The Beginning
Wisteria D. Jones
© 2017 Wisteria D. Jones. All rights reserved.
Mile 0
Epilogue
The world was unbalanced. Populations were out of control, and had been growing exponentially without an equal increase in food or resources. Many began to starve. Wars were waged, both on local and global scales, sides were taken, and all hope was lost.
After countless years of fighting, most countries were able to come together under the stress of chaos. The majority agreed to work together to find a way to heal the world. A ‘two child allowance’ was given to all females with strict penalties for those that had more. The wars had only made a dent in the population problem, leaving it up to the new leaders to devise a plan of action.
The first official law that was passed by the new World Government was that all citizens had to take a standardized test in order to determine if they were a functioning member of society that contributed positively to their country. People rejoiced; they thought that the test would give those who contributed the most more power and wealth while the lesser citizens would be demoted to menial labor.
They were wrong.
Without public knowledge, citizens who failed the tests were quietly taken away and never seen again. Those they left behind quickly caught on. Public outcries were heard, but the deed was done. The passable test score was set high enough that over 30 percent of the world’s population had been euthanized in the span of a few days.
Some countries retained more citizens, while others were almost completely wiped out. Those that survived the test were enraged that the World Government had agreed to such a callous act, and called for immediate action against the leaders. It was decreed that those who signed the law would step down and be replaced, though they received no punishment for what they did.
A new plan had to be made to keep the population in check, but also entertain the notion that a fair order was being passed. The masses felt that a paper test was too rigid and strict, and that there had to be another way to prove that a person was worthy of living in society. Many thought that the test should only be preformed by those who weren’t yet adults to save resources - there was no sense in letting someone grow old and eat their fill before it was found out that they were useless.
Finally, the World Government came to a consensus. Part physical, part mental, and part chance, they created a super structure that would serve as the test ground for their candidates. They built a closed off arena in a remote location, telling those that survived the first paper test that their children would all be subject to completing the course.
Those that survived the initial test voted. The majority won, and plans were made for the first batch of children to be tested.
All future citizens would be randomly selected from the ages of twelve to sixteen. This was so that children wouldn’t know exactly when they would be tested, and was supposed to give them ample time to prepare. Parents would also not know that exact date that their children would be taken away to ensure that they didn’t take any measures of stop the procedure.
Those who could make it across the entire area alive would reenter the population and become a functioning member of society. Those who didn't... would not. By the time the first thousand candidates had finished their test in the arena, moderators announced that the survival rate was thirty-six percent.
Even with such low odds of passing, the world was content with the test, and allowed their children to be taken from them when the time came. Everyone accepted that they would rather have their child put through the rigors of the new test than to face the misery and hardships of the world as it was before.
The world was healing. The population was stagnant. All because of The 12 Mile Course.
1
It was only second period, but Chris was already starting to yawn. He had stayed up late the night before playing a new game on his data pad and lost track of time. With the measly three hours of sleep he had, he was impressed that he hadn't already dozed off in what was probably the most boring of all the classes he had that day.
“And that,” Mr. Hennesey said in his booming voice, “is how we found the square root of the integer.”
What’s the point in learning math or science or any of these subjects if I might not even be around to use this knowledge later? Chris thought to himself, flipping his pencil around his index finger absentmindedly. It was only three weeks until his sixteenth birthday, which meant that his time was running out. He looked around the room at his fellow students, all of whom were taking rigorous notes on their data pads.
They seem to think this stuff is useful. Wonder if it can be used in the course. Like, one zone of the arena is just a huge whiteboard and we have to solve math problems or die. That’d actually be kind of funny.
There were only ten desks in Chris’ classroom, and two were empty. Their occupants had been taken earlier that month and had yet to return. The school didn’t move around desks or seats until the end of the month, possibly out of false hope or respect for the students. The fact that the others in his class were of random ages didn’t help matters either.
Classes were assigned by how well a person did on their standardized tests, not age. If the system had stayed the same as it was before, there would only be one or two students left in the higher grades, which wouldn’t make much sense. Chris was so lost in thought about tests and grades that he didn’t hear his teacher until he spoke a third time.
“Mr. West?”
Chris looked up at the teacher, wondering why he had been called on. It couldn’t have been for his appearance, as he wore his assigned modest grey shirt and pants like everyone else. Mr. Hennesy knew well enough that Chris was not an idiot, and likely understood a great deal more than he let on.
“Yeah?” Chris said, stifling a yawn.
“Chris. We've been through this. You do not answer a question with ‘Yeah’. You say, ‘Yes, Mr. Hennesy?’, or even ‘Excuse me?’ Do you understand?”
“Uh huh,” Chris said sarcastically as he ran his hand through the short crop of black hair on his head, almost begging Mr. Hennesy to get fed up with his lack of discipline.
Instead of getting angry, Mr. Hennesy merely shook his head and muttered a few words under his breath. He turned back to the class, not even bothering to ask Chris the question he had disturbed his daydreams for. In less than a minute, the teacher was back of droning on about different mathematical equations that majority of the class continued taking notes on.
It was hard for Chris to care. It was almost like he couldn’t care. What use was paying attention and learning anything when there was the very real possibility that he could be dead in less than three weeks? Even if he survived the course, he’d come back different.
The few that came back to school after being taken away were never the same. They buried themselves in their studies, almost as if they were trying to erase the memories of what they had been through. Some had scars or fresh wounds, and one boy last year even lost his entire left arm.
Seeing such things didn’t exactly fill Chris with confidence, but he still thought his chances were pretty good. He was older than most who were taken, and his parents had at least enrolled him in survival lessons once a week. The classes were mostly about finding water, using weapons and tools, and keeping a level head in the face of danger.
The bell rang, signaling that Chris was free from the nightmare of his math class. He raced out of the room as his classmates made their final notes onto the data pads, trying to write down everything on the board before their teacher erased it. The hallways were still almost empty, al
lowing him an easy path to reach his next class.
He rushed through the doorway of his third period class and plopped down onto an open seat. Students were still mulling out the door, obviously not as enthused as Chris was about their next class. He pulled out his data pad and turned it on, watching the loading screen with glee. All other teachers had forbid him the use of his pad, as he would download games and comics and play or read during lecture, but his current class was different.
His teacher approached him, crossing her arms and staring down at the teen.
“Here again so early,” Ms. Debbie said, smiling at the boy.
She had on the standard instructor uniform, which consisted of a light blue top with dark blue pants, though they did little to hide her womanly frame. Her straight brown hair was void of any tangles or curls, which was supposed to streamline the teaching process. It was too distracting to students to have their instructors look anything but ordinary.
“Like clockwork,” Chris muttered, opening up several applications on the the screen after it gave him the all clear. The data pad was locked for all other classes, and had to recognize that he was physically in his art class before it would allow him access to any information. He was too focused for pleasantries, and knew that that his teacher wouldn’t take offense to his standoffish response.
“You know, Chris,” she began to say, leaning over to look at the applications with him, “if you put this much energy and excitement into your other classes as you do here, maybe you wouldn't be in such a rush to get to my class everyday.”
Chris laughed, knowing that she wouldn’t take offense to his response. They had been having this conversation almost every other day for close to a year, and it was always the same. Most teachers had a hard time getting attached to the younger children, and often felt sorry for the older ones, so it was rare to have such a teacher who willingly gave a helping hand and kind word to her pupils.
“Maybe I’ll be a little more excited for my classes after I come back,” he said, knowing she understood what he meant by ‘come back’. He had several projects spread out on his data pad, and selected the most recent one using a hand gesture above the screen to open it.
“Chris,” Ms. Debbie began, but shook her head sadly, not knowing what else to say.
“It’s alright, Deb. I’ll be fine,” Chris said, looking back up at his teacher with his deep brown eyes. “You know I’ll be right back here in this chair come next month. You could even place some sure bets on that if you wanted to earn a little extra on the side. I’m sure your wages aren’t the greatest,” he added, hoping his smile looked genuine.
Ms. Debbie gave him a similar smile, and they both knew that they were trying their best to hide their doubts. She gave him a small nod before heading to the front of the class. The other four students had already filed in, and all but one had their data pads opened to the project folders.
“Now, let’s continue with last week’s projects. Hopefully some of you can move into the final stages of the project today, though this assignment still isn’t due for another month, so there’s no rush.”
Chris was nose deep in his data pad the moment his teacher walked away from his desk, working fervently at manipulating a tiny structure on his screen. Although it was an art class, Ms. Debbie had recently given them an architecture assignment with more free reign then most teachers would approve of. While some of the students worked on houses, libraries, schools, and other boring everyday buildings, Chris was letting his imagination wander as he constructed his project.
His tongue stuck out of his mouth at an odd angle as he concentrated. Beads of sweat began to form on his brow as he moved his hands above and on the date pad, creating his masterpiece. He had only recently begun to work with such passion on the project, mainly due to the limited number of days he still had in which to complete his creation.
Ms. Debbie walked by him as he worked, happy to see a student so enamored with her assignment. She’d never admit it, but it had been a special assignment she made just for one student in particular. The oldest one in the room by at least two years, and the one who had managed to catch her interest. He hadn’t yet given up on himself as others before him had. There was still life in him yet.
Chris took a quick break from his work, knowing that he would be done within half an hour at most. He gestured to the screen to raise his project above the data pad, looking at the three dimensional holographic structure as it was in that moment, glistening and shimmering with artificial sunlight. The sleek edges of the building were appealing to look at, and Chris couldn’t help but want to reach out to try and touch them.
“Almost done, Chris?” Ms. Debbie asked, looking at the structure with interest.
“Just about. It’d be even better if it was real.”
“Well, maybe someone will look at your plans one day and build it. You never know.”
“Yeah, that’s the dream, Deb.”
Before either of them could say anything more, two men in suits and sunglasses walked through the door, taking residence at the front of the class. They looked at each student in turn before one of them spoke in a deep booming voice.
“Mr. West?”
The other four students in class slowly started turning their heads towards Chris, some giving him a look of fear, others a look of pity. Chris stood up from his seat, and was about to take a step forward before Ms. Debbie put her hands on his shoulders and gently turned him towards her.
“Fight, Chris. Come back to us.” Her eyes were starting to tear up, but she held her composure.
Chris nodded, a sudden feeling of dread washing over him. “Should have figured this would happen on a Monday,” he said dryly, his voice shaking.
The two men waited for him to walk to the front of the class and out the door, promptly taking their positions behind him as he did so. Chris tried glancing back at his teacher, but one of the men had already shut the door. He was about to yell at the nearest man for shutting the door so quickly but stopped. It wasn't his place to tell them what he wanted.
They didn't have the slightest care if he wished to say goodbye to the one person in the entire school who believed in him. They didn't mind that he might never return or that he might have had friends who would miss him. The only thing the men in suits cared about was herding him outside the school and into an awaiting van to be transported back to his home for his final farewells.
Chris stared out the window, watching what little bit of the world he could see fly by. It wasn't even noon yet, but the sky was as bright as it was going to get with the exceptionally thick layer of smog.
After countless years of factories and machineries pouring out toxic waste and smog to meet the demands of the rising population, scientists were barely succeeding in halting the levels of pollution from rising, let alone reversing the negative effects. All they had to show for their tireless efforts was a murky sky and water refineries every other mile.
He tried to imagine what life had been like over twenty years ago. From what he had heard, apartments had been built thirty stories high, orphanages and hospitals were filled to the brim, and the economy was crumbling. It was hard to imagine, but Chris knew there was truth in such tales from the remnants of the past still visible in the present.
The van pulled up to a moderately sized home a few minutes later. Chris was fortunate enough to live relatively close to one of the functioning education centers in the city. Some of his fellow students had to travel up to two hours each way every day just to receive their education.
The men exited the vehicle first, opening the door for Chris and following him up the front steps of the dwelling. He knocked on the door, realizing that it was possible no one would be home. Both his mother and father had a two hour lunch break set in between their six hour shifts. They worked relatively close to home, so they would often eat or take naps at the house on their break, but not always.
He hoped his mother wasn’t going to cry.
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sp; 2
The tears were seemingly endless, though Chris’ mother was able to control herself enough to talk through her distress. She let out a small hiccup every few seconds, but at least she wasn’t the sobbing mess he knew she’d become later after he left. She had hugged him for a few minutes when he first arrived, and only begrudgingly released her son so she could tend to her guests.
His father could have been a replica statue for all he knew. He stood by the window, dressed in the standard black outfit all factory workers wore, looking out at the landscape without moving. It was an interesting juxtaposition to his mother’s frantic movements as she ran around the house in an attempt to get everyone allowable snacks and water. Her pink medical shirt and skirt swished as she dashed from room to room, and her dark hair was coming undone from her small white hat.
The men that accompanied Chris didn’t take any food or drink that was offered to them, which Chris supposed was wise. It wasn’t unheard of for some parents to go crazy and try and stop their children from being taken away. Poisoning his escorts would be a lot less trouble than trying to fight them. Judging from the muscle definition that was obvious even with their suits on, the drugs would save quite a bit of time.
“We hoped that your brother would have come home today on his break, but the plant is so far away that it’s usually more troublesome for him to do so. I’m glad your sister is in school right now. She’d be heartbroken to see you go. I’m sure she’ll be alright though, she’s always been a strong one. And you’ll be okay, too. You’re a brave boy, Chris, you really are.”
Chris let his mother’s incessant rambling drone on as he thought about his siblings. It was rare to have more than one, but his father had his first child with another woman. After she died, he met Chris’ mother and had two children with her.
Some men found comfort in the loophole of the sexes, but Chris’ father had told him before that after his first child he didn’t want any more. It was his new wife who talked him into having not one, but two more offspring. Chris could only imagine what it was like to go through giving up a child to be slaughtered. One child had survived already, which meant that the odds for the other two were not favorable.
The Beginning: Mile 0 (The 12 Mile Series) Page 1
