We, The Lucky Few

by P. S. Lurie

  Except death. Tonight we definitely have more death.

  I retrieve the suitcase from under my bed, not that it has ever been used for its actual purpose. It is one of three my parents acquired at the market many years ago following an announcement that hinted we would all be Rehoused. As with all the messages, it dissipated to nothing but that particular one, not that I remember its content, evidently did more to inspire than any of the others. It saddens me to think that they traded badly that day because when the time has come to be Rehoused we only need one suitcase between us.

  The lining is frayed and the zipper is rusty and sticks. It nearly breaks off in my hand when I tug it but the metal eventually unclogs itself. The material is stretched thin and unlikely to support anything too heavy so I only pack a feeble amount of clothes and leave plenty of room for the books. I feel reassured that my parents are selecting the books downstairs, not only taking their mind off their plight but regaining some control where they have little else but subservience.

  I have never been that popular like Ruskin, or tough like Selene, or smart like Theia, and I consider what being Rehoused means. What can I offer? I can make a new start. Better myself. Not be pushed around, be braver, stand my ground. But I know I will continue on being the same person because any different would be disrespectful to my parents. There will be one difference, whether my parents like it or not, and that is my focus on vengeance. Selene was always the angry one and I spent my childhood calming her down, explaining that retaliation was not the solution. Now I think that perhaps it was inside me all this time, clawing for a release, holding on until the day it could emerge.

  Theia returns to her room and I hurry to my window, ready to check in with her. I glance at her mother’s body and by the time I have written my message and hold it towards her she has set her sights on Melissa and is communicating with her instead. I don’t know what Theia writes but I read Melissa’s responses. Most are miserable at best but I have to read the last one twice because it shocks me to the core.

  You have to kill all of them.

  Theia

  I creep through my room. I don’t want to wake Ronan and make him relive the past few hours just yet. At some point I’ll need to talk him through the process for being Rehoused and check he understands it. The worst would be for him to freak out and not wait on the doorstep. If need be, I’ll wait on the other side of the door until he is picked up. I’ll then give myself up to whoever comes for me. The downside to this plan is that Ronan won’t leave knowing I am still inside. I might have to die before five o’clock to ensure he has nothing to wait around for. I need to discuss this with my father. We need to talk about Leda too.

  I spot Henry out of the corner of my eye but don’t let on. I can’t talk about this with him. He wouldn’t be able to see past my death. I need to talk it through with someone more removed. Melissa is at her window, the rest of the house still veiled in darkness. We both confronted death a few years ago and this bond makes me think I can talk to her, as if the conversation we put on hold back then has been burning up, waiting for its time to be unleashed.

  How are you? I hold up to her when really I want to be blunter by writing, Are you the last one alive yet?

  She scribbles something but it is too small, so I shake my head. She takes more time making her letters legible. My parents are in their room. They can’t end their lives and don’t want me to do it.

  Will you be able to leave them there? In other words, I ask if she will be able to sit outside her house and listen to a guard shoot them.

  She writes. I can’t.

  I know that this cannot end happily for her, whatever happily could possibly denote in this situation. I don’t want to argue that killing them is preferable but she will have to hear the moment in which her parents die at the hands of a stranger and then she will have to follow this stranger, trusting that he or she will act on her best interests. It doesn’t start her reliance on the Upperlanders in a particularly enamouring way. I think about her predicament and how it mirrors what is happening next door for Henry.

  She holds up another sign. You’re braver than me, Theia. Her evidence is that I once tried to escape. She sees that as courageous but only because she doesn’t liken escape to running away.

  I’m not being Rehoused, I write back.

  Melissa looks confused. You must. You’re strong. Plenty of people will need you instead of another kid to look after. Of course she knows about Ronan and Leda, having worked with my mother, but I don’t like how she reduces them to nothing more than a nuisance. My mother. I wonder whether Melissa saw. She hasn’t mentioned it. What would she say? Sorry? How could you? She died saving you? It’s better that it goes unwritten.

  I never thanked Melissa for what she did that day, only begged her to not tell anyone. My parents would have been shattered had they heard I tried to leave without them. I never want my brother and sister to learn about my ultimate betrayal to them. I won’t leave them again, unless in death. Melissa may see them as an inconvenience but I have nothing to live for if not for them.

  I had wondered why Melissa spent much of the night watching me. She hasn’t expressed regret about my mother even though they worked together. She hasn’t tried to help me deal with my grief. She hasn’t once communicated anything other than barking orders at what I need to do to stay alive. There’s only one reason for this. She’s testing me out, living through me to see what I can do, if killing my family is possible, then she can follow suit. As she admits, she’s not as brave as me and needs my encouragement before she can go through with her own murders. It makes sense and sends a shiver down my spine. I look up at her and there is a new piece of paper, which affirms this.

  You have to kill them all.

  Selene

  I pass hundreds of houses, each closer to being flooded than the last. I’m not sure when I worked out I was heading towards the coast, although it was probably when I decided walking past desperate but intimate families was lonelier than going to the most deserted place imaginable.

  The air is crisper the nearer I get. I try not to think about each house and the story unfolding inside but, every once in a while, curiosity takes over and I invade strangers’ privacy through the heat sensitive glasses. I’m not sure what I expect but, with a few hours to go before the deadline, I am surprised by just how many houses are now occupied by only one living person. From the stature of the glowing figures, most are children. At one point I stand and watch the colour drain out of two bodies on the floor, moving through a spectrum of red to orange to green to nothingness. That’s when I place the glasses in my pocket, even though it gives policemen the advantage of spotting me first. I haven’t seen anyone on the prowl since the market so I take the chance.

  My head doesn’t feel tired but my legs lag. The built-in boots are heavy and weigh me down, causing my journey to be more strenuous with each step. I want to remove the uniform but I am now unseasonably warm inside the suit and stripping off will expose me to danger from enemies and the elements.

  The farther I go from the market the less what happened there feels real. I almost convince myself I didn’t end a man’s life. But I can’t make myself forget the bullet hitting the girl. Each time I recall her death I remember my finger hovering above the trigger mechanism on my gun. My hand doesn’t stray far from the gun. I’m primed to shoot quicker the next time someone ambushes me.

  I tell myself the family no longer have to face this drowning planet but that doesn’t excuse their deaths. I don’t value the policeman but my life wasn’t worth three others. Deep down I know that I couldn’t have changed the outcome for the family but I don’t rid myself of the turmoil that I was partly responsible. I want to feel guilt, or without that I’m one step closer to losing any remaining compassion. All that will be left is survival, of my life above any other.

  I smell the ocean before I see it. Geography teachers showed us pictures of how the coast used to look. Rocky, sloped with sand, o
r man-made harbours. Whichever, the tide would gently roll in and out, never straying too far. But I’ve only seen this in textbooks and have to take their word for it. All I’ve ever known of the sea is that it is a force that destroys anything in its path, sometimes meandering but always succeeding to erode whatever it has submerged.

  It’s hard to believe that the coast was a pleasant fixture, a location of fun and relaxation. It provides dirty water and tasteless fish, both of which keep us alive but that can’t outdo the danger it also brings. I’m lost in this thought when I step into water.

  The coast takes me by surprise. Even though it has been this way my whole life, it seems unreal to appear between houses, drowning those further along the street and flooding the higher ones. There is no warning of the shore. I don’t recognise this street but, even with my calculations, I am alarmed at how far the sea has travelled inland. I have only walked an hour or so since leaving my house, not including the delay at the market. It should be at least twice that distance.

  Those in the Upperlands must have discovered this fact. I don’t understand why the fishing parties kept the news of the speeding up tide to themselves but, once more of the Middlelands got wind of how quickly it was moving, they might have felt panicked into an uprising against the Fence. This is why the Upperlanders have acted now and no later. Too many of us scrambling for land would only cause problems for them. Would we be able to overpower them? Or chip away at the Fence until we broke through? Or a mountain of us until some could scramble over? Better for the Upperlanders to let us kill one another pitifully than exert any effort in fighting a rebellion.

  The water stretches halfway up the steep road. The houses along the bottom are almost completely submerged but those near me are only ankle deep. I lower my glasses but there is no sign of life in the entire street. Either they are all dead or they moved on before tonight. I predict the former; the houses wouldn’t have been habitable for much longer but the upper floors would offer some protection from the water and the alternative of moving out is no better.

  I think about the families in the houses a few streets back from where I came and how they must have been feeling about the imminence of becoming homeless. Would they appreciate each time they woke up with a roof over their heads, or not? Would they count down the days until they could no longer stay? I suppose it doesn’t matter anymore.

  The fortified Fence serves two purposes. One is to keep us out and the second to keep the water out. I overheard a conversation in the market that the Fence was tall enough so that all the water in the world would not reach its heights. Whoever the engineers were probably had sophisticated methods of calculating this but it didn’t inspire me with much confidence; I’d heard their assurances before. The water was supposed to have receded long ago but I resigned myself that this was not going to happen before I had finished school age. I had made it past that but the outlook was bleak. Not that I wanted the Middlelands to vanish but if it were inevitable I willed the water to not stop at the Fence. The Upperlanders deserved to know how it felt to live with the threat.

  It is too dark to see farther than ten or so houses’ distance, so I rotate the dial on my uniform and the light shines at full kilter. It is surprisingly powerful and reveals an endless sea. The closer houses prevent an immediate view of the water but the night sky blends in with the horizon straight ahead.

  I crane my neck and spot the moon hanging behind the house to my left, low in the sky, preparing to settle and make way for the day to break. I turn off the light. There are no operable streetlamps here as the water must have affected the Surge’s flow. However, the wiring must be faulty in only some places because a few submerged houses must have power as they glow from under the surface. It’s really beautiful.

  The moonshine adds to this, white flecks bob on the water’s surface, but I make myself remember that, even thought the tide is soft, the waves are deceptive. They don’t recede. They only forge ahead.

  I take my helmet off and place it on the ground, far back enough that it is protected from becoming wet, although that wouldn’t be the case if I left it for too long. The cold air chills my head but I embrace it. Without thinking through my plan, I unzip the uniform and wrestle it off. I remove my underwear and stand naked in the street.

  My feet touch the shallows first and grow numb so that I can’t accurately sense just how cold it is. I wade up to my waist. It only stings against my skin when I move so I try to hold my body still. I don’t worry too much about what lurks underneath. The gravel is loose and gritty but hasn’t had enough time to disintegrate to the point where it is too precarious to stand on. The moon’s reflection is still out of reach. I brace myself and amble farther in.

  A car roof pokes out from beneath the surface and I remind myself that anything could be underneath, invisible to me. I lift my feet and swim breaststroke. School didn’t teach me much but the swimming lessons now prove invaluable. I push on away from the shore until I lower my feet and can’t touch solid ground. I reach the rippling water that glows from high above, until I am bathed in moonlight. I turn so that I am on my back. I spread out my limbs and allow my body to float.

  Theia

  Melissa’s suggestion causes our conversation to end abruptly. Who is she to shy away from ending her parents’ lives only to tell me that’s what I have to do to two innocent children?

  I turn towards Henry’s window and see him staring back but I’m fed up with writing messages. It doesn’t achieve anything. His expression is miserable, pitying me for what he must have witnessed in my garden. If I looked down I could see the body and I’m sure Henry has an even clearer view of my mother from his vantage point. He must’ve watched it unfold. He throws me a smile but can only muster a small one. I nod in return. I can’t find it in me to raise a smile.

  Want me to come over? He holds the paper up into view, already written. Selene is somewhere in the Middlelands and I have been to the houses either side of me but Henry hasn’t been anywhere. He’s been locked up all night and must be going stir crazy. Still, he’s soon to be Rehoused to a life behind the Fence so he can wait a bit longer. After what happened the last time I jumped the fence it’s too risky. Besides, I don’t want to explain what happened because that will mean admitting that my mother chose me over Dr Jefferson. I shake my head at him.

  Although there is no chance I could sleep, tiredness hits my body and I have to prop both hands against the desk to steady my balance. I take a big gulp of air and slowly exhale. I have a strange sensation that there is still so much left to play out but we are nearing the deadline and most of this terrible night is behind us. Maybe I’m not physically tired but mentally. Maybe I just want this to be over. I realise that I might be feeling relief.

  Henry holds up another pre-written sign. Want to run away together? This time he gives me a defiant smile. It’s the first time I laugh all evening.

  Sure, I scribble and hold back.

  Henry has this all planned so there is no delay in his responses. I hear beach holidays are nice this time of year.

  No, let’s go on safari. We’ll fly. The joke can’t hold for much longer but he has calmed my nerves and, dare I say it, cheered me up. I need to speak to my father, ok? I write.

  He has to write the next sign so I wait. Sure, but make sure you come over before... anything.

  I smirk at his inability to find a better word or phrase than anything, which holds enough negative connotations for a lifetime. If I were honest with myself, I would rather be with Henry right now having our stupid petty fights than anywhere else. But I have to make arrangements with my father and they take priority.

  I enter the hallway and catch myself still smiling at Henry’s ability to cheer me up. I walk into Ronan’s room but recoil when I see my father leaning over Leda, pressing a pillow down on her face.

  Henry

  Theia rarely cracks a smile, let alone grins, so I feel that I have achieved some good tonight. Selene knew all along; I’ve al
ways been in love with Theia but was never able to show it. Selene’s words come back to haunt me. Before tonight is over, no matter what happens, I need to tell her how I feel.

  Not as a written message. Face to face. I can handle whatever her response will be, more than likely she’ll be angry at me for burdening her with trivial matters, but I would regret not telling her. She’ll reject me of course but what do I have to lose? Then I think that maybe it’s a terrible idea. If she does like me we’ve wasted time and I don’t want to think about whether the two of us will live long enough to see what could develop. But the urge to know how she feels in return trumps any reservations.

  Theia is the most beautiful girl I’ve ever laid my eyes on but she’s also the smartest and most courageous. Selene is effectively my sister and I love her in a different way. She was born to the wrong parents. I sometimes have a fantasy that there was a terrible mistake and she actually is my sister. In a way, my parents fulfilled my dream, with the exception of tonight, where it was obvious that she is unrelated to them. I no longer feel anger at the way they felt threatened by her presence. Tonight was about self-preservation and, when that wasn’t possible, having to prioritise those you love the most. There’s not much I can do for Selene but hope deep down her mother loves her as much as my parents love me.

  However, I can do something for Theia. I’ve been friends with her long enough to know she won’t allow herself to be Rehoused over Ronan. But Ronan needs her and I know what needs to happen: she should have my place.