Revolution

Chapter 1

The moon casts asinister glow on the empty street. I decide that I have to risk running intothe open to get to my home. The shadows of the building slide off of me as I sprint down the street, piercing the silence with my heavy footsteps, and I don't look back until I reach another source of obscurity.    

These days, we hunt for jobs. You kill with the option of taking the victim's position. This is what dire times has forced us to do. Jobs are just too scarce, and I guess this is the government's sick way of keeping the population in check. The most desperate people with no jobs are usually safe. But the most desperate people are always the most dangerous. Trust and bonding are strictly forbidden if you want to survive. I bet that the human race won't last much longer.

Just a few decades ago, an unknown sickness people have come to call the Sweep appeared, sweeping in and spreading like wildfire, infecting as easily as a common cold. It seeped into the minds of its victims and filled them with delusions and hallucinations. These thoughts made them panic and set fires. At one point the Sweep was able to convince almost the entire population of the United States to set buildings on fire with its deception. By the time most of the fires were put out, thousands had died and everything was in chaos. The sickness suddenly disappeared soon after that, and most of us assume that the fires burned it out. But I'm still afraid that it's still out there.

Locators were issued soon after that. It's a band connected to wires that are inserted into your arm. It includes your ID number, and also measures your pulse so that Officials know if you're dead or not. When a job transfer is happening, Officials won't actually go to the location. The killer could still be wielding the weapon. Instead, to transfer jobs, you scan your victim's Locator. A signal is sent to the Officials, who determine if the victim is truly dead by looking at the pulse. If they okay your transfer, your new occupation appears on your Locator.

The nation has devolved so much since the Sweep. I can't even imagine life before it. I've heard about wonderful things that I will never get to have, astonishing events that I will never experience. You could trust your relatives. You could have friends. I would give anything to live in a place like that.

I've flattened myself against a taller building across the street. I brace myself for trouble when I hear a thump a few yards away and stay there for a minute or so, but I guess the noise I heard was just my paranoia getting into my head again. I tread quietly and carefully, pausing at a familiar fragment of glass near my home.

My curly coffee-colored hair is getting uncomfortably long. Not that I've ever had coffee. My dad told me about it years ago. I have dark circles under my blue eyes, making them look even lighter than they already are. At this point, I consider them grey. My dad used to gush about how much I looked like my mom, but I will never get to see for myself.

I remember my dad faintly. He tried to not get attached to me, but being a father, that was a very hard task. Most parents keep their child alive, but don't create a connection in fear that they might turn against them one day. The parent releases them when they are around 12 years of age to fend for themselves. It's a safety precaution. It's either that or leave the child on the streets right from the start. My dad couldn't do it when I turned 12. He waited until my 13th birthday before abandoning me. My mom left my dad when I was born. He says that it's because she couldn't bear the thought of leaving me.

I don't understand why I stop here so much. It's not like appearances matter. Maybe it's because I have to remind myself that I'm human sometimes. Although I haven't seen my dad in three years, I distinctly remember him saying, "We never really forget our family, because they are anyone and everyone we come to care about." I sigh and keep going, immediately ducking into my home after making sure that I wasn't followed.

I'm repeating that phrase over and over in my head as I wake up. It reminds me to stay alert. The old mattress creaks under me as I sit up. There's a familiar piece of metal on the wall that says "Vault 12." I move past the stack of cardboard boxes next to the mattress, take a deep breath, and step out of my home.

Leaves are tumbling through the air. The air smells faintly of smoke, like always. The sun appears to be glaring at me, demanding the reason why I woke up so late today.

Everyone gets their food from the Officials. No one is stupid enough to sit prey in a grocery store. We type the item we want in our Locator and the money is automatically taken from our sum. We can type a spot for the food to be delivered to. It usually takes around a day to get delivered, so I order in advance. The Officials pilot airplanes to drop off the food from the sky in a box that will only open when scanned by the right Locator. I usually choose locations at least three blocks from my home, just in case. I always choose nooks that others are less likely to find, and I never choose the same place twice.

I order once a week, always on Wednesdays. Today is the day I need to pick up my food. It's the worst possible day for me to wake up late. Creeps who patrol the streets for their victims like to stay near food boxes if they find them. It insures them a victim unless they die before they get to it. I have no time to waste.

I begin a brisk pace, staying towards the edge of the road. Pebbles and small rocks litter the street, along with potholes and cracks. It's hard to believe that people used to spend money to fill them up. In fact, the idea of driving cars makes me pretty skeptical. Today, driving a vehicle is asking to be jumped. No one has the money or resources for that anyway. I make myself run faster. Tall, overgrown grass supply some cover as I rush towards my chosen location.