II.

Bewildered, Ben wandered home, trying to consider what Ms. Zekelar meant. War was scary; he’d heard about some of the ones from the past—World War I and II, Vietnam, Desert Storm I and II—but he had thought that wars were for people from another era. War meant things like rations, and rallies, and soldiers and guns. He was only in fourth grade; while he knew some history, he only knew a few of the horror stories from textbooks about people dying, and then whatever he’d seen in the movies. Even the movies were kind of scary, truth be told.

He wound around the corner, to the rock-and-cactus garden in front of the stucco house with the red tiles, and paused in front of his door. Before he could reach for the handle, the door swung inward and a hand reached out, grabbing him and dragging him inside.

With a yowl, he struggled to escape as he was drawn against his mother’s soft, squishy bosom and belly. The familiar chamomile scent of her perfume made him relax briefly, and then he wriggled free of her hold.

“Moooom,” he whined, rubbing at his cheek where she’d kissed him. “I’m too old for that.”

“Ben, sweetie, where were you?” she asked, ignoring him and reaching out to try and fix his hair. “You’re covered in dirt! Oh, God, we were so worried! You can’t imagine… have you heard the news?”

“We’re at war…?” he said, wide eyes fixed on his mother.

“Yes,” she nodded, her eyes suspiciously bright. “North Korea and China have declared war on the United States and her allies.” She sniffed, reaching out to catch his shoulder and guide him towards the living room, where the TV was blaring the same broadcast as the one in Cassie’s house.

Great Britain has already pledged support for the US, as have Germany, France, and Japan. North Korea has garnered the support of China, and Pakistan. Russia, Spain, Switzerland, and Sweden have yet to announce their positions, but the rest of Europe is by our side in this.

May God help us all…

Ben turned away, looking up at his mother in time to see her cross herself and blow her nose loudly. Frightened, he glanced around. His sister was sitting on the couch, her iPod turned off for once and her eyes fixed to the screen. She was hugging one of her knees to her chest, and looked teary as well. His brother was slumped next to her, shaking his head in disbelief, rubbing at his forehead.

“Ben, go upstairs and take a bath,” said his mother. “You’re filthy.”

“Mom, don’t protect him,” said his brother, turning aside. “This is World War fucking Three, here, the kid has to learn sometime.”

“It is not World War Three!” cried his sister suddenly, turning an accusing stare to their brother, “Stop trying to scare everyone, Brad.”

Brad shook his head, running a hand through his cropped hair and then pointing at the TV. “See that? That right there just listed off the countries dividing up. There’s nukes on both sides, Beth.” He laughed, bitterly. “There won’t be anything left but cockroaches when this is through.”

She jumped to her feet and slapped him across the face, hard enough that it echoed through the room. For a moment, everyone was stunned into silence, and then she began to yell. “Shut up! I hate you! You’re such a bastard, I hate you!” Without giving anyone time to respond, she raced off, plugging her earbuds into her ears to drown out the rest of the family.

Their mother ran off after her, thumping up the steps after she shot a glare at Brad. He shrugged, and then patted the cushion next to him, summoning his younger brother over. Obediently, Ben shuffled to sit beside him, turning his round, curious face expectantly towards him.

“This is gonna be bad, Ben. They’ll tell you that it won’t affect us, or not a lot, but they’re lying.”

“Who’s ‘they’?” he interrupted.

Brad waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, you know, school, teachers, parents, the government and that shit. They’re gonna say that this won’t effect us, but it will. Trust me, kiddo, it will. It’s gonna be news all the time, wartime propaganda, gas and food prices will go up…oh, man, we’re probably gonna have to evacuate the town, too.” He shook his head, rubbing at his eyes tiredly.

Ben studied his older brother as he spoke. Brad was eighteen, out of school and just starting to work. He was very tall, almost lanky, except that he had some muscle from lifting boxes in the town’s grocery store. His chin had a bit of stubble on it, but it was the same blondish color as his and Ben’s hair. They looked fairly alike, except that Brad had a more wiry build, and sharper features. And a distinct lack of freckles. Unconsciously, Ben rubbed at one of his grimy cheeks, leaving a streak of dirt through the film of sweat and tears.

“What’s ‘perpaganna’?” he asked.

Brad laughed and shook his head, although he didn’t seem very happy. “It’s ‘propaganda,’ kid. It’s… where the government puts out lots of ads, and newspapers, and media about how the US is good, and the other guys are bad. It’s how they make sure that we stay loyal to them.”

Wide-eyed, Ben licked his lips. “So… are we the bad guys then?” he whispered, afraid to imagine the implications of this.

He didn’t want to be a bad guy. He’d never been consulted in the matter. Was he supposed to be one of the bad guys, just because of where he lived? Because of who his leader was? Even though he didn’t get to choose his leader, or where he was born, or what he looked like, he was going to be another of the bad guys, with their guns and moustaches and evil laughs.

Brad sighed and shook his head again. “No… what people don’t realize, is that most wars aren’t about good guys versus bad guys… they’re about leaders disagreeing, and their people suffering because of it.”

“So the President and the President of China are the real bad guys?”

With a grin, Brad reached out and ruffled his hair. “You’re a smart kid, Benny. Yeah, pretty much. Them and the rest of their governments.”

Ben frowned. This wasn’t really any better—they were being ruled by a bad guy, and had to do what he said. And if Brad was right, if they were going to suffer because of the President, then it was really bad. The President could do anything, couldn’t he?

There was a thumping from the stairs, and Beth stuck her teary face around the railing. “Mom says for Ben to take a bath.” She didn’t say anything more, just disappeared.

Ben looked over at his brother, as if waiting for an answer, and Brad sighed again. “She’s upset because she knows that what I’m saying is true. And it’s scary. The whole world could be over soon, and she knows it.”

Feeling sick, he turned away from his brother. The whole world, over? He’d heard of the hellish nukes that could blow everything up, but he had never considered the possibility that they might be used. The only real experience or knowledge he had was from video games, and nukes usually just blew up a whole level, making it easier to win, even if it was cheating, sort of. But to think of a real bomb that could wipe out… a lot of people. He shuddered.

“Hey, where’s your girlfriend?” asked Brad suddenly. “Did her mom send you home or something?”

“She’s not my girlfriend!” he shouted automatically, before pausing, biting his lip and feeling guilty that he’d forgotten about Cassie so quickly. “No…well, yeah. We were playing, see… and she fell off a rock—”

Brad leaned forward, frowning slightly. “Where were you playing? There aren’t any rocks or trees big enough to fall off of.”

Ben looked down, at his hands, and blushed. Without meeting his brother’s eyes, he mumbled, “The valley.”

“Are you nuts? No wonder you’re sunburned! The valley… come on, Ben, it’s desert.”

“But we live in the desert!”

Brad shook his head, toying absently with his eyebrow ring. “Not really. I mean, technically, we’re in the desert because it’s the southwest, but…it’s not really the desert. We live under the weather balloons, with their temp modifiers and UV filters, and then the sprinkler systems and humidifiers… our environment isn’t real, Ben, it’s controlled. To make it safer for us… down in the valley, you’re out of the balloon network, where you can get dehydrated, sunburned, or hurt—like you did today—and no one is around to help you.”

“But if I get hurt here, in the neighborhood—” he started to protest, but Brad cut him off with a wave of his hand.

“Have you ever noticed that when a kid gets hurt outside on the street, everyone within five houses comes out to check on them? Even for a scrape or bruise?”

Ben nodded slowly. It had never occurred to him that there might be another reason, something besides people looking out their windows, or hearing the crying.

“There’s an alarm system. If there’s an impact in the street, the nearest five houses get buzzed. If it’s a big impact—like a car accident, or a person getting hit—then the nearest ten houses get buzzed, and Emergency Services get called. The street and sidewalk are filled with sensors. It must’ve been an insanely expensive project, but the Neighborhood Safety Act of 2013 forced suburban areas to start installing them, and now it’s standard in every neighborhood across the country. They’re starting to put sensors into city streets, too, like New York and L.A., but that’ll take a while, mainly because of the construction involved.” Brad shook his head. “So much money they’ve spent, so that a bunch of housewives can rush out when a kid scrapes their knee. They should’ve put that towards the Education Reform, but somehow, it’s more important to know about scrapes and cuts than for kids to know our history, or science, or anything like that.”

Ben listened intently. This was what Beth called one of Brad’s rants, but he’d always found them fascinating. His brother seemed to know everything there was to know about, well, everything. He could rattle off all of the important laws passed in the past decade; in fact, he knew most of the major laws from the past century. Every night, Brad came home and watched the news until he fell asleep—he’d read a book, or eat dinner, in front of the TV monitor. Their mother said he was well-informed, their father said he should save up to go to college, and their sister said that he was pretentious.

Brad preferred to do what he wanted to. For the time being, he was content to lift boxes at the grocery store for minimum wage, reading the papers and getting into regular arguments with those around him on subjects like politics, policy, and the latest goings-on in the news. He had a couple of friends, who never came over, but a few nights every week, mainly on the weekends, he would go out, and in the morning, he’d be sleeping on the couch in his clothes, sometimes with a trashcan of vomit beside him. Ben didn’t like it very much when he found his brother like that; when he woke up he was grumpy and tired, and usually wouldn’t talk to anyone, just lie there with an arm over his eyes, complaining about the light or the noise and demanding water and painkillers.

Brad continued, gesturing with one hand for emphasis. “And then Healthcare… I’m telling you, they could’ve put a lot of money towards better things than fucking motion sensors in our streets and fences. It’s like the Stepford Wives or something like that.” He shook his head, exhaling through pursed lips and making a farting noise. Ben giggled, and his brother turned toward him, a grin spreading over his face. “Alright, kid, Mom’s gonna come yell at us if you don’t go take that bath.” He checked his watch. “Hurry, and I’ll take you for ice cream before dinner.”

Ben didn’t need urging; he shot up the stairs and into the bathroom, pausing only to toe off his gritty shoes before stepping onto the tiled floor and shedding his clothes. Rinsing off—he didn’t really like to wash, with soap and water and that junk—he hopped out, toweling off quickly and pulling his dirty clothes back on.

When he stepped out into the hallway, his mother caught sight of him and stopped, hands on her hips. “Ben, put on some clean clothes. Those are disgusting.”

With a heavy sigh, he traipsed into his room and pulled out a fresh tee shirt and shorts. “Even my underwear?” he called through the door, knowing what the answer would be.

“Yes! Even your underwear!”

“Zekelar, Cassidy?”

A nurse, dressed in starched salmon scrubs and holding a clipboard, motioned for them to come through a door marked ‘Pediatrics.’ With assistance from her mother, Cassidy clambered up from the chair she’d been stuck in for the past hour (it felt like a whole school day’s worth of hours) and limped over to follow the nurse.

“Do you want a wheelchair, honey?”

Pursing her lips, she considered this option seriously. Walking hurt, and a wheelchair did sound kind of fun. After a moment, she nodded vigorously, making the nurse laugh in delight.

“Isn’t she sweet,” she murmured to Cassidy’s mother, bringing a wheelchair over from a cluster of them by the wall. She helped the little girl hobble into it, and then began to push the chair down the hall, talking to them as she went.

“Alright, we’ve gotten the results from the x-ray, and lucky for her, it’s just the arm that’s broken. Unfortunately, it’s going to be very painful to fix.” Making a clucking noise with her tongue, the nurse leaned forward without breaking pace. “Don’t worry, though, honey, we’re gonna make sure you get better real quick.”

“Is there going to be any surgery involved?” her mother asked nervously.

“Mmm… no,” answered the nurse. “The break itself will take a while to heal, though, because it’s so severe.”

They turned a corner, and within a few minutes, Cassidy was being set atop one of the hospital beds, while her mother sat beside her.

“If I go outside for a cigarette, will I be able to get back in?” asked her mother before the nurse could leave.

The nurse paused, giving her an odd look that Cassidy couldn’t understand. She saw her mother’s shoulders tense, and her jaw clench, and knew that somehow it was upsetting to be looked at funny like that.

“Um… yes, we have an employee door, actually. Follow me, I’ll show you…”

And so, Cassidy found herself alone in the room, staring around and feeling increasingly bored with nothing to do. She wished Ben was there with her, because then she’d at least have someone to talk to. Her mother didn’t talk to her a lot, mostly just to tell her when to clean her room or take a shower, or that dinner was ready.

With a sigh, she settled her attention on the green, beeping monitor beside her bed. There was nothing but a flat line, which, she knew from the movies, meant that there was no heartbeat for the machine to detect. Curious, she began to poke among the wires and tubes hanging from the box, searching to find something of interest to play with.

“Ms. Zekelar, could I just ask you a few—oh!”

A doctor was walking in, a young blonde woman with a clipboard, who was looking at Cassidy, startled.

“Where’s your mommy, hon?”

“My mom went outside for a cigarette,” she grumbled, her arm still cradled to her stomach.

The doctor’s eyebrows rose, until they disappeared under the frames of her glasses. “She went out…?” Shaking her head slightly, she moved towards Cassidy now, setting the clipboard down on the bed beside the girl. “Well, at least I can take a look at you… we’re gonna need to take you down to get this set.” She sighed. “I need your mom to sign some forms, first, though. Did she say where she was going outside?”

Cassidy shrugged. “The nurse was showing her a door.”

The doctor grinned. “Awesome. You’re pretty observant… do you want to get back in the wheelchair, so we can collect your mom and get you fixed up right away?”

Nodding, she slipped down from the bed, wincing as it made pain flare in her ankle.

“Careful! Your ankle is only sprained, but a bad sprain can be more painful than some fractures. You want to be able to run around soon, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Then you need to keep off of your feet as much as possible for the next three weeks. No climbing rocks or trees, no racing down the street, no fighting, okay?”

“Three weeks?” wailed Cassidy. “You’ve gotta be kidding me!”

The doctor laughed again. “I like you. Cassidy, right?”

She scowled. “Yeah.”

Pausing in front of a door marked ‘employees only,’ the doctor leaned down so that they were at eye level, extending a hand to shake Cassidy’s good fingers gently. “I’m Dr. Ammeran, but you can call me Dana. Deal?”

Cassidy nodded, grinning. None of the adults she knew let her call them by their first names. “Deal.”

Dana leaned out of the door, coughing a bit and waving some smoke away. “Ms. Zekelar? I have to ask you a few questions before we take your daughter downstairs for treatment.”

Leaning forward a bit, Cassidy tried to peer outside, but her view was obscured by the corner, and Dana’s white labcoat. She could hear her mother’s voice, muffled, answering irritably.

“We need you to sign release forms, so that we can give Cassidy painkillers, and I also wanted to talk to you about the possibility of bone-knitters…”

She heard an answer, but couldn’t quite make it out through the thick hospital walls. Dana drew straighter, her labcoat rippling down the tight line of her back.

“This is going to be incredibly painful… I would recommend painkillers to anyone, but a child—of course she’s going to need them!”

Cassidy felt a tiny smile playing on her mouth. No matter how much her mother got to yell at her, other adults seemed to yell at her mother a whole lot more. And, despite the fact that they didn’t seem to like her mother, the adults seemed to like Cassidy all the more for it. She had come to rely on the kindness of these other adults, even though it often seemed to be tainted by pity—every hug they gave her, the candy bars and home-cooked meals, the occasional gifts—all were offered with a smile that said the giver secretly felt sorry for her.

She leaned forward a bit in the wheelchair, straining her ears. Her mother’s reply was shouted.

“I didn’t ask for your advice on how to raise my kid, lady!”

Waiting, wondering how Dana would respond to something she’d heard her mother say a million times before, Cassidy edged a bit closer, using her good arm to push the wheels. The result was that she began to arc slowly towards the wall, and she decided to stop attempting that.

“Maybe if you tried raising her, you wouldn’t need the advice,” answered Dana. Cassidy was taken aback—she had never heard someone say something so angrily, so hatefully, without raising their voice. If her mother was fiery anger, Dana was unrelenting ice.

“That’s it— I’m done with this bullshit! Release my daughter now, I’m taking her home.”

A shiver ran through her. She knew well enough that if her arm wasn’t treated, it would only get worse—that she might never be able to use it again if the doctors didn’t fix it. Her mother had done this before, once, when she had stumbled and spilled hot water all over her daughter. Cassidy had been very little back then, only about six, and all she remembered was a horrible haze of pain, and then the shouting of her mother. Her back, where the water had spilled, now had a series of puckered white scars, which refused to heal. For a whole three months after that, she had been taken to live with another family, and only saw her mother twice in that period.

“If you do that, ma’am, then she will be taken into Child Protective Custody.”

Cassidy could hear the capital letters. It sounded an awful lot like last time.

“Try it. I’ll get her back.”

Dana’s voice, if possible, grew frostier. “No, ma’am, you won’t. The computers told us when you checked in that she’d been taken once. If she gets taken for a second count of negligent abuse, you’ll never see her again.” She paused, and Cassidy imagined that she could see the angry stare Dana was giving her mother. “I will personally make sure of it.”

Cassidy shuddered, feeling her eyes sting. It was true, most days she came home for dinner to find that there was no dinner, that her mother was drunk on the couch, if she was home at all. It was true that her mother didn’t seem interested in her, even when she was drunk, which made her nicer. And her mother yelled at her and Ben whenever she wasn’t drunk, to the point where she spent as much time as possible at Ben’s house, living under the protective shelter of his parents and brother. But that didn’t mean she never wanted to see her mother again.

Sometimes her mother was nice. Sometimes, Cassidy would come home, tired and fed from Ben’s house, and her mother would cuddle up with her on the couch and let her fall asleep watching TV. Sometimes her mother would order a pizza and they’d sit in their pajamas, watch a movie, and giggle until midnight. And then there were the (rare) occasions when her mother took her to the big Super Wal Mart in town, and bought her some new clothes. They almost made it worth the rest of the time. Almost.

She heard something mumbled through the door, and it sounded like a form of defeat. But Dana took a step forward, even angrier, if that was possible.

“Are you joking? This is your daughter! You aren’t willing to spend a few extra dollars to have her properly anesthetized? Did you even look at her arm? If she doesn’t get it set, infection will set in and she’ll either die, or else we’ll have to amputate the limb. And that will be a lot more expensive than half a Vicodin!”

There was another angry, muffled reply, during which Cassidy had time to mull over Dana’s words. She didn’t know what ‘amputate’ meant, but it didn’t sound good. And she definitely didn’t want to die. What was wrong with her mother? Why didn’t she just listen to the doctor? Obviously the doctor would know what was best. Her mom wasn’t a doctor, after all.

Apparently her mother had said something that upset Dana, because the blonde woman drew back a step, until her profile was visible to Cassidy in her wheelchair. One hand rose to cover her mouth, a clear expression of horror coursing over her pretty features. She shook her head, as if trying to deny what the other woman was saying.

“Ms. Zekelar, please. You can’t just get up and leave—Social Services will take your daughter if you do that. You can’t abandon her over something as stupid as a disagreement with her physician, or a refusal to take care of her.”

Cassidy felt nauseous suddenly. This couldn’t be happening. Not like this, not so quickly and all at once. Her arm began to throb, picking up a more frantic beat as her heart raced. Tears trickled out of her eyes and she rubbed them away, trying to be brave. Her mother wouldn’t leave her. Not because someone yelled at her. People yelled at her all the time. Ben’s mom yelled at her every time they saw each other, and her mother didn’t leave her. Well, not for more than a day or two, anyway.

Dana stumbled as Cassidy’s mother—Ms. Zekelar—shoved past her. She was furious, stalking past her daughter and the doctor without sparing them a second glance. For a moment, everything was still, and then Dana raced after her, shouting. Cassidy couldn’t understand a word they said. Her breath came in short, shallow gasps—it felt as if her lungs couldn’t get any air, couldn’t fill up—and her eyes burned with a flood of tears. Wrapping her good arm around her head, she bent double in the wheelchair, still cradling her arm to her stomach, and sobbed.

No matter what fragile hope the doctor held for talking Ms. Zekelar out of her rage, Cassidy knew better. Her mother held grudges, hateful, horrible grudges, and she wouldn’t forgive Dana for what she’d said. Nor would she forgive Cassidy for being the cause of this whole situation. There was no hope for her, no one to go home to, no mother to watch movies with or eat pizza—she didn’t try to look back, didn’t want to see her mother disappear.

By the time Dana came back, she had finished crying, tilting her small, pointed chin up defiantly, glaring at everyone who gave her a look of vague concern or pity. The doctor knelt in front of her, and she was shocked to see that a few tears ran down her face, too.

“Cassidy, it’s okay… she just went out to the front for some air,” whispered Dana, leaning forward to hug her. The girl remained stiff in her arms, unable to relax because it would mean crying again. “She’ll be waiting to pick you up when we’re done.”

Drawing back, Dana wiped her tears aside, reaching over to brush the tangled hair away from Cassidy’s cheeks. It was a gesture that the little girl had never felt, a tenderness her mother had never afforded her, even on those nights cuddled together watching the Late Show.

“Okay,” she said, struggling to keep her voice calm.

Dana stood up, took the chair, and wheeled it off through the corridors. Cassidy couldn’t shake that nauseated feeling, though. Her mother had almost left.