Young Writers Society

The screams from the executions still rang in the man’s ears.

Even though they said it was necessary, a last resort, they still sent chills up and down his spine. Some would be afraid to be outside, but he wasn’t. No one would be brave enough to walk up to him now with the whites of his eyes tinted blue and his skin on the verge of looking papery. It was moving quickly, and they would just leave him to his peace. Why was it moving quickly? He didn’t know. He was supposed to be one of the strong ones, one of the people to restore society, one of the crumbs. That’s why he was one of the few still breathing, even if his breaths were shallow now.

He didn’t want to think of the screams and all that. He reminded himself of who he was and what he was doing. My name is Dillion. He trudged down a garbage-filled street toward the tallest building at the center of the city, Arcadia Incorporated. He could see their neon green logo through the yellow-brown haze across the sky: a triangle, and within an old school circuit board, a human, and a mountain range. The man scoffed at the sight, they never kept any of their promises. But could he entirely blame them? They lied, yes. But the people also didn’t listen to their truths.

He looked around and scoffed again, but his expression of distaste was wiped from his features as he fell into a violent coughing fit that left him on his knees. He began to vomit. He thought about doing it in one of the garbage bags, but what did it matter? The city was already a wasteland, and it was unlikely that anyone would come within a two-hundred-mile radius of the place; the haze was the worst there, and he couldn’t imagine what it was doing to his lungs. The only reason he was there was because he already had It and he wanted to make sure that Charlie would be okay for at least a couple of weeks after he was gone.

Charlie left three days ago with only three heavy-duty tanks to find food that wasn’t already contaminated with It or to find a medicine that combats It. Dillion noticed his symptoms two days ago. He hoped that Charlie left in time.

He had been walking for the past thirty minutes, after collapsing on the trek the day before, to find more tanks and whatever else could be useful to Charlie.

Charlie, who he would never look in the eyes again.

Charlie, who he would never hug again.

Charlie, who he would never ever see again.

Dillion had recovered from his fit and was nearly to the doors of Arcadia Incorporated after much staggering. No one had announced anything that he heard, so he assumed that the kidnappings and executions were over now and the Arcadians fled somewhere far. Or died.

When he opened the door and found the place empty, he knew he was right about one of them. The place made his skin prickle, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. He thought he felt a spider with spindly legs creeping across his back so he slapped a shaking hand to it, but it was just his paranoia. That building was where the executions were held somewhere in the lower levels, the screams were even heard in the outer limits. The live executions were private, but afterward, when there was still power, they would broadcast the pit filled with red and crumpled forms. “It’s for the well-being of society,” they said. “We must be rid of the weak so we can be strong,” they said. “You are our only hope of society's survival,” they promised. But where had that gotten them?

Everyone in Dillion’s sector seemed to be sick. Their numbers, which already began with so few, were dwindling. When the sectors were first implemented by Arcadia Inc. it didn’t take more than a week for all the other sectors to die out. Dillion knew those in his sector were the last people on the planet. The strong they said? The only hope they said? Lies!

What had they taught them to restore their utopia? Was it ever a utopia? Why did they initially kill sixty percent of the population? Why did they kill his little Maple? She was Mom’s everything. And when they killed Maple, they killed her too. She couldn’t stand life without her.

Life without loved ones is what was taking many in his sector, but Dillion promised Charlie he wouldn’t leave. Though, now, he was dying, and he would have to leave anyway. He wished he could have done something then, but then the sectors were introduced, everyone else died, and his small sector was no match for the number of employees at Arcadia Incorporated.

He shook himself from his thoughts and followed a sign that said it led to the labs. He found himself looking down a hall of doors. He opened the first to the left, which was scavenged empty. He tried the first to his right, but it was empty. He tried the second to his left, but nothing. Dillion was starting to feel hopeless. He wouldn’t find anything for Charlie, and he probably wouldn’t even be able to crawl back home to leave a note saying that he had It and that’s why he left. Not because he broke his promise.

He made it through all the doors in the hall, they were all empty, and slumped against the wall at the back that separated the left and right sides. He began to sob and wheezed for breaths in between. When his eyes cleared a little he looked at his hands, they were shaking more violently now and were significantly more blue than when he began his trek. The next place he was going to check was the storage units, those were in a sub-level, but he didn’t know if he wanted to attempt that anymore. It might be better to try and go home, that way he could at least have a chance at leaving a message. Charlie would have to find more tanks himself.

Dillion put his hands to his side to push himself up from the floor and begin limping back to the lobby. Between the first and second doors on the left, in the hall, there’s an alcove. He stopped to look at it, he saw it before, but now he saw something different. Behind the plant that was on a simple console table, he saw something gleaming silver.

He moved closer and nudged the plant to the side, behind it was a sign that said “Offices” and had an arrow that was pointed up. Why have a sign that shows the offices are upstairs and then cover it up? Dillion thought. His gaze followed the arrow directly up and there it was, close to the ceiling, a nick in the wall. A nick that comes with time. A nick that probably happened with one too many failed experiments. A completely insignificant nick.

But it was odd.

Dillion took a deep breath and exhaled which started up another coughing fit. He looked at his shaking hands which looked completely like paper now and even bluer then when he checked last. He'd been ignoring the chill he felt all day, but now it was unignorable. His teeth were beginning to chatter.

He really wouldn’t make it home to leave a note.

Seeing the nick and coming to that realization seemed like a sign. What sign? He didn’t know. But he was drawn to see what was beyond the nick, if there was anything. He struggled to stand up on the table and fell, but he tried again and succeeded. While balancing precariously on the table, he peered into the nick and saw a small button.

Very odd.

He pushed it, and the alcove began to spin. Dillion wobbled, and when it finished turning and had transported him to another room, he gave up on balance and fell to the ground coughing and spitting up greenish-brown liquids he wasn’t sure were supposed to be leaving his body.

Despite his anguish, the wall mechanism fed him a fond memory of when he and Maple were children. They used to watch those antique spy movies with walls just like that one. Before they grew up. Before the planet started dying. Before the war. Before things went from bad to worse, and from worse to worser.

Unlike all the rooms from the hall, this one was not scavenged to empty. This room had a long meeting table, whiteboards scattered with papers, boxes littering the floor like the garbage outside, and a couple of desks with papers stacked high. Dillion sat up against the wall, catching his breath.

Everywhere he looked, he saw the same series of letters and numbers: 1246-PJH-56PP. It was stamped on all the boxes and papers with an enthusiastic “Yes!” below it. The only place it wasn’t stamped was on a small stack of papers in the center of the meeting table, they were the only thing atop it besides champagne glasses and bottles of bubbly. He got up and stumbled toward it and vomited whatever was left in his stomach on the way, the motion was jarring. He flopped in a chair before the stack and pulled it to him. It reads as follows:

Dear lead researchers at location 172,

I, Dr. Manny Klein from location 93, hope this letter finds you all well. My lead researchers here have found a Possible in galaxy 1246 NE. We’ve been following it for nearly three weeks but didn’t want to inform anybody until we were more confident. So far, our tests have proved it habitable. There are still a few more minuscule tests to run, but we would like to utilize resources at your location to finish the job more efficiently. We recently got word that someone in Sector 1365-G snuck out of their limits and visited three other sectors. When he was apprehended and taken to detention, he threatened that when he got out, he would tell the other Sectors the truth that their sector wasn’t the only one left if we didn’t offer his family protection from the “executions.” He was neutralized, but I’m afraid we’re running out of time. We don’t know who he spoke to in those sectors. We already have those who have been “executed” in storage condos that are ready to be loaded onto ships. We’ve flushed their internal systems multiple times and tested their bloodstreams multiple times. We’re confident that anyone who had the ability to develop It has been flushed out through the process. We encourage you to spread the word to other locations to do the same. We were left with 20 percent of our subjects, which is good. We’ll be within our limit and not have to get any more blood on our hands. Our inculcating process has been going well. This time we’ll better control our subjects and our Possible. This time we will not make the same mistakes, we will create the ideal world. An incognito ship with a small research team should be arriving 2 days after you all have received this letter to finish our research and share our findings. We have high hopes this time. Let this letter be the mark of our new beginning. Let it record the birth of our utopia! (hopefully).

Cheers, 

Dr. Manny Klein

When Dillion finished reading the letter he was feeling lightheaded. Well, more lightheaded than he was before. Was he reading that right? They weren’t dead, possibly, Maple might be okay. But she and how many others were being…inculcated? What did that mean? They were put in condos to be taken on a ship to a “Possible.” A possible planet? His breaths quickened, another lie. They told them there were no planets society could flee to that were habitable that ships at their level could get to. They said they left alive who were strongest, those that could restore the people's livelihood. It was all lies!

Dillion understood what was going on. Or had gone on? Everything within the room was veiled in dust. His breathing went into triple time. The shakes that were before limited to his hands began to spread to his body. He could only imagine how disgusting the rest of his skin looked, all blue and gossamer-thin. He felt the newly formed bumps rubbing against his clothing, the final stage. He wished he had more time. To confirm Maple was alive, to find people in other sectors, and to make Arcadia Inc. find a way to save them all. To tell them to try harder. Or at least tell the truth. But his time was out. If only he had this information before, the truth. What would he do? Warn the people to listen to them? To listen to their truths among their lies? He didn’t know…it was hard to think.

He couldn’t breathe anymore. His lungs were filled with the haze. The disease had run its course. His eyes were filled with tears. At least he would go knowing.

They abandoned almost half the population. They lied. He was not going to restore society. He was not the last hope. He was not strong.

He was weak.

Those in his sector were weak.

Those left on the planet were weak.

Dillion blinked. He thought about Charlie, Maple, and his Mom. He fell off his chair, no longer able to support himself. He tried his best not to let that one aching question into his mind. To die in peace. But he couldn’t help but wonder. 

Was this better for the well-being of society?

He wouldn’t find an answer. He managed to inhale one shaky breath and exhale it. He didn’t draw another breath again.