union lot | d11 | 1st hg | fin

Standing in the wide open fields of District Eleven, it's hard to remember a war was happening. He always stuck close to the crops, neither side wanted to hurt them. They were too precious and also the safest place to be. Battles were moving away from their side of the continent, skirmishes few and far between now.

Father said it'll all stop and everything would go back to normal. Just keep working, keep living and everything else with fall into place.

There's grease on his fingers, soaked into the nail beds from digging his hands into the guts of a tractor. Father said the Lots were too useful in these dire times. They had leverage. They had knowledge. Anyone could pluck an apple or sow a field, but it took a Lot to tame a mechanical beast.

Father had taught him everything about the metal beasts that worked the fields. They were dangerous things. Old and rusted from a time before time. Their parts rotted out from acidic rain that could no longer be replaced so easily. They spent time in the junkyard piecing together old scrap metal from cans and televisions just to make them run. They'd belch out black smoke and screech, but they would run.

Union painted them too. Dark greens and bright reds, brilliant blues with white fluffy clouds dotted along the hull. They were to be respected, these beasts of burden. The Lots were the followers of their ancient church and not just anyone in District Eleven was allowed to attend.

He'd always felt special. Even with grease smeared into his cheeks and nails missing from his fingertips, Union had felt special.

The war never felt real to him. They had no side, only their beasts to care for. Rebels would pick through the same scrap as him and he'd ignore them. A Peacekeeper would ask them to look at their cars when they broke down but they could rarely help.

Useless to the cause, but indispensable for the future.

Father always said he'd carved out a good place for Union. For him and his little sisters and baby brother. They were too small to really work like Union did. But he'd sit on the floor of the kitchen with them in his lap, guiding their little hands in working on an invisible machine. They'd carry his wrenches and tools around and they'd parrot the jargon Father taught them all. Lemione would slid under benches and fiddle with the screws. Just like Dad she'd say. Just like Union.

They were special. Born to fix things and keep ancient hearts beating.

And then it came. The static cleared on the television and the announcement sprang to life.

The names were listed one by one. Union held on tight to his siblings, his Father standing silently behind them. Verna pressed her face into his shirt. She was shaking, too scared to even watch the program. They peered up at the screen and his heart stopped beating as his name left the announcer's lips.

All the gazes in the opposite direction when a rebel bled out on the street. Hiding in the basement as bombs shook the district and kicked sulfur up into the air. Union had tried so hard to be a Lot, to be neutral and keep going and in the end he could have done anything.

He could have shot a Peacekeeper, but he didn't want to. He didn't want anyone to hurt anyone, but he couldn't let his family hurt either. The narrow line he had been so expertly walking, the balance between rebel and loyalist- it didn't mean a damn thing.

"No..." his Father whispered. There were flashlights peering through their windows, and knocking at their door. "No we didn't... he didn't do anything."

"Dad?" he looked up but his Father's mind was elsewhere. Craven was crying and Union held him closer, his sisters pulled on his shirt whispering that the TV man had said his name. They all trembled as if caught out in the snow. "Dad, what's gonna happen to me?"

The door burst open and men in white uniforms flooded into the room. They must have been waiting outside. They knew. They knew and surprised him anyway.

"He didn't do anything!" his Father's voice was loud over the shouting of the men, over the television listing more names chosen for the gallows.

They grabbed him by the arms, hauling Union up from the floor and knocking his siblings to the ground.

"It's okay!" he called to his siblings. Lemione was holding Craven and Verna. They were all crying, all yelling. Union kicked and struggled, pulling against gloved hands and kicking up dirt onto white slacks. They couldn't take him, they couldn't make him leave without saying goodbye. They'd bring him back, he'd see them again.

He had to say goodbye.

Craven reached out a tiny hand, his chubby fingers reaching for Union. Union tried to meet his grip but was yanked away. "Don't worry it's going to be okay!"

He looked up and saw his dad. There were tears on his face and he didn't move, only watched as Union was dragged threw the room and to the front door. He mumbled to himself over and over, a promise he thought he kept.

"But he didn't do anything."

But it didn't matter.