Birthright

Present Day The Orange Caste - Ian

The putrid smell of urine and faeces no longer touched his consciousness. What tormented him the most was the screeching inside his head that never stopped. Its razor-sharp claws dragging against each cell of his brain shredding away any sense he had of humanity. He looked at the pitiful creatures. Packed into their stalls. Their life more valuable than his. A wave of restlessness moved across them as he released the feed. The contents of the pellets hidden through processing, but he knew. He was the Keeper of the Pigs. His Father said he should be grateful.

Twenty Years Earlier

Outside it was dark, but worse was the cold. He had moved his livestock into the barns thinking it would only be for a few weeks. Soon there would be no feed for them. They had listened to the radio at first, but the batteries had long died. There were safe places the announcer had said. There were evacuations. So they waited. No one came.

At first it was Joey who died. He was only two, the baby. Jack tried to dig him a grave, but the ground was frozen. Instead he wrapped him in a blanket and covered his little body in stones. A week later his wife developed a cough. The night before she died she took her heart-shaped locket from around her neck and gave it to her remaining son. Her last words to Ian were ‘I love you.’ Jack took her body and placed it next to their baby son’s.

A day later the livestock truck pulled up outside. A tall thin man ran over to the barn. He started to load the livestock into the truck. Jack took his son and ran out.

‘Are you here to take us to safety?’

‘No, just getting the livestock.’

‘Please,’ Jack begged.

‘Listen I don’t want any trouble. When your colour comes up they will get you.’

‘Colour?’

‘Yes, we are given colours. Priority colours.’

At the time Jack didn’t know he was Red. His life, and those of his family, were of no significance. A waste of resources.

Jack watched the man close the latch of the truck. He walked up behind him and knocked him out with the wooden handle of an axe. He knew no one was coming.

Putting the limp body into the truck, he called out to Ian, ‘Get in.’

He drove towards the highway. He would find other trucks and follow them. He was not going to let his son die.

The truck line was at least twenty deep. Ian had been lulled into sleep by the warm air coming from the vents. Jack was restless. He rustled through the glove box, finding the orange coloured identification card belonging to the unconscious man slouched against the window. He wondered if that was his colour, Orange. He figured he would know soon.

Slowly he hedged forward. His heart pounded in his chest. He would unload the animals. Act as if he was meant to be here. He knew he could carry it off, until the man next to him began to stir.

He was one truck off unloading. He grabbed Ian and jumped. His ears ached from the wail of the animals being pushed into stalls. The air thick with the rich organic smell of digested foliage.

‘Just keep quiet boy.’

Ian nodded groggily.

Jack spotted the foreman. A large man with profuse facial hair. He was directing traffic.

‘Sir, Sir.’ He waved. ‘I need to speak to the supervisor. I have an idea for maintaining the livestock.’

‘Unload your bloody truck. We don’t have time for fucking around.’

‘I would like to hear what you have to say.’ A well-dressed man in a blue suit stood behind him at the door of an office. He voice was deep and remarkably soft.

Dragging Ian by his shirt, Jack approached the man. He smelt of stale alcohol.

‘How long will it be dark?’

The man shrugged, ‘years’.

‘Listen there will be no grass. We can’t maintain the herbivores. Get rid of them. Focus on the pigs.’

The man considered the comment, and nodded. Jack was sweating profusely. It suddenly occurred to him there was heating. Next to Jack, Ian kept deathly quiet.

‘You better come in.’

Jack was directed into the small office.

The man opened the drawer to his desk, pulling out a handgun.

‘Do you have ID?’ Jack pulled out his drivers licence. His hands were shaking so hard he almost dropt it.

‘So,’ he looked at the licence, ‘Jack’, the corner of his lips curled a little, ‘what can you offer?’

‘I just know how much cattle and sheep eat. They are ruminants and need cellulose. It’s dark, and cold. We want be able to grow plants. Soon they will die.’

‘We have glasshouses.’

Jack had no idea of what resources still existed.

‘Is there enough to grow what we need for humans and animals? Just think about it. The cattle and sheep, the ruminants, need cellulose to survive. Pigs are like us, they can survive on meat.’

‘So where do we get the meat?’

Jack shivered recalling his attempts to bury his son. ‘We could use our dead.’

‘No one would agree to eating people!’

‘No, people don’t eat people. People eat the pigs.’

The man lips curled in a smile. He reached under his desk and pulled out two glasses and a bottle of scotch. Filling the glasses he pushed one to Jack.

‘Drink and tell me more.’

And Jack did. The vanilla flavoured liquor burnt his throat and ignited his senses, and as Jack explained his idea for farming pigs he became valuable. He didn’t know it, but he moved from Red to Orange on that day.

Present Day The Green Caste - Jane

As they entered a rush of warm air that carried the sweet greasy smell of pork engulfed them. It was a Friday night ritual, and a treat only offered to the Green caste. The table was lavished with roasted vegetables baked in a range of pungent herbs, and of course the suckling pigs. Jane’s mother had told her of a time when food was always abundant. She described things Jane could not imagine. Of pulling food from trees freshly baked in warm light from the sun. Of animals grazing on acres of green grass. Jane had only known the dark times.

‘Jane!’

She turned to see the Chancellor. Grossly over weight he wore an emerald green coat that barely wrapped around his waist. He pushed his bristly face against her, holding her tight. She held her breath frightened she would inhale the putrid gas coming from his mouth.

‘How is my favourite daughter-in-law, and of course my soon to be grandson?’

He was rubbing her stomach invasively. Instinctively she reached out for Joseph.

‘Any day Father,’ Joseph reached to shake his hand.

Ignoring it, the Chancellor pulled them towards the table. It had always been the same for Joseph, disfigured in his father’s eyes due to the port wine birthmark that covered half his face.

‘Come. Come. Sit down. Feast. Tonight we have news to celebrate.’

Leaving them he moved to his position at the head of the table.

A number of guests acknowledged them briefly, but were more interested in stuffing their faces with food and wine.

‘Attention all.’

Instant silence. Each head turned towards the Chancellor.

‘As promised tonight I have news to celebrate.’

Silence.

‘Our great scientists have reported that daylight is now increasing at five per-cent each month. The dust clouds are leaving.’

Loud applause.

‘So Father,’ Joseph stands. ‘Does that mean you will distribute more resources to Orange and Red?’

‘My dear son, you are so philanthropic. Perhaps you would like to give them your share of the resources.’ He smirks. ‘I notice your glass is full.’

He held up his glass. ‘Salute’.

The crowd followed. Then in the form of a reverse Mexican wave, each person sat and returned their focus to the feast in front of them.

Joseph played with his glass. Jane reached for his hand and wrapped her fingers in his.

‘Don’t let him bother you Joseph.’

‘I want to leave.’

Jane looked at the food. Her mouth watered.

‘Ok, if that’s what you want.’

The Red Caste - Stephen

The wind whipped at Stephen. His face was numb and tears dripped from his eyes. He thought about his wife, Gisselle, at home. She had carried their first child to full term. A healthy baby girl, but she didn’t come home. In Red, only one in three babies went home. In Orange, one in two. But in Green, all babies. It was not going to happen again. This time his child would come home.

He waited for them to leave. When they left alone it was easy. He felt the knife slide effortlessly into Joseph’s chest. An instant flicker of sadness, and then relief as his eyes went blank. Jane’s screams were lost in the gale. She looked so much like his Gisselle he knew his plan would work.

Delivery - Jane

She looked for her husband but Joseph was not there. The pain was intense. The baby was coming. She was being wheeled towards delivery. Red delivery.

‘No! No!’

There were no sounds from her screams. They were loud in her head, so loud she could feel them pulsing through the air, taking the oxygen from her breath. And then the pain came, first every few minutes, but now relentless. Spasms so strong she felt her bones breaking. She was green, she was green. Words only she could hear as she fell into darkness.

Orange Caste – Ian

Like a rosary bead the heart-shaped locket hung from his hand, held so tightly it pierced his skin. He liked to feel pain. He liked to feel anything. He opened the door to the morgue. Rank air lashed out. He didn’t notice. The only light from his truck backed up close to the building. On the right side were the older bodies. The left side the babies. He would use them for the lactating sows, at least until their suckling pigs were harvested for Friday dinners.

He left the babies till last. He didn’t want them contaminated from the death juices of the older corpses. He followed the rules, because that is what kept him alive. The babies were all wrapped in blankets. One at a time he moved them to the truck. One at a time until he felt one move.

Ian slowly unwrapped the small parcel, pulling the blanket were it stuck to the remanets of the bloody umbilical cord. It was a boy. Across his face a heart-shaped port wine stain.

Twenty Years Later

Wyatt closed his eyes. He allowed himself to enjoy the sun softly caressing his face and the tingle of the vapour from the collective breath of the silent crowd that stood below him. Had he known of God he would have prayed. Instinctively he reached for the heart-shaped locket that hung around his neck. He thought of his Father who had gifted it to him when he was thirteen.

Wyatt breathed in deeply. He opened his eyes looking at the expectant swarm, raising his clenched fist into the air. There was an excited roar, a war cry. Today they would be liberated.

Stephen stood quietly at the back. He was an old man now. His wife long passed. His son fully grown, somewhere part of the ovation. He watched as the young man readied the eager crowd for battle. He could see the dark shadow that stained his face. He wondered if anyone else knew who he really was.