Elected (The Elected Series Book 1) Read online

  We’re outside now, and I wish I remembered to bring a jacket. The cold air causes the hairs on my arms to prickle. My father leads me out of our big, white house. The left side of it, which was once bordered by something called the Rose Garden, is still a black mass of charred wood. We’ve chosen not to repair that side of the house. My father says we leave it like that to remind our people how close we came to devastation, but how we triumphed in the end. The right side of the house, beautifully white, stands in stark contrast to the black, ashen left side. Sometimes I imagine I can smell smoke still billowing from the remnants.

  I look wistfully back toward the lawn. I’ve heard from Tomlin that it used to be the richest color of green. It’s now blotchy with black and brown. There are a few eager patches of grass, but even they struggle to hold on amidst the weeds, which we don’t uproot. Anything green is allowed to prosper, as we cannot afford to be choosy with our plants. There are so few left.

  We walk across the lawn over to a long, slate gray building adjacent to our house. I’ve never been inside this one, even though it’s close by.

  Before I can wonder what we’re going to be doing together, my father says, “We keep prisoners here.”

  I stop in my tracks. Even though I started the conversation with Tomlin, it’s like his session with me was manufactured for this exact moment. I think of my last words with my tutor. Hemlock.

  My father stops and turns to look back at me. “Don’t delay.” His words are clipped, but there is the slightest bit of understanding in them. He is also reluctant to do this. I can see it in his eyes. “You know why this must happen, do you not?”

  Unfortunately, I understand too well. It’s a system I believe in. Just not one I want to witness.

  I hurry forward to walk with my father. Who knows how many of these he’s overseen? Soon they’ll be mine, alone, to witness. The responsibility sits on my shoulders like a lead weight.

  How have I not known the prisoners’ building is so close to where I live? It was right next door all this time, in what used to be called the Old Executive Office Building. I realize my parents and Tomlin have sheltered me against the realities of my new role until the end. Taking the Elected position is technically my choice, but I don’t get the full story until it’s too late.

  I’m angry at them, but when I stop to think about it, reluctantly thankful at the same time. I know I would have chosen the same route either way. How could I have abandoned my family and country like Evan did? If I declined the Elected role, my family would prematurely lose power before a hundred years’ time, and East Country would be thrown into disarray. So, maybe it was better all along not to know the gory details of my leadership role. In two weeks, I will be the Elected, and nothing I see now will make a difference. My commitment to the generations of my family and East Country will not be deterred by seeing hemlock wreak its havoc.

  We are both steadfast in our walk up the stone steps. Each of us is resolute. Both of us walk in the same manner. I’ve studied my father’s manly gait for years. I can now recreate it so well, I walk more like him than I do like myself.

  A few guards nod to us as we cross the door into the building. My father knows the way and thus no one leads us further. After a turn down one solitary corridor, we stop in front of a wooden door. Before we go in, my father turns to me.

  When he doesn’t speak and merely looks at me I say, “Apa?”

  He touches my shoulder almost like he cares for my feelings. “Are you ready?”

  “I am.” I’m firm, even now that I realize exactly what we’ll be doing.

  “One day soon you will have to watch one of these by yourself.” He stops squeezing my shoulder. “Do not close your eyes when it happens. The accused deserves for you to see them. Lock eyes with the prisoners. Give them your full attention. Think about their lives. How precious every life is. But remember our laws. If we did not have them, there would be no life at all.”

  I nod. I know why my father adheres to the four Accords so fervently. They’re the only things keeping our world in check. Without them, there would be chaos, and we’d be thrown back into the old times. So, even though we might not like or agree with all of the Accords’ policies, we have to follow them. At least, I might not like or agree with all of them. I’m pretty sure my mother and father are believers, one hundred percent.

  We cross through the wooden doorway into the prisoner’s quarters. It’s a room sectioned into two parts. Our side holds a wooden bench and nothing else. A thick piece of glass separates our side from the one housing the prisoner. The accused seems to be in his forties, relatively old for our country. I look over at my father, who answers my question without being asked.

  “His crime is invention. He was trying to manufacture a battery.”

  The accused sits on the small cot in his room. There’s a large potted plant in the corner—a rarity for us. We try to provide a few luxuries in this small space. We try to make it nice for people’s last days.

  The prisoner’s eyes are downcast, but then he suddenly leaps up. He moves toward the glass separating us. I can’t hear what he’s yelling, but I can make out what he’s mouthing anyway. He screams over and over again, “We need technology!” He beats his fists against the glass, and I instinctively lean back.

  “It won’t break,” my father assures me. “It’s from the old days. Armor glass. A piece leftover.”

  Even when the atomic bombs went off, this glass didn’t break. So I feel confident this man won’t be able to get through. We aren’t able to manufacture this glass anymore, so it’s all the more precious to our country. However, I do see the irony in using the glass technology enabled years ago when we outlaw technology now.

  I swallow hard when I see the prisoner eventually slump back onto his cot in defeat.

  “How long until he drinks it?”

  “Not long. They’ll bring it in now that he’s settled down.”

  A burly guard enters the prisoner’s space and hands him a crystal glass containing approximately one hundred milligrams of clear liquid. It would seem like the prisoner was just given a cup of water if I didn’t know better.

  I’m reminded of the many chemistry and biology sessions with Tomlin where he taught me again and again what kind of plants survived the global eco-crisis, which ones we could eat, which ones leached in atomic radiation, and which one we now use for capital punishment. The prisoner’s cup holds hemlock.

  Withstanding the high and low temperatures brought on by global warming, the hemlock plant hung on, its lacy white flowers torturously beautiful, but deadly if eaten in large quantities.

  The prisoner lifts the cup of hemlock to his nose, breathing in lightly. The toxic component, alkaloid coniine, will give off a small scent of anise, the same kind of smell one encounters biting into black licorice. It was my favorite treat as a child. I can imagine what it smells like even though it’s impossible to detect the fragrance through the glass.

  The man holds the cup out in front of himself, determining his next course of action. I watch him closely, as Apa told me to keep my eyes open for the duration. It’s only right to give the accused the dignity of someone witnessing his final moments. But I turn to Apa anyway, fright and curiosity getting the better of me.

  “What if he refuses to drink it?”

  “He won’t.” My father’s eyes never leave the man’s face even as he answers my question. “It is honorable to drink the hemlock oneself instead of it being forced into his person by the guards.”

  I’m horrified by the thought of having to watch the guards perform the execution themselves. In our country, capital punishment is carried out only through assisted suicide. One person killing another is against the law. In fact, I’ve never heard of it happening. Murder is obsolete, but it’s considered honorable for people to accept government-controlled suicide if an Accord is violated.

  I pray silently that during this, my first execution, I won’t have to witness a killing. I pray the p
risoner will drink down the liquid by himself. As I watch him studying the crystal, I secretly wish the process would go faster, that he would just tilt his head back and pour down the hemlock as quickly as possible. But then I chide myself on being so callous. This execution is not meant to be easy for me to watch. These are the man’s final moments, and if I cannot offer him anything else, I can at least grant my attention and time.

  After what seems like an eternity, my father squeezes my hand and says, “It is happening now. He is starting.”

  The prisoner rocks back and forth on the heels of his feet, preparing himself mentally for the ordeal ahead. I can only imagine what resolve it must take to drink the liquid and know it will be the last thing you do.

  The prisoner looks to us one more time through the armor glass, gives a nod, and then lifts the chalice to his lips, taking a large gulp. His eyes are tightly closed. Immediately, the glass shatters upon the ground as paralysis takes over. I know through study with Tomlin—the respiratory function is at first depressed and ultimately ceases altogether. The prisoner’s death will result from asphyxia. However, the man’s mind will remain unaffected to the end, allowing him one more fleeting thought of his loved ones and the life he’s lived.

  The man falls to the floor. I can see him trying to clutch his stomach, but his arm won’t lift. Vomit erupts from his mouth, puddling next to him on the ground. Saliva bubbles around his lips, mixing with the vomit in a toxic pool. He gasps deeply, trying to take in air even though it’s impossible.

  My head aches as I watch the demise. Soon, I see the paralysis take its final toll as the man chokes again and again. Finally, when I think I can take it no more, the prisoner is stiff and no more mess exits his nostrils or mouth. He doesn’t move.

  The guards enter the room. It’s finished.

  My father finally turns his head to look at me. “Let’s take a moment so you can compose yourself before we exit.”

  I’m sure my father sees my face and realizes it won’t be wise to show my sick pallor to the public. Our countrymen won’t want to think I’m ill or even squeamish watching a prisoner die. I try as hard as I can to block out thoughts of the execution I’ve just witnessed. I crush my fists into my eyes to block back tears. But it’s no use. The face of the prisoner gasping for breath on the floor is burned into my retinas. I don’t know how to compose myself.

  “Let’s try a little exercise,” my father says. His face is composed, as serene as a thousand granules of sand all settled back down to the ocean floor after a tidal wave. “This always helps me focus. Let’s think of a few facts we know to be true. Name one fact, and then we’ll build upon it.”

  Thinking about something else may actually help, so I blurt out the first thing I can think of based on my latest history lesson with Tomlin.

  “You’re the ruler of the East Country.”

  My father laughs lightly. “Very well. Yes, that is true. My turn.” He pauses for just a moment. “And you will be the ruler in a fortnight.” He waits for me to go further.

  “Great-grandfather was our first Elected.”

  Apa answers back with another fact along the same lines. “Our family is the only line that has held the Elected positions in East Country since the Eco-Crisis Accords were established in twenty-one fifteen.”

  “We’ve been in office for seventy years.”

  “Very good. You will marry Vienne and start your own family.”

  I shudder for a moment at the sound of Vienne’s name. She’s the one they’ve been training to be my match. But I don’t love her. I don’t even know her. I shake my head and close my eyes, trying to eject thoughts of her from my mind. It’s too much to deal with at this precise moment. Then I look up again at my father, knowing he’s waiting for me to go on.

  “I will rule as the Elected until my oldest son turns eighteen.”

  “Then you and Vienne will leave just as your mother and I are leaving, so your son can act as an independent ruler.”

  I pause, thinking sadly about my parents’ departure, which will take place the night before I turn eighteen. We’ll have the entire evening together, alone, to say our goodbyes. And then they’ll ride out on horses into the wilderness. I won’t know where they’ve gone or if they’re even okay. I won’t have any more contact with them. It’s a silly rule. Why must I lose my parents when all other children get to keep theirs? Sometimes the thought of being the Elected and having been born into this legacy is repugnant.

  But this is what my grandfather did with my father when he turned eighteen. My grandfather left East Country so my father could make his own decisions—fully come into his own. It’s always been this way since our family came into office. We need the current leader to stand on his own two feet, not rely on past generations to make decisions.

  My generation is well aware responsibility lies with us. Our parents won’t live forever. Radiation residue causes cancer to start in the thirties to forties. But I know people used to live past one hundred before the eco-crisis. Because the Elected family gets to take the serum in the form of neat, purple pills, we don’t ever feel the effects of radiation. Cancer is one of the sicknesses the purple pill eradicates. Thus, my parents are in their fifties and thriving. Other children come into their own because their parents become feeble and die. I guess I should be thankful because, in my case, I come into my own since my parents leave and nothing more.

  My father knows I’ve deviated from our exercise, lost in thought.

  “Continue along a different topic,” he says. “This exercise was meant to help you compose yourself, and I made you even more upset.”

  It’s true. A solitary tear breaks free from my left eye and runs down my cheek. My father raises a hand and wipes my tear away with one of the most tender signs of affection I think I’ve ever received from him.

  His gesture reminds me of the final day I was allowed to feel my parents’ warmth. The day I learned I’d be the Elected, all nurturing abruptly stopped.

  I was four years old, playing with a plastic necklace on the carpet of my bedroom floor. It was December then, so the air was warm and humid. My parents and Tomlin came into my room together and I was surprised, even at that young age. I knew something important was happening if the three of them were there together. Apa sat on the edge of my bed, while my mother bent over me and picked me up into her arms. Tomlin stayed rooted in the doorway, like he was uncomfortable with the ensuing events.

  “Aloy,” my mother said. “Your father and I have something we need you to do.”

  “Yes, Ama?” I asked, my face upturned and wide open with trust.

  “We need you to give up your necklace and not wear it again.”

  I looked stricken, eyeing the floor where the colorful beads lay discarded.

  “Why, Ama? Why must I give up my necklace?”

  My father bent down and took the jewelry in his hands. At this, I reached out toward him, away from my mother’s arms, struggling to get the beads back, if only one last time.

  “Because we are telling you to,” my father retorted. He put the trinket away in the folds of his light coat.

  I looked toward Tomlin for help, not having received an adequate answer from my parents. “Tomlin, why can’t I have my necklace?”

  Tomlin shifted on his feet, still standing by the door, looking out of place. But I was insistent. Tomlin was my teacher, and he explained everything. I fully expected him to explain this too.

  Tomlin didn’t speak at first, but I was used to this. He was thoughtful in his responses, so I’d learned to wait for him.

  After a moment passed, he said, “Do you remember how I taught you girls learn how to get pregnant and care for children and how it’s the most important thing in the entire world?”

  I did. I remembered the conversation clearly.

  “Yes. Girls are supposed to think about how to make a baby all the time.”

  “Right. Well, there is one job even more important than that.”

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bsp; Now I was curious. I leaned forward in my mother’s arms, forgetting about my necklace now tucked away with my father.

  Tomlin cleared his throat awkwardly and continued, “Your father’s job is the most important. Being the leader of our country, making sure everyone abides by the Accords, making sure all of the women have resources to get pregnant. That is the most important.”

  “Ah,” I said. I idolized my father, and this just gave me more evidence he was the biggest, strongest, most important man in the world.

  Tomlin looked toward my parents. “May I?” he asked.

  “Please, yes,” my mother said. “Tell her.”

  Tomlin shifted on his feet again. “Aloy, one day you’ll grow up and take your father’s position. You will be the Elected and lead our country.”

  My eyes got big. “Me, Tomlin? But what about Apa?” I looked toward my father with worry.

  “Umm...” Tomlin faltered, not wanting to scare me too much. “He will still be here.” It was the only lie Tomlin ever told me.

  “Oh, good,” I said.

  “Yes,” said Ama. “But there is one thing you must do to take Apa’s position.”

  One thing? That was it? I hugged her around her neck. One thing didn’t sound hard.

  My father stepped toward me. “You will have to pretend to be a boy,” he said. “No more playing with dolls. No tea parties. No dresses.”

  I looked at my father like he just told me the sun didn’t come out in the morning. “But why not, Apa?”

  “Because you need to look and sound like a boy. No one must ever know you are a girl.”

  “Ever?” I asked.

  “Ever,” my mother replied. “We have indulged you, and in so doing, let you play with whatever you liked up until now. You’ve been hidden away in this house because we wanted to protect you, but now it’s time for our countrymen to see you out in public.”

  I contemplated this for a minute. “Can I play with my toys when I’m alone?”

  A sneak of a smile appeared on the corner of my mother’s lips, but it was gone just as fast.

  “No,” my father said. “You must say goodbye to everything that seems female, even in private.”