Forager by Peter R. Stone Read Free Book Online Page B

Mother and Elder Sister moving about in the kitchen, and the shallow breaths of Younger Sister, who was in bed. Her name was Meredith, but as a sign of endearment, family members did not use each other’s names, but their kinship classifications. The Founders gave us this system, saying it would draw families closer together and prevent division. I never thought twice about it until I started reading books when foraging. Now I realise it may be a custom peculiar to our town.
    "Got the day off, have you?" Younger Sister asked.
    My eyes had adjusted enough to see her now. I went and sat on the edge of her bed, which was the one closest to the windows. Elder Sister's bed was next to hers, and Mother's beside the door. With two tallboy chests of drawers against the wall opposite the beds, there really was little space left in the room.
    A plate with a couple of golden crumpets sat virtually untouched on her bedside table – the remains of her breakfast. "Yep, our truck's in for repairs, and we can't do much without it." Which was close enough to the truth.
    "You'll have to put it in for repairs more often." She smiled.
    "Sounds like a plan." I laughed as I leaned forward to examine the sores at the corners of her mouth. They were definitely worse than the last time I saw her. She was paler as well. I opened the backpack and handed her a tube of antiseptic cream. "Rub this into your sores three times a day."
    "Okay," she replied somewhat dubiously.
    I dug into the backpack again and took out two plastic containers and some mandarins. "I got you some lunch." Younger Sister looked at the grilled chicken, tofu, bread, and fresh veggies, and shook her head. "Oh no, I can't eat it, Older Brother. You spend too much of your money buying me these lunches!"
    "Yes you can, and no I don't." I smiled. I opened the containers and laid them out for her, handing her the plastic fork.
    "But chicken is so expensive."
    As all of our food was grown in Newhome, we rarely had meat. The only 'animals' raised here for food were chicken – raised by the thousands in the poultry shed. All the same, it was expensive.
    Younger Sister stabbed a piece of diced chicken breast, nibbled at it, and then put it back.
    "What's wrong? Isn't it nice?" I asked, frustration and helplessness adding to the fear that rose up within me every time she refused to eat.
    "It's nice, but I'm just not hungry," she said softly, refusing to meet my gaze.
    I looked at the nutritious food I had laid before her and despaired. "Younger Sister, for your health – please eat."
    She took a small bite of carrot and returned the rest to the container. Next was a bite of bread, after which she lay back against the bedhead.
    "You can't stop there, you've barely touched it." I tried but failed to knock the frantic edge off my voice.
    "I'll have some later," she said, which probably meant she wouldn’t eat it at all. And that created a problem. If Mother found out I was bringing her food she would not be impressed. On the other hand, she had never eaten much of the food I brought her, and Mother had not mentioned it yet.
    I took her hand in mine and brushed my thumb over her upward curving nails. I decided to talk about something other than her refusal to eat, which was driving me insane. "You been reading those books and magazines I got you?" Sometimes I found contraband books when I foraged for metals, and would smuggle them to her to read.
    "Oh yes – and I just loved that teenage girl's magazine. When I can find the energy, I sit in front of the mirror and practice the braids and plaits the girls in the magazine are wearing." She paused and then pouted as she continued. "I can’t believe the world used to be so full of life, Older Brother – people free to go where they liked, able to own so many things – even their own apartments, and wear such bright and colourful clothes, and having the most remarkable adventures!”
    "It was a different world back then, that’s for sure," I