by Ann M. Noser
“The Race for Citizen Glory. Didn’t you see the notice up on the boards? Everybody’s doing it because of all the awards.”
I shake my head. “I’m not interested in any race. I just run for me.”
“Okay, then.” She hands over a worn pair of black and white shorts and a faded pink tank top.
On my left, a young woman pushes her way to the counter. “I need running clothes. If I’m going to compete in that big race, I’d better get in shape. It’s only two months away.”
The same attendant hands her a brand new pair of shorts and bright green T-shirt sporting the slogan: In Training for Citizen Glory. The young woman struts off. Her legs don’t have any muscle tone. I could so beat her.
I turn to the attendant. “Did she get nicer shorts than me because she’s training for that race?”
“Of course. It’s a big deal. Why aren’t you doing it? You’re here all the time anyway.”
“I don’t know. Maybe I’ll think about it,” I tell her, but that’s a lie. I run for myself and no one else.
I wander into the changing area and switch into my government-issue workout clothes. I check my watch. There’s five minutes left before my treadmill reservation, so I march up to the electronic bulletin board. Words flash across the screen of the muted video announcements. The reel starts over every few minutes, showing old footage of runners, all in the same uniform, racing the streets of the Panopticus. Two lanes have been blocked off for the race. Yellow words slide across the bottom of the screen:
Accept the Citizen Challenge to run 13.1 miles. Win prizes and improve your fitness profile. Receive increased food and equipment allowances. Don’t miss out on this great opportunity. After the last Race for Citizen Glory, three of the top ten finishers were Chosen for Highest Level Citizen Employment.
Although I’ve been running a few years now, I’ve never raced—except for secretly battling the people on either side of me in the long row of treadmills. In fact, I’ve never run anywhere except in this very room, because it’s not allowed. The streets are too dangerous.
I glance at my watch again. It’s time to get started. Using the provided spray bottle and towel, I wipe down my machine then climb on and set my pace. Visions of runners racing through the city streets flash through my brain. My legs go faster and faster. The room disappears as I imagine I’m leading the race.
“Hey. It’s busy in here today, isn’t it?” A deep voice on my right disrupts my dreams of glory.
“What?” I hate when people try to talk to me at the gym. My mind wanders when I run, and I don’t like my fanciful imaginings to be interrupted. For a moment, it always makes me feel like someone else can see inside my head. I don’t like that. We’re watched enough as it is.
I sigh and turn to the guy on the treadmill next to mine. He’s blond. Fit. And gorgeous, his chin held at a jaunty, confident angle. Like half the other jocks at the gym, he’s so full of himself that there’s no room for anything else. And, apparently, he won’t stop talking to me.
“Everybody here thinks they’re going to win that race.” He smiles like he knows the overhead lights will glisten off his pearly whites. “But they’re wrong. I am.” Naturally, he’s sporting new shorts and an In Training for Citizen Glory T-shirt.
“Oh, are you?” I ramp up my settings. “How can you be so sure?”
“I’m the best.” He chuckles.
I remember that his name is Liam. At least, that’s what the girls clamoring for his attention every night at the gym call him. I roll my eyes and catch him staring at my shorts. My cheeks flush and not just from my pace. “Were you checking out my butt?”
“Of course I was.” He laughs, not even embarrassed.
I cover my backside with my hands. “Well, stop it.”
He shakes his head. “Most girls like that.”
“I don’t.” My nostrils flare.
“Don’t get so huffy. I’m not even hitting on you.”
My cheeks burn even hotter. “I didn’t say you were.”
“Okay then.” He turns back to his machine. “Cause you’d know if I were interested.”
“Just so we’re clear: I’m only here to run.” I reset the treadmill controls. This conversation is over.
He clears his throat. “I’m simply wondering why you aren’t training for the race.”
I sigh. He’s taking over my hour of peace. “I never race.”
“Why not? You’re the fastest girl here. I see you running all the time. Your legs fly. You could probably place. You might even get Chosen.”
Chosen. The greatest honor bestowed on any member of the city. Mom would be so proud of me. So happy. And, finally, she’d be satisfied.
I turn to glance at Liam, the golden boy. He’s conceited. He’s full of himself.
And he’s right.
“Maybe.” This could be exactly what I need. Or at least what Mom needs.
Liam grins. “That’s the spirit!”
“How about this? I will enter. And I’m going to beat you.” There. Take that.
“I accept that challenge.” He reaches over and shakes my sweaty hand. “Hey, what’s your name?”
“It’s Silvia.” His vigorous handshake catches me off balance, and I try not to fall off the treadmill.
An hour later, I approach the front desk. Liam stands beside me, egging me on. My hand shakes as I scan my I.D. card, officially signing up for the Race for Citizen Glory. This could all be a big mistake. Heck, I’ve never even run on a road before.
The athletic trainer behind the table hands me a cloth bag. “Here’s your race packet. The New Order congratulates you on making the commitment to better health.”
“All right! You did it.” Liam slaps me a high five. “I’m glad you’re on my team.”
“What team?” My eyes narrow. “You never mentioned a team.”
He shrugs. “That’s because I just decided right now. We should train together. That way, we’ll win together, you know, running as a pack.”
“What if I don’t want to train with you?” I ask as we move away from the front desk.
“Why wouldn’t you?” He follows me toward the girls’ locker room then leans on the wall outside the door, blocking my way. “I’ll push you hard, and you’ll do the same for me.”
“I guess you’re right.” I hear myself agreeing with his plan as two girls approach. Their matching ponytails swing in unison. Both girls sport a perfect glow of after-workout sheen. The brunette throws a longing glance at Liam. The blonde raises a questioning eyebrow at me. Liam moves so they can enter the locker room.
“Get used to it.” He grins. “I’m always right.”
“I doubt that.” I shake my head. “Listen, I’ve got to get home to make supper for my mom. It’s her late night at the orchestra hall.”
“That’s cool.” Liam eases his way down the hallway. “See you tomorrow. Be ready to run outside.”
“Outside? But that’s not allowed. What if we get in trouble?”
He laughs as he reaches the corner. “Don’t worry. There are approved training runs in your packet. You’ll see.”
I glance at my race bag. Just by signing up for this stupid race I get more freedom. It’s worth it already. I reach into the bag, pulling out running socks and sport bandages, both meant to prevent blisters, and a green In Training T-shirt.
Still digging in the bag as I enter the girls’ locker room, I bump into someone.
“Hey, watch where you’re going,” a voice snaps.
“Oh, sorry.” I start to turn away, but she’s not done with me. Neither is her friend. The two of them, dressed in identical race shorts and shirts, glare at me.
“I don’t know why Liam wants to train with you,” the brunette says.
“Yeah.” The blonde makes a show of sniffing the air. “You smell like dead people.” They cackle and congratulate each other on how cool they are. I remember them from grade school. They were snots then, too. I guess some people don’t
improve with age.
“Maybe he’s tired of desperate girls like you who can’t keep up with him,” I say.
“So you think you’re better than us?” The brunette plants a hand on her hip.
I smirk. “I’m faster than you. And that’s all that counts in a race.”
The blonde narrows her eyes. “At least I don’t smell.”
“Actually, you do.” I sniff her as I pass by. Two can play at this game. “You stink like a sweaty avocado.” Actually, she doesn’t. I just know she works in a deli.
“Oh, my gosh… Do you really?” her bitchy friend asks.
The blonde’s face flushes, and she bends down to sniff her shirt.
I walk away, victorious.
“How was your day?” Mom asks as she breezes into the kitchen, grabs the soymilk out of the mini-fridge, and pulls a chair up to the metal kitchen bar. “Mine dragged. I’m so glad to be home.”
“My day was good.” I clear my throat. “I signed up for the Race for Citizen Glory. I even have a training partner.”
“You do?” Mom pours herself a glass. “Someone I know?”
“Nope. You’ve never met him.”
She pauses before taking a sip, the glass hanging in mid-air below her lips. “A boy?”
I nod.
“Even better.”
“Yeah, I think it’ll be fun.” I hand her a plate of pesto noodles.
She smiles. “Running isn’t fun, in my opinion, but I know you love it.”
“And I have even better news.” I grin, barely able to control my excitement. “Gus is taking me to the Human Disposal Facility.”
She grimaces, setting the forkful of noodles she was about to eat back down on her plate. “Why on earth would you want to do that?”
“Come on, Mom. Don’t deflate my happy balloon. This is a good thing for me. It means I’m being given more responsibility. It means they trust me.”
“You mean Gus trusts you. As far as anyone else…” Mom’s eyes dart around as if searching for someone to jump out at her. “Well, you never know what The New Order thinks. Let’s talk about something else.” She grabs the remote and turns on the news.
A perky anchorwoman flashes onto the screen. “Earlier today, the Representatives paid tribute to the fortieth anniversary of the WWIII ceasefire with compelling and, at times, fiery speeches. Their important words remind us of all we have to be grateful for here in Panopticus, the Green City of Peace, Unity, and Equality.”
Mom mutes the reporter. “Just look at Representative Waters-Royce! She’s practically full term, and she looks like she’s gained ten pounds, max. Probably hasn’t even gone up a size. How do famous people manage to look so good pregnant? It’s not fair. But, I suppose, after all the miscarriages she’s reported to have had, she deserves her chance at happiness.” She unmutes the program as the red-haired Representative Waters-Royce shakes her fist in the air.
“The Citizens of Panopticus are fortunate to be living in the year 2065,” Waters-Royce continues. “Because of the New Order, no one is homeless. Because of the New Order, unemployment is at zero percent. Because of the New Order, there is no more war. Rape and domestic violence have been eliminated. Unplanned pregnancies no longer occur—”
“How long do you think she’ll keep talking?” I ask.
“Silvia, don’t be so impatient,” Mom scolds. “Oh, look, is this what you were talking about?”
Now on the screen is the same race footage I’d seen earlier that day at the gym.
“Yes, that’s it!” I point. “That’s the race I’m gonna run—or win, if Liam has anything to do with it.”
She swallows, eyeing me closely. “So, his name is Liam, is it?”
I tense. Crap. Why’d I have to tell her his name? Now her nosiness will go into overdrive. “Don’t get too excited. He’s just a friend. Well, sort of. I mean, I’ve seen him around, but I’ve never talked to him before.”
“Maybe he likes you.”
I shake my head. “I think he just wants to win.”
“You are getting to the age where—”
I cut her off. “Mom, do you think I smell like dead people?”
She frowns. “Did he tell you that? Because, if so, don’t bother with him.”
“No. Some mean girls in the locker room said that to me.”
Mom sets down her fork. “Well, what did Liam say?”
“He told me I was the fastest girl in the place. He thinks I could win.”
Mom raises her eyebrows. “Really? I’d stick with him. He sounds like he’s worth your time. Ignore those worthless girls.”
I nod. I don’t tell her what else Liam had said. I don’t want to get her hopes up.
Because I’m pretty sure I’ll never be Chosen.
he next day at work, I double-check the bodies intended for disposal. All the corpses are lined up on metal tables. I move from one to the other. Has the microchip I.D. been extracted from the upper right arm? Check. Has the birth control capsule been removed from the left? Check. As usual, we haven’t missed one. On each body, the fleshy tissue has been incised two inches below the top of the shoulder, parallel to the long humerus bone. The microchips are collected for recycling of the electronic components. The hormone-infused capsules are removed to avoid contamination of the food and water since the ash from the burned bodies is used as fertilizer. Not every crop benefits. It all depends on the pH, but, as with everything else in Panopticus, nothing is wasted.
Gus says there used to be large open spaces where the dead were buried called “cemeteries.” That wasted too much land, so a new system had to be implemented. Any remaining graveyards were reclaimed as public property after the last war. He showed me a few pictures of old cemeteries that have long since been destroyed. The whole idea seems so odd to me—that families would want to stand above their loved one’s decomposing body. If everyone’s so grossed out by my job, then why did people, years ago, want to visit the grass covering a bunch of rotting corpses?
After checking the last prepared body, I close the final biodegradable body bag. I glance at the clock. “Gus, I’m all done. What do you want me to do until we leave for the Incinerator?”
He’s perched at his computer, filling out disposal forms. “Go home, nap, and eat, or whatever. Be back before dusk.”
I peel off my gloves. “Sure you don’t need me?”
His eyes remain on the computer screen. “No, I’m fine. Get some rest. We’ll be working late.”
I grab my gym bag. “Actually, I’m supposed to go running outside today.” My feet feel light, as if on springs.
He cocks his head. “Outside?”
“Yeah. I signed up for that Race for Citizen Glory. Now, I’m allowed to run outdoors on select routes. I even have a special training uniform.” Okay, I’m not so psyched about the uniform, but running outside. That’s going to be so different from what I’m used to with the treadmill. I’ll actually go somewhere for once, not just run in place.
“They’re doing that again, already? Used to be every ten years, but now it seems more like every five. Well, take it easy. Don’t forget you’ll be up all night, helping me.”
I grin. “How could I forget?”
Gus turns back to his computer. “I’ll bring snacks.”
I head out the door. My heart races before I even reach the gym. I can’t wait to run outdoors. Not that most of the approved routes are exciting or anything. I’ll mostly be running in between tall, glass buildings. The only scenic part is in the Park, but I’d use any excuse to spend more time amongst the plants and trees and flowers.
I jog up the stairs of the Gym, slide my card, and push my way inside. I hurry past the front desk when a voice interrupts my thoughts.
“Silvia Wood? I have a message for you.” The female attendant reads from a hand-held screen. “From Liam Harman… ‘Sorry, I can’t make it in today. But I should be there tomorrow. Run fast—pretend I’m chasing you.’” The girl smiles as she slides over t
he monitor. “That Liam is so cute. Here—I need your electronic signature that you received this message.”
I sign, my shoulders slumping. Now what do I do? Run outside on my own today or wait until tomorrow for Liam? He’s basically a stranger to me, so I’ve no idea how reliable he is. Waiting for him might be a bad idea. I drag my feet to the locker room, undecided. I don’t know Liam enough to miss him, but I do miss the sun on my face. What a letdown. After getting dressed and leaving the locker room, I stare out the window for a moment. I consider going out on the government-endorsed routes on my own. In or out? What should I do?
After changing my mind ten times, I turn away from the glass-filtered sunlight and enter the workout room. Several of the treadmills are vacant, probably because so many people are taking advantage of the outdoor opportunities. I type in my code and settings and let the world melt away as my legs come to life.
Fully relaxed from my post-run yoga class, I go back to work, eating a nutrition bar on the way. There’s still at least an hour before dusk, so I can probably nap before we leave. I descend into the chill of Mortuary Sciences and glance around. Gus is nowhere to be seen. He must’ve gone out to get something to eat. All the prep tables are empty except for one. I drop my bag and move closer.
Jars of colored powder, bags of hemp-tipped applicators, and wrinkly sheets of some strange material I’ve never seen before cover the table. After some hesitation, I pick up one of the sheets. It’s lighter than a piece of paper—more like a tissue.
Gus enters the large room with fabric lunch sacks hanging off of each arm. “As you can see, I also had some free time today.”
I carefully set the sheet back on the table. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”
“Don’t worry. I don’t mind. I think I’ve already told you this, but before I spent ten years in medical school, I used to work in theater and costume design.”
“Yeah. I vaguely remember that.”
He rearranges the table, sorting the pieces by size. “Do you have any idea what this is?”
I shake my head.
Gus grins. “It’s magic. Here, I’ll show you.” He sets his arm on the table, dips an applicator in adhesive, and then brushes it across his skin. He picks up one of the smaller sheets and smoothes it onto his arm.
