The Reaping Room Read online

  The Reaping Room

  Tam Linsey

  Copyright © 2014 by Tam Linsey

  All rights reserved. Published by Twin Leaf Press. Edited by Red Adept Editing Services. Cover art by Tam Linsey.

  This book is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to real people or events is purely coincidental.

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This eBook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this eBook with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this eBook and did not purchase it, or borrow it through an approved lending agency such as a library, then please purchase your own copy, available from many online retailers. Thank you for respecting the work of this author.

  Digital Version

  ISBN-10: 0985901373

  ISBN-13: 978-0-9859013-7-0

  Created with Vellum

  Although it can stand alone, this novella is best read after reading book one in the series BOTANICAUST.

  * * *

  Michael is the smartest of the Fosselite children, trusted to help in his father’s lab. The unconscious green people in there are not human; they are cannibals and must never be allowed to wake up. Although Michael doesn't like clearing the bodies when Father is done, he's determined to be a good boy.

  Then Tula arrives.

  She has green skin like the other cannibals, but she doesn't try to bite Michael. In fact, she's the kindest person Michael's ever met. Even Father seems to like her and doesn't strap her down with the others. Michael is delighted to make a new friend.

  But when Father changes his mind, Michael realizes his obedience has been based on lies.

  With Tula about to be reaped, Michael is forced to choose between a lifetime of obedience to family and his own new moral compass. The end result will impact a lot more than just his life inside the Fosselite mountain.

  It will change the future of humanity.

  Chapter One

  Hulking vehicles crouched in neat rows, guarding each side of the path Mother took as she jogged across the dim cavern. Michael clung to her shoulders, his legs around her waist, face buried against the heat of her neck. The cave swallowed the sound of her footsteps the same way it swallowed the light from the ceiling fixtures. Her arms nearly squeezed the breath out of him, and in spite of the chill air, sweat coated her skin and dampened her tunic.

  “I’ll show you the sun, Michael. We’ll be free,” she whispered in his ear.

  She stopped and tried to lower him from her hip, but he hooked his fingers into the fabric at her neckline and clung to her with both legs. He wanted to go back to bed. Why were they here in the middle of the night, still in pajamas?

  With trembling hands, she gently loosened his hold. “I know. I’m scared, too.”

  He grabbed the hem of her long tunic as she straightened, standing close to her warmth. Cold radiated from the floor into his bare feet. He’d never been in this room before. The distant walls seemed to disappear in the dim light, and yellow and white lines striped the smooth, gray floor. Before him stood a metal door embedded in the stone wall, bigger than any door he could have imagined. From the wall nearby jutted a silver wheel as big as a boy, with spokes that reminded Michael of the steering wheel on his toy tractor.

  Mother let him keep his grip on her hem and grasped the wheel, tunic sleeves slipping down to expose her muscled, brown skin. She leaned, moving the wheel a quarter turn. A grinding squeak tore through the cavern, vibrating inside Michael’s bones. He threw his hands over his ears.

  She twisted to look toward the staircase at the far end of the cavern. The whites of her eyes shone bright and wide in the watery light.

  Michael didn’t like this place. He lifted his hands, pleading to be picked up again. “Maaa.”

  “Hush. He mustn’t know we’ve gone.” Mother forced the wheel another turn. The shriek echoed through the cavern again. Her brown arms trembled.

  He wanted to see the sun and swim in the river and do all the things out on the Tox that Mother talked about. But Mother seemed scared, and that made him scared, too. He stuck his thumb in his mouth, trying to be quiet.

  The wheel turned faster, the whine shrill but no longer as loud. With a clunk, it stopped. Mother let out a shaky breath. “Help me push, Michael.”

  Setting her palms on the metal door, she leaned against it. Michael put his free hand on the brushed metal, keeping his thumb in his mouth. The door didn’t budge.

  “Keep pushing,” Mother said, breathing hard as her soft shoes scrabbled against the floor.

  Michael pressed his forehead against the cold surface, using his whole body to push, but it felt like he was leaning on a wall, not a door. A man’s shout boomed through the hangar. Michael spotted two men in red vests running down the stairs from the double doors. Father stood at the top of the steps behind them, hands on his hips. Michael pulled his thumb from his mouth and used both hands to push. When Father was angry, he was mean. And Mother said Father would be very angry if he caught them here.

  Seeing Father, Mother threw her whole body against the hard metal. “Let us go!”

  The red-vest men reached them and grappled her to the floor. She screamed and struggled. Michael stepped back to avoid getting kicked. Hard hands clamped down onto his shoulders. He tilted his face upward to look into Father’s face. Black-rimmed glasses magnified the veins webbing the part of Father’s eyes that should have been white. Michael whimpered.

  Father’s lips curled. He thrust Michael out of the way, fingers leaving bruises on Michael’s collarbones. “Shut up and stand over there.”

  Mother thrashed against the men. “No! You can’t have my son.”

  “I knew it was a mistake to give you another chance.” Father pulled two black zip ties from his lab coat pocket. “Tie her up and throw her out.”

  “Tie her?” one of the red-vests asked. “She’ll die out there.”

  “If you can get her out without tying her, be my guest. I never want to see her face again.” Father spun on his heel and wrapped a fist around Michael’s arm, dragging him toward the stairs.

  Michael’s whimpering erupted into a wail. He dug his heels in, writhing to keep his mother in sight. “Maaa!”

  Father shook him until Michael’s head rattled. “You want to say something? Then speak. Convince me to keep her.”

  Michael’s lips trembled. He was six years old and had never strung together more than one syllable. He couldn’t. Whenever he tried, his tongue stuck. He wanted to say, don’t hurt her. He wanted to say, let us go. He opened his mouth, gaze riveted to Father’s. “Goh.” Mother’s screams cut into his bones, through his ribs, stabbed his heart. He tried not to cry. “Ma… goh.” Two words. He’d done it. He was a good boy. Father would finally understand.

  Father’s nostrils flared. “This is what I get for all my effort. An idiot mute.” His grip around Michael’s arm tightened. “But you’re my DNA and my responsibility. Come on.”

  Without a backward glance, he dragged Michael from the hangar. Mother’s cries echoed in Michael’s ears all the way back to his room.

  Michael pulled the stiff fabric of the radiation suit up over his shoulders, hunching a little to fit. He was bigger than Father and the other Fosselites—so big he had to duck through doors. Father called him a lunk. He squeezed his helmet over his head and glanced toward where his father sat at a computer against the wall. Father’s back was to him. The t
ightness in Michael’s chest eased. He lumbered into the antechamber that separated the Reaping Room from the rest of the lab, careful to shut the first door before opening the next one.

  Already sweating within his too-small radiation suit, he entered the purple glow of the Reaping Room. Ahead, seven medical tables jutted from the wall on his right like widely spaced teeth. Each had its own purple overhead lamp and a bank of blinking monitors at one end. Each had a single green-skinned person sleeping on its surface. Wires and tubes snaked from the sleepers’ arms and legs, and clear hoses that Father called shunts ran out of their heads. Straps bound them to the tables so they wouldn’t fall off while they slept—and so they couldn’t eat people. That’s what Father had said the first time he’d brought Michael to help. “They’re cannibals, Michael. They’ll bite you harder than that.” Father had pinched Michael’s arm until he’d whimpered. “They’ll keep biting until you die. Don’t wake them up.”

  Michael sighed, steaming the view through his visor a moment. He hated working in the Reaping Room, but he did as he was told. He wanted to be a good boy.

  One of the sleeping women reminded him of his mother, except for her green skin. He went to care for her first. She had long dark hair, and her eyelashes made two small black fans above her cheekbones. The skin between her eyebrows had a little crease, just like mother used to have every time Father was near. He didn’t remember much else about his mother, but he remembered how fiercely she’d held him when she’d taken him to the cavern with the big door. The door to a place called “Outside.” Father said she didn’t love him, and that’s why she left. He told Michael to man up and stop crying. So Michael did, at least when Father could see.

  Michael had had forty-one birthdays since then. He still missed her.

  The green woman on the table shuddered when Michael unfastened the first strap. Her fingers curled into a fist and released. He froze, gloved fingers lingering over the second strap. Was she waking up? What if she tried to bite him? He watched her face, the mouth turned down in a small frown, eyelids rippling with the movements behind them. She didn’t look very mean. He thought she looked sad. Turning his shoulders toward the antechamber door so he could see, he checked the yellow light. If it was on, it meant someone else was preparing to enter the Reaping Room. The light remained dark.

  He turned back and rubbed his fingers along the mother-woman’s cheek and wished he could feel her skin. As gently as he could, he pried open one of her eyes. The part around the iris was white, not red like Father’s and the other Fosselites’. White, like Michael’s. Her iris rolled around, bumping along the edges of her eyelashes like it wanted to escape. But she didn’t wake. He wanted to tell the mother-woman not to be afraid, but he didn’t talk. Not ever. Not with words, at least.

  Glancing toward the door again, he considered removing his radiation helmet. Father said the purple light would burn him. But it didn’t burn the green people. Michael squeezed his eyes shut, held his breath, and lifted the helmet, ready to slam it back in place at the first sensation of heat. The air cooled his sweaty face. No burning. He let out a sigh, opening his eyes. The room looked clearer without the visor. He bent and kissed the woman on the forehead. She smelled like the fresh rosemary his friend Rosalee sometimes used when she cooked chicken. He rubbed his nose against the woman’s soft cheek the same way Mother used to when she told him she loved him. The woman still didn’t wake. His eyes prickled with tears. The woman might as well be dead. He put his helmet back on before Father came in for inspections.

  Chapter Two

  Michael tried to be brave, but his skin burned worse than the time he’d spilled Father’s coffee on his hand. Smiling hurt. Frowning hurt. Even blinking hurt. Hoping no one noticed, he kept his gaze down as he filled his tray at the cafeteria line and then joined Rosalee and his friends at their usual table.

  Rosalee was talking to Manny, who sat across from her in his wheelchair. Today was Manny’s forty-sixth birthday, and he wore a pointy hat. He tipped up his chin and laughed at something Rosalee said, his front teeth glistening in the cafeteria lights. Father didn’t like Manny. He said Manny laughed like a donkey, but Michael didn’t mind. He was looking forward to cake later, and he’d made Manny a painting of a chicken with bright orange feet, like the one they’d seen on the field trip to hydroponics. As he took his seat, Rosalee acknowledged him with a sideways smile. Then she flinched and turned to face him. “Michael, your face! What happened?”

  His heart about leaped from his chest. If she found out, she’d have to tell Father. That was her job. She took care of all of the adult children who went to the nursery each day. Michael didn't need to stay in the nursery any more, but Rosalee still called him her boy. He loved her, even though she would tell Father everything.

  He shrugged and stared at his tray of food. His stomach cramped at the thought of eating.

  “You need to go to Medlab.”

  He shook his head.

  “Right now, Michael.” Her tone meant he’d better do as she said.

  He rose and trudged to the infirmary. The smell of cleaning products stung his nose. The nurse looked up from her computer and made clucking sounds before telling him to sit on the reclining autosurgeon in the back room. As she smoothed ointment on his face and neck, her cool hands felt good.

  “What happened? Oh, that’s right, you can’t talk.” She gave him some icky-tasting medicine to drink. “Rest, now. I’m calling your father.”

  Michael gripped the arms of the chair, muscles tense. Father was going to be very angry. He’d probably ground Michael from Manny’s birthday party. Maybe even take away his craft table. He wished he hadn’t left Manny’s present there to dry. Even if he missed the party, he wanted to give his friend the chicken picture.

  The door muffled the nurse’s voice in the other room as she spoke on the phone. Manny’s party started at seven, and the numbers on the wall said six five three. Michael swung his legs off the autosurgeon and then changed his mind. If he left before Father arrived, Father would be beyond angry. Michael didn’t want to face the belt. He scooted back onto the chair and wrung his hands. His lower lip had cracked, and he tasted blood. His empty stomach churned.

  Father didn’t come until the clock said eight zero seven. His deep voice vibrated through the door to the other room. The door opened, and Michael rose. His face felt much better. But his chest started to hurt the moment he saw Father’s scowl. Father didn't say anything in front of the nurse, but Michael knew he was in bad trouble by the way Father glared at him through his glasses.

  They marched through the narrow halls toward his room, Father speaking straight ahead. “Why can’t you do as you’re told?” He rounded a corner, white lab coat flapping against his thighs. “Removing your hood? Too stupid to live.” At Michael’s door, Father stopped, blocking the way. He jabbed a finger against Michael’s chest. “I ought to put you Outside. Be done with you for good.”

  Michael lowered his chin and stared at the sharp finger. But he didn’t cry. Not in front of Father. Without another word, Father dropped his hand and stalked away.

  Once he was gone, Michael peeked into the hall to be sure no one would see him. Father hadn’t banned him from Manny’s party, but Michael didn’t care about that any more. He just wanted Rosalee. He shambled down the corridor and reached the nursery without meeting anyone. To his relief, the lights were on. He stepped inside and shut the door behind him, breathing deeply of the special smell found only here—a mixture of plastic toys and Rosalee’s perfume. A banner on the far wall said “Congratulations, Manny! You’re 46 Today!”

  Rosalee sat cross-legged on the worn sofa, reading one of her books, her long red hair hanging in a ponytail over one shoulder. He looked around—no one else was here. He’d missed the party. But he had his friend to himself. His burning face crumpled into tears that stung his cheeks.

  Rosalee looked up. “Oh, honey, I didn’t hear you come in. I’m sorry you missed the party. Is your f
ace better?”

  Snuffling, he trudged to the bookshelf and picked a book from the lowest shelf—the baby shelf. He hardly ever picked those books anymore, instead allowing Rosalee to read to him from her “trashy novels,” as she called them. Usually he was happy with whatever she read, needing only the sound of her voice. Tonight, he wanted to sit next to her like he had when he was small, after Mother had gone away and Rosalee had taken over. But Father said he needed to stop acting like a baby—that Michael needed to “man up.” He clutched the book against his chest, chin lowered in shame.

  “Is something else wrong?” Rosalee knew him well. “What’s the matter?”

  He shuffled over and handed her the book. It was the one about the little fox without a family.

  She placed a palm over the cover like she was giving the little fox a hug, and craned her neck to look into Michael’s downturned face. “Missing your momma?”

  He nodded. Rosalee always understood him, even without words.

  She patted the sofa beside her. “Sit here next to me.”

  If she asked him to sit by her, he wasn’t being a baby. He was doing as he was told and being a good boy. He sank down onto the cushion next to her and pointed to the video monitor on the opposite wall.

  “All right.” She pushed the button to turn on a scene of blue sky and fluffy white clouds. “There. That’s where she went. Outside. Back where she came from.”

  Michael held his breath, trying to stop the tears. But that made his heart hurt even more. He balled his fists and ground them into his eye sockets, then flinched; the skin around his eyes hurt.

  Rosalee leaned a shoulder against him and rubbed his arm. “How did your face get burned? Did your father do that to you?”

  Michael shook his head. Rosalee didn’t know about the green people. No one did except the doctors and a few red-vests. And Michael, because he couldn’t talk.