Birthday Gifts

Nothing burned like sunshine on skin scrubbed raw with lye soap and steel wool. Traders were coming to West this morning. Display was to begin just before the second feed. Dune cringed when Bell’s rough hands turned him around to inspect his face and hair. Before his bath, she had given him a portion of her morning meal as a gift for what was considered the start of his twentieth year. This was not how he wanted to celebrate.

Satisfied, she tugged his earlobe and walked away so he could dress. He stared at her back, wondering why she offered privacy now and why her cheeks were enflamed. Only moments ago, she had scrubbed his back and picked sand from his scalp as she had in preparing for every Display since they’d lost their ma.

This was when he really missed Ma Mae. It had been so many seasons since he’d last seen her, but her loss still weighed on him.

Mae was never supposed to be in West. She wasn't assigned to the compound or brought in as a youngling like the rest of them, but instead, dug her way beneath the fence. The elders had gathered around her for days, bombarding her with questions; for someone to break into a compound was unheard of. Soon they realized why she had come, and all rallied to protect her. She’d sought refuge and they’d provided it for a little beyond four seasons.

For a long time after her removal, Dune had struggled. He’d checked the fence line for weeks, hoping for a sign she had tunneled her way back in. When he finally stopped looking for her, heartbreak crushed him. Taking care of Bell had taken all his time and energy. Though he was sorry for her pain, he’d been grateful for the distraction. Exhaustion chased away his final memories of Ma Mae and the youngling she’d called Tad.

Dune shrugged on a thin hemp shirt and pants; winced as the material rubbed across his sensitive skin. He knew, for a fact, he’d never been as rough on her. Bell seemed angry. He wished she could speak. He hardly remembered the sound of her voice. On days like today, he would much rather have heard her flinging obscenities, than lashing out with the steel wool.

“I’m ready,” he said, lifting the scratchy material from his shoulders, and wishing the air was cooler.

Bell turned and appraised him. Her lips were drawn, accentuating her scars. He remembered how she’d screamed when the elders cauterized the wounds on her cheeks. He couldn’t imagine what the experience must have been like, and told himself he would have just let them take what they wanted, but he knew it was a lie. The mutants would have had to kill him. He’d yet to find out why they wanted her tongue, but hers was one of many they took that day.

Her eyes were empty as they roved over him, inspecting her work. Her nod of approval was slight, a movement that could have been missed if he had blinked.

Bell tapped her wrist. Wrist timepieces were of The Before. Dune had never seen one, but the same meaning held true: it was time to go. Bell pulled the latch and pushed the cabin door to the side, holding onto the handle as it swung open. She climbed down the rope he’d secured to the door; dropping the final five feet. She landed in one of the few remaining patches of grass within the compound, sprouting beside the bottom unit.

What they called home was a shipping container yard. Row after row of 20’ and 40’ dry containers stacked four and five high. Each with holes cut strategically in the sides to allow for light, but block moisture. Rain was rare, but when it came, it was usually a downpour. When needed, flaps of discarded rubber and plastic materials were used to cover the windows.

Dune scanned the rows of homes and the dirt and gravel pathways between them. He reached for the knotted rope to begin his descent. He was already sweating, and the sun had barely crested the bald mountains. The hot season was miserable, and it lasted longer each time it came around. He’d once seen a picture book showing a girl jumping from a rope into a deep hole of water. He wished he could do that now. He’d never seen a pool of water large enough to cover his body. His only glances of life beyond the fence came during Displays, the only time anyone was allowed outside the gate.

Their water was in troughs and barrels, filled occasionally by rain, but mostly by the traders on the eves of Display, to ensure all strays on the line were thoroughly cleaned. Dune suspected it was more to keep them from dirtying their hands, than for the good of the strays. Also, of course, the better the selection, the higher the chance for status, and the greater the reward for the trader, at least that's what he'd been told. He'd never gotten an answer when he questioned what that meant for Strays.

He shielded his eyes from the sunlight and looked at the parched land. Heat blurred the horizon, but he could just make out a shiny object moving quickly toward them. Dune groaned. It was the Collection Unit. Below, Bell motioned for him to climb down as a crowd was beginning to form, moving as one toward the entrance. How easily she assumed the posture of a Ma, head to the side, fingers thrumming her hand-clenched waist. From Dune's perch, five units up, the strays reminded him of a colony of ants, one of the few insects he'd seen at West, moving together the way water moves around rocks.

Few gray heads bobbed along in the group. There weren’t many left in the compound, and they were too valuable to chance being taken. Without the elders and mas there would be no one to teach them letters and numbers, tell them stories, or take care of the sick.

Last cold season, there was a sweep just before the first snow, cleaning out the old and sick strays to make room for new arrivals. Dune wasn’t exactly sure what’d happened to them, but he suspected it wasn’t good. Those removed didn’t fight, but the Handlers still gagged their mouths, bound their hands and feet with rope, and mutants tossed them into the back of a collection unit, one on top of the other. They couldn’t scream, many too old and tired to resist, but their eyes bulged.

“Dune, come on! They're coming! It’s ‘doption Day! And it’s your birthday!” A red-headed boy, in his fifth year, jumped up and down beside Bell.

Dune grinned and swung around the side door, climbing down the rope. He'd hardly steadied himself on the ground when Jaxx grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the others. Dune turned to Bell, who hadn’t moved from beneath the swinging rope.

“I’ll be back in a little while, Bell. You’ll see.”

The stoic expression she’d worn all day, drooped into a frown. Her eyes were watery as she looked away.

“I won’t leave you, Bell.”

She shook her head, dismissing his empty promise and tapped her wrist again. He tried to smile at her, but she turned and walked into Ma Mae’s old home without a parting nod.

“Dune! Let’s go! I want to get ‘dopted!”

Dune squatted in front of the boy. “Jaxx, be still. You can't jump around. They won't like that. Act like a big boy. And you can’t talk. Remember that!”

Jaxx laughed and leaned in until their noses touched. Dune couldn’t help but laugh, too. “Don’t do that either,” he said. “You don’t want your eyes crossed.”

“I know. I know. Ma Sim has told me over and over I have to be a statue.” Jaxx snapped upright and stared into the distance, holding his breath. The air burst out with a rush of words, “See? I can do it! I’m a statue!”

Dune considered the slight boy, watching his expressions more than listening to his words. One could be deaf and understand him clearly as the words danced from dimple to dimple. Jaxx loved everyone. Dune frowned, pulling Jaxx to the side.

“Jaxx, I really need you to listen to me. You must be serious and quiet. If you cannot do that, I’m going to take you back to Ma Sim.”

“Noooooo!” Jaxx said.

“None of that either!” Dune tightened his grip on Jaxx’s arm and shook him gently.

“Okay, Dune. I won’t make a sound. I won’t. I want to be ‘dopted, so I won’t talk or move so they will pick me.”

Dune stood and looked back toward Ma Mae's, hoping to send Bell a reassuring smile, but she was not there. He wondered if she was hiding something. It wasn't like her to be in such a foul mood.

Seeming to read his mind, Jaxx asked, "Is Bell coming?"

Dune squinted. "I don't think so."

"Oh," Jaxx replied, "But I won't get to tell her good-bye."

"Come on, kid, you don't want to miss your chance to get out of here," Dune said and attempted to smooth down the top of Jaxx's rebellious, red hair.

"I hope I get a family with other kids. And I hope they have a house with a bed just for me and a place to play outside. It's ok if I don't have a bed, I can sleep on the floor like I do here. I don’t mind that. Ma Sim told me to be grateful no matter what happens. Do you think I will be 'dopted?" Jaxx didn't wait for response and continued to chatter as they returned to the line. "Ma Sim showed me a picture of something you can eat called ice cream. She said she tried it once. It's cold and it's sweet like the honey we steal from the stinger bugs. And you can eat the crunchy little bowl they put it on. I can't wait to get some! That will be the best day ever!”

Dune smiled. Had he been like that as a youngling? Everything beyond the perimeter fence was unknown. For Jaxx’s sake, he hoped being ‘dopted was really true.

A loud, mechanical screech quieted the crowd as the transports lined up on the other side of the gate. Dune reached for Jaxx, but the boy was gone. The crowd squeezed together, pressing toward the door. Dune searched for Jaxx, pushing through the crowd, thankful for his strength and height. He hadn’t meant to get close to the gate, but his search for the youngling had him pinned in the front of the line. A sharp clank and rattle of chains signaled he wouldn’t have time to retreat. He hadn’t found Jaxx, but he had found himself face to face with a guard and an extra-large mutant poised to open the gate.

Dune dropped his hands to his sides. His next step could change his life or lead to its end. Clammy fingers clutched his, pressing something hard and cold into his palm. He closed his fingers around the item and looked over to see Bell stepping back. She released his hand just as the gate opened. He barely had enough time to roll the heart-shaped pendant beneath the waist of his pants before a chain was looped around his neck, connecting him to a lead gripped by the fat fist of the mutant.

Dune stumbled across the gravel to the Display platform. A line of guards stood ready to catch any runners. Behind them, a gang of mutants paced, partially on all fours. Their knuckles dragged across the dry soil, stirring up dust that coated their drool-covered chins and the oversized scales of their bare chests. They smelled worse than the defecation pits.

Happy Birthday to me, he thought.