There’s an asterisk next to both of these that says to include extended family in this number. Then it takes a turn. That’s probably why it’s on the second page.
The questionnaire asks for religion, physical disabilities, mental disabilities, and sexual orientation. At the bottom below all that is a section marked “if female.”
Are you currently able to conceive?
Did you have children before the sickness? If so, how many?
Did you ever take birth control?
Have you ever had an abortion?
“Holy shit. Andrew.” He moves around and reads over my shoulder.
“Sexual orientation.” He doesn’t sound surprised.
The next page is a full medical history, including another asterisk that reminds us to include extended family. There are more pages, but they’re friendlier and ask about hobbies and skills, probably an attempt to make the whole thing look like something other than what it is: a registry.
“What happens if they don’t like our answers?” Andrew asks.
“Let’s not find out.”
I put the clipboard down and Andrew grabs my arm. I follow his gaze to the window looking out onto the balcony. “What?” I ask.
“The blinds are open. They were shut when I left.”
But the bed isn’t made, so Cara must not have come in. Or if she did, it wasn’t to make the room up. Also, I doubt the Fort Caroline Motor Court has an active maid service.
“Oh no.” Andrew goes to the bathroom. Then he comes back out, looking in the closet and then under the bed. He opens the bedside table, our road atlas on top of it, and takes out the handgun I gave him. The holster is missing and the gun was just sitting in the drawer of the bedside table.
“What’s wrong?”
“They took our bags, Jamie.” He pulls the slide and checks the barrel, like I showed him, then drops the clip out. He shows me it’s empty.
I turn around, looking for his bag. It has to be here; they wouldn’t take our stuff while we were out. They have no reason.
Only they do. They wanted the food and supplies. The ammo.
We can keep our weapons, of course, but they control the ammo. They control everything in Fort Caroline.
I fling open the door and go to my room, but I already know I’m going to find my own bag gone. But not my rifle, which is also empty.
Andrew stops in my doorway. “They left the guns and clothes but they took our food and ammo.”
Andmy mother’s book.
Andrew follows me down to the office. The door is open andCara, the thin, weird girl from last night is there, writing in some kind of notebook.
“Hey!” She flinches and stands up, knocking over a coffee can full of pens and highlighters. Everyone else is out there working but she’s in here doodling. I want to know what makes her special but don’t care to ask right now.
“Our bags are gone. Where’d you put them?”
She hunches in on herself and backs up to the wall behind her. She doesn’t answer me; she just watches as one of the highlighters slowly rolls off the desk.
“Where are our bags?” I ask again. Still, she doesn’t answer.
“Jamie.” Andrew’s voice is a quiet warning, telling me to calm down. They can take whatever food they want, but I want my books back. My mother’s notebook is my main concern, but I also had the old book Andrew left me. I want them both and then we’re getting the hell out of here.
“Where’d they take our shit?” My blood pumps in my ears and the muscles in my throat tighten.
