This short story was inspired by a writing prompt: “You have left the dystopian nation you have lived in your entire life; only to see that, despite propaganda, the nation is only the size of a small town and no one knows the nation exists.”
There were no alarms when I pushed aside the two loose slats in the border fence. No guards shouted or fired their weapons. I didn’t stop to look back. I ran, sprinted, over the mound and then up the hill, trying to keep low, trying to blend in, trying not to make noise. The bottom of the hill was covered in grass but higher up were trees. I didn’t stop running until I was beyond the edge of the wood.
I was free. The thought ripped through my whole body and for a moment I stood, unable to move. Freedom. That longed for word. I wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. So many months of planning, of watching, of plotting. So many sleepless nights, waiting to be hauled before a tribunal and summarily shot for sedition. The country in which I’d grown up was behind me, all its horror wiped from my life except for the events I knew would continue to haunt my dreams. I picked up my rucksack and walked almost to the edge of the wood to have one last look at Necras. I had to cover my mouth to stop my exclamation.
It was so small, no bigger than a city in another country, at least based on the maps I’d had smuggled in. The main government building dominated the view. Necras was supposed to be an important country. Oh, the lies we were told by the Prefect. I spat on the ground, then I turned and walked away, never again looking back.
I walked a long way. When it got dark, I slipped into a barn and ate. I hadn’t eaten since the morning. My feet hurt, my back was sore but I was free. I slept, truly slept, for the first time in years.
When I woke up, the sun was already high. I could hear voices outside. I didn’t want to be discovered. Not yet. We’d heard everybody on the outside was armed, even children, and violent deaths at the hands of fellow citizens were commonplace. I peered through a window. Two men, one woman, one dog. The dog was staring right at me. He started barking and the taller of the men told him to be quiet. He was, for a second, in which I moved away from the window. I could hear snuffling on the other side of the barn door. I picked up my rucksack and put it on, ready to flee. The man was talking to the dog, ‘I’ll show you, it’s just rats.’ His voice was patient, loving. My mother always said people who loved their animals were usually good people. With nowhere to hide, I hoped she was right.
The daylight broke the space around me wide open. The dog stood a few feet away, barking, but not moving to attack. The other man reached to his waist and unsnapped a holster.
‘Hush, Kenny,’ the man said to the dog. ‘Sit.’ He looked at me. ‘Who are you?’
‘My name is Heito Manannen.’
‘That’s not a name from these parts. Where are you from, son?’
‘I’m from Necras.’
‘Where?’
I repeated myself.
‘Is that in Ohio?’
‘No, it’s a country. It’s about a day’s walk from here.’
‘There’s no other country around here. This is all the US of A. We’re in Indiana.’
‘The capitol of which is Indianapolis,’ I said, pleased to show I knew something about the land.
‘That’s right. You sure you’re not from some separatist group?’
‘Yes, I’m sure.’
‘You ain’t a runaway Amish, are you?’ the woman asked.
‘No, I’m Necran. It’s a country. Well, actually, when I got out and looked, it’s a very small one, but still, a country. What’s an Amish?’
‘How’d you get here?’
‘I walked.’
‘From another country?’
I nodded and, to confirm things for him, I offered him my papers. He studied them for a moment and nodded slowly, folded them again and gave them back.
‘Leah, let’s show the man hospitality. He’s not from these parts.’
They led me to their house, hunkered low at one of a field. It was painted white with dark green trim. The windows and doors were all standing open, covered with screens.
‘May I use the bathroom?’ I asked.
‘Of course. Let me get you a towel.’
I was armed with a fluffy pink towel and shown the bathroom. I undressed slowly, inspecting my dirty body for cuts. I was bruised in places, scarred from the lash in others, but there were no new cuts other than the ones on my face from running through the trees.
‘Should we call the police?’ I heard the woman say.
‘Probably better calling the nut house.’
The man with the dog settled it. ‘We ain’t calling anybody till we know more about him.’
I showered, using liberal amounts of shampoo, partly because there were so many scents to choose from. When I turned the water off, I could hear them debating again.
‘Call Dr Jones, let him decide.’
‘Or the reverend.’
‘What’s he got useful to say?’
‘Deals with plenty of nuts up at the church.’
‘Now, Nathaniel, I’ve told you before — ‘
All went quiet when I reappeared.
‘Well, don’t you scrub up good?’ the woman said.
‘Thank you for letting me shower.’
‘No problem. Let’s fix you something to eat. You like chicken?’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘Now, we ain’t so formal here. I’m Leah, this here is my son Nathaniel and my husband Dirk.’
We exchanged pleasantries. Leah moved quickly around the kitchen and, before long, I had a fat chicken sandwich on a plate.
‘Now,’ she said, settling down with the others at the table, ‘tell us where you’re from and why you’re sleeping in our barn.’
‘I’m from Necras, like I said. It’s about a day’s walk from here.’
‘And you said you escaped?’ Dirk asked.
‘Yes. It’s not possible to leave. The prefect has the borders watched. I managed to slip out at a guard change. It took a lot of planning. If I’d been caught, they’d have shot me, no questions.’
‘And you say it’s not a sect or a group of separatists?’
‘No, it’s not that.’
‘And y’all don’t hate the government?’
‘Only our own.’
‘The prefect, you said?’
‘Yes, a tyrant.’
I began to tell them about life in Necras. About the killings and the beatings, the disappearances, the starvation. I told them about the forced labour and the torture. I told them about the endless screams and cries, especially at night.
‘You’ve never heard of Necras?’ I finished by asking.
‘No, no. Oh, you poor boy.’
‘But, we’ve heard of America. And Canada. We’ve heard that we’re a great country, respected by the president and the United Nations.’
‘Heito, honey, your country…it doesn’t exist.’
‘Well, just drop it on him, why don’t you?’
I couldn’t speak. They were joking. They must have been. I looked at them, my jaw hanging. ‘Of course it exists,’ I said. ‘I just came from there. My papers, you saw them, they’re from the police. There are thousands of us. Thousands!’
There was a knock at the door. ‘Come on in,’ Leah called out. An older man walked into the kitchen. He wore neatly pressed grey trousers and a white shirt, which clung to his belly. ‘This is Dr Jones.’
The doctor shook my hand and began to examine me, looking into my eyes and ears. He took my pulse and listened to my heart. He then asked me questions: Did I hear voices? Did I know what year it was? The name of the president? What about violent thoughts? Did I believe I came from another country? Another planet? I answered everything.
‘There’s not a thing wrong with him,’ the doctor said. ‘He’s fit as a fiddle, besides those cuts on his face but they’re clean.’
‘Not off his rocker then?’ Dirk asked.
‘Sane as any of us. Could do with eating a bit but that’s it.’
‘I can show you where Necras is.’ I took a map out of my bag and showed them.
‘Fetch the map from the truck, would you, Nate?’ Dirk said. The son went away and returned a moment later holding a road atlas with a brown cover. Dirk opened it and thumbed to the page showing the region. ‘See, nothing.’
My eyes widened. ‘But it’s there!’ I snatched it off him and looked at it myself. In my hands, the picture would be different. I put my finger on the place where it should be, lining up the two maps on the table. How come it’s on my map and not on yours?’
The doctor stood, watching, listening. ‘Son,’ he said, ‘you sure you’re alright?’
‘Yes! I know where I’m from! Necras, the Great Prefecture! I was born there, lived there until yesterday morning when I escaped. Your map is wrong.’
‘May I use your phone?’ the doctor asked.
‘In the hall.’
They asked me to tell them again about my escape and my flight. Would I go back? Was I a criminal? Was I on the run from a loan shark? The mafia? I could feel my blood pressure rise with each new question.
‘You don’t believe me. Why don’t you believe me?’
‘No, no, we don’t believe you. It don’t make no sense.’
I got up. ‘Thank you for your hospitality,’ I said to Leah.
‘You’re not going anywhere,’ Dirk said flatly. ‘Can’t have unstable people running about.’
‘I’m not unstable.’
‘Sit down.’
I moved to dodge them and go out the back door. Nathaniel produced his gun. ‘Sit down.’
I pulled out a chair, made to sit, and then flung it, shouting wildly. The gun went off and a pan hanging above the stove pinged. I tried to push past them, fists clenched, ready to fight. The woman was shouting something to the doctor, who’d run back into the kitchen.
‘Pin him,’ the doctor said, rustling in his bag.
It took both men to hold me down. I fought against them, biting, kicking. Dirk sat on my legs. The others took hold of my arm.
I can only move my head. I’m belted down, like I have been many times before. The ceiling is white and smooth. Sometimes, voices are around me. I’m fed and then strapped back down. Soon, they’ll put me in a padded cell, they say. I won’t be able to hurt myself there.
