Humility
“Where did you get that?” Humility Renault asked her sister as she hoisted the groceries onto the counter.
The seventeen year old rolled her eyes and shrugged. “From the grocery store?”
“Wendy,” Humility began.
“Hue.”
“I meant the money. Seriously.”
“Oh, don’t worry. It’s your money. Seriously,” Wendy parroted back at her. Another eye roll ensued when Hue kept up her stare. “I sold some hats, okay?”
Who knew that in the post-alien apocalypse Earth that crochet and knitting skills would end up being a total cash cow? The American city hipsters with their AI-infested apartments and hover taxis loved a bit of the old crafty style, but had mostly lost the art of it. The supply lines and leisure of acrylic yarns had all but disappeared for a few years, but up here on the northern edge of nowhere, there were plenty of people that still crafted yarn the old fashioned way, and now were in high demand. And since Hue had worked out a deal with their neighbor to graze sheep on the parcel of land her mother had left to her, so getting first pick of the yarn was easy as pie.
The most disturbing trend to Humility was the Mahdfel dolls that were all the rage. She could hardly keep up with the orders for personalized little aliens. Blue with horns and a tail, or yellow with wings - people were obsessed with them. Some crackpot vid guru had spotlighted them as a way to introduce the idea that their new space cousins weren’t going to have much of a human resemblance. Hue was more inclined to put on her tin-foil hat and believe that it was a strategy employed by the government to normalize the fact that one day, you too, little girl, will produce offspring with an alien husband. But it brought in cash, and therefore there was little Humility would say about her theory in public.
The DNA Lottery was a constant threat hanging over their heads. Once a year, on their birthday, single women of “breeding age” had to go in and get tested. If she were matched, then poof, alien technology would whisk her away to the other side of the universe to procreate with her new husband.
Humility’s birthday had been last month, so she was safe for at least another eleven. That was a blessing - her mounting fear dissipated the moment the clerk had flashed her a bright and relaxed smile.
Wendy turned eighteen in eight months. The thought of her sister being turned into an alien baby maker didn’t sit any better with Humility than being tied to this house for the rest of her natural days.
"I told you that money was for you, not for buying groceries," Humility said.
"I was hungry and picking up a snack anyway. We needed stuff."
Humility sighed. Yes, they needed stuff. But the freezer was full and she had always managed to make ends meet. She wanted her sister to be a child, for a few more months at least. "Well, if you want to help, then set the table."
Tonight was family dinner night, and it was not something Humility looked forward to. All five kids and their father, Mason, in the same room - that part was fine. But when the meal drew to a close and her father started his wheezy lecture? That part was not going to go down well.
He had been bugging her for weeks. He often got in these moods where he would sit for an hour, sucking in as much oxygen as he could through his damaged lungs. Then he'd take the mask off and ramble on about some past story, as if trying to get out every last breath of a story before he keeled over.
The government paid for most of his care, thank goodness, but it was never enough to put him in a home, someplace nice. After all, she was still there and could provide him with most of the necessary care. It was a full time job, taking care of her father. He'd been caught in a Suhlik gas attack that had wiped out a good portion of the town just to the east of them. He was lucky enough to just catch the tail end of it, driving out of town and out of most of the lethal exposure. Her mother hadn't been strong enough, though. She'd let out a horrible last gasping breath, dying before her father had reached the hospital.
The aliens hadn't been much help. They'd looked him over once, seemed impressed that he lived, and basically said there was no helping him. It was best for him to run himself onto his sword or some such nonsense. However, with five children, he persisted for his family. Even a broken man was better than a dead one, or so he had first thought.
Mason had been a strong and athletic man, before the aliens attacked Earth. Humility’s memory was full of him teaching her how to hunt, watching him chop logs, and making her recite back the essentials to surviving in the wilderness. She remembered the times when he drank,, when he stumbled home after gambling away his paycheck. She also remembered how her mother grew silent in her anger when he swung wildly in his drunken fits, not really trying to hit anything, but landing a few blows just the same.
Now, he was shriveled, gasping. She helped him bathe, and brought him his meals, most of them in a glass.
Tonight, though, was a turkey lasagna that would feed the whole group of them without too much effort. The ground turkey had come out of the freezer. She'd shot and plucked and gutted the thing a few months earlier. Finding game had really reduced the grocery bill, especially when combined with the garden out back. If forced, she was pretty sure they could live off the grid indefinitely. The only problem with that was Dad's oxygen and masks. That would be tough to come by.
The only reason to go completely off the grid would be for another alien invasion, which Humility doubted, as they had the Mahdfel to protect them. In her heart, she knew that if they did, the oxygen wouldn’t be needed. Mason might have gotten drunk once too often, but he’d rather end his own pain than watch his children suffer and risk their own lives for his.
Humility doubted that any of her three brothers would make such a sacrifice. Her youngest brother, Jacque, she could excuse. He was only twenty and still hopping from subject to subject (and girl to girl) at the local community college. He was too young to take much of anything seriously. Cyprian, the second oldest, just had a chronic case of bad luck. He was on his third job in two years, and was always pitching some new scheme at family dinner. As for the oldest, Claude? It was a good thing her father had no cash left to give her brothers, because either he’d invest it in some failing business or Claude would steal it. It was sad that one had to keep an eye on the silverware (and everything else not nailed down) during a family dinner. Claude didn’t have a case of the bad luck. He had a case of SparkleZ. It was the newest craze floating through the countryside. Another gift of the alien invasion: all new chemical highs to forget the world.
Humility half hoped Claude wouldn’t show up for dinner, but if free food and a chance to scavenge the poor pickings that was their house were on the table, he’d be there. But her dad wanted them all there, so Humility didn’t feel bad about hiding the chocolate and anything else she valued that could make a quick pawn.
An hour later found the Renault family around the dinner table, her father at the head, the two older boys on one side, the two younger siblings on the other, and Humility at the other end as she portioned out the lasagna and salad she’d made of veggies picked fresh from the garden. Without being asked, Wendy cut her father’s food. Claude completely ignored the rest of the company as he shoveled food into his mouth.
“I tell you, it can’t fail,” Cyprian said for the second time that night. Mason nodded his head in agreement. “It will triple my investment within the first year.”
Humility was beyond caring what this specific scheme was, especially since her father had no money to invest, and no amount of cajoling would get her to release any that she controlled. Every penny of that was being saved for Wendy’s college, not that it was much.
“So tell me about this new girl,” Wendy said, elbowing Jacque with a good natured grin.
“Well, she’s-” Jacque started.
“Hot? Smokin’? Babe-o-licious?”
“We’re engaged!”
This information phazed no one at the table.
“When’s her birthday?” Cyprian stated flatly.
“Next week,” Jacque said with a shrug, which meant that their engagement would probably only last another two. The Council instituted a rule that men could be engaged to no more than one girl in a calendar year after men began to rent out their rings to make some cash on the side for Lottery avoidance.
“Next week, eh?” Cyprian and Claude exchanged knowing glances. Jacque had been suckered last year too.
“I’m sure she’s the one,” Wendy said when Jacque slumped over, dejected. She patted him on the shoulder, but flashed an eye roll at her other siblings.
There was a knock at the door. The entire table froze.
“Did you invite your fiancée to dinner?” Mason asked.
“No. You?” Jacque directed his question to Cyprian who was also currently living with a fiancée, though Humility was suspected he spent more time on the couch than in her bed.
“Nope.”
Humility stood up and headed for the front door. She grabbed the bat she kept by the front door and casually slid it behind her, still within easy reach.
She cracked the door, and then opened it wide enough to get a full view of the woman on the other side.
She was a city slicker from her three inch heels that had obviously sunk into the mud on her way up to the porch, to her three layer mascara and her red and blue hair. She was wearing a tight skirt that was nearly too short to be professional and an asymmetrical silk top that looked like it was wilting under her cardigan. She was obviously lost and in the wrong place.
“Hello, I’m from the Ministry of Alien Affairs. May I come in?”
“No.”
Humility slammed the door.