The Tainted Cure: A Dystopian Battle for Identity

Chapter 1

It's days like these when I wish people were more empathetic. Watching two stray dogs fight each other over half of a rotting fish, I realized something. The same thing is happening with all of us. No one has enough to eat. Yet the rich politicians in Chiabasco, D.C., use all the money to build themselves fancy houses and flashy cars. If I were in charge, the politicians would work for free, so that only those who really cared about their citizens would make the decisions.

—Excerpt  from the journal of Thomas Murphy, dated April 6, 2098

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February 19, 2097

Manisota, United North America

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It's snowing again. I'm not surprised; it's snowed at least twice a week since the old US government bombed Russia and China 34 years ago. Apparently, the geniuses at the Pentagon thought it would save everyone from their rapid invasions of Europe and Asia. Instead, they were responsible for almost half of the world's living creatures dying, not to mention rendering some of the world's most populated countries uninhabitable.

These days, everyone's either starving, freezing, or both. The newly created United North American government barely has enough food for its own employees, let alone the nearly 230 million citizens throughout the continent.

My family is lucky. Grandpa Ezra was paranoid enough to prepare for a nuclear war, so his farmland is almost entirely untouched by radiation. Ma says we should thank God for sparing us, but it seems hard to believe that there's a higher power after you've seen a dead man, half-dead by radiation poisoning. Regardless, I guess her before-dinner prayer gives us a sort of routine that nothing can anymore. Well, that and school. Yes, believe it or not, even after a nuclear apocalypse, schools stay open.

Speaking of which, I'm late. Yanking on my boots, I shout goodbye at Ma, trying to be louder than the water filter that we use for the farm. Before I leave the house, the Distribution Box next to the door clatters. I pull out the pill that had fallen into the chute and pop it in my mouth. It doesn't taste great, but after 7 years of taking one every day, it's bearable. X3by9, or, as it's known to most people, The Pill, is the one thing that the government can regularly provide. It has certain vitamins that help our bodies handle the radiation. Or something. I'm not really sure, but since I haven't started developing strange lumps or anything, I'd say they do their job well enough. Strapping my mask on tightly, I opened the inner door to our house. After the war ended, the UNA Nuclear Contamination Safety Commission mandated the installation of two doors in all public and private buildings, creating a sort of air lock.

My boots make a crunch sound against the grayish snow, and I shiver. Some people don't like the texture of chalk, and I don't like the texture of the snow. Think of it like cold, wet sand, except the sand has particles in it that can kill you. Walking slightly faster, I make it to where the snowplow trucks stop, exposing the rocky dirt road underneath. Only government people have cars, and this far away from the capital, plowing the roads is more reminiscent than practical. Not that I mind, since I don't have to walk on the snow anymore.

In the distance, I can see the high school where I spend the better part of my days. Manisota Public High School #129, a low, flat, brown-brick building with boarded-up windows. On the roof, more of that damnable snow had been blown into crests by the wind, creating frozen waves of gray. Sighing, I stomped my boots on the ground by the front door, shaking the sludge onto the concrete.

I pulled the heavy metal door open and walked into the decontamination room. All public buildings have them, but only as a precaution, since the pills keep us from contracting ARS. An off-white mist surrounds me, and I hold my breath. I know from experience that the mist tastes like bug spray. Yes, unfortunately, bugs also survived the war.