by P. S. Lurie
‘It’s rising faster than ever. Any thoughts we had that surely there couldn’t be more water to come are wrong.’
When the tides started to rise scientists fobbed us off with technical calculations that proved that all the water in the world wouldn’t amount to much of a flood and that civilisation would be largely unscathed. Then other theories were thrown into the mix to explain away when the water surpassed Total Flood levels. The craziest was that the world was collapsing in on itself rather than the oceans rising. It didn’t matter what people believed or didn’t because it was clear we were doomed. No explanation was comforting so they stopped being talked about.
Jason continues. ‘The makeshift docks are starting to break apart under the pressure of the waves more rapidly than ever before. I’m sorry but the Middlelands will be gone sooner than we thought.’
‘That’s not good enough,’ I say with despair. My eyes well up but I forbid myself to cry. Jason puts his arm around me and I shrug him off. ‘I don’t need your pity. There must be a way.’
‘From what Rus told me, if anyone can figure it out you can.’
I don’t smile at the compliment. I rack my head thinking of the major buildings nearby, working out if any one of them is a safe haven. The hospital is clearly out of the running. The market is empty at night but a breeding ground for the homeless and I don’t feel safe at the thought of getting past the hoards if they have cottoned onto the announcement. ‘The school.’
‘You can try but the whole neighbourhood will be stormed first thing tomorrow morning. Anyone caught hiding will be killed on the spot.’
‘You haven’t killed me.’
‘And I could be punished if they find out. My family too.’
I’m putting Ruskin and his parents in danger by being here and the realisation deflates me further. I’m convinced that the authorities would have no hesitation in making good on their threat. ‘Are you sure there’s nothing else?’
‘Five a.m.’
‘Huh?’
‘Tomorrow morning. We’ve been told to be at the fence at five. Vans will be picking up the survivors shortly after that time. That gives you thirty minutes or so before then when the guards will be heading back to the Fence. You could move then but where to I don’t know. If you want my opinion that’s what I’d do. The sun will be up and you won’t be tracked by any policemen as their glasses will be inoperative. I’m not sure where you could go but it’s your best bet.’
‘We won’t be monitored?’
‘They expect most of you to be dead by then.’
I think through these repercussions. Even this afternoon I never believed families could kill one another but after watching the scene across the garden I know I was naive and that I overestimated people. If Jason’s right it’s a glimmer of hope so I put aside the obvious next step of where to actually go. All I need to do for now is keep my family safe until that time. I check my watch: nearly ten, which gives me less than seven hours to come up with a destination.
‘Thanks Jason.’ Then I remember his earlier words. ‘You have to be at the Fence too?’
‘It’s what I couldn’t tell you earlier.’ He is about to divulge but clams up.
‘Please. It can’t be any worse than what I’ve already heard.’
‘Promise me something?’
‘Of course.’
‘If I don’t see Ruskin or my parents and you do can you tell them I did this for them?’
‘They know you did.’
‘Promise me.’
I put my hand on his. ‘I’ll tell them.’
Jason takes a deep breath to prepare himself and I know the revelation must be bad. ‘We’ve been instructed,’ but he is unable to finish his admission when we hear someone open the front door and step into the house.
We both reach for the glasses and I am the first to grab them. I make out a red figure in the hallway moving towards us.
‘The broken door,’ I whisper. It will have given us away. Whoever’s approaching will spot us any second and if it’s a guard he will have seen us already through his own glasses.
‘Quick.’ As quietly as he can Jason slides open the fridge door and I don’t have time to push back as he thrusts me inside. I turn around, eyes wide open with horror as he slides it shut between us. Promise me, he mouths as the door closes and leaves me trapped in the fridge and Jason trapped in the kitchen.
It’s freezing inside but not anymore than when I go outside in winter without furs on. I want to rejoin Jason as two of us would surely be better than him alone dealing with whomever it is but I tug the latch to lock myself in and hope that the stranger is harmless.
Despite the electrical hum of the fridge I put my ear up to the door to listen in and work out who has stumbled upon us.
Henry
Despite the world surpassing Total Flood I used to think humanity would never become as bleak as tonight. Above all the pain and suffering and uncertainty I was convinced kindness would pull through, that communities would support one another to live through the darkest days. That a secondary Fence would be constructed or we would be allowed into the Upperlanders. It’s amazing how many years passed where I still clung onto this hope but tonight’s continuous and pointless bloodshed knocks me sideways. What purpose does it serve? I remember the vast yellow field from the announcement. There’s plenty of space. I can’t accept the Upperlands’ reason for not Rehousing us all. I can’t believe they will allow so many of us to die.
Decisions are yet to be made about who lives and dies. A dog may not seem worth mourning over but if I don’t cry for this dog should I not cry for a stranger? Or a child? A friend? A parent? Is tonight about numbing ourselves enough so that we lose our humanity?
I remember an important lesson my father taught me years ago although it only makes sense now. I was furious about something so trivial I can’t even remember what it was and he told me anger is borne out of a feeling of injustice, the belief that one had been unfairly wronged. If he is correct then I deserve to be as angry as hell. What he didn’t tell me was how to deal with the fury. I suppose he’d say I had to find a way to displace it or allow the emotion to wallow and then seep away, but I want to let my anger guide me into revenge. Somehow I need to demonstrate my disapproval to tonight. Somehow I need the people who created our misery to be reprimanded. I need to act rather than be passive to this attack. I wonder how many of us must be feeling like that and how it only builds on our helplessness. Or hopelessness, or both. I’m not sure anymore.
It’s not revenge exactly that I want. I don’t want the Upperlanders just to die because that would only put us on the same level and I’d be no better than the guard with the gun. Instead I want justice. Like those on death row undergoing trials, I want to hear the Upperlanders’ reasons and excuses and defences and then find them accountable for all the deaths that they instigated. It’s a long-winded process but it would be the fairest way, and it would allow me to understand because, after all, not knowing why they chose this path is as perplexing as anything. I let the trial play out in a daydream despite the faceless leaders of the Upperlanders whom I can substitute in later. The daydream helps to displace my anger. Then it flares up again when I come to the end of the film and find them guilty. I deliberate over a suitable punishment but nothing I conjure up would ever be enough.
It’s a distant prospect that will not make me want to outlive my parents or Selene but I tell myself that if I am Rehoused I will fight to see that justice prevails.
Until then I will mourn every single death, from Charlie to families to whole streets.
Theia
‘What are you doing here?’ the person asks Jason.
Although muffled through the fridge door I place the voice without problem. It belongs to the policeman who stood outside Henry’s house earlier tonight taunting his family. I know Jason must not be an exception, a scared young man with a family to think about, but this other guard proves that not all of the policemen
are unhappy about their being selected so, with no one else directly to vent towards, my hatred pours towards him. Still I wonder if he has a family that he has saved and if there is any forgiveness in his actions. I haven’t seen him kill anyone and that’s when it occurs to me that Jason killed Mr Ethers. He did it thinking he was protecting me but all the same I didn’t thank him and the death must play heavy in his mind. I need to tell him I’m grateful even if it was misguided.
I strain to hear what’s going on in the kitchen so maybe the two have bonded over their fear of what is happening around them, and that maybe this other guard has disclosed that he is just as scared and has been pretending to complete his duties, his nasty demeanour nothing but an act. Maybe he and Jason even know each other and we’re not in danger. I don’t unlock the door because if it’s safe Jason will tell me the coast is clear.
The coast is clear. A terrible idiom that has long lost its meaning, no longer true or reassuring, and it sends a shiver down my spine in the already chilly air.
I only then realise I’m still clutching onto the heat-sensitive glasses so I slide them on but they don’t work in here except when I hold my hand in front of my face but even my own body is a paler shade of red. The fridge must be surrounded by a sturdy metal casing, plus it’s so cold in here that little heat can be detected. The guard must not have been wearing his glasses when he entered the house or he would have seen me one second and then disappear the next. I tremble again and rub my arms.
I strain to the beat of their conversation but it’s hard to tell what the mood is and I’m scarcely able to differentiate between the guarded tones of the two men.
‘Why are you in this house?’
‘A commotion.’ It’s not a particularly convincing answer from Jason since the evening is full of, as he puts it, ‘commotions’, as if families murdering one another is nothing more than a bit of a racket.
The other guard isn’t convinced either and presses Jason for a better explanation. ‘You killed one of the residents.’
‘He pointed his gun at me,’ Jason says. They’re both louder now and I can hear every word although I don’t like the way the conversation is going and I doubt the outcome will be of them walking away from one another.
‘Which wouldn’t have been an issue if you remained outside so I will ask you one more time, did you have a reason why you stormed in and killed someone?’
‘I thought someone was in danger.’
Only silence follows. Nothing Jason says is making any sense and the truth will not satisfy the guard. I could unlock the fridge door and reveal myself, which will explain everything but it’s a risk because either Jason would get the first shot in or both Jason and I would be killed. Jason has already killed one person in this house so it’s a close call whether it means he’d have little difficulty shooting a second person or if he’d be more hesitant to take another life.
I hate this.
It’s my fault that Jason’s in danger and if anything happens to him it’s because of me. I should never have left my house. I think of Ruskin and his parents and what would happen if Jason is reported to be a traitor. I doubt the Upperlanders would be disappointed to banish three Middlelanders who haven’t earned their place.
The only sensible thing that I can do is to remain in the cold yet I can’t shake the fact that it’s also the cowardly thing to do. I want to believe that I’m still in the fridge to protect myself and Jason so why does it feel like hiding?
‘I will ask you one final time. Is there a reason I shouldn’t report you?’
Jason doesn’t answer.
‘By command of the Upperlands I hereby,’ but the policeman doesn’t finish his sentence as a gunshot radiates out and the sound of someone hitting the ground is unmistakeable. Above the mechanical whirring I hear footsteps around the kitchen then they stop.
I slide down the door to the fridge floor as quietly as possible and squeeze my knees in tight to my chest. I’m frozen to the bone but if the policeman is still alive I can’t let him detect me and if Jason is alive he will let me know. For now the only option is to wait in silence until Jason gives me a sign. So why is he taking so long?
The footsteps start up again and each one makes it more likely that Jason was not the victor.
Suddenly the latch shakes above my head and I almost jolt forward but that would give me away. The person outside attempts to open the door again but since I have locked it from the inside it is wedged shut. The rattle stops then something slams against the outside of the door. Jason would call my name instead of attempting to force the door open and I concede; it is all the proof I need that Jason died saving me.
After a few breathless seconds the policeman gives up trying to enter. I wait until I hear him leave the kitchen but stay put shivering in the frozen air in case he is lying in wait for me to appear. Anyway, I am not ready to leave because Jason’s death is my fault.
I wonder how many people will die because of me tonight?
Freezing in here a while longer will be the start of my punishment.
10 P.M. – 11 P.M.
Theia
I’m used to keeping the cold at bay and know it’s the biggest killer of the older generations, at least before tonight, so if I stay in the walk-in fridge any longer I could suffer from a respiratory problem or hypothermia, although leaving doesn’t guarantee my safety either. I must be affected by the temperature because I try to stand and lose my balance so I have to lean against the door for support and compose myself. I look around the fridge but apart from some empty boxes and fishmonger equipment it is empty. I scan the utensils and see a machete underneath some of the other filleting gear but the blade looks rusty from years of severing bones so although I consider taking it with me it would be ineffective against a gun trained on me from a distance.
The machete reminds me of the knife in my own kitchen, the one I feared my mother was going to use against me and then I’m taken back to my mother’s affair. I wish I’d told Jason about her and Dr Jefferson if only to say the words out loud and make her swaying loyalty real but I still feel numb about it and the coldness isn’t helping. I leave the machete where it is and fumble with the latch until it clicks out of place and I can slide the door open.
It can’t be hot in the house as there is no heating but a wall of warmth hits me as I leave my icy prison behind. I take some deep breaths but the air isn’t fresh. The putrid, already stale smell of blood fills the room and in front of me is Jason’s inert body spread out on the floor.
A pool of blood nestles under his chest and trickles along the grooves between the floor tiles. I stare for a while as it spreads further outwards and I step back when it reaches my shoes, just like how I’d instinctively step back every time I visited the coast and the tide rushed up towards me.
Jason’s face is calm but his eyes are open wide as if he is still surprised he is dead. I lean over, careful to avoid the blood, and draw his eyelids shut. He looks at peace. I always wondered why the doctors did that. I assumed it was for the dead to be laid to rest but I now think it’s for the reassurance of the people left behind.
I am too consumed with warming myself up and dealing with Jason’s body that I don’t immediately have time to check that the policeman could still be nearby. I eventually put on the heat-sensitive glasses and already Jason’s body is a cool orange where it should have been a bold red. I scan a full circle but there are no signs of life around me; Mr Ethers doesn’t show up in the glass.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say to Jason. He can’t hear me but I speak forcefully. ‘I promise that I will find Ruskin and,’ but I stop at the thought of Jason’s earlier words. Any policeman to abscond would amount to putting their families in harm’s way, so what if Jason’s killer somehow identified him and escalates the report? What would happen to Ruskin and his parents? Equally bad, what happens when Jason doesn’t turn up in the morning? I wish there was a way to warn them.
I pick up Jason’s gun and slide i
t between my jeans and belt so that it holds firm. I don’t want to bring it into my house but I think ahead to the morning and it might come useful if I need to protect Ronan and Leda from those who will, what did the woman from the Upperlands say, ‘storm the house’.
Jason was cut short from telling me about tomorrow morning so all I know is that something awful is going to happen and from the way he reacted it will be something worse than what is already happening. I stare at Jason a while longer as I imagine what could be worse than this.
Selene
We sit in silence with no appetite left to finish the meal but neither of Henry’s parents has looked up from their plates and made eye contact with me since we returned to the table. I question whether this is paranoia on my part or if there’s truth to it, so I test out their engagement with me. ‘Do you remember the swimming gala where Henry took second place?’
Henry’s mother glances up at me but lowers her head back towards her plate whereas Mr Argent doesn’t react at all. Henry looks confused at my question and then when he notices his parents’ inertia.
‘What about it?’ I can tell Henry’s only half-interested in my question and focuses most of his energy on watching his parents.
‘Well,’ I start but I’m not really sure where my story is going. The pools were maintained above most other services in the neighbourhoods due to the necessity of learning to swim so that much of the school day was spent in and out of the water, with teachers finding new ways to keep us in longer; competitions were one answer so this is what I roll with. ‘You were always a great swimmer.’
‘No I wasn’t,’ Henry snaps back.
‘I thought you should have come first. Ruskin is taller than you so of course he’ll reach the end first but it’s an unfair advantage.’