Born and Raised Read online

  Born and Raised

  Immediate Empire, Volume 1

  R. A. Doty

  Published by DayLew Publishing, 2018.

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  BORN AND RAISED

  First edition. October 31, 2018.

  Copyright © 2018 R. A. Doty.

  Written by R. A. Doty.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Other Books by R.A. Doty

  For my grandson: Raymond Parker Doty

  Chapter One

  CALLA WILKINSON GLANCED over her shoulder to confirm no one was watching as she walked to the lawn beside the kennel. Secrecy was of the utmost importance. A girl, imprisoned behind a chain-link fence, ran up and walked with her.

  “Hi, April,” Calla said to the girl.

  April smiled.

  Now that her daily shift had ended, Calla decided to spend a little more time with April before going home. She sat under the shade of a tree and pulled an aluminum tablet from a leather bag. Her left hand held the tablet while the fingers of her right quickly tapped its surface. Words formed on the screen, turning into sentences, and then paragraphs. Before long an entire page was filled. She pressed a finger to her lips while silently reading what she wrote in her journal:

  In an attempt to somehow explain the means at which we have survived while others in the world have perished, I thought it would be beneficial to future generations if I were to document my interactions with the nutrimen, as they are the key to our survival.

  I’m very much enjoying taking care of the nutrimen, with April being my favorite. She is small framed, freckled faced, with matching red hair. A blissful ignorance hides behind her naïve smile that thinks I’m someone to trust. My task is to feed the nutrimen, and I was instructed not to interact; communication is strictly forbidden, but I couldn’t resist any longer. This one is different.

  At fourteen, April is three years my junior. She is younger than some of the other nutrimen but seems more intelligent. She isn’t content with just sitting around waiting to be fed. Yesterday, a bird landed on the fence and she ran over to study it. She can mimic all the calls the indigenous birds make, with chickadees being her favorite. I’ve only been trying to communicate with her for one week, but she can already distinguish basic articles of clothing and certain shapes, and I hope to soon teach her colors. I am intrigued by her and, judging by the way she runs over when I approach, she by me. I guess in a strange way you could say we’ve become friends. Strange because I know why she’s on the inside of the fence, but she has no idea why I’m on the outside—and she will never ask. She can’t speak. She was raised that way, as were the others—a plan specifically formulated to prevent rebellion. None of them have ever heard a human voice, so therefore, have never learned a formal language. Her number is 04302131, which was derived from the date she was birthed: April 30, 2131. If more than one nutrimen was born on the same day, another number would follow the year to represent the corresponding sequence of when it was born, a “1” meaning the first, a “2” meaning the second, and so on. I’m supposed to identify her by her number, but I prefer to call her April.

  Calla lowered the tablet and looked up at April, who seemed to be studying her every move. “Do you like your name, April?”

  April smiled, her fingers poking through the fence.

  “I never formally introduced myself. My name’s Callarina, but you can call me Calla. I’m sorry for the delayed introduction, but I’m really not even supposed to be talking to you. I hope you understand.”

  April focused on Calla’s lips as she spoke. When Calla’s attention went back to the tablet, she silently mouthed her name. “Calla.”

  Calla raised the tablet and continued tapping its surface.

  I first met April one month ago. We all have to contribute, so when my tasks changed from custodial to kennel, I was glad to be relieved of my cleaning duties. The nutrimen always intrigued me, so I was very excited when I was transferred to the kennel crew, a decision that was motivated by a referral from my friend, Sarah. Her father is the head of sustenance production.

  April and the other nutrimen were created for one purpose, and one purpose only: food for us, the Elite. With most mammals now extinct it was only logical for the Power Elite to create a new species derived from our DNA that could be harvested regularly. They’re easy to raise, require little space, and are high in protein, a nutritional benefit not readily available in plants. They are also free from disease and biological defects—in a sense, a perfect food source. The nutrimen are ready to harvest in sixteen years. This age is ideal because the meat is still tender and most of them have physically matured.

  April sat down on the concrete floor as Calla tapped the tablet. Her loose-fitting white pants climbed her calves and exposed her bare ankles as she crossed her legs. She studied every inch of Calla: her blonde hair and blue eyes, the tan short-sleeved jumpsuit covering her body, the brown objects concealing her feet—shoes, she mouthed, remembering what Calla had called them, and the black dot above Calla’s upper lip—mole. She leaned closer to the fence when Calla scratched the back of her head. When the sunlight hit Calla’s left hand just right, a tiny shape appeared just beneath the skin on her wrist—square. When a cloud blocked the sun the shape was gone. She rubbed her own wrist and felt something similar—triangle.

  Calla glanced up from the tablet. “I bet you’re wondering what I’m doing aren’t you, April?” She sighed. “Oh, April, there’s so much you’ll never know.” She slipped the tablet into her bag and walked up to the fence. “I’m sure you don’t realize it, but you’re very pretty. But how could you know when you’ve never seen your face?” She bent down, plucked a handful of grass, and held it up to the fence. “Here, it’s called grass.”

  April stood, looked at the long green strands and then at Calla.

  “You can take it,” Calla said.

  April cupped her hand and held it up to the fence, and Calla sprinkled the grass onto her palm.

  “Smell it,” Calla said, and bent down to grab another handful. “Like this.” She raised it to her nose and breathed deep. “It’s wonderful.”

  April raised the grass to her face and held it under her nose. She took a small breath at first, glanced at Calla, and then a deeper one. She smiled.

  “I knew you would like it.” Calla opened her hand, and April watched as the grass fell to the ground. “I’ve got to go home, April, bu
t I’ll be back tomorrow.”

  As Calla grabbed her bag and walked away, April looked at the grass in her hand and held it to her nose. She smelled it again and again, each breath longer than the last. She dropped to her knees and stuck her fingers through the fence, trying to reach a dandelion, but could only touch the bright yellow flower with the tip of her finger. She stood and walked slowly back to her pen, sniffing the grass in her hand as she went.

  Chapter Two

  CALLA STROLLED DOWN the sidewalk, peering into each house as she passed. The houses stood on an upward gradient, elevated above the beach. A wall of concrete, ten-feet tall, separated the houses from the beach, with three strands of razor wire stretched along the top. The wall started from the rear corner of the kennel and encompassed the entire city of Ancada until ending on the opposite side of the kennel. In front of the wall stood a sixteen-foot tall bronze statue of a woman with her arms extended and her palms facing the sky – the Power Select – the leader of not only Ancada, but also every city around the globe that was controlled by the Power Elite.

  Stairwells were formed into the wall adjacent to each house, and an iron door, eight feet high, hung at the base of the steps, which allowed access to the beach. Two-foot–square glass panels, four inches thick, were centered in the wall directly between the stair openings that could be opened in the event of an attack. Calla felt secure, glancing at the artillery behind the glass, but often wondered what it was meant to keep out, having never been to the mainland to see its inhabitants. Her attention turned to the mainland far across the ocean. Was it really that dangerous? She sometimes thought about taking a boat to find out for herself as she glanced at the long aluminum docks stretching into the water at thirty-yard intervals, just twenty feet to her left. Shiny yachts clung to the sides of the docks, simulating the petals of an elaborate man-made flower.

  She squinted, staring back at the houses on the hill with the tall glass buildings of Ancada towering behind them like giant shimmering robots staring out into the ocean. The setting sun bounced from one building to another with the reflection of the ocean projecting onto entire walls of windows. Calla took a deep breath of the moist, salty air. As she approached the next house, a man stood behind the window with his hands in his pockets, staring down at her. He removed one hand and waved.

  “Hi, Mr. Weston,” Calla said, knowing he couldn’t hear her but she spoke aloud just the same.

  Bill Weston’s wife, Melanie, sat at the dining room table behind him, and Calla’s friend, Sarah, their daughter, sat next to her mother. Calla assumed they were about to eat dinner and wondered what the main course would be. Her thoughts turned to April and how she smiled while smelling the grass.

  Three houses down the beach she approached one of the iron doors and punched a numeric code onto a keypad embedded into the wall. With a metallic clunk, the door swung open. On the interior of the door were two buttons mounted to one of the stairwell walls, a red and a green. The green opened the door from the inside and the red forced the door to lock if for some reason it failed to do so on its own upon closing. After ascending the first six steps, Calla turned around as the door closed and locked. The sun had begun to vanish into a dark blue ocean, its reflection gleaming across the water like a bright orange beacon. She wondered if anyone on the mainland, far in the distance, was also staring at this beautiful sunset at that exact moment.

  CALLA OPENED A DOOR in one of the houses’ walls-of-glass and stepped into a kitchen. A woman wearing a form-fitting, light blue dress and holding a glass of wine, stood next to the kitchen island.

  “Calla, why are you using the rear entrance?” the woman asked. “You shouldn’t be near the beach this time of the day. You know that.”

  “I’m sorry, Mother, but the air smelled so fresh I just had to take the back-way home.”

  “Will you promise me you won’t do it again? It’s safer going through the city.”

  “I promise, but I don’t know why you worry so. I’m old enough to take care of myself.”

  “This has nothing to do with age, Calla.”

  Calla placed her bag onto the counter and tapped a console mounted to the wall. A white panel vanished sideways into the wall, exposing the front of the refrigerant unit. She scanned the food on the shelves.

  “I’m starving. What’s for dinner?”

  She grabbed a plump strawberry, and the panel reappeared when she walked away.

  “I thought a roast might be nice,” her mother said.

  Calla plucked the leaves and stem from the berry and bit it in half. She winced when the tangy juice hit her taste buds. “Didn’t we already have meat twice this week?”

  “Yes, but your father has an important announcement to make this evening, so I thought we’d celebrate.”

  “What announcement?” Calla ate the remainder of the strawberry and licked the juice from her fingers.

  “He wants it to be a surprise, so you’ll have to wait.”

  A FEW HOURS LATER, Calla lay on her bed staring at the ceiling with wireless ear buds placed in her ears. Thousands of bright stars dotted a pitch-black sky through a clear glass skylight. She nibbled a cuticle from her finger as the old man fought the sharks away from his marlin in one of her favorite books. A female voice echoed from a speaker in the ceiling.

  “Welcome home, Don.”

  Calla removed the ear buds, jumped off the bed, and ran from the bedroom, anxious to greet her father. He stood just inside the front entrance door as she ran toward him. “Father, you’re home. What’s the announcement?”

  “Slow down, Calla. Where’s your mother.”

  Calla grabbed her father’s hand and led him to the great-room where her mother was seated on a white leather sofa, watching a television screen the size of an entire wall.

  “Mother, turn off the television, Father’s home.”

  The image of a black stallion running through a meadow disappeared, and the wall darkened.

  Calla’s father sat in a chair facing his wife, and Calla sat next to her mother.

  “You’d better hurry, Don, before your daughter explodes with curiosity,” Calla’s mother said.

  Donald folded his hands on his lap and faced his wife and daughter. “Well, Jill” he said to his wife, he turned to his daughter with a smile, “and Calla. I first wanted to speak with the Power Select before making this announcement, and that’s why I haven’t said anything yet.”

  Jill’s mouth opened slightly when her husband mentioned the Power Select. It was rare to meet with one of the members of the Power Elite, and almost unheard of to communicate with the Power Select—the head of the Power Elite. She sat upright and leaned toward her husband as he continued.

  “They’ve invited me to become a member and to represent our city of Ancada.”

  “Are you serious, Donald?” Jill said.

  Donald smiled. “I’ve never been more serious. I told them I would have to think about it before I made a decision.”

  “Donald, you’d be the head of the entire city. What’s there to think about? Of course you have to accept the invitation.”

  “Does that mean we’d have to move?” Calla said.

  “Not that I’m aware of, but I don’t know all of the details yet. I’m sure they’ll fill me in once I accept their offer.”

  “I’m so proud of you, Donald,” Jill said. She remembered the roast in the oven. “Can we finish this conversation over dinner? I made a roast, and I think it’s done.”

  AFTER PLACING CLOTH napkins on their laps, the Wilkinsons grabbed their utensils and began to eat the entrée on their plates.

  Donald sliced through the grayish meat and placed a forkful in his mouth. “Delectable, dear” he said, chewing slowly to savor each bite.

  “It is quite tender, isn’t it?” Jill said.

  Calla greedily ate bite after bite, her knife and fork scraping the plate with each slice of the meat.

  “I guess you were serious when you said you were starving,�
� her mother said, eyeing her daughter’s half-empty plate.

  Donald raised his glass and tapped it with his fork. “I’d like to make a toast if I may.”

  Jill and Calla lowered their forks and grabbed their glasses.

  “To the founding fathers of Ancada,” Donald continued. “Without their guidance and foresight, this safe-haven that we call home would never exist, and without their knowledge the nutrimen would never have been created. It’s because of them that we enjoy this meal placed before us in this house we call our home.”

  Glasses clanked, and each of the Wilkinsons drank a generous sip before returning to their meal.

  JILL LAY IN BED LATER that evening with a hard-covered copy of The Good Earth, by Pearl S. Buck, fanned open in her hands. She lowered the book when her husband climbed into bed.

  “I really am proud of you, Donald. You’ve worked so hard over the years to make Ancada what it is today. You deserve, more than anyone, to be among the Power Elite.”

  “Thank you, dear. That means a lot to me to hear you say that.”

  Jill continued. “I can tell Calla’s proud of you as well. She seems more mature now in some ways. She’s growing so fast, Don.” Jill looked past the window and out to the sea. The reflection of the moon, now high in the sky, bounced over the waves. She faced her husband. “Now that you’re a member of the Power Elite will she still be chosen when she turns eighteen?”

  Donald held his wife’s hand, squeezing it gently.

  “I’m afraid so. Now, more than ever, we all have to live up to our expectations. We have no choice but to lead by example if we’re to sustain the lifestyle we’ve all become accustomed to.” Donald leaned close to his wife and kissed her forehead. “Calla’s strong enough to do what must be done when the moment arrives.”

  Jill nodded. “I know.” She breathed deep and raised the book.