One by one people look towards the platform, murmuring softly until they see the intimidating man looking over us like livestock in a saleyard. The man’s gaze falls upon me, and I immediately feel violated as his eyes work their way over my face and torso. It isn’t a perverted look—it is cold and calculating. I glare at him and grit my teeth. He looks away, unfazed, and then raises the white megaphone to his mouth.
“Good morning, everyone.” The megaphone screeches for a second and then we hear a deep, rough voice. “My name is Lieutenant Seiger. Sorry for having to call you to the town centre like this, but your government has decided that some slightly more drastic changes need to be made for the welfare of our country. In three corners of this courtyard there is a letter on a picket. The letters consist of A, B, and C. We also have a group D, and those placed in the D group are to rally outside of the town square. When I call your name, come up to this platform and I will tell you what letter you belong in. The people sided by you in these groups are going to become like your family, so please get to know them well. If you have answered the recent test correctly, you have nothing to worry about.”
I was right. This is about the test results. I don’t know how to react to Lieutenant Segier’s words. We’re being sorted into groups? Why and what do these groups all mean?
A stunned silence settles over the town centre, followed by murmurs of confusion. It’s as if everyone present isn’t sure whether they heard the man with the megaphone correctly. Then people shout in outrage and begin yelling out swear words at Lieutenant Seiger. I can imagine no faster way to cause a rebellion than to sort humans into groups like market animals. I can feel the heat radiating off the screaming people around me. The enraged crowd, blinded by their anger, batters against me. Seiger raises his megaphone and tries to order people into silence, but the townsfolk continue swearing and shaking their fists in fury. My family are one of the few that stand stone faced and silent, expecting the worst and knowing that rioting will only work against us.
Seiger eventually lowers the megaphone, scowling at the outraged crowd, and that is when I notice movement on top of the brick wall. There is a flash of shiny black and silver every few metres along the top of it and my stomach knots in terror as I realise what they are.
Rifles. Rifles aimed at us, the people standing in the courtyard. Black-clad gunmen sit behind them with their eyes pressed to the scopes. I am one of the first to notice and fear begins eating away at my insides like I’ve swallowed acid. Sweat breaks on my brow but I feel icy cold. I grab hold of Jack’s arm and my fingernails dig into his jacket. He puts his arm around my shoulder and draws me close.
“Just be calm and be quiet,” he whispers to me, his eyes also on the gunmen. “Calm and quiet.”
I take a deep breath and exhale it slowly. The fear is still there, waiting to swallow me whole, but I control it. Everywhere I look the gunmen are there, waiting and watching. Seiger has his hand up to silence people. I know if that hand comes down, the bullets will rain on us. A panic I have never felt consumes and paralyses me. It is the petrifying fear that comes only when one is faced with the idea of death. I grip onto Jack, trembling.
It takes another minute for everyone in the square to notice the gunmen aiming at us all. Thankfully, the fear of being shot where they stand is enough to quieten them. They resentfully stand still again, but I can feel everyone shaking from head to toe and they mutter horrible curses under their breath. Are they shaking with rage or terror? Probably both.
“Alright, shall we get started?” Lieutenant Seiger says without smiling. “We will work through the list alphabetically.”
I hold my breath as a guard brings Lieutenant Seiger a clipboard with several pages of names typed neatly on them. He finds the first name on the page.
“Amy Amair,” he calls through his megaphone.
I search the crowd for Amy Amair and a short, plump woman makes her way up to the stand. She looks horrified and is shivering and taking deep, ragged breaths. She trips on the first step, scrambles to her feet and then waits at the edge of the platform for judgement, not daring to go close to Seiger. Seiger crosses her name off the list, points to the front left hand corner of the town centre and says “A.”
Amy stumbles off the stage, white as a sheet, and makes her way through the crowd over to the left hand corner where there is a large white board with a black letter A held up by a wooden picket. She stands there obediently, probably too terrified to move, and we all watch her before Seiger calls out the next name.
“Andrew Amair,” is called to the platform but he also brings a young girl, probably only five years old, onto the stage with him. The little girl doesn’t understand what is going on, and she clutches her father’s hand and looks at Seiger with innocent curiosity. Seiger glances between the girl and her father.
“Is this Kaitlyn Amair?”
“It is,” the father says. The fury in his shaky voice is easily detected. I know if Seiger tries to touch his child, Andrew Amair will try to kill him.
“Andrew Amair in the A group. Kaitlyn Amair stays on the platform and will be in C,” Seiger says simply, waving Andrew away.
“What?” the father snarls, face livid. “You can’t take her away from her parents!”
Seiger raises the megaphone to his thin lips again and says, “Group C is for children only and they will be kept on stage for their own protection. We won’t have them being trampled because you can’t control yourselves. They will be returned to you after the sorting.”
Seiger pats the gun holster at his waist and looks at Andrew. “Into A, Sir.”
Andrew Amair has no choice. He squeezes his little girl’s hand hard, kisses her forehead, and walks over to join his wife. The child tries to go after him but Seiger gently pushes her behind him. There is no aggression towards the little girl and that relaxes me somewhat. But not much. There is a big difference between killing an outspoken adult compared to ushering an innocent child into place. Seiger won’t be so gentle with the rest of us.
The lieutenant continues to call out names. I know a lot of people who go forward for sorting early. Many of the younger ones go to school with me. By the time an hour has passed around one hundred people have been placed in their groups, and I have figured out the basics of the sorting. The C group is reserved only for children under the age of twelve. Any child older than twelve is sorted like an adult into A, B, or D.
There are around forty people in the A group, twenty children in the C, and another forty in D, which is the only group sent outside of the town centre. The Bs corner remains empty and its meaning unknown. I am starting to make a connection between the people being sent into the D group, but I pray my hunch is wrong.
Most people who are sent into the D group outside the town centre wall come from religious or spiritual families. A Muslim family I half recognise are sent out there instantly—Seiger doesn’t even look at his list. Another family who all wear the sign of the crucifix around their necks receive the same treatment and vanish from sight through the town centre exit.
Biocentrics do not think much of religion. They say it is something humans have invented to pass the time and that all it does is stop people from living life how it should be lived: naturally. There are other people placed in D too, people with disabilities; people with jobs that the government do not value; people who are not physically able.
I have no idea who or what the empty B group is reserved for but I don’t much care, because I know what is going to happen to those in the D group. They are being forced from the town centre so that when the gunmen shoot them down people in other groups won’t panic and riot.
D stands for dead; I can tell that by the distasteful way Seiger calls their names and places them. The Ds are going to be murdered. I’m sure of it; and that means I have doomed myself to a horrible fate.
“Jack,” I whisper. My heart is thundering in my chest. I can feel the world dropping beneath my feet. “Are you noticing a pattern h
ere?”
“Yes,” he murmurs back as another individual is placed in the A group. “The Ds are not coming back. Whatever is going on here, the government is trying to get rid of the people it doesn’t see fit for the world they want.”
“Jack,” I say. My voice is becoming shrill with panic. “I lied in my test, remember? I wrote down that I believed in God.”
“What?” he hisses back. “Why?”
“I thought I should make myself out to be some sort of mellow, good-willed Christian girl, like Clara.”
“Freya!” he whispers and the alarm in his voice frightens me. Jack never gets scared. He was always the one to check under my bed for monsters, or in my closet for ghosts when I was a child—he’s always the one to comfort and soothe when things get bad. If he is scared, there is real reason to worry. “Why did you do that? You know the Biocentrics hate religion.”
“I was trying to paint myself in a better light. I wasn’t thinking straight,” I hiss in terror.
“You have to tell him you lied on the test.”
“He won’t believe me!”
In the stark silence, our lone voices are starting to get louder with desperation. Close by, people turn to look at us and Seiger eventually hollers at us through the megaphone to shut up. We fall silent, but my brain is screaming warnings at me, and telling me to run and hide. I can do neither.
So I stand, shaking violently, certain I know what horrendous fate awaits me. More names are called and more people are sorted. There is a rising sense of alarm among people, along with restrained anger. Yet, as families are torn apart and everyone realises the D group are being drafted towards their death, no one makes a stand, and the thought of how pitiful and weak we are infuriates me—for I would never let my family be murdered without fighting and screaming and risking my own life.
I don’t know how long we stand there waiting for our names to be called. It must be hours, because my feet are aching with numbness and the sun is high in the sky by the time Seiger reaches the surnames beginning with T and calls out, “Benjamin True.”
After hearing so many names and letters called, my mind has gone blank but at the mention of this name, I seize up. That is Clara’s father, and Clara’s entire family is Christian. That means they will be placed in D. My eyes dart wildly for some sign of Clara’s family, but I can’t see them amongst the hundreds of other people. Then Clara’s father, modest and kind, appears on the stage. His face has drained of all colour.
“Benjamin True?” Seiger says for confirmation and Benjamin nods. He runs his thick index finger down his list. “D.”
No.
No, this cannot happen. I see Benjamin’s face fall but with the guns trained on him, he has no choice but to step from the platform and leave through the brick archway, watched by hundreds of sympathetic, horrified eyes. Everyone knows Benjamin and his family because we buy bread from his store. The whole town knows what a sweet family they are, and seeing this good man sent to the D group extinguishes any hope we had of a fair trial.
Most of the people in the square have now realised that those in D won’t be returning. Even adults have broken down into hysterical tears and there is the occasion sob of despair that racks the air. I look at my parents. They don’t look frightened. Their faces are contorted with rage. They have no reason to be fearful. If my suspicions are right, the people in A are mostly farmers so my entire family is safe. Except me because I lied. But I still have some time to figure out a plan. Clara doesn’t have time.
“Where’s Clara?” I say to my dad. My voice is little more than a croaky whisper.
He scans the crowd for her and so do I but there are too many people to pick out my best friend. I have to find her and help her escape. She has to get out. I try to pull away from Jack, but his hand tightens around my arm. I spin around to him, searching his face for a sign that he has a plan. There is no clever, logical look on his face, only a hopeless expression of shock and despair. I see the tears welling in his brown eyes so they shine and my chest suddenly feels hollow. He has no plan. The girl he has fantasized about for years is about to be murdered. My best friend since kindergarten is on the brink of death, and there is nothing either of us can do about it.
“Clara True?” Seiger calls out.
My whole body freezes as I finally see the brunette hair bob passed the remaining people who still crowd the front of the stage. Clara steps onto the platform and faces Seiger calmly. She looks so religious! Hands folded neatly in front of her, looking clean and pure in a white frock. Her angelic expression for once does not work in her favour. Seiger looks her up and down and then glances at his extensive list.
“Hmm…” Seiger says. “You’re in the—”
“NO!” I shriek.
4.
Every face in the square turns towards me as I pummel my way passed people to reach the stage. Even Clara and Seiger watch me like they weren’t expecting someone to eventually speak up. My family hollers for me in frantic terror. I hear every gun on the wall load and the combined noise sounds like dozens of beetles clicking their pincers. Launching myself onto the stage, I yank Clara behind me, putting myself between her and Seiger. Livid, my body tenses like a cat about to pounce and I bare my teeth at Seiger.
“You can’t put her in D,” I spit with venomous fury. “She is the kindest person I know!”
“Freya, it’s okay. Don’t risk yourself,” Clara says. Her voice is level and calm, like she has already accepted her fate. I ignore her.
“You won’t take her,” I say to Seiger, narrowing my eyes in a hostile, challenging glare.
Realising I won’t back down with simple threats, Seiger takes the pistol from his holster and taps it once in the palm of his open hand. “Get out of the way or I’ll be made to forcibly remove you.”
“No,” I snarl.
I’m unaware of anything around me expect huge Seiger looming in front of me with a gun in his hand, and Clara’s tiny body shielded behind me. Seiger shakes his head, like he actually regrets having to kill, and raises the gun towards my head. I hear my family scream out in horror. The entire town square is suddenly echoing with roars of fury and shrieks of terror. The crowd surges towards the stage in a wave of battering bodies and outstretched limbs. Children scream and bawl. I hear several gunshots ring out but no bullets hit me.
A pump of adrenalin courses through my veins like fire. One instant I am looking into the gaping black mouth of Seiger’s pistol and the next, I lunge at him, hands outstretched like a lion pouncing on its prey. My fingernails dig deep into the exposed skin around his neck. I hiss like a wild animal, and he gives a shout of surprise, trying to tear me away with his enormous hands. I hold tight and sink my teeth into the area where his neck flows into his shoulder muscle. I taste metallic blood. My jaw twinges as my canine teeth slide all the way into his flesh, so deep that my teeth touch bone. People are screaming everywhere and gunshots are firing every few seconds, yet nothing connects with my body.
After recovering from his shock, Seiger grabs me violently. His hands wrap around my throat and squeeze so tight I can’t breathe. I turn from offense to defence and claw at his hand as he drags me away from his body. My teeth slip from the puncture wounds I’ve made and I writhe violently, choking and gagging loudly. Seiger holds me out in front of him like a ragdoll, fingers tightening until my airway is completely blocked. There is a moment of blind, white terror in which my vision blurs and my every thought turns towards the claw-like hand grasping my trachea.
Then I’m thrown to the ground ruthlessly. My head hits the concrete with a crack. Sudden pain shoots through my temple like a pointed stake has been driven through my brain. Gasping for breath, I struggle to my feet again, teetering dangerously. Several drops of blood plop to the ground at my feet. I feel a weeping heat around my temple and when I reach to touch it and withdraw my hand, it is covered in sticky vermillion. My stomach gives an unpleasant heave as I see the children on the stage staring at me, tears stre
aming down their faces. Do they know what I’ve done? Do they realise I am going to die protecting my friend?
I turn my attention back towards Seiger and am glad to see a good chunk of flesh hangs from his shoulder by just a few bloody tendons. The wound I’ve given him is deep and bleeding freely. The crimson trail of blood vanishes beneath his jumpsuit but I can see it beginning to blossom in bright red on the fabric. The wound won’t heal by itself. It will need skin grafting, which no longer exists because modern day hospitals have closed down. I can only hope this horrible man will die from infection in the coming weeks.
The look on Seiger’s face isn’t one of fear or pain. It isn’t even an expression of anger. In fact, he looks pleased. His cold eyes glint with approval at my attack and my stomach lurches with dread. Anyone who can look impressed by physical violence is seriously sick in the head. Clara still stands behind me and she is choking on her tears while clutching my arm, steadying me. I didn’t realise how much I was swaying on the spot. The world is churning beneath me in a whirlpool of colour, but I have to stay upright. I have to stay conscious.
My breath escapes my tightened, damaged throat in ragged snarls. I open my arms in front of Clara again and this time, Seiger positively beams. I feel hatred building inside my chest. I want to hurt this man. I want to kill him.
“Well done!” he says finally, “Our first B member.”
I hear his words as a ringing in my ears. The blood from my head is now dripping into my eyelashes, obscuring my vision and giving the world a vivid pink sheen. I blink the blood away and bare my teeth at Seiger.
Red Fox Page 3