The Wild Children Trilogy Box Set

by Hannah Ross

Just shy of an hour later there was another success, though the fish was smaller. But enough time passed between catches that Lauren's frustration got the best of her.

  "This is useless," she said as she folded her equipment and stowed it in her backpack. "Are we supposed to live off this? Two fish between twenty people?"

  "We're only beginning," Ben said as several others joined Lauren. "I wouldn't be surprised if we'd caught nothing at all today. We'll do better later on once we gain more experience, see where the best spots are. Stuff like that."

  Again, he made a brave attempt to sound more confident than he felt. A side glance from Elisa told him she understood. Both knew despair would finish them off a lot faster than hunger would.

  "Can we eat now, then?" Jimmy asked, his stomach rumbling.

  "We have to clean the fish first," Elisa said. "Give them to me. I'll do it."

  Jimmy looked skeptical. "Do you know how?"

  "No," she confessed, "but I'll learn. I don't have much choice, do I?"

  "We have to cook it, too," added Tom. "I have some firewood here, but I'm not sure how much we need. Anyone else up to getting some more dry wood and leaves? There's plenty on the edge of the forest."

  Several people rose to help and soon they had a large pile of firewood. Tom bordered the edges with flat stones from the river and struck a match. By then, the sun had already set, and soon the fire blazed cheerfully in the dark.

  Elisa, who consulted the book Mr. Bradley gave her, got over her squeamishness and learned how to clean and fillet fish. It was not the neatest job, but she did not care since it was going into a soup.

  She took out their largest cooking pot and poured some river water into it. Then she added the fish, tore the wild plants they found into bite-size pieces, and added them with some dried potatoes and onion, and two cans of white beans. Salt was added at the end, as a stroke of inspiration. Everyone was hungry by now, and the smell of food was immensely cheering. People arranged themselves around the fire, bowls in hand, and waited for the soup to be ladled out. Several kids seemed wary. Though many of them did kitchen duty in school, they never fashioned any meal themselves, much less one with such unusual ingredients. But watching the braver ones enjoying soup quickly convinced them to try it. Like the river water, it tasted different, but good, and though the portions could have been larger, nobody mentioned it so as not to dampen the spirit.

  Once the meal was done, and everyone sat back to relax, they realized the night was very still and quiet. They began to talk as the red embers glowed in the velvety darkness, but gradually, conversations wound down and people rolled out their sleeping bags and climbed inside, keeping close together for comfort. A few propped themselves on their elbows to continue talking with their neighbors in low, cautious voices, though there was nobody to tell them off for talking.

  For a moment, Ben wondered whether he should suggest that they keep watches throughout the night, like in adventure tales. Then he decided against it. Everything around them was so peaceful, this little spot on the riverbank so sheltered, and from what he knew, the only large animals in this area were supposed to be herbivores. It felt safe to close his eyes, but he could not keep them closed. He felt too much alive. When he stretched out on his back and looked above, he saw the blanket of stars dotting the dark canopy of the sky.

  He remembered a night in school, a few weeks earlier, when he and Tom decided to find out what it was going to feel like, sleeping out in the open like that. The sleeping bags had just been distributed, and they took off the nylon covers and snuck out once everybody was asleep. They got out into the school yard and spread the sleeping bags under one of the trees. Once they were settled, Ben tried to make out the stars between the slowly waving branches, but it was a cloudy night.

  Close to midnight they were discovered by Mrs. Stocking, who approached them, lamp in hand. "What on earth are you two doing?"

  "Practicing," said Ben.

  Her expression softened. There was no need for further explanations. "It's a cold night."

  "Yes," agreed Tom, "but it's not like there won't be colder nights when we're…out."

  She looked at them for a moment with the little frown they knew indicated compassion and worry. Ben once wondered what things would be like if Mrs. Stocking, rather than Madam Hart, were in charge of the orphanage. But then he realized it was unlikely a person like her would be chosen for that kind of job.

  "If one of the janitors finds out you've been sleeping outside, he'll report you to Madam Hart."

  With that, she turned and left. Ben watched the yellow light of her lamp bobbing in the distance until the door closed behind her.

  The brave adventurers tried to sleep, ignoring the gusts of chill and the occasional drizzle until, close to four in the morning, they were vanquished by a steady rain, snuck back inside, and tiptoed into the boys' section. They did not attempt to go back to sleep, but whiled away the time playing hangman. At breakfast, they surprised everyone by falling like birds of prey upon the hot porridge, which normally nobody seemed to want.

  The incident was much on Ben's mind now, when the night was so mild and peaceful and the sky so clear. It won't always be so. The spring rains will come, and summer showers too. And then, autumn will arrive, and winter. If we're going to survive, we have to look ahead and prepare.

  "We have to find a shelter," he said aloud, "or build one."

  When Tom did not answer, Ben looked sideways to find Tom's eyes were closed, and his chest rose and fell steadily. He was fast asleep.

  4

  ________________

  ____________

  ________

  Rebecca was waiting.

  During the past twelve years, she became accustomed to waiting. She waited for time to pass and she waited for the heartache to stop. She waited for the occasional snatches of news and rare glimpses of her son. Who you gave up like a coward, a familiar, evil voice whispered in her ear. And though she knew it was futile, though she knew it would be better to go on as if Benjamin never existed, she could not bring herself to do it. A force stronger than all her reason and good sense made her stand there shivering, waiting for the school matron to make her way to the bus stop. She was thoroughly familiar with Mrs. Stocking's hours and knew it would not be long.

  Sure enough, minutes later, Mrs. Stocking's short, plump figure appeared from out of the fog. She wore a long, dark green raincoat, and clutched a thoroughly worn handbag to her ample bosom. She did not recognize Rebecca until she threw back the hood of her sweater. Mrs. Stocking paled and took a step back.

  "I'm sorry I startled you, Mrs. Stocking."

  "I… I didn't expect to see you, that's all," Mrs. Stocking replied, her voice faltering. She did not meet Rebecca's eye.

  "I wouldn't have bothered you," said Rebecca, "if there wasn't something I couldn't quite get out of my mind." She paused, drawing breath. "You know I come sometimes, to take a glimpse of…of the children. I did that today. I saw them, Benjamin and all his classmates, by the look of it, boarding a bus. I would have thought it was a school trip, if it weren't for… Mrs. Stocking, that bus. It was a prisoners' bus, wasn't it?"

  Mrs. Stocking sat down on the cold, hard bench of the bus stop, and ran a shaking hand over her face. Her voice was weak when she finally said, "There is no need…"

  "No need for what?"

  Finally, Mrs. Stocking's eyes met her own. "No need for you to come anymore."

  Rebecca's sudden deathly pallor made Mrs. Stocking wish she chose her words more carefully. She stood and caught Rebecca's elbow as she swayed and led her to the chipped plastic bench.

  "Please calm down, Mrs. Hurst," she said, rummaging in her handbag for an object of comfort. She found a packet of mints and offered one to Rebecca, who shook her head.

  "No thanks," she muttered. The matron sounded so kind, her curiosity overcame her fear. "How do you know my name?" she asked.

  Despite having quite a few surreptitious meetings and quick, hus
hed conversations with Mrs. Stocking over the past years, they were never properly introduced.

  Mrs. Stocking gave her a faint smile. "You aren't the only one who knows how to find things out. I've known for years. I never mentioned you to anyone else in the school, though."

  Rebecca nodded, acknowledging this gesture of mercy, but her mind was already consumed by something far more pressing. "What happened to my son?"

  Mrs. Stocking lowered her eyes. "Nothing unusual," she said. Her voice softened. "I think I mentioned this some time ago that when the children are twelve years old, they are…sent away."

  Rebecca drew a deep, ragged breath. "Yes. I do know they aren't schooled until the usual age. They're sent to other Islands and specialize in agriculture or factory work. But of course, you know where they've gone."

  Mrs. Stocking took out a tissue and dabbed her face which, despite the chilly night, suddenly felt sweaty. There was no point denying it. "I do."

  "Tell me. Please tell me so I can go there and find out how Benjamin is doing."

  Mrs. Stocking shook her head and sighed. "I'm afraid you can't do that."

  "Why not? You said you know who I am. You must know I'm a journalist. I can go practically everywhere without raising suspicion."

  Mrs. Stocking took out a mint and slowly unwrapped it. "Are you sure you don't want one?"

  Rebecca laid a hand on the matron's arm. "Mrs. Stocking, why do I have the feeling you're hiding something?"

  The matron closed her eyes for a moment, taking in the quiet of the night and the freshness of the air. Telling this woman the truth will bring nothing but grief. But what else can I do? She's too clever and too determined. She won't rest until she finds out.

  She talked for a long time, revealing many secrets she swore to protect. As she spoke, Rebecca sat still as a statue as her eyes widened and the color drained from her face. When Mrs. Stocking finally fell silent, Rebecca sprang from her place on the bench, shaking all over.

  Alarmed, Stocking rose, too. "Please calm down," she said, her voice faint.

  Rebecca's eyes flashed with anger, and her voice quivered as she said, "I've just learned my son was sent out beyond the Boundary and left there to perish and you are telling me to calm down? Are you serious?"

  "I'm truly sorry, but there's nothing you can do."

  Her soothing tone only seemed to further anger Rebecca. She drew herself up to her full height. "Of course I can," she said, her voice mirroring her emotions. "You tell me where the children were sent, and I will go there. I will go there, no matter what it takes."

  "You can't cross the Boundary without a special permit."

  "Why not? People do it all the time, to look for old treasures in abandoned cities. It might not be perfectly legal, but…"

  "This is different." Rebecca saw a hint of fear in her eyes. "This is a government program. You won't be allowed to interfere."

  Rebecca nodded. "Of course. Of course. Something like this could never be done without directions from above, and without someone very powerful hushing it all up. How long has this…this practice been going on?"

  "Several years," Mrs. Stocking said, desperately looking for the bus, but no relief came in the form of lights blazing through the distance. As shame overwhelmed her, tears filled her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. "Many times I've wondered whether I should continue working at the school. I felt so guilty, being part of this…this great injustice." She wiped her eyes with her coat sleeve. "You know, Mrs. Hurst, I never really believed much good would come out of the government interfering with how many children one can have, and who can have them and when. But I stayed for the children's sake. I couldn't be sure my place would be taken by someone who'd care for them the way I do."

  Rebecca's anger eased some. "It wasn't your fault. And I'm glad you stayed. Nobody else would have let me know about my Benjamin. It might have compromised your position. You could have reported me."

  "I would never do that." She sighed and whispered, "I would have loved to have another baby myself."

  The long awaited bus lights could be seen in the distance. Mrs. Stocking swung her bag across her shoulder and laid a hand on Rebecca's arm.

  "Why don't you take a ride with me? It isn't far to my home. We could have a cup of tea and, you know, talk things over."

  Rebecca shook her head. "Thank you, Mrs. Stocking, but I need to walk for a while. Walk and think."

  As Mrs. Stocking turned toward the slowing bus, Rebecca disappeared into the darkness of the night.

  When Rebecca arrived home, her mind so swirled with thought and emotion that she did not notice the unnatural stillness of the apartment. True, she hardly saw the children these days. Jordan, at twenty-two, was finishing his last year of college at a distant Island to obtain a degree in biotechnology and sustainable ecology. Kate, now twenty, chose social studies and was attending a city college. Though she still lived at home, her life was such a whirlwind that Rebecca could hardly keep up with its recent happenings.

  Kate is very popular had become a mantra of sorts to explain her absence at social functions. It was true, but still Rebecca felt a pang when she recalled days past, when she and her daughter were best friends. They would talk for hours, and Rebecca knew Kate's every thought, dream, and plan. But all that slipped away and she had no idea how, when, or why.

  "I'm getting old," she muttered. "Old and boring."

  A shake of her head brought her back to the present. I didn't expect Kate to be home, but where's Daniel? Probably jogging. I didn't think he'd last a month, but it's been, what, three now and he's still out almost every day. She let out a soft grunt. Maybe I should join him. He keeps asking.

  Lost in thought, she wandered around the apartment until she found herself on the bed, gently rocking back and forth while she waited for her husband. I used to rock just this way when the children were babies and I comforted them in my arms. Jordy. Katie. Benjamin. He's twelve years old now. Twelve. Where did the years go? I know what he looks like and a little bit of his doings at school, but in all other respects he's a stranger. He's my son, and we never had a conversation, never looked into each other's eyes to see ourselves reflected.

  Once he became old enough to read and write, Rebecca begged Mrs. Stocking to help her establish a correspondence with her son, but the matron flat-out refused to do that. "I would never be able to keep this a secret for long," she had said. "And besides, think about the boy. It would only bring him confusion and grief."

  For, perhaps, the hundredth time, Rebecca tried to imagine what life could have been like if they kept Benjamin. I'd be involved in his schooling, probably a member of the parents' board as I was with Jordan and Kate. Daniel would drive him to soccer practice twice a week. I'd probably have to nag sometimes to make sure he did his homework. Right now, we might be arguing about the proper bedtime for twelve-year-olds. I can almost hear him whining, "But I'm not tired!", and me telling him, "You have school tomorrow, young man, so no arguments."

  The sound of the key turning in the lock brought her back to reality as Daniel entered the apartment.

  "Becky?"

  Half an hour ago Rebecca longed to talk to him, to relieve her heart, but now she could not bring herself to move or speak. He'll know I'm home by the handbag and sweater on the couch. She waited for him to find her.

  "Oh, hey," he said with mild surprise as he opened the bedroom door. He wore a still zipped-up sports jacket and a pair of old sweatpants. "I thought for a moment you might be in the shower."

  She gave him a vacant look. "How was jogging?"

  "Good. I wish you'd come too. Tonight was just right, clear and cool and… Rebecca, what's up?" He was frowning. "Did something happen?"

  "I went to the school today."

  His frown deepened. Then he sighed, sat down on the bed next to her, and took her hand.

  Gently, he said, "Becky. Why do you keep doing that? Why can't you…"

  She turned to him, her mouth set in one thin, str
aight line. "Why can't I what?" she snapped. "Forget that we ever had another son?"

  "No. Not forget, because that is impossible. Neither you, nor I, nor the children, though they never talk about it, can forget. But the idea was that we would, you know, go on with our lives." He pressed her fingers in a gentle plea for silence. "And you can't deny that it would have been easier to do if you didn't keep going there to see him."

  "You would never go with me." She sounded hurt.

  "No. And I know you're thinking it's because I don't care. It isn't true, Becky. I do care. I always have. And precisely because of that, I chose not to go."

  Rebecca sighed. "It doesn't matter. I'll never go there again either. Today was the last time."

  There was something horrible and hollow in her voice that made Daniel stare. "Do you mean to say that you have decided not to…"

  "What I mean to say is that Benjamin isn't there anymore." Some of the bitterness and anger Rebecca held in her heart for so long found its way out in the form of tears. They stung her eyes, welled over, and ran down her cheeks.

  Daniel let her talk without interruption, and when she was done, the stillness in the room was so deep she could almost hear the haphazard beating of her own heart. Her husband's face was grave.

  "It makes sense," he said after a long silence. "You know, I've studied the statistics on unauthorized children. Even with all the precautions, bans, and punishments, there must be too many such children to be fitted into field or factory work. Almost everything is done by machines, you know. I have wondered…but most people probably don't. They simply accept what they're told."

  "Yes." Rebecca, quivered with rage. "They accept that the way we live is the only way. That the government gets to decide who can have children, and when, and how many, or else we'll all fall into the abyss of starvation and chaos. Did you know that for many years before the War, the population stayed at just the replacement rate? The average woman bore about 2.1 or 2.2 children and the population remained stable, without any government initiatives."

  "I know that. But things were different before the War. We were left with a fraction of livable country, with ridiculously limited resources, in a very precarious position. There are only so many people we can feed. The government can't leave such matters to chance."