Feral Heart by Duron Crejaro (distant reading .TXT) 📕

The trip to The Academy was spent catching up on what little gossip we had, which wasn’t a lot. We stayed closely in touch during the summer months, so there wasn’t a lot to talk about. I think though, that mostly we were nervous about the new school. The Academy was housed in a complex that had been converted from the old world. The older citizens still around, claimed that once upon a time it was a large mall, filled with more shops than they could count; now it was the central school for career placement for young adults coming of age. The headquarters for the Nashboro ruling party was located adjacent in what was, I have been told, a remodeled hotel from years ago. Each year a new group of students would come here, to begin their general studies, then take the placement test that would decided their fate and the next three years of school for them, before they would be expected to take their place in society and contribute as an adult.

I was in awe, as our bus pulled into a massive parking area. Already dozens of buses had arrived, depositing their young cargo off. We were directed, by an enthusiastic young teacher’s aide to a massive auditorium. The room was already filling with a huge throng of new students, all wearing the same dull gray drab. I felt out of place, even with my friends near me. Looking around, I did notice that I recognized some of the students, but by and large most were foreign to me. We took seats together, somewhere near the middle of the room and waited in anxious silence. We weren’t made to wait very long. Soon the lights dimmed, causing an eerie silence to fall over the room. A light passed overhead and a large screen came to life. Sound reverberated throughout the chamber. It was nothing more than a simple introductory video to being a new student at the school; graphics depicting the layout of the grounds, off limit areas, fingerprint identification for our schedules. All the boring prolific things that would make the start of a new year go more smoothly.

I sighed as I listened. I had never much cared for the strictly controlled learning environment, which the ruling party had instituted. I much preferred the freedom of the outdoors; the grass, tree’s, sky and all living things. This place, much as it always had, seemed a little too mechanical to me, to unnatural. After nearly two full hours, the assembly ended, and we all proceeded in long lines to the machines that would take our prints, check them against the cities files, and print out our schedules for the year ahead. Soon, but not as soon as I would have liked, it was my turn. I quickly placed my hand on the screen as it bleeped at me. With an electronic whirl, a small slip holding my itinerary was deposited into my waiting hand.   It was a disaster; I had almost no classes with my friends. Only my first class with Dhamon, and my very last class with Cami, I was not pleased with the situation. Cami made out like a bandit, or at least I assumed she thought so. She had two classes with Dhamon and would get to schmooze with him much more during the day. I retrieved my books from the repository and made my way to the locker I had been assigned. I smiled to a young Asian girl standing nearby as I crammed my locker with the books I didn’t presently have need of. Having secured my things, I truly began my day.

Cami and I passed notes during our first class; we paid little attention to the teacher as she rattled on with her own “mini” orientation, which was no more interesting than the one we had already received. I participated only half-heartedly as Cami pointed out which of the boys she thought were cute. I felt for some reason, as if she did this only to try to sublimate her desire to have Dhamon.

So, my day progressed thus, intermittent trips to my locker, followed by each teacher’s rendition of their particular curriculum. Everyone had the same seven classes I soon learned: Math, Science, Biology, Physical Education, Medical, Technology, and Construction.

Finally, came time for lunch, and I must say I was impressed, albeit only a little at the vast scope of the machinations that fed us. Endless lines of students carrying trays moved in slow procession through the galley of buffet food offered for our enjoyment. Maybe enjoy was a strong word, as the food was healthy, if a bit on the bland side. I filled my tray with what I thought might be the most appetizing and spent the next five minutes trying to locate my friends. Together we made our way to a vacant table and sat down. Of course Cami began ranting on and on about her classes, and surprise surprise, the boys in them. I on the other hand was sullen, poking at my food. Dhamon conversed with Cami a bit before breaking through my fog.

“Have you noticed how many enforcers there are here?” He asked, lowering his tone to almost a whisper.

I actually hadn’t I thought to myself as I peered around the cafeteria. Enforcers were a daily part of our lives, they were anywhere and everywhere at all times it seemed. I never really noticed them. They were here to protect us from the Wylder, and as I’ve never seen one, I’ve never really had much cause to notice the enforcers either. “You’re right Dhamon. There are a lot of them.” There was, I mused, in fact more than I had ever seen gathered in one place. “Maybe they are more worried about an attack on this place than elsewhere?” I volunteered for his benefit. Since I had never seen a Wylder, sometimes I just assumed that it was simply a scary fairy tale made up by the powers that be to keep us complacent and inside the boundaries of society.

“Maybe.” He returned, sounding a little down, as if he expected me to have some genius idea on why they were here.

“Does anyone know what this place used to be?” Cami chirped, breaking through the dour atmosphere with her bubbly exuberance.

“I heard it used to be a prison before the collapse.” Dhamon said, perking up immediately.

I rolled my eyes; of course, he would think it was something dark like that. I swear sometimes I think he is morbid on purpose. “Then why would the grounds be so open? Where are the bars? The cells?” I asked. “No, One of the older citizens told me once that it was a grand mall, a place of commerce for the buying and selling of more things than you could ever imagine. All wrapped up neatly in one place.” I added.

All our speculations were ended by the harshness of a loud bell, signaling the end of lunch. We disposed of our trays quietly before moving along to our next classes. Physical Education was next, and consisted of, much to my chagrin, an unending amount of exercise. Once I had forced my way through that class, the rest of the day passed in a dazed, blur before I found myself once again on the bus towards home.

Now that school was finished for the day, I found myself with an afternoon free to pursue the one thing I found more interesting than anything else. It is what the youth had come to call Ghosting, exploring the ruins of the old world. I donned an old set of the same dull gray colored pants and shirt that I was accustomed to and grabbed a bottle of water before heading out. I grabbed my bike from the side of the house and rode a few miles north of my home in Mads. Here I came to the edge of the proper part of our society. A chain link fence, twelve feet high and covered in constantine wire separated us from the parts of the countryside we were still reclaiming. This was the temporary moveable border; Every year it was moved further out, as we reclaimed more of the world that had been devastated. Further, out some distance unknown to me was the concrete barrier that separated us from the outside. I slowed my pace, glancing around. Of course, no one was around, open patrols were uncommon here, but it never hurt to check. I dumped my bike in a small grove of trees near the side of the street, and traveled silently to a worn down section of the fence. I pulled up a loose part and slid myself underneath.

I suppose that is why we call it ghosting. It’s eerie, being in the old world. The ruins of life so near to our present but lost. It makes one feel like a ghost of the past. I found it oddly comforting to wander in the desolation. I moved along the concrete jungle, listening to the sounds of life as it continued its work in taking back from man what he had in fervor built up over her. Of course, this many years later, nature was on the winning side. It was impossible not to notice as I walked through the dirty shadowed streets, long bereft of the touch of humans. Tufts of grass broke through cracks in the poured stone. These spots stood out as vivid patches in the dull gray landscape. Long vines of ivy stretched forth like grasping fingers, tearing at the remains of walls, felling them from their heights of glory.

I turned, strolling down a narrow alley between two dilapidated buildings; the old world didn’t make me nervous in the slightest. I wasn’t even sure why the fence was there; I’ve never seen anything more dangerous than an errant squirrel. Though on occasion, as I’ve wandered for to long and let evening descend on me before heading for home, I have heard the baying of some creature echo through the air. I’m not sure what it was, a wild dog or coyote perhaps, maybe even something as vicious as a wolf, and regardless the sound would send chills through my body uncontrollably. I spent at least an hour, maybe two wandering the vacant streets, admiring mans ability to manipulate their environment and the remnants left behind. The fallen signs, broken, laying scattered in oddly painted lots, wheeled carts, upturned at weird angles, the decaying husks of mass conveyance littering the streets, alongside corpulent buildings, small chunks breaking away in a light breeze with their smashed windows, bits of glass littering the area, glinting in the afternoon sun like a myriad of small rainbows amongst the green and gray. It seemed almost otherworldly to me, I guess that’s why they called it the Old World.

Soon I came upon my favorite haunt. It was a larger building; tucked on its side were a series of ladders, rising slowly towards to peak. Though it appeared to be quite rusted to the naked eye, I knew it was still serviceable. Slowly, with exaggerated care, I began a slow ascent to the rooftop. With trepidation,