Another sound, and then the blue glow became clearer, as if a very weak lamp had been uncovered. I simply stood still, letting my eyes get used to the dimness, keeping in mind where the stairs were and how I would get out of here if Taylor turned out to be a serial killer.
Not that there were any serial killers in our cell, of course.
At least, not that anyone had ever heard of.
“What do you want?” Taylor asked, and now I could almost see enough to pick my way across the cellar. Around me were dusty, cobwebby wooden shelves that held dusty, cobwebby glass jars of fruits and vegetables: home canning. Very slowly, trying not to knock anything over, I headed toward the blue light. Taylor turned out to be just a guy, maybe a little older than me, slumped on a couch, drinking from a bottle. The blue light was from the cracked screen of his cell phone, beside him on the couch.
When I came close enough for him to see me, his eyes flared open and he jumped up.
“Becca! Thank God! I thought you were—”
“I’m not Becca,” I said. “I’m her sister, Cassie. I’m looking for her. Someone told me that you two were playing chicken out on the boundary road.”
After staring at me in disbelief for a moment, Taylor’s face crumpled and he sank back down. He picked up his beer bottle and drained it, then wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.
When he didn’t say anything, I came closer. “Taylor. Tell me what happened.”
Now he looked sullen, not meeting my eyes. “Nothing.”
That was enough to push me over the edge. It was late, I was in a bad neighborhood, my sister had been missing for more than a day, and I snapped for the first time in my life. Lunging forward, I grabbed his beer bottle and slammed it against a table, breaking off the bottom. Holding the unbroken end, I leaned over a shocked Taylor and waved the jagged glass, trying to look mean.
“Listen… dipshit,” I ground out. “My only sister is missing. People say you were with her. Now you tell me what the hell happened out on the boundary road or I’m going to carve your face up like a… like a Halloween pumpkin! You got that?”
Taylor drew away from me. I waved the broken bottle.
“We were racing,” he said reluctantly. “Seeing who would go the farthest. But it was too far.”
“You chickened out,” I said coldly, and he looked at me with loathing.
“It was too far. I turned around and headed back on my moped. I thought Becca was right behind me. But she wasn’t.”
“What happened then? You just left her out there?” The thought made me feel frantic.
“No!” Taylor said. “I turned around. I was going to tell her okay, she won. But when I went back, all I saw was the truck by the side of the road. No Becca.”
I wanted to scream. He’d left my sister out on the boundary road to die. I threw the broken bottle down on the couch, making him flinch. Then I stomped across the cellar and up the dark steps, and burst out the door. Outside I grabbed my moped and got the hell out of that sector. I knew what I had to do now. I had to go see Pa.
18
I HATE GOING TO HEALTHCARE United. Hate, hate, hate it. And every time I go, I remember that someday I won’t have to come here anymore. Then I feel both glad and guilty.
The receptionist on duty recognized me, of course. For the first month I’d come every single day. Then every other day. After that the neighbors had faded away, and there was no more help in the fields or people bringing food by for me and Becca. Once I started having to work the farm and feed us and keep the house going, my visits dropped down to a couple times a week.
On the second floor I passed the baby nursery and couldn’t help glancing in. Today there were three babies in their little plastic bassinets. Which meant that roughly nine months ago, three people had died. Balance is everything in the cell. On the side of the Management Building was a public screen that kept a running tally of how many people had died that month. So if five people had died, then the next five people on the waiting list for babies got their licenses approved. They had three months to make good on it, then they had to cede their place to the next couple in line. A few times in my life, more people had died than there were people on the baby-license waiting list. Then the Provost visited couples who had only one child so far and encouraged them to have another.
Again, balance is everything. To help with predictable population planning, there was System-Assisted Suicide. You didn’t even need a license for it. You just called them up and a black van showed up at your door. They made sure your papers were in order, and then the nurse hooked you up, the preacher stood there and prayed with your family, and you died.
Of course Pa, being Pa, had chosen his own way out.
He’d been in the Lingering Wing for a while now. His room looked out over the memorial garden, not that he saw anything. I pushed open his door and was greeted as usual by the soft beep and whir of machines. Not extreme measures to keep him alive, of course—that would throw the balance all out of whack. No, just machines to feed him, monitor him, let the nurses know if anything happened. Anything like him dying, for example.
When Becca and I were little, Pa had been the strongest, handsomest man we knew. He could carry both of us on his shoulders at once, while we shrieked and clung to his hair or his ears. Ma would laugh and tell him to put us down before we fell. I was never afraid of falling. I knew Pa would catch me.
He was neither strong nor handsome now.
Behind me the door opened and one of Pa’s regular nurses came in quietly.
“Hey, Sandy,” I said.
“Hey, Cassie,” she said softly.
I moved to the bed and took one of Pa’s hands. It was warm, and the skin was softer and smoother than it had been when he was working the fields. Well, months in the Lingering Wing could do that.
I needed Sandy to leave so I could tell Pa about Becca, but I knew why she was here.
“Cassie,” she began. “I need to tell you again—”
“About our options for System-Assisted Suicide,” I finished for her. “Pa won’t ever get better. He’s dying, but slowly. He has minimal brain function. He’ll never be able to work again. He’ll never come home. I should let the system lovingly help him find his way to his final rest. It will be fast, painless, and is a service offered for free to our citizens.”
With a look full of compassion, Sandy nodded. I knew this wasn’t her idea. I knew she was required to tell Pa’s relatives about Murder United.
“I’m sorry, Cassie,” she said gently. “I know it’s hard. But it really would be better for your father now. It’s been three months since… the incident. His lungs are slowly filling with fluid, and his kidneys are shutting down. We don’t want him to suffer anymore, do we?”
I shook my head, trying not to cry. Sandy was probably right, but I just couldn’t sign the order that would take my pa away forever. Not yet.