by Hannah Ross
"Wow. That's amazing."
"I guess. But in a few years, I'm afraid we'll have grown so big it'll make moving back and forth between the winter and summer grounds too hard to continue."
"Maybe you should think about building permanent cabins. That's how we live and it makes winters a lot easier to take."
"Maybe. Can we count on you to teach us how to build them?"
"Of course."
Ben sat silent for a minute until Raven asked what he was thinking about.
He heaved a sigh and said, "If someone gave you a pass back into the Boundary…I mean with documents and Class A citizenship and all, would you take it?"
"Where did that come from?"
"I don't know. The first few days after we were dropped off, all I wanted was to go back, even though I knew I couldn't. I never told anyone and once we were in the city, I forgot about it. Maybe what you were saying brought it back. So…would you?
She scrunched up her face in distaste. "Me? Nah. Back at the orphanage, I felt like I was in prison. Worse, I knew there was nowhere to escape to. Even on our outings, all I could see were the crowded streets and all those buildings blocking out the sky and sun. Here and there, small pockets of grass and trees in parks. Now I take Ink and gallop down hills and wade across rivers, and lie down on my back at night and watch the stars. The future is here, out in the open. Not in hiding behind the Boundary out of fear of another war, or pollution, or whatever it is that makes people huddle there like sheep in a pen. How old are you, Ben?"
"Seventeen."
"I'm eighteen. It's hard to believe only six years passed since I was a scared little girl in the orphanage. So much has changed in that time. And I'm happy. I think I'm happier now than I would have been if I grew up with my real family."
"Do you know why you were given up?"
"Oh, yes," she said with a matter-of-fact shrug. "It's quite funny, really. In my case it was a mistake. I was misdiagnosed with a metabolic disease that was supposed to make me die a slow, painful death in infancy. I once sneaked into the principal's office and read it in my file. Obviously, I have no such disease, but by the time the orphanage doctor cleared this up, it was too late. My parents left no name, nothing that could help trace them. Our principal was a good soul and tried for years, but he was forced to give up in the end."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be. Sure, back then I used to think about it a lot. What if my parents come again and claim me? What if I get out of the orphanage and get a citizenship and all? But I'm better off as I am. I have freedom, and I'm useful. I'm helping others make a life out here. And I have Ink, one of the greatest things in my life."
Ben had a dozen questions on the tip of his tongue, but the one he spoke out loud was an unexpected one. "Will you teach me how to ride?"
Raven looked surprised but pleased. "Sure!" she said with a mischievous grin. "But prepare for a few bumps and tumble-downs. It takes patience."
As they walked out of the tent, they saw Tanya sitting on a patch of grass outside, surrounded by a circle of children. She was reading to them out of an old book and looked more relaxed and comfortable than Ben had ever seen her before.
"Tanya teaches the children," explained Raven. "She does it every day when she's in camp. I was never a big bookworm, you know, but I realize it's important not to forget how to read."
Her walk was springy, so much that she practically bounced off the ground with each step as her feet left small prints upon the fresh green grass. She led him to the enclosure, where Patrick was brushing the coat of a stocky chestnut horse.
"Hey, Patrick Moon," Raven called out. "How's Ginger today? Do you think you could saddle him for me?"
Patrick looked puzzled. "Sure. But how come you're not taking Ink?"
"Ben here has asked for a riding lesson" She turned to him. "It'll be better if your first try is with Ink. She's our steadiest horse by far. Ginger can be…a little shifty, if you know what I mean."
Ben did not know and was beginning to have second thoughts as Raven led Ink forward.
"There now, girl," she said, reassuring the horse with gentle strokes. "You'll be alright with Ben, won't you?"
Ink neighed.
"Has anyone but you ever ridden her?"
"Sure. Go on, touch her."
Ben came closer and placed his palm on the horse's side. It was smooth and warm. He could feel the mare's body moving with each breath. It was clear she was suspicious of him, but Raven's presence must have been reassuring, because she did not back away.
"She's already saddled, see. I found this saddle in a riding club in one of the little ghost towns around here. It's all nice and comfy. Come on. Up you get."
Ben placed a foot on one of the stirrups, uncertain of what to do next.
Raven laughed. "Go on. Just haul yourself up. And hold the reins."
On the second try, Ben managed to climb atop the horse. He sat there tense and afraid to move, envious of Raven's easy posture on Ginger's back.
"That's it. Good. We'll go slow at first. Please open the gate, Patrick."
They set off in a slow pace around the camp. Though it was only an easy trot, Ben felt his teeth clunking together with each step. He squeezed Ink's sides with his knees, hoping he would not fall and make a fool of himself.
Raven led him down to the meadow where the sheep were grazing. As they got closer, Ben heard the barking of dogs.
"We raised a few puppies from a pack of feral dogs. They're a great help with the sheep if they grow up together with the herd."
On they rode. Downhill, uphill. Further from the camp. Finally Raven stopped the horses, shielded her eyes from the sun and looked down into the valley where smoke was rising from the tents of the camp.
"Look, Ben."
He looked and saw green hills and rolling meadows. He saw woods at some distance and the silvery ribbon of the river with cascading waterfalls. Further away, a calm lake glinted in the sun like a mirror. White feathery clouds floated in the sky, imperceptibly shifting their form. The air was full of warm, earthy smells, the scent of spring flowers, and the buzz of insects. Mr. Bradley once told them many species of insects were wiped out because of the chemical bombs, but he could not see any of that now. There were more than enough buzzing bees and colorful butterflies.
"This is ours," said Raven. "It belongs to us. All of it."
Ben was puzzled. "Us? Do you mean the Ravens?"
The girl's easy laugh made him smile. "No. I mean us. All of us. The wild children."
14
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It was going to be a nice, happy day. There was a wedding rehearsal in the morning, so Rebecca took the day off work. Her carefully edited interview with Professor Keller was printed out and delivered directly to Natalie yesterday. As promised to the professor, she was cautious about what she revealed, but it was still an interesting story, and Rebecca looked forward to seeing it in the paper. Keller even kindly allowed a photographer from the Urban Observer to come and take a picture of him in his white lab coat, dissecting some tissue samples and looking like the archetypal image of a scientist immersed in his work.
After the rehearsal and lunch, they paid one final visit to the bridal salon with Allie and her mother to admire Allie's dress, where Rebecca could honestly say, "It fits perfectly. You look lovely, dear, just like an angel. Oh, Jordan will go crazy when he sees you!"
Rebecca went home tired but happy. As she closed the door behind her, Daniel walked out of the kitchen. He held a cup of coffee in one hand and a newspaper in the other. She turned and said, "Hi there," with a smile, but it slid off her face when she saw his expression. "What's the matter?" she asked quickly.
Daniel gave her the newspaper he was holding. It was a fresh copy of The Sentinel, an old rival of The Observer. "Wasn't your interview with Jonathan Keller supposed to be exclusive?"
"It was," she said, scanning the front page. T
he straight-angled fat letters became blurry before her eyes. She sat down in the old sagging armchair and ran a hand over her eyes. "No," she whispered, "it can't be."
She was re-reading the article for the third time, numb with disbelief, when the phone rang. It was Natalie.
"Rebecca, where have you been? I've been trying to reach you for hours."
Unable to string enough words together for a coherent answer, she only managed to mumble, "The wedding".
"Oh, right. I forgot. Did you see it?" Natalie's voice quivered with rage. "The bastards. The goddamn bastards."
"They printed everything. Everything!" She sounded as stunned as she looked. "It continues on five pages. Every word Professor Keller said is there. How can this be?"
"There's only one explanation. You must have been followed. Someone followed you and eavesdropped on you, perhaps bugged your bag or your shoes or something. You saw who wrote that goddamn piece? Royce. Norman Royce. I wouldn't put anything past him. He'll do anything for a story."
"This is more than just a story we've lost. It's… There are some things I promised I wouldn't publish. Professor Keller trusted me. This is a disaster, Natalie. What he told me is enough to start a civil war."
"You're telling me! I'm looking out of my office window right now, and I've never seen so many people outside at this hour. The streets are abuzz, Beck. Norman Royce bit off more than he can chew this time, though. He's as good as dead."
Rebecca tried to sound brave. "Well, at least with all this mess, there will be no lack of stuff to cover."
"Are you kidding me? I just got a call from my supervisors up at the White Tower. Nobody's supposed to report anything of what's going on. The government is determined to hush the whole thing up."
"They'll have a hard time doing that."
"This isn't any of my business. I'm just a small cog in a big machine, and I have no desire to get sent to the metal recycling factory. I do what I'm told. And I sincerely suggest you do the same."
It was a strange night. The news program was little more than a weather forecast and some local announcements. After the news there was a broadcast of a figure skating contest. Rebecca and Daniel sat in front of the TV, cups of tea in their hands and a platter of biscuits on the low table between them, and were mostly silent until Daniel asked, "What do you think will happen to Norman Royce?"
Rebecca shrugged. "Probably the same thing that happened to Tracy Locke. I never appreciated Norman Royce and The Sentinel much, you know. This is typical of them, to barge in and steal a story someone else was supposed to cover. But in the future, perhaps they'll be remembered as heroes. Reporters that changed the world. And isn't that what we all hope to do when we write?"
"Do you think our world can truly change?"
Rebecca said nothing, but the question lingered until the couple went to bed, Daniel to try and sleep, Rebecca to lie awake, immersed in her own thoughts until daybreak, which found Daniel steadily snoring as she brushed her teeth.
She made a cup of coffee and nibbled on a bit of toast with butter and jam before she donned shoes, swung her handbag across her shoulder and peeked inside Kate's room before going out. The room was empty, Kate's bed neatly made, and it was obvious no one slept in it last night. Of late, Kate spent many nights outside the home. She wished she could attribute it to a new romantic interest, but intuition said it was something different and she could not bring herself to ask. She sighed as she opened the front door. The days when I knew everything that went on in the children's lives are long gone.
As she walked, she thought she might have an answer to Daniel's question. Yes, the world can change, and at the speed of light, as the War taught everyone generations ago. Ahead, she heard noise, much too much noise for this early hour. Two corners later, she learned why.
The streets were unrecognizable. All around, people were marching, singing, shouting, "NOAGE! NOAGE!" Some carried banners that said, "We Deserve to Live Forever" and "Eternity for All". Policemen tried to flank the human mass and keep it under control, but in vain. Someone shot in the air, but even that did not do the trick. The crowd kept marching toward the White Tower, where all the government offices were located.
Suddenly, a swarm of men in uniforms broke onto the street from a side alley and formed a human barricade, preventing the protesters from advancing any closer to the government area. She quickly realized these were not policemen. The men wore the khaki uniforms of soldiers. Not since the years after the War had anyone seen a soldier on the streets, except for the annual military parade on Ceasefire Day.
Someone spoke into a megaphone in a strong, clear, authoritarian voice. "All civilians are hereby commanded to turn back. Access to the White Tower area is forbidden and considered a crime until further notice. This is a government decree. Go home or suffer the consequences."
Some of the people wavered, but others marched on forward, attempting to break through the lines of soldiers. Rebecca heard another shot, and this time it was not in the air. A man fell, wounded or dead, and she stopped in her tracks, frozen with horror.
Again the voice echoed off the buildings. "This was a warning! Anyone who attempts to pass the armed forces will be shot."
A great wave of fury rose in the human mass. Someone, not far from Rebecca, was sobbing, "Our lives are worth nothing to them! Nothing!" A young man about the same age as her son bellowed. He had long blonde hair arranged in a mass of matted dreadlocks, and there was a gash on his cheek.
Someone tried to drag Rebecca in, thrust a banner in her hand, but she squeezed herself flat against a wall and let the people march past her. She headed in the opposite direction, toward the building where Professor Keller worked on his fateful research. Behind her, she heard more shots and shuddered in horror, nearly tripping as she hastened her step.
The building was surrounded by two chains of armed policemen, who were busy trying to ward off another crowd of people with banners in their hands. The noise and confusion were unbelievable, but she managed to elbow her way through the crowd, until she was standing in front of the policemen. One of them, a thin young fellow with red hair, freckles and skin so pale that it appeared translucent, raised a hand in the air and shouted, "Alright folks, back off! Back off and let us breathe!" Nobody seemed to heed him, though, and she could see his anger rising as she got his attention.
"Excuse me, I need to see Professor Keller."
The policeman snorted. "Do you, now, lady? What d'you think all these people here are trying to do? The building was given top security. Nobody goes in, nobody comes out. Go home." He raised his voice and shouted, "Go home, everybody, before I start putting people under arrest!" but nobody seemed to listen.
"You don't understand. This is an emergency – the professor will want to see me. Please, have someone tell him my name. Rebecca Hurst. He will see me, I know it."
The policeman hesitated, then handed her his phone.
"Dial the number. If you know the professor, you should know his number, right?"
Five minutes later Rebecca was given a special pass and ushered upstairs, to the Professor's laboratory. A very harassed-looking Thelma showed her into the office, where Keller sat with his glasses perched on the tip of his nose, serenely looking over some graphs and charts. When he saw Rebecca, he rose and greeted her with a warm handshake.
"My dear lady. What a delightful distraction in the middle of all this mess."
"Professor Keller, I want you to know I'm in no way responsible…"
He raised his hand and shook his head. "But of course. I saw who printed the story. You were spied upon and outrun. It can happen to anyone. We should have taken better precautions. Do be seated."
"So what will happen now?" she asked as she settled on the chair across from him.
"Now it's out of my hands. This cannot be undone. You saw all those people on the streets. They want to live forever." He gave her a brief smile. "It is, after all, an ancient dream of the human race, one that shows all the
inconstancy of the human mind."
"What do you mean?"
The old man's smile broadened. "Well, you see, every religion, Eastern or Western, contains elaborate descriptions of the afterlife and of how heaven is infinitely superior to our fallen world. So apparently we're all supposed to look forward to going there, to the Beyond. We're not, though. We're terrified of death and will do anything to evade it."
Rebecca was getting a little unnerved by Keller's unperturbed serenity. "I'm glad you have these philosophical matters to take your mind off things. But that doesn't solve the more pressing problem. What are you going to do now?"
His face darkened. "I fear it is the end of any peaceful research. I am, for all intents and purposes, a prisoner now. I am not to leave this building." He shrugged. "I have a little apartment here, just above the laboratory and office. Anything I need, I order it by phone or through Thelma." A hint of bitterness could be heard in his voice. "And, of course, I'm still expected to work and work efficiently, and produce the results those in charge are so eagerly expecting."
"A perfect form of NOAGE?"
"There is no perfect, my dear, but yes. A potent form of the strain that will produce the same desired effect on every person. Preferably one that can, to some extent, reverse the process of aging as well. I haven't figured out this last one yet, but I am expected to, and soon."
"I'm so sorry, Professor," she said, shaking her head.
"So am I, dear. Not for myself, though. Oh, sure, all this pressure from above and the phone calls and ridiculous unrealistic deadlines are a pesky nuisance for someone who is used to working as a free agent, on his own terms. But no. I'm sorry for us all. For our world and what it's on the brink of becoming. We are very close to a disaster, Rebecca, one that will be far worse than the War."
Those last words were still ringing in Rebecca's ears when she got home. She went into the kitchen, made herself a cup of unsweetened mint tea and sat at the small kitchen table, inhaling the fragrant vapor and massaging her temples.