by Karen Carr
Kill School:
Slice
By Karen Carr
Text Copyright © Karen Carr 2015
All Rights Reserved
I dedicate this book to
my amazing husband and
wonderful children.
My life would be
dull and boring
without you.
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright 2015, 2016 by Karen Carr. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright conventions.
Cover Art
Cover Art by Ktarrier
Self Pub Book Covers
http://www.selfpubbookcovers.com/ktarrier
Copy Edit and Proofread
Copy Edit and Proofreading done by
Faith Williams of the Atwater Group
http://www.theatwatergroup.com/
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter One
I watch my mom as she holds the dice in her hands. She lowers her eyes at me. We both know she is a few spaces from landing on my most valuable property, Clarkhaven House with two hotels. I smell the stack of money already in my hands and smile. I know it’s fake. Paper money doesn’t exist anymore. But, holding it somehow makes me feel safe, as if it has magical powers. And I need to feel safe right now.
Mom rolls a seven and misses my property by two. I frown as she moves her top hat forward, passes my property, and lands on the MagLev Railroad, owned by Dad. The picture on the board resembles a train that hasn’t existed in hundreds of years, a silhouetted black engine with wheels. The MagLev operates with magnets, no wheels necessary.
The game is supposed to remind us of how hard it was before the ice melted, before most of North America became too hot to inhabit. We exist on the only inhabitable patch left in the world, feeling blessed that science has enabled us to live forever. Goody. I feel cursed, sickened by the fact that I will receive my token on my sixteenth birthday, a few days from now.
“Pay up,” Dad says to Mom.
Dad runs his fingers down the side of his violin, which rests next to him on the couch. He spends extra time at the neck, running his fingers over the tuning pegs and the intricate scrollwork. Mom cocks her head and seems to contemplate her place in Dad’s life before she pays him.
“Your turn,” Sebastian says.
Sebastian picks up the dice and puts them in my palm. His eyes rest on mine an extra-long time. He’s a year and a half older than I am, but we act more like twins and often share the same thoughts. I look at the lines on his forehead and at the edges of his mouth. The last year and a half has aged him more than normal. The same will happen to me.
“Roll,” Mom says with a tinge of irritation.
My roll sends me directly to jail, an old-fashioned version of control with bars on the windows and a chance to escape. Those in control can’t escape. I like the idea of jail better.
Mom winces as I move my battleship piece into the space. She turns to Dad who pats her hand.
“She’ll be fine, honey,” Dad says. “It’s better than being chosen.”
“Why isn’t it random, like the game?” I ask. “Why can’t we decide with the roll of a dice?”
“You learned the reason why in history.” Mom’s heavy sigh tells me to drop the subject. Dad places his violin on his lap. He gets worried every time I bring up the Regulators’ unfair rules. A life for a life.
“Play the game, Aria,” Sebastian says. His brown eyes show flecks of yellow that only appear when he is annoyed, just like mom’s eyes. They are identical in every way, except for age and gender.
“It’s not my turn.” I have three rolls to get out of jail. In real life, we can’t leave. If we don’t use our token, we go directly to control forever.
Dad takes the dice and rolls. “Community Chest.” He picks up a card. “Get out of jail free.” He flips the card over for me to see. “I’ll sell it to you.”
The picture is of a bald headed man with a moustache and wings flying out of a birdcage. The man has a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, as if he has just gotten away with murder. I want that card.
“Fifty bucks.” I flash a single bill in Dad’s face.
“Five hundred.” Dad is on to me. He knows how much I want that card.
I grumble and hand over the cash. He gives me the card and I stick it deep into my pocket, ignoring my brother’s eye roll.
Both Mom and Dad used their tokens a long time ago. Back then, people lived a long and happy life before being added to the termination pool.
A mathematician created the termination algorithm many hundreds of years ago. The idea was revolutionary. It kept our population from exploding and starving to death by adding everyone into the pool by age range. Old people were on the token hit list because they had lived a long and healthy life. They didn’t mind dying and sixteen to eighteen year olds didn’t mind killing them. It was a part of life.
The algorithm was also comprehensive, allowing for the fact that overpopulation could still occur. A baby boom created by the dark nights several decades ago triggered another part of the algorithm. To prevent future generations from being born, tokens now come in all ages. A baby, an elementary school child, a teen, we are all in the pool now.
I glance down to where Baby plays on the floor, hoping that no one ever chooses her.
“Why do we have to do it at all?” I used to practice killing ants when I was young. Some kids work their way up to killing squirrels. I haven’t had the courage. Spiders are all I can manage.
Mom wraps her hands around mine. She smells of jasmine mixed with strawberries. “Randomness breeds violence, Aria. A choice has to be made in order to keep society civil.”
I pull my hands away from hers. “Then why not give us the choice? Let me decide when I want to die. Why assign our death to another person? Why does everyone have to kill?”
Dad rests his violin under his chin and searches for his bow. His demeanor goes from nervous to panic. Poor Dad. Mom reaches over and tucks his wavy black hair behind his ear, a gesture she does often. Tears well in his deep, blue eyes, making them look more like the ocean. I am the mirror image of my father, except for age and gender.
“They tried,” Mom says. “Before people came to Greenland. Before our history began here, the Regulators assigned a death day on a child’s birth certificate. Once the child grew into an adult, and reached her death day, she was supposed to report to control to be terminated. Most people were unable to take their own lives. Nobody showed up on his or her designated day to die. They were hunted down and killed like animals.”
“Now, everyone must hunt.
” I lower my eyes to Mom’s crisp, white blouse and gold necklace.
“Aria,” Mom warns with her tone. “Knowing anyone can kill a loved one keeps people civil. Your choice will most likely be someone who has wronged you or someone who has acted out against you. We all are targets. We all are victims. We all are hunters.”
“No one has wronged me,” Sebastian says. “My choice is going to be a rich kid. The son of a scrooge. Someone who deserves to die.”
“Exactly my point,” Mom says. “You’re targeting someone because of their wealth. What will happen if someone targets us because of ours? Didn’t you learn anything in your token class?”
Sebastian’s dark skin goes crimson. “Sorry, Mom.”
“Who did you kill?” I ask my mom. She turns the same shade of red as Sebastian. I know she doesn’t like talking about it.
“Sorry, Mom.” I try to smile, but can’t.
I get my token on my sixteenth birthday, a few short days away. I have no idea what color it will be, or who I will kill using its code and my choice of weapon.
Sebastian takes a chain from his neck and places it on the table. The pendant on the chain houses his token in a mesh of silver wires. His girlfriend designed it for him.
“Pick it up, Aria,” he says. “Hold it in your palm. You can almost feel the screams coming out of it.”
Sebastian’s thick curls hang restlessly around his face, springing to action with his slight movement. It makes him look adorable and fierce at the same time.
Dad finds his bow and begins playing a low eerie tune on his violin. I crack a smile as Dad continues to play. My eyes return to Sebastian’s turquoise token. The color symbolizes the age of the person he has to terminate. Turquoise hue—someone our age, sixteen to eighteen years old. We have to kill in order to live. His task will be hard. I hope mine is not.
“Are we playing a game or what?” Dad asks.
Dad waves his bow across the coffee table, accidentally knocking Sebastian’s token to where Baby plays on the floor. Baby promptly picks it up and sticks it in her mouth. I try to grab her as Dad plays a dramatic note on the violin. I laugh aloud. My mother and Sebastian both catch the giggles. For a moment, we are back to being a normal, happy family.
Sebastian picks up Baby and dislodges his token from her mouth, which makes her cry. Mom stands and he hands her the infant. Sebastian takes the token out of its silver pendant, checks the flashing security code on the back, and wipes the drool from it. He sets it back in the pendant and puts the chain around his neck. Baby wails miserably in Mom’s arms.
“You shouldn’t have snatched it away from her,” I hiss at Sebastian.
“You think if she eats it, I won’t have to use it?” Sebastian asks.
“Maybe I wasn’t thinking of you.” I was thinking of myself. I can’t imagine having one of those. A token dangling around my neck, proclaiming my ability to kill.
“You will understand soon,” Sebastian says as if he’s read my mind. “You’ll know what it’s like to carry one of these.”
Sebastian holds up his token. His eyes fill with resentment and hatred, but not toward me. He’s always been one to ramble on about how much he hates society. Mom and Sebastian can go on for hours about the unfairness of things. I hope he shuts up tonight. I don’t want to feel more miserable than I already do.
Mom’s pager goes off just as Baby calms down to a whimper. She regards her pager and then scowls.
“Take Baby. We’ll have to finish the game later.” She hands me Baby, who coos in my arms. “I have to deliver another baby. The Wrights.”
“I have to go,” Sebastian says before Mom asks him to help watch Baby.
Dad perks up. “Where?”
Dad doesn’t like Sebastian leaving the house. I don’t blame him. Every time Sebastian walks out that door may be the time he kills. He will become a murderer.
“Dad, you know it has to happen soon.” Sebastian grabs the front doorknob. “I’m already seventeen. I’ll be eighteen in a few months, and then it will be too late.”
Sebastian opens the front door, revealing the night sky and the smell of damp grass. My muscles tighten the second I see the stars, hungry for what lays beyond our horizon. I want to devour the darkness.
I step toward the door as if in a trance. Baby pinches my ear as I reach Sebastian’s side, reminding me that I am at home and on the other side of freedom.
“Can I go with you?” I ask.
“No,” My mother and father say at the same time.
Baby cries from their sharp tone. I cradle her head on my shoulder, telling her to be calm. Meaning the words for myself.
“After you come back from training camp,” Sebastian says. He glances at our parents and walks over the threshold, taking the night sky with him as he shuts the door.
Training camp. A month away from my parents where I will learn to kill. Joy is me. I remember the day Sebastian came back from training camp. He went in his room and didn’t come out for a week, not even to go to school. I’d stop by his room, wanting to enter, only to change my mind when I heard his muffled sobs. Mom was the one who brought him out of his funk with her conspirator talk.
Mom touches my cheek. “Why don’t you come with me? Dad can watch Baby.”
My mouth gapes open. I have never been out at night. Excited and frightened, I stare at the closed door. More people are killed at night, for no other reason than it’s easier to take a life in the dark. Mom opens the closet and retrieves her medical bag. Dad puts down his violin and reaches for Baby.
“That’s a wonderful idea,” Dad says. I can hear the reluctance in his voice. “It’s about time she gets used to the dark.”
Chapter Two
Stepping across the threshold of our townhome, with darkness all around me, is like stepping into another reality. My heart pounds so fast, that I fear it will burst through my chest. My mother walks toward her Personal Rapid Transit with confidence, her white heels clicking on the pavement. As she nears the PRT, it beeps to life and the doors open, one on each side as if it is expecting both of us.
The streetlights turn on in response to the PRT, leaving us under an umbrella of light. Once we are inside, the PRT’s doors close and the GPS lights up. It has already mapped directions to the Wright’s house, taken from Mom’s pager. The trip will take us to the outskirts of town, eight miles up into the mountains. All Mom has to do is give the signal, and we will begin to move.
“You ready?” Mom asks.
I stare into the haloed street for a moment. White oak trees tower above the neat row of townhomes. Birch, poplar, and pine trees shadow the park across the street. Our ancestors brought the trees here, hoping to save all of the different kinds. Like Noah’s Ark, they brought the animals here, too.
“Aria?” Mom asks. “You want to go back inside?”
I glance at Dad, who stands in the door clutching Baby. His face is shadowed from the light inside the townhome. Baby cries and he turns to go back inside.
“No. I want to go. I’m ready.”
Mom presses a red button and the PRT begins to move. It takes us silently down the row of townhomes, illuminating each one as we pass. Microdrones flitter across our path like fireflies. Tiny cameras track our movements as we progress down the street. Everything we do is recorded in case we witness or are part of a termination.
I feel giddy travelling with my mom in this bubble of light. I’ve often watched my mother drive away under the light umbrella. I relax into the comfortable seat and watch the streetlights turn on as the PRT approaches and off when it passes. Our existence is much like a light that never goes off unless someone kills it.
“What are you thinking about?” Mom switches her side of the glass window to mirror mode checks her always-perfect makeup. I wish I had her skin tone, coffee with a dose of cream. Mine is pale, bordering on olive green at times. Where Mom exudes warmth, I exude sickness.
Our eyes connect in the mirror before she switches the mirror mod
e back to the window. I could tell her that I was wondering why I had inherited so much of Dad, but that wouldn’t be the truth.
Instead, I frown and say, “My birthday.” It’s what hides behind my every thought.
Mom pats my leg, but doesn’t say anything. She opens her medical bag and searches through it.
A warm voice from the GPS lets us know we will be turning, in case we want to brace ourselves. The curve takes us out of the city and up the mountain. The streetlights no longer light our paths, but I can see the city lights from our position high above. This must be what birds feel like when they soar through the air. Spectacular.
The higher we climb, the more I can see. I think I see a light across the lake, but my mother’s head is still buried in her bag so I cannot ask her if she saw it too.
Finally, Mom raises her head from her bag and hands me a bracelet.
“Happy birthday,” she says. “I didn’t have time to wrap it.”
I hold the bracelet in my hand. I know what it is. It’s what Mom used to hold her token many years ago. My hands shake as I turn it over and examine the small space that will hold my token.
“Mom.” I can’t get the words out to say thank you. I’m afraid my voice will catch in my throat.
“You don’t like it?” Mom asks. “You want to pick your own. I understand. It’s old fashioned. An antique. You kids have your own taste. It’s such an important piece of jewelry. You can get something else.”
“Mom, stop. I love it. This is the only one I will wear.”
The warm voice from the GPS lets us know that our destination is three minutes away. I clasp the bracelet on my wrist and watch the moonlight flood over the tall trees and dirt road. The GPS shows our destination by a flashing red dot. I cast my eyes around as if I expect to see the house highlighted by the flashing light of the GPS.
The PRT pulls up in front of a small wooden shack and confirms our destination. Mom and I look around before she presses the green button to open the doors. A mist covers the yard and travels up the porch to where I see a girl standing. She leans against the porch post with her arms folded across her chest. From here, I can see she’s slender, too thin.