Winter World (The Long Winter #1)(91)

The door to Madison's room stands open. I stop just shy of it and peer in. Adeline is reading a book. Owen is lining up a string of miniature soldiers, preparing for battle. They're rail thin, two bean poles lying on the couch, looking tired.

I inch closer and spot Madison standing at the table, scrubbing clothes across a washboard and dunking them in the basin. I was alarmed at the sight of my niece and nephew. But my heart breaks when I see Madison. The skin is tight on her face, her jaw line sharp, eyes sunken unnaturally, hair stringy, arms like two broomsticks pushing the clothes across the ridges of the washboard.

She sees me before I can wipe the sadness from my face. We lock eyes for a long moment, and I think she's going to break and cry, but she forces a smile as she drops the thermal underwear into the basin with a plop and comes around the table, arms held out like limbs of a dying tree reaching out to me. I wrap my arms around her and my fingers touch her back, feeling the ribs protruding like the ridges on the washbasin on the table. She feels fragile in my arms, a precious thing on the verge of breaking.

She releases me and calls to Owen and Adeline and they both wave and come over and hug me. I feel more meat on their bones, and I'm thankful for that. I don't think I could bear seeing them in the same state Madison’s in.

She closes the door and motions to the couch, shooing the kids over to the bed they share.

"I didn't know you were coming."

"Just thought I'd stop by before work."

She nods absently, a far off look in her eyes, like someone who has been up for two days straight. She motions to the small kitchenette. "Do you want some..."

I figure she was going to say coffee, but there is none anymore--except in the government buildings, where it's guarded and rationed like the precious fuel that it is. Or maybe she was going to say, "something to eat." But she clearly doesn't have any of that either--and isn't getting enough. I pretend as if she had completed the offer.

"No, I’m fine. Thanks."

Her gaze drifts to the floor.

"Madison, are you getting your rations?"

"We are. But they’re not enough." She glances around, as if she had heard something. "They're based on age, you know?" She pauses. "Why would they do that?"

"I…"

"It should be height, don't you think?"

"Yes. That makes sense."

She nods quickly. "I mean you could have two ten-year-olds--both the same age--and one is a foot taller than the other. Obviously the taller child needs more calories. It's obvious. Isn’t it?" She stares at me, waiting for confirmation.

"Yes."

"We had a meeting about it." She checks the door, seeming to have forgotten that it was closed. "The AU says they can't go around and measure everyone's height. They know their age. They think we'd lie about how tall our children are. And they're saying—as if we don’t know--that kids grow." She throws her hands up. "Of course they do. Of course. But no one is growing right now. That's for sure. But some are--" She lowers her voice and says more carefully, "some need more food than others."

"I'll talk to James."

"No," she says quickly. "That could cause problems… Preferential treatment… The gossip mill around here. It's all anyone does."

A long moment passes, Madison staring at the floor again, the kids playing quietly, the shuffle of footsteps beyond the door.

"I just came to tell you that I'm going on the mission. With James."

She looks at me as if she's just realized I was here. For a split second, I see a flash of fire return to her eyes, the sister I know and love staring back at me. Her grin isn't happy or sad--it's one of determination. Of pride.

"Good. I'm glad it's you. And James. We've got to do something. We need our best out there." Her bony, cold hand grips mine. "Just make sure you come back."





I'm pacing across the living room, limping, ignoring my own pain, when James returns home from work. He instantly recognizes my distress.

"What happened?"

"I went to see Madison today."

"Is she..."

"Starving is what she is."

James inhales heavily and throws his bag on the couch. Oscar quietly slips by, into his room, and closes the door.

"We can try to get her more rations."

"She won't take them. She says it could cause problems for them."

His eyebrows knit together. "What?"

"I don't know what she means, but I do know that everyone in those barracks is in the same boat. Have you been to one recently?"

"No. I’ve been buried at work."

"They're like prisons."

He comes over and hugs me. "I'm sorry. I didn't know."

I hook my chin over his shoulder. "Can we move them to the Citadel?"

"Only if they're sick."

"They're sick," I say automatically.

He pushes me back and stares at me, sympathy and love in his eyes, melting me. "Let's go for a drive."

He grabs his bag and yells for Oscar to join us. James has an exclusion from curfew--his work warrants it. But being out after dark is dangerous. The wind is worse, blowing snow and generally hampering visibility. Even a minor traffic accident could be deadly. There's safety in numbers.