by Ward, Tamryn
Where are we going?
I’m slightly curious but also sad and scared too. I’m effing miles and miles from home. No one has told me what will happen next. My nerves feel like they’ve been stretched to the point of snapping.
I want to cry.
Holy shit, I never cry.
Ahead of me the woman stops and kicks the ground. A section of the earth lifts, revealing a dark hole. It’s a hidden door. She steps down and I come closer, seeing a set of stairs descending into the earth. She motions for me to follow her.
I don’t.
If I follow, I’ll be completely trapped. Alone. With her. A liar.
Until this point I’ve had the option of escaping. Although I didn’t, I could have jumped from the rickshaw. I could have turned back and ran. At least, I could have tried.
But once I go in there, I’ll be inside a structure with walls, doors… locks. If she wants to hurt me, or worse, escape might be impossible.
But why? Why would she want to hurt me?
I stare into the dark hole.
Am I one of the Elect? Or am I being sold into slavery?
Or is it neither of those?
The woman is waiting for me to make a decision. Will I follow? Or will I run? It’s another test. Everything is a test. She’s watching me. But she isn’t yelling or demanding or pleading. She’s just…waiting.
What should I do?
I make my choice and take the first step. And the second. Those first two are difficult. I’m torn between mild curiosity and almost overwhelming fear. The rest of the steps are easier. Curiosity has won over fear. Trust has won over distrust. At least for now.
At the bottom of the staircase the ground is smooth concrete. A solid-looking door stands between us and whatever is inside. The woman knocks. I hear several locks click and then the door swings open. The lock is on the inside. I won’t be locked in. I can unlock the door whenever I want. I breathe a little easier.
The woman steps into a dimly-lit room with a low ceiling. I follow her.
The room is small with concrete walls. Old couches with tattered upholstery are arranged in a U shape at one end. Several kids are sitting on them, talking in low voices. More are standing in a group next to the wall. All of them look at me.
My gaze travels from one face to another. None of them are familiar. I notice their clothes. They look nothing like mine, which are sewn at home on Mother’s antique treadle sewing machine. Not only is my dress more plainly constructed but it’s also made of more coarsely-woven fabric than theirs. And it’s white. Mother doesn’t waste money on dye.
Now I feel even more uncomfortable. I don’t fit in with these kids. I cross my arms over my chest and lean against the wall.
A couple of the kids standing across from me whisper to each other, eyes flicking my way. They’re talking about me. And laughing. Assholes.
I want to leave. I want to go home. I want to see Sam. But I also want to know why I’ve been brought here.
This awkward feeling takes me back to my first day of school. I remember that day, the stares, and the giggles. I never expected to go through that hell a second time.
“We’re waiting for a few more newcomers,” the woman says to nobody directly. “Once they have arrived, we will begin.”
“Begin what?” I ask.
“The choosing. You’ve been brought here to choose,” she tells me.
Choosing? “What am I choosing?” I ask. “I thought we were chosen. That’s what you told me.”
Some of the kids roll their eyes. Evidently I’m the only one who has no idea what’s going on. I jerk up my chin and glare at the tall girl who is leering at me. I won’t let her, or anyone, make me feel stupid for asking a simple question.
“All will be explained soon,” the woman says. She opens a door and disappears, leaving me alone with the other kids, including the leering girl.
I’m nervous and jittery but don’t want anyone to know. I glance around the room. A jug sits on a shelf, with cups stacked next to it. I’m hoping it’s full of water. I pour myself a cup and take a taste. It is.
Someone taps my shoulder and I turn.
A girl with shiny copper-colored hair and the smoothest, whitest skin I’ve ever seen smiles at me. Unlike the woman’s smile, this girl’s is bright, genuine. Her round, golden-brown eyes glimmer. They match the shimmering gold top she’s wearing. The front plunges in a vee and the hem skims her belly, exposing a slice of skin when she moves. Her pants contour to her body. Her clothes are unlike anything I’ve ever worn. “I’m Mattie. Are you from Riverview?” she asks.
“Yes,” I answer.
“I thought so.” Her gaze wanders up and down my body. “Your clothes—not that they’re ugly or anything. They’re…charming. In an old-fashioned way.” Charming? Old fashioned? She grabs my hand and pulls me toward one of the couches. “I live in Middleton.” She flops down, pulling me with her. “Tell me, what’s it like, living in Riverview? I’ve never been anywhere but Middleton, before today.”
“I’ve never been anywhere but Riverview,” I tell her. “Is Middleton really like they say? Are there steam cars and trucks? Streets as smooth as glass?”
She giggles and her lovely eyes sparkle again and I instantly like her, despite the fact that she’s laughing at my question. Unlike the other kids, she isn’t judging me. She’s just curious and amused. Curious and amused…and wary. Like me.
“In Riverview you don’t have streets?”
I shake my head. “Well, we have streets. But they aren’t smooth. The better ones are crumbling. The worst have enormous sinkholes, some as big as a house.”
Her eyes pop out of her head a little. “Wow,” she says. “So it’s true? Things are very different outside of Middleton. My father is a courier. He works for the government. And we have all the luxuries you could imagine. Everyone in Middleton does. We have electric power. Radios. Refrigerators. Lights.”
I can hardly believe what I’m hearing. People have been living in Middleton, enjoying all those wonderful luxuries while we’ve been working our fingers to the bone and freezing our asses off all these years? “Is it like before the Great Decimation? My mother told me about this thing called television,” I say, hiding my anger.
“Oh yes, of course we have television. The shows are filmed right in Middleton. I love watching television. And my little brother likes playing video games. He’s really good at them.”
“Video games?” I echo. I don’t know what video games are. I can’t believe what I’m hearing. And yet, I can’t disbelieve it. Her clothes haven’t been hand sewn, the fabric hand-woven. Even at a glance I can tell. It’s so smooth; I can’t even see the weave.
“It’s kind of like…interactive television,” Mattie explains. “There’s a story, with bad guys, usually, and you have to stop them.” She shrugs, as if video games are nothing special.
They’re a fucking miracle. Doesn’t she understand that?
“But what about the danger?” I ask, pointing out the obvious.
She throws her hand, completely dismissing the notion. “Danger?” Mattie laughs. “Our city’s power grid is completely safe. It hasn’t been attacked by the Amiga in a long time. No one has been electrocuted since the Great Decimation.”
Could it be true? “Really?”
“Sure. The Amiga protect us now. In exchange, we help them. What do you do for fun?” she asks casually. She’s just dropped the biggest bomb on me of my life, and to her it’s nothing. My life has just changed. It will never be the same. Out there, in Middleton, people live like they used to before the Great Decimation. Why hadn’t anyone told me this before today? Why?
I grumble, “I read books.”
She grimaces. “Books? What are those?”
I can’t imagine why she wouldn’t know what a book is, even if her world is full of wonderful gadgets and gizmos that constantly feed her pictures and music. I love books so much I know I would read anyway, even if I had television an
d video games. “Books are words…you know, printed on pieces of paper…bound together. Books?”
She nods. “Oh, those dusty old things. Books? That’s what they’re called? Yes, I have seen books. In antique shops. And, now that I think about it, my best friend’s father used to display some in his office. They were just for decoration, though. I’ve never bothered to look at one.” She scrunches her brows. “There’s stuff printed inside?”
“Lots of stuff. Wonderful stuff. Stories and information about anything you can think of. I can’t imagine not reading.”
“Reading? You have to read the books?” She wrinkles her nose. “Reading is so old-fashioned. They don’t even teach it in school anymore. Nobody in Middleton knows how to read.”
“Don’t teach reading?” I say, shocked. Is Middleton really so different from Riverview? Had they somehow found a way to quell Amiga’s attacks, making electricity safe to use again? Have they abandoned the simple things in life, like reading?
For the first time in my life I want to go to Middleton. I want to see this strange, wonderful, magical place. I want to watch television. I want to listen to music.
She explains, “Everything in Middleton talks to us. What would we need to read?”
“I…don’t know. What do you learn in school, then?” I ask.
“Important stuff,” she tells me. “Like how to make and maintain electronics and computers. How to clean them, repair them, that kind of thing.”
“I see.” Of course, I had no idea what she meant or what was involved in cleaning and repairing computers. We lived in total fear of even seeing a computer. It’s been that way for as long as I can remember. To touch one…I couldn’t imagine. “Do you know why we were brought here?” I ask, hoping she knows more about the Elect than I do.
“Yes, to decide whether we’ll accept our invitation into the Elect.” She gives me a pitying look. “You didn’t know?”
Embarrassed, I shrug. “I’ve heard about the Elect, but I’d heard rumors that it isn’t real. And I didn’t know we did the choosing. I thought we were chosen.”
“Oh, it’s real, all right. And we have been chosen. But we still have the opportunity to decide whether we will stay with our families or join.”
My face burns. I feel so stupid for believing those silly rumors about kids being stolen away and sold into slavery, and forced to work the massive farms in the Midwest or Southern districts. The Elect is real. And I’ve been chosen. Me! That eases some of my worry, but at the same time now I’m even more confused. I have to decide whether I’ll accept this opportunity or not. If I accept, my family will benefit a great deal. They’ll get more money than I can even imagine.
But I’ll never see them again.
And Sam…I’ll never see Sam again either.
If I don’t accept, I can go home. I can continue with my plans. I can marry Sam.
But Mother and Father won’t get what they need, what they deserve, after sacrificing for the last sixteen years for me and my sister. They’ll eventually lose the farm to the bank or county, because of the taxes and mortgage payments they haven’t made regularly. “I’m glad those rumors were lies.”
“Yeah, me too! Since there haven’t been a lot of kids from Riverview chosen for the Elect, though, I can see where that rumor might have gotten started.”
“Do you have any idea why that is?” I ask, not expecting an answer. But it seems Mattie knows a lot about the Elect. Why not ask her?
She twists her mouth. “Hmmm. I don’t know. We’re all from Middleton,” she sweeps a hand behind her, indicating the other kids in the room. “We’re the best in our class. That much I can tell you.”
“Then why am I the only one from Riverview? I’m not the best. Not even close. My sister wasn’t selected. She’s much smarter than me.”
“I don’t know.” She glances around the room, as if she expects more kids to pop out of the shadows. “That is strange. Very strange. But I suppose you’ll find out eventually.”
Chapter 4
The door rattles and all the kids back away from it, shuffling toward the far end of the room. Are they afraid of something? Should I be afraid? Normally I know what to do, how to react. But here I feel so out of place and confused. Nothing makes sense. Everything is strange. This room. The kids. The Elect.
The woman who brought me here walks in. A handful of kids follow her. Hoping to see someone I know, since I’m not the smartest senior in my school, I check each face.
They’re all strangers. Every single one of them. They aren’t from Riverview. But their clothes are similar to mine. White. Simple.
Curious eyes wander over me as the new kids file into the room. Behind me, the Middleton kids whisper to each other. I can’t make out what they’re saying. I don’t think they know the newcomers either.
The woman clears her throat and lifts her hands. “I know some of you have questions about where you are and why you’ve been brought here. You are here by invitation. You all possess some knowledge or skill that makes you valuable to the Human Republic. This is a time of evaluation, both on your part and ours. We will decide if you are capable of joining one of our agencies and you must decide which agency, if any, you would like to join. This is an important decision. I ask you not to make it lightly. You may never see your families again. And, depending upon which agency you choose, you may be injured. You may die. But if you choose well and successfully complete that agency’s training, all your lives, your families’ lives, and the lives of generations to come, will be better.”
So it was true. The Elect was not just a child’s tale. I have been chosen to become a part of it. Me. But could I leave my parents, my sister? Sam? Was I ready for something like this?
“You will make your choice tomorrow,” the woman says. “And then your training will begin.”
Tomorrow. I have one day to decide? Only one? The faces of Mother and Father flash through my mind. They need me. To help with the farm. Mother would never admit she needs me because she has always wanted me to feel free to make my own choices. But I have watched her slow down the past few years. She looks tired. Dark shadows hang under her eyes.
Father has been doing his best to keep things going, but I can tell that his age is taking its toll. My sister will be there to take up the reigns. I know Father can count on her. But can they do it without me? Am I abandoning them when they need me most?
Then again, will they have that chance if I don’t do this and they lose the farm?
And then there’s Sam. His dream. Our dream. Of a life together, raising a family.
How the hell will I choose?
The woman leads us to a different room, a cafeteria. Two adults stand at the far end of the room, a table full of small bags in front of them. The kids line up to get served. I watch them. As they wait, they chatter, as if they’ve been living this way their whole lives. It seems none of them are struggling with this choice. Are they all happy to be chosen, like Mattie? Will they eagerly step up and accept this opportunity, despite the sacrifices?
As I take my place in line, I try to imagine what it might be like to be a member of the Elect. My mind forms hazy pictures. It’s like I’m looking through a fog.
Exactly what will we be doing? The woman had warned us we might die. Will we be soldiers? If so, who, or what, will we be fighting?
I’ve heard stories about bands of terrorists attacking people in the larger cities. Is that who I will be fighting?
As my imagination takes flight, a thrill buzzes through me. As unsettling and confusing as this day has been, it’s also been more exciting than anything I’ve ever experienced. For as long as I can remember my life has been the same. Mother cooking and cleaning, sewing and tending the animals. Father planting or harvesting or driving wagons full of corn or wheat to the market to sell. I’ve never been farther from home than school. In fact, the last time I’d met so many new people was ten years ago, on my first day of school. And then all of those kids were a
lot like me. Their parents might raise a different crop or animal, but they lived pretty much just like mine.
But not these kids. No. They’ve seen things I haven’t, been to places I didn’t even know exist, have tasted things I couldn’t.
Suddenly the world isn’t so small and quiet. It’s big and scary and full of new and wonderful things. As selfish as it is, I want to know what those things are. Will Mother and Father be okay? Will the money they’re paid be enough?
I get my food and sit next to Mattie. She points to the boy next to her. “This is Charlie.”
“Hi,” I say.
Charlie says nothing, just stands up and walks away.
“Wow,” I say. “Was it something I said?”
“No.” Mattie grimaces. “He’s just a jerk sometimes. You’re a hick.”
“Hick?” I repeat. I’ve never heard that term before.
“You live in the country,” she explains.
“Yes,” I tell her. “I do.” She says that like it’s something to be ashamed of. “So what?”
“That’s what I say too.” She waves at someone behind me. “Just forget about him.”
The tall girl who had been leering at me when I first arrived plunks down her bag on the table and sits next to Mattie. She leans over and whispers something in her ear. Mattie chuckles.
This sucks. I wish I could leave. And yet I know this is my chance to do something good. I can help my parents. I can make a difference. For them. Maybe even for all those sad, filthy kids in the Swamp.
If I am strong.
If I don’t let fear rule me.
I wonder what they are doing now. Are my parents grieving my disappearance? Or were they told where I am? Are they upset or proud? Mourning or celebrating? I wish I could ask them.
A few other kids join us at the table. Curious eyes study me. But no one speaks to me. I pick at my food. It’s nasty. The sandwich bread is stale and the meat is tasteless, and for the first time I appreciate how fresh and delicious our food was.