they would’ve been settled into their allocated housing. But the sons of influential families were pressurized to set an example and Daniel was no exception. He’d registered for this year’s rotation and presented at the three preceding balls held during our final year.

  It was at the second ball in July that my intermediary score card caught Daniel’s eye. He’d marked me for the opening Waltz. Not only that, he’d monopolized my attention the entire evening. He was there nearly every time I stepped off the dancefloor, requesting a stroll around the gardens, offering a glass of punch, suggesting a breath of fresh air on the terrace. At the August Ball, he did it all again and he’d somehow managed to mark his name twice on my dance card.

  That had made a whole lot of ripples.

  We had little to no interaction with boys outside of the introductory balls and since the objective was an offer of marriage, that kind of attention was practically a statement of intention.

  But you know what they say, be careful what you wish for. Although this wasn’t exactly that kind of wish. I wasn’t sure what it really was. Sometimes it felt like destiny, but I didn’t think destiny was something you had to work as hard for as I’d worked to keep my scores perfect. Let’s just say, I wasn’t one of the few born with natural beauty and domestic talent.

  I blinked away the scowl pinching my brow and tuned back to the film.

  Julian’s face was gone, his voice speaking over the stream of pictures that chronicled the fall of our great world.

  First the de
nsely populated cities with skyscrapers and traffic-jammed streets and bustling sidewalks. In the top right-hand corner, a scrolling population graph declined with the photos of less crowded streets, vandalized shops, fierce looking gangs roaming freely and, finally, the hauntingly sad photo of an old man propped against the wall of a crumbled building.

  Later, scientists had concluded that the global population of women had turned infertile within a couple of weeks, but it had taken many months to realize the full extent of the falling pregnancy rates. Something in our atmosphere had changed—asteroid dust or radiation from the sun, toxic gases from global warming or volcanic ash from the increased seismic activity. A consensus was never reached. But suddenly the air we breathed was poison to our ovaries and every woman on the planet became sterile. Everything else worked fine, already pregnant women gave birth to their healthy babies, new mothers could still breastfeed. Our eggs, however, were rotten to the core and incapable of being fertilized.

  First they’d named it: The Fertility Plague.

  Next they’d categorized it: An Extinction Level Event.

  Against all odds, the Eastern Coalition had found a way to survive.

  The photo of the old man stayed on the white screen while Councilman Julian Edgar rounded up his speech with platitudes and well wishes to the latest generation of bright, young men and gracious, dutiful ladies. It was a forceful reminder of the dead world beyond our walls.

  As time had passed with no cure, the structure of society had collapsed and the population had aged with no new generations to support them. The Eastern Coalition had walled our town to keep out the restless and the strays, those who had no purpose in our new society. Cruel, hard decisions, but they’d kept our town from being overrun and they’d kept the human race from going extinct.

  And that was the cruel, hard reality of our world now. As much as we—the female population—resented the strict, repressive laws we had to live under, some of them were necessary to ensure the survival of mankind.

  I didn’t like it, but mostly I accepted it.

  2

  School was done. I would always be a St. Ives girl, but I no longer attended St. Ives Academy for Girls. On this last walk home with my friends, I kept glancing over my shoulder, feeling like I’d forgotten something back there, left something behind that I should have held on to tighter. It was a crazy feeling that made no sense. There was very little I would miss back there.

  Brenda split off first, then Jessie at the next side street, and that feeling intensified as I walked the last couple of blocks alone. I tried to shake it off, but it clung like a sheen of sweat on a humid day.

  I found Mom on the deck, sipping iced tea and staring out over the lake, so lost in her thoughts that she hadn’t heard me come in.

  “Mom,” I said softly as I stepped out from the living room. “Hi.”

  She started, pressed a hand to her chest and chuckled as her gaze fell on me. “Goodness, is it that time already? How was your day?”

  “I don’t know.” I shrugged, searching to put words to the unease crawling under my skin. “Like I’ve lost something. I mean, I’ll still see my school friends, right?”

  “Of course, darling, but that’s not what you’ll miss,” she said, always knowing, always understanding. “It’s natural to be apprehensive and a little sad. Lord knows, both your father and I are. Our little girl is leaving home.”

  I sank into the deck chair beside her with a small smile. “Our class is meeting by the lake at sunset for a picnic to celebrate the end of school. Is that okay?”

  She nodded. “Just be home before eight.”

  I rolled my eyes skyward. As if I’d ever broken curfew.

  “If you’re going out,” Mom said, rising to her feet, “we’d better get on with fitting your dress. I wasn’t happy with the bodice.”

  Neither was I, although for very different reasons. I kept those to myself as I stood and followed, and not because I was afraid of hurting Mom’s feelings. She had a natural flair for these things whereas a sense of style was yet another shortcoming I had to work at to overcome. If I could get away with it, I’d live in my worn-in jeans and a strappy tee. Mom and I shared few natural traits, which was no surprise considering my genes came from my father and the bank of frozen ovarian eggs that had been seized shortly after the Fertility Plague had swept across the globe.

  My bedroom was on the second floor, on the opposite end of the house from my parents’. Once they’d accepted I’d be an only child, they’d broken down a wall to give me space for a double bed and small sitting area. I’d gotten rid of the pink when I started secondary school and redecorated with pale cream and stained maple wood.

  While Mom went to fetch my dress, I walked a slow loop around my bedroom until I came to a stop before the wide sash window. The view stretched over our manicured front garden and up a gentle hill sectioned off into elegant suburban manor homes similar to our own. This room, this view…my breath caught as the realization hit, as if it had only just occurred to me. It hadn’t. In theory, I’d known this all along, but now I felt it like a clamp on my lungs.

  My parents respected my privacy and this was my haven, a place where I could be myself, where I could pull down the shutters on my life and just be. In my new home, in my husband’s home, there’d be no privacy. There’d be no haven for me to crawl into and switch off for a few blessed hours. I’d be on display 24/7, like a porcelain figurine decorating the mantelpiece. Like just about everything else, being a perfect Capra lady didn’t come naturally to me.

  Enough.

  I kicked off my shoes and shrugged out of my blazer. By the time Mom returned, I was stripped down to my underwear and ready to slip into the creation bundled in her arms. Mom didn’t just make dresses, she created fantasies. If she’d been allowed to work or own a business, she would have given Mr. Burnier a run for his position as the go-to hauteur designer in town.

  The gown fit me like a seamless glove, although the varying depths of gold and bronze threads shimmered just right to allude to my figure without giving up all my secrets. Gold chords twisted over my shoulders and crisscrossed down my back. The skirt flared below the knee to swirl as I walked.

  “It’s beautiful,” I sighed as I made a twirl before the mirror.

  And it was, even if Mom had cut the V deeper into the bodice and added stiffening to give my breasts a boost. Before, I’d worried it was too revealing. Now I just gave up. Besides, it wasn’t indecent or any more revealing than many of the gowns worn at the ball.

  Mom came to peer over my shoulder, smiling as our gazes met in the mirror. “You could go dressed in a sackcloth and Daniel Edgar would still only have eyes for you. My daughter, the Councilman’s wife.”

  “Daniel Edgar hasn’t offered for me yet,” I reminded her.

  “He will.” Mom shrugged off my skepticism and stepped around to fuss with the skimpy bodice. “Your scores haven’t slipped at all and you’re more gorgeous than ever.” She plucked and tugged until my breasts popped. “Look how you’ve grown into your curves.”

  I gave a dry laugh. “I haven’t done any growing since the last ball, you’re just making my dresses smaller.”

  “Daniel Edgar will certainly appreciate it.” She stopped fussing with the bodice to look at me. “As will you, when you look back on your life as a Councilman’s wife. It’s not just your looks, Georga. Every effort you’ve made toward your scores, your diligence, presentation and obedience, it’s all been for one thing and one thing only. It’s not pretty, but that’s the honest truth.”

  “I know,” I said in a small voice.

  “Then don’t fight it now.”

  I wasn’t fighting it.

  I knew how important it was to contribute toward the future of mankind and that meant being a good wife, homemaker and baby-maker.

  And then there was the Sisterhood. The Sisters of Capra. Mom had inducted me into the underground network on my sixteenth birthday and although I still knew pra
ctically nothing about the Sisterhood two years later, it had been the best birthday present ever. My perfectly constructed black and white life had exploded into a chaotic rainbow of colors. I would be everything I was raised to be, but I could also be so much more.

  Daniel Edgar—or rather, the wife of future Councilman Daniel Edgar—would be a real coup for the Sisters of Capra.

  But I wasn’t doing this only for the Sisters. If I had to marry a virtual stranger, I might as well aim high. And Daniel Edgar, with his kind manner and clean-cut handsome features and influential family, was just about everything a girl could ask for.

  So there was that.

  I set my shoulders back and puffed out my cleavage. My hair glided down my cheek to waterfall over one shoulder. Sleek and dark brown, shiny and smooth, my best feature by far. My nose was a little too long, my mouth a little too wide, and there was nothing extraordinary about my brown eyes. But with a dab of powder to the bridge of my nose, some smoky shading to my lids and a slash of pale pink lipstick, I could transform my face into something resembling sensual mystique. The dress did the heavy lifting on the rest of me, showcasing my legs and pumping my breasts with an allure they certainly didn’t possess naturally.

  I stared at my reflection, trying to see myself through the eyes of a boy. Through the eyes of Daniel Edgar.

  I wasn’t the most beautiful girl in my graduating class. And all the hard work in the world couldn’t emulate Jessie’s flawless grace or Carolyn’s infectious wit. My family wasn’t as prestigious as Lisa’s. I wasn’t the only girl with near perfect scores. I was no better than at least half a dozen girls in my class—but I was no worse either. And Daniel seemed to have singled me out. Me.

  I could do this. I could honest-to-God do this for myself and for the Sisters.

  Speaking of the Sisters…

  Stepping away from the mirror, I turned to Mom. “Now that I’m about to graduate, surely you can tell me. Is Jessie also a Sister?”