Chapter 16

Lorraine Carson was sorting the Saturday mail when she came across something addressed to her that she had never seen before. She opened it, and her whole world seemed to come to a screeching halt.

She knew what it was. It looked exactly the same as what had been in that movie, Dark Times, last year. She had obeyed the law and registered with the Missouri Population Management Board website when it had first gone online. She had done so because the penalties for not doing so were severe and guaranteed. Then she had wondered what her chance of being selected was. Now she knew. Apparently, she would be one of the first ones killed for her meat. Numb, she read the whole notice.

“By order of the Missouri Population Management Board, you have been randomly selected for processing. You will report to the location listed below no later than Friday, April...” It was a week this Friday. That was too soon! She had too much going on! Her elementary teaching job! Her husband! They were trying to get pregnant with their first child. Now, that looked like it wasn’t going to happen.

There was a number she could call for more information, so she did.

“Population Management Board, what is your full legal name and selection ID number, please?”

The conversation started out much like it would have been if she had called some retail customer service line, but then it went quite differently.

“Alright, how may I help you?”

“I read somewhere that there are social value exemptions from being selected? What are they?”

A list of positions was read off to her, and the fifth one caught her attention.

“Yes! I’m a teacher! I teach high school history and social studies! Does that count?”

“Yes, if it’s true. Which school district are you employed by?”

“Kansas City 33 School District.” She crossed her fingers and held her breath.

“And are you listed as active on the site?”

“Yes! You can even see my picture on there!”

“Turn on video, please. Let’s take a look.”

Her camera went on, and she smiled at the video pickup, hoping to look the same as her photo on the site.

“Ahh, there you are. And you look just like your image on the site. Okay, I am logging you as having a social value exemption. As long as you have your position, you are exempted. Are you tenured?”

“Yes, I am.” Relief was beginning to make her smile.

“Alright. Please go and login to the Missouri PMB site and verify that we have the correct Lorraine Carson exempted.”

“Yes, I see it there.”

“Alright, print a copy of that page and carry it with you, along with notice, your driver’s license or state ID card, and your teacher ID card. The database will probably take a while to update. Better safe than sorry. If you don’t have them and something goes wrong, you can get staked at the courthouse before it is worked out. Don’t want that to happen.”

“Totally.”

“Anything else I can do for you?”

“Getting a lot of calls?”

“A few. Not many letters went out this week. Maybe two hundred. We’re starting slow. Got to give the slaughterhouses a chance to ramp up slowly.”

Lorraine shivered at the thought. “Yeah, I can see that. Thank you so much!”

“Thanks for calling the Population Management Board. CLICK”

“Population Management Board, what is your full legal name and selection ID number, please?”

“It’s—”

“Okay. Am I speaking with Martha Alexander? Yes? Alright. What can I do for you today, Ms. Alexander?”

“There must be some mistake. I got this notice of selection letter, but I can’t be chosen. I have a job! I have children! What will my husband do? How will he take care of them?”

“It says here that you have two girls aged ten and thirteen, correct?”

“Yes, Michelle and Casey.”

“And do you have any male children under the age of eighteen?”

“Well, no, but. What does that have to do with anything? Doesn’t having children exempt me from this? Who is going to take care of them if this happens?”

“Ma’am, I don’t have answers for who will take care of your children. There are many women out there who will be available to help raise them after you’re processed, and there are some government services available to assist as well. Child exemptions are only allowed for male children under the age of eighteen. Otherwise, women would be staying pregnant as much as possible to avoid being processed while they tried for a male child that would get them out of the lottery for nineteen years. That will significantly add to the population problem, so it is not allowed.”

“What about what I do for a living?”

“What do you do? It lists your job as secretary here.”

“Administrative assistant to the marketing department at Hobson Manufacturing.”

“I’m sorry, but that role doesn’t qualify you for a social value exemption.”

“Well, there has to be something! I don’t want to die!” She started to cry, but it made no difference. The woman on the other end was trained to ignore emotional outbursts.

“Ma’am, are you in front of a web browser? Can you look at the following URL? www.pmb.mo.gov/regulations/socialvalueexemptions. Got it? Okay, read through the bullet points and see if you qualify for any of those listed.”

Martha read through them with a growing sense of dread. “I’m not finding anything here. What am I going to do?”

“You will need to report to the slaughterhouse listed on your notice no later than ... Friday, in your case. Then you will be terminated and processed for meat. I’m sorry, but there is no chance of you avoiding this. You are thirty-five, so you are five years from exemption by age. So, you have no choice but to appear and do as the law so orders.”

“This sucks! I should just run!”

“If you do that, your daughters will be picked up and held in a juvenile detention center until they are of age, at which point they will be processed in your stead, even if you are caught. And if you are caught, which I assure you that you will be since no one gets away and no one ever has, you will be subject to immediate termination in whatever way anyone feels like doing it, most likely including a public staking at the nearest city hall or court building. Humane treatment in your terming and processing is no longer required if you run, and what will most likely happen to you before your end comes is not something I would wish on anyone. I would very much warn you not to do that for the sake of your family. Are you still going to try to run?”

“No!” Martha sobbed into the phone. “I won’t do that to my girls! They deserve a life! But they deserve it with me! It’s not fair to take their mother away from them!”

“I understand that, Ms. Alexander. But some have to be chosen so that the survivors can go on. Otherwise, our way of life ends, and humanity has no future. Read the justification page on the state PMB website. It will lay out for you exactly why this has to happen. Then go have a talk with your husband and let him know what is happening. Also tell him anything he needs to know to wrap up any legal or financial business you have unfinished. And tell him and your daughters you love them and you will see them on the other side.”

Silence.

“Ms. Alexander? Are you still there?”

“Yes...” came a whisper back to her.

“Unless there is anything else, I have other callers to speak with. I wish good luck to your husband and your daughters, and a painless, peaceful end for you, Ms. Alexander. That’s all you can hope for at this point.”

...

“Goodbye, Ms. Alexander. Godspeed. CLICK”

Monday came at the Wilson Processing Center, and the sun was bright and warm in the sky, a pleasant spring day. The doors were unlocked, and the light on the open sign was lit. Then the staff waited for the selectees that were supposed to show up, be killed, and butchered.

It was almost eleven in the morning when the chime on the door sounded, and Sandra looked up from the reception desk.

A woman and what looked like her husband came through the door, a frightened look on her face, and an angry glare on his. He saw the desk and marched up to it, slamming his fist on the surface so loudly that a THUD resounded through the room.

“Who’s in charge here?! I demand to see the owner!”

“Yes, sir. Let me get him for you.” She reached under the desk and pushed a button underneath with one hand even as she picked up the phone and tapped the screen.

“Sir, someone is up front here demanding to see the owner. Yes, sir. Alright.” She set the handset back down on the base and smiled at the man.

“He will be right up. Please have a seat. Can I get either of you a water or something else to drink while you wait?”

“No!” he fumed.

“I’ll have some water, if that’s alright. Just a sip. I don’t want to cause any problems. Henry, calm down. This is not helping.”

“I will not calm down! I love you! I can’t just let them kill you and be alright with it!”

“I know you won’t be alright with this, but we have no choice. Oh...” She spoke up as suddenly doors on either side of them opened up, and two men holding batons came out from each door.

“Please, don’t hurt my Henry! He means well! He just doesn’t want to lose me!” She stood back and put her arms out, hands up, as the men stopped, and Henry just stared, intimidated into silence.

“Henry, look at me. I love you, and I will love you always, no matter where I end up in the afterlife. I will look for you,” she said, as tears began to flow down both of their faces. “And if it happens today, when I see you again someday, somewhere, I will hug you and tell you I love you then, as well.”

They hugged, and she turned back to the desk with her head up even as fear washed over her.

He turned her back once more, and hugged her as he sobbed, pulling her completely off her feet. She let him hold her for a minute more, enjoying the sensation of being in the arms of the man she loved one final time, then she tapped him on the back with her hand.

She turned to the desk and held out her selection notification form.

“Elsa Myerson. Alright, and your driver’s license or state ID card, please?”

She handed that over as well.

“Is this date correct on your license? You are forty-two years old?”

“Yes. That’s my actual birthday and age. It’s on my official birth certificate as well. But I got a letter from the Population Management Board which had my age as 37 saying I had to register. I did that, but I have been trying to I call the PMB phone number aince then, I but wasn’t able to get through. That’s why Henry is so upset. He thinks this was a mistake, but the selection letter said I had to come down no matter what or be classified as a runaway. So, we came, hoping to get the thing straightened out. Can you help us? Can you help me?”

“Well, let me ... okay, I have corrected the birthdate in the PMB database. I just have to scan your driver’s license and attach a current photo of you to it.” FLASH/CLICK “There. That is attached to your PMB file now. Let’s see, an electronic copy of your birth certificate is here ... Okay, that matches your license. You are verified as being forty-two years old now. Sorry about the quick aging. You don’t look a day over twenty-nine, dear. Here, let me print this.” The printer spit something out on a stiffer piece of paper, and she used an embosser to make it official before handing it to her.

“Keep this with you no matter what until the database updates fully commit. If you get pulled over and the PMB database update hasn’t batched yet, this will keep you off a stake at the courthouse.” She turned and waved the four men off, and they turned around and left back through the hidden doors to the processing area.

“And you’re free to go! Thanks for coming by Gleason Processing. Glad your stay was so temporary. Bye now!”

Henry and Elsa turned to leave, but found their way blocked by almost a dozen other women who had most likely followed them in with looks on their faces like ... he didn’t want to contemplate. All he knew was that his beloved Elsa was free, she and would never be taken from him by the PCA. They almost ran out the door and back to the car, giddy and incredibly relieved at having permanently escaped.

The next woman in line handed her paperwork in. “What was that all about?”

“The system had her birthdate wrong. She was actually two years past the limit. Can I see your license please?”

“Okay, Ms. Rory Smith, your paperwork is correct and in order. Please have a seat over there. Someone will be up for you soon. When they call your name, go with them just like at the doctor’s office.”

Claire the receptionist processed the women waiting, then directed them to chairs around the mid-sized lobby. She eventually finished the last one just as Markus came up.

“Rory Smith, please.”

Rory stood and took a breath, then turned to the man that had called her name. The one that was going to lead her to her death.

“Come with me, please. This will be as gentle as it can be.”

Back through the main door, then to a more open room, with a window at one side. A woman in a nurse’s uniform was there at the window with a device and a plastic specimen cup. She pointed Rory to a door, where she provided a urine sample. Then she used the device to extract a blood sample from her arm, and she was made to wait while it was processed.

Fifteen minutes later, and six more women in the room, her results came back. Her paperwork was stamped “Not pregnant” and “Blood work within acceptable ranges | no pathogens detected.”. She took a breath as she sat back down. Nothing stopping her now, she thought. She was going to die soon.

The same man that had called her name to bring her back walked up to her.

“Rory Smith? Let me see your paperwork, please. Alright, come with me.” Her heart started to pound as he led her through another door. In that room was a table with a box next to it.

“Please undress completely and put everything except your paperwork in the box.”

She complied as her mind slowly wound down. Won’t be long now, she thought.

When she was fully naked, she tried to cover herself with her hands, but he pulled her arms gently behind her and restrained her wrists with a strap of some kind.

“What’s that for?” she asked in a quavering voice.

“For everyone’s safety and protection. Please come with me.”

Another door, and this time there was a tunnel-like thing of some kind setup on bright white tile flooring in the new room.

“Please walk into the shower unit. It will clean you up before processing.”

She stepped into the tunnel and clear doors snapped shut behind her when she was clear. She noticed that the other side was also closed with clear doors, and warm sudsy water suddenly blasted her from all sides. Then clean water washed away the suds, and hot air dried her rather efficiently, including her hair. Her eyes stung from what was in the suds, and the smell was like a hospital – antiseptic or something similar.

He met her on the other end of the tunnel as the doors opened.

“Fastest shower I’ve ever taken. What was that, about a minute?”

“Yeah, about fifty-five seconds. Good guess. Okay, onwards.”

He led her over to a corner where two full walls reached upwards for almost ten feet, and two half-walls extended up some four feet as well. She noticed that there were several other corners like this setup, but before she could ask a question, he reached up and pulled her hair up into a clip of some kind, uncovering her neck.