The Haven

This would be Clara's fifth visit to The Haven, and so it would be her last. No one ever returned for a sixth.

A visit to The Haven was the one thing that they all had to look forward to as they stumbled through their workaday lives at The Commune, those who were over 35 years old anyway. It was a temporary respite from the dull and dreary confines of their daily existence; the constant struggle to work hard enough to stay ahead in the race against starvation and poverty and disease, the constant vigilance against all manner of physical threats and the ongoing search for a reason to wake up and face each new day without giving up.

Clara was only 17 years old when The Pale Horse Pandemic began, a senior in high school. She had learned about the COVID-19 Pandemic in her World History class, and when that first started just over 20 years ago the whole world thought that the end times had come, and it was the same 100 years earlier when the Spanish Flu swept across the globe. In hindsight, those ailments were more akin to the common cold than anything worthy of true mortal concern.

The Pale Horse galloped from continent to continent in no time at all, spread by the speed of commercial air travel and the sheer virulence of the disease itself. At first, they said that it originally came out of Asia, but soon there were rumors suggesting that there was a breach at the CDC, and shortly after that there were more rumors saying that it was released intentionally. More rumors soon followed, some saying that it wasn’t the CDC at all but rather an Islamic revolutionary group calling itself “The Hand of Allah” out of Karachi, Pakistan, while others pointed their fingers towards Russia. But it was clearly all just pure speculation. Something to talk about while you buried your loved ones and huddled up somewhere waiting for death to find you.

The truth is that when the pandemic began it all happened so fast that the media never had the time to properly investigate and report the story before most of the human population had succumbed to it, and journalists were no more immune than anyone else. The newspapers that might have told the story stopped appearing on doorsteps and the news channels, websites and social media apps went dark right along with them. In the end, it didn’t really matter. Those who survived - that curiously resistant little sliver of the population to which Clara belonged - really didn’t have the means to talk about it in any collective fashion. It all just quickly devolved into "every man for himself" time, and the origins were unknowable and essentially irrelevant at that point anyway.

In the aftermath, the world was a very different place, and there simply weren’t enough shovels to bury all the bodies. As it always has throughout the ages, in the end it came down to “The Haves” and “The Have Nots”. Clara had not, and so she lived on a forced-labor public commune in a place that used to be known as the Great State of Tennessee. It wasn’t so great anymore.

Six days a week she was required to wake at dawn, and after a flavorless breakfast consisting mostly of plant-based proteins and dried grains, she joined all of the others in the silent convoy out to the fields or the factories or the power plant or to some other more specialized positions in the various other work facilities. Clara was physically fit so she was mostly assigned to work duties in the agricultural fields, but two years ago she achieved the seniority required for a split-shift between the fields and the main security office, where she monitored the fence line cameras, looking for both escapees from within as well as the various threats that might come from without. Now that she had returned from her fourth visit to The Haven she worked from her chair in the main security office full-time, and in some strange way she was happy about that.

The Haven was the domain of The Haves. The Ultra-Wealthy. The “One Percenters”, as they were sometimes called (usually in a quiet and derogatory fashion). When things first went bad, those who were able to do so quickly marshaled their resources, circled the wagons, and set themselves up for survival. The rest just waited for their unknown fate to befall them. You didn’t have to be a genius to know that food, water, medicine, security and other basic resources would soon replace all of the rapidly declining currencies of the world in this suddenly spawned, savage new age

The Haven was a green and verdant place. It was an anachronistic monument to the past. Country clubs with golf courses and tennis courts and swimming pools. Michelin 3-star quality restaurants and trendy cocktail bars. Lakes and streams full of rainbow trout and largemouth bass for fishing. Beautiful parks with mountain hiking trails. Concert halls and movie theaters and museums. Of course, there was still a class system in place, but at least all visitors had their own private home with all of the modern smart-tech amenities. This alone made it worthwhile for most. If you ignored the tall fencing surrounded by razor wire and the guard towers circling the perimeter of The Haven you might believe that you had actually died and gone to heaven

An opportunity for a visit to The Haven was made available to everyone in The Commune once they reached the age of 35. Not everyone had the proper documentation to prove their date of birth, of course, so the staff doctors at The Commune often had to make eligibility approvals based on their personal judgment, but if you proved eligible and passed the physical examination you would be entered into the lottery. Then, if your number came up, you would be invited for your first visit. This happened for Clara shortly after her 36th birthday. No one knew for sure, but most people said that the average time for selection was approximately three to five years, so she was happy to hit it so fast.

Her first trip to The Haven was practically euphoric from start to finish. She had duck à l'orange with fresh roasted vegetables, mushroom risotto and a bottle of Bollinger champagne at a stunning French restaurant that first night. Before dinner she took a long, hot shower at her beautiful new temporary residence that she had all to herself and changed into a brand-new designer name dress in her exact size that was waiting for her in the bedroom closet, along with a full wardrobe to last the rest of her initial 30-day stay. It was easily the best meal ever served to her in her entire life, and it had been twenty years since she had eaten anything that she truly enjoyed.

That next morning, she slept as late as she pleased and then took another long, hot shower before going out to brunch at a swanky little bistro just down the street. It was like she was living in a dream. Everyone seemed to be treated the same but after just a few days Clara could mostly distinguish the visitors from the full-time residents.

During the first half of her 30-day stay, Clara tried to do everything. She visited museums and swam in the huge, immaculate swimming pool at a nearby country club. She wandered the streets aimlessly with an iced latte in hand and took in the sights. There was a nice strip of shops and cafes and restaurants and everything was free. During these walks she mapped out the major landmarks of the neighborhood around her temporary home, including the Vanderbilt University Medical Center and the “Sacrificial Angels Cemetery” just a few blocks away.

She spent time out on the lakes in kayaks and canoes. She learned a thing or two about trout fishing and she went to the movie theater almost every night after dinner (and each and every dinner was a culinary feat that was just unforgettable). She even made a few casual friends along the way, and a few men showed some interest in her as well but as a 36-year-old virgin she was hesitant to proceed for a number of reasons. She did tell herself though, “Maybe next time…"

But once she had been there for a little while she slowed down a bit in all of these activities and learned to just enjoy the quiet time she had at herself at her temporary residence, watching movies on the huge flat panel screen while eating fresh popcorn with real butter, a massive wine cabinet available to her at any time. She could also have dinner delivered to her door, so there were some nights when she passed on the fancy restaurants and just ordered in some pizza or Chinese food. It was all spectacular.

Clara’s first visit to The Haven was truly delightful in every moment and in every way, right up until the day when she was scheduled to board the train back to The Commune. When she arrived at the station that morning they had two separate lines to board the trains. The two signs designated one lane as “First Time Visitors” and the other as “Return Visitors”. Clara was reading a paperback novel she had found at the house as she awaited her turn in the “First Time Visitors” queue when she looked across the way and saw that many of the people in the other line bore signs of physical maladies. Some were in wheelchairs and others pulled along oxygen tanks and IV drips beside them. Several of them had nurses in attendance, but Clara noticed that none of them looked all that much older than her.

When she reached the front of the line and entered the office, she learned what the catch was. She was quietly embarrassed at first. She should have known that it was all too good to be true. Everything came at a price, of course. Everything.

“Well, Clara, we are pleased to hear that you enjoyed your first visit to The Haven and we very much hope that you will return to see us again.” The man behind the broad marble desk was tall and slim, his head shaved clean, about sixty to seventy years old. He wore a black suit and tie over a bright white shirt. Clara could not recall anything back at The Colony that was so pure and white.

“Of course, that choice is yours. If you choose to return to The Commune and spend the rest of your days there, that will be perfectly fine and there is no cost whatsoever for your introductory 30-day stay here at The Haven. But we have thoroughly reviewed your medical records and we would like to have you join our long-term visitation program here. With each successive visit you will gain an extra 30 days from the last, so your second stay will be 60 days, the third will be 90, and so on. Of course, in exchange for this privilege there is a ‘give and take’ understanding that must be clearly understood, as well as certain terms and conditions you must agree to in writing before we can begin…”

He went on to outline those terms & conditions and when he was finished he gave Clara a printed copy to review and, within the next 30 days, to sign and return if she chose to continue. She read through that document several times on the train ride back to The Commune, and she thought about little else in the days following her return. It didn’t take long for her to arrive at a decision once she returned to her usual drab and dreary life at The Commune. After just four days she signed on the bottom line and turned in the forms and then she waited. It didn’t take long before the administrators notified her that she was accepted into the program and provided her with a date for her second visit to The Haven. She was filled with a strange mixture of elation and dread, but also a strong sense of resolve that she had made the best decision. In the long-term, she was confident that it was the right decision.

Her second trip lasted sixty days, as promised, and it was much like the first. The only difference was that she was required to attend some fairly extensive medical examinations at the Vanderbilt Surgical Center down the road and submit some blood samples at the test lab just across the street from there. Otherwise, her time was her own and she thoroughly enjoyed her 60-day respite from life at The Commune. It felt like a lifetime.

The third trip lasted 90 days, as promised, but that was when things changed. They gave her the first 45 days to do as she pleased, but then she was required to report to the surgical center where they removed one of her kidneys. She remained in the hospital for the next two weeks before they discharged her to convalesce for the rest of her stay at her temporary home in The Haven. They sent a nurse there to attend to her needs a few times each day.

“You must understand, everything must be paid for somehow, and in this new barter economy certain things have become exceedingly valuable to those who can afford to pay, which allows us to offer opportunities like this to people like yourself.” The man behind the broad marble desk at the train station had explained this to her at the end of her first visit in a clearly-rehearsed tone and wearing a smile that never touched his cheeks as he spread out his palms in a gesture that was apparently intended to appear magnanimous.

When Clara returned to The Commune she found it more difficult than ever to drag herself out of bed and report to work every morning. She could only think about her next visit to The Haven, despite knowing what would occur during that stay. The fourth visit would last 120 days. It was all she could think about until the notice of her date of departure arrived.

Much like the last time, they allowed her the first half of her stay to do as she pleased. This time she found it more difficult to fully enjoy all of the pleasures made available to her, knowing what would be in store when the first 60 days came to an end.

They took half of her liver and one of her lungs this time. When the day of her departure came, she was reading a paperback novel in her chair as she waited in the "Return Visitors" line at the train station, but when she looked up for a moment she noticed a tall, fit woman staring at her from the "First Time Visitors" line. She couldn't tell if the expression on the woman's face betrayed a sense of horror or pity. Perhaps it was both, and maybe more.

Once she returned to The Commune she was no longer able to perform the physical efforts required of those working in the fields and so she was assigned to a full-time position monitoring the cameras in the security office from her wheelchair. There was only one more trip to The Haven awaiting her, and although she knew the finality that it would entail, she couldn’t prevent herself from relishing her final release from the gray and meaningless life within the desperate confines of The Commune. Now that she had tasted the champagne and the filet mignon and delighted in the spectacles of the museums and the carefree amusement of the cinema and reveled in the daily comforts of a life free from forced labor and filth and desperation, she simply could not return to it. She had crossed the Rubicon.

On her fifth and final trip to The Haven, once again Clara was given the first half of her stay, 75 days, to do with as she pleased. This time it was difficult to enjoy herself though, due to her physical condition. It was not easy to get out and do very much, confined to her wheelchair and carrying along the oxygen tank, and all of the medications she was on made her tired and sleepy on an unpredictable cycle every day. She mostly spent that time on the couch, watching TV, ordering delivery meals and dozing off all throughout the day.

She donated her heart this time. They took her remaining lung and her kidneys as well, along with the rest of her liver and a few other organs. It was her final gift to the kind people of The Haven who granted her this wonderful opportunity and spared her from a life of daily misery at The Commune.

When they released the general anesthetic into her bloodstream just before her final donation, Clara smiled up at the surgical lamp above her for a moment just before her eyes flickered shut forever, and later she was buried alongside the rest of the other Sacrificial Angels in the large, lush green cemetery just down the street.

THE END