The Undesirable (Undesirable Series) (3 page)

Oh, how this man yelled. None of that seemed to matter to anyone at the time. This man had a plan.

This man would save us.

Cooper stood at the helm of the microphone and closed his eyes. All of us focused right back at him. The man next to my mother flicked his head in the direction of Cooper in an obvious gesture of support. I didn’t catch my mother’s reaction. Back at the platform, Cooper took one deep breath.

“Friends, it is with a heavy heart that I come here today; a heavy heart that makes me share what I no longer want to ignore.” His words echoed through the crowd and then over the radio waves and TV signals of the media gathered with all their gear on a podium to his left.

“We share a history of being a great nation, a beacon of light, a ship unsinkable in a storm.” His voice rose with each word. “But that, my friends, is no longer our life today. We, the great people of the US, fell away from the principles of freedom and honor, making us first among barbarians. We, a great nation, became lost and afraid. Our leadership in Washington, the Phillips’ administration, they don’t know what to do. Friends, Mary Anne does not have a plan.” I didn’t miss the derision when he called President Phillips by her first name.

Cooper paused and then smiled a Cheshire grin. “My fellow countrymen, today I must tell you, I know a way to lead us out. I know a path to a better life, a way to regain our economic freedom, our personal freedom, and our freedom from the tyranny of an administration in cahoots with those who would keep us down!”

Talk at the time centered on oil, diminishing natural resources, and the price of gasoline at the pump, which hovered at around $7 a gallon and plunged the U S into a recession for more than seven years. Then the US ended up in a mess with the Keystone Pipeline and Canada’s hoarding of the few oil resources left. The War followed.

Of course, I didn’t understand all that as a kid. We didn’t own a car because it cost too much. Mom sold the old Honda Accord years before. Most people in Harrison Corners did the same. We got around on foot like everyone else.

After the speech, I asked my mother why everyone looked angry. We walked on the dirt path about two blocks from the house.

“It’s been tough.” She sighed. “For everyone. Gotta get money somehow, survive some way.” She shoved her hands in the pockets of her khaki skirt — a nervous habit. She shook her matted brown curls. “You’ll understand when you’re older — when you do things you don’t like.”

Even at age ten, I knew. I saw the money on the kitchen table, the men coming in and out of her bedroom. I heard stories at elementary school about how my mom had been a big draw at The Handful, when the bar had been open on the road between Harrison Corners and Robertstown, back before the government issued a ban on gentleman’s clubs. The other kids made sure I knew my mother danced topless, that she had been the center attraction, even though she never told me herself.

I thought about all this on the walks. Things were so very different then, only a decade before. At the time, it all seemed so innocent.

After all, who would fight a War over gasoline?

Back then, no one knew how much power Maxwell Cooper had, how much influence he wielded over The Party’s generals. No one anticipated the ice age between Canada and U S, one that worsened each year. No one thought gasoline prices would climb even higher. But the world ran out of oil faster and faster as the months flew by, a catastrophic mistake. Eventually, the price topped $15 a gallon and stayed there, despite President Phillips’ pleas for an increase in production. The Middle East’s oil supply had dried up. Gone. Venezuela refused to increase production. Reserves across the world ran dry. We miscalculated the remaining supply and had no viable alternatives to make up for it. No negotiating in the world would push the price down even one cent.

“Please limit what you use,” Phillips pled in a series of public service announcements and speeches. “Don’t drive unless you must. Don’t waste our precious resources. Together, we can beat this.”

Of course, a plan had already been set in motion: the assassination of President Phillips and two-thirds of her cabinet. Right afterwards, The Party coup forced our vice president, Drew Morgan, into exile in Canada. Maxwell Cooper seized power, and he reigned as leader of The Party and all of us.

Now, years later and a few nights after the big announcement in the center of town, I walked to the middle of the old cornfield about a half mile from our house. I took off my jacket, spread it down in the field and lay down on top of it.

“Oh, my God,” I whispered to myself. “There has got to be a better life than this.”

I slowed down my breathing and tried to put fear out of my mind. Seven hours remained until I must report to The Count and an hour after that I would start my first day at the converted factory. I was like a death row prisoner on the eve of my final hours of life. Working at a factory was the last thing I wanted to do.

I closed my eyes. My whole body relaxed into the dusty ground. I almost fell asleep in the spring twilight. Then sometime around midnight, I heard the snap of a dried corn stalk and then the crunch of dead leaves under a foot. The sound came from behind the left side of my head. I stopped breathing and my eyes flew open. All the muscles in my body tensed.

Crack.

There it came again — closer this time.

Crunch.

I didn’t move. I didn’t blink. My mind raced.

What if they found me? What would I say? How would I save myself? How would I explain it all away?

Snap.

A few seconds later, the sound came even closer, and then, right on top of me. The moon illuminated a dark, shadowy figure towering over me from the overgrown weeds circling my hiding spot. I closed my eyes and flinched.

Did he know I lay there?

Then he spoke. “What in the hell are you doing here?” 

CHAPTER THREE

I didn’t open my eyes even though I knew Fostino’s voice. Instead, I struggled with whether to be afraid or relieved. The emotions pulled me like two opposite ends of a broken rubber band. After a moment, he spoke again.

“Charlotte! Can you hear me? What’s going on here?” He bent down and shook my shoulder. “Charlotte!”

I opened my eyes and looked straight at him, hoping to hide my surprise and terror. “What are y
ou
doing here, Fostino?” I kept my voice even as I sat up. “Wait. How do you know my name?”

“Patrols.” He shrugged his answer to my first question.

Oh, right — Homeland Guard Patrols.

“Now, why didn’t you answer me?” He still loomed over me.

I ignored his question. “Isn’t it really late for patrols?” I picked the leaves and debris out of my long blonde ponytail. Then I threw what I found to the side. Fostino sat down on the hard, dry earth and didn’t answer me.

“I’ll ask you again. What are you doing here?” He paused, and looked around the clearing in the field. “Do you come to this field to hide?”

I frowned. I didn’t want him interrogating me. After all, as a ranking officer of the Homeland Guard, I knew he and the others spied on everyone at school. Even so, I took in the sight of him and it made me light headed. Fostino looked so handsome, even now, as he wore the Homeland Guard uniform. Medals and commendations adorned the left side of his jacket.

“No,” I lied. “I got lost. That’s it.” Then I tossed him my brightest fake grin, hoping to distract him. Fast.

“Getting lost happens to a lot of folks these days. Lots of them.” He sounded suspicious. “So what are you really doing here?”

“Really. I just got lost.” Then I remembered something. Something important. “Wait. Don’t you all patrol together?” I looked around after I asked him and didn’t see anyone else from the Homeland Guard.

He scooted a little closer to me. “Not tonight. It’s just me.”

An acrid scent wafted over me, and I wrinkled my nose in disgust. “What’s that smell? Ugh.”

Fostino sniffed the sleeve of his uniform and grimaced. “Fire.” He cleared his throat. “We burned some of the electronics we collected today in a big bonfire behind the school.”

My eyes bulged and I gaped at him for a few seconds. “Should you have told me that?”

Fostino brushed some of his hair out of his eyes. “Probably not, but it’s not like the fire wasn’t obvious. Just one more thing we have to do to win The War.”

“You like it, don’t you? The Party?” I still spoke to him in a low voice, not wanting to take any risks. The moonlight illuminated his Homeland Guard medals, the outline of his strong jaw, and the hook of his nose. “Won’t you be a pilot? Join The Party full on this fall? You’ll be perfect.”

Fostino snorted. “No. No, not at all. I won’t be a pilot. They say it won’t happen. I’m not qualified.”

Did I hear sadness in his hoarse voice?

I shuddered in disbelief. “What the hell do you mean?” I said before I stopped the words from tumbling out of my mouth. “Of course you’re qualified! You win every medal they’ve ever handed out in school, and you always do things better than anyone else. You got the record in the 400m dash. Plus, you’re always smiling and happy.” With each sentence, I grew more angry and incredulous.

Oh God.

I knew more about him than I should.

Fostino put a finger to his lips to silence me. He whispered. “Be quiet. I mean it. They will hear you if you get too loud.”

I scooted closer to him so he would hear me. “What do you mean, you’re not qualified?”

“I’m not. I never will be.” He paused. “I’m not the right — I don’t know. They want perfection. Perfect to them is everything, and I mean everything.”

“But who’s perfect? What do they mean by that?”

“They don’t mean me. I’m not the right… type.” He hugged his knees and some of the leaves crackled underneath him. “I’m not what they want. Listen, it’s complicated. But it’s final.”

“Final?”

I thought about the propaganda and the government footage shown in class over the years. I remembered all the clips of The Party, the factories, and the better life we all led in the years since The Revolution. Most of the pilots in The Party were tall and brunette with creamy skin, shining like pearls. They all had smiles that went on for days.

Didn’t Fostino fit?

“How do you know for sure? They must make exceptions.”

Fostino sneered. “If they make exceptions, I’m not one of them. I’m not perfect.” He picked at some of the dry grass under our feet and shrugged. “They let me know last month. Mr. Kentwood told me the decision after drill. They say I’m better for the regular army in The Party. The commander told me maybe I should train to be sniper. They like my sharpshooting.” His tone made it sound like a closed subject.

“Okay,” I filled in because I had nothing relevant to say. He didn’t fit the ideal. I didn’t fit the perfection mold, either.

Fostino sighed and ran one hand through his thick hair. “Just the way it is.” Then he studied me. “Maybe one day I can explain it better to you.”

I could tell he had done this problem in his head a thousand times and that each time, the answer tasted even bitterer than the last. A few seconds passed as we watched the vacant, silent sky. Then I turned to him to ask another question.

“So, I’ve always wondered something else about you…” Seemed a good time to ask anything.

“What?” He scooted a little closer to me and then raised one thick eyebrow. His eyes roamed over my face.

“Since we’re taking about the ‘ideal’, well, um, how did you get your name? Fostino? No one has a first name like that around here.

“Old family name. Fostino was the last name of my great-grandparents on my mother’s side.” Fostino laughed. “I get that question a lot. You think it’s weird?” He picked up a couple of twigs in his hand and broke them one by one.

“No.” I rubbed my shoulders a bit as an evening chill set in around us. “I think it’s kind of cool, actually. I wish I knew more about my parents and my family.” I changed the subject. Something else bothered me more. “Fostino, I know they tell you a lot in those classes about The Party you take for the Homeland Guard—” I broke off, unsure.

“Yes,” he prodded, seeming aware I grew more nervous with each half second.

“It’s just…” I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood.

What if he told people what I asked? What if he reported me? What if I asked the wrong questions?

“It’s just, what?”

I took a deep breath, and then the words tumbled out between us like marbles on a kitchen floor. “We have to go to The Count tomorrow, and then to Coleman Athletic,” I stammered. “And th—the—they didn’t tell us much about it.”

“And?”

“So what do you know? Do you know what will happen tomorrow?” My breath quickened and my stomach twisted. “I’ve been sitting here thinking about it, and I’m just worried. I have a bad feeling about it.” I bit my lip. “So, do you know what’s going to happen?”

Fostino looked at me for what felt like fifteen minutes. When he opened his mouth, his words came out hushed too. “Yes, Charlotte. I do.”

CHAPTER FOUR

I gulped. Hard. “So… what’s going to happen?” I leaned in closer to him and put my weight on my left leg.

“We found out about it yesterday during drill. They told us not to say anything to anyone.” Fostino clenched his jaw and covered his mouth with his left hand.

“Really? That bad?” My voice trembled behind the question. 

“It’s bad — worse than bad,” he said. “They’ll decide stuff during The Count tomorrow morning. They—they don’t want people working in the factory they think can’t get what we need done.” He buried his head in his hands before I heard a long sigh. Then he continued in the stillness of the night.

“Some people will die. And if you think tomorrow will be the end of it? Nope. I think it’s going to get worse and worse and worse and then—” He broke off and choked up more. 

I gawked at him, unable to process what he said. My mouth went dry. My eyes tightened, then strained as my heart quickened. A cold sweat trickled down my neck. Last night’s dinner rose to the back of my throat. 

Oh, no.

“How many people? How many? Who?”

“I don’t know. I wish I did.” He lifted his head and shrugged. “Listen. This is serious. Whatever you do, pass The Count tomorrow. Make them think you’re fit for work, that you’ll sew more shirts than they’ll ever need, and you’re a true believer.” He put his hand on my arm — the first time he ever touched me. “Please.”

“But why would you tell me this, Fostino?” I spit out the words like bullets as I pulled away. I thought I wanted this information, but now just wished for ignorance. “You don’t even know me.”

He grabbed my arm and frowned. His face came within a half inch of mine. “Well, you asked. And because, well, it’s better now that I’ve told someone. I’m glad I got to tell you. I’ve been trying talk to you—”

Did I see confusion on his face?

“Wait. Didn’t you tell your parents?” I interrupted him in my quietest voice possible. My eyes narrowed. His parents owned Centre Towne Market, the central convenience store in Harrison Corners. “Don’t you have a sister? What about them?”