Chapter 1

In which we are introduced

My nose felt wet. I reached for Antopia, thinking he might be licking me, but his warm furry body was curled between my feet. I opened one eye, slowly, and looked up at my cardboard roof. It’s darker then usual, I thought. I sat up and peered around in the gloom. Antopia stirred sleepily and rolled onto his back, his ears pinned flat against the cardboard floor and his legs curled on his white stomach. He was a chinracat, one of the many mutant animals that had emerged from the toxic forests in recent years. Somehow the pollution had caused the DNA of animals to fuse causing strange and sometimes dangerous new species. A chinracat was a cross between a rabbit, a chinchilla and a cat. They could be fierce, but I had raised Antopia from a kitten so he was very tame. I scratched him on the nose and crawled to the entrance of my box. The corrugated edges were torn and wet; rainwater dripping down to puddles in the corners. The ceiling was dripping too, large, fat drops seeping through onto my bed below. I cursed softly and began gathering my sleeping bag into its plastic bag in the only dry corner. It was raining. The rainy season in Trinity, my town, was 3 months long: from March to May. For most people it was a welcome respite from the freezing, dry winters, but when you live in a cardboard box, you quickly learn to hate rain. I had the same routine whenever it rained, and today was no different. First I climbed out to the damp alley-way and pulled a slightly torn black plastic garbage bag from under my box. I crept around the other side of my home and spread it open. Small streams of rain water weaved between my feet on the worn asphalt road. I reread the familiar black writing on the side of my box: “Dawson Refrigerator Company. ‘Keep your cold stuff cold!’” I had once asked my teacher what a refrigerator was, but she just told me to focus on the present. Everyone thought the past didn’t matter. As soon as I finished waterproofing my fridge box, I crawled back through the soggy opening to gather my few belongings. Antopia lay curled in the far corner, shivering. His fur was wet in places and his red bow was waterlogged and limp. I gathered him into my arms and hugged him gently. He sneezed and attempted to burrow deeper into my chest. I stroked his head and murmured softly as I lowered him onto my pillow. I turned around with some difficulty and reached under the end of my sleeping bag to pull out my cookie tin. It was red with a picture of a grassy field with flowers on the top. I gazed at it for a moment before lifting the thin lid with a tinny clang. I turned it upside down on my bed beside me and rifled quickly through the few items, taking my daily inventory. I knew no one would steal my stuff, it was of little or no value to anyone else, but it pleased me just to see what was mine. A small box of matches, a zip lock bag of chinracat treats, a small heart shaped locket with a gold chain, a small penny whistle and a pocket sized children’s atlas. The atlas was old and worn, and, as was constantly pointed out to me, extremely outdated. The earth had changed shape so much since the apocalypse that there were now only two continents. I leafed quickly through the damp pages, scanning the pictures whose descriptions I had memorized years earlier. On the back cover was a map of the world as it was in the early 21st century. There were seven continents, all shaped and sizes, portrayed in bright primary colours. I ran my hand over the spidery text that covered the two pages. Antopia sighed and I closed the atlas softly and began to place everything back into the cookie tin. I paused as I picked up the locket and let its chain run through my fingers. I fumbled for a moment with the clasp until the heart opened with a sharp click, revealing a small photo inside. It was an old photo, only two dimensional, but not old enough to be black and white. It featured a striking woman with long, jet black hair and pale skin. She was smiling, as she waded in the clear shallow water of a sunny beach. The other side of the locket was engraved, and the writing, though worn away, was still legible. “Be strong, my daughter.” I peered back at the photo of my mother. Her eyes stood out, neon green like mine. My hand rose unconsciously to my face and I closed the locket quickly. I heard Antopia’s soft paws padding across my sleeping bag towards me. I scooped him up and he licked my suddenly damp cheeks. I hugged him briefly, clicked the lid back on the cookie tin and tucked it under my faded sleeping bag. I fastened the locket quickly around my neck and peered back outside. It was still raining, but less now. I grabbed a coil of thick string from beside my pillow and tied one end firmly to Antopia’s ribbon. He didn’t need a leash, but I didn’t want him to be stolen. As we exited our shabby home we were greeted with calls and waves from the street kids in our area. I waved back and Antopia chirruped, evoking giggles from the younger children. I was fairly damp by the time we reached the central square, but I still managed to snatch a few chicken legs from a nearby vendor. We sat on the edge of the fountain to eat, and threw the bones into the gutter. The square was busy, but we were invisible to most passers-by. Even when we started splashing in the fountain, no one had time to look at a small girl and her pet chinracat. Finally we paused; freezing cold and soaking wet, and began to walk slowly towards the other side of our small town. I stopped as we passed the old schoolhouse, remembering my short happy time there. I pulled an old metal garbage can towards the concrete wall and climbed onto it, peering into the first floor window. I was at the back of the class, thankfully, so no one saw me. The teacher was writing on the blackboard, and the students watched with rapt attention. I could tell by the lack of technology that it was a second class classroom. The first floor was usually reserved for the poorer students. I had read that in the past schools weren’t divided by social status, but the apocalypse had changed everything. Now middle class families were schooled on the first floor, the rich on the second floor, and the families of government workers and guards on the top floor. I had gone to school until grade 3, but when I was eight the master government had taken over. Food costs skyrocketed and social ruts deepened more then they ever had. All us orphans were dumped on the streets, and more joined us every day. The rich got richer; most of them got high paying jobs in the government, and the rest of us sunk deeper into our squalid lives. For the first few years of the master government the rich weren’t even allowed to talk to the poor, and even those who were sympathetic didn’t dare break the law in the presence of the guards who patrolled the streets constantly. Now the laws were so deeply engrained in our conciouses that each social class was a different world, and none existed to the others.

I ducked under the window ledge as the teacher turned around to face his class. He was well dressed in stark contrast to the rest of the room. All the teachers were government hired, and all hated kids. I winced as a small boy was lashed across the back for talking out of turn. It had all been so different before. Why couldn’t we go back?

Suddenly a gloved hand clasped itself around my mouth and yanked me sharply backwards. As I struggled to breath I recognized the tell-tale taste of chloroform. As my mind blurred I saw a group of guards and felt rough hands shoving me into a bag. I tried to struggle but my limbs felt like lead. The last thing I felt before I blacked out was the cold metal of my mother’s locket against my chest.