The Breeders

by Matthew J. Beier

  We’ve been following this Opposition blindly.

  He looked at Grace. Her eyes were closed, and she was cradling the bundled Leila to her chest. If there was doubt in him now, he could not show it. They were a family, and he was the role model of hope.

  The hover jet raced onward, over the freezing water, which was growing darker and darker under the falling sun.

  A MEMORY (HER)

  IT IS THE SECOND NIGHT after Leila’s birth, and Dex is curled up next to Grace with his arm around both of them, asleep. His breaths come in slow, climactic waves, then release. They are a family, and he has come all the way across the world for her, already proven himself to be the kind of father only the luckiest child could have. Father, and husband? Grace may be able to get used to the idea, because in Antarctica they have restored, for better or worse, a tradition that has been absent for nearly two centuries: marriage for heterosexuals, for men and women who will bear children and recreate the human race.

  And here is Dexter Michael Wheelock, who survived death and still decided to risk his life for her. She leans over and whispers in his ear—

  CHAPTER 65 (HER)

  THROUGH THE SMALL hover jet window, this is what Grace saw: a night sky, interrupted at the horizon by a low strip of blue-gray light—the inklings of a day. Whether it was the beginning of one or the end, she could not tell, for this was the season when the end of the world saw only darkness.

  Antarctica crept into her life like a white snake under perpetual shadow, at first just a strip of ice on that dim and distant curve of the earth. Their pilots had turned off the hover jet’s interior lights, which allowed what daylight there was to define the approaching landscape. Within ten minutes, they were close enough to see that the dark ocean was spotted with ice. It was broken at first, then became thicker as the continent drew them closer. Soon, the ice had taken over, and it was the black channels of open water that were fighting for space. There was enough light in the sky for Grace to make out some texture, even from the hover jet’s altitude. Jagged spires were pushed together in some places, and in others, bergs jutted upward to form chiseled shelves. And then she saw it: a more substantial range of hills in the distance.

  The mainland.

  From what Grace knew, this vast world of ice grew substantially every winter, freezing outward and almost doubling the continent’s size. The ice she now saw below was just that, the winter freeze. But those hills in the distance? That was land.

  Grace wondered what the people would be like. Surely, there would be alliances; there would be enemies; there would be joy; there would be sorrow. That was life. This was life. She turned away from the window and prepared to nurse Leila. Once they arrived, there was no telling how long it would take for them to get settled enough for something as simple as a meal. As a precaution, she had three full bottles in her satchel in case breastfeeding became difficult.

  Thirty minutes later, the sky was a burning purple, and the snowy hills beneath it were close, very close. This was it. Antarctica. Their new home. But what were those dots on the snow? Meteorites? Blotches of black, partially covered by snow, became visible as the hover jet descended to ground level.

  When it happened, it happened swiftly.

  The hover jet came to a stop, and the cockpit door burst open. Both pilots, now armed with sonic guns, rushed the main cabin. One opened the main hatch while the other pointed the gun at the nine passengers.

  “Get up! Up, up, up! Move out!”

  Jos, Sally’s baby, began screaming as the freezing air hit him. The guard by the door pulled the mother and child out of their seat, threw them out the door, then turned to those who remained. For a moment, Grace only stared at Dex, who suddenly looked as though the world had come crashing down on his shoulders.

  Through the jet’s window, she saw that the sky had become blood-red. There were no words to describe how surreal the end of her life was about to be. There was no time to accept it. All she could do was hope to see the sun one more time before it happened.

  Outside, Sally was shrieking. “There’s nothing here! There’s nothing here!”

  Out went Lacresha, like a rag doll, then Elysia, who fell outward, stiff legged, and landed on her back in the snow. All the babies were screaming now.

  “I love you,” Dex whispered to Grace, just before setting his loving gaze on Leila. “And you.”

  Then, he jumped at the nearest guard, who shot the sonic gun at him and missed. It was a pitifully short fight, as Dex had no chance at victory. The guards pushed him out of the hover jet, and he fell out of sight. Now, it was only Grace and Leila, with guns pointed straight at them. The ripples of electricity inside those barrels were yellow, the color of death. They would kill her first, then her daughter. Was it worth it to give up now, or would it make her a better person to follow orders, leave the hover jet, and protect Leila, in however futile an attempt, to the very end?

  Yes.

  It was not a choice. There was no time to let the horror in. She kissed Leila on the head and stood up. On the way to the door, her neck tilted right, as if on its own volition, and she looked one pilot in the eyes, then the other.

  “It was all a lie,” she said. “Did the NRO know? Was there ever a Sanctuary?”

  The pilot closest to her, looking defeated himself, shook his head.

  Then, he kicked her out.

  Grace tumbled face first into the snow. Leila would have been crushed against her chest if not for the fluff of it. She heard the hover jet’s pressurized door close behind her, then a rumble as it lifted off.

  All five of the adults were in normal shoes and the silly coats they had been given. It had been pathetic, really, the ruse. What would a jacket have done, in case of emergency? The air was so dry and so cold that Grace had already lost all feeling in her face, fingers, and feet. She fumbled with Leila’s hood until the baby all but disappeared into it. There was no hope, but she had to try, for Leila. It was automatic.

  Dex threw himself around them both. “I didn’t know,” he wheezed, over and over. In the distance, the horizon blazed like fire. Would there be sun, today? Or was it only going to tease them?

  There was a heavy wind. They would not last long.

  Lacresha was already running with Andrew toward the sunrise, as if to face their doom head-on.

  “The NRO let the Opposition happen,” Grace said to Dex. “To let us think we were the world’s only hope. Carnevale led all this just to . . . funnel out the naysayers . . . so they could achieve their goal. But you know what?” The flesh around her eyes was already freezing.

  “What?”

  “I’m not afraid.”

  A MEMORY (HIM)

  “I LOVE YOU.”

  The whisper glides into Dex’s ear, bringing him out of a dream. He had been on a boat with Grace, Leila, and, somehow, everybody who ever mattered to him. His mothers were on the boat. And Stuart, the Archers, even Lars. They were happy.

  He doesn’t open his eyes; they are too heavy. The room is dark, Grace is breathing under his arm, as is Leila, their daughter, who still seems like the most beautiful gift he could ever have asked for. Leila rustles under the covers for a moment, then settles again.

  He has dreamed a thousand times of hearing those words come from a woman’s mouth, yet he knows now he could have died a happy man never having heard them. Still, during this quiet night in the maternity dorm, inside Mount Tasman, lost in the middle of New Zealand’s Southern Alps and awaiting transfer to Antarctica, Dex realizes just how profound they really are, and he believes them. Grace loves him, and he loves her, and they will now share that love with their daughter. What more can there be?

  Another breath, and the sparkling sea encircles him again. He is back on the boat. They sail, laugh, and sing. It is joy.

  CHAPTER 66 (HIM)

  DEX STUMBLED WITH GRACE toward one of the dark piles in the snow. Sally had run after Lacresha with Jos, who was already dead, and Elysia had disappeared onto her o
wn final path.

  All warmth had now sunk deep into Dex’s core, leaving his skin in a painful freeze. Grace had begun moving to keep their heat as long as possible, so they could be together when Antarctica took them. There was no question in his mind to follow. His promise to Stuart held true, even now. This was his path. Grace was his path. Leila, too—she was their song to everything good in the world. Dex’s thoughts were already becoming muddled, and all that mattered was that he would accompany Grace to the place where she would choose to rest. The nearing mound seemed to be her goal, an unspoken marker for the coming moments that would punctuate their lives.

  As they staggered forward, Dex noticed the rocks were not rocks at all. They were bodies. Snow had drifted up and over parts of them, exposing only slivers of clothing underneath. Grace stopped next to the pile and fixed her gaze on it, gasping for breath.

  Using his bare hand, which was frozen beyond feeling, Dex wiped off the buildup of snow and saw a human face. A man. Underneath him were two more, a woman and an infant. Had they piled themselves like this to keep warm? Or had the New Rainbow Order come here to make order of their genocide? Dex would never know, so he let the thought pass. Diana and Michael were here somewhere, but they had already gone forward, to that glorious light no evil could touch. Looking for them would not be necessary.

  Clutching Leila to her bosom, Grace huddled next to the bodies, on the side shielded from the wind. She was beyond words now, so Dex simply crouched down and wrapped himself around her.

  Clouds were blowing over them, creating a purple canopy above the prolonged sunrise, which had yet to come, which might never come while they were alive. Dex’s muscles were beginning to seize beyond use, but he hugged Grace and Leila as hard as he could. His regret, his shame, his humiliation—all had passed. Now, he could only watch over the two most important people in his life and make sure they went in peace.

  Grace was smiling, gazing forward, toward that bright spot beyond the expanse of snow. Dex turned to see what was bringing her joy.

  There, just for a moment, was the edge of the sun. It caressed the sky, casting a momentary shaft of light into the approaching dusk. Then, there was an arc of color.

  Impossible. There’s no moisture in the air—

  But there it was, nonetheless. Perhaps refracted through a cloud of blowing snow, perhaps by a miracle from the God who seemed to have abandoned them: a rainbow.

  It was fleeting, like the sliver of sun, and then it was gone. But the colors had been there, all in a row—that universal symbol, God’s promise that life would go on. Dex remembered sitting in church with his mothers, and he smiled.

  Everything began to fade. There was nothing he could regret, because he had done his best. And there it was, what he had seen in the train car, that dazzling truth that had changed him forever, the hope that allowed him now to smile as well. Dex felt himself growing warm.

  The frigid wasteland took them. Under winter’s darkness at the bottom of the world, there was peace.

  AFTERWORD

  I HAD NOT PLANNED to write an afterward for this book or to explain it in any way, but when my editor Amy encouraged me to say something about it, I realized she had a good point. It wasn’t fair to leave readers to make sense of something seemingly hopeless, to wonder what I meant by any of it. Was I making some sort of political statement? Why had I worked for two years on a book that ended in such a dismal fashion? Was I simply trying to dupe readers (or worse, alienate them) and be depressing? We already have the nightly news for that, don’t we?

  This book came from two separate snippets of reality: my (homosexual) friend’s colorful use of the term “Stepford fag” and the National Organization for Marriage’s 2008 ad campaign equating gay marriage to “a coming storm.” Both these things made me laugh, but from them sprang questions: How would heterosexuals feel if they were the minority in a world filled with homosexuals? What would it be like for them to grow up? How might they fight for their own worth in a culture that deemed them lesser beings? These were questions I had never heard anybody wonder about, so I decided to wonder them for myself. Of course, it turned into a book.

  At first, I thought The Breeders would be much funnier, a pure satire on what some people call “the gay agenda.” As the ideas stirred around, however, I realized it might be more interesting to make it fit into the classic dystopian style made famous by 1984 and Brave New World, complete with the tragic ending. In context of this story style, I wanted to mirror my own experience of growing up “different” and having to deal with being part of an often-disdained minority. I thought about the times relatives threw around the word “fag” during holiday dinners, how it always made me want to crawl under a rock, and how it took me years to find worth for myself in a society where jokes were made about people like me. The idea of gay people taking over the world and wiping out heterosexuals was ridiculous from the get-go, but it provided an interesting stage to reflect on how it might be if current prejudices and socio-sexual norms were reversed. It wasn’t long before I had flashes of a young woman bleeding during a family get-together, of one parent hating the woman’s heterosexuality while the other embraced it, and of the woman (somewhere later in the story) sitting on a mountain ridge, pondering the life she left behind.

  I knew almost immediately that these mountains would be in New Zealand, a place near and dear to me, and it was only a few quick mental hops that led me to the idea of Antarctica, a nearby continent that has always fascinated me. Inspiration for the Antarctic Sanctuary came from Alan Moore’s Watchmen and The X-Files: Fight the Future, and it was the magic ingredient that gave me a story. The Sanctuary would be a farce, and my characters would be led on a journey of rebellion in an attempt to avoid Antarctica, only to be dumped there by the very people they thought were helping them.

  This is when The Breeders became a bit more serious. I wanted to follow it through to the end in as emotionally honest a fashion as possible, yet I didn’t want the ending to be hopeless. As it is now, it accurately reflects my own belief that even the worst in this life is merely a prelude for what is to come. At this point, I believe death might very well turn out to be a cosmic joke, that the final transition might be easier than any of us truly expects.

  At risk of sounding like an author who presumes his work is worthy of post-denouement speculation, I’ll share that there’s more to the story than what made it into the book. Marvel, Exander, Linda Glass, Stuart, Lars, and Sam and Moses Archer have futures that are more fortunate than the one Grace, Dex, and Leila suffered. I could go into more detail, but I might write about some of them in the future, so I’ll keep mum on the rest of their stories for now. On a broader scale, my fictional society doesn’t stay in shambles forever. The genocide continues for quite some time, but like most terrible periods in human history, it comes to an end. I think the human spirit eventually wins out, if only in small ways at first. Perhaps it would be a new secretary general who works against the ideal of human extinction, or pockets of natives in the Unrecoverable Territories surviving and ultimately thriving. I envision human life on this hypothetical Earth going on with a lot of goodness until some greater natural force dictates its end.

  Of course, you the reader are free to imagine anything you want; that is the delight of fiction. We get to project our own hopes, fears, and beliefs into the parts left ambiguous by the (sometimes cruel) author.

  Now, another quick word about Grace and Dex, because they were the reason you are holding this book in your hands. Life dealt them some pretty crappy cards. They took the risk of hoping, and they suffered for it. But life is all about suffering, in my book. We can either rise above it, or let it destroy us from the inside out. The hardships we plod through can make us stronger, and by the time we actually die, perhaps we can be ready for it by knowing we have done our best. Grace and Dex did their best, and because I’m the one who wrote their story, I have the authority to tell you this: they went on, and they were dazzled beyond their
wildest dreams.

  Matthew J. Beier

  Minneapolis, MN

  September 30, 2011

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  THIS NOVEL WOULD NOT BE HERE without the help of many people.

  First, I’d like to thank my parents, Walter and Mariana Beier, for encouraging me since childhood to follow my dreams. They were and are the best parents I could have ever asked for. I’d also like to thank my siblings and brother-in-law—Amy/Steffen, Joe, and Mara—for their years of support and feedback. I also can’t forget my nephew Lukas, and his soon-to-be-born sibling who doesn’t yet have a name, who made the baby-factor of this book easier to write! In this same spot, I’d also like to thank Chad Aldrich, the first person to show me what it is like to fall in love. This book wouldn’t exist without him.

  Second, I’d like to thank my editors Amy Quale and Paul Whittemore for all their hard work helping to make this book presentable—and for telling me when and where I was veering dangerously off course. Next comes my line editor, Molly Miller, for making this book as shiny as possible. Any mistakes that remain are 100 percent mine. Also, thank you to my test readers: Mom, Mara, Amy, Laurena Bernabo, Philip Maret, Marina Baer, and Beth Varro.

  For other necessary bits of time and input along the way, I’d like to thank (in no particular order): Melissa Oszustowicz, Robert Zupperolli, Weronika Janczuk, Melissa Sarver, Andrew Just, Jill Harmon, David Schall, Lizzie Engel, Jordan Wiklund, Kara Raymond, Kristin Olson, Heather Tabery, Briony Bresnahan, Joe Gardner, Elysia Yeary, Erik Westman, John Cutrone, C. Ryan Shipley, Robin Beier, Debbie Crisfield, Will Ashenmacher, Leah Olm, Mike Hefty, Byron Elder, Jeffrey Harris, Ben Arfmann, Andrew Minck, Amanda Barthel, and Matthew Russell. I would also like to thank Miss Snark, Nathan Bransford, and all the other blogging literary agents out there who have helped fledgling writers learn how to write books.