Chapter 8: That Terrible Day

The scattered villages got news in pieces, and each new revelation brought another wave of terror, screeching, and silence. Mornings came not with roosters and dew, but with bloodstains and mourning. Pattering hooves brought the news that few had survived, and some were sent back out. The people held vigils, staying up till dawn to keep candles lit. They posted names of loved ones over their doors and carved into roadside trees. Garrison members updated the list of survivors daily, in case someone knew, anyone knew. A few corpses were identified, those fatally wounded but inside the walls, and remains sent to graveyards. But it was slow coming, and they still felt the knife being pushed in.

Businesses shut down, houses were opened. People cleared old guest rooms and set up tents in their backyards. They fixed leaky pipes and prepared vegetables and fruits to last months. They stayed at home, clinging to their children and reading lighthearted fairy tales. Wall Sina locked for a few days, but the Military Police deemed that a breach of Clause Six. The market outside the gates shut down, for none of the sellers wanted to leave their homes. They braced for another announcement, for another cry of help. People in the cities barricaded their homes and set wood against windows. Those in the villages accepted their fate.

It was a slow fade.

The farm never stopped. How could it? Even with winter settling, the ground needed to be tilled, mixed with fertilizer and compost, readied for the spring planting. With most workers hiding away, terrified of being exposed in an open field, Larmie turned to his wife, son, and ward.

He'd spoken very little during the whole debacle, as Edie soon realized was his custom. "All our rescue and recouperation efforts will mean nothing without the resource to keep moving on. We must continue as we always have, no matter the immediate danger." He laid out a series of tasks, detailing their work by hour. All five, though Corini wasn't present for the conversation, would work before dawn until dusk, eating only enough to sustain their labor. "Our military has it much worse, I'm sure. This is the least we can do."

News came only when someone brought it, now. The farm wouldn't spare any of them. Day after day, grueling work with bent backs, splintering tools, and harsh wind. The weather was settling already, with light snows predicted soon. But the little family kept at it, even Jamie, who seemed to work harder with Edie as his teammate.

"I don't know what you did before you came to us," Larmie mentioned one afternoon during a water break, "but we're certainly glad you're here. We might not get the fields ready as is, but it's far more than without your help."

"It's the least I can do," she replied. Her stomach tied in a knot, so she went back to work.

Soon, news came that the titan attack was stranger than they'd imagined. Usual titans had gotten inside of Shiganshina, but one huge titan had towered over the walls, face red and spewing steam. Another, covered in protective plates, had smashed through the gate and broken through the southern doors. The titans then flooded, eating anyone in their paths.

"We've never seen titans like this before," Jamie mentioned breathlessly as they spread rotting vegetables in the eastern plots. They'd need a rich harvest of potatoes here and needed to avoid disease at all costs. "When they come back, we'll have to stop them right away."

"If they come back. Maybe they were defeated."

"But the scouts weren't there," he insisted, "not until after the attack. You heard what that last guy said. It was just a bunch of Garrison soldiers, then MPs after a while. The scouts weren't on the scene until rescues started." He huffed and puffed, sweating buckets. "They said they're lowering the age to join."

"They did?"

"Uh huh. And you don't need parental permission anymore. You can just join, at twelve."

"Because they need people," Edie murmured. "It makes sense."

Days passed, and the news came that people were sent back into Wall Maria. A babbling Garrison soldier had brought the news. Slaughtered, eaten, bloodied with a swooping motion, then thrown up in a pile of grayish goop. Hundreds of thousands were dead in just three days, and only a hundred returned. There were some children, they heard, and women who had stayed behind, those without families, or relatives of noble families. Those descended from important community members, like pastors and high ranking military officials, who might have something more to offer the world than a drunken peasant. So the world went on.

That night, the four sat around the dinner table, sipping tea in silence. No one held a book, no one read a paper. They hadn't bothered to light a candle or shower.

A memory had struck, one of a song for when someone died honorably. She could catch the melody and beat, but no words. It was a regal thing to hum while working, while carrying on, while mining the earth for a fresh grave. They would solemnly bury millions of seeds in three months' time and picture those who never could be.

Jamie struck his fist on the table, his skin gleaming red. "It's not fair!"

"Please," Hajule managed. She pressed her hand against her mouth and wrapped the other around her stomach. "Let's not speak of such things."

"But we have to! We knew for a long time that the Military Police were taking more than they needed. They steal because they can, and we were okay with it. Dad, you were okay with it. But this?"

"Jamie, stop," his mother pleaded. "Please."

"They murdered those people! Hundreds of thousands of innocent people that got eaten horribly by titans! And people in Wall Sina are calling them heroes because of their noble sacrifice, but it's stupid. They wouldn't have gone back unless someone was holding a knife to their throat. I bet they had to kill a few people who wouldn't go in." Jamie's tea spilled as his hands trembled. "I hate them! I hate them!"

"That's enough," his father said, standing.

Jamie still stood, trembling. He stood behind his wife, his hands on her shoulder. She touched them and sobbed. Graying hair fell in front of her face, and he brushed it back.

"Humanity is in a trying time now, even more than before. We must be calm, careful, and vigilant now. It is useless to quarrel with what few people we have left." Larmie spoke in a clear, steady voice. "It is simple fact that two walls cannot sustain the population of three. There is not enough food, clothing, and shelter for them all. As hard as the Military Police's decision was, they made it for the good of humanity. If they hadn't, the same people would have suffered and died inside the walls. Is that better?"

"It's murder!"

"It's necessary." Larmie rubbed his wife's back, and she turned to cling to him. "I know it's difficult for you to understand. It's difficult for us all to understand. No one expected to test our charters this severely, to truly ask what it meant to sacrifice all for the good of humanity. To be truly unselfish in face of peril. But now, it is our burden to bear. We must not let our ideals get in the way of survival."

"It's not an ideal," Jamie snapped back. "It's how it is. We don't kill people."

"Because killing someone would hurt humanity—"

"Because it's wrong!"

"Oh, god," Hajule choked. Her sobs deepened.

"Jamie, think of your mother." Larmie's tone ran thin. "We will discuss this—"

"No, we won't! If we don't talk about this now, the we never will. Why did all those people have to die? And it's not because humanity wouldn't survive without them. We find a way! We always do! What kind of masochist—"

"Where on earth did you hear that word?"

"It's true, isn't it?" Jamie set his cup down. "It was in one of Mr. Emerson's books. I borrowed it when he wasn't looking."

"This isn't a discussion of pain or morality," Larmie continued, his jaw tight. "This is to say that we cannot hold our ideas of how the world should be above how it must be. We were faced with a terrible decision and chose the only way we could. There was no other way to save humanity."

"But—"

"There wasn't. There still isn't. We must continue to do our duty as we always have, and live with the consequences. We have always been a passive people, fighting to survive in the kindest ways. You can't be selfish, Jamie. In a perfect world, none would die. But the world is not perfect."

"I'm not selfish! I just don't want people to be killed."

Larmie managed to nod. "And that is an unrealistic world. It's a childish imagination that you must grow out of now. You can be selfish no more."

"I told you, I'm not the selfish one! You are!" Jamie rose to a shout. "If this is really about doing what's best for humanity, then we should all join the military, huh? We should get training and be ready to fight the titans when they come because apparently, that's how the world is. So, sure! I won't be selfish! I'll join the cadets as soon as I'm able, and you won't stop me, because you're not selfish, right?"

The three stood in crisp silence. Jamie, bright as a tomato Larmie, stone faced; Hajule, drenched and shivering. They were weapons, these words, sharper than any butcher's tool.

In the silence, Edie realized she'd been humming. She stopped immediately, biting her lips still. The three didn't notice, still caught up in their cycle, so she stared at Jamie until he realized.

"You're their son," she reminded him.

His eye twitched, and he raised a finger. "Corini would be more than happy to live in this house with his stupid little girlfriend and farm like his life depended on it, and you all are crazy if you think I'm staying here to—"

"This isn't about the farm," Edie interrupted. She reached out and held his hand. "This has nothing to do with the farm."

"Of course it does!" He spat back, wrenching his fingers free. "I get it. Mom could only have me. You got your farm from your dad, so you've got to give it to me. But none of that is my fault! Why am I stuck here, doing nothing to stop the titans and save the world? This isn't saving the world, but no! I had to be born a Cartwell."

"I'm sorry you had to hear all this, Edie," Larmie said in a cold voice. "This has been simmering for quite some time."

"No wonder. Did you think you'd keep me chained up to the farm when I was older? Or that I'd just grow out of wanting to help people?"

"We are helping people, Jamie!" Larmie's voice began to match his son's. "We are providing necessary resources for their survival, for humanity's survival."

"THERE'S NOT GOING TO BE A HUMANITY!"

"Jamie," Edie commanded, and his eyes widened at the sound. He froze and met her eyes again. "This has nothing to do with the farm."

"But—"

"It has nothing to do with the farm, and it has nothing to do with the scouts. You're their son. Their only son."

He heard his cue and held his tongue.

"Of course they don't want you to join the military. Unless you're very, very good, and lucky, then you'll die. That's reality. And it's noble to do it, to sacrifice everything. No one's arguing against that. But you're their child."

Jamie stayed still for a moment, then nodded once and swallowed. "It's still selfish."

They were all on their feet now, standing in near-darkness as dusk turned to night. Only Hajule was still in her chair, but her sobs had subsided. With a deep breath, she unwrapped her husband's hands, walked to the kitchen, and lit a candle. Her hand protected the flame as she set it on the table.

"We always knew we couldn't stop you from joining the military." Her voice was barely above a whisper. "You've always been so passionate about helping people and protecting those you love. We couldn't be prouder."

Edie waited for her to go on, but Hajule had taken all that time to write those three sentences. "It's not every day you have two parents who will go so far to protect you and care for you. But I don't think there's that selfishness in love."

Jamie took in her words slowly, but soon, his gaze flitted toward his mother. "I'm sorry." He didn't hesitate, rushing forward to wrap both of them in a hug. "I'm sorry for yelling."

Larmie held out a hand, and Edie joined.

"Please," his mother pled, "just be here for this time."