UNCHIPPED: ENYD

by DeVere, Taya

  Enyd turns her focus back to her oatmeal. She takes a spoonful while Oliver finishes the rest of the bread. Her pockets may be empty now, but she has plenty of granola bars left, back in the office. A woman her age and size can’t possibly survive with this tasteless nutrition… the porridge, the bread.

  Thomas joins them at the table. Before he sits down, he steals a few of the raisins from the plate between Enyd and Oliver. Enyd glares at him but doesn’t say a word. She’s not a fan of the raisins either.

  The two young men are continually testing her limits. Their endless appetites—them and the rest of the teenage boys living in Kinship Care—force Enyd to order food more often than she’d like to. It puts her deeper into debt, a debt her soul despises.

  Oliver grabs the rest of the raisins. Margaret stares into space, drying an already dried plate. Thomas hums a familiar tune, a jingle from the time before. Something feels off. Is it because the sun is out this morning? Most days, the playground’s brownish grass looks like the blood from The Great Affliction ruined it only yesterday—not two years ago.

  “What’s on the agenda today, Sister Enyd?” Oliver asks, his mouth full of porridge. How has he not yet retreated into a dark corner somewhere to devour his secret treat? The boy has more self-control than Enyd gives him credit for.

  Thomas crosses his elbows on the table and leans forward. “Maybe we could take Margaret for a long walk after breakfast. She hasn’t been out for days.”

  The boy's sarcastic. Margaret doesn’t need people to walk her. Though she does tend to lock herself in her room and stay there for most of the day. Only Arnie knows what happens behind that closed door.

  Enyd looks up at the dish-washing woman. Margaret doesn’t say a word. Not out loud or inside Enyd’s head. The boys can’t talk telepathically. Margaret and Enyd are the only Unchipped living in the home. Margaret, Enyd—and Ava.

  Ignoring the sarcasm, Enyd says, “That sounds like a wonderful idea. Why don’t you walk to the southern fence and take a look at the green hills again? But don’t take too long. I need to make a new food order today.”

  She doesn’t have to say out loud what that most likely means. Work-wise.

  “What’s up with you and the hills? Do you think there’s a new batch of survivors?” Thomas asks. His eyes flicker with enthusiasm. It doesn’t take a lot for the boys to get excited these days. Not much happens around Kinship Care. Except when a sinner is caught red-handed.

  “Enyd thinks she saw a body,” Oliver says.

  ”Whoa. A human body?”

  Oliver nods repeatedly. “Yup. The drones must have collected it before we had a chance to see it.”

  Why is there disappointment in Oliver’s voice? Why is he so eager to see dead people?

  ”That’s quite enough, boys. Just check the hill. Not for bodies, or drones, or anything specific. No need to make a fuss about everything all the time.”

  A careful knock on the door cuts their conversation short. Enyd turns in her seat. Hannah—a girl with curly brown hair tied in a ponytail—twists her hands and approaches Enyd with lowered eyes. A sweater three sizes too large covers her upper and midbody, all the way to her knees. She’s one of the older girls, soon turning seventeen. Enyd can’t help but check the girl’s fingertips. Nails bitten to the quick, but no bruising, not as of late. Hannah had been one of the toughest kids to handle when she first arrived at Kinship Care. A few weeks down in the basement had done her good. Enyd knew it would, but she was surprised when the girl seemed to have turned from a full-on rebel to a shy and sheepish girl—almost overnight.

  Margaret hurries over to Hannah. She leans forward and whispers something in Hannah’s ear. The girl nods. Margaret walks to the cupboard, takes out a clean bowl, and fills it with porridge. Then she walks back to Hannah. The girl’s hands shake slightly as she accepts the bowl, her eyes flicking nervously to the AI-camera, then to Enyd.

  Enyd leans back in her chair. Behind Hannah’s saggy sweater, another Kinship Care tenant hovers nearby. When Noah’s eyes meet Enyd’s, he quickly looks away and pretends to have found something interesting to read on the kitchen’s bulletin board. The boy’s about a year older than Hannah. One, two, three, four bruised fingertips.

  Has he sent the girl to beg for more food? It’s a known fact that Enyd favors those who give her and the rest of the adults less trouble. She’s not known for giving out seconds. But Margaret is.

  Again, Margaret whispers in Hannah’s ear and then ushers her out of the kitchen.

  Enyd leans back and pushes her bowl away. Why did she have to give Oliver the only granola bar she brought with her? Eating her treats without the others noticing is challenging, but she’s become quite good at it. She knows how to hide, even from Arnie.

  “What was that about?” she asks, frowning at Margaret. The woman dodges her piercing gaze and turns to finish the dishes. Oliver and Thomas exchange a look. Enyd stares them down and nods at the AI-camera. The boys get up at once.

  “Arnie, gather the kids. Prepare the playground cameras for an outing.”

  Thomas and Oliver follow Arnie’s smooth voice into the dining hall. Enyd and Margaret are left alone in the kitchen.

  Grunting, Enyd limps toward the sink. Her ankles always give her the most trouble after sitting down. Enyd places her bowl on the counter. Margaret has been drying the same bowl since Hannah left the room.

  “Scrub any longer, and that bowl’s going to become see-through.”

  Enyd reaches for the dish brush and runs water on her hands. A few pumps of soap and she starts cleaning the porridge bowl with force. The food order has put her on edge. Without looking at Margaret, she continues with a low voice.

  “Why do you let that boy pull your leg like that?”

  “What. Boy?”

  “Don’t tell me you didn’t see Noah hovering by the bulletin board.”

  “They were. Just. Hungry.”

  “They’re all hungry, Margaret. And the older boys already get a bigger portion of each meal. Hannah must weigh, what? Ten or eleven stone? She shouldn’t beg for him.”

  Margaret lowers her chin and closes her eyes. Enyd tries to read her mind, but she’s blocked the connection. She’s not answering Enyd’s tapping. She reaches for the dishcloth in Margaret’s hand. After taking the rag from her, Enyd puts it down next to the bowl and turns Margaret by her shoulders. The two women face each other in the quiet kitchen.

  With a low voice, Enyd leans in and says, “I know you and I don’t always see eye to eye. On many things that need to happen around here. But if we start hiding things, keeping things from each other, the order here will turn into chaos. Do you think the Lord would want that for the children? That I’d want that? Is that what you want?”

  Margaret’s eyes fill with tears, darting from one of Enyd’s stern brown eyes to the other. The pressure at the back of Enyd’s skull tells her the connection’s open again.

  “She’s with. Child. Hannah.”

  Enyd lets go of Margaret’s shoulders. “You mean one of the youngsters? Did they break something? Steal? Sneak out?” Enyd cocks her head and keeps investigating Margaret’s desperate expression. “What then? What did she do?”

  “No. Not the. Youngsters. A child.” Margaret lowers her chin. The light-brown curls dance around her beautifully aged face. When she looks up, she glances at the AI-camera, then her serious eyes stare at Enyd.

  “A baby.”

  ***

  The office chair creaks lightly under Enyd’s weight. She’s triple-checked that both doors, the one leading to the library and the one to the downstairs hallway, are appropriately locked. She can’t have anyone witness the AR-call she’s about to make. Not even Margaret.

  Biting into her fifth chocolate chip granola bar, Enyd hauls herself to her feet and walks to the window. With her free hand, she moves the heavy drape aside. It’s midday, but the curtains are drawn, blocking the dim daylight from outside. The office’s three windows open to the north,
where the City of England glows red. Today’s weak sunshine makes the city more visible than most days even though it’s a great distance away.

  A group of five young children runs past the windows, chasing a football. They sprint all the way to the broken statue of a rearing horse by the front gates. From there, they turn back and chase the ball toward a goal made of two red traffic cones. Their giggles are loud, and they holler at each other as they go. Enyd lets the drape fall back down. With heavy, awkward steps, she heads straight back to the office chair and a note placed in the middle of the desk.

  The food order.

  The wooden drawer opens halfway, then gets stuck on its slides. Enyd nudges the drawer sideways, pushes it back a few inches, then pulls again. It opens without further trouble. Chocolate chip, red berry, and peanut butter granola bars fill the deep drawer. Enyd sinks her hand into the depths of her secret stash. She pulls out a warm can of root beer. The can makes a hissing sound as it opens.

  Enyd plunges her hand back in. In the middle of the pile, her fingers find a set of black AR-glasses with blinking red lights. The other pair is buried deeper, unused and pointless. No one else is allowed to touch this technology. Just Enyd.

  A sacrifice. For the greater good. To keep everyone alive, Enyd must play along.

  After taking a big gulp of root beer, she lifts up the AR-glasses. They make her wince when they reach her eye-level. The red lights create a throbbing headache that starts from her left temple and stops at the back of her skull.

  It’s God’s punishment. For I have sinned, she thinks to herself. But nobody’s tapping her and Arnie can’t read her mind. There’s no need to pretend. Religion is just something to control the kids with, to make them behave as they should. And it’s working like the lucky charms the Chipped in the cities are known to be so fond of.

  Bright, blinking colors greet her eyes. Images fill the screen and fill her mind as well.

  A glowing, red hologram of a fit woman running by the shore.

  An old but well-tuned man jumps into a pool.

  3D printed pills, shaped like American footballs.

  A smooth woman’s voice—a female Arnie—describing the Happiness-Pill 2.2, now available for everyone in the Happiness-Program.

  “Arnie. Make this damn thing call Nurse Saarinen. City of Finland.”

  CALL INITIATED

  Three white dots run across the colorful trailer. Soon, a slightly nasal voice with a thick accent booms in Enyd’s ears.

  “Ahh, Enyd. About time you called. You must have, what, a half a sack of oats left?”

  “Good day, Nurse Saarinen. Yes, we’re running on fumes here. I would like to place an order, please.”

  “I’m sure you would. Go ahead. Ready when you are.”

  Enyd raises her brows but reaches for the note on the desk. Usually, Nurse Saarinen barters before asking for the list. This is a good sign. Ava’s video might have been payment enough.

  She wipes her hands on the front of her pants and reaches for a pair of reading glasses. If she lived in the city, they would have fixed her eyesight a long time ago. Just like they would have fixed Margaret’s hearing.

  “Fifteen sacks of oats. Two bags of sugar and salt. Each.”

  “Would rye be okay? Half and half?”

  Enyd takes a deep breath and closes her eyes. How she despises these calls. To be the one compromising, not the one calling the shots. She’s here to keep everyone and everything in control, not the other way around.

  “We’ll take whatever you have, Sister Saarinen.”

  “Nurse.”

  “Yes, of course. Nurse Saarinen. We’ll also need tea, flour, honey, and sanitary products. The usual amounts.”

  “The boys into baking now?”

  “Sister Margaret is.”

  The woman scoffs at the other end of the line. After taking a moment to write down Enyd’s order, she says, “Tell you what. Though these calls are recorded, you can drop the act with me. Religion died long before The Great Affliction. Must be a drag to keep up with such superstitious fairytales.”

  “Aren’t people in the City of Finland carrying rabbit feet in their pockets?” Before Nurse Saarinen has a chance to reply, Enyd says, “People need something to believe in. If they don’t trust something bigger than themselves, they have nothing. It gives them hope.”

  “I prefer clarity over hope. A clear understanding of what people must do. Your children need to stay in Kinship Care, and the rest of us must stay in the cities. How else are we to protect them from the plague, or the war—or themselves?”

  Enyd reaches for the glasses, pulling them off her skin by just one inch. The throbbing around her skull does not lessen. She doesn’t feel like debating humanity’s future with the nurse. Enyd presses her lips into a hard line.

  Nurse Saarinen continues. “Surely, you’ll want the usual package of root beer, granola, and cupcakes, too?”

  Enyd looks at the half-full can of root beer longingly. As soon as this AR-call is done and dealt with, she’ll empty the can and open a new one. Have a vanilla cupcake or two.

  “That would be great, yes. The kids love sweets. Personally, I like to stick to the porridge.” As soon as the lie comes out of her mouth, Enyd regrets it. Arnie makes sure nothing that happens in this house ever stays a secret.

  “Whatever floats your boat, Enyd. What else do you have on your list?”

  “Twenty-five packages of black tea. Fourteen boxes of powdered milk. Five sacks of black and kidney beans. All the flour you have to spare. Same with strawberry jam, honey, nuts and seeds, pasta, and frozen goods.” Enyd puts away the list. “And a package of blockers with better syringes this time.”

  “You need more crispbread?”

  Enyd shakes her head and stops herself from rolling her eyes. Not because she thinks the nurse could tell, but because the gesture would only make the piercing headache worse. “We’re all set with crispbread. Thank you.”

  “I’ll toss a few packages in anyway. We’ve also got some vegan nuggets and soy slices leftover from a party they threw in the Pedal-Center. I’ll make sure they’re sent your way as well.”

  “Thank you, Nurse Saarinen. That will be all.”

  Enyd reaches for the AR-glasses, her whole body itching to shove the device back into its hiding place and secure it with a double lock.

  “Not so fast, Enyd. We need to talk about donations.”

  Enyd cups her ears and rubs the sides of her head. The pain has started to numb the skin around her ears. “Arnie got new material just last night. I figured we’d have at least a few weeks until you ran out of clips. The girl’s pretty bruised up. What more do you need?”

  “Well, that’s exactly what we need. More. We also need face shots. People need to see that this plague is ruining more than just wrists and fingertips. That it’s not safe outside the city. Not with the murderous Unchipped running loose and a deadly virus wiping out what’s left.”

  Margaret had seen this coming. Enyd supposed she had seen it coming too. They would always ask for more. More shocking material. More pain. More punishment. Suffering, starving, hopeless people. Those who dared to defy the Happiness-Program. It’s just that no one in Kinship Care is one of those people. Not in reality. Only on camera.

  “Also, Doctor Solomon has requested material of younger children.”

  Enyd presses her knuckles against her temples. “How young are we talking?”

  “I’d say six and down. And we need more…realistic material. Not just black eyes and fingertips. Something more shocking. Blood, rotting wounds, missing legs. We need to really show the good people in the city what it’s like for those who defy the program.”

  “I’m sorry. Missing legs?”

  “You get the gist.”

  Enyd’s eyes find a stapler, just like the one on her bedroom’s writing desk next to the white Bible. Her heart misses a beat when she imagines Owena or any of her other five-year-olds covered in blood and bruises. The video
s are for the greater good—their only way to survive—but she wouldn’t be able to punish the little ones. Unless they broke the rules. Maybe then.

  “Why not take pictures of the real plague victims?”

  “Oh, Enyd. They’re long gone. You and the children are the only people left in the City of England. The rest of the cities are in lockdown because of the Unchipped uprising.”

  “Then send the airship to get us. Send a helicopter. A plane.”

  “You know we can’t do that. It’s just not safe to move you. Besides, with the revenue your charity program is bringing in, operation Kinship is way too valuable to be shut down.”

  “What about if you just took the shots and—”

  “Photomanipulation won’t work. People are not stupid, Enyd. We need real tears. Real blood.”

  Enyd grabs the stapler and holds it hard in her fist. A suffocating lump rises in her throat. What would Margaret do? She would fight this. Stand up for the kids. She’d find a way to stop this madness.

  “Do you want the damn food or not?”

  Enyd lowers her chin. She lets the stapler drop back onto the table. In the screen of her AR-glasses, a young woman wearing a revealing bathing suit surfs along perfect waves. Behind her, the letters “H.P.” glow in all rainbow colors. Happiness-Program. It’s for everyone. As long as you’re carrying an undamaged chip in your head, she thinks.

  Someone has to feed the kids. Guide them. Keep them safe. Until they can be brought back into civilization. Are these atrocities really worth starving for?

  “Please send the Chip-Ship as soon as possible. Like I said, we’re on our last sack of oats.”

  “And the new material?”

  Again, Enyd reaches for the stapler on the desk. With her finger shoved between the hammer and the crimp area, she weighs her options. The boys wouldn’t beat the five-year-olds; Enyd refuses to believe anything else. And even if they did, Margaret wouldn’t let them. As much as Enyd hates to admit it, her power over them is limited. She needs to sacrifice someone else to get the food. A real sinner.