Northlands? No, they had to go.
But go where?
The truth was they had looked in the only place they knew—along the Interways—and though the daylight could certainly be the difference between spotting a footprint in the mud or a stray piece of fabric lingering on a branch, Gretel didn’t suspect this would be the outcome. By now, if her mother had crashed the car along that stretch of road—not a major thoroughfare, to be sure, but not empty either—someone would have noticed. Certainly there would be some indication of an accident. She or her father would have seen it. On the way back from Deda’s it had been dark and impossible, but driving to his house there had been plenty of light, and they had stopped everywhere it seemed. And had found nothing.
What Gretel also knew was there was little chance of getting help from anyone personally. Her father had already made all the calls to friends and family, including even the most fringe members of both sets, and according to him no one had heard anything or was in any position to help. Of course not.
Her mother’s extended family consisted of Deda, who apparently offered nothing new during her father’s conversation with him (though her father hadn’t told Gretel any of the specifics), and the few members left of her father’s family were either far away, feeble, or on less-than-stellar terms with her father. In some cases it was all three. The Morgan family—that is, her father’s kin—as far as Gretel was concerned, did not extend beyond her family’s cabin’s walls.
And then there was The System of course, who Gretel, like most children in the Southlands, rarely, if ever, saw. Her father had told her they never patrolled the Back Country unless there was cause or summons, neither of which, if it could be at all helped, occurred here. The land policed itself for the most part, and this value of self-reliance was well-met by The System, who preferred to stay tight to the cities where their oversight was much more condensed and efficient. Whether they were respectful of Back Country rules or indifferent to the plight of its people, The System stayed away.
But they weren’t completely foreign to Gretel. She had, in fact, seen their cars on two different occasions, and one of those times had been in the Back Country when the Stein farm had caught fire and Jonathan Stein’s grandmother was killed. Gretel recalled the sight of the blood red car racing past her cottage, its siren blazing loudly as the black ghost of the exhaust lingered in the coupe’s wake. Gretel had been struck most by the car’s color and its stark contrast to the Back Country landscape, and the dark black tint of the windows. She had never actually seen a System officer, but had been told they were men of enormous size.
The reputation of The System was one that inspired fear in the general citizenry, but The System itself kept itself in the shadows as much as possible. They relied on local law enforcement—and in the case of the Back Country, the people—to deal with the lower crimes and complaints, focusing instead on the more serious, complicated situations. This enforcement formula had given The System a somewhat mythical quality for Gretel, as it did for most of the residents of the Southlands, particularly in the Back Country. And Gretel understood very well that this was kind of the point.
But as far as Gretel was concerned, The System was also corrupt and inadequate, and she knew of no incidences when they had actually helped anyone she knew. In fact, if there was one thing she believed about The System, it was that they did not exist to help her, her family, or anyone in her community, though she had come to realize years ago that most of her viewpoints about it were based on her father’s beliefs and not her own experiences.
And there was one other thing she now believed about The System: that ultimately she was counting on them to bring her mother home.
So Gretel clung to
But go where?
The truth was they had looked in the only place they knew—along the Interways—and though the daylight could certainly be the difference between spotting a footprint in the mud or a stray piece of fabric lingering on a branch, Gretel didn’t suspect this would be the outcome. By now, if her mother had crashed the car along that stretch of road—not a major thoroughfare, to be sure, but not empty either—someone would have noticed. Certainly there would be some indication of an accident. She or her father would have seen it. On the way back from Deda’s it had been dark and impossible, but driving to his house there had been plenty of light, and they had stopped everywhere it seemed. And had found nothing.
What Gretel also knew was there was little chance of getting help from anyone personally. Her father had already made all the calls to friends and family, including even the most fringe members of both sets, and according to him no one had heard anything or was in any position to help. Of course not.
Her mother’s extended family consisted of Deda, who apparently offered nothing new during her father’s conversation with him (though her father hadn’t told Gretel any of the specifics), and the few members left of her father’s family were either far away, feeble, or on less-than-stellar terms with her father. In some cases it was all three. The Morgan family—that is, her father’s kin—as far as Gretel was concerned, did not extend beyond her family’s cabin’s walls.
And then there was The System of course, who Gretel, like most children in the Southlands, rarely, if ever, saw. Her father had told her they never patrolled the Back Country unless there was cause or summons, neither of which, if it could be at all helped, occurred here. The land policed itself for the most part, and this value of self-reliance was well-met by The System, who preferred to stay tight to the cities where their oversight was much more condensed and efficient. Whether they were respectful of Back Country rules or indifferent to the plight of its people, The System stayed away.
But they weren’t completely foreign to Gretel. She had, in fact, seen their cars on two different occasions, and one of those times had been in the Back Country when the Stein farm had caught fire and Jonathan Stein’s grandmother was killed. Gretel recalled the sight of the blood red car racing past her cottage, its siren blazing loudly as the black ghost of the exhaust lingered in the coupe’s wake. Gretel had been struck most by the car’s color and its stark contrast to the Back Country landscape, and the dark black tint of the windows. She had never actually seen a System officer, but had been told they were men of enormous size.
The reputation of The System was one that inspired fear in the general citizenry, but The System itself kept itself in the shadows as much as possible. They relied on local law enforcement—and in the case of the Back Country, the people—to deal with the lower crimes and complaints, focusing instead on the more serious, complicated situations. This enforcement formula had given The System a somewhat mythical quality for Gretel, as it did for most of the residents of the Southlands, particularly in the Back Country. And Gretel understood very well that this was kind of the point.
But as far as Gretel was concerned, The System was also corrupt and inadequate, and she knew of no incidences when they had actually helped anyone she knew. In fact, if there was one thing she believed about The System, it was that they did not exist to help her, her family, or anyone in her community, though she had come to realize years ago that most of her viewpoints about it were based on her father’s beliefs and not her own experiences.
And there was one other thing she now believed about The System: that ultimately she was counting on them to bring her mother home.
So Gretel clung to
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