Donor 23 Read Online Free PDF Page B

case for other donors, who simply had to remain alive to keep up their donations. Even so, all donors wanted to earn the large monetary bonuses for eachdonation and even more importantly—wanted to avoid getting cut loose and made a solus. The main way to do that was to stay in good physical shape and successfully pass auditions. Life for donors was not easy, but Joan didn’t expect it to be—that was a donor’s lot.
    Joan’s wrist phone vibrated. She pulled back her sleeve and glanced at the script message. The medical center informed her of the time for her appointment tomorrow. Her seatmate stared at her. Across the aisle, another person glared as well.
The wrist phone
. Citizens used wrist phones as the main mode of communications. Hardly any donors owned wrist phones. Some had landline phones, but most had to use the community phones spread throughout the ghetto. It was an excellent way for the Alliance to restrict and monitor communications.
    Joan’s benefactor required her to have a wrist phone. She had to be reachable by the Fitness Center staff, physical therapists, physicians, and trainers. She wore it proudly in the city and always on her right wrist to hide her tattoo. It gave her a feeling of exhilaration and freedom. Citizens assumed she was one of them. Her bearing and manner, along with the enviable exercise outfits from the Fitness Center, marked her as an athlete—an elite class. Unlike most donors, Joan knew what it felt like to be treated with respect.
    “COMING UP, FOOTAGE OF THE BIRTHDAY PARTY FOR OUR GLORIOUS GOVERNOR…”
    But she didn’t flaunt the wrist phone in the ghetto. She quickly typed, confirming she got the message. Then she pulled her sleeve, covering the phone, and turned her gaze back to the window, staring through the yellowing plastic sheeting. She pushed aside the plastic to see outside and spied some children running with bright red balloons.
Citizen children
. Sighing, she leaned back and let the sheeting fall into place. Then she stared ahead at the tele-screen.
    “…OUR GOVERNOR VISITING CHILDREN IN THE HOSPITAL WHO WERE INJURED BY THE BARBARIANS…”
    By the time the bus reached the ghetto, it was standing room only on board. The bus pulled over, and everyone filed out. A long line of donors waited for entry to the ghetto. She had caught an earlier bus and hoped she had beaten the traffic jam. Joan sighed and took a place in the queue. Each donor had to have their tattoo scanned at the entrance gate upon entering and leaving the ghetto. They were also subject to a search of any bags and of their bodies. It could take a while. A large poster of the Governor dominated over the entrance gates. His face shone on posters everywhere in the Alliance.
    A commotion ensued inside the gate, and the sound of a siren rang out. A dark van made its way out of the ghetto, winding through the crowd—a Tax Enforcement van. People didn’t rush out of its way.
    Donors loathed Tax Enforcement Officers, derisively calling them “body snatchers.” Snatchers searched for donors needed in cases of emergency surgeries. But their more terrifying job was to hunt down and take into custody donors scheduled for major donations.
    Donors usually reported without incident for minor, non-life-threatening donations. But a donor scheduled for major surgery or a donation resulting in their death may go into hiding, becoming a tax evader. Occasionally, a donor facing this end committed suicide, making it impossible for his organs to be used—a last, final way to rebel against the System. The snatchers’ normal procedure consisted of taking a donor into protective custody before he even knew of the upcoming operation—a preemptive arrest. As a result, donors often never had a chance to evade.
    The sight of the snatchers’ black uniforms sparked fear in a donor. Guns hung at their sides and low on their hips. Thesnatcher dart gun was especially terror inducing. It had an exceptionally long, thin