In the After

by Demitria Lunetta

  “Like, as in, he could no longer attend school?” It didn’t seem fair to punish someone who had a disability.

  “No, he was expelled from New Hope.”

  I stopped walking and turned to Rice. “He was banished?” I whispered, horrified. “That’s what it means to be expelled?”

  “He couldn’t function here, he couldn’t even hold down a Dusty job. He was a complete drain on our resources.”

  I was stunned at his words. Baby looked up at me nervously, sensing something was wrong. “How could you send him back out there? He was ten years old! What about old people, do you expel them too?!”

  “It’s not like that. We have a building for elderly care and we have the Ward for people who are mentally incompetent. This boy, he was different. He used to make it out to the farm and kill the animals.”

  “Maybe he didn’t understand that he didn’t need to kill anymore, that his food was provided. You don’t understand what it’s like out there.”

  “He used to watch the toddlers, Amy. He watched them the same way he looked at the animals on the farm.”

  “Oh.” We walked in silence. When your entire world was filled with Floraes, with terror and silence, and thinking of your own survival, how is anyone normal after that? I squeezed Baby’s hand and tried not to think about it.

  “Here we are,” Rice told us after a few minutes. We entered the short, squat building, and Rice led us to a room with a black door.

  “You all love to color code things,” I commented. “Don’t people ever get confused?”

  “No. They don’t.”

  I wondered what would happen if they did, what my punishment would be if certain people found out I’d been in a restricted area. The Ward? Expulsion?

  Rice led us into a room painted a pale blue. Instead of tables and chairs, desks were placed in rows, all facing a large screen. He opened a laptop and placed it on one of the tables.

  “Have a seat,” he said. “I thought you’d like to see this first.” He typed away on his computer and on the screen appeared a map of New Hope. We were centralized in the “urban” district where most everyone lives. The residential buildings were numbered, with the lowest numbers near the Quad, the higher farther away. To the east was the dairy farm that Rice had mentioned, with more farmland to the south and west, and a lake to the north. East of the dairy farm was a forest that the map labeled FOR EXPANSION TBD.

  “You keep the Floraes out of this entire area?” I asked, eyeing the map.

  “We’ve been aggressively expanding certain areas, like the farm. It was originally just a few acres, with a small number of animals.” He pointed to the map. “Now it covers this whole area, and we’ve maximized livestock breeding through advances in animal husbandry.” He glanced at me. “It’s really pretty fascinating how much we’ve accomplished in such a short amount of time.”

  I looked at the map again. “But there isn’t a fence?” I still found it hard to believe.

  “No, we don’t need a physical barrier. You won’t find the Floraes within a two-mile radius of the emitters.”

  “What about other people? People who might want to come and take all this away?” New Hope was well protected from the Floraes, but what would they do if a guerilla force came to take it over?

  “That seems very unlikely.”

  “It happened to us,” I said quietly. I thought of Amber, of what she did to us.

  “What would someone gain by destroying us? We welcome all post-aps, offer a functioning society, a way to live without constant fear of death.”

  Doesn’t he know there will always be someone out there who wants to destroy good?

  Rice was fiddling with his computer again and the map disappeared. “I’ll show you all the recordings, so you can see the version for the little kids, the older children, and the adults.”

  “Fan.” I tapped the notebook I’d brought with me. Rice said my mother wanted my opinion, so I came prepared to take notes.

  Rice dimmed the lights and the screen flickered on. The video was for the younger kids and featured small children and an adult. “The adult is called a Minder,” Rice’s voice came loudly from across the room. Baby, who’d been enjoying the movie, glared at him.

  “I don’t think you’re supposed to narrate,” I told him. “I need to see if it’s self-explanatory.”

  “Oh, right,” he said sheepishly. “Sorry.”

  “No worries,” I said. It slipped out—something I used to say Before. I looked at him, suddenly wishing I’d known him back then.

  The video continued to show the Minder helping the children with their daily routine. At the end, the Minder tucked each child in, then turned on a night-light. The Minder smiled into the camera, and the movie went dark.

  Baby turned to me. I like the lady.

  Good. I think they want you to.

  I scribbled in my notebook. Effective images of comfort to integrate small children, show them who they can trust, who will take care of them.

  “At this point, a Minder will come fetch any child who doesn’t have an adult with them,” Rice said. “I’m not explaining,” he added. “It’s something you should know. At first,” he continued, “we had a lot of small children, but now it’s not that common. Here’s the one for older children, Class Threes and Fours.”

  Baby, this one is for you. Pay attention.

  Baby nodded dutifully.

  The movie started much the same way as the other film, only this time a little girl was wearing yellow. They again take you through the child’s day, demonstrating tasks narrated with simple words, such as school, eat, play, work, sleep. The children were put to bed in a dorm, only this time they were separated by gender. Once again, a Minder tucked them in and smiled at the camera.

  “I thought Minders were only for the small children,” I told Rice.

  “There are a lot of kids without parents here. Some of the Minders are for the toddlers and some are for the dorms.”

  What do you think? I asked Baby. Did you understand?

  Baby looked down at her jumpsuit. I’m yellow, so I do things with other yellows and go to school through the yellow door.

  Yeah, that’s about it.

  “Ready for the last one?” Rice asked.

  I nodded, eager to see the grown-up version. This is for adults, I tell Baby. Try to follow along, but you may not understand everything.

  This time the film began with a shot of the town while WELCOME TO NEW HOPE scrawled across the screen. A woman began to narrate and I realized that it was my mother.

  “You have survived much to get here and we are so very happy to have you,” she said. “Over the next hour, we will explain all the workings of New Hope.”

  The film went over everything, from the Class system, with emphasis on Class Five and red doors, to details about the entry test that placed the adults in their jobs. I discovered that although you may be exempt from having to perform a menial task, that didn’t spare you from attending fitness training twice a week or from doing “acts of community improvement.”

  “Everyone works because everyone is important.” To me this sounded like a great way to spin forced labor.

  “And in order to ensure the continuation of our society,” my mother’s voice persisted, “we must maintain genetic diversity and encourage accelerated birthrates.” This was followed by a shot of a lab and a woman working with a test tube.

  “All babies born in New Hope are the result of careful selection by the Committee for Genetic Diversity. All adult males are required to submit their genetic material for consideration.”

  Next it showed a happy pregnant woman lying in a hospital bed, her belly swollen. “All adult females are expected to carry a child to term once every three years unless they are medically unfit to do so or have reached the age of forty. No one is allowed to bear a child without genetic consideration and to do so will result in immediate expulsion.”

  It took me a minute to process what I was he
aring but then my chest went cold. They were forcing people to breed. Not only that, people weren’t even allowed to decide who they had children with. That was why my mother had Adam.

  “All adults have the right to petition the Committee for Genetic Diversity if they wish to be parentally responsible for their offspring. Otherwise children produced in New Hope are the wards of New Hope until they themselves become adults. Any adult may choose expulsion at any time.”

  The film ended the way that the others began: happy children playing.

  “Rice.” I tried to swallow but my mouth was too dry. “That last bit, about the babies . . . they can’t expect women to give birth every three years.”

  “They do,” he confirmed. “Unless there is a medical risk.”

  “So women don’t have control over their own bodies? When do you have to have your first pregnancy?” I asked, my voice trembling.

  “Not until you become an adult.”

  “At seventeen?”

  He shrugged. “I submitted my genetic material last year. It’s not a big deal. Our population’s up; the children are healthy.”

  “Wait. You have children?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. I never made an inquiry with the committee. I don’t want to petition for parental rights, not until I’m . . . um, settled with someone.” He adjusted his glasses awkwardly.

  I stood, shaking. “This is too much. I need some fresh air,” I told him, motioning for Baby to come with me. When I tried to open the door, it didn’t budge.

  “It’s restricted,” Rice reminded me apologetically. He fished out his key card and opened the door, leading us back outside. I sat on the ground, taking time to think. Baby crouched next to me and held my hand. Rice waited patiently a few feet away.

  There were so many secrets, so many rules. I understood the need for structure, but how could they decide what a child is going to be when they’re in kindergarten? How could they make some people work two or three jobs, while others only have to work one? How could they tell people who they can have children with?

  And forcing women to give birth, like we were nothing more than incubators. It made sense, all the pregnant women in the cafeteria, in the Quad. I thought about my mother, who turned forty this year. Adam was two. For some reason, this understanding made me even more upset. She not only helped design our new society, she was also an outstanding member who followed her own rules.

  I stood up and walked over to Rice. “Who makes New Hope’s rules?” I asked. “My mother is a scientist. . . . I don’t understand why she’s the director.”

  “The director certainly has a say on regulations but she isn’t solely responsible for the policies for New Hope,” Rice explained patiently. “She’s in charge of the lab, the scientific sector. Dr. Reynolds is really the one—”

  “Dr. Reynolds?” I interrupted him. “The creepy psychiatrist?”

  He shook his head. “Dr. Reynolds isn’t creepy. And who better than a psychiatrist to determine how a society should be structured?” he asked defensively. “We’re lucky to have him. He was in New Hope when the Floraes came. He headed psy-ops for the military. He’s a brilliant man. It’s like he can see into the core of people, determine what we’re made of. He did it to me. He saw a lost, young orphan in me and decided I had the potential to be more,” Rice told me passionately. “He’s the one who recommended that Hutsen-Prime take me under their wing. He’s the one who has checked on me over the years, made sure I had the best education, the best chance to succeed. And now he’s molding New Hope. We have the ability to rebuild the world and make it better.”

  I looked at Rice, horrified. After the propaganda speech, I didn’t think I could stand to hear any more of the party line, even from someone I trusted.

  The more I learned about New Hope, the less I saw my place there.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  “Did Baby come to visit me today?” I ask Dr. Thorpe.

  “No, that was last week, Amy.” She hands me my pills and a cup of water, which I dutifully swallow. I hate taking all this medicine. Nothing changes. I’m always confused; sometimes I lose myself in a memory, only to forget a few seconds later what I was thinking about. My time in New Hope is coming back to me slowly, but there’s so much I can’t remember.

  I look at Dr. Thorpe and I know I can’t fight her on the drugs. They monitor me all the time. “When will Baby be back?” I ask. “I think it will help with my treatment if I can see her more often.”

  “I’m not sure. Dr. Reynolds supervised the visit. He said it was too upsetting for you. Maybe she’ll come again when you’re more stable.” She takes the empty cup, absently looking at her clipboard.

  “And my mother?”

  “Your mother is a very busy woman. She doesn’t have time to visit every day.”

  I try to concentrate. My mother has always been busy, but she’d make time to see me, wouldn’t she? Someone came today, but I can’t remember who exactly. They held my hand.

  “Who was here earlier?” I ask.

  She looks up at me, sharply. “That was Richard . . . you know, Rice. You had a very nice visit with him. He likes you very much.”

  “Yes, yes.” I burrow back under my covers. I like having visitors, even if I don’t always remember who they are.

  “And what about Vivian? When did she come last?” I stop myself, thinking. “She hasn’t been to see me at all, has she?”

  Dr. Thorpe stops and sucks in a breath. “You don’t remember?”

  I shake my head while she studies me for a moment, then turns slightly and touches her earpiece.

  “Ms. Harris is not responding as well to her medication as we had first hoped.” She talks about me as if I’m not here. Maybe I’m not. “We should start her shock treatments as soon as possible.”

  I take a deep breath, trying to keep my anxiety in check. “When?” I ask quietly. Either Dr. Thorpe doesn’t hear me, or she ignores me. I stand, agitated, knocking into her and making her drop her clipboard on the floor. She backs away from me with a frightened look on her face. “Sorry.” I sit back down. “I didn’t mean . . .”

  “It’s all right, Amy. You’re not well.” She retrieves her clipboard from the floor. “We’ll talk more about your treatment another time,” she tells me before she leaves the room.

  The door shuts with a loud thud, followed by a single click. I stand slowly and go to the door, trying the handle. It’s been locked from the outside. Retreating to my bed, I place my head under the pillow and sob myself to sleep.

  • • •

  “SURPRISE!”

  We walked into the cafeteria and a roomful of people shouted at us. I let go of Baby’s hand so she could cover her ears. I was still in shock when my mother came over to hug me.

  “I knew you could do it,” she whispered in my ear. “Advanced Theory! I’m very proud.”

  She introduced me to her colleagues and other Class Five students she must have deemed worthy. I lost track of Baby and panicked until I spotted her across the room, in Rice’s arms.

  There was a flat, slightly lumpy cake and a dark, carbonated liquid that tasted like cola and root beer mixed together. This was really bad timing. I wanted nothing more than to talk with my mother, alone, away from the eyes, and regulations, and colored jumpsuits of New Hope.

  “You know, when I made Advanced Theory, I didn’t get a party,” Vivian said behind me. I turned to catch her with her eyebrows raised mockingly, her brown eyes shining.

  “Yeah, this is fan,” I say sarcastically.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, lowering her voice. “You haven’t been asking about the Floraes again, have you?”

  “No, I just saw the orientation video. . . . I . . . it really got to me. New Hope. Everything we have to do in order to stay here.”

  “Yeah,” Vivian said carefully. “But it’s worth it.”

  “Is it?”

  Vivian grimaced and tugged at her necklace. “I’ll take New Hope any day over b
eing out there with the Floraes.”

  “You don’t mind giving up your freedom?”

  Vivian tilted her head. “You always have to give up some freedoms to live in any society.”

  “But here, it’s all or nothing. It’s get in line or be sent to the Ward, or worse.” I thought of being expelled, forced to leave the safety of New Hope. “They’re preying on people’s fears to make them conform.” I knew I shouldn’t be talking about any of this here and now, but it was just flowing out of me.

  “Amy, it is all worth it,” Vivian whispered desperately, wanting me to understand. “I would trade almost anything to be safe. Think about it. What are you really giving up? So, they make you work, make you exercise, make you live up to your potential—is that really so bad?”

  “But you can’t even decide who you have children with.” I glanced around the room, at least a quarter of the women were pregnant. Several looked like they weren’t much older than me.

  Vivian sighed. “We have to rebuild the human race. Everyone is tested for genetic compatibility. It gives our species the best hope of survival.”

  I watched my mother from across the room, holding Adam. She spotted me and beckoned me over.

  “Duty calls.” I smiled at Vivian.

  My mother had me speak with more of her colleagues, eat more cake, fake more smiles. I finally found a quiet corner to hide in when Rice saw me and brought over Baby. She beamed at me, just happy to be at her first party.

  “You knew,” I playfully accused Rice.

  He grinned. “Of course I knew. Your mother had me show you those orientation films to keep you busy while they set up the party.”

  “But you told me my mother wanted me to watch those videos before I even took that test today, before I was placed in Advanced Theory.”

  Rice shrugged. “She had high hopes for you.”

  “She didn’t . . .” I paused. “Rice, did I actually place into Advanced Theory, or did my mother pull some strings?”

  “No, the director wouldn’t do that,” Rice assured me. “Your scores placed you. The director wouldn’t break the rules.”

  I thought of Adam, what his existence meant. Of course she wouldn’t break the rules. But I wondered. “Not even for her daughter?”