All In

I break from shaving Nero’s head to feel my baby trying to kick his way out. At least I assume it’s a him, with the strength of a football player – or maybe a ballet dancer. Either way, thankfully, this little one is fierce and mighty.

Nero is watching me, blue eyes glistening, tears unshed. My actions, our unborn baby, both reasons to rejoice and live in fear. I cup his beautiful face, making sure that not a single stubble is missed – on his head or his face, taking extra care on the eyebrows. When I’m satisfied with my work, we trade places. My love is gentle and practiced with his technique.

There’s a warm breeze drifting through the window making the already sweltering apartment almost unbearable but we don’t dare open the drapes so just watch them flutter in the morning air.

Today is our third anniversary. Frivolous holidays are a thing of the past, though, so we don’t think much of it. I don my uniform and, despite the heat, one of Nero’s winter sweaters. I have to hide my bump.

Nero and I work at the Variant testing lab. We care for the animals; the literal lab rats... and dogs, cats, rabbits, monkeys; any living creature they bring us. We do our best to give them a comfortable life while scientists from all over the world work at reversing the effects of the 2021 vaccine.

“Good morning, Sunshine,” I whisper to a nervous beagle who managed to cover herself in feces during the night. “I’m Astrid. Let me clean you up” I coo, trying to settle her, showing that someone cares. I bathe and swaddle her, carrying her around the kennel to say “Hi” to the other animals. All are naked. All are frightened.

I return the dog, BD17, to her cage so I can feed everyone else. I would’ve loved to keep her at my side, but getting attached is a detriment. All of these animals; living, breathing, feeling souls are test subjects, only here until they die. Until we kill them while trying to save ourselves.

“You’ve put on some weight, Astrid!” Josie is a colleague; an acquaintance. Not a friend. In the old world, this would have been considered rude. Today people talk about anything they can to avoid the real issue. Once appearing so beautiful, Josie’s attractiveness was all a facade. Without hair, there’s nowhere to hide. Big ears, weak chins, lumpy skulls… all bared.

“Can’t help it. Nero’s the best cook in town”.

After lunch I sneak a short visit with BD17 (who I’ve nicknamed Beady) only to find her snuggled up under Nero’s lab coat. “She was shaking,” he makes an excuse. I would have done the same. Together, we return her to the cage when Josie approaches. She’s a lab assistant and spends a fair amount of time in here, so the intrusion, although unwelcome, isn’t surprising.

“See you later, Beady” I murmur into her floppy pink ear. Without fur you can see all the veins.

“Beady?” Josie’s eyebrows would have been raised if she had any. I shrug. Anything I say will only get me into trouble.

Nero is hovering over the dog. “Is that a… hair?” With care not to pinch the squirming pup, he picks up the strand, about three millimetres long and black, holding it up to the light. It was obvious at one glance that Beady hadn’t started growing her fur back - this was human.

Nero and I have always been so careful to destroy any evidence proving we are unvaccinated. Now one of us has lost a brow or knuckle hair, missed after five years of meticulous practice. We both understand that Josie has to make the call.

I turn towards her, trying to gauge her reaction; wondering if we could run, praying this tiny fibre isn’t the catalyst to losing my baby. She looks frozen, then faints. A small, heart shaped locket rolls out of her open hand as she hits the floor.

Anti-vaxxers are treated worse than murderers. Rumour has it that these prisoners are the next level lab rats, and I have no doubt it’s true. There were a dozen or so of us once. All have disappeared save for me and Nero.

Josie is unconscious; we could run. “Astrid, go! Save the baby.” Nero, always trying to rescue me. I can’t leave him, though. ‘Til death do us part.

I eye the locket, its chain tangled around Josie’s fingers, and wonder if I should peek inside. Nero is shaking his head, but I look anyway. It’s filled with tiny hairs. Eyelashes, I think. Many of the formerly vain have kept mementos of life when we could all fake our beauty. Not everyone took complete hairlessness and sterility in stride.

“We should go,” I say. It’s hit me, finally, how much trouble we’re in. I attempt to heft my enormous self off the ground but strong fingers pull me down.

“You’re pregnant,” Josie’s voice is barely audible. It’s not a question.

“What’re you going to do?” Terror has hijacked me. Nero is a statue, his face devoid of any expression.

An hour later we’re 30 kilometres from the lab. Josie borrowed the animal shuttle under guise of a rumoured raccoon sighting. The hatch is up and I’m leaning on my elbows, willing the rays of late summer sun to find their way through the brush and warm my face. Nero is pacing, twigs crunching under his feet. Josie is talking, animated. I can’t hear them, but I don’t want to. I rub a hand over my belly, hoping a gentle touch will calm the movement inside. In two months, I’ll give birth to the first baby this world has seen in years and instead of celebrating we have to go underground. We can’t quit our jobs. The days of career hopping are behind us, behind everyone. Work placements and housing are assigned now – chosen based on our skills and personalities. No one seems to mind - except us – but we assimilate. It’s life or death, so we march, we salute, we accept and we carry on.

Nero and Josie approach, and I brace myself for what’s to come.

“I have a safe place for you.” she says to me. Nero is behind her, grim faced, but nodding, so I listen to her lay out our plans.

“It’s not cozy, but it’s a community. There are doctors, scientists, artists, free thinkers … and children. Nero has the address. You’ll meet me there tonight”.

“What the Hell, Nero?!” We’ve had only each other for so long, the thought of someone else, one of THEM, knowing our secret is suicide. “We have to go. Now.”

“Astrid, there is nowhere to go.” He pulls me close, resting his hot lips on my forehead. It’s my sedative, his touch. “We will be of use – and we will be safe. For now,”.

So, I pack a bag. There’s not much. Make-up and shampoo are a thing of the past. Clothing is provided, specific to your workplace. Food is allocated daily so the pantry is empty. There’s no medication – a visit to the doctor would reveal our secret, so we deal with illness, injury and pregnancy the best we can without. We have nothing for the baby. Our entire lives fit in a backpack.

We near an abandoned subway station where Josie is waiting - not alone. I’m ready to bolt, but Nero has a firm grip. “It’ll be ok.” he whispers. As we draw closer, her companion approaches, arm outstretched, wordlessly asking Nero to shake his hand – to trust him. It’s dark, but in the moonlight I get a good look at his face, partially hidden by five o’clock shadow. For the first time in years, I let myself cry. I follow the stranger without fear, tethered to him by hope and nothing else.

Britt is his name. He shows us to our new residence - half of a subway car powered by a noisy generator. A bed, table, chairs and a few comforts complete it. The other half is separated by a curtain. We can hear some movement and murmuring and a woman pokes her head around. She has long, beautiful, red hair and she’s holding an infant. For the second time tonight, I allow myself to weep; to release the last five years of pressure; to really, truly, finally breathe.

“I’m Jessica and this is Jonah,” her tone is exuberant, not the flat, monotone dialect that has become commonplace above. She nuzzles baby Jonah as Britt peers around the curtain. He’s shaved since dropping us off here ten minutes ago.

“Hey neighbors,” he winks. “Welcome! Come, let’s have coffee.”

I watch the old-fashioned percolator bubble and pop and am lost in the aroma. A scent that I thought was extinct taking me back to the breakfast table. Mom had made waffles, my sister and I bickering over some ridiculous TV show, Dad reading the Sunday paper, neighborhood kids playing hockey on the street right outside the kitchen window. Birds chirping, flowers swaying, their perfume floating in the breeze, a distant radio buzz that we can barely hear over the chatter in the foreground. Endless days and small, perfect pleasures that we took for granted and will never see again.

“Earth to Astrid,” and the memory fades. “As I was explaining to Nero, we are thrilled to have you join us. It’s not luxurious, but the work you will be doing, I assure you, will make the hardships worthwhile.

“How many…are here?” I hope that the sound of my own voice doesn’t wake me from this dream.

“Well, in this community there are 802. But there are other settlements and we total close to 5000. Those are just the ones we know of. We appropriated the subway once the powers-that-be decided that public transportation was an unnecessary use of electricity and gas”.

Nero wraps a protective arm around me. With closed eyes, I inhale the coffee deeply and hear my love chuckle - an echo of his pre-virus self that’s new to me and possibly the sweetest sound in the world.

“I still work above” Britt interrupts. “on the grid for the testing facilities. Out of necessity, I assimilated. I have an apartment above ground and for all intents and purposes, I’m a pawn.

“We have people down here with access all the way to the top. Once we started pooling our knowledge, we understood that with enough of a force, we will eventually be able to climb out of the shadows. There have been twelve babies born down here since 2022. That’s a dozen undocumented, unvaccinated, miracles of modern history. Everything we do is for their future.”

“Is everyone un-vaccinated?” I’m in shock, but I’ve been able to follow and am starting to understand the gravity – the earth shattering pull that is, for the first time in years, hope.

“Not everyone….” He draws out the words. “We have people who’ve been vaccinated, but were able to overcome the, for lack of a better word, brainwashing effects. Free thinkers who realize the catastrophic impact that stalled the world”.

“And you’re in charge?”

“No,” He hands me a photo that needs no introduction. “He is.” We’ve seen him on the only channel that continues to broadcast, shown 24 hours a day on every moving billboard, TV, and portable device. The man who mandated that citizens get the shot or be arrested. The person who almost single-handedly destroyed civilization. The face that the masses bow to, the anti-vaxxers plot to kill, and the entire military is poised to protect. How can this be?

Uncertainty has been the force dictating our lives for five years. As my water breaks, my premature baby girl enters the world in a subway car, fifty feet below the city. I know that her life depends on trusting public enemy number one and I’m all in.