Unknown

by Wendy Higgins

  She smiled pleasantly at Livia, who shot a fearful look in my direction as the woman lifted her sleeve.

  “Are there any side effects?” I quickly asked. “She’s not feeling well. Will it make her—”

  Livia flinched as the woman poked her arm with the needle and squeezed the serum into her muscle.

  “There now. Nausea and cramping might follow, but you will be just fine.”

  She left the room and I had to lean against the table. Livia rubbed her arm.

  “It’s okay,” I whispered. “I’m sure it’s okay.” I was being paranoid. I needed to calm down because I was pretty sure my actions were freaking her out. Before the DRI woman had come in, there was so much I wanted to ask Livia, but now was not the time. Not that I knew that woman was listening. “How did you get here?” I asked.

  “Your papá,” she said. I helped her up and walked her outside. Dad was waiting in the car, reading an old Army magazine. I gave Livia a hug and what I hoped was a reassuring smile.

  “Thank you for opening up to me today. I promise it will stay between us.”

  She nodded and walked around to the passenger side.

  Dad frowned when he saw our faces. “Everything okay?”

  “Keep an eye on her,” I said quietly. “And please, make sure she gets a chocolate PopTart.”

  He chuckled. “Sure thing.”

  “How’d it go this morning with trying to get gas?”

  He grinned. “Turns out it’s useful to have Tater around. He and the owner’s son played football together. We’re all set.”

  “Nice.” I smiled.

  “Love ya, Amber.”

  “Love ya too.” I kissed his cheek and went back into the clinic, a place that used to make me feel useful, but now made me feel confined. And disgusted.

  I spent the rest of the day teetering between calming myself down over that shot, and feeling gutted about Livia’s story. My heart was like this raw thing left jagged by too many emotions. Though it killed me that Rylen was married, I was so thankful he’d stopped Livia’s dad from killing her.

  As far as the shot went, I had to stop letting my prejudice of the weird DRI people make me act like a psycho. I definitely needed to have more self-control over my reactions too. I finally felt a fraction calmer when it was time to leave work later that night.

  I pulled up at our house and Tater flung open the front door. He leaped down the porch steps and sprinted over. The alarmed look on his face made me jump out of the car, going straight into work mode. Alert and ready. Mom was in the doorway waving me in. She appeared panicked too.

  “What’s going on?”

  Tater nearly collided into me. “Livia is sick!”

  Damn it! My heart sank clear down to my feet and for a second I couldn’t move. Tater grabbed my arm and I ran. She was on the lower bunk in Tater’s room, crying pitifully, her knees pulled up. Her hair was slicked back with sweat. She let out a scream and her body convulsed. Rylen and I met eyes—his helpless fear gutted me.

  Mom had a cold rag in her hand, which I grabbed and ran to her. I practically had to push Ry out of the way to get full access. I sat at her side and wiped her forehead.

  “I’m here, Liv.” She was in too much pain to do anything but writhe and cry.

  “What’s happening to her?” Rylen asked.

  “How long has she been like this?”

  He shook his head and looked at Mom. “Twenty minutes, maybe?”

  Livia was wearing dark jeans and her back was to the wall.

  “Close the door,” I told Mom. It was just her, Rylen, Livia, and me. I scooted back on the bed to get a better look. Her pants looked wet. I gently moved her and I was just as I expected. Blood covered the sheets under her.

  “She’s having a miscarriage,” I whispered.

  Mom sucked in a breath. “She’s pregnant?”

  Rylen’s face crumbled. He sat by her side again and used the cloth to wipe her face. “She’s been under a lot of stress.”

  “I don’t think this is natural.” My mouth was bone dry. “I think this was a forced miscarriage. Ry . . .” He looked at me, his brow tight. “The DRI did this.”

  I expected him to tell me I was crazy. And for Mom to tell me not to jump to conclusions. But Mom remained quiet and Rylen asked in all seriousness, “She said they gave her a shot today and you weren’t happy about it. You think the shot did this?”

  “Yeah, I do.” The question was, why? Why wouldn’t they want her to have the baby?

  That was the question of the past couple weeks, wasn’t it? Why? Why was the world dying? Why were the Outliers doing this? Why were DRI acting so strangely and enforcing such tyrannical rules? Why were they asking questions about race, and why would they seemingly punish Livia for being impregnated by a man in Guatemala? Was it some morality issue, because she wasn’t having her husband’s baby? It felt like there was so much they weren’t telling us. I could not understand.

  The three of us were silent for a long while, thinking, and Livia finally began to hush, too, as if her pain were easing. She whimpered and Rylen quickly took her hand.

  “You’re okay,” he murmured.

  Mom placed her hand on Rylen’s shoulder. “Let us clean up. We’ll call you back in in a few minutes.”

  He kissed Livia’s forehead and left us.

  “El bebé?” Livia whispered.

  Mom took her hand and whispered back. “Lo siento, preciosa. El bebé se ha ido.” The baby is gone.

  Livia’s squeezed her eyes shut and her face crumbled. She threw an arm over her eyes and cried.

  “Lo siento,” Mom murmured over and over. I’m sorry.

  “No,” she gasped. “No . . . Dios respondió mi oración.”

  Mom’s face turned to me, gaping in surprise.

  God answered my prayer.

  My heart ached for her. I could understand. Not from personal experience, but I could see how she’d feel that way after what she’d been through. I thought of the DRI woman saying, “I’m helping her.”

  So weird. Like she knew. Or she assumed after eavesdropping on our conversation. But that was a dangerous assumption to make on behalf of a pregnant woman. I was still officially pissed, answered prayer or not.

  When Livia calmed down, we helped her change into clean clothes, and Mom took hers to be washed, along with the sheets. I brushed her hair and pulled it back. Rylen came in, going immediately to her side. She looked so small and fragile in his muscular arms. I left them alone.

  Remy and Tater were side-by-side on the couch, watching me for news.

  “She’ll be okay,” I said.

  They both relaxed.

  Grandpa let himself in the front door at that moment, locking it behind him. He was carrying a big folded paper.

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  Grandpa gave me a look. “You never seen a map?”

  Tater laughed at me and slapped his knee.

  “When have you ever used a paper map?” I asked Tater.

  “We use ’em all the time in the military.” He stuck out his tongue and I did a fake lunge at him, stomping my foot. He flinched and now it was my turn to laugh.

  “Girl, don’t make me—”

  Grandpa interrupted loudly. “I mapped out an escape route.”

  Escape route. Twenty-four hours ago I would have thought the phrase was unnecessary and even amusing. But after last night, the possible need for an escape route was far too realistic.

  We followed him into the dining room where he spread the map on the table. Abuela sat at the end of the table with her hands clasped. Rylen came in to join us.

  “How is she?” Mom whispered.

  “Resting.” The planes of his face seemed sharper than normal. He stared down at the map, his body rigid with tension.

  Grandpa stabbed a finger at a mountain range just southeast of our town. “Clover mountains,” Grandpa said.

  Dad nodded, scratching his chin. “That’s all wilderness area.
Plenty of trees and valleys for cover.”

  “A big stream runs through it too,” Rylen answered.

  “Didn’t we camp there once?” I asked.

  Dad grinned at Mom and she let out an exasperated breath. “It was my first time seeing a scorpion, okay?”

  Now Dad outright chuckled. “It was back when we first moved here. We hadn’t even set the tents up yet. We took a short hike, Mom saw a scorpion, and we were back in the car fifteen minutes later.”

  “You didn’t tell me there’d be scorpions there.”

  “It’s the desert!” Dad said. “If we stayed around we would have seen even cooler stuff like snakes and—”

  “Ew, no more!” I rubbed my arms and Remy shivered next to me.

  “You know I can’t handle anything with scales or little whipping tails,” Mom said.

  Grandpa forged ahead, all business. “I’ll take snakes and scorpions any day over corrupt humans. We can get to this range using all back roads and private, abandoned lanes. In some places we could even cut through on flat dirt expanses, but we have to watch for bigger rocks.”

  We leaned in and looked at the fingers of ink Grandpa had drawn, all leading to the mountains.

  “Looks good, Pop.” Dad clapped him on the back. “Thanks for organizing.”

  Grandpa pulled a perfectly-folded rectangular map from his back pocket and slapped it against Dad’s chest. “Made one for you, too.”

  The sound of tires in our driveway made us all go still. When we heard the opening and closing of doors, Remy and I grabbed hands. Grandpa snatched back Dad’s map and shoved them both inside his shirt before falling into the rocking chair.

  “Stay here,” Dad whispered to us. Mom clutched her chest and ran to Abuela’s side. All of the men went to the living room to see who it was. Screw that. I wanted to see too. I creeped out, ignoring Mom’s hiss for me to get back there. Remy grabbed the back of my shirt and followed me.

  “Fuckin’ Drips and Derps,” Tater whispered low as he peered through the shades.

  Dad cursed a whisper of his own. Rylen’s hands curled into fists. Grandpa’s chin went up in defiance just as the knock came. Fear jolted through me. My anxiousness was only expounded by seeing the men in my family all stall for half a second, their faces unsure. But when Dad opened the door, his demeanor was poised and friendly.

  “First Sergeant Tate?” asked a DRI man I’d never seen before.

  “Yes, sir, that’s me. How can I help you?”

  “The local Disaster Relief Initiative, along with each town member, is combining our efforts for a Lincoln County food bank.” He handed a paper to Dad. “Every household in the county is being ordered to donate all of their nonperishable food items. Each family will be given a voucher good for one trip to the food bank each week. In this way, resources will be shared equally.”

  Dad’s face remained pleasant, but I could see the tightness in his jaw. He held the paper tightly, crumpling the part that was in his hand.

  “Sort of like communism?” Grandpa asked.

  The DRI shot his eyes to Grandpa. “Sort of like keeping everyone alive.”

  They were going to take all of our food. My breaths were coming short as the DRP men pushed their way in, heading for the kitchen with boxes. One remained at the DRI’s side, his giant gun seeming ten times the normal size. They were maskless. I didn’t recognize any of them.

  “You don’t have to do a thing,” the DRI said pleasantly to Dad. “We’ll pack everything up for you and be out of your way momentarily.”

  “What’s going on?” I heard Mom say from the kitchen as men tromped in there.

  “Just stay where you are,” Dad called to her. “Everything is fine.”

  Remy’s hands tightened on my shirt and she moved closer to me. Sounds of cans and boxes being thrown together came from the kitchen.

  “I take it you’re going to leave us some of our resources?” Dad asked. “We’ve got quite a crew as you can see.”

  “Everything goes. Tomorrow at ten AM your town is having a mandatory meeting at the high school. Ration cards for the food pantry will be given at that time. Plan to be there most of the day.”

  Oh, no. That sounded brutal. Dad rubbed his face. “So, none of us can eat for approximately the next eighteen hours, give or take?”

  The DRI faced him, stony. “That is the reality everyone in your town is facing, yes. That is the reality we are trying to combat.”

  Grandpa was so still in the rocker, his hands so tight on the handles, face so red that I worried he’d blow a gasket at any moment. As long as they didn’t go upstairs to Grandpa’s room, we’d still be okay.

  The men came through the living room, and it took every single ounce of my will-power not to snatch the opened box of chocolate PopTarts from the top when they passed me. God help us, they were even taking our cases of water!

  But wait . . . Dad had packed the back of our cars. Would they check there too? Hope and worry stirred in my chest. It’ll be okay, don’t panic. I didn’t mind sharing with others, especially with the malnourished people I saw coming into the clinic lately, but I hated the thought of having to rely fully on the DRI.

  The Drip remained where he was, like he was waiting for word from the Derps that they were done with their search and siege.

  Remy and I walked to the window and watched as they put the boxes in the back of a truck, and then they huddled together as if discussing.

  Leave, please leave, I silently begged. The men began to look up toward the room over the garage and then down at a clipboard. My hope turned to lead, sinking so quickly I rocked back. One of the men ran up the steps, then back down. No . . .

  The Derp came back in and said to the DRI, “Says here there are more resources in a storage area above the garage, but it’s locked.”

  The DRI looked to Dad. “We’re going to need the key, sir.”

  Dad looked to Grandpa. “Give him your key, Pop.”

  Grandpa turned his full, chin-high righteousness on the DRI man, and said, “I worked in this country for sixty years, and I worked hard. I earned every single item in that room, and I specifically got them to care for my family. It’s my God-given right to keep—”

  “Sir,” the DRI cut in. “In these times there is no room to squabble over individual rights. We must care for society as a whole before we can—”

  “Don’t you interrupt me!” Grandpa shot to his feet.

  The DRI’s mouth shut tight and the glare he gave Grandpa made me dizzy.

  Oh, God. I closed my eyes.

  “Pop!” Dad shouted, his eyes beseeching. “Just give him the God damned key.”

  “This has gone far enough,” Grandpa said. I couldn’t even believe my ears. Didn’t he remember what happened to Len? What I’d told him about those people in Coyote Springs?

  “Grandpa, please,” I whispered. “It’s just food. We’ll get more.”

  His eyes were moist and filled with sorrow when he turned to me. “It’s about so much more than food.”

  “The key.” The DRI held out his hand to Grandpa, who did not move. “Are you refusing to cooperate?” At his tone of finality, the Derp pointed his gun. Remy and I both gasped and pushed back against the window. My heart slammed like a basketball in my chest.

  Rylen put up his hands and stepped in front of Grandpa, facing the Derp. “Whoa now, take it easy.”

  “Move,” the DRI man commanded, his voice making my insides shake and calm. To my surprise, Rylen slowly moved aside, but Tater stepped right up into the same spot, “He’s just a crazy old man. Give us a second, we’ll get the key.”

  Dad lunged forward, grasping Grandpa by the wrist and trying to get his other hand in Grandpa’s pocket.

  “Move,” the DRI man commanded Tater. My brother swallowed hard and he moved aside too, like he was being forced by invisible hands, his face scrunched.

  Dad and Grandpa struggled.

  “Son,” Grandpa said thickly. “There comes a time
when you got to stand for something.”

  “This is a time to shut up,” Dad begged. His voice shook.

  “Grandpa, please!” I said again. Tater seemed to break from his trance and moved to help Dad get the key. The DRI raised his hand in some sort of signal. Suddenly pain shot through my ears—a overly loud bang and screams—one of which tore from my own throat. I moved forward as Grandpa fell, but Remy caught me by the shoulders and yanked me back, circling her arms around me from behind.

  Grandpa’s chest was gaping, red, his face a macabre mask of surprise. I crumbled to my knees and Remy came down behind me. My ears rang, thumping, making it impossible to hear. Everything moved in slow motion, blurred. Dad fell over Grandpa’s face, holding his cheeks. Mom came running in and fell to her knees beside him. Rylen had Tater in a wrestling move, his arms under Tater’s armpits, as if holding him back from going crazy.

  Tater’s face, the blood splatter on him . . . it matched the utter horror I felt.

  The DRI walked over and crouched next to Grandpa’s still body. He dug into the trouser pocket and pulled out a set of keys. Then, he stood.

  “A mandatory curfew is now in effect. You are not to leave your home until tomorrow morning when you will report to the high school. Your streets are being watched.”

  “We have to bury him,” Dad croaked.

  “Fine. But you are not to leave the vicinity of your own yard, and only on foot, no cars.”

  He walked out of the house, followed by the Derp who’d shot Grandpa, and our family was alone.

  I tore out of Remy’s grasp as Rylen released Tater. I shoved everyone out of the way and shouted, “Get his shirt off!”

  Dad and Tater ripped from either side. It was a gory mess. I put my hands in, feeling, but his chest was like a soupy bowl of mixed bone, blood, and tissue. I found his heart, but it wasn’t whole anymore.

  “No.” My hands trembled inside of my grandfather’s chest. I couldn’t save him.

  We buried Grandpa that night under our orange tree, which had been picked clean by the DRI. Remy asked if she could say a blessing over him. It was short, but she knew all the lovely words to say. Words that were a vivid contrast from what we’d witnessed, but inexplicably comforting all the same. When she was done, Abuela crossed herself and dabbed her eyes, pulling her shawl tight over her shoulders.