by C. B. Stone
I imagine it is a lot like Assembly. We have it every other day in the After World, usually, although less often as we get older. All of us, kids eighteen and under, gather in the courtyard in the middle of town and watch the large glass screen light up. Most of us can’t read, so when the scrolling words travel across the glass there’s a voice that accompanies it. It’s always a bland, toneless man’s voice. He lists off the three main rules that govern the After World.
Don’t repeat mistakes of the Old World.
Don’t seek love, don’t engage in war.
And above all else, don’t Believe.
There are other things after that, usually. An update on Rehabilitation camps, success stories and sometimes failed escape attempts. Occasionally we get news of political things, but politics are only for the Elite, so no one cares too much about those.
Most of us are more worried about surviving.
I reach the nurse’s office to find it’s mostly intact, only a few things obviously searched through. Some places look ransacked already when we get there, making me wonder if there are others who search the ruins like we do, or if people of the Old World were scavengers, too.
Pulling my bag off my shoulder, I start throwing things that look promising into it. Most of them, I don’t know what they are or what they do, especially since most of the labels look deteriorated, but it doesn’t really matter. People will trade for it anyway.
I stuff all of it in my bag, as much as I can fit, and I’m about to leave the room when I glance to my right and see something sitting on a desk. It’s covered in a thick layer of dust, but it still catches my eye. I can only make out the words healing and prayer, but that’s enough. My lips tighten, feeling a rush of gladness Jacob isn’t with me.
I leave as quickly as I can and pretend I never saw the book at all. I meet up with Jacob further down the hall. He’s found some books too—picture books in fact, which are great, because people will be more inclined to buy them since they don’t need a lot of skill as far as reading goes.
“What did you find?” Jacob asks as we head out.
“Nothing,” I answer automatically, mind recalling an image of the book I left behind again and again. I remember the words written on it.
Healing and prayer.
Eyes grim, I repeat again as we step out of the building to head home, “Nothing.” Thankfully Jacob leaves it at that.
******
Home is a line of stones that make a short wall that only comes up to about my waist. This wall acts as a border between the After World and the Old World, separating the ruins from our peaceful little town. I can remember asking my dad about it once.
“Why is it such a short fence?” I was only eight and even then I could see right over top of it.
My dad looked down at me, his eyes crinkling at the corners and his mouth quirking ever so slightly into a smile. I remember he always called me Bean. “Because tall fences don’t keep people out like you’d expect Bean. Tall fences let you know they are afraid, which means you have all the power. But a short fence? Well, everyone knows you can get over a short fence easy... so why would you?”
At eight, this was a pretty big concept for me to grasp. It wasn’t until much later I understood what my dad meant, almost a year after he went missing. I was ten. Standing there at the fence, I remembered our conversation.
Everyone knows you can get over a short fence.
And it’s then I realized what he meant. It made me so angry. It made me angry a mere short fence could keep me contained within its walls. And why? Because no one even realized they wanted to leave and go beyond it. No one even realized it was a cage. I hoisted myself on top of it, swung my legs over, and hopped onto the other side, just because I could. I didn’t feel any different though, so I took another step. And then another. And another. Soon, the wall was only a small line in the distance and I could see the ruins of the Old World rising high into the clouds.
It scared me some, being only ten, and I thought about turning around to go home, but then I saw the little boy in the distance. He was ahead of me, but not far. Where had he come from? I wondered. And not knowing why, I ran toward him as fast as I could, worried if I didn’t, he might disappear completely.
The boy must have heard me because he turned around as I got closer and I remember he sort of gaped at me a little, a hint of surprise on his face. He looked a couple years older than me, with shaggy blonde hair and piercing blue eyes.
I stopped several feet from him and we both stared at each other, wide-eyed. It was the boy who offered his hand to me first.
“My name’s Jacob.”
I shook his hand that day and we’ve been fast friends ever since. I smile inwardly at that part of the memory. My meeting Jacob that day was one of my favorites in a tragically meager supply of good ones.
Our packs slung across our shoulders, we reach the town border and hop over the fence, heading back into the territory of Elite Sector Five. That’s our “official” town name. Not the most original in my view, and I sometimes wonder why no one ever came up with something more creative.
The Elite, when they took over after the war, basically carved up the country, sometimes based on old boundary lines, usually based on new ones. Of the three different Elite groups—the Soldiers, the Politicals, and the Scientists—each group got about five territorial spaces. Scientists got more, but only because they claimed several of the deteriorated Old World sites to use as testing grounds. No one lives there anyway, so the other groups agreed to it.
We belong to the Soldiers, but they don’t do much with us. Sometimes they come through and ask for volunteers to join the ranks of their army, but it doesn’t happen a lot and when it does, they tend to take the younger people. I’m guessing it’s because soldiers work a lot better when they’re still relatively healthy.
I’ve always thought it kind of contradictory we have an army and soldiers while one of the Elite’s main big rules is to forgo war. I know better than to ask about it of course, and even if I did, I’m sure they would just tell me there’s no harm in being cautious. Jacob finds the irony amusing though, and I’m inclined to agree.
Official town name aside, most of us who live here just call it the Gate. I don’t know where we picked up that name, but Jacob says it’s because we’re right at the very edge of the After World. I think people just got tired of calling it Elite Sector Five. Kind of a mouthful.
“I think we did pretty well today,” Jacob says quietly as we head toward the courtyard in the middle of town. “I think we’ve got some things people will truly like.”
He glances into his bag as we walk, examining several books he decided were in good enough condition to take with us. When I notice what he’s doing, I grab at his bag to close it, eyes darting to and fro, nerves frayed, to see if anyone is watching.
Of course, no one is. In fact, there isn’t a soul in sight. Thankfully. I squeeze my eyes shut briefly, trying hard not to be aggravated with his bent for putting himself at risk.
“Hey,” Jacob objects. “I was just looking.” All the same, he leaves his bag closed and refrains from digging around in it, if only to keep me satisfied. My steps slow as I realize all of a sudden just how empty the town is.
“Jacob?” I say quietly, stopping and looking around at the mostly deserted area. There are small buildings that serve as homes, a couple of places that act as warehouses for incoming and outgoing goods, and a few others that are diners and health centers.
All but one of the health centers have closed signs displayed on the doors. I am hoping to sell some of my haul to the one that remains, because I know they need it, but I also know they won’t pay the best price. Which is why I’ll save some of the stuff for the higher bidders later.
“What is it?” Jacob asks, noticing me looking around and slowing to a stop too.
The sidewalks are completely empty, as are the roads. The roads are never driven by vehicles, except on rare occasions when the E
lite come to town with their large trucks, so people use them to walk just as much as the sidewalks. Right now though, there is no one walking or driving.
“Where is everyone?”
It isn’t until I say it that he starts noticing it too. I can see him looking around, a frown forming on his face. We both turn opposite directions, eyes scanning the empty sidewalks and roadways.
I hear him say “I don’t know,” just as we come full circle.
Our eyes must see the tracks in the snow on the pavement at the exact same time, because when we glance back up and look at each other, the words come out in unison:
“Selection.”
II
I hitch my pack up and start running as soon as the words are out of our mouths. Jacob is a fraction of a second ahead of me. If we get called for Selection and we’re not there, we’ll be in more trouble than either of us want to deal with. That’s the worst of it for me. For Jacob, the stakes are a heck of a lot higher.
I run until my legs ache and my lungs burn despite the frigid cold air, both Jacob and I desperate to get to the courtyard in the middle of the Gate before Selection happens. In the distance, I can see it. As soon as I do, I know we’re right. There’s a huge crowd in the courtyard and if I had to guess, most, if not all of the town has convened.
Everything is quiet as we reach the edge of the crowd. I skid to an unsteady stop just before entering it, but Jacob is ready to dive forward. I leap and grab his arm to stop him.
“Wait!” I hiss.
He shakes off my grasp, but nods and doesn’t run forward. He’s breathing hard, we both are, and sweating despite the cold. “I have to find her,” he manages to get out between deep breaths, blue gaze locking with mine, now dark with worry.
I nod, understanding immediately. “I know, but we can’t just dive into a quiet crowd like that. We’ll attract too much attention.”
He knows I’m right and I know he doesn’t like it, but it is what it is. Biting my lip, both our gazes turn back to the crowd, and sure enough, mine immediately pick out the handful of guards in rotation. They aren’t efficient enough—or maybe they just don’t care enough—to tally up who is and isn’t here prior to Selection, so they just post guards to watch for stragglers sneaking in, or people who try to break out of the crowd early.
Both types of course, automatically get taken during Selection. I haven’t been taken during a Selection for a while, almost a year now, but some people get taken every single time. It all depends on the type of life you lead.
“We need to get in there,” Jacob says to me in a hushed voice, pressing close against me with his breath right at my ear so only I will hear.
A shiver makes its way down my body, but I shake it off. Now is not the time to deal with stupid things like that. I shift my feet, body thrumming with impatience.
“We will,” I whisper, just as quiet. “Wait for that guard to pass, and we’ll slide in between that woman with the brown coat and the man with the holes in his hat.” I discreetly point with my chin so he can see who I’m talking about.
There is a lot of space between the two, maybe enough for two people to make it in unnoticed. I hope so, anyway. Jacob finds who I’m talking about with his eyes, judging the distance, then nods.
“Alright,” he says back.
I watch the guard as he moves around the yard, checking to make sure no one is dipping out early. Thankfully, it means he’s not looking too hard at the people trying to get in. When he rounds the next corner, I not so gently nudge Jacob with my elbow and we make a run for it.
Moving as quiet as we can, we dash into the yard, squeezing between brown coat woman and holey hat man.
The woman gives each of us in turn the dirtiest look ever, while holey man pointedly refuses to acknowledge our existence. Both are just forms of self-preservation, so I don’t take it too hard. I know it’s hard to trust people around here and were our roles reversed, I certainly wouldn’t trust us either.
I just hope that’s as far as things go. The last thing either of us need is a tattler.
It appears we’re all settled though and in the clear. Just in time, too, because the guard has come around again on a pass right by us. We wait, patient and quiet, before beginning to push through the people again.
The crowd is thick, but there are several pathways that come and go. These pathways are for the Selectors to walk so they can search for specific people. Townsfolk tend to be fanatical about avoiding them. Even though it’d be much more simple to cut through the throng by using them, no one is ever exactly keen to make their way down one. It’s kind of like waving your hands in the air begging Selectors to come over and talk to you. Instead, Jacob and I try to shove gently through the crowd, not enough to make huge ripples, but enough for us to get through them. We try to stay together, but there are a lot of people. As I follow behind, several people start to get between me and him. I shove around them, trying to keep up, but before I know it, I’ve already lost him in the crowd. I sigh, stopping for a minute to look around, trying to peer around the shoulders of those in front of me.
As I search around trying to land eyes on Jacob, I hear the Elite speaking overhead. It’s only the big screen, saying the same thing it always says about the three rules upon which our society is built. The Elite who are actually here are in the crowd combing through the denizens gathered, targeting certain people, kids mostly, to take during Selection and send to Trial. Most of it, I tune out, still focused on finding Jacob. There isn’t anything new about it I haven’t experienced many times before.
It isn’t until the crowd parts several people away from me that I pay attention to what’s going on again. One of the Elite is eyeballing the crowd and Selects a young girl with blonde hair. For a moment, I panic, an image of Samantha Moore, Jacob’s little sister popping into my head. But then the girl turns around and I can see her face.
It’s not her.
I let out a breath, relief pouring through me, but it may be too soon. I finally spot Jacob again, just in time to see him break free of the crowd and leap in the direction of the young girl, sheer panic on his face. My mouth opens on a small gasp, fear clenching in my belly. I know the same thought is crossing his mind as what crossed mine, that she was definitely little Samantha being Selected for Trial.
I freeze, wanting to yell out to him that it isn’t her, to not do anything stupid, but it’s too late. I squeeze my eyes shut hard, before opening them again, futilely hoping I’m dreaming. No, not a dream. Jacob’s already there, yanking her away from the Elite who has chosen her. When he pulls her away, I can see him freeze. He’s seen her face now, too, and realizes who she is. Slowly, he releases the girl and straightens up. The Selector stares at him suspiciously. I’m almost vibrating as I watch, lifting a hand to my mouth and biting down on one knuckle, hard.
“What’s your name?” I hear the man ask.
I wish fervently Jacob will lie, but I know he won’t.
“Jacob Moore,” he answers after only a moment’s hesitation.
“And what is your connection to this little girl?” The man continues, gesturing to the girl. “She has been Selected for Trials... and it appears you were attempting to stop that.”
The accusation stings even from where I stand. The space surrounding the Elite and Jacob expands, no one wanting to stand next to either of the men everyone’s attention is now riveted to.
Jacob’s eyes never waver from the man. “I wasn’t. I only thought she was someone I knew. I wanted to wish her...”
Don’t say luck, don’t say luck, I think urgently. Luck is almost as bad as superstition and superstition is just a hop skip and a jump away from religion and Believing.
“... a safe trip and tell her I would see her when she returned,” Jacob continues, his words smooth and without falter.
I heave a relieved sigh when he finishes, feeling a faint tickle of admiration for his quick thinking under pressure. Surely they wouldn’t find anything wrong with that s
tatement, right? Unless, of course, they just didn’t believe it. Clenching my hands into fists at my sides, I wait, watching.
The man continues to scrutinize Jacob for several more tense moments, then gives him a frosty smile. “I see. Very well Jacob Moore. Now, if you’ll step aside and allow me to continue?”
Jacob obliges, sidestepping so the man can pass him, while dragging the little girl along behind him. It took a while, but eventually the crowd came back together, allowing Jacob and I to finally reunite without arousing any suspicions.
I feel faint with relief, and then start shaking with anger. “What were you thinking?” I demand, eyes hot and flashing as they lock with Jacob’s.
He shoves his hands into his pockets, jaw tight. He shrugs. “You saw her. She looked just like Sammy.”
I run a frustrated hand through my light brown hair, shoving a lock out of my eyes. “I know who she looked like, but stealing her away from a Selector wasn’t going to do her any favors you know. It’ll only make them look at her—and you—closer.”
He lets out a sigh, shoulders slumping. “I know,” he mumbles, tiredness oozing from his tone. “But I couldn’t just let them... there’s no way she could pass Trial.”
A man to our right gives us a curious look, as if maybe he’s been listening to our conversation this whole time. It makes me nervous so I nudge Jacob.
“This isn’t the place to be talking about this.”
I see him out of the corner of my eye nod in agreement. “I know. We’ll talk later.”
I want to shake my head and yell at him some more, maybe even shake him, but the man looking at us has me spooked. Jacob has already had enough attention for the day, I definitely don’t want to attract more. I clench my jaw, feeling mutinous, but keeping my mouth shut.
III
It’s been a month since the last Selection. The people taken for Trials, kids mostly, have already come back. Everyone passed this time, which is good, but I still worry about that day in the courtyard. Jacob got a lot of attention and even though he’s already eighteen, it’s not beyond the realm of impossible for him be Selected for Trials again. I just know he wouldn’t pass Trials if he was Selected again. He just wouldn’t. He’s not that good of a liar.