The Numbered

Chapter Seventy-One

"Do you have an answer for me, Hannah?"

Bile rose up in her throat. Unable to reply, she lowered her head and submitted.

"Good, good, see that wasn't too hard, was it?"

Briggs took hold of her hand again and pulled her back to the podium.

"For many years we have used the measure of eighty to determine those who are most worthy and should be rewarded within our society. With advancing medical care and improved social management, the resulting overall increase in those attaining plus-80 is therefore placing an unsustainable demand on our resources. Therefore, at midnight tonight, I will be raising this SPR threshold to eighty-five. All those below eighty-five and above eighty will now be classified as Flawed. In the case where a child is below 85, but the parents have a higher SPR, they are invited to either submit their child for adoption or opt to be reclassified themselves. This rule applies to all children under the age of sixteen.

The crowd before them, reacted with a stunned silence as Briggs began to describe the details of the new legislation. Several people in the crowd were shaking their heads in disbelief. Quite a few more had their mouths open in astonishment. Hannah caught sight of a woman two rows from the front of the crowd. Holding a small baby wrapped in a pale lemon blanket, the woman pulled the infant tightly to her, covering its tiny head in kisses, the mother's body wracked by sobs. Further back, a man began to shout out his angry reaction to Briggs' revelation. Within moments, Hannah watched as a team of guards bulldozed their way through the crowd. Once they reached the man, one of the guards took out a baton and whacked him on the back of his legs. The man cried out in agony as he fell, grabbing onto the nearest person in vain. In spite of the fight he put up, the guards managed to tie his hands behind him, placing a black cloth bag over his head. Once he'd succumbed to the torrent of baton whacks applied to his back, they dragged him away.

"Candidates for reclassification will immediately forfeit their rights to all property unless owned outright. Employment rights will be ..."

Hannah looked over again to Scott. He stared straight ahead of him. Until that very moment, she was ashamed to admit that she'd continued to hold on to a trace of doubt about him, never quite believing that he was totally on her side. Trust was a luxury where she came from and one which usually required an advance payment. How could she have ever doubted him?

"This will be an unsettling experience for many, but we must rebalance the needs of the worthiest with those that are not ..."

Deep in the middle of the crowd, a flash of colour caught Hannah's eye. A small orange flag had been raised aloft- its colour in sharp contrast to the country's flags which adorned the crowd. Not now surely!

Then further over to the right of the square a second orange flag was raised. Hannah would have laughed if she'd had the energy. The brightly coloured pieces of cloth seemed such a small, futile gesture. Several metres from the first, two more flags were raised. Briggs, his eyes fixed to the sheet he was reading from had yet to see them, but as the seconds ticked over, more flags were being raised. The sight of them horrified Hannah. She wanted the brave but foolish display to stop. It was too late and nothing but pain could come of this now. John had seen to that.

John. As if she had magically summoned him, she saw him in the front row. Beside him, stood Edward, his eyes fixed on his mother on the stage. John though, was transfixed by Briggs, nodding vigorously at every word Briggs uttered. He caught Hannah looking at him. His face was devoid of emotion. No signs of love, hate or regret and he looked through Hannah as if she was a sheet of glass. She was used to that look. That was how most people looked at the Flawed. Better to imagine them not there, than to have to acknowledge their unsavoury presence.