by Luna, David
“Three weeks ago,” she explains. “Before we even met.”
“Three weeks?” Neil thinks to himself. He crunches the numbers. A volunteer is only allowed a Collection Date of up to twenty one days from enrollment, which would put Inna’s date at any time now. He sucks a vial of her blood with his sample device and runs it through the identity database. Within moments, his scrolling PDA locks onto a match:
Name: Inna Klein
Age: 25
Sex: Female
Height: 163cm
Weight: 52kg
And written in what seems to be bold letters:
Collection Date: +1 Days
Which means Inna is scheduled to be processed tomorrow, and today it is already nearly nightfall.
“Why would you do this?” Neil demands.
“I’m his second partner. You only get two,” Inna says, wiping her tears as she continues to justify herself. “He’ll be left by himself. What’s worse in this world than being alone?”
“So you give your life to punish him?”
“Everyone volunteers for their own reasons. You should understand that.” She turns her back and sulks. “But now you ruined it. You ruined everything.”
It’s true, he’s heard a hundred reasons why people volunteer, but it’s usually with noble intentions or because the person lost all hope in life. He’s never seen someone do it out of spite.
Neil crouches beside her, still taken aback by the revelation. Silence falls between them, their bodies blending in with the mountainous landfill.
Back on the second floor of Inna’s antique shop, Neil pours hot water from a kettle above an open flame.
“It takes knowing you’re going to die to really start to live,” he says, quoting her from when they first met out back in the junkyard. “That’s how you were able to be so cheery?”
“What was I supposed to do?” she asks rhetorically. “Kill him? If I did that he wouldn’t suffer. Or kill myself? You know the rule on suicide. It’s a loophole. He’d just get reassigned another partner. We’re surrounded by the Wall so there’s nowhere to run.” She sips from the hot water trying not to revert back into tears. “No, I knew if I volunteered he’d be forced to live out the rest of his days alone. Days where he couldn’t beat anyone. Days where no one would be here to take care of him when his arm won’t allow it. To cook for him even though it’ll never compare to Tess and how she did it. To pleasure him. To mask his loneliness with a fake smile.” Just then her own face turns sour. “He has no one else in this world and to me there’s no greater punishment than that.”
“But now you’re in the system,” Neil explains the cold hard truth. “Regardless of what happened, there’s no going back.”
“So that’s it then? You take away my reason for volunteering and I’m still left to die?”
“You knew the end result when you signed up,” Neil responds. Even he realizes how harsh that sounds. Protocol can be brutal.
“Who’s going to Collect me?” she asks, not wanting to continue with her follow-up question but she needs to know. “Is it you?”
“We’re not issued our assignments until the day of,” he says, his eyes breaking away. “It could be me.”
Her head falls to her hands, the realization hitting at last. She’s going to die and there’s nothing she can do about it. She sobs.
Neil awkwardly places his arm on her shoulder. His voice cracks as he attempts to hum a piece of her melody, something that always makes him feel better. It draws a smile through her wall of tears.
“You still have the right to live for one more night,” he says.
“Don’t stop,” she whispers.
Neil resumes the melody. With a soft touch, he brushes the hair from her eyes, then wipes the tears from her cheek. What he does next goes against all better judgment, all protocols, all penal codes, and all common sense. For the fundamental trait that makes us human, reawakening deep inside ever since Neil met Inna in the junkyard and now finally bursting through its shielded cage upon the revelation of her doomed fate, Neil is compelled to take that next emotional leap. He extends his thumb, index, and pinky fingers into the hand signal he learned back at the Bayou Sector from Elijah and Abby.
“It means…,” Neil begins to explain.
“I know,” Inna interrupts, returning the hand signal, their fingers intertwining, each confessing their true feelings without words. She takes his hand and holds it against her face. “Stay with me tonight,” she asks.
Neil kisses her, tinder and passionate, then holds her in a tight embrace, the first real intimate moment either of them has ever had.
Morning comes, and Inna sleeps curled up on the cot, the same cot Neil recovered on after the Brigade’s IED explosive demolished his utility truck. Rays of light trickle through the white curtain covering the window, though it can’t block out the constant barrage of dust filtering in from the dry outside air.
Neil sways back and forth in the rocking chair with his PDA in hand, his eyes glued to Inna’s profile, specifically to the information recently updated by Adrianne back in the Dispatch Department:
Collection Date: 0 Days
Collection Time: 12:00pm
Assigned Collectors: Raymond Rossio & Garrison Trepp
Status: N/A
Submitted by: N/A
Neil glances to a music box clock on the shelf next to Inna’s grandmother’s wedding photo of the angel statue. It’s 07:30am.
“It’s a weird feeling,” Inna’s voice interrupts. He glances over to see Inna sitting upright. “Knowing it’s your last day,” she continues.
“Maybe not. There might be a way,” he responds. Inna cocks her head, not following. “You just need to be submitted and logged into the system.”
“Yeah, and then they take me away.”
“Or they take someone they think is you.”
“I don’t understand.”
“The only way to verify an assignment is through a blood sample. It’s protocol, everyone follows it,” Neil explains as he moves to the cot and takes her hand. “But if we submit someone else with your sample, it’ll register it’s you and close out your assignment.”
“Another person shouldn’t suffer because of my decision,” Inna refutes.
“But what if that person already volunteered?” Neil counters. “They made their choice.”
“And I made mine. Why should I get a second chance?”
Neil holds her arms. “A short while ago a girl helped me when others wanted me dead. Now it’s time to return the favor. You’ve helped me see things I haven’t seen before. You make me feel…,” he pauses from continuing. No words could describe what he feels, and even if he knew them, he’s not sure he is ready to say them. “All we need is a volunteer,” he says. He runs a search on his PDA. “You still have the rations you were compensated with?”
Inna digs out a plastic card from the base of the music box. “I was going to donate it,” she explains. “Give the slums the choice of how to use it.”
Neil takes the ration card, then rises and zips up his black combat uniform.
“Wait, I’m going with you,” Inna says as she jumps up and slips on her shoes. Neil turns to protest, but she raises her hand to stop him. “I have to know who it is.”
Neil doesn’t argue.
One door. Two doors. Three doors slam on Neil and Inna’s face as they go door-to-door in the slums.
“Good morning. Are you interested in moving up your Collection Date?” Neil asks a woman before he is rejected.
“Hey there little one,” he says to a little girl answering the door. “Is your sister home?”
“She ran away…,” the little girl responds. “She didn’t want to die.”
An old man opens the door. “Sorry, wrong door,” Neil apologizes.
Neil looks at the time on his PDA screen. It’s already past 10:00am. He fails at half a dozen more shacks, no one wanting
to give up what little time they may have left and move up their Collection Date, until Mrs. Shea answers her door.
“Can we speak about your daughter?” Neil asks. To his surprise, Mrs. Shea steps aside to allow him in. He waves Inna over.
Inside the Shea House, a clock with a cracked screen reads 11:20am. On one side of the shack, Neil negotiates in soft whispers with Mr. and Mrs. Shea, while on the opposite side Inna sits across from their daughter, Kerra Shea, at a table.
Young at just sixteen, Kerra remains slouched in her chair, her damp eyes glazed over and consumed with self-pity. Inna stares as the sad girl wipes her nose with a tissue, curious to know more about the volunteer that might potentially replace her in the tunnels.
“He hit you,” Inna assumes knowingly, reading into Kerra’s body language and relating to her hopeless defeat.
Kerra shakes her head no.
“How old are you?” Inna then asks. “Fifteen? Sixteen?”
Kerra slowly nods to confirm.
“And him? Older?”
Kerra again slowly nods yes.
Inna squints and cocks her head, about to continue to prod until just then it hits her. She covers her mouth with compassion, the revelation catching her off guard. “He just got assigned,” she realizes. She briefly recalls when she was a teenager, back before the codes of the Agency forced her together with Damian when she turned eighteen. While she wasn’t secretly going on unauthorized dates before she came of age like Kerra seemed to be doing, it was still arguably the worst day of her life.
Kerra can barely keep it together. “We knew this day would come,” she laments as she blows her nose again. “We were going to figure something out. But now that he’s been paired, he doesn’t want to figure something out. He says it’s easier to comply.” Kerra slouches in her chair, not a shred of hope in her tiny heartbroken body. “He doesn’t want me anymore.”
Inna awkwardly reaches to touch Kerra’s hand, but stops herself, a dreary situation for both of them to be in.
Back on the opposite side of the shack, Neil attempts to wrap up the discussion with Kerra’s parents.
“She already volunteered, so there’s no voiding it and she’ll be gone once her Collection Date hits,” he explains. “But as I’ve laid out for you, I’ll pay you double if you let me take her early.”
“That’s three days we’re losing with our daughter,” Mr. Shea points out.
“I completely understand. But consider the sum of rations,” Neil reminds them. “Are three days valued more than an extra life’s worth of compensation? You could use it. Sell it. Give it.”
Mr. and Mrs. Shea exchange glances. “We do need the water,” Mrs. Shea divulges.
“That’s our daughter, we can’t do that to her,” Mr. Shea protests.
“You heard the man. She’s already slated to die. She made her choice,” his partner argues, bitter at her daughter’s selfish and rash decision. “We’re the ones who have to keep living, she’s leaving us. At least let us be better off from it.”
“I’m sorry for the urgency,” Neil interrupts as he steps between them, “but I need an answer. I can allow time for a quick goodbye, but not much else.” Neil impatiently waits for the elder parents to make up their minds. “Do we have a deal?”
In less than fifteen minutes, after all compensation and handshakes have been exchanged, Neil leads Kerra to the rear of his utility truck – a somber death march. Inna moves in to hug her, but Neil raises his hand and shakes his head no. He then helps Kerra inside and latches the double doors shut.
Mr. and Mrs. Shea hug each other while watching from the porch. Mrs. Shea clutches a faded baby photo of Kerra as she continues to put on a strong front, knowing this was the last time she’ll ever see her daughter. She finally breaks down once the utility truck pulls away, devastated, her husband doing his best to silently console her.
Inna crouches near the passenger floor during the quiet drive towards the transfer tunnels, hiding from view, while Neil can’t help but stare at Kerra in the rearview mirror, dried tears on her cheeks. He knows everyone has a choice and Kerra made hers, but that doesn’t make this any easier. Similar to Inna, Kerra allowed her emotions to drive her decision to volunteer, yet she doesn’t have a Collector helping her like Inna does. There are probably thousands of others around the city in the same situation, hopeless souls who have given up – exactly what the Agency relies most heavily on. Neil rotates the mirror away before grabbing Inna’s hand.
The remainder of the drive is completely silent as Neil shifts his focus to the second half of their plan. Somehow he is going to have to submit Kerra in Inna’s place without any of the tunnel SEOs noticing.
******
Posthumous
Have you ever thought about what you want to happen to your body after you die? Assuming you don’t sell yourself beforehand, there aren’t that many options available since cemeteries became against code (seriously, does everything require water???). Cremation? Donate it to the Processing Facility for free disposal? For me, I’d like to be put in the Bay and see where the current takes me!
-Quado
16
Arriving at the transfer tunnels, Neil backs the utility truck close to the gated entrance. He collects Inna’s blood sample with his device, then rotates the barrel to load an empty cartridge.
“What if this doesn’t work? Are you going to turn me in?” she worries.
“Make sure you stay out of sight,” Neil responds coldly, all business. He’s spent the entire silent drive over mentally prepping for what is about to unfold. He flings open the door.
As is the norm, a Check-In Guard operates the kiosk station while a Gate Guard works the wrought iron gate leading into the tunnels. Neil nods to them before unlatching his truck’s rear doors.
“How many this time?” Check-In Guard asks.
No response. Neil simply helps Kerra climb out of the back, silent throughout the task.
Inna peers from the truck’s rear window and glimpses Neil escorting Kerra to the kiosk, the same kiosk she will be checked into if the plan doesn’t work. Just then, the low rumble of an engine growing in the distance steals her attention – it’s another utility truck. Inna’s eyes go wide.
Inside the second utility truck, Raymond drives while Garrison reviews his PDA, the two Collectors en route on their mission.
“Assignment’s name is Ina. Eye-na. Eeeeena,” Garrison stumbles over the pronunciation. “That’s an odd name.”
“And yours ain’t?” Raymond counters.
“Garrison’s a strong name,” Garrison proudly proclaims, ready to veer on an unnecessarily talkative tangent to prove his point when instead he spots Neil’s truck backed near the tunnel. “Humph,” he scratches his head. “No one else was assigned here today.”
“Let’s check it out,” Raymond suggests, turning the wheel for the detour. “If it’s Cecil I say we mess with his truck again.” The partners laugh at their past shenanigans.
Back at the tunnel, Neil presents Kerra to Check-In Guard.
“Who do we got here,” Check-In Guard asks.
“It’s in the database.”
“You Collectors never were ones for small talk,” Check-In Guard quips.
Neil offers to take the sample, but Check-In Guard refuses. “You know the protocol,” he says as he reaches for his own device.
Of course Neil knows the protocol. He’s the master of protocol. He’s memorized every line in each of their Standard Operating Procedures, every subsection to each section of the penal codes, and right now he wishes he didn’t. It’s that knowledge of what Check-In Guard will and won’t do that currently sends his heart rate into the red. He fidgets as Check-In Guard takes Kerra’s sample and begins to run it through the kiosk database.
“When’s the last time you had that serviced?” Neil asks, intending to plant doubt in the guard’s mind in case things don’t go as planned. Perhaps he’ll be able t
o talk his way out of this if it turns sour.
“Last week,” Check-In Guard replies. “Wouldn’t want to make a mistake now, would I?”
There goes Neil’s contingency plan. He masks his worry from Inna, still secretly peering out at them, but his stomach drops when he notices the oncoming utility vehicle.
Simultaneously the database locates a match, Kerra Shea, with all the usual information, including COLLECTION DATE: +3 DAYS.
“You sure you got the right person?” Check-In Guard says only half jokingly. Just then he notices Raymond parking beside Neil’s truck. “Great, more of you,” he says, becoming partially distracted.
Neil uses the distraction to take Kerra’s sample with his own device, then slyly spins the barrel back one click to reload Inna’s cartridge before handing it over.
“Double-check it,” he orders.
Check-In Guard rolls his eyes, but complies nonetheless. This time the kiosk scans and locks onto Inna’s profile, her Collection Date listed correctly at 0 Days.
“Ah, there we are,” Check-In Guard says, though his brow furrows as he reads over the profile closer. He looks to Kerra. “You look young for twenty-five.”
Neil steps in front of her before she can react. “I’d have yours recalibrated,” he suggests. “Wouldn’t want to make a mistake.”
Doors slam as Raymond and Garrison hop out of their vehicle. Inna tries to squeeze behind the seat inside the truck, then under the seat, hearing the Collectors’ footsteps approach. She contorts her body under the dash just as Garrison peers in the window.
“Yo Neil, Slayter got you doing all the work?” he shouts towards the kiosk.
Neil ignores them while Check-In Guard changes Inna’s status to SUBMITTED, then logs in the field, SUBMITTED BY: NEIL VAUGHN.
“Didn’t learn your lesson the last time you were out here by yourself?” Raymond mocks as he and Garrison approach the kiosk.
Neil escorts Kerra away towards the wrought iron gate just as the Collectors arrive.
“Who’s that?” Raymond asks Check-In Guard.