Chapter 1 #3
The words and their attribution send a shiver down my spine, and I refuse to give the infotron a second thought as I return my attention to the streets.
A noticeable distance is maintained between the crowds of men and the rangers stationed on street corners, while it appears cyclists use the roads, but I suppose there is not much need for cars in a closed city.
When the truck blares its horn, the crowd of bodies parts before us, filtering back onto the paths, with doors chiming, whining buzz-saws, and distant alarms playing like an urban chorus.
Between the tall outer walls, the infotrons, and the towering buildings, the streets are bathed in shadow, the sunlight struggling to reach down here.
There is so much to see as I whip my head back and forth.
The sheer number of people is overwhelming, and even within the safety of the truck, I could swear the air is already thinner.
I concentrate, steadying the rise and fall of my chest. I’m here, and I’m so close.
With my looming destination, all the concerns and conundrums I have buried bubble up, threatening to resurface with panic and tears.
We never had this many people pass through my previous placement in an entire year.
The truck yanks to the side of the road with a jerking halt.
I’ve never felt smaller as my mind scrolls through memories of my parents in a bid to be brave, hoping I can recall something wise, something encouraging to strengthen me.
The sergeant jumps out, and I take a moment to steady my breath within my clenching chest.
I’m startled into reality when the driver talks to me in the rearview mirror. “Good luck. You’re gonna need it.”
It’s hardly sentimental, but it’s human, and in this world, it rings like poetry.
“Yeah. Well, good luck to you too. And…” My mouth opens and closes as I halt my words. I shouldn’t. I was warned to be careful of my tongue, but his head turns towards me, inviting me to finish. “Just remember we’re all in the same boat. And you can’t stay at sea forever … right?”
He scoffs a laugh from under his helmet. “Yeah… Well, you could sink?”
“That’s bleak,” I say with a brittle smile.
He nods. “Bleak is certain. Hope is foolish… Just remember those sharks.”
My jaw flexes, and the words form like a whisper as a vein throbs at my temple with me holding back tears. “What’s your name?”
He shakes his head. “There’s no need for that in this world. We’re just nameless worker bees, feeding the hive.”
I nod. “Well… I hope to see you on the other side.”
It’s a vague but dangerous insinuation, and his helmet tilts towards me, releasing a sardonic chuckle. “On the other side? Hope is foolish … but, yeah. That’s one thing to hope for.”
My arms are leaning on the door when it is opened beneath me, and I release an involuntary squeak as I almost fall.
Like a slap to the face, the city’s crisp air urges me to pull my coat tight.
I swing my legs towards the pavement, but before I hop out, I nod towards the driver, and he returns it—our words are no longer safe.
With my first deep inhale, a chalky, chemical tang catches the skirt of my tongue, and I can no longer taste the fresh air of the Wilds.
The door slams shut behind me while I twist my long auburn hair beneath my baseball cap.
The sergeant talks to my minder, a tall man with a buzz cut, dressed in black pants and a black shirt.
His double chin spills over the top of his tightened neckline, with a gold necklace tucked beneath his collar, chunkier than a bike chain.
The heat from my face and the rush of a brisk wind cause my eyes to leak, and I lift my fingers to wipe my face dry.
“Ugh, women!” the minder mutters. “Always so emotional.”
It sparks a chuckle from the sergeant, and I bite my cheek, restraining myself, since I’ll never trump a man like this. His brawn is significantly bigger than his brain, evident in his rotund belly, and I am struck with a perverse urge to rest a drink on it.
Details of my employment and accommodation are discussed, along with my ID data.
Tuning out, I turn to the bar at the base of an apartment block with black-framed, half-frosted windows.
The muffled sound of music seeps from within.
The faint amethyst glow of the neon sign hoisted above reads, The Riverside.
It doesn’t seem like much in the dim light of day, but there’s always bar work—a place where the presence of a woman earns enough profit to outweigh the cost of employing and accommodating them.
There’s no employer alive who would hire a woman in anything other than the service industry. It’s not good business.
With the slamming of the truck door, my handover is complete.
The tall grunt stares down at me. Even his resting face seems pressed in a perpetual grimace, and his bottom lip is so blatant, as if the rest of his face has rejected it.
The huff of impatience pulls my focus back to him.
He seems put out, as if me taking in the environment is delaying him. “Are you done?”
I think about tossing out some sarcasm or even a middle finger, but I suppose first impressions are important. I pull up a dainty smile, softening my tone. “Yeah. All ready.”
“I’m Donnie, head of security for all Krick’s enterprises.” He pauses … for applause? “You’ll see a lot of me as I come in to keep an eye on you,” Donnie says, sounding more creepy than intimidating. “This is where you’ll be working. I’ve got you down for full-week shifts.”
I ask, “So, will I be living above the bar?”
“No.” He looks up and down the tall Victorian brick building, as if the question is ridiculous. “You’ll be in an apartment down on 8th Avenue. You work here. You live there.”
I allow the patronising, since I’m sure this is the only time he can parade being more knowledgeable than anyone.
He presents me with a small red device. Before I left my last placement, my previous employer, Jimmy, informed me about the city as best he could.
He mentioned we would be issued these alarms, with a pin that, when pulled, triggers a loud siren and sends a geo-signal to rangers, who can then locate us.
I slip it into my coat pocket and rub the smooth plastic casing beneath.
But as brave as I wish to be, I strangely feel safer with it—a small weapon to use against “the sharks.”
“You need that on you at all times. If you behave, you can walk to work alone, but someone will escort you back to the apartment every evening. Have you got any more questions, or can we go in now?” he asks with a smarmy look, and I offer him a tight smile.
I wait until he turns his back before unleashing a laboured exhale through my nostrils.
I had worked a couple of years at Jimmy’s Diner, but this place already looks busier, even mid-afternoon on a weekday.
Before the door swings shut behind me, my lungs fill with the malty scent of beer intermingled with the potent sting of liquor.
My boots peel from the sticky iron-tiled floors, so weathered that veins of copper peek through.
And on the bare brick walls hang TVs, entrancing the men who sit at black tables, drinks in hand.
Before a mirrored wall full of liquor, like a crowning centrepiece, is a long, curved counter, with sleek red glass and a black granite top.
The size of this place is overwhelming as Donnie stops at the counter, waiting, looking for someone, but I am drawn to the back of the bar.
The daylight pouring beyond the closed glass bi-fold doors calls to me, leading to a terraced seating area where smokers are sat huddled in their coats.
Through the tall iron fence, I can see the Mississippi.
The great river cuts through this concrete city, leaving me with a sliver of the Wilds, and I instantly feel closer to home.
“Hey, Big Don. What can I do for you?”
I turn towards the unfamiliar voice of a man emerging from a room behind the counter, carrying a large crate.
He is as tall as Donnie, but slender, casually dressed in jeans and a baseball tee, and his face lights up as he spots me.
The crate of glasses shudders when rested on the side so he can tuck his long, dark hair behind his ears.
“Ahhhh! The new starter?! Welcome.” He wipes his hands on his jeans before offering a wave with a boyish smile. “I’m Joey. It will be nice to have some help around here.”
“She can start now, if you need the help,” Donnie offers.
Oh, so generous of him! I stand here after a six-hour drive with my whole life in the bag on my back. All I know is if I don’t pee and eat within the next hour, I will turn violent—but sure, offer for me to go ahead and work, Donnie.
Joey shakes his head, waving his arms. “No, no, no. Tomorrow will be fine.”
“Spare keys, then, and I’ll drop her off at the apartment. Some of us have work to get back to,” Donnie says with a slow stare towards me.
I glare blankly back, no longer willing to waste my best fake smiles on him. With a jingle, Joey drops the keys into his palm, and he walks off.
“Nice to meet you,” I say politely as I turn to follow Donnie.
“Yeah, you too. See you tomorrow.” Joey waves before saying, “Hey!”
I turn back.
“Sorry, what’s your name again?”
“Lee. My name’s Lee.”