Tribute: Two
John’s truck bounces along the road, jostling Kenna as she tries to fish her ID out of the plastic pocket on her orange vest. They are almost at the checkpoint, a gray booth with tinted windows on all four sides. Yellow concrete pylons protect the edges from errant drivers. There are scrapes on the one nearest to them.
The brakes squeal as John roles to a stop. A woman in fatigues stands in the open door of the booth. Dark lense aviators stare back at them. A semi-auto hangs in front of her on a three-point harness. She holds out her hand. “Identification please.”
Kenna passes John her ID, and he passes them to the woman. The name sewn in blue on her chest says MAYNARD. She is not the one who was here before. The last group must have already been rotated out.
“Reason for leaving?”
“Hunting,” John says.
Maynard scans the IDs with the device in her hand. She nods. “Your licences are up to date.” She steps out of the booth and checks the bed of the truck. She is a lot shorter than Kenna thought without the block of concrete the booth is built on, but she can see into the bed of the small pick-up just fine.
Out of the corner of her eye, Kenna watches Maynard pick up the tarp. All she’ll see is a pair of recurve bows and arrows with hunting tips. They aren’t allowed to have firearms, so hunters settle for bows and crossbows. Kenna’s and John’s were made by the lab tech at her mother’s clinic. It’s a hobby of his, and he gets to earn a little cash on the side. The cops don’t care too much because they all know him.
Maynard hands their IDs back. “Enjoy your time, you two. Be back through this checkpoint by eight thirty, and we won’t have a problem.”
They both nod and John puts his foot to the gas.
“Have you ever thought about not going back?” Kenna says. She knows why she asks, but tells herself she doesn’t know. They aren’t actually going to run away. This conversation is just harmless. The radio is probably listening anyway.
John doesn’t take his eyes off the road. “No. I’ve got family back there. Besides, where would I go? Some burnt out old ruin from before the war? I couldn’t even follow the main roads, or use this truck. It’s pointless. If I ever turned up in town, they would catch me and execute me. To be honest, I wouldn’t be surprised if we have trackers implanted in us somewhere.”
While the tracker idea seems far-fetched to her, she couldn’t see any reason for leaving besides losing a child to the government. Except she wasn’t having kids. John might. It didn’t surprise her that he had abandoned his rebellious ideas they used to discuss where they could not be heard. He was now a member of society. He was a productive contributor. Is there anything else they could want?
To never fear losing your sister.
Kenna focuses on the tires crunching gravel as John turns into the designated hunting area. Those thoughts are unnecessary. She will be fine.
”Kenna?”
”Yes.”
”After the announcement, do you want to have dinner together, just the two of us? You know, if everything is okay?”
She feels a tightening in her stomach, then a queasiness. “We eat together all the time.”
John glances at her. “I mean, not just as friends. Like a date.”
She needs to tell him now. Kenna has known John since they were toddlers. It wasn’t like she was going to be shot for it either. The government didn’t care you screwed as long as it was consensual. And if you were an adult, legal.
But what if this was just a phase, or gender didn’t matter? What if the red haired girl was the only one she would ever fantasize about? She’s never kissed a girl before. What if that was the deal breaker? And why did the doubts have to smash into her now on today of all days?
Kenna sighs. “John, I don’t want to tell you this, but I don’t feel the same way.”
”I see.”
”I understand if you don’t want to hang out anymore after today.”
”We’ll see what happens after the announcement.”
John pulls into the little gravel lot and parks. No one else is here. Kenna didn’t really expect company. As it is, they will only be spending a couple of hours in the woods.
She slings her quiver across her back and grabs her bow from John. Kenna follows him into the woods with little doubt she has ruined his morning. This little outing was to help relieve the stress they both feel, but the knot in her stomach only tightens.
#
They caught nothing.
Both Kenna and John were too tense, too stressed, to be effective hunters. Arrow after arrow missed its mark. She knows she sucked. She blamed being distracted. Kenna spent the whole time thinking of ways to reconcile with John without leading him on. It didn’t help he barely looked at her.
Kenna plops down on the couch next to her mother and Rosalyn. She is showered with makeup on her face. She smooths her black pencil skirt and straightens the collar on her short sleeve white blouse. Rosalyn is dressed the same except her skirt is pleated.
Olivia smiles, but it’s strained. She looks like she didn’t sleep, let alone go to bed. “Remember, one in a million. We’ll be fine.”
Yes, but Kenna could be the one, or Rosalyn. Kenna grips her mother’s hand.
Rosalyn hangs onto their mother’s arm.
The TV turns on by itself.
It’s a close up of a man. He smiles at the screen with bleach white teeth, a microphone held just before his face. His dark hair is parted and sprayed into place, and his skin is painted to look perfect. “Hello, Ladies and Gentlemen. It’s tax time again, and you know what that means, the annual Tribute Trials.”
The camera backs away to reveal a raven haired beauty looking equally manicured. Her black suit is tailored and her teeth are just as white. Standing next to each other on stage, Kenna can tell they have the same bone structure. They both could have been pressed out at the same factory.
”I’m Carmen Wilson,” she says.
”And I’m Will Carson,” the first announcer says.
”And we’ll be this year’s Trial announcers,” they say in unison.
It’s official. They creep out Kenna.
”Now, I know last year’s trial was a little anti-climatic with that high school freshman hiding out until he was the last one left.” Will grimaces, but there is still a hint of a smile in the corners of his mouth. “We promise this year will be exciting.”
Carmen nods, an eager look on her face. “So, who is ready to announce this year’s contestants?”
”I know I am.”
The upbeat tone of their voices sent a shiver down Kenna’s spine. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Rosalyn hug their mother’s arm tighter.
”Then let us see who is our first contestant?”
A blonde girl who can’t be older than Kenna walks out on stage and hands Carmen an envelope. Carmen holds it in her empty hand. “All right,” she says as she raises the flap. She slides a card out. “Our first contestant is Michael Collins.”
Michael is the son of a mayor from some podunk town in the Nevada desert. The screen behind Will and Carmen changes from stylized graphics to a shot of a door. A reporter stands with her back to the camera. The door opens and a woman looks from the reporter the audience, her eyes fixating on the camera. They are wide and vacant. She has already withdrawn. It is an expression Kenna sees every year, and she will see it twenty three more times before the broadcast is over.
”Mrs. Collins, how does it feel to have your son chosen for this year’s trial?” the faceless reporter asks. She sticks the microphone in Mrs. Collins’ face.
Mrs. Collins says nothing. Her eyes are wet, glossy. She blinks and they fall. Two men in black suits appear in camera and shove past her. He shoulder bumps against the door frame.
The reporter faces the camera. She is cookie-cutter beautiful. Simultaneously stunning and forgettable. “Speechless as usual,” she says with a showbiz smile.
The men in black suits appear with a lanky teenager. He is shocked too, but the moment he reaches the door his expression changes. It turns pleading. “Mom. Mom. Please, say something.” His voice is strained, broken.
She doesn’t look at him. “I love you, Michael.” Her voice is barely above a whisper.
”Mom?” he says before the men drag him out of the frame.
The reporter’s eyes are glassy now. She is struggling to maintain her composure. “Back to you Will and Carmen.”
Kenna feels the knot in her stomach tighten as the daughter of a water service plant supervisor is led out. Her parents hug each other in the background. Next is a pair of cop kids. The father of the first one starts protesting, but there is a metallic click and he shuts up. Contestant five and six are the children of non-government paper pushers; the son of an accountant and the daughter of a movie theater manager.
The knot tightened. One more and they were next.
Carmen announces the son of a biologist from California named Sam Branwell. His father stands off to the side while Sam is led past. Mr. Branwell is quiet, but there is defiance in his eyes.
The screen cuts back to Will and Carmen. Carmen is already holding the envelope. “Now, let us see which young lady from Scientific Studies will be joining Sam.”
She lifts the flap, pulls out the card.
Kenna clutches her mother’s hand tighter.
”Rosalyn Evans.”
Olivia Evans screams and wraps Rosalyn in both arms. Rosalyn begins to sob. Kenna doesn’t even feel her mother’s hand tear away. The world has fallen away. Their luck ran out.
There is a knock on the front door. The world rushes back. Olivia and Rosalyn don’t move. Kenna understands, but if someone doesn’t answer the black suits will kick in the door. The have to sometimes. It won’t be new.
Kenna forces herself to stand. She moves toward the door, each step and effort. The distance feels like a mile. Kenna places her hand on the knob as they knock again. The door feels heavier than she remembers as she swings it open.
The reporter looks at the tablet in his hand. “You must be Kenna. How does it feel to have your sister chosen for this year’s trial?”
Kenna hears her sister and mother crying. It cuts her, digs into her very core. The air feels thick. It weighs her down and makes it difficult to breathe. Emotions fight through the shock. She prepares herself for tears, but anger burns away at the initial numbness. She wants to punch the smile of the reporter’s face. The presence of the men in black suits is the only thing stopping her.
A black suit tries to squeeze past her. She steps in their way. “You’re not taking my sister.”
The reporter’s composure waivers as he grasps for words to tell the camera, but the big man Kenna stares down doesn’t even flinch. He’ll shove her out of the way and drag her sister out if she doesn’t give him a reason.
Kenna smacks her hand to her chest and levels her eyes at the camera lens. Light glints off the glassy surface. It looks eerily like the vacant eyes of the parents on TV. The only living thing behind it is the camera man with the press badge clipped to his pocketed vest.
”I will take my sister’s place,” Kenna forces out. Every nerve shakes, but she holds her composure. She focuses on her ghostly reflection in the lens. “I, Kenna Evans, age seventeen, offer myself as tribute in place of Rosalyn Evans, age fourteen.” Her voice is shaking. Kenna is sure she looks like she is going to cry. “That is why you are not taking my sister. You are taking me instead.”
The reporter listens to his ear bud, his hand pressed to ear. He nods curtly. “Well, Kenna. It appears you are the first volunteer in two years. How does that make you feel?”
She almost goes cross eyed when he shoves the microphone in her face. “I just want to say good bye to my mom and sister first. Then I’ll go.”
Now the black suit next to her is the man listening to a device in his ear. He nods. “You may, but I’ll follow. You only have a few minutes.”
The distance back to the couch feels much closer than it did moments ago. Too close. She kneels down in front of her mother and Rosalyn. Rosalyn throws her arms around Kenna. Tears burn Kenna’s eyes.
”Don’t go. Please don’t.” The words barely make it through. They are wet and choked.
”I have to or they’ll take you instead.” She pushes Rosalyn out at arms length. Looks her in the eyes. “I love you. You have to become the best damn doctor ever. You hear me? Promise me.”
Rosalyn wipes at her eyes. She nods. “I promise. I love you too.” They embrace again and Kenna has to remind herself that she needs to hug her mom too. Letting go is like tearing a piece of her soul off. It’s absolute agony.
Kenna leans in to hug Olivia, but her mother grasps her shoulders. She makes Kenna look her in the eyes. They are intense, as if burning with a spark Kenna never spotted before. It scares her.
”I am proud of you. I want you to know that just in case you don’t come home. I wouldn’t change a thing about you. I’m lucky to have you as a daughter. Don’t you ever forget that. You and Rosie are my blessings. I love you. Remember that.”
The tears fall. They roll down Kenna’s cheeks and into her mother’s hair as they hold each other. Kenna will try to come home. She will try her best, but she won’t make any promises. Kenna doesn’t want to break their hearts anymore.
”I love you both,” she says one last time, an arm around each of them, before the man in black pulls her away by her shoulder. Rosalyn tries to follow, but her mother pulls her back to the couch. The sharp pain in Kenna's chest intensifies and chokes her. She can’t even sob.
The suit marches her past the reporter at the door. He’s speaking into the camera again.
”… what a wonderful moment. We hardly get such heartfelt good byes.”
She doesn’t know how he can do it. He’s either completely absorbed by the party line, drugged, or he’s been threatened. Even then, his enthusiasm does evoke a bit of awe. Positive or negative she’s not sure. The rest of her emotions are too whipped up at the moment for her to figure it out.
Another suit waits by the open door of a black van. Kenna can see the bulge of a gun at her hip. The tailored suit does wonders for her figure, but not for the concealed weapon.
Just as the big man leading her starts pushing her in the van, Kenna spots a black sedan down the street. She braces her arm against the door frame to gain her a few seconds. She sees the silhouette of two people through the windshield, but it’s too far for details. She’s never seen that car before.
The big suit shoves her. “Get in, kid.”
She complies, struggling with her pencil skirt. It really wasn’t made for being abducted by the government.
The female suit climbs in and sits next to her. They’re facing the front of the van. A metal grate separates them from the driver. The compartment is windowless and there are two seats facing them.
When the reporter finishes, he and the camera man sit across from her. The big suit squeezes in on her other side. His gun digs into her side. No one will look her in the eye.
The door slams shut.
< ONE / THREE >