by P. S. Lurie
This new woman has straight blonde hair, darkening at the roots. I am about to mention that whilst we are clutching at electricity this is a woman who has access to hair colouring products when something stops me in my tracks. My unease grows as I realise why. The woman is different to the others that have appeared before her in one striking way. Forget the plain white shirt or that she faces us head on, there’s something about her eyes. No, that’s not it. Just beneath her eyes. No makeup can hide the blotched, puffy redness.
She has been crying, and until recently by the looks of it. Then I notice that her body shudders as she prepares to speak. She is on the verge of tears.
Selene grabs my wrist noticing it too. I shake my head. On the off-chance they haven’t cottoned on, I don’t want my parents to worry.
The woman clears her throat but her first words come out dry and flat. I turn to my father who has scrunched his eyes in disbelief. Something is seriously wrong here. This is nowhere near as professional as any prior announcement. Usually we have to listen to some preamble about the state of the world but tonight the message is blunt and brutal:
‘The unprecedented rise of the water has exceeded our predictions about Total Flood. We cannot know when and where it will end and, as such, the Fence is our best defence. As you are aware the Lowerlands cease to exist and your Middlelands are diminishing rapidly. Strategies to prevent further catastrophe have been met with little success. It is time to act on all of our best interests. The Upperlands does not have the resources to provide for all of you but we are not careless barbarians. We share your pain and tonight we will offer you the best compromise that ensures maximum benefit. Benefit to all of us. To this end, we extend a welcoming hand to the Middlelands. No family will be unfairly treated.
‘At 5 a.m. tomorrow morning, guards will be sent from behind the Fence to collect one member of each family, and one member only, to be Rehoused in the Upperlands. Shortly before this time, we ask this person to stand outside their door with one suitcase of belongings and wait to be taken to their new barracks.
‘To prevent difficulties, we apologise for what needs to happen. Listen clearly: at this time the guards will terminate anyone else that is still alive. Further, to maintain calm, anyone trying to leave their house throughout the night will be shot on sight.
‘Before sunrise family members may, on this rare but necessary occasion, be allowed to end their own, or others’, lives as they wish.
‘It will be your choice who dies and how this should happen.
‘Due to limited resources, we will only Rehouse those who do not require extra care. Therefore, only those six years and above will be eligible to be Rehoused. Parents that have made the decision to bring their children into this world will have the honourable duty of removing them from it.
‘Special rules will be conveyed to anyone currently in a public building in due course.
‘I hope you are all pleased with the kindness we extend. Each and every one of us has a sacrifice to make, whether it is population or space. We appreciate your mandatory compliance with this process, which will enable the Middlelands to continue on in spirit through those chosen to be Rehoused.
‘As a courtesy, the electricity will continue through the night to allow for you all an agreeable final evening. Thank you for your cooperation and we look forward to meeting many of you tomorrow.’
With that, the television channel fuzzes out.
I take the woman’s sickening words in and play them over in my head. One person from each house will be moved to the Upperlands. Rehousing is finally happening. At least they came through on that. But then...
The caveat, the unmistakable horror that penetrates every bone in my body as it takes shape and makes me aware that I haven’t been dreaming: everyone else will be killed, either by the guards or by one another.
Selene jumps up. ‘I need to go.’
I’m too stunned to do anything but sink farther into the sofa. All I can think is that the future has caught up to us. I sink fast because, whilst we were waiting for gradual drowning, tonight is a flood.
Theia
Somehow I find myself standing next to my mother, holding Leda, taking in the reactions of my family and ready to laugh with them at the unfunny joke but all their faces have been washed of colour and I guess mine is a similar shade of murky grey. Only Ronan and my grandmother don’t seem affected, staring on at the television even though the picture is blank.
My mind is in overdrive, half lost in a daydream of disbelief and half echoing a phrase I just heard. Six years and above. Ronan makes the cut but Leda is nine months old. Without preparation I am already imagining a cruel, unbelievable list in which I can work out the family member to be Rehoused. There are my parents, my grandparents, Ronan and me. Six of us. According to the announcement, and forgetting Leda, only one can survive tonight. I shake that thought. I would never let anything of the sort happen. It’s all too... I don’t know... I’m dumbfounded.
My father clears his throat and I expect a speech about how this must be a mistake or that it’s implausible or that he will shout at the television screen but my father lost his fighting spirit years ago and instead he just smiles softly and speaks in his monotone voice. ‘Penelope has made a delicious meal. Let us eat before it becomes cold.’
He sits at the table and gestures for us to follow suit. My grandfather helps his wife of forty-nine years to her seat, which takes a while as she is frail and unsteady, and Ronan sits the other side of him. I watch the way he plays with his fork and doubt that he understood the announcement. My mother and I are left, side by side. She must be in more shock than me because I am the one to guide her to a seat before she collapses. She trembles the whole way and, even in autopilot whilst dishing out vegetables, she shakes so much that she spills most of the first spoonful onto the table.
I look along the hallway towards the street through the ratty net curtains hanging in front of the bay windows and think how strange it is that the streetlamps are still on. After a normal Surge our generator would keep our house lit for a few nights so the bright conditions in which we eat aren’t perplexing but the rest of the street is also lit and reminds me that not only will this be the last night to have electricity in this house but, if I am to believe the announcement, this will be the last night for us to be in this house at all.
I take over from my mother whose hands are uncharacteristically shaking, not a good trait for a surgeon, and fill everyone’s plates except my own as I have no appetite. I have effectively raised my siblings alone and cooked the meals whilst my mother has worked in the hospital but I don’t begrudge her. I owe it to Ronan and Leda after what I did all those years ago at the coast.
Of all days I went to the coast today. I can’t think about that right now, so I shake my mind clear before it latches onto the memory.
My mother raises her hand to her mouth. ‘The hospital,’ she gasps.
My father takes her fingers and wraps them into his. ‘There is plenty of staffing tonight. You’re here with your family.’ He turns to the rest of us. ‘I do not want to hear a word of this over dinner. We will eat. Ronan tell me about school.’
I see what my father is doing and admire his drive; this is the most I’ve heard him speak for months. But I don’t respect him for succumbing to the announcement without any outrage or scepticism. Ronan starts to talk about something trivial but my mind wanders and I tune out. I swallow hard as I make a rational decision to accept that death has been directed towards us and, looking at my passive family, I cannot ignore that it may be down to me to find a way out of this.
I push my chair aside, and walk out of the room and towards the front window. I stare out at the glowing houses across the way, at neighbours I have grown up alongside and wonder how they are taking the news. The street is still and I can’t fathom why there isn’t more commotion. Then I hear shouting from next door.
Selene
I’m in the hallway before Henry or his
parents can stop me, the perk of being built like a gazelle, a kind of lanky animal that used to roam before it, along with most other species, went extinct. I wonder how far towards our own extinction this night will take us. Didn’t someone once teach me that animals in their last throes of life will lash out? I feel my arms tense and rub my hands together to calm them but to no avail.
‘It’s not safe,’ Henry says, but I ignore him all the same. ‘They said anyone trying to leave will be shot.’
‘Ridiculous. It’s a hollow threat to stop us climbing over the Fence.’ I think of the few times I have heard of someone trying to sneak into the Upperlands. It’s hard to separate truth when multiple accounts come from those who actually witnessed these attempts and those who like to exaggerate, but no one could deny the seldom gunshots that would ring out across the neighbourhood. Even if a few people have attempted to scale the Fence no one has ever made it.
‘Don’t take the risk Selene. Please.’
If the announcement is serious, and there’s no reason to dispute it, I can’t afford to stay in this house any longer. It scares me that I’m so willing to accept tonight’s proceedings but I put my acquiescence on hold for now. ‘My mother will be worried,’ I lie. ‘I need to be with her.’ The truth is that the announcement has put an expiration date on all of our lives and my being here lowers the Argents’ chances. I wouldn’t put my life above any one of theirs so the obvious conclusion is to leave.
‘Stay and we’ll work something out. Maybe we can find a way to contact your mother,’ says Mrs Argent.
‘No, I should leave now. Maybe it’ll be safe outside for a while.’ Our police occasionally patrol the streets but not every night, leaving the housed to fend for themselves. I wonder what I have to lose by going if I’m going to die anyway. Besides, it’ll be easier than a drawn-out goodbye.
‘Please,’ says Henry.
‘I should have stayed at home after all,’ I snap back. ‘Would’ve made for an easier night for all of us.’ I consider my mother and I have been given a free, no-holds-barred pass to inflict pain on one another and... I’m not sure polite, mutual restraint would have lasted long.
I open the door and take one step outside when a shadow paces up the street and stops in front of the house. The silhouette extends to a gun, which glistens in the light. Even when intervening with trouble our police force never carried weapons, more than anything due to a lack of resources.
‘Stop right there,’ the man shouts with a heavy drawl that sounds foreign but I can’t place it.
‘I need to go.’
‘No one is to leave their house tonight. Did you miss the announcement? I can read it out for you. Maybe you need reminding.’
‘This isn’t my home,’ I plead as well as I can but my husky voice comes out more gruff and aggressive than I wanted and causes the man to take a step forward, under a streetlamp so that I can see the snarl plastered on his face.
‘It’s your home for tonight.’
I wonder how he can be so cruel yet calm, but I have no hesitation that he would shoot me if I took another step forward. Then his words seep through. I can read it out for you. If he has the announcement on paper then he has also had plenty of time to mull it over and come to terms with the news. We share your pain and tonight will offer you the best compromise that ensures maximum benefit. Perhaps he even believes that this death warrant is for our benefit. Benefit to all of us. I picture the image of the animal lashing out on its decline and remember that it was Henry who told me about it from one of the science journals his parents forced him to read. Something about only the strongest surviving, and my instinct tells me that tonight isn’t about kindness but selfishness, even if I don’t understand yet the motivation the guard has for Rehousing a few of us and leaving the majority dead.
In that moment I consider what little chance I have of surviving the night. Why would I want to be the scared animal struggling on for a few more hours when I could be put out of my misery? All I have to do is step forward. Run towards the man. A quick end.
But something stops me from giving up at this time. What is it, I can’t quite place yet.
Henry is by my side and wraps his arm around my waist. He is half a foot shorter and looks more like a younger sibling. The policeman obviously agrees when he nods at Henry. ‘Smart brother you got there,’ he says with a laugh, aware that only one of us can survive the night.
Henry whispers to me. ‘Come on. We’ll work this out.’ He closes the door, trapping the four of us together. I slink down against the wall, more helpless and pitiful than any time my mother knocked me to the ground. I feel sick at the thought of Henry wanting to protect me. The pit in my stomach grows even bigger when I consider Henry also cares about his parents, both his mother and father, and they there’s only one spot for the three of them.
Survival of the fittest. That was the phrase. But choosing who lives isn’t just about strength. It’s about love and compassion and all those other weaknesses that compromise us. I wonder how many families will sway towards sacrifice and how many others will do what it takes to outlast one another.
Then I wonder how much fight I have in me. I hope to god there’s another way to survive.
Theia
I crane my neck and push my forehead up against the glass but I can I can only see what looks like a heavily-armoured policeman who’s definitely not one of ours facing down Henry’s house. His presence brings the threat of this night one step closer to fruition. He wears a darker uniform than our guards and raises his sunglasses to rest on top of his head. Sunglasses at this time of day, when the sun is already out of the sky? It seems overkill but it adds to his menacing stance. I could stretch as far to say he looks ridiculous but since he’s holding a gun I suppose that what I think about him isn’t going to bother him too much.
The man jerks the gun towards the house and I let out a yelp but no one can hear me from here. I can’t let him kill anyone because this must all be a misunderstanding and another announcement will surely rectify it. But I can’t pretend this isn’t our fate: one way or another, our deaths have already been ordained.
The policeman lowers his gun and I breathe a sigh of relief but I crease my brow at something else peculiar. I am aghast that not one member of my family has risen from the table and joined me, instead that they have chosen to ignore the altercation next door. Henry’s parents are their friends and Henry is mine. I can just about see my parents through the doorway and neither seems the least interested in the raucous.
The window bay is at a difficult angle and I can’t see farther than halfway up Henry’s path so I am not sure who the policeman is talking to. For a better view I unscrew the bolt on the pane and lift it up although it has been a long time since anyone tried to unlock it so it takes some effort. The window is heavy and grates on itself so I can only raise it a fraction but enough for me to hear the policeman.
‘Smart brother you got there.’
Henry’s an only child and I have no idea what he’s talking about.
I tug at the window and it budges enough for me to hear Henry’s door close but I don’t have time to see who was involved in the conversation. The noise I created draws the policeman’s attention to me. ‘Stay in your house little lady.’ He pats his gun in the holster, lowers his tinted glasses, although I still don’t see why when the night is settling in, and smirks as he walks past my house and out of sight.
I close the window and screw the bolt tight. A memory that has been lost for years awakens.
One wintery day when I was much younger, still in the phase of enjoying school and still far from realising the predicament the world was in, my teacher led the class into the assembly hall. Excitedly Henry and I recognised our parents in the crowd and waved whilst orchestrated onto mats in the middle of the room, aware that we were given pride of place. Our attentions were turned to a white canvas that took up most of the front wall and then there was a whirring as the screen came to life. This w
as shortly after electricity stopped flowing and was one of the earliest Surges. I can’t remember much that was distinguishable about the man in front of the screen other than he told us this was a treat from the Upperlands, who had neither forgotten about our plight nor the recent demise of the Lowerlands. At this time the borders were more obscure but already land had been renamed. The phrases we heard sounded fresh but we would learn over the years what little truth they held.
I do recall that the man wore bright tailored clothes and donned a neat beard. His cool demeanour enamoured me. As soon as he had stopped talking, the screen took to life with a montage of scenes of famous movies, from back when they were still being made and carefree people had nothing better to do with their lives than fill them with frequenting cinemas. My father was something of a storyteller at that time and I even recognised some of the scenes being played out from his bedtime tales. The clips went on for hours and not a single person could draw their eyes away from the bold colours and glorious music. We grinned at love stories, laughed at comedies, gasped at action films, and shrieked at the few horror clips, which were all over before they began and no parent intervened at the terror in front of us; nothing matched the horror of our own world.