Page 92 of The Lottery

“Well… let’s just say, I think he’s found someone else as well.”

I am surprised, but not displeased.

Before I can stop myself, I bring Azalea into my arms. A few people notice and I feel blood rising in my cheeks, but I do not feel the fear I once did. We hold each other tightly for only a few seconds, then release.

No need to make a presentation of our affection.

And no need to be afraid of it.

Today is a new day.

I notice Azalea is slightly distracted, glancing at Lana with worry. “Tend to your friend,” I say as we separate.

Azalea nods but lingers a moment. “Where are you going?”

I take a deep breath, then swallow hard. My eyes move toward the door where Declan and Astrid pulled Buddy away.

“If I am to play both judge and jury, I must see the punishment through myself as well.”

Azalea’s brow furrows and she starts to protest, but I raise a hand before she can object.

“These people do not want a fickle leader,” I say. “I will bring another person for protection, but I will not have someone else do my dirty work.”

However Azalea feels about my choice, she does not try to question it. For that, I am grateful. As she turns and walks toward Lana, I grit my teeth and head for the door.

* * *

An hour later, I drive Buddy toward the equator. Declan sits alongside me in our modified ATV, with Buddy cuffed and strapped in the back. I would prefer to do the drive in silence, but our detainee is not one for thoughtful reflection.

“You won’t get away with this,” Buddy says. “A lot of people like me back at the ship. They’ll be on my side. Just wait.”

I had planned to drive another few kilometers to get this loathsome man out of the harshest cold, but he has played on my final nerve. I stop the car, step down and pull him roughly off the back.

“If your friends feel inclined to rise up on your behalf, I welcome it. I will not hesitate to pull the weeds from our society, Mr. Fischer.”

I remove the cuffs from Buddy’s wrists, giving him the chance to fight if he so chooses. I see the thought flash through his eyes, but he does not raise a hand.

Instead, as always, he relies on his mouth.

“I paid for this ship, asshole. You owe me. God won’t forgive you for this.”

A smirk twitches at my lips, then I move back to my seat behind the wheel.

“A god that condones what you did is not a god I care to know, Buddy,” I say as I start the engine. “And I do not owe you a goddamn thing.”

* * *

Declan and I drive back in peaceful silence, each of us taking in the new landscape as it passes by. We could make idle talk, getting to know each other as members of a small collective probably should. But we do not. The moment is, in the end, a somber one, and we show mutual respect by staying comfortably quiet. It allows me to think about all that has transpired, what it means for our community, for me and Azalea. For Robert. For Lana.

What the decision regarding Buddy will mean in the future.

This will nag at me for some time, but what is done is done. I can only look forward, where at least a portion of the future seems bright.

When we return to the ship, I notice many people hard at work, collecting materials to construct more permanent dwellings. Two members of the hunting team lug a boar into a tent they have fashioned for meat prep. Others move into the woods with saws to gather more timber.

As happy as I am to see people so occupied, my attention is drawn to a less appealing scene. Looking around the camp, I see couples locked in deep conversation, some of them losing their tempers. At least four different pairs appear to be in the midst of a fight or breakup.

I am not entirely sure how to feel about it all.

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