Red Dahlia- Part 4

Red Dahlia- Part 4 
​By Kat Franklin and Lynn Flaugh-Reynolds
The noises of the parade died down outside the Arboretum, the dull roar fading into relative quiet. It had been three hours since Lakota had taken his test, and Paloá thought she might go crazy if they had to wait any longer for the results. All she wanted was for Miss Fuar to read off Lakota’s name so she could watch him in the parade and make sure he got a good family.

Red Dahlia- Part 4
​
   The noises of the parade died down outside the Arboretum, the dull roar fading into relative quiet. It had been three hours since Lakota had taken his test, and Paloá thought she might go crazy if they had to wait any longer for the results. All she wanted was for Miss Fuar to read off Lakota’s name so she could watch him in the parade and make sure he got a good family.
   
​     ​Around her the Parent candidates waited in anticipation, eyes fixed on the stage with hungry intent. The Gardeners’ glared at each other, making bets on who would have the most accepted seedlings. The Educators were squished together into a single group, waiting for the results to be read. They peeked over the parents section to try and catch a glimpse of their future students, and which ones to watch out for. The Professionless made united expressions of unrest, already imagining the trash that would need to be swept from the street, and mourning their night’s sleep. The rest of the crowd milled about, entertained but not entirely invested.
      
​     Miss Fuar emerged beside the doctor, two pages held neatly between her fingers. The crowd was quite as she stalked up to the stage, stopping just behind the podium. Miss Fuar glared at the audience with annoyance as the other Gardeners grumbled about not being picked for the reading. Even though Paloá knew Miss Fuar had been doing this for years, she still wondered how she could remain so calm. Unreadable as always, the Fuar’s expression gave no clue as to Lakota’s scores. Paloá uncrossed her fingers, feeling silly for the gesture. She knew she didn’t need luck, she had given Lakota leverage. That was all he needed.
    
​     “Will the Seedlings please form a line?” This was the softest the Fuar’s voice had been since Paloá made the choice to become a Gardener. The Fuar smiled. “This is the last time you’ll be Seedlings, tomorrow you’ll be with a family or headed to an alternative facility.” The Fuar’s expression fell when she mentioned the alternative facility, a lie made up to comfort the public and the Seedlings. Every Gardener knew that a failing grade on the examination was a death sentence. As cold as the Fuar seemed, Paloá knew that the examinations still got to her.
    
​     “Those whose names I call will be moving to the first available seat on the parade float, and those whose names I don’t say will be following Ms. Partridge back to your rooms. The transport to the alternative facility has been delayed and won’t be here until tomorrow.” The audience vibrated with impatience, not even caring about the delay and what it might mean. In the back, Rutlet sighed with relief and slowly weaved his way around the crowd to the Arboretum .
     
​     Paloá glanced over at the chairs on the float, already imagining Lakota craning to see over the top of his. She wondered why there were exactly eighty chairs, the ones she had set up last night before the test. They hadn’t known then which would pass, had they?

“#01 Anekyn Vidir” The Fuar’s voice cut through the silence like butter. The potential parents leaned forward in their seats, scrutinizing the seedling as he passed onto the stage to sit in one of the chairs marked #01. Miss Fuar continued with little pause, and paid no attention to the greedy gazes of the Parents.

“#02 Johanson”

“#03 Marigold”

    Paloá’s excitement grew with every name the Fuar read off. The names were read in order of health ranking; she didn’t want Lakota to be too far down on the list. Prospective Parents always chose the ones on the top of the list first.

“#65 Sapphire.”

     Paloá’a smile started to sink. The Fuar has read off almost forty names already. Lakota wasn’t a second-half-of-the-list kind of kid. Didn’t the examiner know that?

“#77 Erid”

     A pause. Lakota glanced at Paloá from the line, his eyes wide and scared. She wanted to tell him it would be okay. The rocks in his shirt and the water in his hair had made up for everything that genetics didn’t. She looked at Miss Fuar, silently begging her to finish reading the list so Lakota could take his seat.

“And #80 Elyza Skylark.”

    Silence rang out in the Arboretum. Elyza took her place in the last seat, beaming through her teeth. The Parents eyes raked over her small frame, unimpressed. Paloá wanted to march up on that stage and haul one of the kids off. Lakota deserved to be up there. There must have been a mistake! Even as the thought crossed her mind, she saw again Lakota’s frail torso, his skinny arms, the pale skin that looked sickly in the  October sunlight. This time, she realized what they meant, what she had known all along. Lakota was always destined for the bus ride to nowhere, where the kids were fed poisoned food and dumped from the bus windows as soon as they were declared dead. This wasn’t taught, of course, but one of the Gardeners was married to a Driver, and he had told her what happened. He had mourned that on this day of the year, his bus got less and less passengers as the road went on, not the other way around. She thought it must be lonely to be the last kid on the bus, dying but not yet dead, knowing it was only a matter of time. But the seedlings were young, they probably wouldn’t know what was happening.

   Her eyes welled up. There was nothing she could do. She couldn’t save Lakota from this, couldn’t fix the list to let him live. And even if she could, Miss Fuar had told her that the Seedlings who didn’t pass wouldn’t ultimately die from their weakness anyways. If not now, then sometime over the next few years, in a slower, sadder way. She quickly swiped at her eyes, going over to the forty kids who hadn’t made it. The greeted her with confusion and disappointment, all eyes looking to her as if she could wave a wand and make them healthy. She choked back the tears in her throat and plastered on a smile
     
    Miss Fuar arranged the papers then looked up at the crowd with a hardened stare,” We will now begin the Family Arrangement Auction.” Immediately, the Parents surged up out of their chairs like a tidal wave, pushing and shoving, trying to get their bids in. Miss Fuar sneered at them as she handed the podium over to the auctioneer. The auctioneer tapped the microphone, and gave the crowd an unimpressed look.

“Settle down, Prospective Parents! Bidding for #01 will now begin at 500 vatu.”
***
    Paloá waved a hand, and like magic, the Seedlings lined up behind her. No, she corrected herself, Not Seedlings anymore. Once the Seedlings had been approved, they were given the title of Children. The others were labeled as bio waste and taken to the bus. Thankfully, the bus wasn’t here yet, she didn’t have to say good-bye to Lakota for another twelve hours. This time tomorrow he would be. . .

“Paloá?” Lakota’s tiny hand tugged at her sleeve. “What’s going to happen now?”
           
​     “Well,” Paloá responded, blinking away the wetness in her eyes, “I didn’t want to say this in front of the other kids, in case they got jealous, but you guys are going to an even better place! There’ll be balloons and toys and birthday cake everyday.” The Seedlings had only had cake once, on the Dirigeant’s birthday the year previous. “And there’ll be no teachers, no rules, no Fuar.” She received a couple tentative giggles at the mention of the main Gardener. Slowly but surely, the fear melted from the Seedlings’ eyes, replaced by something that resembled hope. And the more optimistic the Seedlings became, the more her heart broke. Her mom had once sung her a song much the same as the story she was now telling. It was one of summer rays and golden days, flowers streaming in the breeze. She remembered only one line now, of a cake towering with Dahlias.

     She looked over at Lakota, his eyes holding a range of emotions that even she didn’t think she could hold. Worst of all, she could see that he believed her, and it killed her to know that his last memory of her would be a lie.

    She escorted the Seedlings back to their rooms in happy silence, the Seedlings already imagining the cake that wouldn’t be there. As she trudged from the glass-walled Arboretum, her head raised to see a familiar face. She sighed, a smile almost on her lips.

“If it isn’t Leslie.” She smirked, taking in the boy’s smooth dark skin and awful yellow cargo pants. “Leslie Nathair Rutlet.”    


***

“Are the transports down?”

    A girl straightened her back, and clicked her heels together in a parody of a soldier. “Yes, ma’am. The drivers have been captured--”

“--Awaiting your orders, Bee.” A boy interrupted with a mock salute and a smug grin.

     The soldier girl scowled, but stayed silent as Bethlee turned toward them.

“Yew, round up the drivers and send them back to headquarters. Then contact the other branches, and tell them to stand by for Operation WildFlower.” The girl spun around on the heels of her boots, and stalked out; pulled a phone from her pocket and started barking orders: “get the servers ready...traced….hide your--.”

     Bethlee turned towards the boy with a much lighter look on her face.“Yarrow, do you think you can get us in the mainframe at the parade? Make sure nothing can be traced back to us.”
   
    The boy, Yarrow, dashed for the computer chair and wiggled his fingers over the keyboard much like a magician would.

“I thought you’d never ask."

***

    “Paloá.” Rutlet raised his eyebrows. “Crying again? You must be incredibly dehydrated by now.”

    “No.” The easy smirk morphed into a scowl. “Didn’t you see what just happened? The ceremony?”

    “Your Seedling didn’t make it.” He nodded. “That’s tough.”

    “Tough?” She questioned, “It’s unbelievable. The Doctor must have made a mistake, Lakota is strong.” Even as she heard the words leave her mouth, she knew they weren’t true.

    “Strong isn’t the problem.” Rutlet’s voice took on a rare somber tone. “He could still make it. You don’t have to let him die.”

    “Let him die?” Paloá’s despair turned to fuming anger. “I’m not letting him die. It’s genetics, and tests, and-”

    “No,” he interrupted, “No, it’s not! Look, just stand right here for a couple more minutes. I can show you, there is another way!” As if punctuating his sentence, the giant screen tethered to the float crackled. It turned gray once, twice, and crackled again. Previously beaming out the message, “Happy 100th to The Union”, the massive board now shone a deadly black. It was not the black of a screen gone dead, but of potential, both for greatness and disaster. The screen released a high pitched siren, and the crowds screamed in panic, covering their ears.
The sound continued only for a few moments before it was abruptly cut off.
      
     When Paloá looked up, the screen was no longer just black. In the center a bright Red Dahlia shone like a beacon.
    
    “Now that I have your complete attention,” a voice boomed. People from the crowd looked around for the source in frantic bewilderment.
     
      “What is today?” The voice--coming straight from the screen itself-- asked curiously. No one responded, and perhaps the voice didn’t expect them to.
   
     “Today,” the voice said seriously,” is the anniversary of the Union.” Then the Red Dahlia disappeared from the screen to be immediately replaced by clips of warfare. The sounds of it boomed across the audience though It was only a few seconds long before the sounds were silenced. The clips continued with no volume.
      
      "Today is the yearly testing of the Seedlings.” the screen blanked again only to reappear with photos of Seedlings from past testings.”For those that pass, Today is when they are assigned their Development Level, their Parents, and their Teachers. But for those that fail…”
“...Today is when they die.” The statement was immediately followed by a clip. The sound switched on, failed seedlings from testings long past appeared on screen, the Authorité  steering them in the direction of a block like building, and then--

It was gone.

      The screen buzzed, and the Red Dahlia appeared as bright as ever.
The voice said,” Dirigeant, I now speak directly to you.” The Dirigeant stared at the screen with a tight lipped expression that seemed at odds with his usually flamboyant demeanor. He straightened with all the seriousness that befit a person of his status, giving nothing of what he was feeling away.

“This morning,” the voice said,” you said--”

​     And a clip flickered onto screen, showing the speech from just that morning. The video Dirigeant said,”--Look at the generation of tomorrow! Future Parents, they stand before you today ready to take the next steps in becoming working members of Society in the coming years. I ask you to nurture them, and help them grow into the best worker they can be! The Seedlings are the very roots of our Society--” the clip stopped.

     “If Seedlings are so important,” the voice said with barely concealed fury,” If they are your future…”

​     “Why are you killing them?” The audience looked toward the Dirigeant with pale faces. They waited for a denial, but when none came they looked back toward the Red Dahlia. Four children stood out on the screen, boarding the bus that was supposed to take them to their “alternative living facility”. The children were laughing, arms slung around each other and smiles shining against ruddy cheeks. The scene cut to the four children, one by one, being dumped from the back of the bus, colliding with the ground at awkward angles. The bus drove on without them.
The screen flickered. “Because with no future,” the voice lowered into a sharper tone,” You’ll never make it to your 200th.”
     
​     Then the screen flickered and a moment later “Happy 100th to The Union” appeared as if it had never left. Though now it seemed more mocking than congratulatory.
      
​     For a moment, there was silence. Miss Fuar suddenly looked fragile, her hands trembling as if the entire world had been set upon her shoulders, and she had dropped it. The Gardeners shrank into themselves with expressions of guilt and sorrow. The Parent Section broke away from attacking each other to stare at the screen, the gardeners, and the Dirigeant.

​     Then one of the Parents jerked, and shouted in denial, ”LIES! It’s all lies! Mighty Dirigeant tell us it isn’t true!” With that cry others from the crowd began shouting, asking if what they had seen was the truth. The shouts mixed together like a cesspool until nothing was discernible.

​   The chaotic reactions spurred the other professions until Authorité officials shoved technicians from out of the crowd, barking at them to find the origin of the message. The frantic workers pounded furiously on their handheld equipment, punching buttons with little rhyme or reason. Other officials pushed and yelled at the crowd in an effort to calm them. The Dirigeant made no effort to help the Authorité or the technicians. He remained as still as a statue, staring up at the screen with a expression that would be impossible to define. People began to throw rocks at the screen, anger filling their stomachs when the rocks bounced off without a dent. The technicians had made the screens to withstand any sort of riot, their own included.

​     Paloá took it in, her eyes fixed on the screen. She looked at the blazing “Happy 100th to The Union,” the violent crowd, and the Dirigeant staring silently at the screen--ignoring the chaos around him. Then she turned to Rutlet, steely determination set in her glare.

“Let’s go.”