Page 29 of Longing for Liberty
Every week.
Every fucking week we prayed for these children and their rashes and red bumps and fevers and wracking coughs. Sometimes they survived. Sometimes their little bodies succumbed to the sicknesses. But always they suffered.
Many of us cried now, on our knees in an old elementary school classroom with its dusty, worn carpet. But I’d never cried like this in front of these women, my whole body arching into the sadness as I allowed it to hit me.
How many centuries had mothers cried like this? Begging for divine interventions. Miracles. And how many times were we told and shown that those prayers had already been answered? Thatwewere the answer. That we’d each been infused with the breath of life, the direct power to be used for good? That we had been made to help one another? I wanted to scream, Look at what humanity created with the blessings of our minds and wills and work ethics! Look at the vaccines! The antibiotics! Every single medical innovation!
But no. We wanted only divine miracles that couldn’t be explained any other way except God’s direct intervention, not through a human. Because man was tainted. And that was true. Even the good things we made had downsides. Everything good would be somehow abused, because human nature was imperfect. And so we threw every good thing away.
I straightened on my knees, getting a hold of myself, wiping my face with my hands. The older woman beside me rubbed my back, and I gave her a small smile of gratitude and saw that she’d been crying as well. A quick scan around the group showed that most of the women had been crying. How many of them shared my questions? My bitterness? And how many embraced our current circumstances as the true way?
TWELVE
STATE NEWS: CITIZENS HEALTHIER THAN EVER WITH LOWEST BMI SCORES IN A CENTURY!
Monday morning,Fitzhugh was there at the table with his laptop when I arrived. The sight of him gave me a start, because he was normally only there in the afternoons, but I recovered quickly.
“Good morning, sir. I’ll stay quiet in this area if you’re working.” I rushed past him into the kitchen, wishing it were separated and not open-concept where he could see me. As much as it didn’t feel right taking off my shoes and stockings while he was there, he had commanded it. I took them off in the kitchen and set everything against the wall.
He hadn’t greeted me verbally, just given a nod as I walked in, but I felt the heat of his eyes on me as I unpacked his dinner basket before facing my breakfast tray. Oh, wow. An omelet—it appeared to be ham and cheese—with home fries: diced potatoes loaded with peppers and onions. Still feeling his eyes, I peeked over to find him watching me with open curiosity.
“Thank you, sir,” I said, quickly turning back to the plate.
Was there anything more awkward than eating while being watched? To say I felt self-conscious was an understatement. I wondered if I looked stupid standing there chewing a bite that was too big, and I kind of hoped I did. Perhaps I could sabotage his interest, and even this job, by chewing with my mouth open and burping. I held back the maniacal laugh that wanted to bubble up.
“What are you thinking?” he asked.
My insides jumped with surprise, then plummeted. Had I been making some sort of expression?
“Nothing, sir. Just…that this is very good. And too much for me.”
“You need to eat it.”
I nodded, taking another bite and wishing he would just focus on his laptop and leave me alone. I ate as quickly as I could, but again, my stomach was getting too full too fast. I finished the omelet and put the lid back on. We seemed to have an unspoken agreement that as long as I ate all of the food by the end of my shift, that was acceptable. I’d even stopped bringing my peanut butter sandwiches.
As I bustled past the Secretary in my bare feet, I’d never been more hyper-aware of myself. I analyzed every single movement I made and how it might look, trying my damndest not to appear sexy or unprofessional. All business. That was me.
We both worked quietly for hours, me doing his laundry, making his bed, cleaning his bathroom, and dusting everything in sight. Then I finished my home fries. Before the war, I would have asked for no peppers and onions. What an ungrateful girl I’d been. Now, I ate every bite.
Each day, I swept the floors, but on Mondays and Fridays, I washed and polished the floors after sweeping. I was glad the Secretary didn’t have a dog or cat like some of the other officials. Although I loved the attention the dogs gave me, their hair got into every nook. We weren’t allowed pets now. Only the higher-ups could afford the luxury of animal companionship. Pet food manufacturers had all been shut down, so pets ate human food.
I heard the Secretary’s murmured voice from the dining area and realized he was on a video call. As I swept my way quietly down the hall from the bedrooms to the open main area, the voices became more distinct. Vice President Walinger’s scratchy voice and arrogant tone raked up the back of my neck like a jagged fingernail. I wished I could file down his vocal cords.
“What’s the update on military personnel, Fitz, and when can we finally expect to get Community Five turning a profit?”
CommunityFive? My neck prickled. Maybe I’d misheard, because there were only Four Communities. We, the government sector, were Community One. The VP sounded irritated, and Amos’s voice was flat when he responded.
“We are still stretched too thin. Community Four is only newly under control. Until we can pull a significant number of new cadets from Communities ThreeandFour, we cannot afford to go into Five and have our troops overrun by rioters?—”
“They’re weak,” Walinger said. “You give them too much credit. And we were told the Force scoured those states for weapons before they were set loose. Remember? Not even a baseball bat was left in Florida and Georgia.”
My ears were burning.
“Of course I remember, but I won’t take the chance,” Amos responded. “We’ve got them surrounded for now, and they seem to be self-sufficient and surviving quietly for now.”
“And what of Canada and the border there?” A chill went up my spine at the smooth sound of President Roan’s rich voice.
“Non-issue,” Amos answered. “No one will venture near the border since the news of radiation. And Canada’s too decimated to consider anything other than attempting to rebuild.”
