The Undesirable (Undesirable Series) (5 page)

My mouth dried up and my breath hitched.

“Enough.” The Colonel reached one long arm out and snapped his fingers at my mother. “Follow Lt. Smith!”

Lt. Smith stepped forward from the line and fired a shot in the air from a revolver he pulled from his right hip. The soldiers near my mother pushed her to Smith. My eyes caught my mother’s dull ones. I willed my fear to translate to her.

Did she understand the danger?

“Follow Lt. Smith to the park around the corner!” the Colonel screamed in her face. “Fast! Do it now! Time is a precious property of the state! It must not be wasted!”

My eyes filled up with tears. My hand reached up and brushed the pain away. Mrs. Gameson must have seen me do it; she pulled me closer to her as I watched my mother stumble after Lt. Smith. She kept her hand sealed around my arm. Another faceless, nameless Party member followed behind my mother as she walked out of view. Once they left, the Colonel marched up to the front steps and took a megaphone from the hands of one of the women who would run The Count.  He had no expression on his face.

“Look at the number on your card,” he yelled, his words magnified and sharper through the device. “This is your number now. You live your life by this number!”

I exhaled and the breath left my body for the first time in what seemed like hours. Even as it did, the dread wouldn’t leave. I waited for something, anything that would tell me what would happen to my mother.

“Your job in the factory is based around this number!” The Colonel continued. “Keep your card on your person at all times!”

My thumb moved over the grooved edges of the numbers on the card. OHHC-547. From now on, this number defined me: OHHC-547. Then I heard the gunshot.

CHAPTER SEVEN

The shot came from down the street and around the corner. Three more followed.

Pop. Pop. Pop.

I knew what they meant when I heard the first one. The shots sputtered out so fast they sounded like hail on the metal hood of a car. I closed my eyes but didn’t escape the staccato as my heart thundered in my ears and my breathing almost stopped. I hoped my mother had still been too hung over to realize what happened.  My knees went weak and it took all of my strength to stand up. I prayed I wouldn’t collapse. Another woman next to me reached out and held me up by my other arm. I almost didn’t feel her hand.

Fostino had been right Too right.

My mother was dead. I didn’t need to see her body to know.

   After a few seconds, a round woman behind me named Viviane Langston broke down. A pierced wail came out from between her clenched teeth. My eyes bugged from shock and pain, as she voiced what I would not allow myself to say.

“Oh God!” she sobbed.  “What just happened?”

The soldier next to our group reached forward and pulled her hair. He threw her down onto the hard earth and kicked her twice in the side with his black boot.

“Stop!” the Colonel shouted before the soldier landed another swift blow. “Pull her up!”

Two other soldiers yanked her upright by her underarms and held her steady. The Colonel took a few deliberate steps toward her; his eyes never left Viviane’s shivering body. His boots crunched under the gravel, his steps were the only other sounds anyone made in the town square. Everyone focused on what he would do next.

Once the Colonel stood just inches from Viviane, he reached out and pulled on the heavy wooden cross she wore around her neck. “Do you always wear this?” he asked.

“Yes.” As soon as Viviane answered, the Colonel ripped it off her neck with a quick jerk that broke the chain in half. She flinched and then winced. He held it high above his head.

“I will have no more talk of religion. From now on, the churches are closed, and no one may wear crosses or any other religious symbol. Worship is illegal. Your religion will not save you. Only work will free you now. God is dead!” With that, he threw the cross down on the ground and stomped on it. On cue, the other two soldiers threw Viviane back to the ground.

Point made.

She stayed right there and mumbled. No one dared try to help her get up. It sickened me so much to stand there helpless and afraid. My hands tingled from shock and my neck broke out in a cold sweat. I swallowed hard several times and forced the bile to stay in my weary stomach.  The Colonel nodded his head a few times before he spoke again.

“I understand your anger, your fear.” His voice still rang loud but no longer shouted. “This must be a nightmare for all of you.”

The Colonel pulled off his leather gloves and flipped up his shades. His pale, perfect skin shimmered.   “You must understand this. That woman was an Undesirable. Undesirables must be eliminated,” he maintained. “No, we don’t take our work lightly--not pleasant for any of us.” He sighed. “But this must be done. Some among us would stop our great nation from greatness once again. Only the best can help us move forward in our fight.” He raised his arm and pointed at the flag still flying vertically on the front steps of City Hall.

How could I have let this happen? How could I have let The Party murder my mother?

I hated myself. I wanted to vomit, scream, and sob for hours. I didn’t do any of those things.  Instead, I hardened my emotions inside myself. I wouldn’t let The Party see me crack and shatter.

“We do everything for the betterment of our people, for the betterment of our state, for the better life we will all lead when The War ends!” The soldiers formed a tighter circle around all of us, like lambs in a pen ready for the knife. My heart still beat in my ears.

“Come,” shouted the Colonel in his authoritarian voice. “Time for work!”

*

Eight hours later, I stumbled out of Coleman Athletic and wiped my sweaty hands on my blue dress. I turned around as the door closed behind me. The white trim around the door and windows seemed menacing now, a stark contrast to the two stories of bricks that made up the hall. I knew I would never see this building the same way again.

Work had ended on this first day. I had 15 minutes to get home before they told us the first round of patrols would start. Every hour, they warned, someone would check on us in our homes.

My feet were 40-pound weights; my legs became 2 useless ribbons. It took all I had just to walk. I found my way down the path to my house. Then I realized the road would take me right by the city park and the site of the shooting.

No, the site of the murder.

The Party killed my mother and I didn’t even get to say goodbye. I would never, ever, ever allow myself to forget it. Ever.

The road home gave me no other choice. I would walk right by where she died. The dread and fear rose through my body with each step. My throat constricted when I got to the park’s edge. I stared at the trees, the shrubs, and the metal jungle gym in the center of a brick pathway. I knelt down and examined the bricks.

Then I stood up and despair flooded every blood vessel in my body. The park looked like nothing ever happened there, as if those 800 or so people never even existed. I could not believe it. Somehow, I carried that weight home. I opened the door to the shack and then reveled in the chance to shut out the world. Once I closed myself inside my home, I leaned with my back against the door and took in my new reality. For the first time, I stood all alone in the world.

An orphan.

I plodded to the back of the house as I peeled off my dress, skipping my room for my mother’s room. I lay down on the bed and wrapped the thin grey duvet around me. My eyes focused on the damaged oak beams that somehow held the small space together.

“Oh my God, I can’t believe this is happening,” I mumbled to myself in the darkness.

I still smelled her in the sheets--a mix of vodka and honey. I still saw her indentation in the bed. I still tasted the bitterness and regret I had for a mom who spent the last decade of my life as just a ghost. I lay there, didn’t move, and waited for the tears.

They never came. Not one.

In one day, I transformed into a broken down, hollowed out, shocked shell. As sleep settled in around me, someone pounded on the front door. The force shook the whole place. I sat up after the third bang on the door. I listened for it to come again.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

I pulled on my mother’s old green bathrobe and padded to the front door. For a second, I wondered if the person at the door left, so I waited.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

I took a deep breath before I slid the lock open.

CHAPTER EIGHT

“You alright? I know you’re not.” I heard the hushed tone as soon as I pulled the door open. The thick night air rushed into the shack along with the words.

My shoulders relaxed. “Fostino,” I managed. My voice came out in a whisper.

He stood on the wooden front porch, leaned against the doorframe, and rested his face right up against the door seam. The light from my living room flooded his face. I saw every one of the blood vessels in his dark eyes. His skin had turned sallow. Fostino looked as pale and horrible as I did.

“Patrols.” He answered my question before I asked it. “I got the outside of the town again. They always give me that route.” He shrugged.

I nodded and then glanced back at the sparse living room with the plaid couch, wooden chair, and crate coffee table.

“Well, um… do you want to come in here?” It embarrassed me for him to see the inside of the house, but I couldn’t think of to do next. Our home, my home, didn’t compare to the one he lived in with his parents next to the convenience store.

Fostino stood up straight and scrutinized the field to his left and his right. I did, too. No one walked or drove on the road. Everyone had done the same as me. They shut themselves inside their homes. I wondered if they too hoped to close the door on what had happened that morning.

“Okay,” he said in an uncertain voice. He walked inside and I closed the door behind him. He sank down on the black wooden chair. I sat down on the couch a half foot away.

I buried my face in my hands. My tight and drawn skin felt like a canvas stretched over a wooden frame. “What time is it?” I asked through the muffle of my hands. I swore four years had passed in one day.

“Just after nine. I’ve got an hour before my shift ends and the other groups start their checks.”

My next words cut through the air.

“My mom’s dead,” I announced. “She’s dead.  Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God. They shot her like
that
, they murdered her,” I rambled. I sobbed and all the emotion I had kept inside forced itself out of my body. “This is horrible. Those people act like Nazi henchmen. It’s like we’re in some repeat of Hitler’s Hell.”

“Who?” Fostino frowned and chewed on his bottom lip.

My eyes widened. “What do you mean, who?” I shoved a hand through my hair and I grew more agitated. “We— we learned about him in school. Back when we were kids.”

Didn’t we?

Fostino shrugged. “Oh yeah, that guy. I mean, that that’s totally different than this.”

“What? They taught it to us. He — he killed—“

“Shh.” Fostino put a long tan hand on my shoulder and squeezed. “God, I feel so awful. I should have done something today.”

“Like what?” I wiped my face with the ragged edge of the bathrobe and swept the thoughts of Hitler from my mind at the same time. “You’re just in the Homeland Guard.”

Fostino’s jaw tightened. “I knew last night it would be bad,” he admitted. “Like I told you, they told us in drill there’d be a selection, and some people had to be sacrificed for the good of the cause, for The War Effort. Some people who live here, people who live among us, don’t live for the cause. Undesirables. They want Canada to win and take control of the oil for good. They want the US to suffocate.

“But I never knew things would turn out like that. I mean with your mother.” He ran his hand over his mouth and shook his head. Once again, his eyes had a haunted look. “You know, I couldn’t believe how calm you acted when that happened— you know, during the shooting.”

“What do you mean, calm?” My eyebrows knitted together, and sniffled. “No way. Not me. Not at all. Ugh, I just feel sick. And no one cares.”

“I care. You were strong today.” Fostino took a deep breath in and then blew it out. “I saw you the whole time— during The Count, what you said to the women at the front of the line, the way you handled yourself. You have amazing strength.” He folded his hands together, leaned his elbows on his knees, and focused on me. “You’re a survivor. A very tough person.”

“No. I’m not,” I scoffed as a chill ran through my body. “A tough person wouldn’t allow all that to happen.”

“You may not see it, but I do.” He raised one eyebrow. “There’s something inside you that’s going to make sure you survive all of this… whatever happens next.”

I didn’t know what to do, so I waited for a few moments. The silence thickened as I tried to dry my eyes. “How’s Farrah?” I asked after an eternity. “She seemed…I don’t know... she seemed shocked today. Just like me.”

“She’s not good. Mostly scared. She sits in her bedroom and talks to her doll. She won’t talk to me, even when I try to tell her stuff.” He lowered his eyes to the floor.

“Tell me what else you know,” I demanded, but kept my voice hushed. He bit his lower lip before he shrugged.

“Nothing, really,” he admitted. “They’ve got their own set of rules direct from Maxwell Cooper himself. This is not a simple thing. It might not make sense now, but it will. It’s that, well, some Undesirables live right here, right now, and work for the enemy. They should be rooted out and destroyed.” Fostino sighed as if I should accept his explanation once again.

“Why did you tell me about the danger at The Count?” I wondered, at last able to verbalize one of my thoughts from our conversation. “Why me?” I threw up my tear stained hands. “And why in the hell did you kiss me?”

His hand caught my arm. “Hey, I’m sorry I did that. I just got carried away.” He paused and I wondered what was on his mind. “I didn’t think I would see you last night,” he admitted. “I didn’t know what I should do once I did.” Fostino swallowed and rubbed his Roman nose. The gesture magnified the spray of freckles on the bridge of his nose. He studied me in the silence.

“But you did see me,” I supplied, and the words tumbled out of my mouth. “You did find me, right there in the cornfield. Why didn’t you report me? Why didn’t you do your job? You’re loyal; you know what The Party wants you to do. I’m nobody. Nothing.” I paused, choking on my next words. “I’m the daughter of the town slut.” The sentence tasted bitter, but true. “Was, I mean.”