Unfit

by Karma Chesnut

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Immortal

  Appropriate for Teens, Intriguing to Adults

  Immortal Works LLC

  1505 Glenrose Drive

  Salt Lake City, Utah 84104

  Tel: (385) 202-0116

  © 2020 Karma Chesnut

  www.karmachesnut.com

  Cover Art by Ashley Literski

  http://strangedevotion.wixsite.com/strangedesigns

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For more information email contact@immortal-works.com or visit http://www.immortal-works.com/contact/.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN 978-1-7343866-3-9 (Paperback)

  ASIN B085MNCY7D (Kindle Edition)

  For Colton,

  Who believed long before I did.

  In order to thrive, we must not make the same mistakes as our predecessors. They abandoned the belief that humanity could be molded into something greater than what it was, and so the world fell to the plague. But we are not doomed to repeat their mistakes. If we ever hope to overcome the insurmountable obstacles now facing us as a species, it is imperative we be completely honest in the evaluation of ourselves and each other.

  Our intelligence is what will save us, our studious and industrious nature. These are rare gifts, gifts that must be praised, cultivated, and passed on. If we wish to improve our condition, then we must first improve ourselves. All would agree it is better to be healthy than to be diseased.

  -Council Address, reign of the Council, Year 20

  “Sorry again for the wait. The doctor just has one more patient and then he will be right in to see you,” the nurse said, forcing a smile as she shut the door behind her.

  John sat on the exam room table, the thin paper of his hospital gown crinkling under him as he shifted his weight.

  The exam room was gloomy at best. The upholstery of the single chair carelessly set askew in the corner clashed horribly with the carpet. Not that it mattered. Both were too stained and torn to tell what color they were supposed to be anyway. The monitor—a clear glass screen that took up most of the far wall—was the only other piece of furniture in the room. At first glance, it looked terribly out of place, but a large crack radiating from the bottom left corner served as a reminder that it did, in fact, belong.

  John hung his head down, elbows resting on his knees, and fiddled with the paper medical bracelet wrapped around his wrist, telling himself for the hundredth time not to be nervous, yet his heart continued to thump in his throat. The deadline was fast approaching so, as expected, the entire hospital was packed to capacity with hundreds of other citizens. But now that John was alone in the examination room, surrounded by an unsettling silence, his mind began to wander and he unwillingly contemplated every possible outcome in gruesome detail.

  The waiting was the worst part. It left John with too much time to obsess over the unknown. Morgan had reassured him the doctor would just look him over and then draw some blood.

  Easy enough, he thought, trying again to reassure himself.

  Morgan. As John pictured his wife’s face, the thumping in his chest began to settle.

  The lights flickered overhead. This hospital was one of the only buildings in Southend that still had working electricity, but John doubted that would be the case for much longer. Resources were becoming more and more limited these days. Once the lights burnt out, would the Council grant replacements, or would the hospital staff have to make do with candles just like everyone else? Even surrounded by the luxury of electric lighting, however, John hated the hospital. He hated the sterile feel of it.

  The written test was supposed to have been the worst part of the Genetic Fitness Evaluation—answering questions for hours and hours, all so some unseen desk jockey could decide if John met the Council’s standard for intelligence. He would have happily taken the written test a hundred times over this. He was good at tests. He could study and prepare for tests. He wasn’t sure how to prepare for this. Perhaps that’s why he had put the physical examination off as long as he had. Now, however, he cursed himself for procrastinating.

  Screaming erupted in the hall. The panicked words ran together, making it hard for John to distinguish what they were saying, but the reason was all too clear. The sound of hurried footsteps soon added to the screams. No doubt guards were now trying to restrain the source of the ruckus. John could make out a few words here and there.

  “It’s not fair,” a woman wailed, followed by a man shouting.

  “Just hold her still!”

  The screaming abruptly stopped a second later.

  John closed his eyes and tried to shut the woman out of his mind by imagining what his life would feel like after he was declared fit, when the uncertainty would stop looming over him like a dark cloud. Maybe he could finally get a better job. Maybe Morgan’s family would finally stop looking at him like a stray dog. Maybe they could finally tell her family the truth.

  And they could finally have a family of their own.

  The pounding in John’s chest returned, building in force until every inch of his body was screaming at him to run. Because a future with Morgan was all that truly mattered to him. John could live without job promotions or the approval of Morgan’s family, but if John was declared unfit and sent away to be castrated, if they took away his ability to ever have a family with the woman he loved, that would absolutely and irreparably cripple him.

  John took a deep breath, focusing all of his energy on calming his nerves, ordering his body to obey. He just had to get through one more day, pass one more test and it would all be over. Then he would never have to think about the Genetic Fitness Evaluation ever again. He would pass. He had to pass. He refused to be like that woman screaming in the hall. One of them.

  But even as he thought it, those words felt like a lie.

  A knock on the door snapped John back into reality as the doctor stepped into the exam room, leaving the door ajar. Through the gap, John could see an armored guard stationed right outside. The doctor crossed the room to the screen, not even acknowledging John was there. He tapped his finger on the glass surface and the screen burst to life, displaying a numerical pin pad.

  “Identification number?” the doctor said.

  “24819,” John recited, without having to check the numbers on his ID bracelet.

  The doctor typed in the numbers and the pin pad was immediately replaced with lines of text scrolling across the screen.

  Hunter, Jonathan

  Patient ID #: 24819

  Sex: Male

  DOB: 18-08-49 A.C.

  Age: 19

  Mother: Deceased

  Father: Deceased

  Written Evaluation: Passed

  Physical Evaluation: In Process

  G
enetic Evaluation: No Data

  “So, Mr. Hunter,” said the doctor, turning to face John for the first time as he snapped a latex glove over his right hand, “I bet you’re looking forward to being done with all of this.”

  That would entirely depend on the outcome, John thought but responded with a simple, “Yes, sir.” He used the forcefully formal tone he always used when addressing his superiors. His voice broke as the doctor pressed against the side of his throat.

  “What time did you get here?” the doctor asked. He moved from John’s neck and examined his arm, rotating his shoulder, bending his elbow, squeezing his bicep and forearm as he made his way down to John’s wrist.

  “Early. As soon as the doors opened, sir,” John replied, checking the wall clock and noting it was now late in the afternoon.

  “Congratulations on making it this far.”

  The doctor checked every inch of John’s body—his scalp, spine, groin, even the bottoms of his feet—inspecting every joint, muscle, and mole for abnormalities. He had just about finished with the examination when another cry echoed out in the hall.

  “Damn unfits,” the doctor muttered. “Close that blasted door, will you?” he barked at the guard. The guard complied and firmly pulled the door closed until the latch engaged, muffling the sounds in the hall, but not covering them completely. Before the door closed, the guard shot John a look, as if daring him to make a move. John would not give any of them the satisfaction. He would not react to the cries for mercy, he would prove just how superiorly human he was and stay in complete control of his emotions.

  “I’ll never understand why some of them insist on making such a scene,” the doctor said. “It’s just a simple arrest. We’re not even sterilizing them yet, but you’d think we were trying to kill them the way they carry on like that.”

  The doctor pulled a syringe out of his pocket and ordered John to pull up his sleeve and hold out his arm.

  “I bet you’re excited to have this all over and done with,” the doctor said again, absentmindedly cycling through the same small talk he had undoubtedly recited countless times to countless patients today alone. John winced as the doctor plunged the needle into his arm and began pulling out the plunger, filling the barrel with John’s blood.

  “There’s a promotion at work I’ve been looking at,” John said, trying to distract himself, “but I have to have a completed evaluation to be considered.”

  “Where do you work?” the doctor asked, sounding bored already.

  “Loughlin Laboratories.”

  The doctor raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t think they hired Southenders there.”

  Placing the cap back on the syringe, the doctor placed the vial of John’s blood into a plastic sack and began scribbling across the bag.

  “I’m just a janitor,” John replied, and while that was technically true, it wasn’t the whole story. Yes, his job description was lugging around equipment and scrubbing floors, but the lab was overflowing with untested blood samples and unprocessed fitness results from all over Haven these days, so the lab technicians would ‘do John a favor’—as they put it—and let him run diagnostic tests now and then. Of course, that was a blatant and serious breach of lab protocol, but desperate times and all. And, as Professor Bren had said himself, John was more than competent enough to handle it, so long as no one found out. Not that the job of a lab technician required too much competency. It was just more mindless grunt work, running the blood samples through the hematology analyzers and forwarding the results for diagnosis.

  “Ah, that makes more sense.” The doctor was back at the screen now, inputting the results of John’s examination. As he filled in the last field, the screen snapped back to the opening page, displaying all of John’s personal information. This time though, the Physical Evaluation status had changed from In Process to Passed.

  “It sounds like you already have the best job you can hope for at the laboratory, but you can legally apply for other positions now… if you really want to. You seem like a bright boy, you have proper manners and everything, and your evaluations look good,” the doctor said, now reviewing each section of John’s results. “You passed the written test with flying colors—one of the highest scores I’ve seen in fact.” It sounded more like an accusation than a compliment. “You are from Southend, right?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Huh,” the doctor grunted skeptically. “Your family history leaves a lot to be desired. Both parents declared dead before the age of forty. Your family is either extremely unlucky or extremely careless if you ask me, but I suppose the evaluator didn’t think it was serious enough to fail you in that category. The vision, hearing, and endurance tests went well, and you’re in perfect physical health,” the doctor said, signing out of the touch screen. “All we need to do now is wait for the laboratory to get back with the results of your blood test. I don’t anticipate there being any problems though. As I said, you’re perfectly healthy and I see no indicators of hereditary defects in your pedigree.”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you.” John smiled and breathed a sigh of relief.

  Nodding good-bye, the doctor exited the exam room, leaving John to get dressed. As John headed towards the hospital’s exit, he could overhear the doctor and one of the nurses speaking behind him. The doctor asked how many patients were still waiting. About twenty-five, the nurse replied. The doctor informed her he only had time for a few more and to tell the rest to come back tomorrow. “I need to get back to Northridge before the bridge closes,” he said. “I don’t think I can stand the stench of Southend for another hour, let alone the night.”

  The walls on either side of John were lined with dozens of posters, the same ones plastered all over the city. Each showed an unfit: an old man in a wheelchair, a young woman with a missing arm, a man slumped on the ground with a vacant stare and a line of drool running down the side of his chin. On the bottom of each poster in bold letters were the words:

  Unfits are a burden on us all.

  Citizens of Haven, no one can deny your fortitude. No one can overlook your perseverance. We are survivors. For forty years the Great Plague ravaged our world, and while billions of lives were eradicated and fell into chaos because of it, we stand here today, the chosen few. We endured, and we will continue to endure! You have already proven yourselves strong, but now I call on you to prove it once more, as it is our duty to ensure our great city’s survival; for our children and our children’s children. As we repair our homes and rebuild our government, let us also fortify our borders and ourselves. We call on you now to fulfill your duties, not only as patriots but as human beings. Nature is blind and ruthless, but we alone hold the distinctive ability to rise above it. This is our new beginning, so let us act providently, quickly, and kindly. It lies within our power, and so it is our duty.

  -Council Address, reign of the Council, Year 22

  John biked to work. He was light-headed from the effort of it, a parting gift of the doctor and the blood John had to surrender for the tests. Both the hospital and Loughlin Laboratories, where John worked, sat along the west boundary of the city, not far from each other as the bird flew. There was no direct path though, because of the ravine and the wall, so John headed off towards the bridge.

  The bridge had once spanned a large river that flowed right through the center of the city, but that was centuries ago, long before the plague. Now it crossed a deep and barren ravine, serving only as a bottleneck between the two halves of the city—Southend and Northridge. He supposed if he followed the edge of the ravine long enough, he would eventually find a natural crossing, but it could take miles and miles, and the wall would stop him long before then. Everyone had to cross at the bridge.

  Then again, he could always climb over at the breach. It would be a lie if he said he hadn’t thought about it—or, rather, done it—many times. The wall surrounding Haven was an imposing structure—over ten feet high and topped with barbed wire—but there was a little-known weak poin
t affectionately nicknamed ‘the breach.’ A crack ran from the ground to the top, providing excellent hand and foot holdings, and there was a gap in the barbed wire just wide enough to crawl under.

  When he was a kid, John and the other children would scale the wall and play in the outskirts of the city almost daily, chasing each other through the deserted buildings that had been reclaimed by the forest. They had made a game out of daring each other to walk into the forest alone, where the drifters were rumored to live. “Never go in the forest,” adults would tell the children, “and if you see a drifter, run away as fast as you can unless you want us all to die of the plague.” The winner of the game was the one who ventured the furthest into the forest. John almost always won.

  There was something calming about the trees and the smell of pine. John could never explain it, but he had felt at home in the forest. Few others shared his opinions though. That’s why the Council built the wall in the first place. To keep the plague out. Keep Haven safe. Keep Haven clean. Keep Haven pure.

  John stuck to the roads as he rode towards the center of Haven and the bridge, his bike bouncing on the cracked and patchworked cobblestone. His ride this morning felt like miles as he wound in and out of neighborhoods.

  Every building John passed was in disrepair. Though small and close together, John liked to imagine these homes were once vibrant and bustling with life, cared for by their owners with pride and love. If those days had ever existed, they were long past now.