I

I

       

“The past is never dead. It's not even past.” -William Faulkner

When Jonathan woke up at night he would roll over on his old creaking mattress and peer through the darkness, watching for the motion of his father’s stomach slowly rising and falling with each sleeping breath. Careful not to brush his rough linen sleeve against the rusted bed frame, he would reach beneath his mattress and retrieve his mother’s old red bandana. Drawing it to his face, he inhaled her memory. Dark locks that fell across his forehead as she kissed him good night. Soft hands. Warmth. Sleep was never far away.

The dream that woke him this night was familiar. He saw the sun. A massive fireball hovered over the skeleton of a once inhabited city. The light was excruciating. He had to reach his hands up in front of his face to stop it from blinding him. But he couldn’t close his eyes. Couldn’t keep from searching the back of his hand for the cracks in his fingers where the light shined through. Even those scarce wandering beams were tearing into his eyes, but he could not look away. It was magnificent. This dream always was.

Jon woke with a shiver. His hand reached under the mattress but grasped only the rotting slats. His heart bounced around inside his chest. He glanced up to see his father’s dark form hunched over on his own bed, methodically tracing the crease of the bandana where his mother used to fold it before she tied her hair. His father turned towards the center of the room as he swung his feet down to the floor, and Jon lay back, eyes clenched, pretending to sleep. He heard the soft padding along the granite tiles as his father approached Jon’s bed. He could feel the arm as it slid beneath his mattress. A jumble of knuckles pressed against his back as his father slid the bandana flat along the fifth slat from the end. He knew just where Jon kept it.

Jon opened his eyes to the flickering light bulb dangling from the plywood ceiling. He smelled fungus cooking, and heard the crackling of the oil coming from the front room. Reaching under the mattress he found the bandana, folded and flat like he always left it. Every night. If he hadn’t woken up, he never would have known.

“We won’t have anymore meat until my next paycheck,” his father said as Jon ducked into the front room, “but we still have plenty of chuck left to last us.” Jon glanced at the slab of pale yellow fungus simmering on the small tin stove. Not his favorite, but not the worst the market had to offer. Jon’s father said people named it chuck after a cut of cow that used to be cheap and plentiful.

“I thought yesterday you said  we had enough to buy another rabbit?”

“Well, we did, but last night… I lost some money - that’s all. We’ll - we’ll bounce back. Next paycheck.” He pushed brown bangs out of his eyes. “I’ll buy enough in advance. I’ll make sure, kid.”

Jon sat down at the table - a wide piece of plywood laid across two stacks of cinder blocks in the center of the kitchen. He picked up the folded sheet of grey paper from the middle of the room and read the Daily Brief to his father, just like any other morning, putting food and money and the bandana out of his mind. “Just three days until the Strathem Day parade. The Beara of Information counsels all citizens to make their necessary purchases at the markets within the next 72 hours, as the markets will observe a temporary absence of service, in honor of Strathem’s great sacrifice, on the day of the parade. All school classes will be likewise suspended. All non-essential personnel positions will not be staffed, as staff will be attending the parade with their household units. Security personnel will be briefed as to their augmented responsibilities.’ The rest is just the usual stuff… Trash and curfew reminders… politeness policy… social services… No news though.”

“Is there ever?” His father father scoffed over his shoulder as he flipped the sizzling chuck.

“Sometimes there’s something interesting. Last month they changed the water regulations, and two weeks ago there was that fight between those Councillor’s wives over their garden space. You thought that was hilarious!”

“Hah, funny,” he grunted. “But not exactly news, is it?”

“I wanted to know.”

His father slapped a thick crispy slab of fungus onto Jon’s trencher, and sat down across the table in front of his own chuck. “Can’t want to know what you don’t know exists yet.” He stabbed the chuck with a fork, lifted it to his mouth and sunk his teeth in, tearing off a huge piece. Through a mouthful he murmured “Though I guess that doesn’t necessarily mean it’s not worth knowing.” He swallowed his food. “But that -- two rich women squabbling over garden space like it’s Victorian England -- while hilarious, is definitely not worth knowing.”

Jonathan stood in the middle of the empty room designated for recess as he talked with two of his classmates about the Strathem Day parade, celebrating The Liberation of their settlement. They had an empty room to play in, but the other children nearby were too preoccupied with their game of soccer to notice the three quietly conversing as they stood apart from the others. Kids picked up the game from an old textbook in their Ancient Culture class, but they had no equipment. They used a gap between two dilapidated book shelves against the back wall for the goal, and had to score with a relatively smooth chunk of concrete. Their short legs hacked away at the grey chunk, providing ample distraction for Jonathan’s group to whisper unnoticed.

        Jon’s friend Stan was relating something he had overheard his parents discussing about the annual parade just two days away. “My Ma was crying at this point, so I couldn't really hear what she said. But then, then my Pa starts in about how the work stoppage wasn't necessary, the risks unnecessary, and other things too. He said unnecessary about a lot of things. He said �" and I think I heard this right, I really do �" that there was no Harry Strathem. That �"“

        The third boy, Casper, couldn't contain himself. “But that can’t possibly be true! We've all seen the pictures. He only died twenty years ago. My Ma was alive, and she told me all about the time she got to meet him, and my Ma wouldn't lie to me. Half the grown-ups down here met him at one point or another, and half of those have pictures to prove it!”

        Stan's face was twisted into a knot, and cast a myriad of squirming shadows as the light from the dangling bulb swung slowly about, pushed by the chunk of concrete being kicked into the wall. The only other light source was the dim red emergency light of a crooked exit sign, hanging limp above the door. The illuminated portions of his small face were dulled to this dim red, and it made Jonathan shudder, reminding him of how all the lights turned red when the settlement's Security Forces sounded the breach-alarm. In all of Jonathan's twelve years of life it had only gone off during drills, never a real breach. Still, the red light made his heart clench. Stan's face was only several feet from the exit sign, bathed in dim red as he explained, “I don't mean he didn't exist. Duh he was a real person. I mean �" well, my Pa was saying that he wasn't really who they say he was. That he wasn't no hero or anything like that. That he �"“

        Casper couldn't tolerate it any longer. With a clenched fist held in front of him, he shouted at Stan, “Damnit! I won’t let you shame the Founding Father with blasphemy. You won’t!” Jonathan had seen this coming. He'd warned Stan that morning not to go talking about his crazy ideas with anyone else, least of all Casper. His father was head of the Sanitation Department. It was considered a lesser department, but it meant his father sat on the Board of Elders nonetheless. The Board threw the annual Liberation Day parade in honor of Harry Strathem, and the Board did not take kindly to interference in patriotic events. Jonathan could still remember the look on his own father's face when he started hiccupping during the Dawning of the New Year ceremony. He was only eight years old, but his tiny disturbance had still attracted the guards. Luckily the fright had scared the hiccups out of him like his father always said it could. He had just never been scared enough before.

        “Blasphemy? He was too a different person or �"“

        “Stan, be quite.” Jonathan noticed that the game had stopped, and the three of them had now drawn the attention of the rest of the room. He leaned into his friend's ear and whispered to Stan, “They are all listening. Think about what you're doing, idiot! It is blasphemy. You might even be right, but it is still blasphemy.” After a moment the game resumed, and Casper stormed off across the room to pout in solitude. “It must be almost time to go back to History class, anyway.”

Stan stared at the ground. He was always getting himself into this sort of trouble, and it wasn't the first time Jonathan had to be the voice of reason. Stan’s father used to be a journalist, back when the settlement still had what the adults called a “newspaper.” It was something people would read to get information. Why they couldn’t just ask their local Disseminator, Jon could never understand. His father told him it was because the Disseminators didn’t exist when the settlement still had a “newspaper.” After Strathem's Liberation, the Board of Elders decided to “re-purpose” the printing press for, as his father put it, “strictly informational purposes.”

Jon never understood the terms his father used, but he got the point. Stan's father had his job taken away from him because of the Liberation. He was once the only journalist in the community, and now he was just one of many Time Keepers that served other members of the settlement. So he hated the Board, and he hated Harry Strathem. It was simple. It made sense. Jon just didn't understand why the man had to go around telling his family that Strathem was some kind of different person. Everyone knew that twenty years ago Strathem had saved the settlement from traitors who planned to throw open the doors to the surface, and let in a Warband that would have captured, and eaten, their entire community. Jon may never have been born if it weren’t for Harry Strathem. All the inhabitants of Suburban Station would have been eaten and enslaved by mutants if it weren’t for Harry Strathem.

        Jon may not have been alive then, but his parents were. His father didn't like to talk about the war, but Jon had seen the medal that he kept tucked away with his discharge certificate. Jon knew his father had fought alongside Strathem. He just didn’t like to brag. There was even a musty old photo at the bottom of the drawer that showed his Pa standing with a group of soldiers, all clustered around Strathem, all supporting their refurbished assault rifles by resting the butts on their pelvis, and letting the barrels fall outwards; held up by the leather straps around their backs. None of them were smiling, but he knew that's because the weight of having to kill men they once called friends must have been heavy. Too heavy for smiles. He had never seen pictures of the traitors, but he hadn't heard their names either. No one did. They had been graciously forgotten by those who once loved them. Jon knew this was out of respect for those who would rather remember them as they were in life. His father hadn't told Jon any of this, he hated to answer questions about his time in the war. Still, Jon looked through his belongings to find these answers for himself. It was clear that his father had fought; had once been a soldier. His father was a part of the Liberation movement. He was a hero.

       

        After recess they had to sit through another History lecture. This one was a review of the Ages that came after the Great War. They had already covered this last year, but their teacher, Ms. McRommel, claimed to be giving them a “new perspective.” So far Jon hadn’t noticed any differences in the material. What he really wanted was to be learning about that Golden Age of prosperity -- the mysterious forgotten way of life that disappeared after the Great War.

        Ms. McRommel stood at the front of the room writing out a list of phrases on the chalkboard. The damp underground air had long since begun to rot the wood that ran along the frame. It had to be shaved away periodically, so that over the years the frame had been reduced to a sliver, and the chalkboard had to be anchored to the wall behind it by driving bolts directly into the corners of the board itself; leaving four swaths of pristine untouched green that Ms. McRommel created by reverently avoiding these four bolts. Jon could still remember years ago when much of the frame was still intact. It was thicker, but he couldn’t quite picture the color of the wood before the rot set in.

        Ms. McRommel stepped aside to reveal today’s review terms. “Last year we learned about the first age after the Great War: the Age of Fallout. Most of our land was uninhabitable. Can anyone tell me why?”

        A younger boy, shins still dusty from recess, shouted out “Because they dropped the bombs on us! The nukes -- I mean -- they dropped the nuc-u-lar weapons on our cities.”

        “Nuclear, Thomas. Nuclear. And can someone, preferably someone polite enough to raise their hand, tell me who they were and why they dropped them?”

        The students remained still, and the room grew silent. This was a tough question. Ms. McRommel fidgeted as she looked around the room. “Come now class, I’m sure you know this.”

        Casper’s hand went up, as if she had just clarified that it was not a trick question. After she looked at him, but before she could say his name, Casper blurted out “They’re the Nihilists from across the Eastern Ocean. They lived on the other land, over there �"“

        “Very close Casper. But the Nihilists didn’t just live in the other lands, what our ancestors called Europe, Asia, and Africa. There were also some to the south of us, and to the west as well.”

        This was news to one of the youngest boys, “There were Nihilists across the Western Ocean too Ms. McRommel?”

        “Yes, there were Nihilists everywhere. There were even some Nihilists hiding among us, disguised as United States’ citizens.”

        The class gasped. This was one part of the lecture they hadn’t learned about last year. They had been taught that the Nihilists were foreigners from other countries, speaking all sorts of other languages. Ms McRommel continued, “But more to the point, why did the Nihilists declare war on us?” This thrust the class back into an uncomfortable silence. Normally Jon wouldn’t speak up, but he couldn’t sit staring down at his hands, waiting for someone else to answer the obvious question. They had all been asked so many times before.

When Ms. McRommel called on him he explained, “America was spreading freedom and liberty and justice and democracy all around the world to all the peoples that just lived in shacks, and were still ruled be dic �" by dic-tate-ors. That’s, like, when one person makes all the decisions for everyone, and takes an unfair share of food for themselves. But the Nihilists, they hated our way of life, and they hated our values, and they wanted to destroy our way of life so that they could rule the world, so that… well so that, I guess, they could take everybody else’s food?”

“That’s right, Jonathan, very good. They weren’t just after food, remember, they were trying to destroy democracy.” Jonathan still didn’t quite understand democracy, but he knew it was the government they had set up in their own settlement after the Great War. They didn’t have one person making decisions for them, they let the Board of Elders make their decisions, and there were many people on the Board. They were wise, and they must be doing a better job than anyone else would have done, otherwise, why would they be on the Board?

Stan spoke up out of turn. “But, Ms. McRommel, if some of the Nihilists lived in the United States, then they must have had democracy and freedom and liberty and all that, so why did those Nihilists still want to kill us?”

“That’s an excellent question Stan, but one that is hard to answer. Now, this is a slight oversimplification, but let me use a metaphor. Last month we learned about Lions in Ancient Biology class. One thing that wasn’t in our textbooks was how the male lions behave after they take over the pride of another male Lion. They go about amongst all the females, and kill every lion cub in the pride. Now, can anyone explain this behavior?” After a moment of silence she continued, “Of course not. It is simply in the nature of the beast. The male Lion is not making a logical and educated decision, he is simply acting on instinct.” Stan raised his hand to respond as Ms. McRommel glanced around the room, but she must not have noticed him, because she launched into her next topic. “Now, let us review the Ages. As we’ve discussed, the Age of Fallout came after the Nihilists dropped the bombs, but it was experienced very differently in Philadelphia than in other cities. As we know, the Old Nation’s former capital, Washington D.C., was completely destroyed by a massive nuclear detonation, and while New York may, theoretically, still be standing, the inhabitants were killed by chemical weapons, and the city must still be uninhabitable �" even after 44 years. So, who can tell me why Philadelphia was not completely destroyed like Washington D.C., is it because the Nihilists did not drop nuclear weapons here like in all the other cities?”

Casper’s hand shot up into the air. “The Nihilists tried to drop nuclear bombs on us, but their plan to disable the missile defense system didn’t work on one of our anti-missile launch sites, so the Great Elder, who founded our settlement, was able to use it to shoot down the nuclear missiles.”

Jon had always wondered why Strathem’s story was so celebrated and discussed, while there was no public holiday to celebrate the Great Elder saving the city. He had never even heard more of an explanation of how the Great Elder did this than that simple sentence that Casper repeated for the class. Ms. McRommel continued with her lesson, “Correct Casper. The Great Elder spared the city from the nuclear weapons, but he could not spare the city from bombing by the Nihilists afterwards. Most importantly, being only one man, the Great Elder was powerless to stop the radiation from surrounding nuclear detonations settling into the city. So, who can tell me what he did, and most importantly, why?”

The hand of Jonathan’s favorite classmate shot up. Ashley only raised her hand for the harder questions. Her curly brown locks jiggled as she squirmed in her seat.

“Does anyone else want to answer this?” Silence. “Anyone other than our resident history scholar here? No one?” Brown locks bounced with further vigor. “Very well, proceed Ashley.”

Ashley leaned forward in her seat as she spat out, “The Great Elder was first living by the Del-a-ware River, in Penn Landing.” Jon had only seen Rivers in their textbooks. Long lines of water that cut through the land, as if dug by some monstrous creature from a forgotten history. He was told they actually moved. The water would move from one end to the other. It never stopped flowing. They must look different now, after the fallout. The radiation had changed them. It’s why the water filter was one of the settlement’s most prized possessions. “The water started making people sick, and the Great Elder himself began losing his hair. He knew it must be radiation poisoning, so he knew they would die if they stayed on the surface much longer --”

Little dusty haired Thomas shouted out “But what about the mutants!? Why didn’t the mutants get them?”

Ms. McRommel furrowed her brow, “Thomas do not interrupt your classmates when they are speaking. Of course, there were no mutants immediately after the bombs dropped, it takes time for radiation poisoning to occur, and at least a generation for mutations to appear. Please continue, Ashley.”

“Anyway, he knew he would die on the surface so he led everyone down into the subway. They stopped getting sick once they found some water filters in Market East Station, but it was too exposed to the surface radiation, so they couldn’t stay there. They brought the largest of the filters to Suburban Station, through the old train tunnels below us, where they founded our settlement.”

“Almost entirely correct Ashley, almost. But the Great Elder did not bring everyone down to the subway. Many did not believe him. They had not the wisdom to know for themselves, and they would not take the word of one who did, and so they were not granted the prosperous life that we have been able to create for ourselves here beneath city hall. Many thousands continued to live on the surface for years. They established towns, largely concentrated in South Philadelphia, where the buildings had been left most intact, and where there was an abundance of salvage materials. But, is the surface still this way today?”

Casper raised his hand before Ms. McRommel finished asking the question. She glanced at him and he readily began, “No, they were fools. They thought that clean water alone could protect them from the radiation, but we knew better. They started having babies. They thought they would repopulate the city, but most of their babies weren’t human at all. They were the first mutants. Some of them had extra limbs, some just had extra fingers, but they all grew up with brains different from ours. They seem normal at first, but once they start going through puberty they can’t be controlled. Their mouths get all frothy, and they spit, and they chomp �"“

Ms. McRommel cut him off “Casper remember there are younger children in the class as well. I think the point Casper is trying to make, and it is a very crucial one, is that eventually all mutant children grow up, and they begin to become increasingly aggressive. They lose their lingual capacity, they can no longer speak and communicate, nor do they seem to desire to. They can effectively no longer work or participate in society, and always turn to cannibalism to sustain themselves. They simply lose their humanity, and become a danger to those around them. This is why, after Strathem’s Liberation, the Great Elder, third of his name, proposed the Child Regulation Agreement that all citizens of the settlement enter into upon their thirteenth birthday after graduating from school and entering job training. The bill passed unanimously, all of your parents voted for it, and they also agreed to it themselves before they were allowed to have you.” Stan’s hand crawled upwards. “Yes Stan.”

“Unanimous means that, well, that everyone voted for it, right?”

        “That’s correct, Stan. There was not �"“

“But my Pa said he never voted for it. He said he agreed to it after it was passed, but he voted against �"“

“That’s enough Stan. Moving on with the lesson, what �"“

“But it couldn’t be unanimous if he voted against it!”

Jonathan gazed down at his hands knowing scarlet bloomed on his face. He had the overwhelming desire to inch away from Stan, but he had to stand by his friend. “Stanly I will need to speak to you after class. Any more of these kooky conspiracy theories out of you and I will have to inform your parents, and get the Bureau of Information involved.” Jon looked up to see that Stan was now also staring down at his desk, the look on his face was more shame than embarrassment.

After a long silence Ms. McRommel continued to explain the Child Regulation Agreement as if Stan had never contradicted her. “Now, the act both demands of parents, and provides for them. As many of you may already know the act restricts parents to having no more than two children, but it also guarantees that their children will be given an education required by their future profession that the Board deems them most fit for -- after careful consideration of their skills. Children are also guaranteed a full three meals a day containing the appropriate nutrition necessary to nurture their development proportionate to their place in society. Now who can tell me what proportionate means in that context?” Ashely’s hand shot up again. She loved defining words, and always smiled in anticipation. “Yes, Ashley.”

“It means that everyone has a role to play in our society, and they will be given the nutrition required for that role; no more, no less. People who have jobs that demand a lot of them will be given more than people who have easy jobs that don’t require much work. Like, my Ma gets an extra �"“

“Now Ashely, really! It is impolite to discuss how one, or one’s parents, benefit from the Board in ways where others benefit less. But your definition is correct.” Ashley’s face cracked a shy smile between rosy cheeks. She could never resist the pleasure of affirmation. It was the one thing she and Jonathan did not have in common, but he adored that look on her face despite loathing it on the faces’ of others. “But, tell me class, what is the single most important clause of the Child Regulation Act? I know, it’s a sensitive subject.” The class stared intently at their desks as they shifted uncomfortably in their seats. “Don’t be shy, I know you know this.” But no one would raise their hand, not even Ashley. Normally she was the one to break the silence, but now her head was tilted downwards so that her hair fell in a veil around her face. She remained still. “Very well, if no one wants to answer, I will have to call on someone.” Casper’s hand slowly extended into the air. “Yes Casper.”

“The parents agree that if their child is born with any noticeable mutation they are… they are left. Left up there. On the surface.”

“Thank you Casper. It is a very difficult job to do, but it is necessary to maintain our own safety. If just one mutant were raised not only could they kill and eat our citizens underground, but they could even potentially throw open the pressurized gate to the surface, dooming us all.”

The silence was palpable. A vice began to tighten around Jon’s chest as he thought of his own little brother. That tiny finger. That tiny extra finger had been all it took for them to kick in the door, flashlights flailing about the room, a gun muzzle jammed into the back of his head as he was shoved face first into the floor. A ten year old held down by three grown men as several more restrained his screaming father, and five women from the Security Forces tried in vain to stop his mother from kicking and biting and scratching her way towards her newborn son. His Pa had cut the finger off, but the Purity Examiner noticed the scab. Pa claimed it was just a birthmark, but they had already made their decision. He could still remember the inhuman sound of his mother wailing after they left with his brother, as she collapsed onto the floor in a pile of limbs.

He was brought back to reality by Ms. McRommel’s voice. She continued on to the next review term, the Age of Ash, but Jonathan could no longer focus on the lesson. He sat, gazing at the pristine green color of those four untouched corners of the chalkboard, wondering what the surface must be like, and how the sun would look, and how warm the light would feel falling on his skin.

Author's Note

This is a rough draft.