by Kody Boye
Purpose.
This final word strikes a chord within me, causing me to pause and consider everything that my life has amounted to up until this moment.
Once upon a time, I was a little girl with a dream.
In less than two weeks, I have been transformed into a living embodiment of the government’s Process, and am now a married woman with purpose as a result.
I’m still not sure how I’m supposed to feel. I do know, however, that I am lost, confused, unsure, doubtful, scared out of my mind in some respects and completely confident in others.
I’ve sometimes wondered if I’ve done the right thing in coming to the Glittering City.
You were picked, my conscience offers. You couldn’t have escaped.
Could I have, though, if I just had stayed home, faked a cold or a fever or something similar? In that sense, I could’ve sidestepped the Procession completely. But in another, I can’t help but question what might have changed because of my absence.
Would Ceyonne have died on the train?
Would another girl have been made the poster child of the Process by the media?
Would someone else have been targeted at their wedding as a result, and would they have been attacked in my place?
I don’t know—and that, in the end, is what scares and emboldens me to believe that I am in the right place, regardless of everything that has occurred.
“Kelendra?” Mariah asks from the kitchen.
“Yes ma’am?” I reply.
“Would you be a dear and let Buster outside to do his business?”
“Yessum.”
I lean the broom against the wall and make my way into the kitchen—where, sitting idly by the door, is the large black dog that greeted Daniel the moment we set foot on the property. Buster’s tail thumps happily against the floor as I approach, and his big black eyes widen as I unlock the door.
“Watch out,” Mariah says. “He might bowl you over if you’re not—”
She’s about to say careful, but the dog is bounding out the door and into the yard before she can finish, nearly knocking me over in the process.
My mother-in-law laughs and says, “Told you.”
“Did you need me to do anything else?” I ask, turning to face her.
“I’ll finish sweeping the kitchen, since it’s mostly my territory anyway. You go ahead and relax.”
“All right.”
I consider what I could do in the moments that follow, and find my eyes drawn to the wheat fields outside.
I step outside without much thought.
I watch the fields of wheat sway in the sweet summer wind as the dog surveys the fenced-in yard. Nose down, ears alert, eyes set toward the grass, he patrols the space as if he has never before experienced it and leaves me to think on the matters at hand.
Your Purpose, my conscience offers, will soon be decided.
The unnerving reality of it all is enough to make me shiver, even though the wind is warm and the sun high in the sky. I try desperately to shake the incomprehensible feelings of what this change will mean for me, but find that I cannot.
A multitude of scenarios run through my mind.
Me, being granted my Purpose.
Me, drudging ideas on how to raise moral from the depths of my conscience.
Me, attempting to piecemeal them together into something coherent, only to meet with the Commandant soon after.
There is no telling what will happen in the coming days, in the coming months, maybe even the next year. I know I am meant to start a family as soon as possible—and if something fails, that I will be forced to undergo a medical procedure to become pregnant—but at the same time, I wonder if my Declared Purpose has altered things.
Of course it has, my conscience offers. How couldn’t it?
I am obviously the first Beautiful One to have made such a bold declaration. Otherwise, why else would there be such shock around this, such indecision, such question?
Frowning, I sink my teeth into my lower lip and watch the dog continue to prance about the yard.
The double doors beside me open. Daniel steps out. “Hey,” he says.
“Hey,” I reply.
“Watching Buster do his patrol?”
“Something like that,” I say, turning my head to look at him. “How was your day?”
“It was fine. Had to scale one of the sprinklers to make sure it was working properly, though. That’s always a harrowing experience.”
“You mean… the giant ones?”
“Uh huh.” He nods and reaches up to brush dirt from his face. “I’m a bit hesitant to say this, but I’m not the biggest fan of heights.”
“I didn’t think you were scared of anything.”
“We’re all scared of something,” Daniel says, then laughs before asking, “What about you? What are you scared of?”
It takes a moment for me to formulate a thought, but when I finally do, I only manage to say, “Failing.”
Daniel frowns. “Failing?” he asks. “What do you mean?”
“I’ve always been raised to believe that I could be whoever I want to,” I say, “to do whatever I want to, to want anything I wanted. Growing up, I lived in the shadow of the Procession—living, breathing, eating, and going to bed every night believing in it. A part of me knew I would succeed, but there was always that dark side of it that made me question if I would be denied my life’s dream. So when I was chosen, and my friends weren’t, I… I realized something.”
“What was that?”
“I realized that, even if you want something so bad, and you work your hardest day and night toward it, nothing in life is guaranteed.”
“I guess you’re right,” Daniel says, then lowers his eyes. “Nothing in life really is guaranteed.”
“No,” I say, and nod. “It isn’t.”
As we sit there, gazing out at the fields and dwelling upon the truths that I have just spoken, I come to realize that everything I have worked toward may not be guaranteed.
My life—my ambition to make the world a better place for those less fortunate—is all coming down to one decision.
And worst of all: there’s no telling what it will be.
Seven
The realization that my life is not entirely my own is haunting. Like a specter in the night, it shadows me everywhere I go, constantly reminding me that I am meant to serve others rather than be served myself. It’s a constant thought process that leaves me in disarray, and makes me question everything about my life.
By the time night rolls around, I am feeling more lost than ever.
Wandering the room, thinking about the delicate situation at hand, I try to piece together the many realities that flow throughout my brain and find that none of them are very appealing.
To start: I could be denied my Purpose. The judge could deem me unfit to cooperate with the military, and as such, dismiss my Purpose outright. This would lead me into my second reality, which would involve me picking another Purpose to dedicate myself to. What I would do I cannot yet determine, but given my background, and what all I’ve gone through, it would have to be defense of the city.
Is that not militaristic though? I wonder. Does that not involve arms? The government? The policing of our civilians?
This questioning branches out into what I would do personally, especially once it is determined that I am pregnant with Daniel’s child.
Would, I wonder, I remain here, in this place, with my husband and my parents, or would they more strictly monitor me somewhere within the city, where nurses and doctors could watch over me in a safe and developed environment?
In the end, I do not know what they will do—and that is what chills me to the bone.
The more time goes on, the more I realize that my life is not my own—and that my choices, juvenile as they happen to be, will not always be the right ones.
I sigh, and am just about to make my way into the washroom when a flicker of light catches my eye.
&nb
sp; I turn, expecting to see one of the Silver Bots in the field.
Instead, I see nothing.
“Huh,” I say. “I wonder what that—”
The flicker of light appears again—this time more visibly.
I step forward.
The light begins to move.
“What in the world?” I ask.
The door opens behind me.
Daniel enters. “What’re you looking at?” he asks.
“I’m not sure,” I say, turning my head to face him. “I—”
“GET DOWN!” he screams.
“What’re you—”
He tackles me just in time for a gun to go off.
The window shatters.
I scream.
Daniel cries out.
His mother calls, “What’s going on?”
And Daniel replies, “SOMEONE JUST SHOT AT KEL!”
I tremble beneath Daniel’s grasp—not only out of fear of having just been made a target, but because of the cool air blowing in through the now-exposed window frame.
Daniel tightens his hold on my body and presses his lips to my ear. “It’ll be okay,” he whispers. “Just follow my lead.”
“But—” I start.
He shakes his head and crawls onto his hands and knees.
I, with nothing else to do, follow suit.
He leads me toward the open doorway and out into the hallway.
My foot clips the door.
A shot fires, causing wood to splinter right above my head.
“Keep going,” Daniel whispers, urging me along with a wave of his hand.
“I’m afraid,” I whisper.
“Don’t be. I’m here. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
It isn’t in his control, though. He can’t prevent a madman from firing upon me so much as he can control the weather. For all his lies, he might be a politician.
Believe in him, my conscience offers. You’re almost there.
Another wall between me and the gunman will surely keep me safe.
Right?
I don’t know, but in that moment, I begin to move, careful not to hit anything further before making my way into the hall beside Daniel.
“Ma!” Daniel calls.
“The Dames are coming!” Mariah Cross says.
“Take Dad and Buster and get in the cellar!”
“What about you?”
“They’ll be fine!” Frank calls, more to his wife, I believe, than us. “Just stay down and wait for the SADs to show up!”
A shot goes off.
The sound of a bullet hitting metal enters my ears before the ornate light fixture hanging above the stairway falls, striking the railing and breaking parts of it clean off before collapsing into the hall below.
“Oh my God,” I whisper. “Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.”
“Don’t panic,” Daniel says. “That’s what they want.”
“Who?”
“Whoever’s shooting at us.”
But who could it be, I wonder? Is it someone from over the wall, holding a grudge against me for my presumed wealth? One of the Fanatical, trying to take me out? Just who is shooting at us; and why, of all people, would they be going after me?
The silence both inside my head and out is monstrous.
My heart pounds.
Blood rushes through my ears.
Faintly, I hear the sound of the wind, then feel its presence as it comes rushing through the shattered window.
“How long do you think we’ll need to wait?” I whisper.
“I don’t know,” Daniel replies. “If they’re coming by aircraft, not long. But if they’re coming by car…”
I close my eyes.
Daniel reaches out and takes hold of my hand.
It is all I can do to keep from crying.
I feel like we’ve been waiting for hours for something to happen—for the gun to go off, for the vehicle to approach, for SADs to jump out and march the grounds of the Ceres Farmlands. With Daniel’s hand clenched firmly within my own, I remain as quiet as possible, taking slow, shallow breaths through my nose and expelling them out my mouth.
They’ll be here soon, I think.
They have to be. Otherwise, what point would there be in having them act on an emergency?
“Daniel?” I whisper.
“Yeah?” he asks. He cracks his eyes open to look at me.
“If there’s supposed to be men in the fields, does that mean… that this person acted from within?”
“You mean within the walls?”
“Yeah.”
He considers this for a moment before saying, “I don’t know.”
“It’s just… you’d think that, if there are snipers watching the walls, that they would’ve spotted trouble before it started.”
“Maybe they have a cloaking device,” he offers. “Something to make them invisible.”
“Does that sort of thing exist?”
“Yeah. It does.”
I shiver—not out of the chill, but fear.
To think that this person could be moving so stealthily that they could avoid detection from everyone is absolutely terrifying.
The rev of an engine draws me from my thoughts.
“Is that—” I start.
“The SADs?” Daniel asks, turning his head to look down the broken stairway. “We can only hope.”
The engine cuts off abruptly.
Shortly thereafter, voices call out.
“Where is he!” one barks.
“The fields!” I call. “The eastern fields!”
A series of shouts go up; and though I cannot hear the march of footsteps, I can easily hear the cries as they occur, a weapon as it is fired. The roars of machineguns that start thereafter is like a storm meant to cleanse the impure, and causes every hair on the back of my neck to stand rigid.
Come on, I think. Get him. Get him. Get—
The gunfire stops.
I blink, stunned.
“Do you think—” Daniel begins.
A loud series of banging knocks at the door cuts him off. “Open the door!” a SAD calls. “We’ve eliminated the assassin!”
Assassin? I think.
That could only mean one thing:
I was targeted.
But by whom?
I rise on unsteady feet. Aided by Daniel, I take a moment to compose myself and then follow him carefully down the stairs.
We reach the door before either of his parents can emerge from the cellar.
Outside, a tall, lean white woman with well-tended brows and full lips looks on at us from behind a tactical visor. “Kelendra Cross?” she asks.
“Yuh-Yes?” I manage.
“You are safe from further harm.”
Though I exhale, the tightness in my chest is only just beginning to increase. “You said,” I start, “he was—”
“An assassin. Yes.”
“How do you know?”
She lifts a transparent bag. Within it is the front cover of the magazine I was pictured upon the night after my arrival. My face is circled in bold, red ink.
“Good God,” Daniel breathes. “So it is true.”
“You are fortunate to have escaped with your life. A man like this knows what he’s doing.”
“Daniel,” I start. “My husband, he—”
Mariah and Frank Cross emerge from the cellar.
“Are you all right?” Frank asks, stepping forward and pressing a hand against my arm.
“I’m fine, sir,” I reply, and though fighting it, can’t push back the tremor in my voice. “I just… I don’t—”
“It’s not every day you get shot at. Yes. I know.”
He offers me a brief, one-armed hug before turning to look at the officer in question. “Excuse me, miss—”
“Winters,” the SAD says. “Diana Winters.”
“Miss Winters. What will happen now?”
“Your property is currently being scoured for any additional threat. My lieutenant
has called into base, and there will be troops with Seekers arriving within minutes.”
A nose presses against my palm.
I look down, only to find Buster looking up at me.
I swallow, but tangle my hand in the dog’s fur before turning my attention back to the SAD. “Does the Revered Mother—”
“Know about the attempt on your life? Not yet. But from what we can gather, this attempt was largely political, and may be connecting to the bombing that occurred on your wedding.”
“That doesn’t make me feel any better,” Daniel says. “How are we supposed to protect ourselves if we don’t know where they’re coming from?”
“There’s evidence that this person came under the wall,” Diana Winters says.
“Under the wall?” Frank asks. “They’ve always come over.”
“Yes, but the barbwire you strung up is undamaged, and there’s a massive hole where solid ground should have been.”
“This is ridiculous!” Daniel says. “How did someone know Kelendra was here? Let alone know where to watch for her?”
“My snipers,” Frank starts. “Where are they?”
“Three of them were found in the field with bullets through their skulls,” Diana states. “The fourth in question has not been found.”
“But that doesn’t mean he was responsible,” I say, looking from Frank, to Daniel, to Diana. “Right?”
No one responds.
I wrap my arms around myself in an effort to sate my trembling extremities, but find even that does little to help.
Sighing, Frank lifts his eyes to look at the SAD, and asks, “What would you suggest in this instance?”
“I’d suggest relocating Mrs. Cross to the city. It is obvious that she has been made a target, and given that this individual knew her location down to the very room she would be in, there’s no telling who might act next.”
“I don’t want to leave,” I say. “I’ve been running too much.”
“It’s for the best,” Daniel says.
“Besides,” Diana Winters adds. “It may be in your best interest to be in the city anyway. The Revered Mother will want to speak with you as soon as possible.”
“I… I guess,” I say. I turn to look up the stairway, broken and splintered as it is, and sigh. “Can I go get something first?”
“Do it quick,” Diana says.
I start toward the stairway, but stop as a hand catches me.
