by Hannah Ross
Ben raised an eyebrow. "You did?"
"The White Tower was prepared to dispose of you and us when it seemed to them we were no good. Now they think they can take advantage of us, and what is there to stop them? Not any moral considerations, surely. There is already a man in this camp who had escaped from the registry. You should talk to him. I think you will find it sobering. I expect more will come as fugitives flee."
"Do you think the registry will come here, Thunder Cloud?" Darren asked.
The chief shook his head. "It's hard to tell. Probably not anytime soon. If they find enough manpower in the region of Resurrection Town, they might not bother to come out this far. If they do, we'll be ready to meet them. We have plenty of ammunition and move lightly."
"By ammunition, do you mean bows and arrows?" Ben asked just to make clear.
Thunder Cloud smiled. "I mean bows and arrows, guns and rifles, anything we can get. The government must be very obstinate if they come to seek us out. I'd say we are safe in this area, at least for now."
* * *
The fugitive Thunder Cloud mentioned turned out to be – to the immense surprise of Ben and his friends – Carl of the Spotted Cats. The Spotted Cats left the ruined city some years previously, and settled on a restored farm some way to the southeast from Resurrection Town.
"Carl! What are you doing here?"
"Same thing as you, Ben Grey, I suppose," said Carl, clearly pleased to see familiar faces. "Hiding from the White Tower people. They came to our farm and, at first, talked to us all nice and smooth. Said how we're going to be granted status and taken care of. How we'll never need to worry about food and shelter again. Me, I smelled something was off right away, but the others were tempted. We did often have problems with food, you know, especially during drought years. So we agreed. When the government men came again with those great big cattle trucks to take us away, I think the penny dropped, but it was too late."
"Cattle trucks?" Priscilla asked, looking queasy. Carl nodded.
"They took us to this site, sort of like a trailer park. We had a place to sleep and food to eat, that's true, but we had to break our backs working from sunup till sundown. They said it was our way to pay for the food and beds. The government thought of reclaiming that land, I gathered, and there was a helluva lot of brush and brambles to clear. And we weren't allowed to leave."
"It was a labor camp, then," Ben said, his voice hard.
"You could say that. I was too scared to run off, though, until they began with the vaccines. Then I was really ready to take my chances."
"Vaccines?" Jill repeated, wide-eyed.
"Yes, at least that's what they said they were - flu vaccines. But some people got sick after getting them, really, really sick, and the field medic that was assigned to treat us denied there was any problem at all. People were writhing with pain in front of him, burning with fever and sweating buckets, but he just went on as if nothing happened. Eventually some of us escaped. Struck in different directions, in case we were followed. I was lucky. Caught a ride west with some people on the move and ran into Thunder Cloud's tribe. They're mighty decent people. Took me in and said I'm welcome to stay as long as I need to. I think I'd still like to go back east if I can, at some point, though. I wonder what happened to the others."
Ben and Priscilla exchanged a grim look. "This is worse than I thought," Priscilla said in a low voice. "Vaccines! Whatever could this mean?"
"Not anything good," Ben said. "I can't say I'm really surprised, though. I wouldn't put anything past those bastards. I'm sure we'll hear more about this as people pass through."
Carl was taken in by a family, but the newcomers were given a guest teepee of their own. It was very neat, well-arranged, and cozy in its simple way, with a brazier in the middle and piles of furs and blankets to be used as beds.
"Come on, Pris. Settle down," Ben said in response to his wife's dubious glance. "This is much more comfortable than our sleeping bags."
Ben was right. It was warm and snug under the furs, and the weary travelers soon felt their eyelids drooping. Darren and Jill fell asleep in their place on the other side of the teepee, and little Ian, fatigued after a long, full day, soon closed his eyes and curled up to sleep as well. Ben and Priscilla settled down next to their son.
"Ben," Priscilla whispered, snuggling up against her husband. "Don't you think that's a bit overboard?"
"What do you mean?"
"This. All this. These teepees, these clothes, furs, utensils... it's like they are trying to pretend civilization never happened."
"There's more than one way to define civilization. And anyway, can you blame them? Thunder Cloud is a bit of a fanatic, but his cause is good. He wants to reconstruct a way of life that existed for a long time, playing fair by both people and nature. Now that the wild buffalo herds have multiplied again, I don't see why it would be impossible."
He stopped when he realized Priscilla's breathing was deep and even, and her long dark lashes drooped over the pale cheek. Ben smiled tenderly, brushed a strand of hair from his wife's face, and closed his eyes as well.
6
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June Evans washed her hands with sterilizing solution before picking up the syringe.
"Roll up your sleeve, please," she told the man. He gave her a mutinous look in return.
"Do I have to?" the patient said, sounding quite surly. "I just had one of these shots a week ago. Why so many vaccines for a simple flu? I never got no flu in my life, either in the orphanage or out in the wild."
Dr. Evans suppressed a sigh. "Look, Mr..." she consulted her notes, "Mr. Brown. You haven't received any vaccines since you left the orphanage. You've been living in polluted areas, and were exposed to all sorts of potential pathogens. Your immune system is compromised. You are very much in need of the multi-stage vaccine, which will protect you not only from influenza, but also from tuberculosis, hepatitis and..."
"I just know one thing," Brown said, crossing his arms, "I've never been sick in my life before, but I was sick as hell after getting the last vaccine. Fever, seizures, dizziness... I couldn't do any work for three days. I still feel weak. What's the point of giving us vaccines that make us feel weak, if we were taken here to work?"
"The vaccine is given entirely for your own good, Mr. Brown," Dr. Evans replied. "There might be some mild side effects, but these should soon subside. Roll up your sleeve, now, please."
With a reluctant sigh, the man rolled up the sleeve of his shirt, revealing a well-formed bicep. The shot was administered, and the grumbling Brown had gone, but June Evans remained sitting in her little field clinic with a frown on her face.
The many complaints about adverse effects of the vaccine were puzzling, to say the least. The side effects, if any, were supposed to be very benign, and so many sick men struck an alarm bell for June. Unable to figure this out on her own, she decided to talk it over with her supervisor.
Dr. Philip Graham was a stately, silvery-haired man, very imposing in his crisp white robe and shiny black shoes. "Good afternoon, Dr. Evans," he said after letting her into his office, which was modestly but comfortably furnished, befitting his rank as director of the camp and regional supervisor of the Registry program. "You look concerned. Is there anything the matter?"
"It's about the vaccine. I'm afraid we have… some kind of problem."
"A problem?" he repeated, frowning. "Why would there be any problem?"
June fiddled with her nametag. "I was wondering, Dr. Graham, whether the multi-stage vaccine we are distributing has been well tested."
"Of course. It's a standard, widely distributed vaccine. Why?"
"Many people complain of side effects. Far more than I would expect, taking general population statistics into account. And I can't say they are just hypochondriacs, either. They really are running high fevers; some have muscle seizures or complain of general weakness. It is too much by far for reasonably expected side effects. It just doe
sn't feel right."
Dr. Graham assumed his most authoritative manner. "Dr. Evans. These people have spent all or most of their lives without medical care. Vaccines terrify them. Most of their symptoms are psychosomatic. They are real, certainly, but rooted in their savage perceptions, rather than reality."
June didn't contradict this, though privately she thought it made little sense. After all, babies within the Boundary rarely developed these so-called 'psychosomatic' symptoms following standard vaccines. But what could she say? Dr. Graham was her boss and right now he looked as if arguing wouldn't be tolerated.
"They look so unhappy," June observed instead, shaking her head. "And they work so hard."
Dr. Graham snorted. "Of course! Any kind of regular work would seem terribly restrictive to people who have never worked in their lives, scavenging the abandoned cities like rats and picking up any edible matter they could gather about the country. We've delivered them from their miserable conditions, have given them order, routine, a roof over their heads, plenty of food every day. We are offering them stability, security, a future, some education. An instructor will soon come to begin teaching their children to read and write."
"Some of the children read and write quite well, you know, Dr. Graham. Their parents taught them."
"Well, anomalies do happen, I'll grant you."
"They cannot teach the children anymore, though. Work doesn't leave them enough time for that. It's all they can do to keep the little ones out of mischief."
Dr. Graham tapped his foot, a sure sign that his patience was running low. "Is it not fair, though, I ask you, that they repay the government for its great benevolence towards them by doing some necessary work? It does them no harm."
June knew she could only say, "No, Dr. Graham, of course not."
She went outside and, from her slightly elevated observation point, looked at the campsite stretching below. Despite all the obvious and rational material advantages offered to the reclaimed Illegals - food, shelter, health care, security - she couldn't deny it was a rather miserable-looking place, with its bare landscape and wire fence all around.
The newly registered Illegals were currently engaged in building a factory that would soon house a new branch of the Van Wullen Enterprises. At the moment the men and the single women were scurrying like ants to the mobile homes that were put in for them at the edge of the site, where the mothers and children had prepared a meal for everybody to eat. Despite Dr. Graham's assertions as to the savage condition of the Illegals, June could not but admit that the women were usually pretty good cooks and housekeepers.
June heard a timid voice behind her: "Could I have a moment, doc?"
She turned around and saw a woman, plump and matronly-looking though she could not be more than twenty five, with a baby in her arms and two toddlers clinging to her legs.
Her thoughts elsewhere, she said, "Yes, sure. What is it?"
The woman hesitated. "It's Kyle, one of my boys. He's running a fever."
June felt something drop within her. She was almost afraid to hear the answer as she asked, "Did he get the vaccine?"
"Why, yes, doc - and I was told there might be some fever, but it's been a week now, and poor Kyle can hardly get out of bed."
"Well, then, bring him to the medical center tomorrow. I'll take a look at him."
The woman was obviously uncomfortable. "The thing is, doc..."
"You can call me June."
"Yes, thank you, Doctor June. I was just wondering... could you possibly stop by our house now? I'm so worried about my boy. And it won't take more than five minutes."
June sighed. She was really looking forward to supper, a shower, and some well-deserved rest in her quarters, but the woman's pleading look was impossible to resist.
"Alright, then. Lead the way."
The mobile home was even more cramped inside than it looked from the outside. Notwithstanding the sparse furniture and the efficient use of space of which the laborers' quarters boasted, it just wasn't fit to house seven people. But the little living space was clean, and the large shiny pot on the stainless steel gas stove emitted an appetizing smell.
Kyle lay in bed in a corner of the room, and opened his eyes languidly when June approached. She assumed he was about seven years old. He was rather skinny and wiry, with a shaggy mass of flaxen hair. There were red patches on his cheeks, and the digital thermometer June applied showed an alarmingly high number.
"Why didn't you bring him to the medical center before? You should have come to see me earlier," she told the mother with a hint of accusation. The young woman fidgeted uncomfortably.
"I did come to the medical center and I asked to see you - but you wasn't there, Doctor June, and one of the nurses got really snotty with me. Told me I'm making much out of nothing and that the boy is sure to be well soon, and not to bother you with silly things such as that."
June felt her anger rising. She had two nurses working under her, and one of them was such a timid little thing that she certainly would never have said anything like that to anyone. "I know who this must have been," she murmured. "I'll do what I can to make sure she is transferred to another place. But either way, first we have to help Kyle."
She opened her medical bag and offered a dose of ibuprofen syrup to the child.
"I'll leave this bottle here for you. The instructions are on the bottle. I hope the fever breaks soon, but either way, bring him to see me tomorrow, or come yourself to call me if he isn't well enough yet. And you should place some wet compresses on his forehead and change them frequently to help the medicine take effect."
The worried mother nodded as she looked at her child. "Thank you, Doctor June."
There wasn't much more left for her to do, but somehow June couldn't bring herself to go. She remained standing, looking around at the scratched linoleum floor and the peeling walls. It was a rather old mobile home, and she was pretty sure the roof leaked during strong rains.
"Are you... sorry, I didn't catch your name…"
"Kim, doc. Kimberly Sand."
"Right, Kim. You are... happy to be here, aren't you? You feel secure?"
Kim looked rather taken aback. "Why, Doctor June... I hope you don't think we aren't properly grateful. We used to live mostly by hunting out there, and sometimes we traded with other camps where people grew crops or raised sheep and goats. Sometimes we ate well, and sometimes we hardly had anything to give the children so they wouldn't go to bed hungry. And having the little ones was always a fright, too. I was lucky, but there were women in our camp who lost babies. One died in childbirth. She was such a frail little thing. I had a miscarriage once myself, and thought I might bleed to death, and what would become of the little ones then? No, we're really happy to be in a place with plenty of food and doctors as needed, but..."
"But?"
"Well... the children aren't happy. They're used to running about, tumbling down hills and splashing in the river, and don't understand how come they aren't allowed to go anywhere now. And Lennie, my man, he's restless too. He says that when the Registry men first came, nobody told us we'd be like prisoners in this place."
"No, no, not prisoners, of course," June hastened to assure, though she felt increasingly uncomfortable. "You were simply, er, assigned to this camp until the work here is done. Your husband will receive wages at the end of the month, and you can put them aside for the children, as you get all you need here. Someone will explain to you all about money and how to use it. And we'll try to see what can be done to keep the children amused. Maybe have some supervised walks, set up a little playground with some games..."
Kim nodded, but the troubled look didn't leave her eyes. "Doctor June. You know, when the Registry people came for us, there were some who didn't want to be taken. They said they are fine as they are, and didn't ask for no favors. The officers wouldn't let them go, though."
"Registration is compulsory for everyone now, and it's for everybody's good, as I'm sure you understand. If
people aren't accounted for, they can't be helped. We need to know how many rations to send for, what supplies to order, how many homes to provide."
"That makes sense, doc, but all the same, why did the Registry officer need to shoot those men?"
A chill crept down June's spine. "What do you mean, shoot?"
"I mean what I say, doc. The officers went after those who refused to be registered and shot them down like mad dogs. Most of those who escaped managed to stay free, though." A definite note of pride stole into her voice. "I expect they're still out there somewhere."
"You must be mistaken. There must have been some kind of misunderstanding. No one is authorized to shoot men who refuse to register, lamentable as that kind of attitude may be."
Kim gave her a blank look. "Well, then, they did it all the same. We saw the two bodies, and they were shot through the back of their heads. We've handled enough guns in our years out there to tell."
June didn't know what to say. She wished she could summon the clear, authoritative voice and manner of Dr. Graham, but she didn't have those. Instead, she felt as though a great pit of doubt and fear opened beneath her feet.
"If what you say is true, the men who did that were criminals," she said after a long silence, during which Kim's eyes were fixed expectantly on her face. "I will file a report about your complaint, and will make sure a proper investigation is carried out. Depend upon it. Justice will be done."
Kim nodded. "Sure, Doctor June. I'm sure of it." But she didn't sound sure. She sounded like someone who doesn't dare say what she really thinks anymore.
7
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"It's lucky I still nurse Ian, you know," Priscilla observed as she sat cross-legged on the woven mat, her little boy at her breast. "I thought of weaning him back home, but around here I have no idea where I would get cow's or goat's milk for him."
"Yes, I know," Ben said. "The food here is not what we've been used to. I miss our good milk and cheese, too. But we can hold on for a time, can't we?"