walk.”
They get a big charge out of that, before one of my stepfathers sagely remarks:
“Yeah. I couldn’t walk that far.”
Lars, Matt and Jeff have had all the aggression bred out of them. And they sure do look good. But together they have the combined sharpness of a butter knife.
“Anna, my darling,” says Lars, after a rest stop—I know it’s Lars because he’s very blond; the other two have dark hair and I have trouble telling them apart. “I wish every day could be Women’s Conference Day, because we get to be alone with you for a whole week, when you’re not with other people.”
Mama dotes on them.
It’s no mystery why they were deemed unsuitable matches for fertile women when they were evaluated at 25. No one would want Matt, Jeff or Lars to contribute anything to the next generation. But they’re perfectly happy with Mama, who’s no doubt older than their mothers.
What a strange world we live in. And it gets nothing but stranger, and more frightening.
Mama thinks the Women’s Conference will help take my mind off David and Rebekah. At least for a while. Well, there’s no chance of that.
I blame myself. I should have followed my instincts and refused to let John and Rebekah join our family. But I wanted John. I really wanted him. And I figured the others would behave themselves, and I could control Rebekah in a motherly way.
I didn’t see what was right before my eyes. I didn’t understand that David and Rebekah would be uncontrollable. It’s all my fault.
David has loved, not just lusted after, Rebekah right from the beginning. Even when he was too young to know what lust is. Or love. And by the time I realized, it was too late.
She loves him, too.
And now they’re gone. They’re too young and stupid to understand there’s no hope for them. None. They’re criminals. There’s no place for them to go. They’ll be caught. And if they’re caught, they’ll be punished. The Designer, help me. I hope they’re not caught. I know what the authorities will do with them, will do to David, if they’re caught.
But maybe being caught would be better than the alternative. They could be attacked by one of the roving bands of Lost Boys. The Lost Boys are very dangerous, a serious threat, and no one knows what to do about them. They’d likely beat David to death, and then rape Rebekah, over and over and over.
I can’t keep dwelling on this. I’ll lose my mind. I’m beside myself with worry and grief, and there’s nothing I can do.
Mama has insisted that we not report them to the authorities. I agree with her, but not for the same reason. She’s afraid of the scandal that would result if people knew that the grandson of one of the most powerful members of Parliament has committed one of the most grievous crimes there is in the Coalition.
I’m afraid that if the authorities were alerted, they’d be more likely to find them. They’d take them into custody, and justice would be meted out. If you can call what the lawmakers have decreed justice. Rebekah would undergo severe rehabilitation. She’s needed. David would be castrated.
Mama was one of the lawmakers who pushed to make castration the punishment for crimes against society, which means crimes against women. It’s the punishment for rape. It’s the punishment any of the Lost Boys would receive if they were ever caught. It’s the punishment that would be inflicted upon my handsome, headstrong, kindhearted, loving son, for absconding with the young woman he loves and removing her from the marriage pool.
“It’s best if we don’t think about this,” says Mama.
I could kill her. I could strangle her.
But instead, here I am heading to a Women’s Conference as if nothing has happened.
Chicago is the largest city in the Coalition. I don’t know how many thousands of people, but a lot. In ancient times, before The Great Flood, there were millions. I can’t imagine millions of people.
The conference hotel
They get a big charge out of that, before one of my stepfathers sagely remarks:
“Yeah. I couldn’t walk that far.”
Lars, Matt and Jeff have had all the aggression bred out of them. And they sure do look good. But together they have the combined sharpness of a butter knife.
“Anna, my darling,” says Lars, after a rest stop—I know it’s Lars because he’s very blond; the other two have dark hair and I have trouble telling them apart. “I wish every day could be Women’s Conference Day, because we get to be alone with you for a whole week, when you’re not with other people.”
Mama dotes on them.
It’s no mystery why they were deemed unsuitable matches for fertile women when they were evaluated at 25. No one would want Matt, Jeff or Lars to contribute anything to the next generation. But they’re perfectly happy with Mama, who’s no doubt older than their mothers.
What a strange world we live in. And it gets nothing but stranger, and more frightening.
Mama thinks the Women’s Conference will help take my mind off David and Rebekah. At least for a while. Well, there’s no chance of that.
I blame myself. I should have followed my instincts and refused to let John and Rebekah join our family. But I wanted John. I really wanted him. And I figured the others would behave themselves, and I could control Rebekah in a motherly way.
I didn’t see what was right before my eyes. I didn’t understand that David and Rebekah would be uncontrollable. It’s all my fault.
David has loved, not just lusted after, Rebekah right from the beginning. Even when he was too young to know what lust is. Or love. And by the time I realized, it was too late.
She loves him, too.
And now they’re gone. They’re too young and stupid to understand there’s no hope for them. None. They’re criminals. There’s no place for them to go. They’ll be caught. And if they’re caught, they’ll be punished. The Designer, help me. I hope they’re not caught. I know what the authorities will do with them, will do to David, if they’re caught.
But maybe being caught would be better than the alternative. They could be attacked by one of the roving bands of Lost Boys. The Lost Boys are very dangerous, a serious threat, and no one knows what to do about them. They’d likely beat David to death, and then rape Rebekah, over and over and over.
I can’t keep dwelling on this. I’ll lose my mind. I’m beside myself with worry and grief, and there’s nothing I can do.
Mama has insisted that we not report them to the authorities. I agree with her, but not for the same reason. She’s afraid of the scandal that would result if people knew that the grandson of one of the most powerful members of Parliament has committed one of the most grievous crimes there is in the Coalition.
I’m afraid that if the authorities were alerted, they’d be more likely to find them. They’d take them into custody, and justice would be meted out. If you can call what the lawmakers have decreed justice. Rebekah would undergo severe rehabilitation. She’s needed. David would be castrated.
Mama was one of the lawmakers who pushed to make castration the punishment for crimes against society, which means crimes against women. It’s the punishment for rape. It’s the punishment any of the Lost Boys would receive if they were ever caught. It’s the punishment that would be inflicted upon my handsome, headstrong, kindhearted, loving son, for absconding with the young woman he loves and removing her from the marriage pool.
“It’s best if we don’t think about this,” says Mama.
I could kill her. I could strangle her.
But instead, here I am heading to a Women’s Conference as if nothing has happened.
Chicago is the largest city in the Coalition. I don’t know how many thousands of people, but a lot. In ancient times, before The Great Flood, there were millions. I can’t imagine millions of people.
The conference hotel
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