ZONED

II

A war. That's what's going on. A war with nuclear bombs and people threatening to demolish an entire continent. And when the new government needed a solution to this problem, they decided they'd just round up every American citizen and put them in a zone. A zone based on their IQ. The lowest ones and babies, would be offered as sacrifices, and commit suicide missions. The highest ones would devise plans, build weapons, and, hopefully, win this war.

So that's me. I'm one of about 3,000 of America's geniuses, trying to win a war against all the other nations. America's pretty out numbered, and it didn't take somebody in Zone Six to figure that out. But all the other countries don't have the power we do. Still, the odds of America completely not existing by the end of this war are like skyscraper-high.

But I sit in my barrack, and I cry. I cry because there's a war. I cry because I'll probably die. I cry because I don't think I'll ever see my family again. I cry because that's what any even semi-emotional human being would do... right?

I'm not alone, sobs fill the air in barrack S-Z (alphabetical among geniuses by last name) like it's the newest song obsession. Just screaming, crying, moaning, coughing, snoring, and other distressful noises. The perfect lullaby. Not that I'd sleep anyway, I doubt I could even if I wanted to. Even if it were deadly silent, I don't think I could sleep.

I imagine all the people I ever knew in barracks just like this. Freddie, all alone, and my mother, worrying about Freddie and I. I'm sure they know somebody. I mean, Zone Four has the most people because it's the average intelligence zone. Freddie's okay. He must be. He's okay.

I bite my nail, I really do hope he's okay. I wonder what zone my dad got, or if he's even still alive.

I never knew my dad. But my mom never wants to talk about him. Ever. When we adopted Freddie, he was three. He kept asking if he had a dad. My mom wouldn't even bring him up then. No signs of my dad are left in my old home, so I'm left to guess about him.

---

"Wake up, Zone Six!" The loud speaker blares. The few people who managed to fall asleep are startled awake. The loud speaker crackles to life again, "Please proceed to engineer lab 9 and begin the plans you see. Until the project is complete, you will get no food. Report there now, anyone there after ten minutes from now will be punished... severely." I stand up from the sack I was laying on and make my way to the mob of people trying to squeeze out the doors. I see another kid, probably about my age (12) get up from her sack. I hold back a minute to fall in line with her.

At first, I say nothing. Then, after we reach the door she says, "You first." And I mumble a "Thanks".  After about three more minutes of awkward silence of walking to the lab, I speak up. "Hi, I'm Nya." Wow, amazing first impression. Way to go, Nya! She nods, but no grin, not that I was expecting one. "I'm Kimberly." We enter the lab. "Is you're family here?" She asks. I fight back tears and shake my head. "Neither is mine. They're all in Zone Four." Kimberly wipes her eyes. "My brother's in that zone," I mumble and pat down my bed head. She reaches up and does the same without a word.

We cram ourselves in a corner and let others start to argue over what jobs to take in building the project. "Can you see what it is?" She asks. I shake my head. Kimberly reaches for her pocket and pulls out a pair of oval glasses. She puts them on and peers closer. Her expressions freeze on her face. "What is it?" I ask urgently. She shakes her head and folds up the glasses. "I just need to get used to the fact were in a war. It's a nuclear bomb." She blows her dark bangs from her eyes, "We're actually going to die."

I close my eyes, "Most likely."