Ellen Datlow - After - Nineteen Stories of Apocalypse and Dystopia

But the truth is that I want to keep the bag that Minerve gave to me with those yellow pieces from the husks. They are from her, and I want to keep them close to me.

“This,” he says, and pushes the machine toward me. He takes the bag and walks away.

Jas is happy when I come back with the machine. I am not scolded for breaking quarantine. But the machine does not reveal any sickness. If we are sick, it is from something that we do not know. It is beyond the understanding of the machines.

Time goes on, and yet more people die. But not me. As they thin, I grow fatter and stronger.

When News comes around, Jas had succumbed to the Waste, and although I am not yet considered a man, I am now the head Counter. I wait till Ides to make my decision to go on a walk without the other Paters. I will go Count. I will go see the towns. But I will not put the other Paters in danger. I teach one of the young boys how to use the machine in case I don’t come back. I put on my red robe and my yellow scarf and begin the walk north.

So many villages are depleted of people. In some villages, everyone is gone. In one village, there is a babe. Since we had not come for so long, it is almost a year old. It is fat and round and healthy. When I prick its blood and put it on the machine, the machine comes up two sequences green, two sequences red.

I prepare the poison, as I was taught. I take the mother’s hands and recite the script. She bows her head and says thank you. I dip my finger in the poison and hold the babe in my arms. I looked at the babe. Two sequences green, two sequences red.

Two sequences green, two sequences red.

I turn to the mother, my finger in the air. I deviate from the script.

“What is your code?”

She looks startled.

“Your code?” I ask. “Your sequence? Are you four? Or three?”

“I am three,” she says. “I’m sorry, I am only three.”

I look at her. She is healthy. She is round and well-fed and full of vitality. So is the child.

Two sequences green, two sequences red.

Jas was four sequences. Everyone who has died was four sequences. I was three code sequences green. One red.

I hand the mother back the babe. I wash my finger of the poison. She understands what I am about to do. That I will not put the babe down. We do not speak of it. She is afraid that if we do, I will change my mind. I have broken the only law of the Way that has been understood to be unbreakable.

As I go from town to town, doing the count, I ask every healthy person what their count is. They are all three for four. I make a decision to pass all babes no matter if they are red or green. With no one to stop me, since I am alone on the road and I am the Counter, none went down.

Something is wrong. The sequence is wrong. The code is wrong.

When I get back to Sandig, I am now the lead Counter. There are only four Paters left.

“What do we do?” they ask me. The ones that are left, Pat, Dug, Jig, and Mel are older than me, but I am now the one to look up to.

“In the texts, there are sometimes answers.”

I went into the SciTexts. I go all the way back. To the beginning.

Some pages crumble at my touch. Some pages are like Jas said, incomprehensible. But one day, some parts of different pages make sense together.

Due to mass transgenic cross-pollination and the insertion of genes into the genome of food crops, unintended effects have begun to express themselves in the human host, and the way that mutations affect the function of the crops own genes are unpredictable….We have reached a tipping point, and the development of unknown toxic components make it impossible for humans to properly metabolize proteins in the following crops: corn, soy, alfalfa, wheat…. Many other food stuffs may have been affected. The amount of cross-pollination is at 98% in all crops…. As of this date, within twenty-five years, we expect a mass population loss of five billion+ due to famine from the inability of humans to digest and process these food crops…. Research indicates that genotyping those with markers for the novel mutations TFDE109, TFDE110, TFDE111, and TFDE112 and crossbreeding the remaining human survivors with the aim of ensuring that those born have a minimum of three, preferably four, mutations, should allow for human survival…. Short-term solution includes breeding for the mutations…. Signs indicating the toxicity of crops until correct mutations have been expressed is an option…. Literacy cannot be counted on as a means of communication…. Note: There is, however, a high probability that, in the future, there will be a shift back, and at that time the mutations TFDE109, TFDE110, TFDE111, and TFDE112 will be detrimental to human metabolism…. The timescale of this process cannot be estimated, since projections cannot be made due to the inability to control crossbreeding of plant species in the wild.

I have my answer. I walk out of the room. I walk to the gates and I open them.

“What are you doing, Geo?” people ask.

“Close the gate, Geo,” people say.

“The Romas will come!” people say.

I go to each field on the outskirts of Sandig and I pick what was there. I ignore the signs and take the things that grow that we have believed are poison. The things that the Romas ate all the time and sometimes lived and sometimes died. I put them in my pack and I bring them back to the town.

I will make everyone try to eat everything.

I will make sure that no more babes are ever put down again.

I will find Minerve and be with her.

I will spread the word.

And that will be the new Way.

DYSTOPIAN LITERATURE FOR YOUNG ADULT READERS IS enjoying a surge in popularity these days—which, in turn, has prompted a veritable flood of newspaper and magazine articles attempting to explain why . Some people argue it’s because today’s teens are inheriting a world plagued by problems of a global scale unknown to previous generations. A taste for dark, dystopian tales, they say, is simply a natural response to growing up amid the great disasters of our age: 9/11, Hurricane Katrina, the Indian Ocean tsunami, the Japanese and Haitian earthquakes, the BP oil spill, the melting of the polar ice caps, etcetera, etcetera.

But other people point out that this is nothing new; every generation has its disasters and apocalyptic fears. The two of us grew up, for example, with “duck-and-cover” drills in elementary school to “prepare” us for nuclear attack…while our parents lived through childhoods shaped by the ravages and aftershocks of World War II. For as long as dystopian books have existed, generations of readers have been devouring them—although in the past, when the Young Adult publishing field was a whole lot smaller than it is today, teens usually had to raid the Adult fiction shelves in order to find it.

Of all the explanations proffered for why teen readers respond so strongly to dystopian/postapocalyptic tales, we like Scott Westerfeld’s the best. Scott, of course, is the author of the Uglies series—which are books that, along with Suzanne Collins’s The Hunger Games , deserve a large slice of credit for establishing YA dyslit as a genre to be reckoned with. In an essay for “Dystopia Week” on the Tor.com Web site, Scott said: