Barren

0.1

We walk in the desert. The sun beats down on our shoulders, our eyes weary and bleached. Bots roll along, their rubber tracks left in the burning sand, razors up for anyone who dares to stop or slow down. The sand is too bright, the sky is too blue. Still, we walk in a line 1,000 people strong. A Bot for every 10. 100 Bots, gleaming yellow eyes searching for stragglers.

I adjust the rubber pack on my back. The chafing leather strips have been peeling for weeks, leaving marks on my sunburned shoulders. Sweat has long since dampened my hair, leaving it stuck to my back in rivulets. Despite my light clothing, I swear I'm on fire. But I've walked for longer, so I tamp the fire down and concentrate on the sky. The sky is constant, lending strength to my trembling legs. I can make it, I know this, but the boy in front of me cannot. With a soft cry, he crumpled to the ground. He will not get up, but I will not accept this. I will not.

I lean over, and wrench his arm up. His eyes are red-rimmed, snot running down his face. His mouth lolls open slightly.

"Get up." I hiss, the Bot has noticed the line is slowing. It's head slowly rotates around, a small mercy, designed to give people a moment to gather themselves, to stand. The Boy's head creaks slightly as he makes a small sound that sounds like, 'muh.' The Bot is getting closer. Sweat pouring down my face, I pick the Boy up. There is a gasp behind me. It's not illegal, but unheard of for someone to carry someone else. Our loads are already too heavy. With a heaving breath, I step forward once more.

I do not know if I can do this, I have never tried. But I can't let him die, I don't think I could live with it. It baffles me how many people I've seen who just leave the slumped people on the sand. I've never been close enough to help. I always swore I would.

"You'll understand." Montag had said, sadly, when I asked her about the old man who she'd let fall to the ground. "When it happens near you, you'll let them die just like we all would." At the time I'd ground my teeth together, furiously, but I had no way to prove it. Until today. If Montag is still alive by the end of today, I'll shove this kid in her face.

If he survives, his breathing is shallow. He's much to young to carry the load he's been given. He can't be more than what, 80 pounds? And yet, the pack he carries is far heavier. I grunt quietly, the most anger I am permitted to express. Taking a deep breath, I raise my head and look for my twin sister, Cree. Whereas Montag will be in a different line due to the location of her First-Rotation-BioSphere. Cree and I share a BioSphere, so we should be in the same line. The last time I spotted her, she was a few people in front of me. Speaking of BioSpheres...

The huge white, pock-marked circle rises like a specter out of the sand. Bots begin to roll away from the line, lifting packs of of people who gasp and cry in relief. That's the thing about the packs, they're just 'the packs.'  We carry them from BioSphere to BioSphere, never stopping. They're always getting heavier, and heavier. When we aren't strong enough, we fall, we stop. That's how you are measured in this world; by your strength. I am strong, strong enough to be eligible for the five year Raffle, but I could never try to enter it. Not when Montag and Cree are still here.

So we carry our packs. We aren't allowed to know what's in them. All I know about their insides is that once, a girl opened one and began to cry. She was killed on the spot. When I dream of a better world, I don't think of the 'paradise' of Lush, I think of a world where I can stand tall and use my strength to do something else; what, I am not sure. Maybe to climb mountains? Ha! If there was a world without packs, I think I'd do a lot more than climb mountains...but I don't know any other life. Don't even know what I'd enjoy.

I feel a Bot lift the pack that I've been carrying for a week of my back. Hopefully next time I'll get one that has fabric straps, or at least straps that don't peel. The Bot snips the straps off the unconscious boy. He doesn't even stir. I begin to wonder if he's dead, if all this strenuous walking has been for nothing. Finally, finally, a section of the BioSphere opens, wafting cool air over us. This BioSphere is smaller than the last one we stopped at, it's only about a mile long and a few feet high.