More Than Imagined

Chapter 1

The body hit the ground with a reverberating thud as Rhoawyn and Eva approached the rations center. The collision was almost drowned out by the marveling gasps of passersby. Rhoawyn stood on her tip-toes to get a better view of the carnage. She had never seen a Departure up close, and she would not miss the chance now.

The mob was dense, way too thick for the Departed to have been anything less than a Seven. No one would even bat an eye at a low number like her Departing—it was much too common. People packed into the space of the meadow like sardines, forming an impenetrable wall that Rhoawyn couldn't scale.

She pushed in closer, placing a hand on the bare shoulder of the man planted in front of her. The contrast of her skin—brown as dampened soil rich with the promise of life—against the man's shoulder stole her attention. But her eyes soon zeroed-in on his glare. She smiled at him, apologetically, of course, lips tilting as lopsided as the thickly curled puff atop her head.

Using the man as leverage, she boosted herself just enough to catch the glint of the Departed's shirt. It was silk. Definitely no lower than a Seven. A narrow-eyed Eva walked up behind her and tugged her by the collar away from the crowd.

"We've got better things to do than linger," Eva said.

The girls forced their way past the loiterers clogging the steel sidewalks. They glistened with sweat beneath the artificial heat of the spring sun. Sweat prickled Rhoawyn's brow as she followed Eva into the glass skyscraper that was the rations center.

A flash of cool air blasted over Rhoawyn's face, and she was certain this was what heaven must feel like. Heaven was the topic of the theology serum she drank that morning. Most of their educational serums mentioned the afterlife in some capacity. But theology serums tasted of cranberries, a flavor Rhoawyn appreciated more than most. It was a stark difference from the sickeningly sweet taste of the calculus serum that was awaiting her back home. Thankfully, theology serums were the only ones required after she turned 18 next month.

The rations center was uncommonly empty, apart from the workers lined up in parallel fashion against the one-sided reflection of the black glass wall. No one knew what was back there, not even the people working at the register, but Rhoawyn could only assume that was where they kept all the rations. She stepped up to the conveyor belt ahead of Eva and waited as the woman at the register methodically checked out the person ahead of her. She was sallow-skinned, and the wrinkles on her face almost drowned out her forced smile.

The man in front of Rhoawyn finished bagging his rations. He double-checked his shopping bag with a scowl, seemingly expecting there to be more items than he received. Rhoawyn couldn't imagine why though, the ration counter was never wrong and everyone always got the exact items their number allotted. The man slugged away from the conveyor belt, defeated, and Rhoawyn stepped up to take her turn.

"Welcome to the rations center! Please place your finger on the RCM," the old woman behind the register said with so much fake cheer Rhoawyn could almost see her eyelid twitch from the strain of her smile. She never understood why rations centers needed register workers, anyway. The only purpose they served was to greet her with the same two sentences every time she came for her rations. She had never seen one have an actual conversation with anyone in line.

Maybe The Apex thought seeing a human face made this overly automated experience more personal, enjoyable even. Rhoawyn just thought it was unnecessary humiliation, so she struck up a conversation.

"They're dropping like flies," Rhoawyn said, startling the smile off of the old woman's face.

Eva elbowed her in the back as a warning to stop while she's ahead. The woman was probably here to see the Departure at the exact moment it happened—the glass walls gave an amazing view. Some people have all the luck.