Untitled Agenda 21 Sequel (9781476746852)

by Beck, Glenn

  David crouched down, and slowly moved forward toward a cluster of low shrubs. It wasn’t a very secure place to hide, but it was all that was nearby. Micah imitated him, and crouching, he made himself small. I did the same, holding Elsa low, like an anchor. Behind the shrubs, we huddled close to each other, but we were still exposed. I smelled our odor, unwashed and sour.

  The sun rose slowly as we waited, a golden globe that both warmed and exposed us. It was round and yellow as an egg yolk. We heard distant voices, male voices, giving what sounded like commands. David stretched his head above the shrubs, scanned the area, then fixed his gaze across the stream. He slid back down, his face near my ear.

  “The farm commune,” he whispered. “There, on the other side of the stream.”

  I raised myself up a little and allowed myself to breathe for the first time in what seemed like an eternity. There was a large flat area, and an expanse of brown earth with rows of plants. I saw a long straight line of tents with people coming out of them, stretching, bending, like they were performing some kind of morning ritual, their movements in unison. Men with guns on their shoulders watched the routine, then one of them blew a whistle. The people moved forward, their backs to us, and took their places at the ends of each row. The guards along the edge of the field moved forward alongside them.

  The workers picked up baskets and began bending and picking things off the crops. They put what they picked into the baskets, dragging them as they moved forward. They worked slowly, no one any faster than any other except for one man, who was bigger than the rest. There was something vaguely familiar about him, though I couldn’t see his face. Often he pulled ahead, but the pickers on either side of him made hand motions to slow him down, to make him pick at their rate.

  David whispered, “The farm commune isn’t that far from the Compound. Even though we’ve been walking for three nights, our path has been along the stream and it meanders. And we can’t cover much distance in the dark. I don’t think we’re all that far from where we started.”

  My heart sank. All that painful walking! My bones shouted out to me as though angry at what I’d put them through.

  David leaned close to my ear and whispered. “They’re picking the food used to make the nourishment cubes.”

  Food! My mouth watered.

  David pulled some clumps of grass and did his best to shake the dirt off them. He handed it to Micah and Micah chewed it eagerly, bits of green sticking to his teeth. David gave some to me; I chewed and swallowed, then chewed some more until it was pulpy and put it on the end of my finger. Elsa, still asleep, sucked my finger. Green drool ran down her chin.

  David whispered again. “Quick, while their backs are to us—” He motioned with his head toward some bigger, thicker shrubs a short distance away. We scurried toward them quickly, like I’ve seen animals scurry through the woods.

  We sat there, behind the shrubs, watching the farmworkers. At the far side of the field was a bus-box, filled one basket at a time by workers who’d reached the end of their row. Six men in the orange uniforms of the Transport Team stood in their harnesses, standing straight and stiff, just as Father had when he was on the Transport Team back in our Compound.

  When the bus-box was full, they strained forward, their harness straps tight against their chests and shoulders, and moved the bus-box forward with a little puff of dust. I guessed they were taking the produce to the Nourishment Center, where it would be dehydrated and condensed into nourishment cubes. I remembered the brown taste of those cubes, gritty against my tongue. I hated them at the time but what I wouldn’t give for one now. Another bus-box pulled up, waiting to be filled.

  “The train. Do you see it?” David asked me.

  I squinted and saw a row of old rusty train sections, connected, but motionless and useless. Faded letters on the sides of the cars read P & LE RR. Beneath the train were parallel tracks that had become overrun with small trees that had sprouted up in front of and behind the train. It was trapped by neglect.

  “I see it.”

  “They used to transport the food, people, and lots of other things by train a long while ago. Then they switched to bus-boxes because trains need energy and that energy has to be drilled or dug out of the Earth. The Earth had to be protected,” David whispered to Micah.

  Clearly, the train and its tracks had been mismanaged by the Authorities and their policies. It was as useless as the bus-box with the broken wheel in our Compound that had never been fixed.

  The bell rang and the workers stopped picking, stood, and repeated the ritual of bending, stretching, and moving their arms in circles, until the whistle blew again. On that signal, they bent and began picking. When they reached the end of their rows, they marched single file to new rows and resumed picking, heading back in our direction. We kept our heads down and stayed below the top of the shrubs.

  Confined to a small area, we found no bugs to eat that morning. By noon, we’d consumed most of the grass around us, but we were still hungry and too close to being detected to sleep. David stroked Micah’s thin back. How much weight had the child lost? David’s face was gaunt, his cheeks sunken, and my hip bones felt sharp. Even though I had eaten little, I was almost always nauseous.

  Yet, on the other side of the stream on that flat piece of land, food was growing. Food that would be dried, condensed, and molded into nourishment cubes. Control the food, control the people. I heard Mother’s voice in my head.

  David rummaged through our little bag of treasures that Mother had saved and pulled out The Little Prince. Micah leaned against him and pointed to the picture of a boy on the cover of the book. “How old is he?” Micah asked.

  “Six years old,” David answered.

  “I’m eight years old. I’m older than him.”

  “Yes, you’re quite a big boy,” David said. He opened the book.

  “What’s that ugly thing?” Micah said, pointing to a picture on the first page.

  “A boa constrictor,” David said, his voice patient.

  “What’s a boa constrictor?”

  “It’s a big snake.”

  “Are there any here?” Micah looked around at the packed earth.

  “No boa constrictors here. They live in the rain forests.”

  “What’s a rain forest?”

  “It’s a place with lots of rain and lots of trees.”

  “Are there Compounds there?”

  “Yes. The whole world has Compounds.” David turned the page of the book. “Let’s not talk about Compounds right now. Let’s read.”

  I smiled watching them. Micah was so eager to learn. David was always patient, even when he didn’t feel well. I remembered trying to ask Mother questions so I could learn. That was back in the Compounds, where everything, even questions and answers, were so tightly controlled. I remembered the first time I had seen Micah in the Children’s Village classroom, standing with the other children reciting I pledge allegiance to the Earth. They were all so solemn, with their thumbs and forefingers making the circle sign on their foreheads. All except Micah. He was grinning and making the circle sign on his nose until the Caretaker sternly rebuked him. His grin had faded quickly.

  I sat, holding Elsa, listening to David and Micah whispering, and almost felt safe. Safe enough to open our bundle and look at the other things Mother had saved. I held the recipe cards one by one to my nose, trying to catch the scent of pumpkin pie or vegetable soup. David had told me his memories of Thanksgiving before the relocations: eating a big meal with family and giving thanks for the good things in their lives. He said pumpkin pie smelled like Thanksgiving. If the recipe cards ever held any scents, they had faded long ago. Would I ever be able to give thanks like they did in the before-time? If I did, what would I be most thankful for?

  Dear, sweet Jesus, I’d be thankful for freedom. Mother used to say “Dear sweet Jesus” when she was upset or afraid. I still didn’t know what those words meant, but they seemed to fit.

  The picture Mothe
r had tucked into The Little Prince, the one I had drawn of the Little Prince looking up at a star, fell out of the book. Micah picked it up, holding it carefully by its edge.

  “She drew that,” David whispered, motioning to me.

  “You did?” Micah asked, eyes wide.

  I nodded.

  “Can you teach me? Please?”

  I smiled and stroked his cheek. “Yes. Someday.” I tried to sound confident, but I wondered if that someday would ever really come. That truly would be something to be thankful for. Something as simple as a pencil and clean, blank sheet of paper to be filled with a child’s imagination would be a blessing. I would let Micah draw whatever he wanted. No rules. Draw what you want to draw. That’s what I would say to him. Every child could be an artist. Every child is an artist until a grown-up tells them they’re not.

  David read on.

  I put the recipe cards back, pulled out the New Testament, and turned the fragile pages. Why had Mother saved this? Save what you think you are going to lose. I slid it carefully back into our bundle. Someday, when the running and hiding was over, I would read this. Someday.

  We should have been sleeping but instead we sat huddled behind the shrubs, afraid to make any moves or noises.

  I peeked over the leaves again. The workers had reached the end of another row. A guard blew a whistle and they did the bending and stretching again, then marched single file toward new rows. They now had their backs toward us again, and were farther away from the tight, straight line of tents that must have been their lodgings. The sun was high overhead. We were all sweating, David more than any of us. Maybe . . . A thought came to me.

  I knew what I had to do. We needed food and clothes. We couldn’t survive much longer without them. The tents would house supplies we could use. Maybe some morsel of food would be left on plants near the tents.

  I whispered to David. I would run, cross the stream, sneak into a few tents, grab whatever I could. The guards were made complacent by their guns and never looked around. They simply moved forward with the workers. They did not worry like we did about what could be shifting in the shadows.

  David gripped my arm and shook his head no. “Too dangerous,” he said. His lips were thin, tight lines of disapproval.

  I pulled my arm away. Was he not as hungry as I was? Couldn’t he see the children’s discomfort? Nothing could stop me; my mind was made up. I shook my head, then bent low in front of the shrubs and ran into the water, fighting the current, slipping, stumbling, but never stopping.

  I heard splashing sounds behind me and turned. Micah was crossing the stream with me, his face determined, though the water reached his chest.

  I stopped and waited for him to catch up. “Go back,” I told him. “It’s too dangerous.”

  “I can run fast,” he said. “And two of us can get more than just you by yourself.” His jaw was set firmly, the sprinkle of freckles across his nose darker than usual against his pale face. He was right. Going back was not an option for either of us.

  I grabbed his hand tightly. Together we moved forward through the water.

  The stream had widened greatly since the beginning of our journey. David told me it was now a river, shallow right now, but it would get deeper. The banks on each side had gotten higher and steeper the farther we traveled. The water was faster, too. It churned with a constant low roar, like an animal stalking its prey. The current was powerful, trying to push us sideways. Each step forward was a struggle, and my leg muscles ached and burned in spite of the cold water.

  Finally on the other side, we rested. I heard myself breathe, great gasps, sucking in as much air as possible each time. Micah was breathing hard too, his little shoulders pulling up with each inhale; his lips pursed with each exhale.

  From here, we could see the patch of shrubbery where I knew David and Elsa were hiding. Good, we couldn’t see them; they were well concealed.

  We had to search quickly for whatever we could find.

  Drenched and shivering, Micah and I slowly pushed ourselves up onto our hands and knees, then crawled up the steep bank until we could see over the edge. I had mud under my fingernails. One thumbnail was broken off, the edge ragged. Blood spotted my cuticle.

  The workers were not quite halfway to the end of their long rows; their backs still toward us. The tents were about ten yards from the edge of the bank. I nodded at Micah and he nodded in return. We were ready, both of us. Scampering, I ran behind one tent, he to the one next to it. The fabric was heavy, pegged into the ground at the corners. I tried lifting the edge but it wouldn’t budge. Micah pulled on one his tent pegs, then pushed it back and forth, his thin arms straining. The peg made a squeaking sound as he worked it loose. He pulled it out of the ground; the muddy tip of it had been whittled into a sharp point. He lifted the edge of the tent and slipped inside. I managed to loosen a peg just as he had, my hands gripping the wood until my knuckles were white. I almost fell backward when it suddenly came out of the ground. I quickly slipped into the tent.

  Inside, it was dark and smelled of dirt and sweat. I could make out a sleeping mat, and under it, a rubber mat to keep the dampness from seeping through. There was a basin full of cold water and, beside it, a bottle of sanitizing solution. Folded in the corner was an extra uniform and sleeping clothes.

  I dumped the cold water out of the basin and loaded the clothes and sanitizing solution into it. I shoved the basin out of the tent and looked around. What else? What else could I take? The rubber mat! Surely that could be useful. I pushed the sleeping mat aside and rolled up the stretch of rubber. Finally, I threw the sharp wooden peg into the basin. When you have nothing, everything becomes a necessity.

  I slipped back out with the rubber mat under my arm. Outside the other tent, Micah had piled a rolled-up blanket and another bottle of sanitizing solution. I crawled over to his tent and looked inside. He wasn’t there. Where was he?

  Frantic, I whispered his name, “Micah.” No answer. I whispered again, a little louder. No answer. From between the tents, I could see the workers, backs still toward us, moving closer to the ends of their rows, closer to the bus-box. Soon they would turn and be facing us.

  I slipped between the tents, and crawled toward the field. Micah was there, at the edge of a row of plants, picking something and quickly, ravenously, putting it in his mouth, his little jaw moving as fast as his fingers could pick. Even when I whispered his name a little louder, he didn’t look up, didn’t respond. Putting food in his mouth was all he cared about.

  On my hands and knees, I moved close enough to touch his arm. He jumped, startled and looked around, dazed, as though he couldn’t figure out where he was and what he was doing. Then he relaxed, smiled at me, and handed me something. It was about three inches long, narrow, and dark green, with bits of dirt on it. He motioned for me to put it in my mouth.

  I bit down on it and it crunched, the taste exploding in my mouth. It was so good. I didn’t mind the dirt. Even that tasted good. My throat was dry as I swallowed. I could see lots more of the same thing on the green vines around us, food the workers had missed.

  I could see that the workers were just a little distance from the end of the rows where they would turn and face us. As quickly as I could, I pulled more and more of the green things from the plants and shoved them in the pockets of my uniform. Micah, seeing what I was doing, started stuffing his pockets, too. We would bring food to David and Elsa. My heart was beating hard, and fast, and my hands were shaking. Food. Oh, dear sweet Jesus, food.

  Then the whistle blew and the workers straightened up. The routine of bending, stretching, moving their arms in circles began and ended. We had just a little time before they would turn and head in our direction.

  Their picking resumed. I motioned to Micah; we needed to leave, go back across the river. As we scuttled backward toward the tents with our loot, I saw a female worker fall to the ground with a heavy thud and lie motionless. Her headscarf lay in the dirt beside her. Had she fainted? Died?
I stared in horror, unable to blink.

  A guard walked over to her and shook her roughly. She did not respond, but stayed motionless, facedown on the ground, her arms outstretched. The guard kicked the woman and shouted at her, but still she did not respond. The others appeared not to notice anything, but picked with their heads down, except for one of them, the bigger man I had noticed before. He took an awkward step over a row of plants, toward the woman on the ground. His one leg appeared to be dragging. A nearby guard pointed his gun at him and the big man retreated back to his place in his assigned row.

  How could the rest of them ignore this? How could they just keep their heads down as if nothing was happening? They just kept bending and picking, bending and picking, like machines.

  Two guards grabbed the woman by her arms and dragged her, limp and lifeless, to the bus-box. The Transport Team, six men in harnesses like horses, stood silent, staring straight ahead. With great effort, the guards threw her body into the bus-box, where it lay on top of the pile of food that had been picked.

  Micah was watching, his eyes wide. “Can we help her?” he whispered. I put my hands over his eyes. A child should never have to see this kind of inhumanity. No one should.

  I felt the need to run to her but knew we were helpless to do anything. There were guards with guns. A few guards with guns controlled the many without. Tears burned hot behind my eyelids and I fought the nausea gripping me.

  “Not today, Micah,” I whispered back.

  As we struggled back to David and Elsa, our arms and pockets full of stolen treasures, I hoped that someday, somehow, I would be able to offer help to anyone who needed it. But today, I could help only those closest to my heart: David, Elsa, and Micah. For now, they were my entire world.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  * * *

  Holding our precious contraband tightly, Micah and I slid down the bank and began sloshing through the water. Our arms were too full; I couldn’t hold his hand. The current was stiff, pushing us sideways against the large rocks that jutted out of the water. The rush of water was like an angry, constant roar. I feared Micah would slip and fall; to save him I’d have to drop everything into the cold water, but I would save him. I couldn’t help hearing Mother’s voice in my head: You save what you think you’re going to lose. I couldn’t lose this boy. He had faith in me.