enough, they’d outlast the agents and their resistance, trick them into granting asylum.
“Every time I get this far, I’m told stay put. But staying here—we’re going to perish. All of us. You know that.”
“Ma’am, the government’s providing water and a healthy, balanced diet—” She pointed to the food tent. “You’ll be okay if you eat your rations.”
Lavina chuckled. “No we won’t.”
The woman looked over her shoulder again, but this time, she leaned out too far on her bad leg and had to cross up her step to keep from falling. As soon as she readjusted, she sighed through the blue mask, rubbed her forehead—the guardsmen were still too busy.
“We need to get out of here,” Lavina pressed.
But the woman didn’t answer. She put a strand of hair behind her ear, the same turn Jennifer repeated throughout the day, and crooked her neck at the tablet between them, studying it or pretending to.
The top read
United States Petition for Asylum, Southern Alabama Zone
. Underneath a list of names had been scribbled next to fingerprints, pressed into the screen and eventually scrolled out of view as new names were added. The date appeared to the right, June 28, and half a line for the petition reason:
Visa
—that’s what they had put down, Lavina underlining and copying over her
Visa
, over Mazy’s, but all it did was make the electronic imprint blurry to read. A little lower someone declared
Cannot
, and under that,
Citizen. Permission to Transfer
, a social security number,and
Reason of Insanity. Can you help?
And
Specialty Occupation
without any details of the specialty, and
Please
. Rebecca Eders—another name Jennifer didn’t recognize, but wanted to, wanted to fill in the contour of the cursive letters with a body, a face—Rebecca Eders had simply written
Please
.
“My daughter’s only fifteen years old,” Lavina said. “Let her out. You do that.”
“Can’t, ma’am.”
“Lavina. My name’s Lavina.” She set her palms heavy on the table.
“You can sign the petition, ma’am.”
“Lavina.”
“Lavina,” the agent conceded.
“I’ve already signed.” She tapped the screen. “You watched me do it. Have you forgotten? Been looking at my name, studying it for the past few minutes. I have cousins in the north. Isn’t there a camp at Lincoln?”
The woman shook her head and began to rock on her pegged feet. Her shoulders turned in like honed rocks, diminished.
“Isn’t there a camp at Lincoln?”
“There was. They had to close it because of the spill.”
“I need to get up there. My aunt could help me. She lives in Hooper City.”
“It’s closed off.” And that was it. The woman headed to the next booth, situating herself between a staffer and guardsman. They glanced at Lavina, then shuttered back, checked Lavina again in quick takes.
“I need some help,” Lavina yelled, her hair all knotted, the blond and gray strands frizzy, going left and right out of the loose knot.
Behind them the crowd remained bottlenecked in a long S train. Jennifer tried to count the first row, but too many eyes stared back, knotted her gaze, held her up before she could move on. Others looked around her as if a
real
exit was just beyond the tables and the canvased wall. All of them had dirty hands like her hands, trembling. The fans blew fine dust through the tents, which managed to stir up and sift a coating onto their shirts and heads; occasionally a fleck caught sharp in her skin. Some people looked down at their shoes, their bare feet, or held the rope that kept the line in its S shape and held their bodies up, stacked in crooked rows, emptying at the front where the answer would be
Not today; we can’t do that today
. In all the mumbling and coughing and shifting and staring, an exhaustion accumulated, churning inside Jennifer until it made her sick.
She touched Mazy’s shoulder. “I’m going out.”
“Wait.” Mazy caught Jennifer’s arm. “Why you
“Every time I get this far, I’m told stay put. But staying here—we’re going to perish. All of us. You know that.”
“Ma’am, the government’s providing water and a healthy, balanced diet—” She pointed to the food tent. “You’ll be okay if you eat your rations.”
Lavina chuckled. “No we won’t.”
The woman looked over her shoulder again, but this time, she leaned out too far on her bad leg and had to cross up her step to keep from falling. As soon as she readjusted, she sighed through the blue mask, rubbed her forehead—the guardsmen were still too busy.
“We need to get out of here,” Lavina pressed.
But the woman didn’t answer. She put a strand of hair behind her ear, the same turn Jennifer repeated throughout the day, and crooked her neck at the tablet between them, studying it or pretending to.
The top read
United States Petition for Asylum, Southern Alabama Zone
. Underneath a list of names had been scribbled next to fingerprints, pressed into the screen and eventually scrolled out of view as new names were added. The date appeared to the right, June 28, and half a line for the petition reason:
Visa
—that’s what they had put down, Lavina underlining and copying over her
Visa
, over Mazy’s, but all it did was make the electronic imprint blurry to read. A little lower someone declared
Cannot
, and under that,
Citizen. Permission to Transfer
, a social security number,and
Reason of Insanity. Can you help?
And
Specialty Occupation
without any details of the specialty, and
Please
. Rebecca Eders—another name Jennifer didn’t recognize, but wanted to, wanted to fill in the contour of the cursive letters with a body, a face—Rebecca Eders had simply written
Please
.
“My daughter’s only fifteen years old,” Lavina said. “Let her out. You do that.”
“Can’t, ma’am.”
“Lavina. My name’s Lavina.” She set her palms heavy on the table.
“You can sign the petition, ma’am.”
“Lavina.”
“Lavina,” the agent conceded.
“I’ve already signed.” She tapped the screen. “You watched me do it. Have you forgotten? Been looking at my name, studying it for the past few minutes. I have cousins in the north. Isn’t there a camp at Lincoln?”
The woman shook her head and began to rock on her pegged feet. Her shoulders turned in like honed rocks, diminished.
“Isn’t there a camp at Lincoln?”
“There was. They had to close it because of the spill.”
“I need to get up there. My aunt could help me. She lives in Hooper City.”
“It’s closed off.” And that was it. The woman headed to the next booth, situating herself between a staffer and guardsman. They glanced at Lavina, then shuttered back, checked Lavina again in quick takes.
“I need some help,” Lavina yelled, her hair all knotted, the blond and gray strands frizzy, going left and right out of the loose knot.
Behind them the crowd remained bottlenecked in a long S train. Jennifer tried to count the first row, but too many eyes stared back, knotted her gaze, held her up before she could move on. Others looked around her as if a
real
exit was just beyond the tables and the canvased wall. All of them had dirty hands like her hands, trembling. The fans blew fine dust through the tents, which managed to stir up and sift a coating onto their shirts and heads; occasionally a fleck caught sharp in her skin. Some people looked down at their shoes, their bare feet, or held the rope that kept the line in its S shape and held their bodies up, stacked in crooked rows, emptying at the front where the answer would be
Not today; we can’t do that today
. In all the mumbling and coughing and shifting and staring, an exhaustion accumulated, churning inside Jennifer until it made her sick.
She touched Mazy’s shoulder. “I’m going out.”
“Wait.” Mazy caught Jennifer’s arm. “Why you
Similar Books
