Paradise Page 2
“Are we going to follow them?” asked Sarah.
“Is that what you’d like us to do?” I asked. “I’m more than a little suspicious of such a generous offer coming to us out of the blue. And did you see this?” I said, pointing to the flyer. “It’s signed by Governor Davis. I’ve never heard that name before today.”
“But should we ignore it completely?” asked Sarah. “We’ve lost our home and this town is dying. You said we couldn’t stay here. So, where else can we go?”
There was a loud explosion and the earth shook. Instinctively, we reached out to steady each other.
“Another quake?” asked Cindy, on the verge of tears with terror on her face.
I looked toward the downtown area where the sound had come from. A large black column of smoke was already rising into the sky.
“No, a gas explosion,” I said. “It’s begun. Gather only what you absolutely need and load it into the car. We’ll see how far we can get.”
Sarah nervously smiled her approval and nodded. I wasn’t sure where we would end up, but for the moment leaving with the others seemed to make her happy and there weren’t a lot of alternatives anyway. If we went to the prison, we knew we would at least be with our friends and neighbors. And she was right; we did have to go somewhere. Hopefully, it would be a safe haven or sanctuary, as advertised, until we found something better.
The roads were packed with vehicles, driving along at a snail’s pace. We picked our way along the damaged roadways, at times having to drive through farmer’s abandoned fields. Hundreds of columns of smoke rose in the air across the landscape. The acrid smoke-filled air burned our throats and made our eyes water. We slowly passed house after house, collapsed or burning, and dozens of abandoned cars and trucks, either with a mechanical breakdown or more likely out of gas. Groupings of tents had popped up all along our route. People with helplessness on their faces held up signs asking for food, water, or a ride. We rode along in silence, not believing our eyes, not able to help. I looked at our gas gauge. We would be joining them soon. I glanced at Sarah. Her eyes were closed and her lips were moving silently. She was praying. I just didn’t know if it was for them or for us. This was our new reality. Things would never be the same again.
* * *
Chapter 2
It had been five long years since leaving our home. Tomorrow, my time would be up. I had been dreading this day since Governor Davis had implemented his plan for population control four years earlier. You might think knowing when your time is up, without any recourse, would allow you the time to make peace and prepare for it with a certain amount of acceptance. But the last few weeks had actually been torture, not knowing the exact day or time when they would come, knowing I would have to leave my family behind, to never see their faces again. When I had seen my name posted for the next removal, it had almost come as a relief. There would be no more waiting.
I knew it hadn’t been easy on my family. Sarah, Christopher, and Cindy had avoided talking about it. I guess it had been easier to pretend it wasn’t going to happen, until now. Tomorrow, a team would be coming to the mill to collect the governor’s share of the season’s harvest, and with them the disposal squad to remove me and a handful of others who met the age criteria, to transport us to an unknown location deep within the wasteland. There was no coming back.
* * *
The governor’s mandate specified everyone, upon reaching the age of forty, had reached the end of their usefulness, and before becoming a burden on the food supply, would forfeit their life for the well being of the remaining population. Then, on a quarterly basis, those fitting the criteria would be collected and delivered to an unknown location within the southern wasteland for disposal where they would be left to fend for themselves, if they could, or die. The intent was to maintain a delicate balance between the necessary workforce and a sustainable food supply. The reasoning was the brainchild of Governor Davis, enforced without any regard to humanity, ironically for the good of the people. The first year had been especially terrifying and horrific, with anyone displaying gray hair or age wrinkles automatically culled out.
The country we knew had gone downhill quickly with little reason for hope. After suffering through almost a full year of earthquake activity with magnitudes ranging from 4.0 to as high as 7.0, they had mysteriously stopped.
With few places to go to for safety, tens of thousands had lost their lives. Those who had survived had done so by leaving the cities, going to the flatlands, far from any structure, natural or manmade. Even basements and caverns were avoided out of fear of being killed by their collapse.
A tent city had popped up overnight with our family in one of the tents right outside the walls of the governor’s compound. That had been five years ago and since then there’d been a reluctance to rebuild, afraid the quakes would return and it would all start over again. If attempted, recovery would take decades, if not longer. But some, like the governor, seemed to like things just the way they were, a new world with new opportunities.
* * *
I was graciously allowed to stay home from work today, to spend my last hours with my family and to say our final goodbyes. Sarah and myself sat in our tent with our two children, Chris, now 14, and Cindy, 12, in silence, not knowing how best to spend this final time together. Cindy’s eyes were red and moist. For now, she had stopped crying, but her sobs continued to escape at random. Chris remained silent. He knew what was expected of him after I was gone. He would be the man of the family.
Sarah leaned against me, wrapping her arms around my arm. This was not how I wanted to spend my last hours with them. I thought about suggesting we go for a walk, but decided against it. I didn’t want to spend our final time together outside where our neighbors would be able to watch and pity our situation. I preferred our remaining time to be joyful and meaningful, and private.
I began to tell stories about the happy times I recalled about our children as they were growing up. The stories were bringing smiles to all their faces and the mood in the tent began to change for the better. Soon we were all exchanging stories, laughing and enjoying ourselves. This was how I wanted to spend our final hours together.
Sarah was only a few months younger than me, but since children were involved, she would be given a reprieve when she reached the age limit. She would be allowed to stay in Sector 4 an additional two years and continue to work in the fields until our youngest, Cindy, reached the age of fourteen, the age when all children graduated to adulthood and were placed into the workforce. At that time, Sarah’s future, and fate, would be the same as it was going to be for me.
* * *
Sarah and I stayed up late into the evening recollecting the wonderful life we’d shared together and with our children. We had been so happy at our home before the quakes, and had been so disappointed on our arrival here. When our car had run out of gas, we’d been forced to abandon it on the edge of the road with all the others, having to walk the last ten miles. Our hopes had vanished as the prison had come into view. The prison and the surrounding grounds had already become crowded and overflowing with people just like us, looking for the promise of a safe haven.
“I’m sorry,” I told Sarah. “If I hadn’t decided …”
“Don’t,” she was quick to say. “We both chose to come here.”
I looked into her eyes and forced a weak smile. I didn’t want to argue, but I knew it had been my fault, my decision to come here. My gut had told me not to. We should have stayed near our hometown. In hindsight, I would have preferred to have attempted survival there somehow.
Sarah changed the subject, helping me remember some of the good things I had forgotten from long ago. And it helped talking about the kids. We hadn’t talked like this in quite a while. I’m not sure why. I guess life had just gotten in the way. It was a shame the threat of death was the element bringing us closer. I glanced over at our children. Chris and his sister had fallen asleep earlier while listening to our stories. Sarah
and I exchanged a smile at their innocent and peaceful sleep.
Later, Sarah had fallen still and silent as she lay beside me. Her warmth and the sound of her relaxed breathing were comforting, but I wasn’t able to sleep. I couldn’t help thinking about what awaited me the next day. I glanced over to look at Sarah’s face as she slept. She was looking back at me with a smile spreading across her face. From the sliver of moonlight filtering through the tent flap, I could see a small glint of light reflecting off the moisture in her eyes.
As the sky began to lighten ever so slightly, I got up to dress and make final preparations. I looked out the tent flap. It was surprisingly quiet and peaceful outside with the streets empty. I wasn’t exactly sure what to expect today, after being taken away. No one had ever come back to tell the tale. The people taken to the wasteland weren’t expected to survive, intentionally taken far enough away to make it impossible to return on foot. They were expected to slowly die of dehydration in its dry and harsh environment or suffer at the hands of those who lived there, the Raiders or other scavengers.
The governor showed his mercy by providing an alternate method of death, allowing a person to self-terminate. It was a pill, and said to be pain free and quick with no suffering, which to a few had been the terrifying, but preferable choice. The obvious down side was that it was final, there was no coming back. It wasn’t for me. I was no quitter. I was a survivor. Even with being dropped off in the middle of nowhere without adequate resources, as long as there was still even the slightest possibility of survival, I would try.
I was being allowed to take one gallon of water and anything else from a provided list of acceptable items that would fit into my backpack. It was of little consolation. I wouldn’t last long after my food supply and water were gone, most likely suffering a long and agonizing death within a matter of a few days. I’d heard of people who had gone up to three weeks with next to no food, but had suffered system shutdown from a lack of water. If I was fortunate enough to last a few days, perhaps it would give me enough time to find a means of survival. In that amount of time I would try anything and everything available to me. I was determined to see my family again, somehow.
The bell at the gate began to clang. Possibly the signal that the governor’s men were there. If so, it was sooner than I’d expected. If not, it could be a warning. Even though we were near the prison and guards were posted at the gate, the community still had to protect itself from marauding bands of criminals, ready to take whatever they could from a weak community with their hit and run tactics. As a precaution, a crude fence and gate had been erected using the Tent City dwellers’ abandoned and useless vehicles. The governor had been extremely cooperative in providing aid in the construction. His reason was two-fold, to keep his workers safe from marauders, and to discourage his workers from leaving.
Today, there was little doubt as to why the bell was ringing. The collection and disposal squads were expected and had been seen leaving the prison gates. Hearing the bell and unable to control herself any longer, Sarah broke down, crying uncontrollably, running to and grabbing hold of me with all her might, as though she would never let go. I knew how hard she had tried to remain strong for me and our children, but she wasn’t able to keep it hidden any longer. The sound of the bell signaled the reality she had hoped somehow would never come. Cindy joined in the embrace with no attempt to hold back, her tears and sobs flowing freely. I, too, was trying to stay strong for them, but my eyes filled with tears, knowing I would probably never see any of them again. Chris took after me, slow to show emotion. But now, both of us were finding it hard to hold back.
“I have to go,” I whispered into Sarah’s ear. “I don’t want them to have to come and get me.”
Sarah loosened her grip and I grabbed my backpack and a blanket to use as a bedroll. I checked the list of acceptable items again for the hundredth time. The list included very few items that would actually be useful; being mostly a list of what was excluded, making the likelihood of survival even more remote. Any kind of weapon was a definite exclusion, but I decided it was worth the risk to attempt to smuggle out a kitchen knife. It wasn’t much, but it could be the difference between life and death. Besides, what could they do to me if they found it? I had already been sentenced to death with no chance of reprieve. I rolled it up inside the bedroll.
My family and I left our tent together, walking slowly toward the gate. Our path was lined with neighbors and friends. It had become a tradition of sorts, to say ‘thank you’ to the person for their sacrifice and to say ‘goodbye.’ We had stood along this same path many times before. From this perspective there was no comparison. A few of our closest friends were among the few to make eye contact and nod as we passed. Words were not exchanged. There was nothing to say. I held my head up high, facing the likelihood of death in a way I hoped would make my family proud.
Three wagons were waiting outside the gate, two already being loaded with sacks of grain from our summer harvest, the governor’s declared taxes. I approached a man holding a clipboard and yelling orders, the one I assumed to be in charge. It was odd the man appeared to be older than I was, an obvious perk of working for the governor. The man looked up from his clipboard and then looked me over from head to toe.
“Name,” he asked.
“John Thomas.”
The man looked down his list, showing acknowledgement and making a checkmark.
He looked over my family and then looked directly at the children. Leaning down slightly and smiling, “You know, you should be very proud of your dad. He’s making a very necessary sacrifice to make sure you get enough to eat.”
The children didn’t make any response, only staring back at him with hatred in their eyes. They were old enough to realize he was taking their dad away forever.
He looked at me, his smile quickly disappearing and with a jerk of his head told me to say my final goodbyes and get in the wagon. They were almost loaded and they would be leaving soon. Cindy began to cry again. We all hugged and kissed for the last time. I pulled away as Sarah kept her arms around the shoulders of our children.
I knelt down to Chris and Cindy.
“I know what they say, that this is the end. But I don’t want you to count me out yet. Whatever it takes, I’ll do everything in my power to be with you again. Okay?”
They nodded slightly.
The leader was standing nearby; close enough to hear my remarks. He smiled and shook his head, almost imperceptibly, but just enough for me to notice. I imagine the man had heard those same or similar words come from the mouths of countless others and was probably amazed and amused that there were so many who believed they could survive.
“Third wagon. Make yourself comfortable.”
I gave Sarah one last kiss and embrace then walked over to the wagon and climbed into the back, seeing three others were already there. I exchanged awkward smiles with two of them and gave them a nod as I entered. There were two men and one woman. The woman hadn’t looked up, sitting in silence with no show of emotion. She looked too young to be here. I noticed she wore a wedding ring. There either was or had been a man in her life. Perhaps he had already been taken away. If she was older than him and they hadn’t had any children, it was possible that she could go first. Another explanation could be that if she had had children, they could have already reached the age for the workforce. Either way, it wasn’t any of my business. There would be plenty of time to talk on our trip to the wasteland, if any of them felt like it. I didn’t know any of them by name, but the faces were familiar. At the moment, introductions seemed pointless. I took a seat on the floor of the wagon next to the men. From some distance away, we became aware of a man screaming, getting louder as he came closer. Two of the disposal squad appeared at the back of the wagon, dragging the man between them, hands bound.
“Please don’t make me go! I’ll do anything! I’m not ready to die!” he screamed, trying to break free from his escorts while kicking at the wagon, trying t
o brace himself from being lifted inside.
Having had enough, one of the disposal team clubbed him over the head, knocking him unconscious. The two men then picked him up and tossed him into the back of the wagon followed by his bag, closing and latching the backboard. They had left his hands bound. The woman moved quickly to his side, sitting on the floor and cradling his head in her lap.
“A friend of yours?” I asked.
She shook her head slowly. “No. I’ve never seen him before,” she said softly.
As I watched the woman comfort the man, I thought about the words the man had screamed out. I had thought the very same words, but had kept them inside. There was no use in fighting what was happening, what was inevitable. And suppose I had considered putting up a fight, would there be consequences that would affect my family? I couldn’t risk it.
I heard the leader tell the others to get ready to leave. Almost immediately I heard the words “Move out!” and the wagon lurched forward. The two wagons carrying the governor’s share of the grain split off from the disposal wagon, immediately returning to the prison compound. As our wagon circled away from the gate to leave, I could see the crowd of family and friends who had come to the gate to wave and say their goodbyes for one last time. Over the sounds of the creaking wagon, I continued to hear loud crying and screaming from loved ones well after leaving the gate behind, but then they ended abruptly, presumably from the gate being closed behind us. At that instant I was unexpectedly filled with an all-consuming emptiness and overwhelming doom. Tears welled up in my eyes. I turned my head so the others couldn’t see.