The Beginning_Mile 0

by Wisteria D. Jones

  His father looked finally looked at him, coming out of his own thoughts. Was he like this when they came for his first son? Was he as much of a mess as his second wife was being? How had his first wife handled everything?

  It was no use thinking such things. Chris didn’t want to bring up those memories, and knew he might never get a chance to ask. He didn’t want his father to remember him as just a nosey child. He wanted to show him that he was brave.

  “I’ll come back, Dad. Just like Jeremy.”

  His father stared back at him, slowly blinking. Chris wasn’t even sure that he had heard him, and was about to say something more when he finally spoke.

  “You’re a West. You have to come back.”

  The words were the more encouraging than anything else he had heard that day. More than his mother’s fussing or his favorite teacher’s well wishes. His father believed in him. He already had one son who made it through alive, and was obviously backing on his genetics to get the next one through.

  The men in suits looked at their watches, glanced at each other, and then proceeded to head towards the door. Chris knew well enough that this was the signal to leave. His mother continued wailing as he made his way towards the men, but he paid her no mind. Anything else that was said would taint his father’s statement, and he wanted to keep the sentiment fresh in his mind.

  Looking over his shoulder, his father was holding his mother against his chest, letting her cry freely onto his shoulder. It seemed that the final departure was enough to push her over the edge. Chris was her first child, so it was harder for her. His father had been through this before, and would be there to try and comfort her as best he could.

  With a small wave, Chris headed out the door, wondering how far the nearest airfield was from their home. He’d never traveled outside of the city, as there wasn’t much to see or do outside of work or school for normal citizens. He once heard some of the adults talk about ‘field trips’ and wondered what those were. The last time he saw a field it was on fire.

  The world was much different than before, but to Chris nothing was odd. He didn’t find it strange that keeping live animals - whatever those were - was banned, or how the majority of his food came out of plastic tubes or aluminum cans.

  His parents had told him stories of ‘pets’, but he honestly didn’t believe them. Keeping a smaller creature inside one’s home was pointless and a waste of food. There weren’t many animals left in the world, and they most certainly wouldn’t be found living in the cities. They stopped teaching about them decades ago because most people lived out their entire lives without ever seeing a single creature in real life, so the lessons were more like fairy tales then actual education.

  Chris’ parents were careful with how much of the past they told him about. He noticed it when he was younger and asked for bedtime stories. His father was quick to silence his mother when she spoke out of turn, or said something that confused Chris.

  “What do you mean people swam in pools? What’s a pool?” he asked once, which prompted his father to glare at his mother.

  “Oh, they were these deep pits filled with water that people jumped into to cool off. Your great-great-grandfather once talked about how there used to be one that was so big that it could fit at least thirty people.”

  “Thirty people? Why would they all share a bath?”

  “Not to bathe, silly. For fun.”

  “Doesn’t sound like fun.”

  “That’s because you’ve never tried it,” his mother said, finally noticing the look his father gave her.

  “And he never will.”

  Chris clearly recalled his father’s harsh tone without effort. He used it often, though he had become a bit softer towards his eldest child after he returned home. Chris knew that it was only because his half-brother survived the trials that his father allowed himself to feel love for his child again. There was still pain and distance between them, but time was said to be able to heal all wounds. Maybe in a few years they’d be able to talk freely with each.

  His father way lucky. He was too young to take the written test when it first came about. After the World Government’s shady doings were exposed and they came up with The 12 Mile Course, both Chris’ mother and father were already over the age of sixteen and therefor unable to participate.

  Jeremy’s mother was not lucky. She was born into a world that had already accepted The 12 Mile Course, and gladly threw her into it when she came of age. She was one of the few that survived, though from what little he learned from his father’s stories, she had a hard time readjusting back into society.

  His father couldn’t stop her from taking her life, and he’d confessed to his new wife that he didn’t even know if he’d try to stop her if he did. Chris had overheard them talking about it one night and couldn’t sleep well for weeks. His half-brother’s mother had made it through, but couldn’t live with herself afterwards. It was a troubling thought. Even if society deemed someone worthy of living, it didn’t mean that the person thought it was worth living a society that condoned such a test.

  One of the men in suits sitting in the front seat handed a data pad to Chris, who carefully took it from him. He had almost forgotten that he was allowed to write messages to family who were not present at the time of his departure. He wasn’t quite sure what to say, and knew that he’d be writing vastly different messages for each sibling, but set to the task regardless.

  He decided to start with his half-brother. They had always been on good terms, though Chris often felt that he resented their father for moving on so quickly after his first wife’s death. Jeremey was only a few years older than Chris, but after coming back from The 12 Mile Course, he seemed much wiser beyond his years. Sighing to himself, Chris opened the application, typed in Jeremy’s name, and began to write.

  Dear Jeremy, my delightful half-brother; how are you? I’m doing swell, thanks for asking. They’ve said I’m so smart and amazing that I get to skip school for a week or so. Isn’t that grand? The only issue is that I have to spend that time in a deathtrap. Fear not, though. I’ve got a surefire way to make it back home: don’t die. It worked for you, didn’t it?

  Seriously, though. Please take care of my mother. She’s frail, and I’m her first child being sent off. Go easy on her. And watch out for Sophie. She’s a trickster, just like me. I’m sure she’ll keep you occupied while I’m away. I hope you don’t miss me too much, because I’ll be back soon. Promise.

  Anyway. Thanks for all the things you’ve told or taught me. I really appreciate it. I’m sorry if I’ve been an annoying, unwanted little brother to you. I hope we can meet again one day. I’m sure I’ll have lots to tell you. In the meantime, take care of them. They’ll need you now more than ever.

  Love, your brother, Christopher.

  He finished his message, looking out the window and trying to inconspicuously wipe the corner of his eyes. His half-brother was always a bit standoffish, but he never blamed him for it. He’d also not want to get too close to a barely related kid who was probably going to die. It didn’t exactly make for a great friendship if one side had an expectation date.

  For his sister’s letter, he wasn’t sure what he wanted to write. He already felt drained from what he had written to Jeremy, and thought that it would be best to be brief to save himself from more emotional pain. He opened the application, setting the recipient to his little sister. With a heavy sigh, he wrote a message he hoped she would understand.

  Dear Sophie.

  Don’t touch my stuff.

  Love, Chris.

  If anything, she’d get a laugh out of it. Chris felt that she would have known that there was more he wanted to say. He almost wanted to write ‘you’re next!’, but thought the humor might have been a bit dark considering the circumstances.

  The van pulled onto the airstrip while Chris finished closing the application on the data pad after sending his sister’s message. He looked at the man in the front seat to see that he had Chri
s's schoolbag in his lap.

  “I can take that now, thanks,” Chris said, holding out his hand for the man to pass it to him.

  The man stared at him coldly, not moving the bag towards the teen. They stayed like that for a moment before Chris dropped his hand, not realizing why he was being denied his property.

  “This will go back to your family,” the man said, which prompted an eyebrow raise from Chris.

  “Don’t know what any of them want with what little I got in there, but alright. Enjoy.” He waved at the man as he exited the vehicle. There were some nice pens in there, but he was sure his mother wouldn’t let anyone touch the bag until it was confirmed whether he was dead or alive.

  He exited the van, slamming the door behind him. Likely the vehicle had seen worse dropping off chosen children. Chris briefly wondered how many times the interior had to be washed and cleaned due to tears, snot, and bile.

  A group of candidates stood a fair distance away, most of them sullen faced and looking towards the ground. There were at least thirty of them, though it was hard to get an accurate count from Chris’ position. They were wearing an assortment of gray clothing, likely due to the fact that they had come straight from their prospective schools as Chris had. One of them was still dressed in his home clothes, which Chris assumed was because he had called in sick and didn’t make it to school.

  “Line up, grab your packs, and get on the plane,” a loud voice yelled, signaling the start of their journey. Chris was the last one to arrive, and felt sorry for any who had been kept waiting.

  They all silently shuffled forward, grabbing their individual black packs as they passed by more men in suits. Chris was going to ask if they had anything in a dark blue or green, perhaps, but he was pushed forward before he could say his remark. He clutched the pack to this chest as they boarded the plane, wondering how many of his fellow candidates had ever flown before.

  “First time?” he asked a small boy near him, winking cheekily.

  The boy sniffed, moving away from Chris without a word. It was apparent he didn’t want to talk.

  “Tough crowd,” Chris murmured, finding a seat and plopping himself down.

  There were only two rows of seats along the inside of the plane, both of them separated by a space of only a few feet. They were all facing forward, so those in the seats were isolated without the use of boarders or walls. Chris tried to look around at the others, but one glare from a man in a suit near the back of the plane set his head straight forward.

  “Cheer up, guys!” Chris said loudly, laughing slightly as he spoke. “We either return, or we don’t! No sense in getting all worked up about it.”

  One of the younger girls a few seats ahead of him burst into tears.

  This out to be a fun eight hour flight.

  3

  The flight wasn't as bad as he thought it would be. The packs were stuffed with an outfit they would have to change into during the flight, which meant taking turns to get up and use the restrooms in the back of the craft. The packs were also filled with a light blanket and a tube of some pink substance that was supposed to be a snack. Chris wondered if it was drugged, but realized that they didn’t have to do anything extra to placate their cargo - most looked like they believed themselves dead already.

  The kids aboard would only cry if they were hidden under their blankets, or involuntarily during their brief naps. Chris almost willed himself to cry, to show emotion, to feel something more than the numbness that had settled in his chest and refused to vacate. For the time being, however, he was glad that we wasn't bawling his eyes out and begging some higher power to crash the plane on some deserted island where he could live out the rest of his life in peace.

  Chris leaned his head back against his chair, thinking of how his life was about to change. From what little Jeremy had shared with him, he knew it wasn’t going to be an easy ride. Candidates who had already passed the test were not allowed to divulge information about the course to those who had yet to partake, but Jeremy had slyly tried to tell him things.

  “Trust no one. Get as many as you can whenever you can. Don’t share anything. Don’t help anyone but yourself. All it takes is missing one for you to fail.”

  His half-brother’s voice drifted through Chris’ memory. He didn’t get half of what Jeremy had said, but tried to remember it as best he could. Get as many of what? Weapons? Items? It didn’t make sense. He understood the part about trusting no one, and not sharing his things, but ‘all it takes is missing one for your to fail’? What could that even mean?

  One of the men in suits motioned for Chris to get up, as it was his turn to change into the outfit inside his pack. He stood carefully, not trusting his footing on a moving plane. The sight of the men in suits standing so comfortably made him jealous, as it was obviously not their first flight.

  The restroom was small, and only had a small toilet in one corner, a sink, soap dispenser, and toilet paper. He wondered if he should just wipe his hands on his pants to dry them when he spotted an air dry machine near the door. Sighing, Chris began to change out of his drab grey school clothes into the tight black outfit that had to be stretched to fit his body. It hugged every curve of his figure, which he most certainly wasn’t happy about.

  The entire stretchy black outfit was one full piece, which Chris had to marvel at. What if someone was abnormally tall or short? Did these things rip easily? How good were they at maintaining heat? He pulled at one of the sleeves, stretching it until it covered his arm up to his wrist. The bottom portion covered his feet, and there were light shoes in the pack as well.

  Looking in the mirror after stretching the outfit to fit him, Chris almost didn’t recognize himself. The tightness was a stark contrast to the loose home and school clothes he was permitted to wear, and he wasn’t sure he liked the definition the outfit gave his body. His collar bone was covered, though the outfit did sit an inch above the base of his neck. It was not something he would have personally chosen to wear.

  The last things he found in his pack were a small wristband that he slipped onto his left wrist, as well as a small disc the size of his palm. He pulled it out of the pack, only to have it fly out of his hand and attach itself to his chest. It let out a small beep, but did nothing more. Other than the initial shock of having it move on its own, the device didn’t hurt and didn’t seem to be dangerous.

  “Probably a tracker to make sure I’m not dead,” Chris reasoned aloud, tapping the disc with a finger tentatively.

  The disc beeped once more, and Chris lost interest. He looked at the wristband, but it also remained dormant. No doubt it would be useful later. His outfit finally in order, Chris exited the restroom, and proceeded to walk back to his seat with the tube of pink goo hanging out of his mouth. It didn’t taste so bad, and he finished it in a few gulps before tossing the wrapper back into his pack.

  Chris spent the next hour or so of the flight going over everything he could remember being taught about The 12 Mile Course. It was comprised of twelve separate sections that all had to be completed in order for him to pass. As the name suggested, each of the zones of the course were a mile long. Or wide. Or maybe their areas were equal to a mile? He wasn’t sure which. The name left a lot up for debate.

  Regardless, each section, or zone, was filled with something that would make it very hard for candidates to pass without dying.

  The thought of twelve separate zones was what Chris was always worried about. It was stressful enough thinking of The 12 Mile Course as a huge test that would determine if he lived or died, but splitting it up into a dozen separate challenges meant his odds on surviving were terrible. It was a wonder people were able to survive such a thing at all.

  He kept trying to remember what he was taught, though his training was more in survival and combat than what exactly was going to be involved in the test. He figured that if there was combat and weapons training, he’d likely have to fight with the others or some unknown enemy. The survival training he’d
received told him that he’d also have to fend for himself in an unfamiliar environment, which worried him deeply.

  The World Government never sent out the reports on how each candidate died within the course. Families were merely sent a letter with a single sheet of paper that had ‘Did Not Pass’ written in bold text. Chris wondered if his family would receive one soon. He almost wished that the cause of death could be written on the letter so they’d know he didn’t go down without a fight. He’d give it everything he had to make it back home in one piece.

  His thoughts started to give Chris anxiety about what was to come. He looked up at the large clock at the front of the plane, noting that they still had a few hours left before landing. Closing his eyes and breathing deeply, Chris willed himself to sleep. It wasn’t easy, as his thoughts were still swirling around his mind, like oil on water, always persistently staying near the surface of his consciousness.

  Jeremy survived. I might too. He was younger than me when he was chosen. I’ve got the advantage of age. Some of the kids here just turned twelve. They won’t be as level headed or prepared. They won’t be...

  He finally fell asleep, his head tilted back as he let out tiny snores. Others near him were too preoccupied with their own thoughts, worries, sadness, or slumber to pay him any mind. The hours passed by quickly, and soon the rumbling of the plane’s descent awakened Chris.

  Forgetting where he was at first, Chris wiped the drool off his chin and lip before rubbing his eyes sleepily. He couldn’t understand why he fell asleep sitting up, or why it felt like he was being slowly dropped from a great height. He looked around at the occupants of the plane while the events of the day slowly came back to him.

  “Great. Guess it wasn’t just a dream,” he muttered, looking around at the men in suits.