by C. B. Stone
“It appears clear out here,” I overhear my father say.
Ms. Blackwood smiles back at him, but hers doesn’t appear entirely friendly. More disdainful from what I can tell from my position. She drawls, “Well then, why did your sensors bring us here, Mr. Rose? Is there something wrong with the equipment?”
I see my father glance down at a device in his hand, his brow furrowed. “I don’t know. It’s never failed me before.” Ms. Blackwood suddenly reaches out, grabs the device from his hands, and looks down at it herself. I can see my father smile waver slightly, but he remains standing tall.
“Bah. I don’t know how to read one of these things. That’s why have you,” she fumes, throwing the object to the ground for my father to retrieve.
My father looks relieved for a moment as he bends down to pick up the device. I’m as still as stone, mesmerized by the scene before me, not at all sure what it even means.
“There’s nothing out here, your Honor,” another voice pipes up from next to one of the vehicles. “Nothing that will cause the electrical signals we picked up earlier today. Perhaps we need Mr. Stanley to take a look at the readings?”
“That won’t be necessary,” my father interrupts. “Like I said earlier, I have a feeling the signals were nothing but an irregularity. A glitch in our systems. I’ll take a look at it as soon as I get back to the office.”
“Fine. You do that,” Ms. Blackwood all but spits at him. Turning to the other man she continues, “In the meantime, get Mr. Stanley out here ASAP.”
“But —” my father protests.
“But nothing, Marcus,” Ms. Blackwood hisses. Gee... she’s really quite unpleasant isn’t she? The wayward thought distracts me momentarily, before I refocus on the scene at hand. It is very rare I hear my father called by his first name, let alone in such a vitriolic manner.
“Get back to the command center and assemble a team of techs to look over the equipment. Figure out what is wrong with it. And I want it done now,” Leora snaps.
“Yes, ma’am,” my dad says with a small bow, retreating quickly toward a waiting vehicle.
Unlike the one he drives to work every day, this one doesn’t have wheels. I have never seen a Ministry vehicle up close, but I have heard they fly through the air. Until now, I always thought that was just a myth. But my father boards the vehicle and I watch it lift up off the ground, its rumble shaking the earth beneath my feet for a third time this day. I blink rapidly when a bit of dust and debris flies into my eyes, and when they are clear, the vehicle is already gone, its rumbling fading off into the distance.
After my father’s vehicle disappears, my gaze goes back to the scene in front of me. Ms. Blackwood is talking to the other men of the group.
“I don’t trust him,” I can hear her bark. “Something isn’t right, which is why I came out here myself. And seeing his reaction to the idea of bringing someone else in to take a look speaks volumes. I think he knows more than he is letting on.”
“You think Marcus Rose is a traitor?”
I gasp, clapping a hand over my mouth and hoping none them can hear me. No one turns to look at the bushes I’m hiding in, so I let out a soft, relieved breath. My heart settles in my chest, just barely though.
“I don’t know as yet, but I want you to keep an eye on him. And his family,” Leora responds.
A tiny shudder racks my body. True fear blossoms. I know if I were to be discovered right now, there would be no one to help me out of this mess.
In just the blink of an eye, my family has gone from being loyal members of the Ministry, friends of the State, to being potential traitors and enemies, now on the Ministry’s watch list. And I have no idea what happened, or why. I can’t understand why my father suddenly isn’t trusted amongst his ranks.
A part of me knows I don’t need to know though. Something, or someone, clearly wanted me to witness this moment. Perhaps to warn me or give me a vision of things yet to come. Whatever it is that lead me here, I clutch my fists against my chest and look up to the sky, scanning the area where my father’s vehicle had disappeared into the distance just a short time ago.
“Thank you,” I mouth silently, a little self-consciously. To what or whom I’m directing my gratitude, I still don’t know. Nonetheless, it feels like someone, somewhere, is listening and that’s all that matters.
With this new warning etched starkly into my brain, I move as quickly and as quietly as I can, making my way back through the forest and back in the direction of the market. Now, more than ever before, I do not want to be late.
IX
THE market is still bustling with people when I arrive. It is one of the main reasons I like to come early. It gets so busy, the lines can get quite long.
I scan the crowds milling around, seeking the line for officer’s families, since they always keep officer rations separate from everyone else’s. As I look, my gaze can’t help but land on and follow the Stanton family.
Paul Stanton has two kids and a sick wife who can’t work, and yet he only gets one small box of food per month since he didn’t pass the Ministry’s trials some years ago. A bum knee kept him out of the officer’s ranks.
My family gets three boxes of food, one for each member of our household — and even that is difficult to stretch for an entire month. My heart goes out to the Stanton’s and I secretly wish I had enough food to hand over some extra to him.
Just as that thought crosses my mind, I remember Noah’s gift in our garden, and hope is restored within my heart, for the briefest and sweetest of moments.
But then I remember the warning I’d overheard earlier while I was in the woods, and immediately feel conflicted. Fear rises again, and I attempt to swallow it down. Helping others could mean imprisonment — or worse — if I’m caught. And now that my dad seems to be on the Ministry’s potential traitor radar, that danger has become more ominous than ever.
The potential danger doesn’t stop me from speaking to Mr. Stanton though. “Good afternoon,” I greet warmly, as he walks by, one of his boys trailing behind him as they make their way through the market.
Mr. Stanton stops, a look of distraction shadowing his features, before his eyes clear and he registers who I am. “Oh, good afternoon, Jaelynn. How are your folks doing? Haven’t seen them in so long,” he says, forcing his lips up in a ghost of a smile.
“Yeah, they work all the time these days. You know how it is,” I respond, smiling back at him. Pointing at the boy, I ask, “Is that Aldo?” Aldo is his youngest son.
“No.” Mr. Stanton sighs heavily. He rests a hand on his son’s shoulder. “I’m afraid our Aldo passed away last month. He was only 14.”
His eyes fall to the ground as he speaks, and it’s clear he’s struggling to hold back tears. “This here is my oldest boy, Reid.”
“Oh.” My eyes grow wide as shock sucker punches me in the gut. My heart immediately breaks for them both. There’s a tiny pause before I blurt, “I’m so sorry to hear that!”
I desperately want to ask what happened, but don’t dare. It’s much too forthright. The knowledge that this is Reid, the oldest Stanton child who is closing in on my age, floors me. He is as tiny as his dead brother, who was at least a year younger than him. But his response does give me a clue as to what happened.
I feel another surge of guilt coupled with rising resentment when I contemplate the additional rations we receive just because my parents work for the Ministry. It’s not fair that one family must starve above another family, merely because of who they work for.
“Yeah, so are we,” Mr. Stanton replies, still staring at the ground, unwilling to meet my gaze. “Anyhow, we better get moving. It was nice talking to you, Jaelynn.” As he speaks, he gives his boy, Reid, a small shove to get him moving again.
Though Mr. Stanton is pleasant enough, I can hear in his voice he thinks talking to me has been anything but nice. It was clear he’d not been happy about it, but I honestly don’t take it personally.
Firs
t losing a son — then having somebody carelessly remind them of the tragedy — who would be up to talking to anyone in that situation?
As they pass, young Reid smiles at me. He looks hungry and sickly, like he’s knocking at death’s door himself. My heart aches for him. His cheeks are somewhat sunken in and his skin has a terrible yellowish pall to it.
When he looks at me, I feel like behind the smile he offers, he is pleading for help. Something in his eyes reaches out, though I have no idea why he’d look to me for it. I force a smile in return as he and his father head back toward the road.
Feeling deflated and depressed, I turn to walk toward my line, and proceed to wait. The line for my rations is much shorter than the other ones because the Valley only has a few families that work for the Ministry.
Shifting on my feet as I wait, out of the corner of my eye, I notice a figure dressed in black. He is wearing a uniform like the one my father wears, and I can feel the weight of his eyes on me. Though he is young, probably considered tall and handsome by most people’s standards, I think he looks cold and cruel. The angle of his jaw is too sharp, and his eyes are blue and wintry. His icy gaze pierces me from across the market, inducing a shudder.
With a start, I realize the Ministry must already watching me. Stepping closer to the booth, I try to forget about the man practically staring me down and focus on my breathing instead. I shudder, wrapping my cardigan more tightly around me, even though there is no wind and the day is warm.
One more family is left in front of me, and as they sign for their rations and take their leave, I step up in their place, feeling anxious now to get my rations and get back home.
“Jaelynn Rose. Daughter of Marcus and Seirra Rose.” I hand over my ID, and wait patiently for him to ask the same question they always ask.
The Ministry guard eyes me. “No ID chip?”
“I was exempted because of my poor health as a child,” I reply.
He nods, scans the ID and waits as their system pulls up the information. It will all be there, documentation about my family, my health history, everything.
He doesn’t even need to ask the question, but they always choose to anyway. As if maybe I’ll get tired of being asked someday and suddenly agree to have the chip implanted out of pure irritation.
“You’re almost of age,” the guard reminds me. “Any idea what your plans for the future are?”
I sigh, resigned to feeling annoyed by this process. “Not really,” I mumble as I wait for the recruitment talk to begin.
This guard is handsome — certainly more handsome than the one currently watching me from afar — and when he smiles, it truly feels genuine. He isn’t standing across the market reminiscent of a vulture, salivating over me like I’m choice carrion.
In fact, I don’t feel threatened by him in the least. It is an unusual trait when it comes to the guards, and seems to be more common in those working the market. They are often volunteers, Ministry officers who make a choice to help look after their hometown and kinsmen. They tend to have a friendlier, more down-to-earth demeanor than the ones who work alongside Ms. Blackwood or those who work inside the Ministry compound itself.
“I’m sure you’ll find your way,” he offers, surprising me by not giving me the standard recruiting spiel. It’s rare they don’t take the opportunity to encourage me to audition for the role of Ministry guard. “Or meet a nice young man to take care of you,” he continues. His gaze is warm, which is somewhat disconcerting considering who he is.
“I don’t need a nice young man to take care of me,” I say automatically, wishing he’d give me the food already, so I can be off. I can see the other guard from across the way ambling closer and I gulp, hoping this isn’t some kind of setup. Ms. Blackwood’s words from earlier flash a bright warning in my head, and I clear my throat before continuing, “I’m perfectly fine at taking care of myself, sir. I’m learning how to keep house.”
The guard nods. “Housekeeping is good, solid, honest work,” he agrees. “But raising a family is the most noble cause of them all.”
I huff and want desperately to argue, but bite my tongue prudently. It doesn’t stem my mental tirade though. There’s nothing good about raising a family in this life. In this world. Why would anyone bother having a baby? Just to watch them starve to death as a toddler? Or worse, as a teen?
It’s hard to hold back my retorts, but I know if I don’t, it will only bring about more trouble for me and my family. Instead I smile sweetly and nod, pretending to agree with everything the guard has just said, until he shocks me by asking, “Have you found yourself a husband yet?”
In a flash, I realize where this is going. The guard is doing more than just making friendly conversation, he is attempting to court me. Given my age, it wouldn’t be unusual for men to openly court me, but for a guard in the Ministry to do so? I’m not even sure if he is allowed to engage in such behavior on the job, but it makes me uncomfortable nonetheless.
Smiling politely, I decide the best course of action is to try to fit in, and remain as calm as possible. “Maybe so. I’m being courted by someone right now, actually. I’m hopeful it will go somewhere. If my parents agree to the marriage, that is.”
“Lucky man,” the guard comments, his face falling a little before he glances back down at his device. He clears his throat, “Well, if things don’t work out with your gentleman friend, I’d love the honor of courting you as well Miss Rose. I admire your father greatly.”
“You know Papa?” I ask, not sure why I’m surprised.
“Of course, everyone knows your father,” he responds. Reaching into a bin for our rations, his expression however remains deflated, despite the accolades about my papa. “He’s one of the best there is. I’d love to be just like him someday.”
A chill slithers its way down my spine, and I don’t know why. I know my father is a noble and hard-working man. Deep down, I even still think he is a good man. But the idea that he is one of the ‘best’ at his job working for the Ministry — an entity that scares me, as well as so many others — and that there are people who aspire to emulate him, terrifies me.
I merely nod. “Thank you, sir.”
“Leo. My name’s Leo Lawson,” he offers, blushing slightly as he hands over my goods.
I accept them, grateful to take my ration packs so I can leave. “Is that all you need from me, Mr. Lawson?”
“That’s it,” he affirms, nodding.
I glance up and notice his eyes are now focused on something behind me, and the smile is wiped clean from his face. I turn around and see the guard who’s been watching me from across the market walking up behind me. Judging by Leo’s expression and how quickly the color leached from his face, I don’t get the impression this man is friendly.
The man strolls closer, staring me down. “Is everything okay over here, Lawson?” His eyes never leave me as he speaks.
Lawson clears his throat before responding, “Everything is fine, Major Sanderson.”
The major stops near us, rocking back on his heels before drawling, “Well, there’s a line of people behind Miss Rose still waiting to get their rations. And when you’re done with the officer’s rations, there are more people waiting for their items in the other lines that you can help out with.”
“Yes sir. I’m sorry, Major, I didn’t mean to hold up the line.” Leo looks down at the ground, like a puppy expecting to be kicked.
I opt to practice wisdom and remain silent. After all, he hasn’t spoken to me directly during this exchange, and rarely do you want to speak to an officer if they haven’t spoken to you first. His icy gaze remains focused on me the whole time though, and I resist the urge to squirm beneath its weight.
The major rocks back on his heels again and nods. “All right then. Move along, Miss Rose. Get on home.”
“Thank you, sir,” I say, hugging my boxes in my arms and ducking my head as I walk past him.
I feel both men’s eyes on me as I walk toward the road that
will take me home. I have no doubt Leo is admiring the view as I go, and it makes me uneasy being thought of in that way. But whether I like it or not, I know I’ll have to settle down eventually. My parents won’t be around forever, and very few women can make it on their own unless they work their way up the ranks of the Ministry Guard. Which I have no intention of doing. Ever.
I only wish there was another alternative.
X
LATER in the night, after my mother had gone back to work, and my father is fast asleep in his own room, I toss and turn in my bed, my sheets twisting and tangling around my clammy skin. In desperation, I get up to prop open my window, hoping the cool breeze will help me sleep. But instead, I hear the same sound I heard before. Music. Coming from the shed.
With a sigh, worry running through my veins, I rummage around in the dark on the side of my bed, my feet finding and slipping on my house shoes. Opening my door, I sneak down the hallway, grateful for the soft shoes on my feet muffling my steps.
Holding my breath, I open the back door gently, hoping against hope it won’t wake my father. The last thing I can afford is for him to catch me sneaking out of the house. Still holding my breath, I stop and listen for a moment, but hear nothing except soft snoring.
Letting my breath out in a whoosh of relief, I step out into the backyard. I can still hear the music, crisp and clear on the night air, and shake my head. Thankfully Noah isn’t singing, too. Still, any noise whatsoever, when the Ministry is watching us so closely, puts us all in danger.
Tip-toeing across the yard, I step up to the shed door, and knock lightly on the wood. “Noah?” I whisper.
No answer.
“Noah, it’s me. Open the door. I can hear you from inside my house,” I say.
Still, no answer. I knock a bit louder, and the music stops. Then I hear footsteps on the shed floor, and the door creaks open.
“Jaelynn?” Noah yawns, rubbing his eyes. “What’s going on?” I open my mouth to speak when I notice he is shirtless, and seconds later realize he isn’t wearing anything but his underwear. Gasping, I feel heat creeping into my cheeks and look away quickly.
