NO ADAMS

When all you can do is be grateful for life, whatever quality of life it is, you begin to wonder, was it ever better? Can it be better? The New Garden holds the answers to all the questions of life beyond our understanding and knowledge. If only you could reach it.

You are grateful for a day off from your overnight job at The Warehouse. “I can rest,” you say, but only after your monthly pilgrimage to the borders of The New Garden. Just an hour train ride through the undersea tunnel with a two-hour hike into the grassy lands of the eastern border. What is now informally called New Garden, rumor is, for centuries it has been called by many other names, including The Motherland, The Holy Land and Paradise. As well as having biblical ties of placing the first human beings, Adam and Eve there. But rumors are ever only rumors.

Currently, a border surrounds the entire small continent, with a force field that pushes out, above and under 300 yards from behind the border. Like a bubble. Making any unwanted entry impossible. Countless militaries and governments all over the world have tried, but none could ever penetrate through. No one has figured out the science, though technology seems to be the only thing advancing in these times.

The Guardians, that's what they call themselves, protect the borders. They are all 10 feet tall, dressed entirely in a special black suit, which covers them from head to toe, including their faces. The suit enables them to move freely between the force field and the borders. They have no distinguishable features that can be seen and are stoic in their stance, making them all identical. They are very careful not to move from their post, as past failed attempts at kidnapping and assassinations have made them more cautious and vigilant.

As you approach the eastern border from the grassy hill, you hope to hear new information, a new phrase. But the scene is always the same. A crowd of thousands gathered in front of the border. The same for the entire surroundings of the small continent’s bordering land. No parts are unattended. People from all over the world travel and gather around the borders, wanting entry, day and night, and access is always denied. Everyone makes the voyage for different reasons, some to protest to keep the border and some against the border. Some because they are desperate and in need of real care. Makeshift camps, mobile pharmacies and multiple opposing military presences run throughout the borders.

At the border, you see a young mother with her children, begging for entry, "Please, my children are dying, we need help. Have mercy on us. The Northern border accepted children." You watch her face full of tears, squeezing her youngest close. You begin to wonder if it was true about the Northern border, no one ever entered, not even newborns. A loud voice in your ear interrupts, you turn and notice it's a protestor, he shouts "Let us in. We can't breathe out here. We are humans just like you."

Everywhere in the world, except for New Garden of course, the air is poor in quality, and the soil lost all its nutrients, making it impossible to breathe and farm. Something about the bees, you heard. Food is grown in artificial farms in warehouses and it's unsatisfying, yet filling. Your stomach is always in pain with hunger or indigestion. Everyone's lungs are diseased from the pollution and people are steadily declining in health and dying rapidly after they’ve reached a third of their life. This has somehow led to overpopulation, as governments needed to make up for the deficit. Pregnancies with multiple births are now the standard. Many believe fertility drugs are injected into the food.

The Guardians at the border offer only two phrases that boom out from a PA system surrounding the borders. In a monotone voice, that can only be characterized as a computer, the Guardians roar "NO ADAMS" on a continuous loop every 20 minutes or so. Then at the top of the hour, every hour, "YOU DID NOT TRUST." Nothing else. No explanations of what it means and no information on what is needed to enter New Garden.

After a while, with no new information or any restored hope, you decide to leave before it gets too late and you can't enjoy the rest of your day off. You tell yourself the hike back to the station will help exercise your lungs. Panting throughout your hike, you go over what the Guardians said, "YOU DID NOT TRUST." Trust? Trust what? What does that mean, what didn’t I or we trust?

In your seat on the train, you pull out the heart-shaped locket to stare at the small old black and white photograph of the newlyweds embracing. You imagine how it feels to be held. It's been too long since you've been held, and now, more impossible ever since you've started working at The Warehouse. The old photograph reminds you of the classic old black and white Hollywood romance films where the main characters would dramatically embrace each other. Smiling for the rest of the ride, you imagine yourself as the actors in your favorite films.

Finally, out of the train station, you walk, passing blocks and blocks of boarding houses until you reach yours. Wishing you had your own space, your own place but such a thought is ridiculous. There are no available single-family homes, apartments or studios. They’ve all been converted into boarding houses due to overpopulation. Old farming lands are turned into concrete to develop new housing or warehouses. You couldn't afford it anyway with your salary at The Warehouse. You’re grateful again, it’s your day off. You can rest.

You enter your room and quickly grab your dry dinner container and head to the communal kitchen. You’re starving from your trip, and you need to eat before your weekly appointment at the pharmacy. In the kitchen, you look for the cleanest microwave you can find then add a few tablespoons of water to your container to heat it. While you wait for your artificial steak and potatoes to bloom in the microwave, you think back to old rumors of New Garden, people can live past 80 years old. A woman gave birth at 40 years old. At 40? How? Life expectancy here is 45 and the window to birth children 18 to 25. They do not need medicine or drugs? Newborns here are assigned to a pharmaceutical hospice at birth to help with the disease and pain in their lungs. And the unfortunates like yourself, get doses every day the first three months of birth and then after turning three years old, the weekly doses begin. They must be born without pain.

Lost in thought, you realize the time has flown and you need to leave now to make that appointment. You can’t miss it or the pain in your lungs will be unbearable until you can reschedule. Grabbing your coat, you rush quickly out the door. It’s just a quick walk but you're already short on breath from the hike. You can see the pharmacy ahead but naturally protestors are littered in front with their signs. Zealots you called them. 'The End Is Nigh' their signs read, "TELL US THE TRUTH" they chant. One of the zealots jumps in your path shrieking "Don’t take that shot, you don’t need it." Scoffing, you reply, "I’m sorry I was born like this. I need the shot to breathe." "You weren’t born that way, they made you like this. They’re keeping us sick. You know what the Guardians mean about trust right? They’re talking about the truth." "TELL US THE TRUTH," they return chanting.

Elbowing past, you finally make it inside to the reception desk. Without looking up from behind the glass wall, the receptionist immediately says "Please have your payment ready for entry" and points to the currency validator on the metal door. Pulling the money out of your pocket, you unfold it, waiting for the green light to feed it through. Looking down at the bill, you read the words on the back of the note, 'IN GOD WE TRUST.' Running your finger over each word, suddenly frozen with realization, eyes wide with a small gasp, you think, DID WE?