0300 Book 1 - 1. Chapter 1: Sheriff's Boys' Ranch, Earth Analogue

Chapter 1

______ County Sheriff’s Boys’ Ranch
Southwestern USA, Earth Analogue

The swamp cooler had broken more years ago than anyone remembered, and the only air conditioning was the night air that crept through the barracks in the hours after sunset. It was only then that the boys found respite from the heat. In the morning, hot air from the desert raced ahead of the sun. Its breath woke some of the boys before darkness fled. The lucky ones, the ones whose injuries were not too great, the ones who had eaten the day before, the ones whose minds had not sunk into a slough of despond, rose and helped the others. The mantra of the Ranch was spelled out in rustic letters over the gate, although few of the boys could read. Cooperate and Graduate had become simply, Survive. None of the boys had ever heard Arbeit Macht Frei, which welcomed others to a different kind of camp. The Third Reich had not existed in their world. The early National Socialist Party of Germany had been recognized as a threat and its key figures assassinated. This meant that there was in this world, no Holocaust. It also meant that there was no Jewish homeland, no Eretz Yisrael.

Hamish groaned as he sat up, pulled up the straps of the overalls that had slipped over his shoulders, and stepped into the brogans next to the bed. It was important that he be able to wake quickly. Sloth was a mortal sin. He went from bed to bed, shaking awake the ones who were too tired to feel the morning heat, the ones who were too deep in despair to care. They’ve got to pretend they’re alive! Hamish thought.

Something pierced his mind. He didn’t know whence the thought came, but he wondered. Do they? Do they really need to try? Will it make any difference? And why do I care? Do I really think I’ll ever get out of here? Will any of us? Hamish knew the chances were remote that he would survive until he was eighteen years old. If he did, and had a clean record, he might be sent to the army rather than to another work camp. They said that the army ate well. They said that the army wore warm clothes in the winter. They said that the army—

“7-3-9-8-3-6-2 report to the toolshed. 7-5-6-6-4-4-1 report to the tool shed.” The voice over the Tannoy was scratchy and distorted, but Hamish recognized it: the voice of the Deputy called Captain. Hamish’s stomach knotted. He knew what the early morning summons meant: someone had died during the night. He and 7566441 would dig a grave. If they were fast enough, they’d get breakfast. If they were fast enough.

Hamish also knew what his number meant: he was the 98,362nd boy born in the 73^rd Year of the Founding to be sent to a Youth Rehabilitation Camp. That year, the year of his birth, was also 1995 Anno Domino but in the Year of our Lord was a phrase and a blessing left behind with Hamish’s family and his childhood. It was reserved for others who were worthier than Hamish.

Wondering who 7566441 was and why the two of them had been selected, and hoping that the boy, who would be only seven years old, was strong and fit, Hamish ran to the tool shed.

Captain was there, and had already taken two shovels and two picks from the tool shed and then re-secured the lock. Tools could become weapons; tools could aid in an escape attempt. They were inventoried at the end of every day.

7566441 was only seconds behind Hamish. That was a good sign, Hamish thought. The other boy hadn’t been abed when the summons came, and he had the energy to run quickly. Perhaps they’d get the grave dug in time to have breakfast. Perhaps.

Hamish reached for a shovel and pick, but Captain stepped back. He was in no hurry; he would have breakfast regardless of how long the boys took to dig.

“Hold your horses, boy,” Captain said.

Hamish knew what a horse was: the Deputies rode them in the fields and to chase down boys who tried to run away. He remembered being brought from the train depot to the Ranch in a horse-drawn wagon with half-a-dozen other boys. He didn’t know what “hold your horses” meant, but guessed it meant to slow down. Hamish and 7566441 ducked their heads in obedience, but said nothing. They would not speak until told to do so.

Captain said nothing more, but handed the boys the tools. He stepped back, quickly and rested his hand on his revolver. It was just three weeks since a careless Deputy had been struck in the head with a shovel wielded by one of the boys he’d gotten too close to. The boy was executed before he could reach the fence: shot in the back. The rest of the story came from the boy who emptied bedpans in the Infirmary: the Deputy had lain there, unconscious, for a week before he was allowed to die. That story was whispered among the work details and through the barracks.

Captain gestured to the boys. They moved at a fast walk toward the cemetery. Hamish barely controlled himself when they reached the two bodies. Neither boy was recognizable. They were naked. Their faces had been pulverized. Marks from the whip with metal tips—the one called Gabriel’s Hand—covered their bodies. Their genitals—it was prohibited to look at another boy’s genitals, but Hamish could not help himself—the boys’ genitals had been reduced to a mass of charred flesh. Hamish knew what that meant: they’d been caught doing something forbidden. Beside him, 7566441 retched, trying to empty an empty stomach. Hamish laid his shovel on the ground and attacked the stony soil with the pick. Perhaps Captain would let them bury the boys in a single grave. Perhaps the boy beside him would recover and help, and they would finish in time for breakfast. Perhaps an Angel would come and rescue them from this place. Perhaps.

7566441 did recover, and began to shovel away the rocks and dirt that Hamish loosened with his pick. Captain watched from perhaps 50 yards away under the paltry shade of a Tamarack tree.

“What’s your name?” the younger boy whispered.

“73-98-362 Hamish.”

“I’m Matthew, Barracks 45,” the boy said, and grunted as he lifted a shovel full of dirt.”

“Switch off,” Hamish said. “You use the pick; I’ll shovel for a while.”

“Thank you,” Matthew said. “Not many boys would have cared that I wasn’t strong enough to lift the shovel full of dirt.”

Hamish thought about that for a while as he shoveled. “Not sure I care or just want to get finished in time for breakfast.” He looked at Matthew.

“Either way,” the boy said. “Thank you.” He smiled.

There was a spot in the chest, just above the tummy, which if hit just right, would knock the breath out of a boy. A blow there was a quick way to end a fight. It was a favorite spot for the Deputies to hit boys who showed any sign of rebelliousness. When Matthew smiled, Hamish felt as if he’d been struck there with the end of a Deputy’s billy club. For a moment, he couldn’t breathe. Darkness swept inward from the edges of his eyes until all he saw was Matthew’s face, illuminated in the center of his vision. Then, reality called. Matthew’s pick struck a rock, and rang loudly.

Hamish shook his head, and resumed shoveling.

As if it were an echo of Matthew’s pick, the breakfast bell rang. Both boys doubled their efforts, but the ground was hard and this spot was particularly rocky. Hamish grimaced. They’d not get breakfast.

They saw boys leaving the mess hall and forming in the ranks of work details. Captain waved them away from the hole, looked in, and then nodded. “Big enough. Put them in.”

Matthew’s face grew pale. Hamish saw the boy’s stomach heaving. “I’ll do it,” he whispered, and stooped to gather up the first body. He tumbled it into the hole, and turned to take up the second.

Matthew was holding the boy’s feet; Hamish took the boy’s arms. Together, they tossed the body into the pit, then took up their shovels.

Captain had returned to the shade of the tree. Matthew muttered, “Not even a prayer.”

He squinted at Hamish. “May I say one?”

It was a dangerous question: prayers were to be recited, only in unison, only at Service, and only when repeating the words spoken from the pulpit.

Hamish tossed a shovelful of dirt onto the bodies. “I won’t tell,” he said.

Matthew kept shoveling, but Hamish heard his whispers, broken by the sound of shovels digging into dirt, and of dirt being dropped into the grave.

“ . . . Angels . . . thy rest . . . defend . . . bright . . . clean . . . .” If there were an Amen, Hamish didn’t hear it. It didn’t matter. A lot of good that will do, Hamish thought.

When the grave was filled, the boys stood silently, holding their shovels and picks, waiting for Captain. He waved to them from his place by the tree, and began walking back to the tool shed.

By the time the tools were stored, ranks of boys were marching out the gate to the fields. Captain gestured, and Hamish and Matthew ran to join them.

The boys picked cotton, today, dragging huge canvas bags behind them as they crawled down the rows. Too slow, and they would be whipped. Too fast, and they would miss bolls that were ready to be picked, and they would be whipped. They got water at the end of each row. At noon, they got a hunk of bread and fifteen minutes to eat it.

Hamish knew better than to allow himself to be distracted while working, so it was not until after supper, when he lay on his bed, that he thought again about Matthew. Why did I feel that way when he smiled at me? Did I recognize him from before? Hamish had been at the Ranch since he was seven. He remembered his home, his family, and their small farm. He remembered attending Service and Market with other families. He remembered the faces of some of the children. He searched his memories, but did not find Matthew. 7566441, he thought. He’s just 7566441. He put the boy from his mind, and fell asleep.

Despite his resolve to forget Matthew, Hamish found himself looking for the boy—scanning ranks of boys marching to the fields, staring at work details, looking for Matthew’s face. Against his own rules, Hamish was distracted, and his indolence caught the attention of one of the Deputies. Hamish saw the man raise his whip. He put his hands over his eyes to protect them. He did not see the second Deputy put his hand on the first man’s arm. He did not see the second Deputy shake his head. He heard the crack of the whip but did not feel it strike him. He did hear the Deputy yell, “Back to work, boy! No time for daydreaming.”

Three days later, Hamish was using a hoe in the cornfield, chopping weeds. He looked up before turning into the next row, and saw Matthew. The boy was facing away from him and looking at the ground but Hamish was sure it was Matthew. Hamish’s tummy tightened. He felt a tingle somewhere deep inside himself. Oh, Matthew, I wish I could call to you. Hamish turned the corner and started weeding the next row. He felt good the rest of the day, and slept soundly that night.

The next day was Sabbath Eve. At noon, Deputies began calling the work details from the fields. When he’d first arrived, Hamish thought they were called in no particular order; however, the Deputies made it clear that the order was determined by each group’s productivity during the previous week. Those groups called earlier had more free time than those called later.

The boys were marched to the bathhouse. Shoulder-high walls separated the cubicles inside. Each cubicle held a large tub of water, a bin for dirty clothes, and stacks of clean overalls. When Hamish reached the head of the line, a Deputy standing on a platform above the baths gestured to him. Hamish walked into the designated cubicle, kicked off his brogans, took off his overalls and put them in the bin, stepped into the tub, and ducked his head under the water.

The first time he bathed, the Deputy shouted at him, “Clean your privates, boy, and your arse!”

Hamish had looked around for a brush. The Deputy yelled, again. “With your hands, boy, rub them with your hands.”

Hamish was shocked by the order to touch his genitals. That’s forbidden, he thought.

The Deputy laughed, and called out. “New boy, rub yourself clean!” Hamish obeyed, although he shivered with fear.

Afterwards, he stood in ranks with the other boys from his barracks waiting for others to finish. He heard a whisper from behind himself. “Somebody should have told you. Rub your privates and your arse. When you’re older, you’ll rub your armpits, too. Just don’t get—” The voice broke off then the Barracks Leader called them to attention. Hamish wondered what he wasn’t supposed to get.

After two years, Hamish knew what to do, and how best to use his time in the tub. If a boy spent too long in the tub, and the Deputies would yell, and later, whip the boy. If a boy didn’t spend enough time in the tub, the Deputies would yell, and later, whip the boy. He also knew what he wasn’t supposed to get: a stiff penis. He’d been leaving the bath, his skin still wet under the overalls and his feet still wet inside the brogans. A Deputy was dragging a naked boy from the next cubicle. The boy’s penis was erect, pointing away from his body. The Deputy smacked it with his billy club, and then punched the boy in the gut with the end of the club. The boy folded in half and fell to the ground.

If there was time between baths and supper, the boys were free to do whatever they wanted as long as they didn’t wander beyond the immediate area of their barracks. Most of the boys slept. Hamish sat on the steps of the barracks, on the shaded side, and watched others being marched from the fields to the baths, and from the baths to their barracks. He refused to admit to himself that he was looking for Matthew. But he was. His eyes scanned each rank and file of boys as they marched by. He focused on those in the rear, knowing that the shorter boys would be in the back of the formation.

There! Hamish’s eyes locked onto a single figure. It’s Matthew! Hamish wanted so much to call out, to make Matthew turn his head and see him, but he knew better. If Hamish called out, another boy would report him; if Matthew turned his head, another boy would report him. Hamish felt empty.

Sabbath Eve supper was a bigger meal than usual since the boys would fast on the next day. It was also the only meal at which meat was ever—but not always—served. Evening Service was shorter than usual, too, since the boys would spend almost all the Sabbath in Service. Hamish lay on his bed, thinking of Matthew, before falling asleep.

For the first time in months, Hamish dreamed. He was using a hoe to chop weeds in the cornfield when he looked up and saw Matthew standing in front of him.

“Matthew! I’m so happy to see you,” Hamish whispered.

“Why are you whispering? There’s no one around,” Matthew said.

Hamish looked up and down the row, and then from side to side. Matthew was right. They were alone in the cornfield. Matthew stepped toward Hamish until they were only inches apart and took Hamish’s hand. “I’m glad to see you, too.” He stood on his toes and pressed his lips against Hamish’s.

Hamish woke with a stiff penis, which subsided instantly from his fear. A hundred yards away, in Barracks 45, Matthew woke. His penis was stiff, too, but he didn’t know why.

Sabbath Service lasted from just after dawn until noon. The form was always the same: litany of questions and answers, songs, and a sermon. The only thing that was different from week to week was the sermon.

“Who created you?” The Sheriff asked.

“God created me.” The chorus of boys answered.

“What else did God create?”

“God created all things.”

“Why did God create you and all things?”

“To glorify Him and the Scudder, forever.”

“How can you glorify God?”

“By loving Him and the Scudder, and by doing what He commands.”

The litany continued. Questions were asked about the nature of God (a spirit), and, importantly, did God know all things. The answer was that nothing can be hidden from God. Hamish shivered at that. Does God know how I feel about Matthew? What is it feel about Matthew? What does it mean—how I feel about Matthew? Hamish’s confusion, his questions, were not answered.

The hymns were sung a cappella to simple tunes.

“Scudder loves me, this I know
For the Sheriff tells me so.
We all unto him belong,
We are weak, but he is strong.”

At first, Hamish had been confused. The words were different. At home, it had been “For the Reverends tell me so.”

The rest of the day was spent in contemplation and confession. Contemplation meant standing in line. Confession meant speaking through a hole in a wall, covered with cloth, to one of the Deputies on the other side.

The boys who survived learned quickly they should confess only venial sins—those that could be forgiven if one did sufficient penance. The Deputies were well versed in penance.

Hamish remembered the list of venial sins: impurity, idleness, sorcery, enmity, strife, jealousy, selfishness, and dissention. The mortal sins were wrath, greed, sloth, pride, lust, envy, and gluttony. At the Ranch, he’d learned new sins and new definitions for some of the old ones. Impurity was touching yourself, or getting a stiff penis in the baths; touching another boy was a mortal sin. Slowness to obey was a venial sin; disobedience, a mortal sin. The line between the two was ill defined, as was the line between idleness and sloth. At least, Hamish thought, they protect us from gluttony. There’s never enough food.

Venial sins were punished with whips. If a boy committed a mortal sin, he was usually beaten to death. Hamish had learned quickly, and had escaped the whip for nearly two years.

It had been two weeks since Hamish’s dream. Although he thought of Matthew every night before going to sleep, he could not recapture the dream. He wanted badly to do so, but was also afraid—afraid that someone would see his erection and report him. He also so wanted to see Matthew again. Why? he wondered, but there was no answer.

Hamish left the Sabbath Service, and was going to join his work detail in the line for Confession when a Deputy grabbed his arm.

“Stand there,” the Deputy pointed toward a corner of the building. “Wait.”

Hamish was puzzled, but hurried to obey.

After what seemed like hours, Hamish saw Matthew coming from the meetinghouse. His throat tightened. Then, when a Deputy grabbed Matthew’s arm, Hamish nearly passed out. They’ve found out! Somehow, they’ve found out. God and the Reverends know what’s in our hearts! I’ve put Matthew in danger!

Hamish watched as Matthew ran to join him. They exchanged the briefest of glances before Matthew stood beside Hamish. The Deputy strolled over.

“You two, report to Captain’s office.” The boys ran to obey.

The guard who stood at the door to the Administration Building was expecting them. “7566441,” Matthew said. “7398362,” Hamish added. “Reporting as ordered, sir.” The guard told them to enter.

“Hamish? Matthew? Please sit,” Captain said, and gestured to two wooden chairs that faced his desk. The boys were startled at Captain’s use of their name, but not to startled to obey instantly. Still, what’s happening? Hamish wondered. Why—

“It was no accident that you two were Chosen for this task,” Captain said. “It is said that God and The Scudder work in mysterious ways, Their wonders to perform. I hope you will remember that in the future, for you are about to see mysteries and wonders. You will not rejoin your barracks; tonight, you will sleep in a cell, here. Tomorrow, you will journey away from the Ranch to a wondrous place.”

Hamish stared at Captain, and then without thinking looked to see what Matthew’s reaction had been. Matthew was staring at Hamish. The expression on his face—amazement? fear? uncertainty? Hamish saw all that, and more. They turned to look at Captain. He surprised them.

“You turned to one another. That is good. For this journey you will each need each the other’s strength. Do not confuse cooperation with friendship! Remember the camp’s motto: cooperate and graduate. Remember what that means!”

Captain paused, and then asked, “Is there anything you would like to ask me?”

Hamish didn’t hesitate. “Yes, Captain sir. What about the Army? I wanted to—”

Captain’s laugh cut off whatever else Hamish would have said. “The Army? You are going to a much brighter and glorious future than that!”

Matthew had no questions, and after what Captain said, neither did Hamish.

The boys were put in individual cells separated by a section of hallway. There were pallets on the floor, and blankets. Hamish lay on a pallet, closed his eyes, and thought. Where are we to be taken? Why? Why did Captain say we would be together? That seems obvious. Why—

“Hamish!” a whisper broke his thoughts. He opened his eyes and sat up.

“What?”

“Hamish, don’t you remember me?”

“Of course I do. You’re 7566441 Matthew. We dug a grave; I saw you in the fields and marching in your work detail.”

“I saw you too,” Matthew said. He hesitated, and then said, “I saw you in a dream.”

“You mustn’t say that!” Hamish whispered. “You mustn’t!”

Matthew was silent for a long time. Hamish lay down, again, only to jerk upright when Matthew spoke, again.

“Hamish? I’m afraid. I’m afraid of being alone. Will you be my friend?”

Friend? thought Hamish. He thinks boys in the camp can be friends? Captain warned us . . . However, Matthew’s plea struck something in Hamish.

“I’ll be your friend as long as I can, but you must never let the Deputies know. You must never let anyone know!”

“Thank you, Hamish,” Matthew whispered. Hamish watched as the boy lay on his pallet and pulled a blanket over himself. Hamish grabbed a blanket. It was getting cold, and it was well past time to sleep.

Matthew and Hamish woke to the sound of Reveille on the Tannoy, but no one came to release them for breakfast. It was not until after the call to assemble for work detail that a Deputy unlocked the cells.

“Go to the mess hall,” the Deputy said. “They will feed you. Then go to Captain’s office.”

The boys ran to obey. The Deputy had told them true: they were fed. The usual oatmeal came with an apple—and not a bruised and wormy one, but one worthy of the Deputy’s Mess, perhaps even of the Sheriff’s table. Hamish bit into the apple, and sweet juice ran down his chin. He wiped it up with a finger and licked the finger, reluctant to let even a drop escape. Across the table, Matthew rolled his eyes in exaggerated pleasure, and smiled.

Again, Hamish felt his breath taken away. What is it about Matthew’s smile? Why do I feel this way? And why did I agree to be his friend? It’s not like that means anything.

Although they were alone in the mess hall, Hamish whispered when he asked, “Are you finished?” Matthew, nodded. They put their trays into the slot, and ran to Captain’s office. Outside the building, a group of Deputies on horseback had formed. A posse, Hamish thought. Someone’s run, and they’re going to chase him down. He had no time to think about this before Captain stepped onto the porch.

“Hamish? You’ve been here for two years. You’ve learned certain things including obedience. Where you are going, you will be judged, and your judgment will reflect on this Ranch. Make us proud of you.”

Captain turned to Matthew. “Matthew, you are new but you come from this Ranch. Do what you’re told. Learn from Hamish. Make us proud of you.”

Captain turned and re-entered the building. A Deputy beckoned Hamish to him, and then lifted the boy onto a horse and adjusted the stirrups to the length of his legs. Close by, a second Deputy did the same for Matthew. Hamish was puzzled. The Deputies never touched a boy except to beat him; however today their touch was not brutal. It was not gentle, either. It seemed as if they were simply doing a job.

Lush fields, watered by artesian wells—though the boys knew not that term—surrounded the ranch. Little of the water found its way to the camp, itself, nor was there much that grew inside the fence. The soil between the buildings had been beaten to hardpan by generations of boys. Water was brought in for a small kitchen garden in which grew red tomatoes, green cucumbers, purple eggplant, and other things that found their way only to the Sheriff’s table.

Past the fields, the terrain became flat and dry. Hours of riding showed Hamish how isolated the Ranch was. Even if one of the boys were able to get through or over the fence, he would never reach safety. The miles and miles of waterless desert would kill him. Hamish and Matthew would have died had not water and food been provided by their escorts.

It was dusk when they reached a town. The boys were led to a building where they were fed, given blankets, and locked in an empty room. The windows were closed only by iron bars. The night air was cold. A shivering Matthew begged Hamish, “If we share the blankets, we’ll be warmer.”

Hamish agreed, reluctantly, and let Matthew crawl into his blanket before covering them both with the second blanket. Some awkward moments later, they lay spooned together. Hamish felt the smaller boy’s shivers and wrapped his arms around Matthew. If they see us like this in the morning, he thought. They will kill us. I must wake up before dawn.

Hamish had not survived as long as he had without developing keen senses and quick reflexes. The sound of boots approaching the room woke him, instantly. He took his arms from around Matthew and rolled away from the boy, pulling one of the blankets with him. He heard Matthew stir as a key skritched in the door.

A deputy they didn’t recognize led them to a latrine, and then into a mess hall. The men who had brought them this far were sitting at one table; another held men unfamiliar to them. The Deputy gestured, and the boys took trays and stepped to the counter. The serf behind the counter didn’t hesitate, but filled bowls with oatmeal and cooked, spiced apples; handed them plates with toasted bread and bacon; and pointed to glasses already filled with . . . orange juice! Hamish thought.

Hamish remembered. There had been an orange grove behind his house. The serfs were forbidden to pick oranges for themselves, but sometimes one would fall just before it ripened and Hamish would steal it for his family.