A Titanium Heart

“Water, water, everywhere – and not a drop to drink.”

“Marie!” a young woman called across a crowd of writing bodies, concern spread across her face. “Marie! Sweetie, where are you?” The mother squinted her eyes against the blinding sun, searching the faces of the refugees for her daughter.

A small girl, only four years old, trotted up behind her, grasping her by the leg. The girl’s mass of curly black hair fell in matted ringlets over her face, hiding her incredibly dirty features. She looked as though she had rolled in the dirt on purpose, with brown smears painting her white sundress and bare, white feet. Marie looked up at her mother playfully, her brown eyes questioning.

“There you are,” her mother sighed, scooping her up. “They’re about to give us our water rations.” She licked her finger and used it to wipe away some of the dirt from the girl’s face in a vain attempt to make her look more presentable.

The woman sighed as a middle-aged man with a worried expression took the stage in the arena in which the refugees were set up. He nervously cleared his throat and tapped the microphone, eliciting a whine of feedback and a burst of annoyed chatter from the crowd. As dirty faces turned to him, he pulled at his collar nervously.

“I have some unfortunate news to share with you all,” he finally said. The tension in the venue increased. “Our water has been contaminated.”

The mother’s eyes widened and her grip on her daughter tightened.

“It is necessary that we take precautions to ensure the survival of a certain number of individuals, who may be sustained on what little water we have left.” He ran a hand through his gray hair. “The rest of us will stay out here and pray they find a cure for this outbreak in time.” He offered a fruitless smile.

The crowd roared in protest. Cries of anxiety and hatred filled the air because they knew, all of them knew, that they had been sentenced to death.

The outbreak of the water-borne disease began about six months earlier, in a few cases that sprung up out of Africa. No one thought much of it, believing the outbreak of the disease was controlled to an extent that was manageable by the World Health Organization. It was a virus, spread only through the drinking of contaminated water – but no one considered the massive consequences. The water shortage that already existed was forgotten, so when the virus struck on a global scale… There was little that could be done to stop it. Many cities burned with their lack of water, and only a few remained, due to a little luck and an excess of bottled water. But that could only last for so long before the virus could spread.

Marie clutched her stuffed bunny tightly. In the camp, she had nothing of her own but her stuffed animal, so she made sure she kept it at all times. These possessions were discouraged, but none of the officers had the heart to take it from her.

The man at the microphone spoke again. “We reqire the following people to be locked into the bunker until further precautions can be made to ensure the community’s well-being: Elizabeth Astley-“ A young woman, about 20 or so, stepped out of the crowd. “- Jonathon Bernard-“ A young man of about the same age. “Madeleine Carson…”

One by one, twenty young adults were beckoned from the crowd. They each came to the stage, clutching their clothing and attempting to hide their concerned, dirty faces from the others. Roars protest flared up from the crowd.

“Are you kidding?!”

“We’re being left here!”

The young mother gazed down at her daughter forlornly. She gathered up the will that she had left, and pushed her way to the stage, over another family of four that lay starving on the ground in front of her. People around her complained as she did so, but she set her eyes toward the man at the microphone and refused to alter course. Marie clung tightly to her shirt, holding back tears.

“Excuse me!” She gasped, out of breath from exertion and dehydration. “Please, take my daughter,” she begged the people on the platform, “She’s only four years old. We’re from a powerful family, I assure you, and it will mean very much to this planet if one of us survives.”

She could tell from their faces that they didn’t believe her. Tears streamed down her face.

“You don’t have to save me. Please, her name is Marie. Marie Vanderbilt. Please.”

The announcer immediately recognized the name. Vanderbilt was the President of the United States at the time of the outbreak – he now recognized the young mother as the first lady, Amelia Vanderbilt. She was tattered and torn. Her husband had been killed during a bomb strike that had been spurred on from the Middle East due to the outbreak. The announcer was surprised she had made it out alive.
He gave a weary look to the young men and women behind him. They would need to repopulate, to spawn a new era of mankind. They would dominate the planet, come to rule it and control it in a way that his generation could not. He looked back to Marie – Miss Vanderbilt would give them some authority, a name for themselves, against the remaining refugee camps, in case of future conflicts.

He picked the girl up out of her mother’s outstretched hands.

Marie clutched at her bunny, fearful of the man. She did not remember much of her father, only that he was always very angry and that he was very strong. She still had bruises that she didn't remember getting. She turned back frantically to her mother.

“Mommy!”

Her mother continued to cry as she watched the announcer walk away, carrying the little girl and leading the teenagers. “Mommy loves you very much, sweetheart!” she called. “Mommy loves you!”

Marie clawed at the man as she was carried into the bunker.

“Mommy!”

The door slammed shut.