Rise: Populations Crumble, Book 2 by Gandy, A. (animal farm read .TXT) 📗

“Shoot, what happened to my movie?” I ask no one in particular, right as Candy Thomas from NAA One takes over the screen. “Aw, come on! I need to know what happens to Raquel!” I grouch, but quickly fall silent at the familiar blonde anchor’s announcement.

“We’re coming to you live this evening, pausing your regularly scheduled programming with breaking news across the entire North American Alliance.” Candy pauses for effect and looks gravely at the camera before speaking again. I cross the room to turn up the volume on the wall panel.

“Today, at 8:40 p.m., the justices across the North American Alliance have voted to uphold the bill enacting a monarchy. Prime Minister Royce has simultaneously accepted the nomination to become the first ever king in the history of the NAA. We’re expecting a live update from newly appointed King Royce any minute now.”

My jaw drops, and my head spins with this news. I have to go get Patrick. I race across the hall, back to where the others are still engrossed in their cards, blissfully unaware of what’s unfolding outside these cloistered walls.

“Patrick, can you come here, please? It’s urgent.” Something in my tone must convey my inner turmoil, because he pushes back his chair in a heartbeat.

“What’s wrong, are you okay? Are you sick?” He puts his hands on my shoulders.

“No, I’m fine. Come with me.” I grab his hand and haul him to the conference room, where the news anchor has disappeared, and a press conference is starting. The podium is empty, but people are filling up the stage in anticipation of the speech that’s about to begin.

“Oh, God. Is it the vote? Do they have the results already?” He grips the back of one of the chairs, knuckles white.

“Yes, they did,” I say softly. I know I need to tell him, but how do you break that kind of life-altering news? I hadn’t thought that far ahead when I ran to get him. “Patrick, the vote. They—”

He tears his gaze away from the screen, and as soon as he takes in my expression, he knows. The color drains from his face. “It’s done. They passed it.” His voice drops low, anguished.

Nell’s head pops around the door frame. “I don’t want to intrude; just wanted to make sure everything is okay? We’re all worried.”

“We’re fine, thanks for checking on us, Nell.” I give her my most reassuring smile.

“Uh-huh. Are you pregnant? Puking? Lose a limb?” she rattles off.

“No to all. Can you give us a few minutes, please? We’re fine.” I make a shooing gesture.

She shakes her head but backs out of the door and shuts it behind her.

“I’m sorry, Patrick. I know this is not how you wanted things to go.” I scoot myself under his arm, and wrap him up in a hug. We stay like that, him hugging me back tightly, until a stately woman with cinnamon hair streaked with silver walks out, her smile beaming warmly from ear to ear, followed closely by the prime minister, his father.

“That’s my mom,” he says, voice hardly above a whisper as his father takes the podium.

“Good evening, citizens of the NAA. I stand before you this evening both humbled and honored, as your representatives, as a nation, have once again put such faith in my capabilities as a leader, and my family’s commitment to keeping this country strong, and growing—now and for future generations.” He pauses, and looks into the camera as if he’s looking directly into my eyes. He portrays sincerity and humility in equal measure, and it’s no surprise to anyone why he was chosen. “I know this will be a time of great transition, but I urge you all to continue in hope for what’s to come. We will come together as a nation, as a people, and continue to fight the detrimental effects of the Sterilization Vector on our great lands. Together, we will continue to rebuild, and our children’s children will inherit our vision. Thank you all. Good night.” He raises a hand in a gesture, and the press begins to vie for his attention, but he merely waves, and my prim, suited mother-in-law gives a soft wave to the crowd before taking his arm and together they exit the stage.

The news anchor pops back into the frame, but I go and turn the panel off. We’ve seen enough.

Returning to Patrick, I take in his stiff posture. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t move, and keeps staring with a blank expression at the darkened screen. I can tell this is going to take a while to sink in, so I hug him again and settle in to wait.

✽✽✽

The next morning, we’re startled awake by another unexpected knock at our cottage door. I rub my bleary eyes, and see that it’s only seven a.m. “Who in the world is knocking at this hour? Don’t they know people need sleep?” I say, and pull my pillow over my head to block out the intrusion.

Patrick chuckles, and tickles my knee before he goes to answer the door. Morning people, ugh.

I hear voices muffled by my pillow, before the bed dips and Patrick climbs back in and pulls me into his side. Grudgingly, I lower my pillow, and see that he’s holding an envelope.

“Who’s it from?”

He slides out a letter and quickly scans it. His hand lowers, and a neutral expression crosses his face. “It’s from my mom.” He slips it into my hand.

Patrick,

I trust you’ve heard the news regarding the recent change to our family’s status. As such, we ask that you please keep a low profile until an appropriate security detail can be put in place for you. We will have it arranged as promptly as possible.

Yours,

Deb

“Is this the first time you’ve heard from her since we got matched?” I ask, stunned by the lack of affection in the missive.

He nods.

“That’s it? It’s so cold. She doesn’t even sign it Mom, just Deb?” I scan the letter again, searching