SEED
Ayla spins in circles on the small grassy hill. Her white dress lifts with each twirl while the red ribbons in her hair flow behind her. The morning air is crisp and the dew still clings to the green beneath her feet and wets her sneakers as she dances around her father. His fingers shake as he adjusts the sight on the telescope. “Daddy, Daddy, watch!” She twirls some more and almost runs straight into him.
“Ayla!” His voice is trembling and the little girl stops, confused and scared. “I’m sorry, dear.” He hugs her close and adjusts her ribbons. “There you are. Now let’s see that twirl.” He leads her away from the telescope and twirls her like a dance partner. He leaves her happy and spinning as he heads back up the hill.
With the scope adjusted, he leans in to the viewer and slowly moves the instrument across the sky until he finds his target. It’s still in the upper atmosphere but already the fire is burning a scar through morning sky. The heat from the surface is so blinding that he can only view the crimson trail left in its wake. Ayla leans in beside him, nudges her eye to the scope, and gasps. “It’s beautiful,” she gasps. Her father lays his chin gently on her head and soaks on the smell of shampoo and wet grass.
“You’re beautiful.”
She turns around, wraps her arms around his neck, and plants a sloppy kiss on his forehead before racing back down the hill. Her father stands and slowly follows behind her. Today he leaves the telescope on the hill next to the bag they have carried it in every morning since her birth.
In town people are rushing from place to place. Some people have packed their cars full of things, others are selling normal things for crazy prices. “Water,” Mr. Peterson yells, “portable water only $200 a jug.” Ayla grips her father’s hand tightly as they walk down the street. Soon the crowd is pressing in from all directions and he hoists Ayla on his shoulders so she isn’t lost in the crowd.
“Come on, it’s almost time.” They walk towards the town square where many are already gathered. A hastily assembled podium has been constructed at the base of the steps. The mayor looks small as she stands nervously to one side of the podium. Behind her the armed guards encircle a large tumbler with hundreds of white balls inside.
The squeal of the microphone hushes the crowd and everyone turns to see the mayor shuffling her notes. “I was going to make a speech but…,” her voice shakes as she wipes away a tear; some in the crowd nod in understanding. “Well, I’ll just get on with it then.”
The guards hoist the tumbler onto the stage and the crowd watches silently as she moves behind it. “Begin.” They spin the tumbler round and round while hundreds of eyes follow the white balls inside. “Enough.” She opens the hatch at the top and pulls out the first ball. “226.”
“Here!” Brian Young pushes through the crowd and places his son, Andy on the stage.
“425.”
“That’s us!” Ann Simmons places three year old Kylie on the stage.
“522.”
“Here!” Ayla’s father doesn’t recognize the man but he too places his child upon the stage.
“48.” A wail comes from behind. They all turn to see a young mother holding a toddler in one hand and a newborn in the other.
“Don’t make me. Don’t make me.” The newborn begins to cry and her older child is shaking and hiding behind her legs.
A guard walks over to her and whispers, “I’m sorry, maam, but you have to choose.” She collapses against him, sobbing. “Maam? Maam, please.”
“I can’t.” He takes the toddlers hand and walks the child to the stage.
Number after number is called. Soon the whole stage is full, of mostly children.
“5.”
“Haha!” Old man Richards pushes through the crowd. The mayor eyes him in disgust. “What? It’s my number.” He takes his place on the stage with the children. “Besides, someone has to watch them all. Did you think of that? What chance do a bunch of children have?”
“538.” Ayla feels her father’s grip tighten around her legs. He pulls her off his shoulders and leads her up to the stage.
“Stay up here for a bit. I’ll come get you in a little while.” He kisses her head and stands back.
A few minutes later the show is over. The mayor is happy to see most dispersing. Some need to be escorted off the grounds but it could have been worse, much worse.
The guards lead the chosen into to the town hall. The younger children are allowed to bring one guardian.
“The buses will be here in a moment. You will be transported to Station 7316. You don’t have long to say your goodbyes. I suggest you get on with it.” The mayor sets the megaphone down. She’s done her best to sound commanding and strong.
Order, she thinks,
it’s all we have now.It’s noisy inside station 7316. Everyone is gathered around their assigned P.O.D. and saying their goodbyes. Some of the children are already sobbing as they’re being placed inside. Ayla clings to her father’s neck. “Daddy,” she pleads, “I don’t want to go.”
He kisses her and holds her tight. “And I don’t want you to. But it’s the only way.” He pulls her fingers from his shirt and places her inside. The screen goes up and he watches as the gas fills her chamber. Within seconds she is sleeping soundly. The glass turns black and she is gone from view.
After being led from the bay, the loved ones watch as the pods move into position. Ayla’s father wonders whether the rumble beneath his feet is the impact or the ignition. As flames engulf the Earth the white pods disperse into the black.
Sadly, of all the characters I feel like I got to know Old Man Richards the best, and he’s just a sort of morbid comic relief who pretty much lifts right out.