The Luminosity Series (Book 1): Luminosity Page 6

  “Everyone else?”

  “The ones who don’t have assigned duties… the homeless… the people who deny themselves that… privilege?”

  “Isn’t that obvious by now, Ms. Adams?” She raised an eyebrow. “Trust me, I’ve seen it happen a few times before. People get this wild idea they can escape the borders thinking they’ll have a better chance at surviving on their own out there. Who the hell are they kidding? The military always finds them, dead somewhere. Why do you think the borders exist? Just to keep the war and rebellion out? Hah! No. It’s saving people from themselves. That’s what,” the woman rambled on as we passed several rooms of sick patients. She appeared to be of middle age, in her mid to late forties, only glancing back at me once or twice between speaking. She was serious, strict, and meticulous, the do-everything-by-the-book type. Surely we wouldn’t agree on things. And as I lagged behind her past the trauma unit, I cringed as I recalled my stay here the night of the accident. Much of the hospital still looked the same, with its white walls and floors, once reflective of the blinding fluorescent light flourishing the hallway. Only now, shadows afflicted its once bright appeal. Every inch of this hospital brought back memories, and suddenly I wished I had been assigned to the fields.

  “But why does it even matter if they leave? They’re going to die eventually anyway,” I said, running to catch up to her. She spun around in a sigh.

  “No one gets out of this without paying their dues. It’s the law. If they don’t receive assigned duties, they’re taken to a different territory where they can be of service. The territory leaders don’t just let them die. But if they continue to resist, they’re sentenced to the prison camps to be executed. We try to help them come to their senses, but… some people would rather take the easy way out than help work toward a new future. They become ambitionless, resistant, and disobedient. And that, Ms. Adams, is why they are punished. Regardless of resources, everyone has a role to play in this. There aren’t enough of us to keep a civilized society functioning. The more people that participate, the more resources are produced, and the better our chances. The rebellion is what threatens our survival, not the territories,” she explained. I swallowed. Even though I already understood, I still couldn’t find agreement in it.

  “But the more people there are, the more resources are needed… the more people will suffer…” I said in confusion.

  “Which is why we produce more than we consume. It’s why we must limit civilian resources. The only ones who suffer are those who disobey the laws,” she said. I winced.

  “What did you say your name was again?” I asked, idling beside her. She turned and paused, her strawberry blonde hair aglow from the soft lighting above us.

  “My name’s Sonya. I’m the head nurse.” She reached out her hand. In a sudden dread, I hesitated as I shook it.

  Down the hall, a group of nurses and doctors rushed to prepare a room for emergency surgery. The words “attempted escape” were muttered, and that was all I needed to hear.

  “It’s Aubrey, right?”

  Distracted by chaos and shouting, I snapped my head back and nodded to Sonya as she tirelessly directed me in the opposite direction.

  “We perform several duties here. And we expect you to take full responsibility for our patients. Their lives are in your hands, so we need one hundred percent cooperation regarding safety standards. Things can go wrong all at once. That’s why the National Guard is here if a panic, riot, or other related event should arise. And sometimes we have to make difficult decisions. But we trust you use good judgment when making those calls, even if it goes against your moral obligations. Is this understood, Aubrey?” she asked.

  “Yes,” I replied, blinking fast.

  “Excellent. Now, since today is your first day, I’m putting you upstairs in the maternity ward where it’s less chaotic,” she said as we continued toward the elevator. I froze upon hearing her words.

  “Maternity ward? I thought there were laws against having children?” I asked.

  “We get that reaction a lot. Sometimes I’m surprised that it still exists. But don’t worry, we don’t take in as many newborns nowadays. Not since the new laws were passed. But you see… their laws can’t prevent children from being born, even if they punish the mothers and fathers who bear them. As sad as it is, I like to think the sight of their little faces reminds us how precious life really is,” she said with a hopeful smile as she pressed the arrow button on the wall. I let out a silent breath in disbelief of her words.

  As we ascended, I swallowed back my anger. I tried not to be obvious, but a fire was rising in me, along with the guilt of my mother’s association. A hint of concern lingered on her face as she glanced at me out of the corner of her eyes. But I couldn’t return the glance.

  After taking my first step onto the fifth floor, I expected to see fake smiles and cheerful, bright colors. Instead, the familiar bland walls and shiny floors encompassed me as I followed Sonya to one of the nurse’s stations. Many of the lights were off within the hospital to conserve power. The faint, purplish glow of daylight shined through the polarized windows in each room, lighting our way. To my left was a door labeled “Emergency Exit - Access to Basement Only.” Only then did my suspicion over it cause me to wonder in what cases it might be used for. Then, as if to snap me out of obscurity, I jumped as two doors swung open from the far end of the floor. Through them, a team of guards escorted a woman from her room. She was hysterical, her face beet red with fear as her screams pierced through the walls. Her thick brown hair plastered in sweat to the sides of her confused face. When the guards grabbed her, her weak body trembled as she plummeted toward the middle of the hallway by their forceful shove, still dressed in a hospital gown.

  “No! Where are you taking me? You can’t do this! That’s my baby in there! Give her back!” she shrieked, thrashing at them with her diminishing strength. Sonya darted toward them as two nurses appeared from another room. I stood in horror as they injected the woman’s arm with a large blue needle. It must’ve been a calming agent—the same calming agent they gave civilians back in Grand Junction.

  As she drifted off, her desperate expression clung to my fearful glance. I backed up against a wall, raising a hand to my face, as if to shield me from her beaming sight. Fighting to catch my breath, her body slowly slid to the floor, the guards handcuffing her before lifting her into a wheelchair. Dread filled my eyes as they passed me by. Soon after, Sonya stood before me again.

  “I didn’t mean for you to witness that on your first day, but I suppose it’s better you know, than don’t,” she said with a heavy sigh. “Every once in a while, we get the dosage wrong and one of them wakes up before they’re transported.”

  “Transported?”

  “The mother is sent to a facility where our territory leaders decide her punishment. Assuming the father hasn’t already been captured from attempted escape, he’s brought to the same facility. Those are our orders,” she said.

  “What kind of punishment?” I asked.

  “They’re disqualified from the colony selection for disobeying the law. But in most cases, they end up in prison camps depending on the capacity. Otherwise, they’re taken to the euthanasia facilities where they’re put away,” she explained.

  “Put away? You mean killed? But what happens to the children?” I asked, unable to regain control of my breathing. Sonya sighed again.

  “If they’re healthy, the babies are sent to a special pediatric unit to decide if their lives can be funded. Sadly, due to conditions and lack of resources, most of the newborns don’t make it past a few weeks. Our supplies here are too limited, and demand is too high. Everything available to the public is documented. If they see we’re using more than we’re supposed to, well… our benefits get cut to compensate. It’s a hard balancing act. Sometimes our workers give up their benefits to help spare these poor infants. But it’s not enough to save them all,” she said.

  “But those children are innocent. Ho
w can they be allowed to do this?” I asked with wide eyes.

  “The parents are far from innocent. They brought them into this world illegally, irresponsibly. The death of those children is merely a consequence of breaking the law. Don’t you understand? Because of the war, our territories don’t have the capacity to accommodate new life. And as much as we need them, the birthrate must be regulated, or else we’d all die. Don’t forget that we’re the fortunate ones. We still live our lives with protection, with food, water, and shelter. But it comes with a price. We give up some of our rights to serve the whole. It’s the only way our future will be a success,” she said.

  “But… civilians are being used as bait, as—as slaves to prepare the colonies they might never get into. Now they’re letting future generations die? How is this helping our future?” I was out of breath as I fought her rapid pace. She spun around.

  “It takes a while to get desensitized to this, but you just have to. Just remember, we have these rules for a reason. People will die, even children, and we do everything possible to keep them alive, but sometimes there’s nothing we can do. Sooner or later, death is something we must accept,” she said. I continued to stare, unsatisfied with her response. She looked to me with pity, but her soft expression hardened before I could accept it. “I’ll go get someone to show you what you’ll be doing. Take a seat. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” She left me alone behind the empty desk.

  Anger tore through me. The world was dying, yet life for future generations was just beginning. Being born in this time was never their fault, but they’d suffer the consequences of being alive. We all would. Ending life would only bring about more suffering to an already dark world, more innocent souls lost to chaos and control. These children would never know the comfort of a warm bed, a full tummy, or even the pleasant soothing sound of a lullaby. They were the true victims, forced to open their eyes to darkness.

  After several moments of silence, a mellow cry echoed from a distance. I checked both ways before standing up, noticing guards blocking the exit doors in the far corners of the hall. I took a deep breath before wandering away from my chair, following the sounds of muffled wailing. Then, I stopped in front of the windows as I gazed at the array of newborns. Each were dressed in black and white to segregate their gender. Black for male, white for female. A few were marked with assigned numbers, most with red X’s. By now, everyone knew what an X meant. It was a label. It became an indication that something was damaged past the point of repair. For them, it implied death. And as I pressed my fingers up against the glass, I imagined their need—the demand for nurturing, for love and affection—a requirement that would never be fulfilled.

  8 BLACKOUT

  It wasn’t until later that evening I broke out of my despair. I whipped my head around, the wind howling through the open window. The implosion of particles pierced through the quiet room, splitting the vase into pieces on the floor behind me. Eager to stop the gusts, I yanked back the curtains to slam the window shut. Upon looking up at the darkening sky, vertigo took me. I blinked, regaining my balance before kneeling down to pick up the fragments scattered across the floor of the small hospital room—a space not much different than the one I recovered in after the accident. But before I could dispose of the broken glass, my wooziness returned. Shaky, brutal images raced through my memory from that night—my windshield cracked, the microscopic shards poking into my skin as Evan screamed my name. I wanted to wipe that night from my memory for good, but I couldn’t.

  I stumbled backward against the floor, retrieving my breath. Then, adding to my disarray, the lights in the hallway flickered.

  Within seconds, rapid chatter and footsteps rattled the floor. Between the gleams of light, nurses and volunteers scrambled in every direction. In the darkness, a red alarm flashed near the exit doors. My heart dropped as I shot up from the floor. Around me, panicked voices and cries of hospital patients rung in my ear. Newborns wailed from a few rooms away, the faint scream of a siren from far-off penetrating the windows as dirt and debris scratched up against the glass. Only when I cusped my hands against it could I see what was happening outside. In the distance, a sharp beam circled through the dusty air, guiding and signaling soldiers out of their watchtowers to prepare for an incoming windstorm. The beacon radiated through the window as it passed, blinding me in a lucent wave. And without warning, the lights went dark from one angle of the hall to the other in a domino effect. Then, the gleam of a flashlight stung my eyes.

  “Miss! Get into position, now! We will evacuate you into the vault once the staircases have cleared!” the guard demanded as he pushed me into the hallway. My body collided against the floor after I plunged forward, failing to catch myself. I recoiled from the pain as I crouched down next to the rest of the startled nursing staff along the wall. Guards gathered in the center of the hallway, equipped with their rifles ready. I gulped back the air as I squinted my eyes, placing my hands behind my collar.

  “There’s been a breach! Get them underground, now!” one of the guards yelled. I leaned my head back up. The only thing lighting up the halls now was the dim glow of the swirling auroras coming through the windows. With the wind, they spiraled in the sky like vortexes, reflecting through the glass.

  After five minutes of enduring shouts, sirens, and howling blasts, I was pulled to my feet by a guard. I fought to catch my breath again, looking in every direction as we evacuated to the fully occupied staircase that led into the basement. Desperate cries came from the opposite direction. Fear for the infants took over me in an instant. And once the guard was out of sight, I spun around to face the girl behind me.

  “What should we do about the newborns?” I asked within the continual chaos. Her face froze in distress as she stood there, ignoring me, as if she were incapacitated. “Hey! Isn’t someone going to do something?” My eyes widened as her silent fear persisted.

  “It’s not up to us,” she answered carefully, nodding to the guards in annoyance.

  “Somebody has to help them. We can’t leave them up here if their lives are endangered.” The girl looked furious.

  “And if you think you’re the one to do it, you’re crazy. You disobey their commands, you’ll end up just like your mother,” she said.

  “What did you say to me?” I gave her a surprised glare.

  “Everyone here knows who you are, Aubrey. Your mother’s reputation isn’t something the people here have forgotten,” she said.

  “Who are you?” But before she answered, I caught her piercing glimmer of dread again. Her hair resembled the color of hazelnut, a caramel brown with golden tones that shined within the flashlights of an approaching soldier.

  “Turn around,” she snapped in a hush whisper.

  “This row, into the stairwell!” the guard ordered as the front of our line shuffled forward.

  After descending five flights of stairs, we worked our way through a narrow corridor that led to a steel door resembling a bank vault. The cement walls housed a series of battery-powered lights, keeping the room visible to our unadjusted eyes. Between them, several slots opened into bunk beds, and beside the bunks were an array of lockers filled with food, water, and blankets. The sight of it made me panic as I contemplated how long we might be stuck down here.

  Near the entrance, a red light was blinking, signifying there was an emergency. Above it was a green bulb, dark and unlit. Only then did it make sense to me. This was an underground evacuation bunker, built by our very own military to serve as a temporary distress room during emergencies.

  “Alright, listen up! You will stay here until we receive the safety command to release you. There’s been a security breach at the border, most likely triggered from the storm, but we must obey protocol. Many of our town’s back-up generators have failed, so as a necessary precaution, we will remain in lockdown until the wind dies down and we can secure the perimeter. In the meantime, keep calm and get comfortable. You might be here for a while,” a soldier yelled, standing in
the murky shadows of the doorway. A series of groans came from the hospital staff. I attempted a head count, but amidst the shadows, it was impossible. And of all the people around me, I didn’t recognize a soul.

  I let out a heavy breath as I dropped my shoulders, squeezing my way through crowds of rattled workers. Most of them appeared calmer now, but were still shaken by the sudden turn of events. Outraged, I recalled the infants left upstairs. The hospital’s lack of concern repulsed me. And not even the slightest bit of resentment showed on the other nurse’s faces, which made it even worse.

  After making it to an open corner, I leaned my back up against the cool, dark wall. I stared into the emptiness past my feet. But just as I closed my eyes to the commotion, a shadow of a girl came rushing toward me. And before I could recognize her, her quavering voice spoke my name.

  “Aubrey! Is that you?”

  Before me stood Janelle, once my best friend. Her familiar hazel eyes were hidden in the dim light, but her wavy auburn hair cascaded against her porcelain skin, exposing her identity. Before the collapse, Janelle wasn’t like most girls. She was rebellious in her own way, often using her own quirkiness as an excuse to challenge the status quo. But she never let her oppositions bring her down. Now, I wasn’t sure how much would be left of her.

  “Janelle?” Relief rushed onto my face before she even had to answer. And when I stood up from the wall, I reached out and gave her a hug, holding back tears.

  “I heard the rumors about you being back, but I didn’t believe them. I’ve been trying to find you ever since, but I rarely get assigned night duty. How are you?” She wiped a tear as she smiled. After the relief passed, it took a few moments to finally accept it was actually her. After the announcement, I assumed I’d never see her again. I assumed she’d try to escape.

  “I’m—I’m okay, I guess. How about you?” But I was shaken by the concerned chatter surrounding me.