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“You can’t dictate who gets to eat and who doesn’t,” I shoot back.
“The storage levels are low. ”
I know they are.
“So what do I do?” Fridrick demands in a mocking tone. “Give everyone less? Or do what should be done—just distribute food to the ones who’ve earned it?”
Angry shouts, cheers of agreement, curses and screams erupt around us.
“There’s enough for regular distro for several more weeks. After that, we can discuss rationing. ”
Fridrick narrows his eyes. “I ain’t feeding the ones who won’t work. ”
“Everyone works!” I shout, exasperated.
This was not the right thing to say. Fridrick doesn’t answer—the crowd answers for him. They shout names: the names of their neighbors, their family, their enemies, their friends. People who aren’t working. The weavers, who only went back to the looms because I mandated their strike to end but who continue to work at a slower pace. The greenhouse producers, who have been caught more than once hoarding produce for themselves. And individuals—specific people who have just decided to not work, either because they’re lazy or because of depression, like Evie and Harley’s mother, Lil.
Rising above it all is a new chant: No work? No food! No work? No food!
“And what about the Hospital?” a shrill voice rises above the chant.
“I work!” a voice near the back of the crowd shouts back. My eyes skim over the people and I see Doc, looking nervous and anxious to hear his precious Hospital called into question.
“What about all them at the Ward?” Fridrick says. What he doesn’t say is, “What about Amy?”
Shite.
“You’re right. ” Bartie shoulders his way past Marae—who looks very much as if she’d like to punch him right in the neck. “I’m going to apply myself to productive work from this point on,” he says loudly.
Silence falls. Every eye is on him. I stare in wonder: how did he do it? How did he command everyone’s attention so absolutely? While everyone quieted down to hear Fridrick and me, they weren’t respectful. They were waiting for one of us to slip up; they were searching for ammunition to throw back at us. But every single person is focused on Bartie now, waiting for his next words.
He doesn’t speak. Instead, he raises his guitar high over his head and stretches the neck of it toward Fridrick. “Consider this payment for this week’s food,” Bartie says. “And, as there is no longer a Recorder at the Hall, I will take that job. ”
Fridrick takes the guitar and stares at it, unsure of what to do. Finally he nods, once. He will accept this payment.
“And,” I add in as loud a voice as I can muster, “we will continue food distro for everyone. ”
Fridrick narrows his eyes.
“There will be no further discussion,” I add in a quieter tone before he can open his mouth. “Food distro will carry on as usual. ”
I turn to go, not giving him the chance to disagree. When I reach Marae, though, I can hear Fridrick’s muttering slicing through the crowd.
“For now. ”
I turn back, my mouth already open, though I’m not sure what I’m going to say, when a scream rises up from the back of the crowd. The mob shifts—everyone’s focus moves from Fridrick and me to the woman on the other end of the block, kneeling on the ground next to a man’s body.
I squint.
That’s Stevy’s body.
26
AMY
I’M OUT OF BREATH BY THE TIME I MAKE IT BACK TO THE Hospital. I’m not as in shape as I was when I ran track back on Earth. Kit stops me at the door.
“What’s going on?” she asks. “Doc just commed me from the City. ”
