Dwindle: Populations Crumble: Book 1

by K. A. Gandy

  “I just feel so awful,” she tells me for the third time. “If I wasn’t such a klutz that man might have just moved on and still be alive.” She is sitting on the edge of the bottom bunk, with her head in her hands.

  “Faith, I know you feel responsible, but we didn’t ask him to come here and try to start all this. We could have been kidnapped, or worse. I’m not saying it’s okay that he’s dead, but I am saying it’s better him than you.” I’m across from her in a desk chair. I rake my fingers through my messy hair and find a leaf. I pick it out and toss it into the small round trash can beside me.

  She looks up at me with tears in her eyes, “Is it, though? Nobody wants me, Sadie. I can’t have a baby, so I’m useless. Nobody cares about me, and nobody would have missed me if I was the one laying out there on the ground. Even your brother, sweet as he is to you, is only here for you. He doesn’t want anything to do with me, or to have a baby with me.” She sinks her head back into her hands and begins to sob.

  “Hey,” I cross the room to sit next to her on the bunk, “Hey, that is not true.” I put my arm around her shoulders and lean into her side, “I would miss you. And you know what? If my brother had to be married to somebody in our group, I’m glad it’s you. You are the most genuine, kind person I’ve met here. And no matter what’s been thrown at you in your life, you made it out on the other side. That says something about what you’re made of. You are a fighter, whether you believe it or not.” I give her a squeeze, as if I can force my words to take root with her.

  “It doesn’t feel like it. It feels like I’ve just been broken down into a puppet, and tossed around from man to man until someone eventually gets what they want from me. How is that fighting, Sadie? I’m only still standing because I do what I’m told.” She’s still sniffling, but the body-shaking sobs have stopped, at least.

  “You are a fighter. Sometimes living to fight another day is the only option available to us, and you have done that. You are in the ring for round three, and you are still smiling. You are not broken, and you are not worthless. We are going to be sisters soon, and I don’t let anybody talk about my family like that, understand?”

  She looks up again, and lifts one side of her mouth wryly, “I’ve never had a sister before—I’m not sure I’ll be any good at it.”

  I smile at her, “Don’t worry, I’ll teach you.”

  There is a soft knock on the door, and I recognize it’s Teddy from the shave-and-a-haircut pattern. “One second, Teddy.” I cross the room and unlock the door.

  Teddy is on the other side, with sandwiches and water bottles. “May I come in?” he asks, the picture of a southern gentleman.

  I step to the side and hold out my arm, “Mi casa es su casa, hermano.”

  “Glad to see you’re still hanging onto that sense of humor, baby sister.” He stops and gives me a side hug on his way in. He sets everything but a bottle of water on the desk, then walks over and sinks to one knee in front of Faith. “How are you holding up?” he asks her gently.

  “I’m okay,” she says shakily, but she doesn’t meet his eyes.

  Teddy reaches out and lifts her wrist to his eye level, “I didn’t hurt you back there, did I?”

  She looks up with surprise, “No, I’m fine. You don’t have to worry about me.”

  Teddy turns around to me, “Sadie, would you give us a few minutes of privacy? Patrick and Glitch are down the hall getting more sandwiches together, if you wouldn’t mind joining them.”

  I glance at Faith, but she doesn’t send any ‘rescue me” vibes, “Sure, Teddy. Take your time.” I shut the door with a quiet click behind me as I exit.

  Up In Smoke

  I walk silently down the hall towards the light, which I see is coming from a small industrial-looking kitchen. I hear voices as I approach, and pause for a moment just out of sight. It’s Glitch speaking.

  “I’m just saying, you know the captain is going to be pissed you didn’t follow orders and escort them straight to the dollhouse. Is this girl really worth getting reprimanded over?”

  “Glitch, you’ve made your point. But what was I supposed to do, let her get kidnapped? You know what they would have done with her, and I’m telling you, I can live with a reprimand, but I couldn’t live with that.” Patrick sounds frustrated.

  “I mean, I know she’s the first Polymorph they’ve found, but I am just saying, I personally don’t see what the big deal is. The population is continuing. Sure, the quarterly population reports weren’t great. But as long as the program is working, who cares that she’s some genetic unicorn? She’s got six brothers. If something happens to her, they can rope them all in and get sperm samples. Bing, bang, boom.”

  I let out a small gasp and it feels like my blood runs cold. I’m not one hundred percent sure what they’re talking about, but I’m the only girl here with six brothers. Heck, I’m the only person I’ve met ever with six brothers. The idea of them all getting dragged into this god-awful system because there’s something weird about my genes is the absolute worst thing I can imagine. My family is not some guinea pig jackpot for this stupid, soul-sucking eligibility pool. It’s bad enough that they’ve got Teddy, I will not let them drag any of my other brothers into this, no matter what it takes.

  There is a clatter, and footsteps briskly head towards the doorway. I straighten just as Patrick rounds the doorway and almost flattens me. He shoots out a hand and steadies my shoulder, “Sadie! Are you okay? How long have you been out here?” He glares pointedly over his shoulder at Glitch as he walks up.

  “Uh, hey there Sadie. This isn’t awkward at all. Didn’t Teddy bring you your sandwich? When is he coming back, by the way?” He tugs at one of his sleeves, clearly a nervous habit.

  “So, which one of you jerks is going to tell me what the heck a polymorph is, and what this program wants with my brothers?” I ask angrily, without beating around the bush.

  Glitch freezes, “Heh, funny, where did you hear about a polymorph? It’s such a funny word, I mean, who even knows what that is, or why it would be significant?”

  Patrick groans, “Dude, this is your fault. And you have NO chill. Sadie, come on in and we’ll get you something to eat and explain, I promise.” He gestures into the kitchen, where I can see that they were assembling what appear to be grilled cheese sandwiches. My stomach growls loudly, evidence that I never got that second bite of pasta at dinner. I walk over to one of the tall stools next to the metal prep counter, and take a seat. Patrick comes over and holds out a soda and a bottle of water, and I take the water.

  It’s hard to feel confident wearing a too-big guard’s uniform, but this is a fake-it-till-you-make it situation from top to bottom, “Somebody better start talking, because I’m feeling straight out of patience.”

  Glitch swallows nervously, and looks at Patrick, “Are you sure you want her to know? We could get in major trouble if it gets out we told her. Like, re-posted to the middle of nowhere, Nunavland Territories and wearing a parka to pee, trouble.”

  Patrick looks me in the eyes, and says calmly, “We can trust her. She won’t tell anyone else.” I feel like he’s extending an olive branch, which I appreciate.

  “Okay, well, then, a polymorph is a type of genetic difference. Well, technically it is also used in biology, technology, chemistry, and a whole host of different fields that really—” Glitch begins, before being abruptly cut off.

  “Glitch, man, get to the point,” Patrick urges.

  “Right! Sorry. A polymorph for the purposes of this discussion is a person whose genes have a variant, which means the Sterilization Vector was unable to impact them. Whether that happened over time, or your family has never been impacted, we don’t know. All we know is that your genes are clean. No Sterilization effects, no sign of any reproductive issues. Just, one hundred percent, grade-A human woman.” He rambles to a sudden stop. “They’re calling you the Polymorph because, well, you’re the first one they’ve found since the first generation post-Sterilization.�
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  I let that sink in for a minute, trying to process what he’s just said. “Is that why I have so many matches? In one of the training classes the nurse mentioned that the program’s record so far was four, but I have seven.”

  “Actually,” Glitch seems fired up, “You have more than seven! Those seven were just the top choices. As a polymorph, you could technically reproduce with any man who isn’t completely sterile himself.”

  Patrick looks sideways at him for that addition, and I lean back on my bar stool. “Wait, are you saying . . . Are you saying I don’t even need to be in this program? I could marry anyone, and I could have kids and just be, well, normal?”

  “Well,” he looks thoughtful, “Most men are still of relatively limited fertility at this point in the genetic recovery. But, as long as your chosen man was willing to get himself tested and was at least, oh, I don’t know, twenty-five percent or better sperm counts, yeah, you could have a baby with him. If he’s better than fifty percent you guys would probably have seven or more kids of your own.”

  My mind is reeling. I don’t need to be in this program. I’m normal? Like truly, reproductively normal. “Why wasn’t I told any of this? If that’s true, I don’t need to marry any of these men! I can go home and marry whoever I want and still meet the reproduction guideline.”

  Glitch looks at Patrick and shoves his glasses further up on his nose, a nervous expression taking over.

  Patrick answers this time, “Well, as you know the program became mandatory several years ago, for everyone.”

  I snort, “Don’t you mean, everyone with a uterus? Men have the choice to opt out.”

  “To a degree; they do still have to give sperm and pretty much give up on any chance of marriage and raising kids of their own. It’s not without cost to either side of the equation.”

  “Sure, but I’d love to have that choice. I think we all know the human race is in trouble, but it doesn’t mean that women everywhere want to be sacrificial lambs to save it!” I can hear myself getting louder, and try to rein it in. It’s hard, though. He doesn’t understand, and he probably never will.

  “I’m not saying it’s right. I’m just saying it’s . . . what it is, right now.” He looks sympathetic, which irks me even more.

  I decide to change the subject for now to another point Glitch made, “So, if I’m a match for pretty much anyone, how did I end up with the seven I was assigned?”

  “Oh, that’s really simple!” Glitch is back in teacher mode and pulls a mini-tablet out of his pocket, “If you pull up your Bachelor Book, you’ll see that those seven were the highest candidates in fertility as well as some combination of rank, wealth, or some special status that gives them priority for female complements with the highest fertility.” He clicks around the screen a few times before handing it to me, and a completely different version of the Bachelor Book is open.

  Right up front I see my seven matches listed, and each of them has a rank listing of one in at least one category that he mentioned. “These guys don’t all have very high fertility ratings. In fact, the only one over eighty percent is . . . oh.” I blush. Patrick. He’s busied himself crisping the first grilled cheese, so mercifully his back is to me, and he doesn’t see it. “If their fertility scores aren’t all that high, how did they get matched with me? Shouldn’t I be matched with someone genetically similar? That’s the whole premise of this program.”

  “In theory, yes, but again, these are some of the wealthiest, most powerful men in the world. So they paid top dollar to be given the highest rank. I’m pretty sure Patrick was the only one you got assigned solely based on genetic compatibility, the rest paid to be top of the list for a wife with over sixty percent fertility ratings.” Patrick stiffens at that admission, but just keeps flipping sandwiches

  My jaw drops, “Wait just a cotton-picking minute, what do you mean they paid for a top rank? How is that even possible?”

  Glitch doesn’t seem to process my instant fury, and continues rattling his answers off nonchalantly, “Oh, men have been paying for priority rankings since the beginning. That’s how all of the New Life Centers were funded and staffed to begin with. Most of them are from less genetically-healed families and have no siblings or blood relatives to leave their companies and fortunes to without the program finding them a suitable wife. So, those men typically place a hefty initial donation, and sign a contract which promises a ten percent lifetime royalty into the program after the birth of their first biological child.”

  The implications of what he just said so casually are slowly sinking in. I am here, sitting in this compound where potential kidnappers tried to steal me less than an hour ago, and it’s all so some rich SOB can pay the government to have me as his own, personal broodmare? Oh, excuse me, what was it they called us? Dolls. Just lifeless playthings, to be moved around as they please.

  I want to scream. Physically, literally, scream so loud I shatter every window in this place. But I don’t . . . because all that would do is hurt my throat. Instead I shove it down and make a vow to myself, that no matter what, I will get out of this. I will come out on the other side, not just alive, but swinging. And heaven help anyone who tries to stop me.

  Patrick turns around with a steaming sandwich on a plate, which he slides in front of me. I look up from the crisp, golden crust to his concerned gaze. He doesn’t say anything, and neither do I, but when his expression changes from concern to hard calculation, I know he can see the fire blazing in my eyes. I’ll burn this program to the ground before I’m through. One way or another, they are going to pay for doing this to me, to us all.

  I pick up my sandwich and take a bite. “Thank you, it’s delicious.”

  The Dating Game

  The rest of last night passed without incident. After we ate our sandwiches, I excused myself back to our borrowed room, kicked Teddy out, and Faith and I went to bed . . . in Guff and Sweet’s beds, but bed nonetheless. It felt like I stared at the ceiling for hours, with the anger at the corruption of this program burning in my gut. I must have turned over a hundred ideas on how to change things, how to rip this unjust place apart at the seams, but when it all comes down to it, I have no power; no influence, no money to speak of, and no control over myself—let alone the people in charge of this place. I am going to change this one day, but unfortunately for now I’m stuck. I made myself a promise, though. A promise to keep my head down, and find a way once I’m on the other side of this to make this right for the girls coming up behind me.

  Sometime during the night, the cleanup crew disposed of at least one body, and cleared the grounds of the other would-be kidnappers. Or at least, that’s what we were told when we came out of our room for breakfast. Someone delivered fresh clothes for Faith and me, so we’re dressed and heading back to the dormitory to do whatever they tell us next. What’s next remains to be seen, since all of our training has been on reproductive basics and infant care.

  Patrick drops us off at the front door with a brief nod, and then walks briskly down the driveway towards the guard shack, as he called it. His watch has alerted him several times on the way over that the security team is meeting to review last night’s events, and how to “tighten up,” whatever that means. We let ourselves in, and head to the sitting room to see who else is up.

  Everyone is there, except Margaret and Charlotte. Several of the girls jump up and rush to hug us as soon as they spot us.

  “We were so worried about you! How did you get separated from everyone else? Are you okay? Where have you been all night?” Beth-Ann is barely breathing, as she rapid-fires questions at us one after the other.

  “We’re fine, Beth-Ann. We spent the night in the staff quarters, on lockdown just like you guys were. We were just closer to the back exit of the building than the front, so that’s where they took us.” I omit the details about Glitch’s creative re-routing, because the end result is the same.

  Elena interjects next, “Be glad you went the back way! It was so fright
ening, there were at least five kidnappers out there between us and the dorms. The guards surrounded us and we had to all huddle together as they moved us across the lawn and into the house with these big black shields. We didn’t see anything but we heard more than one gunshot! It was so scary!” She ends in a rush. Faith gives her a comforting hug, but doesn’t mention our own run-in with a kidnapper.

  “I’m just glad we’re all safe,” Faith says soothingly.

  “Yeah, thanks to Atlas!” Josephine says. “He ran ahead to the door and started barking orders at the guards like he owned them or something. They didn’t even argue, just grabbed the shields from somewhere and formed up around us. He stayed right at the front, and then barricaded himself in with us until the cleanup crew was done. Total hottie.” She fans herself.

  I can’t help but ask, “Who’s Atlas?”

  “UGH!” Josephine snarls, “Freaking lucky Nell got matched with him. Why does she get Mr. Muscle Mountain and I get friggin’ Elijah!” She spits his name like it’s a cuss word.

  I glance over at Nell, who’s looking rather pale at the mention of her match. She doesn’t seem quite so enamored of him as Jo is.

  Jenna pipes up, “Plus, don’t forget, everyone isn’t exactly safe and sound.” She looks guiltily at Leigh. “Marcus and Randy both got bullet grazes following us to the dorms. It was pretty crazy out there; it’s a miracle more people didn’t get hurt.”

  Jo snorts, “Sure, a miracle named Atlas. He saved all of our bacon last night. I’m not saying I’m a big fan of this whole system, but I’ll be danged if I’m going to volunteer to take off with people who try to snatch us in the black of night. At least the program has rules, and we’ll eventually get to move on with our lives when we’re through. Who knows why the heck they wanted us, anyways? It’s not like there aren’t women outside this property who’d be easier to grab.”