During the seventh procedure that night, light from the moon pierced the single, circular window. Zero could guess, nearly to the minute, how much time was left before dawn. They worked quickly and methodically despite crushing fatigue. At age thirty-two, over two decades into the Authority’s regime and nearly a dozen forced fertilizations later, Zero could feel themselves decaying from the inside out, their bones going brittle, muscles atrophying. They needed to find and train a replacement to do this work as soon as possible.
“You did great,” Zero assured the last patient of the night. 0794 blinked a few times at the ceiling, rubbed their eyes, nodded. Zero helped them sit up, offered a glass of water. They never knew their patients’ names. That was part of the compact. Every Giver was assigned a number. Medical records were filed accordingly. Zero knew their histories, and, most crucially, the date of their most recent forced fertilization.
When 0794 chilled, Zero placed a shawl around their shoulders. They couldn’t have been more than thirteen years old. Brown doe eyes, shoulder-length black hair in two, taut braids, chubby cheeks. A baby. The Authority didn’t care about the ages of Givers, or how much they would suffer. It only concerned itself with continuing the human race no matter the cost.
This is what kept Zero coming to work every day.
Zero washed their hands in the basin, ran them over their bald head. They needed a long, hot bath, the kind they once enjoyed as a child in the Before times, when clean water, electricity, and other resources were plentiful. Zero’s memories of that era ran thin. The birth rate began plummeting around the time Zero was born. They were eleven years old when the Authority launched a coup, twelve when the Authority banned all forms of birth control, fifteen when it began rounding up Givers, forcing fertilization, and injecting them with drugs that ensured viability but also caused Givers to bleed to death soon after birth.
Which meant there was a twisted irony to Zero’s calling as an abortionist. Zero was saving Givers’ lives and reducing their suffering but hastening human extinction. It was a choice Zero and their comrades could live with. But the work was taxing, and Zero knew they would not live much longer if they didn’t replace themselves soon.
There was a knock on the door. Apple, a Healer, handed 0794 a mug of tea made with herbs gathered and brewed for all of Zero’s patients. Apple wore a different color beret each day of the week. Zero often teased them that despite the harsh conditions of the regime, Apple still managed to keep up with fashion.
“Sip,” Apple instructed 0794, then ripped off the end of a loaf of bread. “And eat this. You need to gather your strength. The sun will be rising soon.”
If Zero prayed, they would ask that Givers have enough time to recuperate before the Authority got to them again. Though they were fairly well hidden in the Nantahala Forest, as soon as 0794 walked out the door, Zero knew the Authority could find and re-fertilize them almost immediately.
Apple escorted 0794 to the exit and returned with a mug of tea for Zero. “You look exhausted. Any update on a potential replacement?”
Zero took a sip. “Mani and Khmer are being moved to another quadrant. Kai is caring for very ill siblings and can’t take anything else on,” Zero sighed. “The tremor in my hand is getting worse. I’m having trouble grasping tools.” They opened and closed their firsts. “What of the birth rate, Apple? Has it dropped at all?”
Apple shook their head. “The numbers are flatlining. It’s impossible to reach all fertilized Givers within a four month gestation period. Over the past few weeks, we’ve had three hundred and seventy-seven births in this quadrant alone. That’s much lower than the other quadrants. But we can’t keep going like this. We need more abortionists.”
Zero blew the tea and sipped. “How much longer until the vaccine is ready?” This was where they placed all of their hope – in a vaccine that would prevent fertilizations.
“Ore says it’s ready now, Zero. They’re looking for volunteers. Most Givers are too afraid to participate.”
“Then I’ll do it.”
“You would die,” Apple said.
“You don’t know that,” Zero countered.
“I do know it, Zero. You’ve had, what, eleven fertilizations and eleven rounds of viability drugs?” Apple shook their head. Apple was not a Giver, so they had never been fertilized. But as a Healer, Apple had devoted their life to caring for Givers. “You’re too weak. You can’t risk it.”
“We’re all risking everything. We can’t just–”
“I can’t lose you, too,” Apple said. “I won’t.”
Zero placed a hand on Apple’s shoulder and squeezed. All of their loved ones had died, either from the coup, birth, failed rebellions, or fertilizations. They had become each other’s only family. And yet, something had to be done. No one could keep living like this. What was family, without life?
“Well, then,” said Zero, “what about the serum?”
Apple leaned against the wall, cracked a smile. “I’m glad you asked. The results have been promising. We’re about to make it widely available. Of the forty who’ve received daily doses over the last month, twenty-eight have improved. Their skin rashes are disappearing, their tumors are shrinking, episodes of vertigo and migraines have decreased, thyroid function is returning. The serum won’t be able to counter all of the side effects of the viability drugs, but it should lessen them.”
“That’s wonderful,” Zero said. Good news was hard to come by in these times. Opposition scientists had few resources but were finally making breakthroughs. Zero was grateful for it, and now had an idea. “So how about you treat me with the serum? If I improve, Ore can test the vaccine on me.”
Apple sighed. “You’re so stubborn.”
“I know,” Zero said, leaning over and planting a kiss on Apple’s mouth.
Every day for the next three weeks, Zero became the patient. Apple brought Zero a medicine dropper of serum, which Zero dutifully swallowed.
“Another one already? Yummy,” Zero said, upon seeing Apple enter the room.
“I’ve not had time to make it taste like anything other than gasoline,” Apple laughed. “You can be grateful, but you don’t have to lie.”
“Beggars can’t be choosers.”
Apple lifted Zero’s chin. “You color looks better. You’re not as pale.” They got out a blood pressure cuff, strapped it around Zero’s arm, and pumped the bulb until it inflated while eyeing the gauge. “Not bad,” Apple said, a few seconds later. “Your blood pressure has come down. It’s now in the normal range for someone your age.”
“Someone my age,” said Zero. “You don’t have to insult me.”
“Ah, but it’s the only way you’ll listen.”
Zero clasped Apple’s hand. “I’m stronger, Apple. I feel better. I’m ready for the vaccine.”
Apple shook their head. “It’s too soon.”
“You agreed that Ore gets the last word, remember? Let’s hear what they have to say.”
Just as the words fell out of Zero’s mouth, Ore appeared in the doorway. “Zero, Apple, good to see you both.” There was a formality to Ore that Zero could never get used to. They were living under an oppressive regime, in the midst of a genocide, yet Ore, ever the scientist, focused only on what they could control. Zero would give anything for that kind of focus and calm.
“I agree with Apple, you’re not ready, Zero,” Ore said. “But soon. Be patient. As soon as I think it’s safe, we’ll commence.”
Zero began pacing the room. “Look, we don’t have enough abortionists. The birth rate has leveled out. Givers are continuing to die after birth and the Opposition seems to have given up. I’ve outlived most Givers since the Authority came into power. We need the vaccine. Let me be a guinea pig.”
Ore crossed their arms and glanced over at Apple. “You drive a hard bargain, my friend.”
A few weeks later, Apple and Zero traipsed through the darkness to the other side of the mountain, where young Givers huddled near tents and fires. Some kicked around a ball. Others jumped rope. They were all born during the current regime, would never have known a life of freedom. The Givers who brought them into the world would have barely had a chance to hold them before dying.
Zero clung to their memories of their own Giver in the Before times, of eating meals together at their kitchen table, of snuggles and bedtime kisses. Those memories were often what kept Zero going. Zero had not been to their grave in ages. It was too close to the quadrant border, where vigilantes roamed and ruled with more violence than even the Authority.
And yet, these young Givers in front of Zero had managed to survive, and even thrive. They were training to become leaders in an opposition that had become marred by corruption. They were learning how to become Healers, expert hunters, and foragers. They had created secret languages to outsmart the Authority. There was a fierceness and resilience about them that Zero found inspiring. Dare they say, these Givers gave Zero hope.
A half hour later, Apple and Zero reached a dilapidated gray cabin. The roof appeared to be partially sunken in. The stones at the foundation were crumbling. Before they could knock, Ore opened the door.
“Right on time,” Ore said, escorting them to the back room. Ore’s long kameez trailed behind them.
“Ore, I can find someone to help fix up your cabin.” Apple said.
“I won’t be here much longer, Apple. I’ll have to relocate again soon. If I don’t move every few months, the Authority will track me down.” Ore began washing their hands in a steel bucket. “A new lab is being built, deeper in the forest, behind a waterfall. It’ll be safer for me to conduct my work there, especially if the vaccine proves to be as successful as I hope it will be.
“It could be a game changer,” Apple said.
“Indeed. I’ll go get your dose, Zero. Please take a seat.”
Zero settled on a chair and stretched out their legs, and rolled their feet at the ankles. “The serum has reduced my joint pain significantly, Apple. You’ve done good work.” Zero’s words sounded rehearsed. They were trying too hard to hide their anxiety.
The truth of the matter was that after Ore conducted Zero’s preliminary bloodwork and tests, they learned that the serum had not worked as well as they’d hoped. The Authority’s viability drugs had caused irreversible damage to Zero’s organs. Ore agreed to proceed with the vaccine only because Ore and Zero now knew, for certain, that Zero would not survive another fertilization.
In all their years of knowing each other, Zero had never lied or kept a secret from Apple. But if Zero had learned anything since the coup, it was that providing a loved one a little bit of comfort, even if it came in the form of withholding crucial information, was a kind of mercy. It was, perhaps, the purest expression of love.
Ore returned. They flicked the needle twice to release its air bubbles, and positioned its tip on the flesh of Zero’s upper arm.
“Ready?” Ore said.
Zero nodded.
There was freedom in knowing one didn’t have much time left in the world, that pain had an expiration date. But Zero hoped their last days or months would serve some kind of a purpose, that someday, young Givers might get to experience the kind of childhood Zero once did.
“You’re doing great,” Apple said, gripping Zero’s hand.
“Thanks, Babe,” they smiled. “Just promise not to let go.”