by Edge, T. C.
Her hand shivers in mine, her mouth coughing up more blood. “I'm not doing this to you, Cyra,” she croaks. “I'm doing this for you. You'll realise one day that it was for the best.”
Tears cascade down my cheeks now, dripping onto the edge of her bed. I watch her breathing begin to grow more shallow, the blood building in the corners of her mouth, her eyes losing focus.
“I love you, mum,” I whisper.
A bloodied smile forms on her lips and her eyes refocus on me. “And I love you, sweetheart. Your father would have been so proud to see the girl you've become.”
And those are her last words to me. Her last words to anyone. For the next hour I sit with her, watching her body gradually give way, watching as the deadly virus that decimated the world all those years ago finally finishes her off.
The last look I see on her face is that familiar grimace of pain as her heart gives out. Her lifeless dull grey eyes staring at the ceiling, her lips curled in suffering. I wipe her mouth with a cloth to clear the blood, and there I see it. The same snapshot I've been afraid of seeing for years. The same vision I saw under the scanner and in my dreams. The face of my dead mother.
I stay awake all night that evening, sitting by my mother's body, whispering to her everything I ever wanted to tell her, but didn't get the chance. Without even realising it, the break of dawn soon cracks through the heavens, bringing a solemn glow into the room. For one final time I kiss my mother on the forehead and tell her I love her, before stepping out into my room and shutting the door gently behind me.
All I want to do right now is collapse and forget the world. To wrap myself in a blanket and close myself off from everyone and everything. I've prepared for the death of my mother for years. Even lived it before in my dreams. But this morning, despite all of that, it hurts more than I could have imagined. The hope that I'd be able to care for her, to save her, to cure her, is gone. Hope. I've always hated the word.
But I don't lie down. I don't wrap myself up and shun it all. Instead I pack what mementos I have into a bag and wait for my summons: the picture of my father before he was taken; several others of my brother and sister and mother; a diary, unfilled, that my mother managed to get me for my birthday; a small wristwatch that she used to wear before it was broken. It was a cherished heirloom of her family, and one she always kept safe, even though she might have sold it for extra rations.
I pack clothing and some food and anything else I think I might need. Part of our preparation classes at school gave us a list of things we might need if we ever did leave home. Right now I can't remember them, so I just take whatever I have.
It's still early when I hear a knock at the door. I had several visitors through the evening after my mother passed. Mainly Pickers and others who live on the Block and around Arbor who had known her. They would usually have waited a couple of days to pass on their kind words. Perhaps during her cremation. But not on this occasion. By now everyone knows of my assignment, and that last night was my final evening in Arbor. Their last chance to tell me sorry. To tell me what my mother meant to them.
My summons today mean I won't be there at her funeral. I won't be around to speak prayers in her name and talk of how wonderful she was. In some ways, I don't mind. I've never been one for an audience, and I'd rather say goodbye alone in my own way, like I did last night.
Another knock sounds softly on the door and I move towards it. When I open it I see the face of Jackson in front of me, creased with worry and looking as solemn as my own. I can't help but cry again when I see him there, and wrap my arms around his neck. He grips back, hard, and rubs my back, kicking the door shut with his foot.
“I don't know what to say Cy, I'm so sorry.”
I sob into his shoulder for a while before pulling myself together. Jackson's never seen me cry before.
When I pull back and look at him, though, I realise that this will probably be the last time I ever see him as well. The thought threatens to break me down again, so I turn and continue busying myself with my packing.
“So what happened with you then?” I ask, my voice deeper than normal as I tighten up my emotions. “I wasn't there to see what happened.”
“Um...well it's not just you going away, Cy.”
I stand and turn back to him. “You're not staying here either?” A foolish sense of hope springs up inside me that maybe Jackson's being sent to Eden too.
His eyes tell me my hope is unfounded. There's a sadness in them that goes beyond what's happened to my mother. It's a disconcerting expression.
“No. It turns out the whole virtual reality test was for an important reason.”
“What? What's going on?”
“A lot of the boys have been recruited, called up for service. I guess they're strengthening the military at the Divide along Knight's Wall.”
“What! You're being sent to the Divide!”
Jackson nods glumly. Military service used to be quite common for the best physical candidates when leaving school, but in recent years there's been little to no recruitment across the regions. A large push usually indicates that something is going on beyond the boundary of our nation that the powers in Eden aren't happy with.
“I'm going to be trained as an Officer there,” he says. “It's basically like a Leader here, so I'll be in charge of some of the other guys.”
“And...is the service still set at ten years?”
He nods again. Ten years stationed along the Divide, the great fortress wall, defending against the Deadlands outside. Ten years without being Paired, without having the opportunity to start a family. A selfish thought crosses my mind that at least Jackson won't be Paired with anyone, but it's short lived.
I see on his face now the same look my dad had when he was taken. The look he's got in the picture in my bag. The one he had the day he was dragged away to defend Knight's Wall. He'd been working for years already in Arbor as a Labourer, happily in a marriage with my mother, three young kids to take care of. That was when the virus first hit, and those beyond the boundary line began getting ill. Across the regions the virus wasn't so damaging, but beyond the boundary wall it ravaged the rebel populations. For years they fought to migrate to Arcadia, but we repelled them.
Eventually, they were all wiped out. Most by the virus, the rest in attempts to cross the boundary. Now, no one in the regions really knows what's going on over in the wasteland where the old cities used to stand. The central and western states of the Old USA are now lost to the parched earth and barren lands, unwalked and untrodden by the millions that used to live there.
That was the last I saw of my father. My mother was told he served 7 years of his service before he was killed. We only got official word of that several years ago. So now, looking at Jackson, I see the same look, and the same thought crosses my mind. That this will be the last I see of him too. That he, like my father, like my mother, is about to be ripped from my life.
“So, Eden,” he says, trying to lighten things somehow. “How about that...”
“Yeah,” I say. “It's gonna be different from Arbor I guess.”
Jackson smiles for the first time and huffs. “I'll bet. Have they told you what you're doing there yet?”
I shake my head.
“Well, maybe you'll become important and can get me away from the Divide in a few years.”
I know he's joking. Not about me, but about him. Jackson's not a coward, not by a long stretch. Once he's there, he'll do his service to defend the people. If that's where he's needed, he'll commit.
“Or maybe they just need people to shine shoes over there or something,” I say. “I really have no idea why I'm going.”
“Well, I guess you'll find out soon.”
The brief levity is already fading. Frankly, neither of us have ever experienced such change before. It's hard to joke about anything on a day like today, despite his best efforts to cheer me up.
“So,” he says tentatively, turning his head to my mother's room. “Are
you allowed to stay, you know, for the funeral?”
I shake my head. “I haven't asked.”
“But they might let you, you know. They might let you go out in a few days instead.”
I shake my head again. “I want to leave today.”
His tanned forehead cracks in a series of creases.
“Don't look so shocked, Jackson. I've said goodbye to her in my way. I want to leave this town behind now, and never look back. It's given me nothing but pain,” I finish with a whisper.
“I understand. Why delay things, right.”
“Right.”
An awkward silence falls between us as the light continues to brighten outside. I don't want to leave things on an awkward note with us, but in some ways, maybe it would be easier without a drawn out goodbye. We'll still have all those memories of our time spent together to warm us on bitter nights. What does a single goodbye matter?
It's almost as if Jackson's reading my thoughts, because he stands on cue.
“I guess I should get back. You know, to my family and packing and everything. The train to my outpost is leaving in a couple of hours.”
“Sure. I guess you've got more goodbyes than I do.”
We walk to the door together and he moves to open it. I feel a heavy pang in my gut as his hand slides over the handle, wondering if I'll ever see him again after this.
“Jackson,” I whisper.
He turns and sees my shining eyes, wet again with tears. Then he steps closer to me and kisses me, my first ever kiss.
“That's my goodbye, Cyra. I'll never forget about you.”
And before I can tell him how I feel, he's gone, slipping out of the door and away into the hot morning sun.
6 - Road to New Atlantis
It's soon after Jackson leaves that I get another knock at the door. When I open it, I see the stiff face of the short tester woman standing before me, her white skin already beginning to glisten from the morning heat.
“Good morning, Cyra. Are you feeling a little better today?”
I stare at her blankly.
“Well, you were ill were you not, during the Duty Call? That's why you ran out. Don't worry dear, it does happen quite often. It's the nerves, you see.”
I nod, but still don't answer.
“May I come in?”
I glance around to make sure the door to my mother's room is shut. I know they'll be coming to pick up her body soon, but would rather this woman not see her. I doubt she even knows she's just died.
I move back and shut the door behind her as she steps into the room. There's a metronomic way in which she walks, almost like she's a robot. Perhaps she is.
She briefly looks around the interior of my living quarters and gives off a funny sort of exhale. “Things are truly about to change for you, young lady. Your quarters in Eden will be far nicer than this.”
I want to smack her in the mouth, but all I do is clench my fist by my side. I don't think she means it spitefully. I think it's just a statement of fact from an objective point of view. Frankly, most living quarters are likely to be nicer than what we have. For me, though, it's home.
“When do I leave?” I ask, my voice empty and shallow.
“Well, that's what I'm here for. Right now, actually.”
I nod my head. It's fine by me. The sooner I leave, the better.
“Now, before we go, we need to assign you your code. Hold out your left arm please.”
I know what's coming. Every new adult is assigned a code so that they can be kept tabs on. It's like a barcode, written onto your wrist. Each day when you turn up to perform your duty, it's scanned. If you don't work, you don't get the same amount of rations. Those who regularly miss work will get strikes. Too many of those, and they can be banished outside of the Divide to fend for themselves.
Apparently it's a fair system where people only get paid for what they do. In this society, everyone is expendable if they're not contributing. Having a barcode written into your wrist is the most efficient way of knowing just who's carrying their weight, and who isn't.
I hold out my arm, as instructed, and the woman lifts a small contraption from her bag. She presses a button and it clicks open into a large metal wristband. She slips it over my hand and presses another button. This time it clamps shut, closing tight around my left wrist.
“Now this will sting a little bit,” she says, before activating the device.
I feel an immediate sensation of burning on the bottom of my left wrist. It's intense, but lasts only a few seconds before quickly cooling. I watch as the device glows a strange colour of red before turning blue.
“Right,” says the woman, raising her eyebrows. “All done.”
She unclips the device and neatly packs it back into her small bag.
I look at the underside of my wrist, which is now written in a strange series of black lines and dots.
“That's unique to you,” she says. “It's part of your identity now.”
“Great,” I say.
“OK, there's a hoverbus downstairs waiting for us now. It's going to take us to the coast. There are a few people we'll be picking up and dropping off on the way, so we really must get going.”
Us. Fantastic. So she's coming too.
“By the way, my name is Leeta. If you're to be an Edenite, you should really know my first name.”
She puts out a hand and I begrudgingly take it. “Nice to officially meet you, Cyra, as a brand new member of Eden.”
I have nothing to say in reply. Member of Eden. Like suddenly I'm special enough to warrant an official introduction, just because I'm going to Eden. And what about each duty being as important as the next? What about each person being as important as each other?
Unfortunately, my mother taught me too well to be polite, so I shake back and return the compliment. “And you, Leeta.”
She smiles. “Excellent. Now let's get going. Time is ticking.”
With that, she steps back towards the door, pulls on the handle, and moves out into the corridor. I follow, fetching my bag as I go.
“Oh, you won't need that. You'll be provided with everything you need in Eden.”
“I'm taking it,” I say, my tongue a little sharp. “They're my personal things.”
“Oh, right. OK, that's...fine. Bring it if you wish.”
As she marches off down the corridor, I feel myself locked in place. Locked in the doorway outside my living quarters, my eyes glancing back at my mother's door. Soon they'll come and fetch her body to be prepared for her cremation. They'll be no special service. Just a few gathered people, saying their own prayers and perhaps a few words for her as her body is burned to ash.
I hear Leeta calling my name behind me, telling me we're in a rush. I take a final deep breath and glance around the room. The place I've lived my whole life. The place where I knew my father, where I loved my mother, where I grew up with my brother and sister, laughing and playing when the world was more simple.
One final look at my childhood. One final look at my family. And then the door shuts tight in front of my eyes.
When I turn I see Leeta hurrying me on with a frantic gesture of her hands and I begin moving towards her. I don't rush. I don't run. I won't do what this woman tells me.
I reach her and we move together out into the sunlight. It's oppressively hot, as it is most days, and Leeta quickly unfurls an umbrella to shade us over the very short trip to the floating craft ahead of us. I've only ever seen a hoverbus, or a hover vehicle of any kind, on a couple of occasions. Usually when someone important comes through town to check up on things.
Today will be my first time inside one, though. It sits just above the ground by a foot or so, gently swaying up and down as blue lights blaze beneath it. Leeta steps up first before folding up her umbrella and giving a wide smile to the driver.
“OK, Cyra, please make yourself comfortable somewhere.”
I climb on as she sits down just behind the driver and begins quizzing him on
the journey. The change in heat is immediate as I step inside and the door slides shut. It's so cool, as cool as a winter's night, and I feel an immediate shudder run through my body.
Inside I see a few familiar faces from school, as well as many I don't recognise from other towns. They each sit in plush grey cushioned chairs, set against the white interior of the bus. Those that recognise me give me the same looks I got yesterday at the Duty Call. Some offer resentment and jealousy, yet others pity, most likely because they've heard about my mother.
I carefully walk down the middle of the bus as it whirs to life and gently rises higher above the dirt.
“Sit down before we start,” I hear the driver say. I turn to see his eyes staring at me in the mirror, waiting for me to find a seat.
I move towards the back, shielding myself from staring eyes, until I hear a sweet voice sounding from the rear.
“Hey, Cyra!”
I look up and see Amy Appleby sitting right at the back with a spare seat next to her.
“Sit with me, honey.”
I find it impossible not to smile when I see her. She stands and gives me a hug, before taking the bag from my shoulder and stowing it in a compartment above our heads.
Another shout from the driver forces us to quickly take our seats, which are impossibly comfortable and soft against my legs. I look over to see a holographic image floating in front of Amy's eyes, shining out from a small bead of light on the seat in front of her.
She reaches forward and presses a button, and immediately the image of a man and a woman dancing disappears.
“Have you used one of these before?” she asks.
I shake my head. We didn't even have a television in our house.
“You'll get used to them where you're going I reckon,” she says. Unlike others, I think she's genuinely happy for me. She must be the only one.
“So, are you nervous?” she asks.
I guess I am, but my nerves are hidden deep within. Deep beneath the numbness that's currently engulfing me.