“What we didn’t, uh, know then was that this fuel was poison. Over the years our bodies became exposed to more of the synthetic compounds. It built up in our systems while we were, um, unaware. Only when the government census began did we, uh, find the birth irregularities. At first only a few more males than females were born, uh, each year. That doubled and quadrupled. Even hormone treatments for, uh, for fetuses stopped working. While the experts researched and tested, the countries warred. Human trafficking abounded. Civilized life as we, uh, knew it ground to a halt. By the time we had the answer, uh, well …” He gestures out the window. “Well, you see what’s left.”

He pauses and takes a few loud breaths. “With the advancements we’ve made here, we can, uh, fix it. Our bodies and our environment are still full of these dangerous compounds. With, uh, new hormone therapies to the fetus produced in an environment free of, uh, the compounds that mutate the fetus, we can produce as many girls as we have, uh, women to bear them. That’s why we need Betsy.” He pauses and meets my eyes for the first time in several minutes. “That’s why we need you. What you, uh, will do this generation may save the next.”

“How noble,” I murmur.

But his eyes say it is. Even with the scripted answer, I can tell Dr. Rayburn believes in what he’s saying. He thinks he’s part of mankind’s salvation. But the look in his brown eyes somehow doesn’t put a fire in my belly. Instead it leaves me cold. Who do these people think they are?

I try to cross my arms over my chest, but forget one’s still strapped to the bed. I settle for clasping my hands around the bed rails. “I don’t care how much humanity needs us; it isn’t right to use people like cattle.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way.” The doctor takes a step backwards. It’s clear he’s done his duty and wants to get the heck out of here. “We must think of the, uh, greater good. If you can’t learn to comply, we move to … Well, we move to plan B.”

“What’s plan B?” I ask, as he trundles to the door. He doesn’t look at me. “What’s plan B?!” I tug at my one restrained arm.

He turns and glances at me once, and then slides out the door without a word.

* * *

This time when the door slides open, it’s Betsy. Her face is puffy and sunken. She doesn’t smile at me. She shuffles in and slumps in the chair next to my bed. She nearly folds in on herself, as if her bones could no longer support her frame.

“Are you ready to stop being such a witch?” Her face glows feverishly and her breath is ragged.