by P. S. Lurie
Stay in your house little lady.
The policeman’s words sounded like the actor in one scene that my father told me later was a western, about cowboys living on ranches, attacked by outsiders. He mocked their language and the way they’d yell dramatically. Then he’d make me hysterical by riding an imaginary horse and throwing around an imaginary lasso.
The way the policeman spoke perfectly encapsulated the style of the cowboy and I shiver at the idea that this man is enjoying his role.
I took one other thing away from that afternoon in the school hall, which was the panic that was brought to us as soon as we stepped outside into the bright setting sun that hurt our eyes after being in the dark for so long. People had come from the boundary at the Upperlands and reported that, whilst we sat in the makeshift movie theatre, steel walls went up around the Upperlands.
We called it the Fence. The divide happened that quickly and cruelly.
Henry
Selene is furious and I don’t blame her but I also don’t know how to calm her down. She thinks the policeman was bluffing but when given the authority to kill any one of us what is there to stop him? A conscience? A pang of guilt? Refrain at killing an innocent teenager?
I’m not stupid. From the novels and non-fiction tomes my parents have made me read, people put into difficult situations will comply when commanded to do so. I’m sure the policeman has his reasons.
I want to talk to Theia about this, to get her take on things and see what solutions she’s come up with. I try to imagine what she’d make of this situation and how she would rationalise it but I come up blank. I figure her mother is at the hospital and try to remember what the woman giving the announcement said about public buildings. Weighing it up, it’s probably a good thing she’s there. That leaves Theia, Ronan, Leda and their father and my heart sinks for them all.
Selene breaks my chain of thought. ‘I have to go,’ she says again.
‘You saw the gun,’ I say with irritation, displacing my anger onto an easy target. ‘It’s not safe out there.’ I see the hurt on her face and regret any time I raise my voice to Selene as I think of her mother shouting and know that she doesn’t deserve it coming from all sides.
‘So I just wait here a few hours and get shot come morning? That sounds marvellous. You can’t stop me from going.’
‘It’s suicide. Stay for a while and we can work out what to do. We can,’ but she cuts my foolish mouth off with a simple gnarl of her teeth.
‘We can ask Theia right? That’s what you were going to say. That she’ll know what to do? Let me guess, Theia’s probably immune from this.’
I notice that my parents have slunk away to the living room and I realise that arguing is going to get us nowhere but I rack my brains for something to rectify the situation and again the words fail me. I must look pathetic because not even Selene carries on berating me. Her expression crumbles into despair. She sits on the bottom rung of my staircase, staring ahead into the middle distance, playing back the announcement in her mind.
‘I’m sorry,’ she says after a while. I join her on the stairs. ‘I’m being selfish. Can you believe this?’
I shake my head.
‘I don’t know... the announcement must seem crazy to you but deep down I knew it would come to this. Not this exactly but we knew what the Upperlanders must have been like to put off Rehousing for years whilst the world flooded around us. They’re heartless and sadistic but I didn’t think it would be this bad. I told you they’d never let us through the Fence but this is sick. Is it a game to them? To watch us destroy one another? Who’d even want to go tomorrow?’
‘My parents,’ I whisper, afraid they can overhear but it’s not like they are thinking any differently and it’s not my job to protect them from what’s happening. There’s no going to sleep and ignoring it and waking up in the morning to see that the horror has passed over our house. In just over ten hours there will be a knock on the door and I’m not sure leaving our fate to an intruder is preferable.
I head up the stairs and Selene follows me into my room, which seems smaller than it used to, no longer a refuge from the dangers inside but a prison cell on death row, a depraved holding block we unnecessarily and mercilessly learnt about at school.
I stretch out on my bed and Selene takes a spot next to me on the side in which she always sleeps when she stays over. From this position, the window is above head height and, whilst I can usually see into Theia’s room when standing up, my view now scrapes her roof and carries on towards the starless sky. There is a mouldy glow around the quarter crescent moon from the pollution and, unlike the peacefulness of a full moon devoid of the cover of electricity, the sharp edge cuts into the cloudless sky as if slicing it open. I look around my room at my belongings and start imagining weapons out of my possessions. We’ve been primed to think about death.
‘We could escape Henry.’
I thought of this too, I want to say, but the same idea must occupy every household around the neighbourhood yet not one person will be leaving their house. For the whole of the Middlelands with this predicament, escape must sound like the best bet, except there’s one problem that outweighs all the many reasons for trying: we have nowhere to turn.
‘To where?’ The words hang heavy in the air, suffocating us until it is unbearable and I let out a heavy sigh. Selene knows it and I know it and everyone else that has thought it must know it too. Escape is impossible. So little of the planet remains habitable. Not so long ago we thought we were the lucky ones to have a home on solid ground but even that has been eroded away and any plans to build floating masses on the seas failed. To one side is the ocean and to the other is the Fence. Some of us may be Rehoused in the morning but for the rest there is nowhere and nothingness.
Selene breaks the silence. ‘We could take a boat.’
For the briefest moment my body tenses as I flashback to a few years ago. It was not our fault, I tell myself. I’ve played the game of denial so long that I almost believe it. I’ve waited for punishment that maybe tonight is karma and my turn to face up to what happened. I wonder if Theia is thinking the same. I swallow the thought away, my underlying guilt from that day the last thing I need to resurface right now.
‘We could try,’ Selene says, recapturing my attention.
I pawn off her suggestion. ‘Let’s say we evade the patrollers and make it to the ocean, what then? We’ll sail for the rest of time, living off raw fish and salty water? All of us, cramped into a rowboat.’ It comes out more sarcastic than I entailed but it’s better than entertaining the option. To the displeasure of my father, who wanted me to continue with his line of work, I haven’t been near a boat for over three years and I have no desire to consider it now, even if I thought it was a possibility.
‘Come up with something better then,’ she says, irritably.
‘I’m out of options.’
‘I have another idea. We could fight.’ Selene towers for her age, for any age really. She’d be mad if she heard me describe her like that but it’s the truth. I’ve never seen her start a fight but she’s ended plenty, not through punches but intimidation. Most of the boys around here, even the older ones, left her alone, which means they’d leave me alone too. There isn’t much to do with our time than pick fights so it was good to have Selene on my side. Not that it matters anymore as I guess they have other things to think about now.
Selene probably would be up for fighting. ‘It’s not a terrible idea,’ I say, surprised at the words that come out of my mouth. I’ve never once wanted to hit anyone let alone kill them but I’ve listened to vitriol against the Upperlanders build up for years and I know there will be those in our neighbourhood who will want to retaliate at the announcement.
‘It’d be an unfair match though, what with their guns and that bastard knowing I was about to leave,’ Selene says, and she’s right. Maybe the policeman’s arrival was a coincidence but somehow I don’t think so. Somehow he knew.
‘Hmm,’ I say, but only to fill the silence.
Selene takes my hand in hers. Her fingers are bony and chilled and I know that no amount of compassionate gestures will change anything. I don’t know why I have accepted the announcement so easily but maybe it’s because it hasn’t come as a surprise. Maybe it’s been inevitable. What group forces another to implode, helping them to die out? More intriguing, I wonder why they chose tonight to exact this plan. Selene may be right in that we need to take action. Still, I’m not ready to quite let go of her hand just yet and leave this bed behind.
I stare up at my ceiling, unwilling to turn towards her in case I see any tears that roll silently down the side of her face. If I’m honest, I don’t want her to see that my own eyes are red.
‘Hmm,’ I say again. But that’s all I can muster. I don’t know what else I can say.
Selene
I predict the odds and they may be in my favour, especially with the element of surprise.
Henry’s father and I are roughly the same height and he wouldn’t see it coming. I could use any number of kitchen utensils, or there’s the hammer. Henry’s mother would never enact violence on me so I could save her till after. And Henry would be all too easy to take care of, right now, here in his room with a pillow, his screams muffled so that his parents would have no idea. After taking him out, his parents would be easy.
This plan forms in my mind and I despise myself. I know that thinking something does not mean the same as actually doing it or my mother would have died long ago, but I feel guilty all the same to even have fleeting thoughts about hurting the Argents. Henry can have no idea what I’m thinking and I’m grateful for that because, in this case, the thought alone is too awful and makes me a heartless creature. This family has protected me my entire life and the fact that I would even entertain the idea of living over them disappoints me.
I clear my mind of violence but reflect on what I’ve learnt about myself. Why I began to formulate the idea of killing Henry and his parents is the same reason as what stopped me from running into the path of the policeman’s gun: I’m not ready to die.
I want to survive this night.
But if I want to survive then so do others. Of course Henry’s parents would choose him over me so the only chance I have is to leave. I’m not sure when or how but it’ll have to be soon.
Yes, I want to survive this night. How I do that is another matter but Henry’s explanation of survival of the fittest comes back into my mind.
I want to survive. How can I be blamed for that?
Theia
It’s less hassle to pretend to eat than have my mother badger me so I force myself two mouthfuls of tasteless fish that are easier to swallow than expected but do nothing to restore my appetite, then I swirl the rest around my plate into smaller piles to create the illusion that only dregs remain. The sound of chewing frustrates me but so did my father’s attempt at banal conversation with Ronan. My mother is still elsewhere in her mind and I notice the similar expression on my grandmother’s face.
‘Doesn’t anyone care about what’s going on?’ I blurt out, my thoughts no longer captive in my mind.
My father glares for a split second but lowers his head and fixes his gaze on his empty plate. Exasperated, I try my mother who would typically be the go-to person at the hospital in a crisis but is strangely deflated now. I don’t expect her to be enthused by the situation but I expected more of a fight from her. I try to ignite her spirit by directing my question to her. ‘Mum? What are we going to do?’
My mother lifts her head but her eyes look past mine towards nothing in particular.
‘Don’t you care?’ I’m shouting now. ‘What’s wrong with you? We need to deal with this.’ My chair flies back as I stand and throw the plate against the wall hard enough that it shatters on impact and leaves a splattering of green stains against the off-white flaking wallpaper. The juice dribbles down the wall and it could be funny in another situation but not even Ronan in his immaturity sees any humour in my action. I can feel my face redden from more than anger; rather it is incredulity, not just at my outburst but also my parents’ lack of a reaction.
Then Ronan starts to cry and my grandfather puts his arm around him. My parents don’t budge and that’s when I realise that they’re scared but also resigned. It has taken me a while longer than them but I now process that only one of us can survive and it must be devastating them over and over again.
As my breathing calms I look at each of my family members in turn and play a sadistic game in my head, working out whom we would nominate to live. I hate to dismiss Leda but do so for the sake of the exercise. So then I take a guess at each one of our choices, whether ourselves or someone else and the answers are obvious: we would unanimously opt for Ronan. Only then do I notice that even though my father looks deflated his chair is pulled up so close to Ronan’s that their arms are touching.
This realisation immediately frees my mind and I feel relief soar through my body, a sort of reverse adrenaline that results in a pleasant numbness, as if this decision to Rehouse Ronan resolves the tension I’ve been carrying. I’ll have to come to terms with my own life being over soon enough but for now I need to prepare Ronan for the morning. I forgive my parents, aware that the responsibility I thought I bore alone was shared by them and has now been relinquished.
‘Theia,’ my father says, without looking up. ‘You will need to be strong.’
His voice is hazy but draws me back to the room.
‘There’s a large suitcase at the back of our wardrobe. You should take that.’
‘What are you talking about?’ His words sink in but I can’t fathom them. Why does it matter how strong I am now? We’ve agreed that Ronan will be Rehoused. That’s the obvious decision. That’s what matters.
‘Theia, listen to me.’
‘No. Why are you saying that? Ronan is six. He’s eligible to be Rehoused.’ I look at Ronan who is sniffing, upset at my flare-up and confused that we are now arguing about him.
Neither my mother nor grandmother stir but my grandfather drops his head and makes me feel ashamed for discussing who should live and die in front of my fragile family. We’ve struggled through the changed world and there is no energy in them left to fight me. I look towards Ronan who still has much to learn about the injustices of the world, then my grandfather with his feeble but kind heart, and glance at my father with his loss of inertia from whatever feelings of failure have built up inside him over the last decade and attacked his core. Then there is my mother who is so strong in her hospital work but incompetent in this crisis that I can’t even recognise the same woman that I thought I took my strength from, and next I turn my attention to my grandmother whose mental deterioration has allowed her to escape reality and only she, apart from Leda, seems unfazed by not only tonight’s events but what’s to come. Finally I look at Leda who is as always content, disturbed by nothing and unaware of the world that used to be and the night ahead.
My father stands so that we are level. ‘You’re the strongest of all of us Theia. You’re the only one who could endure this world after tomorrow. It’s clear who must carry on so please don’t fight this decision. It’s final. The burden of living has to be on you.’
I take his words in. His explanation is unfair. I don’t want to be strong so I do the best I can to be the exact opposite and hurry out of the room, up the stairs and crash on my bed, taking the option of playing the immature teenager because in that moment I want to be anything else than what has made my father think I should outlive any one of them. I pound my pillow but it does nothing to relieve my fury and look around for something else to calm me down.
I need to talk to Henry. I take some long breaths, walk to the window that looks onto his room but he’s not there.
Henry
My clock says it’s coming up to eight and even with the announcement my stomach rumbles with hunger. My earlier memory of learning about death row at school comes back to me.
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br /> We were taught that prisoners were offered a last meal of anything they’d crave within reason. We salivated throughout the afternoon’s activity of designing the meal we’d most like to eat and it struck me as mean-spirited even then to be forced to think about food no longer in supply. I didn’t realise it until later but teachers did a lot of questionable things as the Middlelands grew narrower and the Fence taller. My mother found me crying that night and attempted to explain the lesson as one about facing our reality, trying to console me that some people saw the world as an extension to death row.
I told her I didn’t want to go back to school but she insisted that the teachers knew best, although I could tell she despised the world as much as I did that day.
I hear a steady pattern of inhales and exhales from Selene, who must have been burnt out to fall asleep, and I lay still so as not to wake her. I’m mentally exhausted too but my mind still races with trying to make sense of what’s happening so maybe she was right that she accepts the Upperlands’ decree easier than I do. Her mouth is pursed and she wheezes with each breath. I decide to let her sleep as long as she likes and avoid the nightmare that must be far, far worse than anything in her dreams. My parents are too polite to eat without us and will be waiting patiently downstairs but I’m in no rush to have a conversation with them about what needs to happen by tomorrow morning.
If I don’t survive the night my last meal will be tough stringy vegetables and salty fish with fiddly bones weaved throughout the flesh. It’s not exactly what dreams are made of but there is obviously a decent supply of sea-salt that can turn any drab meal palatable. It’s what I’m used to. Even with the death sentence hanging above us, there is no luxury of choosing a final meal. My stomach growls, causing Selene to shuffle but not wake up.