The Replacement Decree
by Brandi Oakes
At the five o’clock bell, Harry Evers rose from his chair, punched his time-card, and waved goodbye to his co-workers. When he headed out, he was mindful of what that night could bring but, since the day had been much like any other, he had hope that it would end the same.
He was in a hurry to make it home before dusk set in. The people were always eager to get indoors and out of sight before the collections started. Hiding would never change the judgment to their favor though; for once a person had been chosen, they were collected.
The process had been revised numerous times, and what went into making the final decision was largely unclear. The only thing known with certainty was that the more useful a person was, the less likely they were to get collected. Having witnessed a few collections up close, Harry wished to avoid them whenever possible.
For all their unpleasantness, he never imagined that they would come to collect him. By no means was he a particularly exceptional man; however, he was good at his job, kind and, at 46, his body had already begun its decline. He believed that he had little left to offer. Nevertheless, when he saw the collection truck that day, he kept his eyes averted, thinking it was best to not tempt his fate.
The truck was at once menacing and amiable. Large enough to collect a few dozen people, it was painted mostly white except for one streak of red running straight across the middle. Through the streak were words of encouragement and appreciation, thanking all who donated. It was essential for the people to recognize that their donations continued to matter once they were gone.
The sound it made though, was something altogether sinister; its large tires emitted a deep and prolonged roar down each road they took. Stopped at the light, Harry watched the pedestrians scurrying to and fro into their homes and out of sight from its ominous presence. Watching it disappear through the rearview mirror, he felt relief and continued his way across the town to his waiting dinner and to his wife.
* * *
With his mop of unruly red hair, Harry lacked the ornamental beauty that Ida had wanted in a husband, but she found him tolerable enough; she had said that very thing to him on their wedding day. She had warned him away from sentimental notions since the start, telling him that theirs would be a marriage in name only. Harry, who hoped for love, had wanted to tell her that sometimes people are lucky, that they might get to be those people but, instead, he said nothing. She had taken his silence as acquiescence and considered the matter settled.
* * *
That night at dinner, Harry looked across the table at Ida and smiled. When she smiled back, he thought to ask about her day, but shook the thought from his mind; she hated it when he prodded her with idle chit-chat. So instead, he simply thanked her for the meatloaf and went about finishing it.
It was just after she rose to clear the dishes that he heard it: the roar of the collection truck moving up the driveway. His eyes darted quickly to Ida, whose look of terror told him that she had heard it as well. “We don’t know that it’s for us,” he said.
Harry moved to the window and peered outside. After slowly letting the curtain fall back into place, he turned to her, all color from his face had gone, and a knowing enveloped them both. In her state of anguish, Ida grabbed a knife off the table and began digging at her hand with it.
“Stop!” Harry cried, grabbing the knife. “Removing the chip might kill you. Let’s just wait and see what they say.”
She looked up at him then, her eyes filled with tears, and said, “I’m scared.”
Harry wasn’t surprised by her fear of death, it haunted them both, but he was taken aback by her tears; during their fifteen years of marriage, he’d never once seen her cry. “It could be me they’re here for.”
He put his own distress aside and went to open the door. There he was met by three men, each of whom wore a long white smock. Dwarfed by the two on either side, the man in the middle held a clipboard in hand and a look of boredom on his face. “What can I do for you?” Harry asked.
With cold civility, the small man said, “I trust you know our purpose?”
“I do,” Harry answered.
“And why it brings us to this residence?”
“Yes... but is there no other way?”
“There is not; must I explain to you the importance of moving forward with only the very best?”
Harry shook his head, while Ida, chose that moment to walk up and stand next to him. Together they waited for the man to reveal which of them was to receive the high honor. Though rigid and inflexible it was, it felt unnecessarily dragged out; as though the little man enjoyed slowly flipping through the papers in hand.
The two larger men watched them both carefully, looking for any sign that either would try to fight or flee. Perhaps if it had been Ida’s name, perhaps if she had ever truly cared for him, there might have been a hint of a struggle, or a word of rebuke. As that was not the case, what Harry heard instead was the sound of her elation cutting through the air upon seeing his picture and not her own revealed on the clipboard.
“I’m sorry, Harry,” she said, and then turned and ran inside, shutting him out one last time.
* * *
Harry was the first one on the collection truck that night, and he would not be the last. There were times when he believed that they were being driven around needlessly, then the truck would stop, and another donor would be ushered on.
He hadn’t seen any of the others’ faces; they were ordered to keep their heads down. But he saw their shoes, heard their cries, and felt their sadness as though it were his own. By the time the truck stopped at the Collection Center, and they were ordered to exit, the light of a new day had just begun.
* * *
The evaluator’s eyes screwed to slits while looking Harry over, as if she were trying to assess his value on looks alone. Though it was customary for every person to be evaluated, the original decision was rarely, if ever, rescinded.
After what seemed an eternity to him, she began. She asked him about his job, his wife, his hobbies; she administered blood tests, took a urine sample and a weight analysis. She did it all in such an unaffected manner that Harry felt sad for her. He estimated the woman to be at least a decade older than he, which meant that she too, remembered life before they began to remedy the population.
“Why do you do it... this job?” he asked her.
“To make myself useful. Do you not wish that you had done the same?”
“No.”
She smirked at his quick reply but moved on. “Now, Harry, I need you to tell me why you’re the better choice?”
“We both know I wouldn’t have a chance of convincing you.”
“It’s doubtful, sure, but you have nothing to lose and everything to gain.”
Harry knew that he was as good as dead to the lady, nothing more than a walking phantom, but he answered her regardless. “I would never intentionally sentence another to death, the way that I have been. I would refuse a donor and die with dignity. Won’t you even try to remember?”
“What’s to remember?”
“When those fated to die, no matter their importance... died. Now you take a life, my life, to preserve another, fate no longer decides.”
“Harry, perhaps you should take a moment to consider that this is your fate.” The decision firm, she put his chart aside. When she looked at him then, it was with regret in her eyes, though she was quick to dispel it. “You know as well as I do, the population couldn’t be allowed to continue to grow unchecked. You can romanticize the past in your head however you want, but you know that we were on the brink of collapse.
“Too many animals and rodents alike, eaten into extinction as our population soared. The people becoming rabid in their hunger, losing all sense of propriety, decency. Is that where you wish to go? No, Harry, we cannot go back there. Saving those who matter most is what’s important now. The Replacement Decree was the balance we needed; life is manageable, as it should be.”
In a gentler tone she said, “Some people like to know about the one they are saving. Helps them to understand why their donation is so important. Would you like to know?”
“You’re a monster!”
“Very well then.” She opened the door and motioned him to the waiting area.
Harry headed out but stopped just short of the door. With one last look at her, he said, “Perhaps I am the one being saved.”
* * *
Calmly, slowly, he scanned the area, examining everyone and everything in it. Though technically a medical building, there was some resemblance to a house of worship he had once visited. The high ceiling worked to pull the eye upwards, adding an open and airy feeling to the room. Words of appreciation ran across the thick ceiling beams, thanking them all for their donation.
Several stained glass windows ran along the two adjacent sides, each one depicting a cheerful scene; from sunny days in a flower garden, to a mother and her babe, or animals long extinct. Staring at them, Harry realized the last remnant he would ever perceive of the outside world was that of the light from the sun shining through the glass.
He seated himself close to one of the windows.
“Beautiful isn’t it?” asked the lady seated next to him.
“Yes, it is.” He then turned to her and noted that her hair was a ball of gray streaked in black and wondered why she was there; the elderly along with small children had long been released from the collections.
She must have sensed his thoughts, for she held her hands out before her then. They were scarred, hard-worked hands. She said, “I was grateful when they told me that I could choose to gift my life.”
The disbelief clear in his tone he said, “Are you saying they gave you a choice?”
“Truth is, it’s what I’ve wanted for a long time. Now I can leave this world, knowing I did my part.”
Not knowing how to respond, Harry nodded but said no more.
* * *
Harry nervously looked at the clock. Only three minutes left. Who’s it going to be? he wondered. It had been the same routine since they were brought in. At the top of every hour, the men in white appeared. The plastic-covered doors swung wildly open each time they swooped in to claim the next donor.
Two Minutes left. It’ll be me.
One minute left. No one to mourn me.
When the clock struck noon, they came for the elderly lady next to him. Noticing that their once all-white coats had flecks of red on them, he recoiled in horror. As the lady rose from her seat, he cried out. “Wait, I’d like to know your name.”
She looked back at him and smiled. “Doris.” With her head held high and her absolute obedience assured, she left with the men willingly. He watched them lead her through the plastic covered doors, knowing that he had at least one hour left.
* * *
Harry studied the people around him. Most looked scared; sunk down in their seats as far as they could go. It was as if the thought of wanting to disappear into the chair would simply make it so.
He shut his eyes tightly, trying to close out the sadness that engulfed the room. When he opened them, his gaze locked onto a young woman. She was staring out a stained-glass window that sat high in the wall; her fingertips lightly tracing the etchings on the glass. The yellow sandals she wore stuck out vividly in his memory, as they belonged to the last person that had been collected the night before.
The woman must have sensed that she was being stared at, for she turned and looked at him then, her gaze long and steady. He felt awkward but didn’t turn away. Instead, feeling drawn to her, he got up from his seat and walked over.
* * *
“Shall we break the glass and make a run for it?” Harry asked her, only wishing to make light of their situation. He knew that such an act was impossible.
Smiling faintly, she said, “We wouldn’t make it far; besides, it’s too lovely, would be a shame to see it in pieces. Why do you think they did that?”
“Did what?”
“Put us in this room, surrounded by these works of art? We would never see them otherwise.” Her eyes questioning his, “Why now? Why here?”
“I think it’s a final gesture on their part. Whether or not it’s out of kindness or cruelty, I don’t know; though my guess is on the latter. Probably they’re meant to keep us reflected on a past we never knew much about, keeping us subdued in our thoughts while we await our death.”
“I think in death I’ll be happier than I ever was here.”
“Yeah,” he solemnly agreed.
“I’m Celeste.” Her voice little more than a whisper as she looked to the window again and said, “At least, for a little while longer.”
“I’m Harry,” he answered in kind. He wanted to reach out and comfort her but the fear of being dismissed kept him in place.
They stood in silence for some time, both all too aware of the clock ticking away. Finally, she spoke. “They told me why I was chosen; someone better needs my heart. Today it beats inside me, giving me life. Tomorrow it will beat inside someone else, and my life will be over.” Her dark eyes searching his, she said, “My heart already betrays me, I feel a void, like it knows it doesn’t belong to me anymore.”
“I feel that way, too.”
“They took you for your heart?”
“No... well maybe. I didn’t want to know, I thought it would make the waiting worse.”
“Did you ever think you would find yourself here? One of the unworthy?”
“No,” he answered, “but I don’t think that either of us is unworthy. That’s just something they say, an excuse to take what they want from us as they need it.”
“Tell me, Harry, why did you walk over here?”
“I don’t know... loneliness I guess.”
“Death is supposed to be lonely,” she said simply and with feeling.
He watched the emotions dance openly across her face. Her bronze skin was striking, as the noonday sun shone through the glass, casting its lovely kaleidoscope of colors onto her. He could almost forget where they were and why. “Our time here is too brief to continue spending it alone,” he remarked sadly, reaching his hand out for hers.
Nodding her head in agreement, she took his hand, lightly squeezing in acknowledgment of things that would never be said.
She laid her head on his shoulder. And that was how they stayed until the clock struck one.
Copyright © 2019 by Brandi Oakes
