Donna glanced at the front page of The World and nearly dropped her tray in shock. In bold letters, the headline proclaimed the re-eradication of smallpox from the world. Heart hammering, she put her newspapers on her cot, set down her tray, and began to eat and read at the same time. She had been vaguely aware of the international campaign, but it had never occurred to her that it could actually happen.
According to the article, there had been no cases of smallpox for the last three years. Donna remembered being shown reports on the vaccination status in different parts of the country, from a one hundred percent rate in the Capitol to practically zero - in Twelve. Reading about the progress that had been made since then made Donna feel sick. It was no leap of logic to realize that all these advancements could have only happened once she and the rest of them were out of the way.
Donna wondered why she didn't feel happy. This was a triumph for all of humanity. Smallpox was gone from the world and the organization was already planning campaigns against other infectious diseases, such as measles and AIDS. The world was being made into a better place. Why did that make her feel nothing other than a vague anxiety?
The article was written in an optimistic and cheery tone. It openly praised international cooperation and wondered what more could be achieved if countries worked together of their own volition instead of only when necessary. The chair of the organization was generously quoted, and there was one line that stuck in Donna's head.
To the editors of Web encyclopedias - you may now change the tense in your article about smallpox.
Thousands of people had worked together to eliminate this scourge and turn it into something written about in past tense. Compared to that, Donna felt small and useless. She felt at her upper arm, where the scar from the vaccine was. Children being born now would never need to get it, as the disease it prevented did not exist anymore.
The scale of the achievement made Donna's head spin. She set aside the newspaper and focused on breakfast. As she ate, she couldn't stop herself from thinking about it. There were people out there doing so much good for the world, and she hadn't done anything in her life to turn it into a better place.
Swallowing a spoonful of oatmeal, Donna tried to think of things she could be proud of. Some of her early work with the firm could probably count, as some of the rail lines were still in use, but it was too tainted by the Games. Her achievements in university? Also tainted by association. Her children? She had barely helped raise them; all of their successes were thanks to Dem's parenting.
This was too painful to think about. Instead, Donna began to plan what to say to the others. They would probably still be discussing the recent release of one of those convicted by the European tribunal years ago - Salperin had said his lawyer would send in a note yesterday evening - but there was a limit to how much even they could discuss a topic, and in any case, this would be enough to grab anyone's attention.
On the surface, it seemed like an easy topic of discussion. Everyone would agree that it was a great achievement. But if they talked for a little bit longer, it would somehow be connected to the past, and then they'd start arguing over whose fault it really was that Metteren had only gotten vaccinated at the age of twelve.
Donna finished eating and glanced at the newspapers piled on her cot. She wondered why she couldn't muster up any enthusiasm for such good news. Maybe Dr. Chu would have some ideas about that.
Outside, it was threatening to rain. The sky was the same grey as the walls of her cell and the clouds hung like an oppressive blanket. At least it wasn't too cold. Donna had felt freezing when she had set out in just her undershirt, but by the time she was done, she was sweating. She hurried to get dressed, feeling the sweat turn cold on her face. As she buttoned up her shirt, Theodosius and Vartha approached her.
"Good morning," Theodosius said. "How was the jog?"
"Good." Donna pulled on her sweater and tossed on her light jacket, not zipping it up. "How's your walk so far?"
Vartha adjusted his sleeves. "Good. We were just discussing the news. Salperin found out about something that might interest you."
"Do tell." They set off down the path, Donna eager to finally get some real news. The only concrete information they had received so far had been a small newspaper article, the rest being pure speculation.
Vartha looked around with a conspiratorial air. "When he was released, crowds arrived to greet him and give him flowers."
Donna thought of the virtually nonexistent reception Holder had received. He had been picked up by his sister in a rented car and immediately whisked back to Two. Beyond that, silence. So far, not a single person had commented on it. "Flowers? I'm sure your wife will arrange that."
For a second, Vartha looked wistful, but then he became irritable. "Of course my wife will give me flowers," he said. "It's the others I'm more interested in. Why aren't there crowds cheering our release?"
"Because nobody but a tiny hard core cares about us." Theodosius moved a pebble from one pocket to another.
"But where is that hard core?" Vartha asked, throwing his hands in the air. "It seems to me that all they're capable of is smashing windows and assaulting people on the street. If those Spanish revanchists can meet up to greet one of their own, why can't ours?"
Donna wasn't sure if he was legitimately upset at the lack of hardcore revanchism or just annoyed that some European had supporters with flowers while he had nobody. "I'd rather there wasn't such a powerful movement," she said.
"Exactly," Theodosius agreed. "Do you really want them to gain prominence?"
Feeling chilly, Donna zipped up her jacket and put her hands in her pockets.
"There's a difference," Vartha insisted. "I'm not saying I support the youths who throw stones at guest workers. I'm just saying I wish there was a better understanding of history in society. They can't just forget about us."
"Would you rather they thought we did nothing wrong?" Donna asked.
Vartha huffed. "Leaving that aside, why are we stuck here when everyone else is being released? Everyone else gets time off for good behaviour. Even the lifers are being paroled. And we're stuck here! Of course I want them to stick up for us!"
He was right there. Games criminals were disappearing from normal prisons like snow in the spring thanks to the president's policies, and it was looking like most of them would be gone by the time Donna's release came around. Still, though, there was a difference between them. "You have to admit, though, a subordinate bears less blame than their superior."
"Then why's Stone here?"
Donna sighed. "He wasn't in my chain of command."
"Let me rephrase the question," Vartha said, stopping to shake the mud off his shoes. "Why are both Stone and Katz here? They were on completely different levels in the chain of command."
"Everywhere else, though, the ordinary soldiers are being shown clemency," Theodosius pointed out. The parole boards now understood that not everyone had been in a position where a moral choice had been possible, due to the limited education they had received.
"Everywhere, but not here!" Vartha jabbed a finger into the air. "This is exactly what I am getting at. Everywhere else, they're willing to be reasonable. But not here."
"But what does the lack of interest in us have to do with anything?" Donna asked, feeling confused.
Vartha took a deep breath. "It's all a pattern. Nobody cares about us, so everything keeps on chugging along on its own. In the normal prison system, that means they're treated like everyone else and are up for parole when the time comes. There, they don't need interference. But here, no support means we're stuck here unless the directors suddenly decide to let us all out."
"Not us," Theodosius pointed out. Donna nodded in agreement.
"Maybe you're concerned only for yourself," Vartha snapped, "but I care about the others, too. I don't want them to rot in here because some idiot decided sixteen years ago to give all of the directors veto power."
Abashed, Donna tried to think of a reply that wouldn't dig herself in deeper. "You think I want them to?"
"You certainly don't show any signs of caring," Vartha said harshly.
"What do you think of the news?" Theodosius asked.
Vartha gave him an odd look. "Changing the topic? Really?"
Theodosius ran a hand through his hair and adjusted his cap. "Can we please talk about something else?"
"Fine. What do you want to talk about?"
"The re-eradication of smallpox?" Donna suggested.
"Fine." Vartha looked around the yard as if trying to find a way out. "It's a great achievement," he said, sounding like he expected them to argue with him.
"That it is," Donna agreed, Theodosius echoing her.
Vartha did not reply, instead continuing to look around. Donna tried to think of something to ask him. She glanced at Theodosius, who met her gaze and shrugged. He couldn't muster up any enthusiasm for the topic, either.
Donna tried to think of something else to talk about. There had been nothing that would interest any of them in the newspapers that day, Nitza hadn't done anything strange that morning - she was cracking under the pressure of her impending release - and they had already discussed their last letters several times by now. "How's life?" she asked in Spanish.
"Same as always," Theodosius replied in the same language.
"Nice," Vartha cut in, also in Spanish. A few of the others were also learning foreign languages, but Donna and Theodosius were the farthest ahead. "You want to practice?"
"Sure," Theodosius said. "What do you think of the eradication of smallpox?"
"It's great progress for everyone."
"It's amazing," Donna said, "that people can work together like that. This was a years-long campaign, and they didn't fall apart or anything."
Theodosius nodded. "I'm impressed they managed to get inside a war zone to vaccinate everyone."
"I hope they continue to cooperate. The world would achieve so much if they worked together on actually useful stuff, instead of tossing people into prison!" Vartha's real thoughts on the matter were hard to wrap one's head around. He despised the warlord's henchmen, but he was still of the opinion that their trial and imprisonment had been unjust.
"I agree with your first point," Donna said. "It would have been nice, though, had they become amenable to that idea earlier," she added, not because she thought that way, but because she wanted an excuse to use that tense.
Theodosius snorted. "The fact that they got around to it at all is a miracle."
"What did you say?" Vartha asked. "I missed the first bit of the second sentence." Donna repeated it in English. Vartha ran a hand down his face. "I don't know that," he said.
"It's rather complicated," Theodosius said sympathetically in Spanish. "Don't worry. You'll get it. You're making great progress, given how recently you started learning."
Donna tried to remember when she had started learning Spanish, but couldn't. She was fairly sure it had been a couple of years ago, but she couldn't be more precise. Was it three years? Five? She had no idea.
"Well, I picked an easy language," Vartha said. "Not like Nitza." Nitza had recently taken up Mandarin, which was not only the world's most-spoken language, but one of the hardest for an English-speaker to learn.
"Speaking of, let's go talk to Nitza after we're done this lap," Theodosius suggested. "Her release is very soon. Let's see how she's doing."
Everything about Nitza showed signs of strain. Her face was looking more deeply wrinkled than ever before, she stood as if getting ready to jump, and her fingers appeared to be inflexible as she weeded the little tomato plants she wouldn't get to harvest. "Is everyone going to talk to me on some sort of rota?" she asked, sounding slightly choked.
"Well, we can't all congregate here at once," Donna pointed out. "A rota is the only way that makes sense."
Nitza laughed. "There's still a week before I'm out of here. You don't need to start giving me last-minute advice already."
Theodosius waved a hand dismissively. "A week is nothing."
Nitza looked ready to protest but stayed silent. Donna wondered what it would be like to have a week mean something again. She watched Nitza slowly pull out plants so small, they were practically invisible. "I don't think any of us will be able to weed them so well," she said.
"That's alright." Nitza got up, shaking the dirt off her clothes. "My brother's setting up an entire garden for me in his backyard, so I won't have to worry about these ones. Says it's a gift for my eightieth birthday."
"That's very nice of him," Theodosius said. He looked up at the sky and unzipped his jacket. Turning to Vartha, he added, "Not flowers, but tomatoes. Is that close enough?"
Vartha sighed. "I didn't mean family. Or are you implying random strangers will be giving her potted tomato plants?"
Something stirred in Donna's memory. "Instead of throwing flowers, they'll throw tomatoes - and with the pots still attached."
Nitza laughed. "I've heard of throwing rotten tomatoes, but not actual plants."
They stood in silence for a few seconds. "So," Vartha said awkwardly. "What's the plan? Are you just going to retire to your brother's backyard?"
"That's the plan. It's looking more and more like my life won't change a bit once I get out, with the exception that I'll be able to go for walks whenever I want and do my own shopping." She adjusted her cap, leaving dirty fingerprints on the fabric. "And I'll get a pension, even though it's less than what I deserve. I'm not looking forward to doing all that paperwork, though."
It was definitely warming up. Donna unzipped her jacket, contemplating taking it off completely. "At least you'll be able to eat what you want," she said encouragingly. "And I'm sure your brother will be happy to see you."
"My brother? When I told him about the funeral arrangements I want, he joked about using my ashes to fertilize the tomatoes."
Vartha rolled his eyes. "That's younger siblings for you. They never mature."
"Hey!" Donna protested. She was much more concerned about why Nitza would use her brother's visit to discuss her own funeral when she was in good health, but she didn't want to pry.
"Don't worry," Vartha said. "We still love you. Even when you act sixteen at sixty."
"I am so glad I'm an only child," Theodosius said.
"Are you sure your wife won't try to use your remains to grow potatoes?" Nitza asked, eyes sparkling with mirth despite how tense the rest of her face was.
Theodosius pretended to be thinking hard about the question. "Yes, but I'm not so sure about the kids. Who knows what they'll do to their poor old dad once he's in no position to complain?"
"I'm glad I never had kids," Nitza said, echoing his words. "How are yours doing? Still in school?"
"The younger ones are having their exams right now." It boggled Donna's mind that every single one of her children was pursuing post-secondary education at the moment. "My son's both looking forward to and dreading starting residency."
Nitza looked shocked. "He's done with med school? Already?"
"It has been four years."
"And your second boy? He's in law school, right?"
Donna nodded. "He's finishing his first year." She had asked him if she had been mentioned in any of his readings, and Aulus had answered vaguely. Hopefully, nobody would give him trouble over that, though given the movements he associated with, it was the exact opposite sort of people who would want to give him trouble.
"At least yours are in school," Theodosius sighed. "I still can't get over the fact that my son's got a full-time job. Makes me feel old."
"How do you think I feel?" Vartha asked, staring at a guard tower. "Mine have families. I'll get out and be swarmed with a horde of grandchildren I won't be able to recognize or tell apart."
Nitza rubbed her hands together to remove the dirt. "You make grandchildren sound like a swarm of locusts."
"According to my wife, that's an apt comparison - if locusts were adorable little critters you couldn't say 'no' to." He smiled, clearly thinking about them.
Little Sooyen was five going on six. It was hard for Donna to believe that her grandchild would be starting school this year. According to her daughter, Sooyen was already good at math (to the delight of her great-grandfather) and fascinated with the grandmother she had no memories of (to the same great-grandfather's consternation). "I can't wait to see my granddaughter again," Donna said.
"How long until then?" Nitza asked.
Donna did the mental math. "Six years. I doubt my daughter will agree to drag her in here now that she's old enough to ask questions."
"I hope you're not still here in six years," Nitza said sincerely.
"Same, but I've seen no reasons to get optimistic so far." At the moment, it seemed pointless to even ask Livia to keep campaigning.
Nitza slumped. "It feels like I'm dodging a bullet and abandoning you," she said. "It's like we all sigh in relief at being released and forget the last however many years happened."
"It's not us who are going to be upset by that. We'll get out, too." Theodosius didn't sound nearly at peace as his words would have suggested.
Not too far from them, Stone and Fourrer were helping Best with the strawberry patch. Donna watched the three of them work for a few seconds, wondering what they'd feel when yet another person disappeared from the prison forever, not to be mentioned again. They never spoke about it to her, but Donna suspected that they felt abandoned every time it happened. She imagined watching the prison population become smaller and smaller, knowing that there was no way out, and felt a rush of gratitude for whoever had decided to imprison her for twenty-five years.
"Maybe we could meet up," Nitza suggested.
Vartha shook his head. "I doubt we'll want to. There's a reason why none of the others have tried to meet up."
"I don't understand why. Maybe it'll make sense once I'm on the other side of that wall." She looked at the guard tower Vartha had just been staring. One of the sentries saw her, and waved. Donna wondered if they had a camera with them. "You know, I've been thinking recently. When I was found guilty, I was outraged, but when I was sentenced to fifteen years, I was at first relieved before being angry again. And now I'm just glad they're letting me out." She sighed. "It seems like an eternity and no time at all simultaneously."
Nitza sat back down and continued to tear out microscopic weeds. Donna, Theodosius, and Vartha joined her on the cold and damp ground.
"So," Donna said. "What do you think about the re-eradication of smallpox?"
Over the next few days, Nitza became more and more wound up. Salperin's elaborations on the broad support her European counterpart enjoyed didn't make her feel any better, and by the time her last day in the prison came around, she needed sedatives to function.
It was late afternoon, and the men were walking up to her to offer their farewells. Paser, whose turn it would be in a month, hovered close by and watched enviously as Ledge assured Nitza that her tomatoes would be taken care of.
"We'll think of you when we eat them," the diminutive man said with a sad smile. "You were always the best gardener out of all of us."
"Thank you," Nitza replied in a dull tone. Donna wasn't sure if that was because of the medication or if she was by now too overwhelmed for emotion. "I'll miss you. All of you."
"I somehow doubt that," Aslanov said.
Nitza shook her head. "I won't miss the place, of course, but you were all great company."
Theodosius chuckled. "You sound like someone who should have gotten divorced ten years ago having second thoughts."
"For better or for worse," Li said, "I don't think you'll ever forget us."
"How could I forget someone as unforgettable as you?" Nitza fired back, emotion coming back to her voice. "If I tried to explain it to the media, they'd think I had gone crazy."
A guard walked up to them. "We're going back inside soon," she warned.
The men looked around themselves and at Nitza. "Um," Gold said. "Enjoy your life?"
Nitza laughed. "I'll certainly try."
"Enjoy your new garden!"
"Tell your brother 'hi' from all of us!"
"Eat something tasty when you get out!"
One by one, Nitza replied to all of the well-wishers. Then, it was time to go back. Theodosius waved goodbye to them - to Donna, for the day, and to Nitza - forever. Now, it was the women's turn to say their goodbyes. As soon as dinner was over, they all went to Nitza's cell, except for Paser, who stayed inside hers.
"I can't believe this is it," Nitza said, voice tight. "I don't even know what I'm supposed to do."
"Mooch off your brother," Donna suggested jokingly. "Isn't that what older siblings are supposed to do?"
Nitza laughed. "No, that's not what I meant. It's just that-" She paused. "It's just that I was reading the newspapers this morning, and then I realized that now I'm going to that world." She leaned against the wall, head in her hands. "I don't understand how the world works now. I'm a shadow of the past, out of place in the present, with no future."
"That's a good way to put it," Smith said, nodding.
"I spent weeks working on that one," Nitza admitted. "I hope my psychologist likes it."
"If you want, we can all leave so you can talk to them right now," Katz offered.
Nitza shook her head. "No. I want to talk to you for a little while longer."
Donna looked around the little cluster. Nitza would be gone tomorrow, and Paser - next month. Williamson would be out in three years, and in nine years would be her turn. The other six would be stuck here until their deaths, unless the directors relented. She thought of Nitza's analogy of dodging a bullet, but it didn't seem accurate. It was more like just barely squeezing herself through a closing door.
"What are you going to do when you get out?" Katz asked.
For the hundredth time, Nitza explained her plan. "My brother's going to pick me up at the gates. We'll take the route taxi to the bus stop, and from there get home." Instead of looking dreamy, as she had previously done when talking about her plans, she looked miserable and hyper-alert. "Then, I'll sleep. The next morning, the entire family's going to meet up at a restaurant to celebrate." The other clientele of the restaurant probably wouldn't be too happy to find out that one of the gatherings was to celebrate someone's release from prison.
"Has your brother told you what restaurant it is?" Xu asked.
"No. I think he's afraid of the media finding out."
Xu nodded. "That makes sense. This place is like a sieve."
Nitza rubbed her hands together. "I don't even know what I'm feeling," she said. "Dread and anxiety and eagerness and I don't even know what." She stood up, looking around the corridor, and slumped back against the wall. "Please. Leave me alone. I can't do this." There were tears welling up in her eyes.
"It was nice knowing you," Grass said. The rest of them echoed her. Nitza walked inside her cell with a final wave and closed the door. Donna went back to her cell.
Parting was always hard, but the fewer releases remained, the harder they became. Donna took off her shoes and sat down on her cot, unopened book on her lap. For a few seconds, she imagined the others saying goodbye to her, but then the mental image became too painful and she thought about Nitza instead. It was strange that they could have spent so much time together, talked so often, and yet she felt like she hardly knew the other woman.
Two people walked down the corridor. Either the psychologist or the orderly accompanied by a guard. Soon after, they walked back the way they had come. The orderly, then, with more sedatives. Donna took a deep breath, trying to not think about Nitza. They were of different worlds now. Nitza's life would now involve politics and international trade and the total absence of what was once a scourge of humanity, and all Donna would have would be newspaper articles about them.
More footsteps in the corridor. That had to be the psychologist. Donna wondered how many hours Nitza had left. Then, she wondered what it would be like to have an hour mean something.
The tomatoes looked forlorn, now that their best caretaker was gone. Donna pitied the little plants. They had gotten so used to Nitza's meticulous care, adjusting to the others' less painstaking weeding would be a challenge.
Next to them, Li was doing pushups with one hand. He looked up as Donna, Theodosius, and Vartha passed by on their way to an empty patch, carrying trays of cabbage in their hands. "Transplanting already?" he asked.
"The weather seems fine," Donna replied.
Li rose to his feet in a single smooth motion and hopped up to grab a branch of an apple tree. He then began to do pull-ups as easily as if he weighed nothing. "That's nice," he said. "What do you think about that plan to eradicate AIDS? To me, it seems like an impossible task, given how long the incubation period is." He did a muscle-up, swung a leg over the branch, and let himself dangle, hands crossed on his chest. Donna could only watch him enviously - she herself could do ten pullups, but couldn't even dream of doing a muscle-up.
"What I don't understand is how they're planning to medicate everyone who needs it." Theodosius adjusted his grip on his tray. "Warzones don't tend to have well-stocked pharmacies."
"Still worth a shot." Li got his other leg over the branch and did a sit-up, remaining in that position. "Though I think they really ought to have focused on diseases that can be prevented by vaccination. Like rabies, or something. Getting rid of that would be nice."
Li was right, but Donna was struck by the mere fact that they were having that conversation in the first place. They were standing (or hanging by the legs) around talking about concrete plans to remove a disease from the face of the earth. Before, had such an initiative taken place, it wouldn't have touched Panem, and none of them would have ever known.
"I've actually been thinking last night," Vartha said. "About international interconnectedness, and self-reliance."
"Do tell," Donna said, interested. Generally, Vartha was at odds with her and Theodosius, so she prepared for an argument.
"It's a double-edged sword," he began. "International cooperation is the only way to have initiatives such as these, but then you also end up with exploitative relationships. Like the businesspeople who own factories and farms here because we're a cheaper workforce." His voice had a rehearsed tone, as if he had spent the previous evening practicing. "At the end of the day, though, life for the average worker is way better now than it was before, but at the cost of our independence."
Donna wasn't sure she understood what he was getting at. "Independence? I don't recall us being independent before."
"You have to give to Snow, though. Under him, other countries couldn't push us around!"
Theodosius snorted. "No, they just cracked jokes about us and begged to be allowed to send in humanitarian aid."
Li was still dangling by his knees like a particularly large bat. "Self-sufficiency-"
"Was a myth," Donna insisted. "Do you really think it would have been better had these conditions remained?"
"They could have been remediated, that's the thing," Li said, reaching up, grabbing the branch, and removing his legs from it. "We had the resources. We just had a government that deliberately encouraged inequality." He met Theodosius' eyes and shrugged slightly.
Theodosius put the tray on the ground. Donna followed suit, realizing that her arms were hurting. "Point taken," he said. "But do you really think we could have eradicated smallpox on our own?"
"Not under Snow, of course, but-"
"But the system only became what it was under Snow, that's the point!" Donna exclaimed. "Had someone else been in power, it wouldn't have been so restrictive."
Li hopped down from the branch. "Now that's an interesting thing," he said. "Only highly repressive governments shut themselves off from the rest of the world. Prosperous democracies are much more open. Is that how things have to be, do you think?"
"No," Vartha said immediately. "The only thing the average person cares about is that their own life is good."
"I don't think so." Li adjusted his cap, which was threatening to fall off. "But I'll need to do more research. What do you two think?"
Donna and Theodosius shrugged in unison. Donna had her own opinion, of course, but she didn't want to voice it now. She was still trying to process the fact that there was one less inmate in the prison.
In reality, smallpox was eradicated in 1980 - in my headcanon for my fics, it was unleashed again during the Cataclysm under mysterious circumstances. There are bodies of people who died of smallpox buried in melting permafrost, so that's yet another way global warming might screw us all over.
The Wikipedia article for smallpox does indeed start with 'Smallpox was'. Guess humanity can actually achieve something good sometimes.
At this point in the story, Li is 61 years old, which does not prevent him from doing muscle-ups and one-armed pushups. Some people have all the luck.