Ellen Datlow - After - Nineteen Stories of Apocalypse and Dystopia

There are twelve of us walking. The road is long and the work is hard. But we are special.

When we reach the first town, on the gate there is a blue, lavender, black, and green flag waving. That means two girls are ready for seeding. On the highest post, two white flags fly. That means two new babes. This town is growing. I will feast with the others as an honored guest while the two Paters who are called do their duty. Jas is one of them, and that means tomorrow at the counting, I will have to work alone.

“I’m nervous,” I say to Jas.

“Don’t be, Geo,” he says. He hesitates, as though he is going to say something to me but then doesn’t. Instead he says the Pater code. “Do your duty, for all. Three for Four count. Be swift.”

I repeat it along with him. I know he is steeling me for what I must do. But I am restless.

Some of the Paters are complaining that the food was off, or not as good as last year. I do not understand why they are complaining, because I notice that most from my group do not eat much. Every year they seem to get skinnier. For me, the food seemed fine, and in all my years I have never seen so much food on a table. I know that every town feeds the Pater their best foods. I eat everything in front of me. Most of the others barely finish their first plate.

After the feast they all want to rest because their stomachs hurt. We are led to a cabin where we will all bunk, and almost everyone has to lie down. I never lie down after I eat, like the others do. I have been warned that I may feel ill from the different tastes, but my belly does not hurt and I do not have gas like the others. But even in our town, they complain and lie down after every meal, as they do here.

I stand at the door, looking out at this town, which is different and new.

“Shut the door,” Dug says to me. He is lying on his bedroll, sweating and moaning. So instead of joining the others on the floor to rest, I go outside to roam. I have never been away from Sandig, and my eyes are interested in all that is before me.

The town looks nothing like our hometown, and yet parts of it seem familiar. Here, like us, they feast mostly on fish and seaweed. I can hear the water. The sound of it is comforting and familiar, and reminds me of home. As with us, the streets are still mostly paved, and the people live on the street with the most houses that are still standing. The houses from before, with glass windows and working doors. And some of the houses have the same names as we do; tarbu ks. Wal t, Donal ’s. The houses go on, even past the large fence made of wood and metal that surrounds the town, and keeps its people safe. And outside, past the crumbling buildings, are of course those strange signs. The ones that scream danger. Now we know that there is not much out there, except for other barricaded towns and stretches of nothing. But after it all began, people needed to fight together to live. This town, Mesa, I know to be bigger than most but not as big as our home. I am warned that some other towns are very small. That is just part of the Way. And we do what we can to bring hope.

In the morning, when I wake up, it is time for the counting. It is the most important thing that our group of Paters do. We seed, like the other Paters, but our priority is the count. The village brings the babes that have been born since the last time we came. In this town there are two. I prick their fingers and the machines whir. They are both four for four. The town wants to celebrate with another feast. It is good news for them. Despite being a bigger town, their numbers were getting low. The two babes are boys. There is much to rejoice about that. Boys are rare, which is why most become Paters. But Jas has a schedule that he wants to keep. So he moves us along.

“We have many towns to go to,” he reminds us.

As I am packing up my machines, a woman comes in and presses a shell necklace into my hand. When we file out of the town, more people come up and try to give us gifts. I take what I am given because I like the thought of adding things from my trip to my collection, but the other Paters wave the people away, as though they are irritated by the show of emotion.

“I think they were just trying to say thank you,” I say to Jas.

“Geo, you’ll learn that your pack will be too heavy if you take every piece of thank you that you are given.”

“They were happy, that’s all,” I say. I am wearing my bead necklace. And I have dried seaweed in my pocket. And a small metal box with the picture of a woman who is part fish.

Jas shakes his head. He is much older than me, and so he has wisdom, and I respect that. But when he talks to me like that, it makes me feel as though I am not an apprentice Pater, about to become a man, but still just a small boy with a silly love of collecting odd things.

“Come now, Geo, don’t be sour,” Jas says.

We walk on the road and head north, but we must stop a few times more than Jas would like because some of our group are sick. We slow down our pace, and that helps, but Jas worries that we will fall behind in our duty.

We pass another group of Paters from the North on the road. Their number is small, only five. We exchange news. Even though they do not mention it, I notice that most of their group is feeling sick, too. We camp together for the night before we part ways in the morning.

We pass by some more fenced-off towns. I think that we are going to stop at every single one, but Jas says there is no need. Sometimes there are no flags hanging, which means no counting must be done because no babes have been born. We only stop if there are white flags—to do the counting—or if there are colored flags—to do the seeding—and then, only if the colors of the flags mean that one of us is a good match. If there are no flags, it means there is no need, or some other Pater group has filled it. We are all in this together.

We come upon a town that needs us, and so we enter. Here, there are the cactus and the succulents. I notice that there are plots of land outside that people still water, although nothing pushes up through the ground except for weeds. I am surprised when, later at the feast, they put the weeds in everything. Many of our group are still feeling ill. Many in the town are too. But I have not lost my appetite.

“It tastes good,” I say.

“Dandelions,” a woman tells me. “I will pack some for your journey.”

I continue eating my soup to avoid Jas’s annoyed look, but I am glad that I will have a tasty snack for the long walks.

The next morning, in the room with the machines, the same woman enters with a bag of dandelions and a babe in her arms. She hands me the dandelions, and I am glad that Jas is still in the outhouse, taking care of his stomach because he is not feeling well, so I can put them in my pack before he sees me collecting another thing. I wait before beginning, for Jas, and he comes in and examines the babe. The babe has orange and brown tattoos. That is a rare combination, but not as useful since the babe is a girl. When I am a full Pater, and a seeder, brown and orange will be good for me to do my duty with. If there are any left. I heard Jas say that there are not many along the road of the Way.

The baby coos. The woman smiles. I distract the child when Jas goes to prick her finger. The baby laughs. The machine whirs. The first code comes up green.

AGGCTTACACCG

And then there are three red buzzes.

Jas looks at me. The woman looks at me. The baby coos again.

“Geo, why don’t you give the litany.”

He is teaching me how to do it because I am Apprentice Counter. I have never given the litany before. I stumble over the prepared speech.

“As we know in these dark times, it is important for all that only the strong be allowed to grow. Any of those without the sequence must go down for all to rise.”