A Baby Maybe Read online

  "Now, I won't keep you in suspense any longer. Here are the Lucky Fifty. I say again: Good luck."

  The screen flashed briefly black, then blue with a list with names written in tiny yellow font. A brief glance showed Wyatt they were in alphabetical order.

  Wyatt leaned forward, chest aching and heart thumping so fast he was momentarily afraid he was going to pass out.

  Smith was his last name. Totally unoriginal, but serviceable, as his Dad used to say.

  His eyes went to the S's. There was a Smith.

  Jacob Anthony Smith 9450

  Wyatt stared. For a long moment, he hated Jacob Anthony Smith, whoever he was, and his stupid last four.

  Wyatt turned his gaze away, sucking in a breath. The lights and colors of the coffee house split and fragmented as tears built in his eyes.

  He had not been chosen.

  Chapter Four

  Wyatt went home in a fog. He felt like a failure.

  Yes, he knew there would be other Lotteries, but by then, he might be aged out. Or maybe they won't want anyone from Seattle. (It was the smallest city-state left.) Or maybe, just like today, there would be too many prospective candidates, and not enough open spots.

  What seemed like a sure thing twenty-four hours ago now felt like an impassable gulf.

  Insanely, he felt like he should apologize to his sister. Chances were, he wouldn't be able to continue their legacy. He was a genetic dead-end, just like the vast majority of the fifty million other survivors in this country. The last men of Earth just waiting to die.

  Wyatt stumbled blindly to the kitchen, reached above the counter, and brought down an old bottle of whiskey. He didn't often turn to drinking to ease the pain. Others had with drugs, immersive VR tech, sex, or anything else to keep their minds off the terrible present.

  "Despair will kill you," his father used to say, the first year after the XX Flu ripped their lives apart. "You've got to keep busy. Keep looking forward." That had been before the car accident that had taken him from Wyatt, too.

  The worst thing was, Wyatt had never been a hundred percent sure it had been an accident. His father had loved his wife very much. In the year after her death, he had deflated both in body and spirit. And... well. He just wasn't sure.

  Flopping down on the couch, whiskey in hand, Wyatt stared out into the middle distance. Why had he allowed himself to hope?

  The phone rang.

  Not Wyatt's cell phone, but the land line which sat, shadowed and forgotten, in the corner. The receiver had a thin film of dust on the top.

  That was one thing about the XX Flu. The world needed farmers, technologists, and yes, service people like Wyatt for those few who could afford luxuries like eating out. Telemarketers had gone the way of the dodo.

  Curious, Wyatt set the still untouched whiskey aside and picked up the receiver. "Hello?"

  The male voice on the other line was crisp and professional. "Is this Wyatt Smith 4302?"

  4302 were the last four digits of his social security number.

  Wyatt frowned. "Yes. Who—"

  "You have been selected for the Lottery," said the crisp voice. "Do you accept?"

  The breath froze in Wyatt's chest. "B-but," he stammered. "I thought..."

  "Do you accept?"

  "Yes. Of course. But I..."

  "Records show you live alone. Are you alone right now?"

  What the hell? A prickle of unease shot up his spine. He hesitated, but what did he have to lose? "Yes," he said, throwing caution to the wind anyway.

  "You have ten minutes from now to pack any personal items you wish to take with you. Your pack may not exceed twenty pounds. We will provide all clothing and food. Don't bother bringing money, a cell phone, or any other communication device. You may not call anyone else or otherwise alert them of your selection, or give notice to your employer that you are leaving. We will know if you do. Do you understand?"

  "I—" He swallowed and wondered if this was a joke, or if he should decline after all. No. If there was a chance, any chance at all, he would take it. "Okay. I... I understand."

  "There will be a car outside. Remember: Ten minutes. Don't make us wait."

  The line clicked off.

  Wyatt took the receiver from his ear and stared at it. What the Hell was that? Could this be real? Did he dare to believe? Hadn't he just been berating himself for letting himself hope?

  An electric jolt of adrenaline kicked Wyatt into motion. Someway, somehow Wyatt had been accepted into the Lottery. And if this was real, he didn't have much time.

  Not having to worry about clothing, food, or money made packing a lot simpler. The only thing he wanted from this house was a vid card containing his family's photo album, Christmas, and vacation videos. A reminder of happier times. He also removed the framed photo of his parent's wedding from the side-table upstairs. He stuffed it all in his backpack along with a one-hundred dollar bill he kept stashed for emergencies, just in case.

  All packed together, everything important in his life weighed maybe three pounds, including the mostly empty backpack. He glanced at the clock then did a final sweep around the townhouse, turning down the heat and dumping the few perishables from the fridge into the trash.

  At the ten minute mark, Wyatt looked out the window in time to see a black SUV slink up to the curb outside and stop.

  He let out a long breath. That was his ride.

  Wyatt stepped out the front door and locked it behind him, pocketing the key. Turning, he hitched up his backpack on his shoulder and walked to the SUV. He didn't look back.

  Here goes nothing.

  Chapter Five

  A man in a business suit sat in the back of the SUV. He was bland, of average height and thinning hair, and greeted Wyatt with a professional smile. His handshake, too, was equally firm and unremarkable.

  "Wyatt Smith, I presume?"

  Wyatt hitched up his backpack nervously. "That's me."

  The man gestured Wyatt to take a seat beside him and indicated he should shut the door. "My name is Lyle Abernathy, and I will assist you in reaching your destination." He held up a small device. A retinal scanner. "Do you mind?"

  Swallowing, Wyatt shook his head and stayed still as the man flashed the device into his right eye. It beeped, and a moment later Wyatt's driver's license and citizen information flickered into view on the screen.

  Lyle visibly relaxed and then turned to the driver. "We're good."

  The driver nodded and put the car into gear.

  "I don't understand," Wyatt said. "My name wasn't on the official Lottery list this morning. Did someone decline?"

  The man had an understanding look on his face. "As you can imagine, repopulating the human race is an enormous undertaking. It will require more than fifty initial candidates. Other birthing compounds were set up. These were kept secret for security purposes. To fill them, there was a private Lottery as well as a public one."

  Wyatt let out a surprised breath. Other stations? For months, going on years, he had been focused on the media hype surrounding the initial Lotto House set-up and all that involved. The thought there might be more had never crossed his mind. Then again, that was probably the point. "How many others?"

  "That's classified," Lyle said. "I'm sorry. Most of us are functioning on a need to know basis."

  "Ah... okay. I guess." Wyatt leaned back in his chair, trying to take it all in. "So, what happens next?"

  "We arrive at SeaTac airport, and you go on to the next destination. I don't know which station you have been assigned. But we anticipate moving every candidate within twenty-four hours."

  "Candidate?"

  Lyle inclined his head. "A term we'll be using for you and the other selected by the Lottery. You'll be known as candidates until you carry a viable fetus. Then, you'll be a Mother."

  Mother. Wyatt liked the sound of that.

  He glanced out the window and the darkened cityscape rolling by. The person Wyatt had been before The XX Flu might have rebelle
d against this. Against the enforced secrecy, government plans that were a hairs breath away from outright conspiracy. But he'd seen the worst of people since then—what people did to themselves and each other when all they'd ever loved was taken away.

  The government had had to step in to bulwark against the riots and despair, moving the male survivors into the four remaining city-states to conserve dwindling resources. Martial law had ceased to be a temporary emergency measure a long time ago. It was the new normal.

  Having his government keeping secrets from him was unsurprising. Expected, even.

  That, more than anything else Lyle had said, rang with truth. Slowly, Wyatt began to believe this could all be real.

  Seattle SeaTac airport wasn't too far away, and the state curfew meant the only traffic on the roads were government officials or people with work-late permits.

  As usual, SeatTac was practically a ghost-town. Back before the XX Flu, it had been a vast, sprawling complex buzzing with activity. Now, only one small hanger was active, and used mostly for incoming and outgoing cargo shipped in from the other city-states.

  Nowadays, anyone who could afford a vacation used the railway system. Rumor had it that the XX Flu had started on a plane. The government claimed that was a myth, but everybody still believed it. The Flu had most certainly spread around the globe so easily thanks to world travelers.

  Lyle had the driver take them directly through the main gates, bypassing both the hanger and security. Apparently, Wyatt was now a VIP and didn't require an official pat-down. They walked across the tarmac without anyone saying a word.

  The plane being fueled on the runway was a small, old-style jet with two propellers on either side. It sat maybe forty people.

  Lyle turned to shake Wyatt's hand as they stopped at the foot of the stairs. "Good luck, Wyatt. We'll all be rooting for you at home."

  "You're not coming with me?" He had known the man for less than an hour, but Lyle was officially the only familiar face he had left before Wyatt went off into the unknown.

  "No," Lyle said. "I have to collect more candidates. Going to be doing this for the rest of the night, at least." He didn't seem upset about it.

  After handing Wyatt his bag, Lyle climbed back into the SUV. The car drove away, and Wyatt was guided to the staircase by a gesturing steward.

  Stepping into the plane's cabin, he looked around. The seats were already half-full. The other men—other candidates, he supposed—were around his age, some a few years younger. All were visibly nervous, but no one spoke.

  Wyatt chose a window seat near the middle of the plane and waited.

  Watching out the window, he saw as other official-looking cars pulled up and deposited candidates. Slowly, the plane filled.

  One of the last candidates to enter was a black man, tall and long-limbed. He took the seat next to Wyatt on the aisle-side. Then he turned and extended a hand.

  "Hi. I'm Tyler," he said in a surprisingly light voice.

  He gladly took up the offer to shake. "Wyatt. Nice to meet you." he said, then let out some of his building tension in a huff of a laugh. "I, uh, sure didn't expect to be doing this tonight."

  Tyler smiled. "What, risk a plane flight?" He shook his head at his own joke. "No, neither did I... Truthfully, after they announced the names this morning, I had just about given up hope."

  Wyatt thought about the glass of whiskey, and privately wondered if he had started, when—or if—he would've stopped. He nodded. He'd been thrown a lifeline, and no matter what happened next, he was glad he'd grabbed on.

  He and Tyler chatted for a few minutes. Small, inconsequential things, just to stave off nervousness. Meanwhile, the last of the seats filled up. Another identical plane taxied in and parked close enough that Wyatt suspected they were on the same mission. He nodded to it and said to Tyler, "What do you bet they're going to be transporting candidates, too?"

  "Oh, yeah," Tyler agreed. "The guy who picked me up wouldn't spill about how many other compounds there were, but looking at how organized these people seem to be..." He trailed off and shook his head. "This is a huge effort years in the making."

  Wyatt's smile felt a little strained. "I knew I was picking up 'vast government conspiracy vibes'."

  Tyler leaned back in his chair with a weary expression on his face. "Oh please, I've had that feeling practically since I was a kid. The XX Flu was not natural, you know what I mean?"

  That was pretty much the belief held by most people who didn't think the Flu was God himself trying to smite the human race. Wyatt went back and forth on both theories, depending on his mood. It always seemed to him that people were most comfortable when they had something large and bigger than themselves to blame.

  Frowning, he glanced again to the second plane outside. "Did you catch any hint about where they're taking us?"

  "Nope. You?"

  Shaking his head, Wyatt settled back and tried to push down the nervousness that gathered in his stomach.

  Wyatt didn't own a watch—hardly anyone did these days—and without his cell phone he had no way to tell the time. His internal clock had him guessing it was around ten at night by the time the doors to the plane shut.

  The steward on duty didn't bother with the safety lecture, just made sure to tell the candidates to fasten their seat belts. Then, the plane taxied out and took off.

  Wyatt watched the gleaming lights of Seattle disappear as they rose into low-banked clouds. Once the city became obscure, he closed his eyes. There had been no announcement about their destination. All he could do now was wait.

  They landed at another airport a few hours later. From the whispers of the stewards before they landed, Wyatt and Tyler caught the words "Denver, Colorado".

  Denver was one of the abandoned cities, but there were supposedly still government installations there. Wyatt gazed out the window, but the night sky was overcast. He couldn't see anything past the runway lights.

  A man dressed in a dark suit just like Lyle soon boarded the plane and read out names, asking those who were called to come along with him. The list was long. Easily two-thirds of the candidates ended up leaving, but both Wyatt and Tyler were not called. They stayed in their seats, craning their heads to watch as an entire new set of other candidates boarded to replace the ones that were shuttled away.

  Once the seats were filled, the plane took off again.

  It was very late at night, now. Especially for Wyatt, seeing as he was used to waking early for the day shift at the coffee house. He drifted off to sleep, his head resting against the cold oval window so he didn't accidentally drool all over Tyler.

  He woke when the plane bumped into a landing. Beside him, Tyler snorted in his sleep and woke up, blinking. He let out a jaw-cracking yawn. "You think we're there yet?"

  "I wonder if they'll ever tell us where 'there' is?" Wyatt grumbled, rubbing the side of his nose.

  Tyler bumped him on the shoulder as he craned his head around Wyatt to have a look. "Well, what do you see out the window?"

  It was still dark. Outside, the airport looked even more desolate than Seattle or Denver. Not a light in sight. He thought he caught shadows of other planes sitting abandoned in the distance, some upended or flipped over. This must have been one of the many airports abandoned after riots had swept the country.

  "Not much. Sky's clear," Wyatt noted, seeing stars.

  "So we probably haven't flown too far east—we'd be hitting daybreak soon. And if we landed in Colorado the first time we probably wouldn't turn back west again. Waste of fuel." Tyler pursed his lips. "North, or south I wonder?"

  Wyatt liked the way Tyler thought. He bet Tyler had a analytical job back home. "Yeah, no trees either. No snow... so, maybe not too far north." He struggled to remember the old maps he'd learned in school, before the world had fallen apart. "Arizona?"

  He had never seen a desert, unless the dryer parts of Washington counted. Would a real southern desert look the way it did in TV shows? With flowering cacti and roadrunne
rs beeping across roads?

  As the plane taxied to a stop, other candidates were woken up by pokes from their seatmates or just from the general noise. The air grew noticeably thicker with tension.

  Once again, the door opened and a bland man in a suit came to the front. "Gentlemen," he said, pitching his voice loud to be heard all the way to the back. "We have landed in what used to be Albuquerque, New Mexico. This will be your new home for the foreseeable future."

  A murmur swept over airplane cabin.

  "Albuquerque?" Wyatt didn't know anything about the old city, other than it had been where Bugs Bunny took wrong turns.

  Tyler nodded and muttered in an undertone, "Makes sense. They have the old Sandia Laboratories around here. Lots of national research facilities. I think this is one of the places where they developed the Manhattan project. The atomic bomb," he explained when Wyatt gave him a confused look.

  "Oh." He didn't know if that should be alarming or not, but then again he had pretty much offered himself up as a human test subject.

  The man in the suit waited for the noise to die down before he spoke again. "Once this door opens, proceed to the exit and give your name to the man standing outside with the clipboard. You will then board the charter bus to the Ranch. From there, you will be assigned the rooms that you will have for the duration of your stay." For the first time, a flicker of emotion passed over the man's features: The bare hint of a smile. "Good luck, candidates. We're all counting on you."

  Chapter Six

  Wyatt woke the next morning in an unfamiliar bed. He lay between white sheets so stiff they had to have been starched. It took him a few moments to remember all that had happened last night. The Lottery. His second chance to become a mother.

  He sat up and looked around.