Separation

The soft blue flashing from the tracker on my wrist is the only source of light in my dark quarters, rhythmically continuing at its steady pace. I count each flash, keeping track of the seconds as they tick by. It’s almost time for the morning alarms and I cringe just thinking about my workload for this week, the final week. The Southeast workers have been loading ships and aircrafts for weeks, prepping the food, medicine and textile donations to go to the other, poorer countries on Day Zero.

Fifty years. It’s been fifty years since anyone from The Greater America has had contact with the rest of the world. Fifty years since any of the countries have had any contact with each other. Fifty years since the treaty that ended the third war. I’ve been training my entire life for this day, the day that The G.A. emerges from this quarantine to take our place at the top again, when we’ll step out to care for the other countries of the world.

Grandma tells me of the things leading up to the global quarantine some days. She was my age when it happened. The pandemic, the economical shutdowns, the war, and then the treaty. Around the globe, her generation was the last ones to have seen anything of the outside world, and everything we knew about it all is whatever they remembered. Thinking about her, my fingers instinctively find the cool metal of her gold necklace around my neck, under my shirt. The chain has been replaced a few times, but the heart shaped pendant is older than her. I think about the worn ink and paper inside of it, the photo of her and her best friend laughing together. Night is the only time I’m comfortable bringing it out of its hiding place, and only when I’m really missing her. Since the Nevada mines gold was exhausted some 24 years ago, the value of gold has skyrocketed, and I can’t risk someone stealing this last piece of her.

The lights flicker on suddenly accompanied by a buzzing to indicate official sunrise. After I roll out of my bed, it doesn’t take me long to slip on my uniform and regulation shoes. I only have an hour to be ready, eat and get to my station for the day. I can hear my neighbor’s door open and close, followed by two sets of footsteps past my door towards the restrooms. I slip the necklace over my head and place my wrist over the scanner on the small lock box above my desk. The tracker flashes green once as the box lets out a soft beep accompanied by a click as the lock disengages. I slip the heirloom inside, moving my official papers to sit on top of it. As I close the box, I hear a familiar knock on my door.

On the other side of my door, my best friend starts to sing, “Do you wanna go get coffeeeeee, doesn’t have to be a coffee,” as she begins to rattle my door handle. My shoulders shake as I stand and move to open the door. Her fist is up like she’s going to start knocking again and I raise my eyebrow.

“Do you have any idea how annoying you are in the mornings?”

“I do, actually. You tend to remind me every morning,” she tilts her head to the left, a considering look in her eyes and a wrinkle between her brows as she furrows them. “Honestly, I see it though. I don’t know why you stay friends with me.”

“I’m only friends with you because I’m too afraid to be your enemy,” I reply with a grin, and then duck to miss her swipe at my head. With a laugh, I link my move to step through my doorway and she just glares at me as I close and lock my door, dissolving into a fit of giggles with me when we make eye contact. We quickly fall into our morning routine together, walking towards the community bathrooms for this level.

As we emerge, ready for the day, Chloe takes a deep breath and lets out a sigh, closing her eyes. “I can already smell the coffee. How many different flavors do you think we’ll find?”

“I suppose it depends on how many other nations have survived the quarantine,” I reply. There were so many that depended on trade and donations from the other countries, who knows what effect the last fifty years has had. So many things here in The Greater America have changed since we lost all contact with the other nations, for better and worse. Coffee is one of those things. We produce our own here in the few areas where it can be grown, but since that space is so limited, it’s become a pretty hot commodity. They’ve only released a few extra rations to each meal center in the last two weeks to keep everyone’s motivation high through the tireless work. Once the world opens back up on Day Zero, trade will be able to resume and we’ll have access to so much more.

Chloe and I pick up our breakfast rations and scan our trackers to register for the meal, a simple oatmeal muffin, eggs and a glass of milk. She begins humming a simple tune as we wait in the line for the coffee station as I try to decide how much sweetener I want to add to mine. I’ve only had coffee about a dozen times, and I’ve decided that it is definitely an acquired taste. At least with enough sugar and cream, I can get it down. I’m not going to pass on the caffeine boost, not with the 14 hour shifts that we’ve been moved to.

The whole Southeastern section of The G.A. has been transformed into a shipping center, and Chloe and I are stationed here to oversee things. She always praises her God for our good luck, but my family isn't as invested as hers is in the Christian mythology, and it’s just one of those things we agree to disagree on. We’ll be some of the first group of people to arrive at the Switzerland United Nations headquarters on Day Zero. Our group is responsible for making sure that samples of all of our finest exports, pieces of technology and examples of our medical advancements are loaded and delivered at the first meeting. The treaty that ended the last world war and rearranged the world's priorities has the entire itinerary for the first global meeting following the worldwide lockdown. As stressful as the loading, inventory and delivery schedule is, I’m lucky that I get to be one of the first to see all of the goods that will be brought together.

A loud buzzing, similar to the sunrise alarm, alerts us all to an incoming announcement, “Good morning, manager building, and congratulations on making it to Day One. This is the last day of the global quarantine, and tomorrow all of your effort to make this go smoothly will pay off. Please ensure that your registers are completed by the end of the work day today to avoid any penalties. Shipping boats will launch by 2:00 PM today, and all supervisors need to be loaded onto the appropriate aircraft by 4:00 PM.”

I tone out the rest of the morning's announcement as I get lost in my own mind. Tonight, we’ll take off to cross the ocean for the first time in half a century, and by tomorrow morning we’ll get to talk to the rest of the world again!

I feel my head bobbing as I slowly regain consciousness. A moment of panic shoots through my system like electricity as I struggle to remember where I am. As everything comes into focus again, I realize that it’s still mostly dark, early morning. Muffled voices behind the captain door catch my attention, the clipped sound of them makes me close my eyes to concentrate and catch the words. That must be what woke me up, I’m a light sleeper anyway. I’m jerked out of my concentration by Chloe’s elbow to my ribs. I study her face in the low cabin lights, accented by the blue hue of the trackers on the 14 of us supervisors in this flight. The color drains from her cheeks, and it’s like watching water drain from a tub. Her wide eyes are glued to the window and her lips are parted in a shocked expression. My gaze immediately follows hers, and I freeze.

People are everywhere outside of the plane. The mountains in the distance are like nothing I’ve ever seen. Our group of managers makes our way down the hallway to exit the plane and we arrive in a large room with the occupants from the rest of the supply planes, as well as the leaders of The Greater America. A group of men and women sit at a large table near the head of the room, and a woman in the center stands with her hand raised and a smile on her face. The room begins to quiet, and she begins to speak.

“Welcome, United States, on behalf of the Global Authority. As scheduled in the Final Treaty, your return to the global society has been much anticipated. Please find seats at the tables and enter your breakfast orders on the screens at each station. As you enjoy your meals, myself and the other Authority leaders will go over the itinerary to end your segregation”

The crowd begins to move, but confused murmurs can be heard like a low rumble. My mind whirls, trying to process her words. Global Authority. Return. Segregation. This doesn’t fit into everything we’ve always been taught. The whole world has been quarantined. No contact. Why aren’t our leaders joining the head table?

None of it makes sense, until it finally clicks for me like sliding a puzzle piece into its slot. The whole world wasn’t under quarantine. We were the only ones separated.