Bloemfontein, South Africa

14 February 2037

Eric came to a stop, his ears straining for the sound of the girl's terrified whimpers.  As he moved through the farmhouse, the scuffed floorboards protested his weight in a series of creaks and groans. He arrived in the kitchen.

 A quick scan established the room to be empty.

"Where are you?" he called out, his voice tight. 

A scrape on the floor behind him made him spin around. A young boy stood in the kitchen's entrance, his red-knuckled fingers clasping a shotgun. The muzzle dipped as the boy's reed-thin arms quivered.

"You don't want to do that," Eric said, lifting his hands to his head. 

His hazmat suit crumpled loudly at the elbows. The boy's eyes narrowed, his lips compressing as he took aim. He screamed as Eric dove at him and tore the shotgun from his hands. Eric straightened and cracked open the shotgun. He emptied the shells into his palm and threw the gun into the corner of the room. His hand closed around the boy's wrist before the child could dart away.

"Los my!" the boy yelled, jerking his arm to escape Eric's grasp. 

"Where is she?" Eric hissed. Tears streamed down the boy's grubby face. He paled as Eric shook him. "Where is she?" 

"Los my uit!" the boy cried. 

Damn, he would be Afrikaans, wouldn't he? Eric took a knee in front of the boy, easing his grip.

"Where..." He paused as he translated in his mind. "Waar is jou... uh... suster?" 

"Sé nie vir jou nie," the boy mumbled. The boy's eyes grew wide. Then he shook his head. "Voetsek!" 

Eric's grip tightened and the boy stopped speaking, perhaps realising he wasn't in a position to negotiate. 

"I'm here to help you, you little shit. Tell me where she is!" 

The boy's lips trembled, his bravado evaporating. Eric heard a moan. The boy's eyes shot to the floor behind Eric, panic etched across his face. Eric pushed the boy away and spun around to scan the room. The kitchen held little in the way of furnishings — a table with flaking white paint, four rickety chairs and a woven rug. 

Eric toed back the rug with his boot. The ancient floorboards met in a neat line that ran under the kitchen table. The table was a massive thing. Eric glanced back at the boy, scrutinising him. 

"It's too heavy for you," he said. "They put her in there, hey? Left you in charge with the gun?" 

The boy huddled against the wall. A trickle of blood ran down one skinny leg. Tears coursed through the grime on his face and dripped from his chin. "Your folks show you how to shoot that thing?" 

"Los ons uit," the boy said, but his voice wavered. 

"I wish I could leave you alone," Eric muttered, pressing his hip to the table and sliding it across the floor. 

He kicked the rug away, stuck his finger in the latch, and hauled the trapdoor open. Inside the darkness of the cellar, the girl screamed. Eric glanced around for a light switch and then rolled his eyes at his own idiocy. He stepped into the cellar and hesitated, the image of the girl aiming a shotgun at his nuts giving him pause. 

Just in case, he called out: "Don't shoot!" and entered the cellar. 

When his eyes adjusted to the dark he scoured the cellar. He found her behind a trunk. She squealed as he hauled her out and dragged her up the stairs. The boy had retrieved the shotgun. When Eric's head cleared the cellar door, the boy lifted the weapon, his chest heaving as he aimed it. 

"It's empty," Eric said, walking past the boy without a second glance. "Put it down. There's nothing left for you here." 

Eric lugged the girl behind him as he exited the farmhouse. The boy would follow his sister. The girl gave up tugging at him and ran along at his side. Her massive blue eyes peered up at him with a mixture of shock and dread. Yellow hair hung in dirty clumps around her face. Eric crested the hill outside the farm, sighing when he saw Bosman seated in the Land Rover.

"What took you so long?" the man asked, giving the two children a single, disinterested glance.

"Little shit tried to hide her. And he had a shotgun. I knew you should have gone in. These Afrikaners take one look at me and—" 

"Get in, Ndlovu," Bosman said. "We've been out too long. These suits only help so much, you know." 

Eric hoisted the girl into the back of the Land Rover and gestured at the boy trailing them. 

"Come," Eric called. "You're going to die out here." 

The boy stood, one hand swiping at his face to get rid of the tears. Eric ground his teeth and glanced over his shoulder at Bosman. 

"No, go on." Bosman said, chuckling. "I love your Afrikaans accent." 

"Kom seun. Ons gaan ry. Jy..." Eric broke off as he searched for the right word, "Jy gaan vrek hier buite." 

The boy hesitated before running to the car and scrambling in beside his sister. They clutched each other and the girl collapsed into wailing sobs. 

"A shotgun?" Bosman accelerated down the road, the Land Rover eating up the kilometres as they sped back to the intake field. 

"A fucking shotgun. Loaded and everything," Eric said. 

He stared out the window as the bushveld streamed past. It was hot inside the car, even with the windows rolled down. The ancient Land Rover had no air-con — anything advanced enough to have an air-con was no longer operational. 

"Whoever joined the army thinking it was just a paycheck is hating it now," Bosman said. 

Eric grunted. That's what he'd thought when he'd signed up. 

"How long do we have?" Eric asked. 

"Thirty minutes, give or take. We'll make it." 

"Close shave." 

"It's a good thing you saw the boy." 

"Ja? Almost had my head blown off." Eric glanced around to make sure the kids hadn't somehow developed the ability to understand English. 

"You find the parents?" 

The boy glared at him. Eric sighed. He thought having Bosman around would make it easier. The man was a coloured, though. Maybe it was all the same to the kid. 

"Ja. Both dead," Bosman said. "Probably a gang." 

Eric shook his head. "I don't get it." His hazmat suit scrunched at the elbow as he gesticulated. The sound of the thick, plastic material was exaggerated in the confined space of the cab. "Why do some people just go nuts when shit hits the fan?" 

"This isn't just shit hitting the fan," Bosman said. "This is the fan gone, no more shit because you have to eat it you're so hungry, and you don't have the energy to throw anything at anything."

Eric curled his fingers against his mouth. "That's one way of putting it," he muttered. He dipped his head to look at the sun through the Land Rover's dirty windscreen. "This'll be the last intake today. Day's almost over." 

"This whole thing freaks me out. No electricity? No money? I mean," Bosman's voice lowered. He glanced over at Eric with hooded eyes. "How they going to pay us?" 

"With food. At least, that's what Sarge said." 

"They'd better." Bosman turned off the highway, decelerating as the barricaded gate of the intake field came into view. "I'm sure as hell not doing this for free." 

Barbed wire spanned the perimeter of the eighteen hectare field. A guard dressed in a bright yellow hazmat suit glanced inside the car before shooing them through with one hand, the other clutching a Vektor R4 assault rifle. Bosman parked next to a handful of other cars and jumped out. 

"You book them, I'm going for a piss," Bosman said over his shoulder and disappeared behind one of the tents. 

Eric opened the back of the Land Rover for the kids. He was ready when the boy rushed out dragging his sister, intent on running away into the bushveld. 

"Nee. Kom," Eric said, using as stern a voice as he could muster. 

Eric had to kneel to pull them apart. Both kids in tow, Eric stormed over to the closest intake tent. His eyes skimmed the lines of people he passed. Some glanced in his direction. Most turned away as soon as they saw his hazmat suit. 

He shouldered a man and a young boy out of the way and hauled the two kids to the table. A rotund soldier sat behind it. The mask of his hazmat suit fogged up with every exhalation.

"These are the last from sector fourteen, Corporal." 

Corporal Mokoena glanced at the two children and grunted, turning over a new page in his file. He began scribbling on the form, glancing up at the children every few seconds. Eric waited. He suppressed the urge to tap his boot as sweat began trickling down his back. 

The girl tugged on Eric's hand. "Waar's mamma?"

Corporal Mokoena peered over the table at her, lifting his chin as his eyes slid up to Eric. "Where are the parents?" 

"Dead."

Mokoena shook his head and returned to his form. 

"Waar's mamma?" A tremor had entered her high-pitched voice. 

"Bly stil, Lina," the boy snapped.

His sister burst into tears. 

"Listen to your brother and stay quiet," Eric said, but the girl dropped to the floor and continued wailing. 

"How old?" Mokoena asked, raising his voice over the girl's shrieking.

"Don't know." 

Mokoena lifted his head and shrugged as he glanced at them. "Then ask." 

"Hoe oud is julle?" Eric managed. 

The boy scowled at him before responding. "Ek's ses. Lina's vyf." 

"Uh, the girl's five, he's six." 

"Sector?" 

"Fourteen." 

"Parents?" 

Eric sighed. "Dead." 

"They show violence?" Mokoena looked up at Eric when he didn't respond immediately. "They become violent?" 

"No." 

"You telling me lies, Ndlovu?" Eric paused again. Mokoena slapped down his pen, pushing himself away from the table and leaning back in his chair. "What happened?"

"He was just protecting his sister."

"What did he do?" 

"He had a gun."

Mokoena let out a whistle through his teeth. His arms rested on his gut. "He shoot you?" 

"No. I disarmed him." 

"Still." Mokoena's hand knocked over a few rubber stamps scattered haphazardly on the table beside him before finding the intended one. He pressed it into a pad of red ink and slammed it down on the boy's form. 

"Corporal—" 

"Rules from the top."

"I know but—" 

"Here," Mokoena said, ignoring Eric's plea and rifling through a stack of papers beside him. "Before I forget." 

He handed Eric a piece of paper. There were a few fingerprints on the corners. Eric took it gingerly, glancing at the conspicuous logo on the letterhead. It looked like a red sun. 

Eric read the memo, laughing before he was halfway through. "This some sort of joke?" 

Mokoena's eyebrows lifted. "It looks like I have time to joke?" His arms spread to encompass rows upon rows of intake tents. Lines of people looped through the field like a lazy snake. 

"No, sir." 

"Then it's no joke." 

Eric tapped the letterhead. "Who's this 'SUN'?"

"Something something Network." The corporal rested his elbows on the table as he completed the form.

"Steller Unification Network," Eric corrected. "But who are they? I thought our orders came from SANDF?" 

Mokoena let out a heavy sigh. He shrugged and leaned forward, gesturing toward the boy with a flick of his fingers. Eric gripped the boy's shoulders and lifted him so that Mokoena could grasp his hand. The boy struggled, but Eric held him aloft long enough for the corporal to dunk his hand into a bucket on the table. When the boy's hand came out it was stained red. He shook it, spraying Mokoena with droplets of dye. 

"Sorry, sir," Eric mumbled.

He hastily lowered the boy, who was swiping his hand against his pants. Mokoena retrieved a large, stained handkerchief and used it wipe the mask of his hazmat suit.

The corporal's sigh fogged up the mask. "They the ones setting up the domes." 

"What domes?"

"You been out too long, Ndlovu. A lot's happened. All new intakes now go to these temporary domes they're setting up. They planning to build bigger ones in the next month or so. The guard will tell you where they are on the way out." 

"We have to go there?"

"This is the last. After this, whoever's out there stays out there. There's only so much space." 

"But they'll die of radiation poisoning." 

"Not my problem. Give the girl." 

Eric lifted the girl. The corporal dunked her pale hand in a different bucket. The girl took one look at her purple fingers and began crying. 

"Get them away," Mokoena snapped, flicking his hand to call forward the next intake. 

"What about the boy?" 

"You saw the memo. Take him to the red tent." 

"I can't just..."

Mokoena wasn't listening anymore. 

Eric headed for the Land Rover. Bosman hadn't returned. Eric opened the back of the car and the boy helped his sister inside. He grabbed the boy's hand and slammed the door closed. 

"Haai! Wat maak jy?" the boy exclaimed. 

Eric dragged him away from the Land Rover, ignoring the girl's faint howls. The boy fought him like a wild thing. Eric lifted him and gripped him to his chest. He tried to disregard the obscenities the boy screamed at him.

"Shut up," he hissed. 

The boy went limp. Eric put him back on the ground and took his hand. He made sure every bit of the red dye was obscured by his hazmat suit's bulky glove. 

When the guard saw them approach he hoisted his Vektor. "Where you going?" 

"He needs to take a dump," Eric said.

"He must go inside." 

"The line's around the block," Eric said, his voice low. 

The guard hesitated. He cocked his head. "Hurry, Ndlovu. I'm closing in five minutes." 

Eric hurried out with the boy, glancing back to make sure the guard had lost interest. His hazmat suit made an unpleasant whisking sound as he took the boy to a patch of scree a few meters away. 

Crouching, Eric took a deep breath. He spun the boy around to face him. 

"Listen to me, okay? You have to get out of here or they'll kill you. And you need to stay out of the sun. It's going to kill you. Find a cave. Dig a hole, I don't know. Just stay out of the sun." 

The boy's face remained impassive and Eric let out a hiss. He paused, translating the sentence in his mind.

"Jy moet hardloop," Eric said, awkwardly mimicking a run while trying to remain out of sight of the distant guard. He pointed toward the distant tents. 

"Hulle gaan jou dood maak. Jy moet grou. In die grond. Die son-" Eric stabbed up at the sun "-gaan jou dood maak. Grou, en jy sal okay wees." He made a digging motion in the sand in front of him until the boy began to nod. "Grou, en jy sal leef." Dig, and you'll live. Again the boy nodded, tears forming in his eyes. 

"My suster?" he asked. 

"Sy's okay." Eric gave the boy a thumbs up. "Sy sal leef." 

He left the wide-eyed boy in the thicket and returned to the barricade.

"Where's the kid?" the guard snapped.

"I let him go," Eric replied. The guard tensed and Eric shrugged. "It's better than what they'll do to him." 

"Who?" The guard's fingers tightened around his Vektor. "What you talking about?" 

Eric stopped and frowned at him. "You haven't heard?" 

"What? Heard what?" 

"They're killing them all." 

"Who?" The guard spun around as if trying to locate the source of this spontaneous genocide. 

Eric whipped out Mokoena's letter and waved it at the guard until he took it. He didn't wait for the man to finish reading. 

"These SUN people. They're building this—" Eric waggled his fingers over the page "—dome and letting the peaceful people go inside. Say's it'll keep them from getting radiation poisoning." 

"What about the rest?" the guard asked. 

"They're gassing them." 

"All of them?" The guard whispered, his eyes skittering over the page. 

"Even the kids," Eric said."Even the kids," Eric said.

. . .

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Ronel