The Choosing (6 page)

Wide-eyed, Carrington shakes her head.

“You know what keeps us from going back there?”

“The Authority?”

“That’s right, the Authority and their true laws. Be grateful, my sweet daughter, that you do not have to live in such a dreadful place.”

“Will I get chosen?”

Her mother chuckles and places a kiss on the top of Carrington’s head. “Of course you will, and the one who chooses you will love you and give you children to love, just as I have you.”

Carrington smiles and wraps her tiny arms around her mother’s middle. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, but you still have to practice your six truths.”

“Can I please go outside?”

Her mother hesitates for a moment and then smiles. “Once more through and then we’ll go.”

Carrington claps in excitement and jumps down from her mother’s lap and back up into her own seat.

“From truth number one,” her mother says.

Carrington’s eyes snapped open and darkness filled her vision. She was back in the Stacks, where she had fallen asleep only hours earlier; she was no longer the five-year-old girl dreaming of playing out in the sun. She stayed on her side in her bed and heard the familiar sound of her roommate’s snore. There was no hint of sunlight coming through the window, which meant it was still very early morning.

She rolled onto her back and tried to make out the ceiling above her. Nothing. The darkness was too thick. The memory stung like a wasp trapped inside her head, and Carrington tried to think of something else. She didn’t want to remember her mother that way, didn’t want to remember being young and full of hope.
Get it together, Carrington. This is your place
 
—time to accept it.

She knew her inner voice was right, and she clenched her teeth hard enough to make them ache. She would shut it off. Shut it all down. She would sleep, and then she’d be too numb to feel anything. She wouldn’t cry; she wouldn’t mourn; she’d just be numb.

He watched her slip down the slope from where he stood in the darkness. It was far past curfew.

A rule breaker
 
—his least favorite kind.

Not that he favored any. He felt little emotion toward them in general. They were a nuisance
 
—like flies buzzing around in the middle of a sweltering day. It would be just as easy to eliminate them, but God had created all things, had He not? Maybe they could be taught to be useful, to buzz only when told.

The young brunette looked behind her to make sure she wasn’t being followed and continued into the night.

She clearly feared getting caught; the punishment for betrayal of the Authority’s rules was gratifyingly brutal, something he once lived for. Now he found his feverish
appetite was appeased more wholly if he took matters into his own hands. His was a mission of redemption, after all. Save those who can’t save themselves.

Even the flies.

It was the holy mission: to cleanse the world and all those in it, to shine light into darkness and wage war against the filth, against the unholy creatures under his power. Patience was needed when doing holy work, so he would wait until the time was right before snatching the fallen and beginning the cleansing. All as it was intended.

Robert Carson, son of Mayor Gorge Carson of Washington, DC, played an essential role in saving the remnants of humanity after the Ruining. Humanity was lost and searching for answers that Robert sought to address. As a man of God, Robert introduced the people to the
Veritas
. According to Robert, the
Veritas
was the true word of God, revealed to him as an exact teaching of His intended ways, without twisted human elements or additions. It told the people that the Time of Ruin was a sign of how far the world had slipped away from true order, but it also delivered a message of hope that claimed humanity could indeed find salvation again.

The remaining survivors, longing for answers, found security in the message that Robert delivered. Not only was he granting them hope, he was bringing them together and attempting to rebuild their lives in the center of Washington, DC. Fewer than one thousand people remained in the greater Washington area, but Robert organized them in collecting resources and fabricated an infrastructure to feed, protect, and give hope to anyone he discovered alive. He rescued orphans from the streets and saw to the elderly and those in need of medical attention. He recruited
anyone with military training, created a small army to track down any straggling survivors, and brought order to the chaos so no one would have to face this tragedy alone. All the while he spoke of the peace they could find through following the holy path laid before them in the
Veritas
. He provided refuge for their physical bodies and for their eternal souls.

He was strong, forceful, and wise; he gained control quickly and didn’t waver in enforcing the boundaries that kept the people safe. Word of his fortress spread, and people began to migrate to his camp. The community grew quickly and became strong. For the first time since the Prima outbreak, people were thriving.

The first few months proved difficult as Robert worked to piece humanity back together. There was still a deep sense of dread, and people wondered if being clustered in a singular community didn’t pose greater risk if the outbreak saw a resurgence. Factions developed and many questioned whether Robert was really doing what was best for the community. Was his holy truth really the answer, and could they trust in its ways?

In March of 2114, the first rebellion group tried to leave the city. They called Carson’s methods into question, disregarded all that he had done for them and the rest of the community. Led by Phillip Watts, the group planned to leave and take resources with them. Carson understood that the community’s greatest strength was in its numbers and that, according to the
Veritas
, it was necessary that obedience and order be maintained. He urged the group to stay and tried to reason with them, but they were determined to leave.

Compliance with the system and the holy message was
essential to keep the peace within the community. As founder and leader, Carson knew that he couldn’t let this group go or others would follow, and he wouldn’t be able to protect them physically from what they might encounter; nor could their souls be saved. He refused to let them leave. When they tried anyway, he had Phillip Watts executed in front of the rest of the group for treason.

Some called him Robert the Fearless, others Robert the Terror, but most referred to him as Robert the Holy, and he continued to lead them into a place of righteousness. Some continued to rebel and met the same fate as Phillip Watts, but in general, people came to believe there was a greater good. Robert the Holy taught that righteousness demands sacrifice and that those who do not believe in the holy way will, like bad fruit, poison the entire harvest. Though there was resistance in the beginning to what some characterized as tyranny, the people soon came to see that this structure and law, governed by the Authority, would ensure survival, ushering them into a new age of existence.

“Food production is the sole purpose of Sector Four,” the Lint Leader explained. Carrington followed behind her as she stepped through a set of enormous steel doors. She’d been given a pair of protective goggles and a thick rubber apron as they prepared to enter this sector. The goggles were too tight for Carrington’s head, and they pinched the skin on the sides of her face. They had an adjustable strap, but she couldn’t fix them and follow at the speed the Lint was moving.

“You will start out here in processed waste. Everyone does,” the Lint Leader said.

Carrington continued to scurry after the tall woman as she marched through the humid room filled with conveyor belts, loud churning machines, and Lints in apparel similar to her own.

Her tour guide stepped through another, much smaller set of doors, and the stench bulldozed over Carrington. She coughed and held her breath as she stepped inside and prayed this wasn’t what she thought.

“Welcome to the processed waste room. This is where we dispose of all food waste.” The Lint stepped forward and pointed to a large square box that was nearly the size of Carrington’s entire room.

“This is Alfred Stock,” she said, banging the tin monster. “He processes the discarded material and determines whether it can be repurposed or if it is purely waste. At that point, he sends the refuse to its final destination. Your job is seeing to his continual maintenance, cleanliness, and any other operational needs. The entire food production system in Sector Four depends on his ability to function properly.”

Carrington couldn’t hold her breath any longer and was forced to inhale a combination of rotten eggs, toxic fruit, sweet sugary syrup, turned milk, strong spices, chocolate
 
—all of it rushing at her at once as she fought for control of her gag reflex.

The Lint Leader chuckled and walked across the room to Carrington. She placed a firm hand on her shoulder and grinned knowingly. “Don’t worry
 
—you get used to the smell, and it’s not as bad as working in Sector Eight. They handle automotive, and the smell of gas and sulfur never really comes out of your skin. You’ll work the first six weeks in waste before moving into a more permanent position somewhere else in the factory.”

The woman walked past Carrington to the doorway. “The girls will show you the ropes.” She pushed through the heavy doors, and Carrington was alone with Alfred Stock.

She eyed the large machine curiously as it convulsed and spit, an off-tune melody she was sure to hear in her dreams. She tried to take small breaths and searched the room for another living body.

A face bobbed in the corner and Carrington headed toward it. She carefully moved across the concrete floor, unsure what she might step in. A loud hiss rang out from Alfred, and Carrington yelped. The head in the corner turned and lifted her protective goggles.

The girl smiled and shook her head. “Well, well, what are the chances,” Larkin said.

Carrington flashed an artificial smile and thought about something her father had always told her.
“In every situation there is something to be grateful for.”
She searched for it here, but with Alfred screaming and chomping behind her, her nose aching from the smell, her stomach turning with each new inhale, and Larkin standing in front of her, Carrington was stumped.

“I guess you’re the new recruit. I would have thought they’d stick you somewhere with less mess,” Larkin said.

“I’m only here for six weeks.”

“I see. Everyone works waste, I guess. So, you met Alfred?” Larkin gestured past Carrington toward the steaming beast.

“Yeah.”

“I know he seems hard and bulky, but he’s actually quite fragile and high-maintenance.”

Larkin smiled at her as if waiting for Carrington to laugh.

She didn’t. She could feel anger rotting inside her gut. At some point in the early hours of morning when she couldn’t sleep, Carrington had witnessed her denial mutating into fury. She was working through the stages
of loss
 
—of grief
 
—and she planned to hold on to anger as long as possible.

“Okay, then,” Larkin said. “I’ll show you the control center.”

She walked across the room and Carrington followed her through a side door and into a small square space maybe big enough for three people. The space held a handful of old steel lockers and a massive control display with familiar-looking panels that would work with the chips in the Lints’ suits.

“It’s a bit old-fashioned. I guess before the Ruining there were still a couple of factories that operated without a large mainframe database. Rumor is, the Authority plans to update this someday, but according to a few girls who have been here for a while, they’ve been saying that for years.”

Over the next few minutes Larkin walked Carrington through the basic tricks of the trade
 
—which lever did what, what buttons not to push, when to push others. Carrington listened intently, trying to memorize every instruction. She did not want to ask for help later.

“That’s about it,” Larkin finished. “It takes some getting used to, but once you have it, it’s easy.”

Carrington nodded and waited for a cue from Larkin for what to do next.

“Hey, sorry about yesterday morning,” Larkin started. “I didn’t mean to come on so strong.”

Carrington averted her gaze from Larkin’s face.

“I know how rough the first few days are, and I should have been more sensitive. I was just surprised to see you.”

“This isn’t a mistake. I deserve to be here, just like everyone else. I’m meant to be here.” Carrington could hear the unnecessary edge in her voice. It wasn’t Larkin’s fault she was here; the fault was all her own.

“No one is meant to be here,” Larkin said. Her eyes weren’t on Carrington anymore; rather, they were holding a spot beyond the physical room. Silence held the two girls for a long moment, both of them captive to their thoughts.

Larkin moved closer to Carrington and caught her eyes. “I know we are raised to believe that our lives are defined by being chosen or not being chosen, but I’m starting to think there’s another truth we’re missing.”

Her words were blasphemy and they made Carrington’s heart accelerate. If anyone heard Larkin she could be in serious trouble.

“Larkin . . .”

She took another step and placed her hand on Carrington’s shoulder. “I’m gonna tell you something because I think I can trust you.”

Carrington said nothing.

“There’s this man, beyond the city. He lives . . . Well, I don’t know . . . but he speaks about something outside the Authority. He says there’s more to life than trades and Choosings. You should come with me and hear him speak.”

“Outside the city? Larkin, that’s forbidden.”

“I know, but I’m not the only one who goes. Lots of people come.”

Carrington was horrified.
People sneak out of the city limits, risk defying the Authority to hear a single man speak?
That was completely insane.

“Who is he?” Carrington finally asked.

“He calls himself Aaron. His words are mysterious and exciting. He speaks of things I’ve never heard of.”

“Sounds terrifying.”

“He’s not. He’s . . . you should hear for yourself.”

“No.”

“Carrington, if you just came
 
—”

“Stop.”

“
 
—you would see
 
—”

“Larkin, stop!”

Larkin bit her lip and dropped her hand from Carrington’s shoulder.

“What you’re talking about is treason. Against the Authority, against God.”

Larkin opened her mouth to speak, but Carrington wasn’t finished.

“You told me yesterday things would get better once I let the truth sink in and moved on. This is our truth. Right here, this is our reality. There is nothing outside it. I’m not going to commit treason to listen to some crazy man claim there is, and neither should you.”

“What do you care if I do?”

“Because I don’t want you to get caught.”

“Why not? I saw the way you looked at me yesterday when you realized who I was. You avoided me the same as every other girl did our entire childhood, so don’t insult me by pretending to care now.”

She pushed past Carrington and opened the door. “You may be willing to accept that this is the best life has for you,” Larkin said and then paused. Her ragged breaths slowed and she lowered her voice. “But I’m not.”

The door shut with a soft thud and Carrington stood alone inside Alfred Stock’s control room.

Carrington shut the steel door softly behind her. She drew in a deep breath of fresh air and tried to rid her nostrils of Alfred’s terrible smell. She feared the odor had permeated her skin.

The sun was still high in the sky, which meant this day was only half over. She glanced around to see that she had stepped into a small side alley. The walls rose toward the sky like stone beasts covering the ground in shadow.

It was standard for any trade worker to put in at least a ten-hour day with little to no break time. The Lint who had been showing Carrington how to clean out the different valves on Alfred had seen the green tint in Carrington’s face and suggested that she take a couple minutes outside to clear her head. Carrington had nearly hugged her. She knew she wouldn’t have long, so she moved up the alley to a place where the sun was spotlighting the concrete floor.

The sun was warm against her skin and she closed her eyes, letting the light melt into her bones. She didn’t hear the footsteps until they were beside her. She snapped open her eyes and saw two young men eyeing her with perverse curiosity. Her heart jumped into overdrive and a warning bell sounded deep inside her skull. Both looked as if they had just stumbled out of the nearest bar
 
—their clothes revealing several days of wear, their hair shining with grease. Booze practically seeped through their skin.

“Well, well, well, how did the little Lint get out of her cage?” one man taunted. He was the shorter of the two, round and dressed in a typical brown uniform, which meant he most likely worked in the Farm Lands.

“Someone musta let her out accidentally,” the taller man said. “Or else she escaped.” His uniform was identical in color and fit him loosely, while the shorter man’s clothes pulled much too tightly across him.

“Guess the big question then is: Are you a good Lint or a bad Lint?” the short man asked. The other chuckled deep inside his throat and inched toward Carrington with a lascivious look in his eyes.

She stepped back and her skin crawled with the idea of what was clearly on their minds. She turned and started back to the small side door that would lead to Alfred. The taller one rushed to cut off her path and Carrington pulled up hard to keep from running into him.

“Whoa, whoa, little Lint. We didn’t say you could leave.”

“Please, I need to get back,” Carrington said.

“Oh yeah, you need to get back. What do you think, Wes? Girly says she needs to get back,” the tall one said.

Wes clicked his tongue and shook his head. “I don’t think that’s going to work for us, little Lint. What do you think, Tate?”

“Nope, definitely not going to work,” Tate said.

The siren in Carrington’s head was screaming and she glanced over her shoulder to find Wes directly behind her. “Please . . .”

“Begging. Just like a Lint to beg,” Wes said. He spat on the ground and laughed. Tate laughed as well and Carrington could feel the blood in her veins turning fearfully cold.

“Oh, don’t look so scared. We’re good men; we’ll help you back,” Tate said.

“This way, was it?” Wes said, pushing Carrington forward. Tate stuck out his leg, tripping her, and she landed with a heavy thud. She felt the ground drag rubble through the skin on her palms, and pain shot up her arm as her wrist took on more pressure than it was used to.

The wicked laughter of her attackers echoed in the alley as Carrington pushed herself up onto her knees.

“Oh, here,” Wes said, crouching down beside her. “Let me help ya.” He reached out and placed his hand around her arm. She yanked it away as tears started to gather.

“Careful, Wes
 
—looks like this one could bite,” Tate said.

Wes reached out and gripped Carrington’s shoulders with enough force to make her cry out. She felt Wes lower
his face close to her ear, and the warmth from his breath spread down her neck.

“Don’t worry, little Lint. I prefer them with a bit of fight.”

Wes tightened his hold on her shoulders and she could feel his nails bite at her flesh. A few tears slipped from her eyes and she begged the heavens for rescue.

“Hey,” another voice called. It was deeper than the voices of the two men terrorizing her, and for a moment she thought maybe a third member was here to join in their twisted game.

“Officer,” Tate said. Wes’s grip eased and he pulled his face away from Carrington’s.

“What is going on?” the new voice asked.

“Nothing, sir. We were walking by and saw the Lint take a fall, so we were checking on her,” Wes said.

Heavy boots echoed toward her and their black shine came into Carrington’s line of vision. Her heart filled with relief because she knew those boots belonged to a CityWatch guard.