Death Notice

‘Your presence is requested for your death. Proceed immediately to Zone D. Tell no one.’

The notecard trembles in my hand as I sink onto my bed. Thick cream paper. Fancy black calligraphy. Official council stamp top centre.

I turn it over, hoping there’s been a mistake. But no, it’s right there in black and white: Kyra Swanson.

No denying it’s for me, then.

We’ve all heard the rumours about death invites, but no one has ever seen proof that they were real. We prefer to believe they aren’t. Like parents saying the dog is now living on a farm, not buried in the garden, the council tells us the ones who disappear have gone to another camp. Somewhere that needs them more.

No one ever comes back. No one says goodbye. They simply vanish in the night without warning.

We pretend not to notice that it’s always the sick, the childless, the ageing. Never the hunter, the farmer, the mother, the nurse.

Now, staring at the simple words that hold no room for doubt, I almost admire the audacity of their honesty. At least they’re not pretending I’m headed to a farm.

But why me? Why now?

Sure, I don't have a child, the most valuable asset these days. But I’ve still given my all to help build this place since the world went dark. Since history taught us that the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives.

We all know there aren’t enough resources left to waste on those who don’t benefit the future.

I thought I’d earned my place here.

Clearly, I was wrong.

I’ve been deemed surplus to requirements. More burden than benefit. A single woman past her prime.

A thought slithers in, uninvited.

Had Tabby known I was going to receive this tonight?

No, she couldn’t have known. She would have warned me.

Wouldn’t she?

Just a couple of hours ago she’d nudged my shoulder, flashed her crooked smile, and settled down on the bench beside me. Her presence warmed me more than the fire did, her dark eyes reflecting the dying flames as she handed me a half-empty bottle.

“Happy birthday, old lady. I’ve been looking for you.”

She wouldn’t have had to look hard. There's only so many places you can be when your world is now confined to an increasingly derelict Premier Inn.

I took a swig of what turned out to be rum, coughing a little as it burned its way down my throat. An unfamiliar rather than unwelcome sensation these days. Trust humans to ensure alcohol survived the apocalypse, even if it’s a rarity.

“Where did you get this?” I took another drink, a pleasant buzz already building, before passing the bottle back to her.

“Council perks,” she replied with a wink, her palm warm on my thigh, distracting me. I should have moved it away.

She stared into the fire, her thoughts seemingly elsewhere, as she took a long gulp of the rum. I wondered if something had happened at the council meeting earlier, but I knew better than to ask. She'd tell me if she wanted to.

“It’s a special night,” she said, turning to me with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “It's not every day you turn forty, after all.”

“We don’t normally celeb—"

Her lips cut me off. Her rough hands cradled my face, fingers curling into my hair and pulling me as close as possible. She tasted of rum and smoke and something like quiet desperation.

For a moment, I forgot myself in her kiss.

Then panic jolted me back.

“What are you doing?” I pulled away, heart racing, nodding towards the guards patrolling the perimeter fence. “You know it’s not safe.”

It wasn’t like her to be so indiscreet. As a new council member, head of rations no less, she had a lot more to lose than I did.

I thought the rum had caused her to get caught up in the moment.

But now…now I wonder if the rum was a ruse. Something to dull my senses. One last kindness she could give to me.

No, I refuse to believe she would take part in this.

The card shakes in my hand as I read the words again, willing them to say something different.

They don’t.

But am I really going to just stroll to my death because they’ve been polite?

How do they even do it? Will I meet my executioner? Will they look me in the eye as they take my life? Is it a rock to the head? A push off the now deserted motorway bridge? A hunting knife to the throat like I’m an animal?

I’ve never seen a body here. I’ve never even seen Zone D. For all I know, it could be littered with corpses. But I doubt it. We've learned not to ask where the meat comes from when rations are low.

I just hope it’s over before I even know it’s happening.

My meagre possessions mock me as I look around my sparse room. A threadbare towel. A few changes of clothes. A chipped mug. An old purple blanket. Not much to show for a life. It will all go back into the communal pot now, like I was never even here.

I crumple the notecard and throw it under my bed, hoping someone will find it and realise the truth. Remember me.

Impotent rage builds in my chest. A silent scream clawing for release.

Take someone else, I want to beg. I still have more to give.

My hand goes to my pocket, finding the worn leather cord of the necklace Tabby once gave me. A talisman to keep her close even if we couldn’t be together. The olive green stone is cool and smooth beneath my trembling fingers. She said the colour brought out my eyes.

I tie it around my neck.

It feels like both noose and armour.

I picture her face in the firelight. The way she hugged me a bit too tight, a bit too long, when we said goodnight. The way her eyes glistened as she whispered in my ear:

“I’m sorry. I love you.”

It wasn’t too much rum.

She knew.

She knew I wouldn’t be here tomorrow.

The silent scream gives way to a wave of despair as my heart shatters.

My legs itch to jump the fence and disappear into the night. To take my chances alone in the wilderness. But the world’s a different place now. Running would surely only bring death too. Slower. Crueller. Lonelier.

Better to die with dignity then. For the greater good.

I stand.

Numbness settles over me.

I open the door with now steady hands.

“Ready?” asks the waiting guard, already turning away, as if there’s no answer but yes.