by P. S. Lurie
It was only when the water reached the base a couple of months later, and we understood that the panes of glass were to keep tabs on the rising sea, that dead bodies started floating into view, being dragged around by the current. The Upperlanders had only pushed the corpses to either side, barely out of view.
For the rest of the year following the reveal, we watched the water crawl ever upwards, far exceeding what was once known as Total Flood, and with it the demise of the Middlelands. It was a constant reminder that the Upperlanders were right: we should be grateful to be here because there was nowhere else left to be.
As I look at the glass blockade, one year later, the water has now reached almost to the top of the Fence, ferocious, a few metres off the summit at high tide, declaring that our previous community ceases to exist at all except for those of us here that survived the cull. Only us and the unwanted memories and ghosts that we can’t shake off. Thoughts of our houses and our loved ones being submerged are too difficult to fathom so no one mentions it and we try not to dredge it up. But the transparent panes do a good job at reminding me of a miserable fact: Henry and Jason and my mother and everyone else we left behind have no final resting place.
Another cheer goes up in the crowd, bringing my attention away from the glass and straight ahead, as I watch the beginning events of the monthly announcement. An elevator climbs the height of the Fence and stops at the top. The doors open on the other side and guards walk out. Shortly after that they wave a helicopter into place but I know this detestable sound is coming so I prepare myself by digging my nails into my palms and my head stays firmly in the present time; I can’t afford to lose ten minutes, the average time my mind switches off when I fade to black at these moments.
President Callister climbs out of the helicopter, as gracefully as anyone stooping out of a deafening machine can, accompanied by two more policemen in full uniforms that I first saw on the night of the cull; a similar silhouette but sleeker, as if the outfits have been upgraded since I gave Jason’s to Selene. I don’t flinch at any point during the din of the helicopter as I did for the first few announcements because history has taught me that we aren’t in danger.
We aren’t in danger from this helicopter but the two people dragged out of it are.
It’s impossible to tell who they are because, as usual, they are not only handcuffed but there are bags over their heads. But what is fascinating is that there are only two people. There are usually many more.
Many more ungrateful and disloyal Middlelanders deemed to be only good enough for execution by being thrown over the side of the Fence and drowned in front of the entire population.
In full view.
Because watching these murders is why the panes of glass were also built.
Selene
I look down at the Middlelanders and then up towards President Callister, who is joined by two people ready to be executed. I am disgusted at them before I even know what they did to deserve this fate because whatever they did jeopardised us all. I collude with the rest of the onlookers who respond with a series of boos: I start to jeer, awkwardly at first but then the crowds’ conviction encourages me to raise my voice, still frail but louder than it has ever been. Nathaniel squeezes my hand and we turn to one another as he grins at me. I have no hesitation that these criminals do not deserve to be here and I am appalled that they were lucky enough to become a part of our perfect society only to be proven ungrateful by attempting to destroy it from the inside.
They do not deserve to be here and I am pleased they soon no longer will. As President Callister says, the threat of society falling apart will not suffice. Their punishment is a necessary evil to keep the rest of us safe in what is an extraordinary civilisation. And we need to filter them out before we relocate to the Utopia. I am glad that these people will be taken care of before we set sail with only those deserving to be saved.
I am not comforted that only two people are deemed bad enough for this month’s execution because if history is correct then surely there are more out there getting away with further misdemeanours. I cast my mind to previous announcements and the numbers of people dealt with; many more than today. Maybe we have almost eradicated the ungrateful and disloyal, I think to myself, and I am comforted instead by the thought that harmony may be a near possibility.
But it disappoints me that the Middlelanders aren’t booing as we are. Surely they want to be promoted. A random voice to my right calls out. “They aren’t showing loyalty.”
I know what this stranger means. The muted Middlelanders are siding with those that will be killed, rather than with us. But no one seems to take much notice, lost in the raucousness and instead thinking he is referring to the guilty couple’s own disloyalty.
President Callister raises her hand, which the screens zoom in on and a hush descends on us. At once the entire Upperlanders is still and waiting on her next word. Only the sound of distant water smacking into the Fence can be heard. I glance at the glass panel and see the murky ocean has soared higher than it ever appeared to on television. It panics me because a strong current would be enough to sweep over the side and take out our courageous President. I don’t know how society would function without her, but then my heart speeds up at the idea that she may imminently announce the move onto the Utopia. She deserves all of the adoration bestowed upon her, and I know how to complement this in my own humble way.
“Nathaniel,” I say, over the crowd. “Let’s do it. We’ll be the first couple to marry on the Utopia.” I want President Callister to dance at my ceremony. I want her to be proud of me.
“Sure thing princess.” He kisses my cheek.
The sea brushes against the glass in the Fence, a calming swooshing sound, no longer seeming dangerous to me because I can see the opportunities for the future if we are flooded out.
President Callister’s voice spreads clearly through the speakers built along the Fence. “Thank you all for attending this month’s announcements.”
The top of the Fence is too high up for us to see her in good definition but the camera crew is working hard around us to project her face up close. She is confident, assured, trustworthy. According to Nathaniel I had the pleasure of seeing her once in passing and that I applauded and had to restrain myself from telling her how much I admired her. I won’t hesitate to tell her that at my wedding, and I have never wanted to be married more than right now.
Our President can barely carry on for the cheering in between her sentences so she takes her time. “They seem to come around quicker each time,” she continues.
It’s not a particularly funny line but it evokes some bond between us all and hearty laughs emanate from the crowds. Somehow hearing her in the flesh rather than back at home on a delay is a far more emotive experience and I am overcome with awe by this woman. She follows this opening with short, sharp sentences. Nathaniel explained her style one day: enough rhetoric with plenty of breaks for cheers.
“Today is special. The Middlelanders have been here for a year exactly. A year since the Great Cull. It has been our pleasure to keep them tended to. Of course, this has meant a redistribution of our resources but I hope no one has gone too hungry.”
Before the Middlelanders arrived President Callister calculated that we could Rehouse a certain number of them if we made frugal choices; I don’t begrudge the Middlelanders but they have used up a lot of our electricity and I hope they are grateful for that. I know some of them haven’t been.
“We come to the unpleasant part of the announcement by removing those who have failed to demonstrate loyalty and gratitude for being here. However...”
President Callister lingers on the ‘however’ and she has my full attention as a hush descends on the crowd.
“However,” she repeats. “I have good news and I have bad news. The good news is that this month only a handful of Middlelanders found themselves in prison but not one person was deemed unworthy to carry on living.”
A huge cheer breaks
out. This is comforting but it doesn’t explain who the two to be executed are. I almost feel disappointment that there aren’t more.
“The bad news is that we are still too low on resources to Rehouse absolutely everyone onto the Utopia. Some of the people we tried to rehabilitate that were guilty of disloyalty during the Great Cull have not proven their worth. To this end, we cannot afford to continue trying to demonstrate to them that they are lucky to be here. Therefore, our execution will be brief. And it will be a reminder of those of us who dutifully lost their lives during the Great Cull. These executions will be in tribute of the Middlelanders who are not with us today.”
President Callister looks to the guards and they pull off the bags over the couple’s heads, revealing a middle-aged man and woman. The screens zoom in on their faces. There are gags around their mouths but from this distance their eyes reveal terror. They should’ve considered this moment for the past year when we were trying to help them.
“I would like everyone to join me in applause for those many, many other Middlelanders that were able to establish their loyalty and gratitude.”
I’m not sure I understand what she means but the screens cut to random shots of the crowds beneath me and I clap effusively, not just towards the Middlelanders to survive the Great Cull but to President Callister for her humility in executing only these two people for the benefit of the rest of us, and I watch on as the couple are pushed towards the edge of the Fence.
Ruskin
I arrive just as a speech starts but stay firmly at the back of the crowds, tutted at by a couple of guards who usher me in as a latecomer, after passing through a gate at the end of the tunnel that automatically identifies me: “Ruskin Peters. Status: Loyalty pending, Gratitude pending.” I figure the watch, similar to Jason’s, holds my details.
I guess that the miserable-looking people standing on this level are from the Middlelands, and that although plenty of us survived that night no one seems any more thrilled to be here than me. The noticeable exception to the mood is the woman, beaming away on the screens affixed to the Fence, the same person who one year ago seemed upset that many of us would die but, as I listen to her words, I learn that it was a ploy because there is no remorse in her tone. I move forward through the crowds and crane my neck behind me. On the balcony above, people applaud along with the most inane of ideas of what it means to be loyal and grateful, the same words bandied around by the three men who ordered my parents’ deaths. I am actually impressed because this leader has made people buy into her nonsense. She could say anything and they would believe her notions of sacrifices and duty, which makes sense because with the threat of mass execution she has managed to calm the masses. These must be the Upperlanders who were here all along and haven’t had to suffer any losses. They’re convinced by her, but are the Middlelanders convinced too? From their hush I assume not. Still, they don’t fight back. What have I missed this past year?
I continue to listen on as the woman announces that two disloyal people will die and I turn my attention to the masked couple who have been dragged out of the helicopter. I instantly recognise them from their clothes and the way the man’s legs hangs limp. I scream out but it’s lost as the crowds above me overpower my voice with their cheers. My personal horror becomes swept up, merging into the support, as if I too am cheering for the impending death of my parents. Only a few of the people around me turn to me, as if most are deliberately ignoring me and wishing not to be associated with someone horrified by what is happening.
“It is time,” the woman says through the speakers, with pure conviction, and she allows the words to hang in the air.
The guards shove my parents towards the back edge of the Fence and a cheer breaks out once more as a final push sends them over and out of view. According to the see-through glass portion of the Fence not much farther along, there isn’t too far of a fall to be had because the water is so high but it’s impossible to hear the splash above the roar of the crowd. My parents’ hands and mouths are bound so there is nothing for them to do but drown, and nothing for me to do but watch. I make sure to not look towards the glass section in case my parents are dragged that way by the current.
I think of the woman’s fatalistic words, that my family’s rehabilitation failed. If my parents’ past year was anything like mine it is not the truth at all. My parents were made examples of.
This woman should know who my parents were: good, honest people who didn’t deserve to be killed. “Lies,” I scream at the top of my voice, unable to hold back, instead hoping to shake some sense into those around me. “She’s telling lies.”
I carry on yelling and only stop when a pain at the back of my head forces me to do so.
Theia
I knew Ruskin through Henry, not well but close enough to have also met his older brother Jason a few times and seen his parents in passing. The little interaction I had with Ruskin was overcompensated by that hour spent with his older brother Jason during the cull last year, who died protecting me. Jason’s last words were to let his family know that he wanted to protect them. Apart from keeping Leda safe, seeking out information about Ronan, and helping Selma deal with her guilt towards Selene, I have spent the last year under the shadow of that promise, hoping to find Ruskin or one of his parents. But there was no news of them and no record when Melissa searched the hospital database. I didn’t know what to think but I owed it to Jason to keep searching for them.
Now I see that Mr and Mrs Peters are to be executed. Where have they been this past year? And Ruskin?
And then it is time for their deaths. Growls from above baying for the Peters’ blood fill the air as the couple are forcibly removed from the Upperlands, swallowed by the drowned world outside of the Fence. Fortunately for us, their bodies are not swept into view through the glass.
A voice stands out from the applause above, coming from behind me, moving closer through the crowds of lethargic Middlelanders.
I don’t need to wonder what happened to Ruskin for long because his cry from the back of the concourse pinpoints him. I know it’s him because only someone with nothing to lose would have the gall to counter the execution; it wouldn’t be the rest of us because we’ve been through this moment a year ago and we’ve watched plenty of executions since. We’ve lost already because our spirits were crushed long ago.
I look through the people between us until I see him, not far from me, as he drops to his knees. Those around Ruskin clear a circle so as to distance themselves and show that they are not colluding with this show of disloyalty. To survive the Upperlands we have had to be calculated in our approach but, after what Jason did for me, there is no chance I can leave Ruskin to suffer under the watchful eyes of everyone around him. He seems confused, unaware of the danger he is putting himself in, as if this is the first time he has witnessed the workings of this world.
Even though I put myself at risk, there’s no way I can let Ruskin be attacked without trying to calm him down but it’s too late because by the time I reach him a guard has slammed a baton into his head and knocked Ruskin to the ground.
I should retreat because why should this one boy have any importance to me but instead I hurry to his side and crouch down. I’m momentarily lost to a memory of my mother on the grass as I stand over her. She notices my lack of the necklace that I had traded in for fireworks earlier that day. No, I tell myself. Not now. I have to separate the past from the present...
Ruskin continues to breathe heavily whereas my mother took her final breath...
My mother’s face gives way to Ruskin’s, but he is dazed, maybe concussed. Where has he been this past year and why has he reappeared now?
Selma appears on the other side of Ruskin, also putting herself at risk and we try to help him to his feet. He opens his eyes and locks onto my face. It takes him a moment.
“Theia?”
“You have to be quiet or you’ll get into more trouble.” I glance up at the policeman ready to strike again, the U
pperlanders still cheering his parents’ death, oblivious or ignoring what’s happening beneath them.
“My parents.”
“I know.” I have been through this and there is nothing else to say to comfort him.
“No!” Ruskin shakes himself from his stupor, anger overcoming fear and pain, and he staggers to his feet even though wobbly. There is nothing he can do and no one he can take his rage out on but even still he continues to shout upwards. “What have you done to them?”
I’m surprised but President Callister somehow seems to hear and chooses to reply. Her voice radiates out of the speakers. “Are you not grateful that they gave their lives for yours?” Whether she recognises him as their son doesn’t really matter to her point, but of course it does to Ruskin. With President Callister’s acknowledgement, the Upperlanders scramble to see, the front row leaning over the balcony, and the camera crew run forward and point the cameras in our direction so everyone can be privy to this.
What must have happened shortly before the Peters’ drownings? We lived out our misery a year ago and now, according to President Callister in order to remind us of this moment, I work out that Ruskin’s family must have had to experience this today. I put my arms around him, to hug him but also to try to hold him back. “Please don’t do this. I’ll explain but you have to calm down.”
“Do you pledge loyalty to the Upperlands?” President Callister’s voice booms at him.
“Never,” Ruskin says, louder and clearer than I thought possible, which is the wrong answer.