Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
LARKE
The hands I’d once kept manicured were raw and blistered, my palms red.
My joints never stopped hurting. The soles of my feet were tender, and my fingertips cracked and bled—daily.
However, I’d at least stopped crying every night about a week ago, and I no longer had intrusive thoughts about ending my life every second of every day.
Humans had an uncanny ability to adapt, and I didn’t realize how developed that ability was until I was placed in an overwhelming, exhausting, and oftentimes dehumanizing position.
This was my punishment for being unmarried, for being a member of the “Intelligentsia,” as if it were equivalent to trying to enter the White House as a former member of the KGB.
My achievements were being weaponized, and every day that I woke up on a disgusting mattress, aching in every bone and muscle, it was as if a voice screamed: “This is all you truly were ever worth, you pretentious, spouseless, empty-wombed bitch.”
I shared a three-bedroom ground-level unit with eleven others, but we had our own beds.
Then we had only one day off, but Ana, the first woman I met after intake, rotated our schedules so that we had one “easy” day, which was sort of like a day of rest. As if summoned, she knocked quietly on the bedroom door before peering inside.
“Mija?” She entered the room. “Baby, how do you feel? Any better today?”
I forced myself upright on the bed. “I feel like I was hit by a small car instead of a bus,” I said. “So, yeah. Better.”
“Need me to rub you down again with some of the Alcolado?” She took a seat at the edge of the bed and raised a hand to my forehead. “You still feel feverish, mama. You can’t work today.”
It wasn’t like I had a choice.
We didn’t have sick days.
Plus, as members of Sanitation, we weren’t permitted to use the healthcare facilities and had to resort to our own healing methods. Only if things got bad enough did they allow us access to traditional medicine to avoid accidentally spreading illnesses to the Essentials.
Ms. Tess, a Guyanese physician and holistic practitioner, was our appointed healer.
Three days ago, she prescribed me a potent mix of lemongrass, ginger, and turmeric medicinal tea, and it seemed to be doing the trick to knock out whatever I’d picked up on the job.
The Essentials gave her whatever herbs and oils she needed as long as she never requested medicine.
Medicine had to be granted or gifted.
Medicine, we had to beg for.
Ana’s expression softened. “Baby, please rest. We don’t mind picking up your work until you are better. You have done it for us.”
“But I mind,” I countered. “And you keep calling me baby, which I think is adorable, don’t get me wrong, but I’m in my thirties, Ana.”
“So are two of my babies.” Her focus briefly shifted to the wall behind my head. “I pray they’re safe wherever they are.”
“Me too.”
She smiled. “Thank you, mija. Now, if you insist on working, I’ll put you with Tamra. She’s in the Woodhaven building today. You two will be cleaning up after mid-levels for the most part, but I added a couple of Class Ones since the Elites are on perimeter patrol today.”
“What about LaSalle?” I asked.
“Are you up for it?”
My illness took a backseat to renewed vigor.
This, I could do.
This, I needed to do.
“I am.”
She cupped the side of my face in a way that made me ache for my mother like a stolen child.
“Okay, I will believe you. If it becomes too much, you find me, okay? Now, you and Tamra can set off after breakfast. Althea made biscuits. The Essentials sent down gluten-free flour. Perfectly fine gluten-free flour. No nits to pick out or anything, and the biscuits are delicious.”
Althea was a former teacher who enjoyed cooking and baking but never did either professionally.
How a teacher could be a Non-Essential, I didn’t know, but she was also of the spouse-less and empty-wombed designation, regardless of the fact that she was only twenty-three.
Ana had children, but they were adults, and she was a widow.
That gave her just enough status to be our manager of sorts.
Ana stood. “All right, my love. I’ll leave so you can get yourself together. I also brought a fresh pail of water I heated up on the big stove, and it’s cooling in the bathroom. Need me to bring it in here?”
I waved away the offer. “Thank you, Ana, but I’ve got this one.”
I walked alongside Tamra as we entered the Woodhaven building. The first time I met her, she’d had long, dark hair that fell to the middle of her back. In less than a month, she was already sporting the evidence of gross undernourishment and unethical workloads.
She’d moved to the DMV area for a position in policy legislation to improve conditions on the reservations in New Mexico, Utah, and Arizona. After only a few weeks at her new job, the world went to hell.
“Ana assigned lighter duty,” I said as we climbed the stairs.
Non-Essentials were only allowed to use the freight elevators, and only when hauling and transporting.
“You’re cleaning the A through G suites.
I’ve got H through N. Then, we have four Class One units.
You’ve got Architects in 601 and 605. I have Protector-Elites in 716 and 722. ”
“Ever cleaned a Class One Elite unit?” she asked.
An image of Dez came to mind, but I shoved it away. “No, this is my first time.”
“They’re pristine. Always.”
Not thinking of Dez was the only reason I’d made it through the last few weeks.
I didn’t know if I was afraid for him or upset with him, as sorting through my emotions these days was like untangling a drunk spider’s web.
Yet, I’d heard stories about the Class Ones.
I’d heard about the luxuries they were afforded, but I didn’t want to think about whether Dez had sold out for cushiness, as he would have definitely fit the bill for a Class One designation.
However, it wasn’t that I believed he wouldn’t sell out.
I simply didn’t want to think about it.
Avoiding all thoughts of him stopped me from overanalyzing.
If I overanalyzed, I might dance too close to the truth.
The man cared more about his gun than he did me.
If he’d thought about me more than once since we were split up, all his worry left the moment they presented him with his penthouse-style apartment and, more than likely, a wall of naked women.
And a bowl of green apples.
The weirdo loved green apples.
Tamra and I started at the maintenance closet—there was one on each floor to prevent us from bringing items into the building—and gathered supplies and materials.
First, we worked together to clean the common areas.
Next, we went to our individual assignments.
Most mid-levels, who were usually Class Fours, shared a unit, although there was only one person per bedroom rather than four like us in Sanitation.
Then, the water Sanitation used was rationed, so we kept rain barrels for backup reserves.
We were all women, and it didn’t matter if we liked men, women, everyone, or no one.
Race or ethnicity didn’t seem to matter either.
Sanitation was merely a synonym for inferior.
I entered the first unit.
There was clothing all over the front room, messy desks, and unfinished bottles of precious water scattered about.
Someone had left the sink packed with coarse facial hair in one of the bathrooms. There were also four used condoms in the largest bedroom, makeup on two pillows in another, and a crusty spot on the sheets in the third.
Number three hadn’t gotten lucky, it seemed, but had perhaps taken advantage of what he heard through the walls.
I cleaned and straightened until the room sparkled, and it was a similar situation in every other unit—scattered clothing, half-empty water bottles, messy desks, used condoms, and the dried sex fluids of both the lucky and the unlucky.
When I came to LaSalle’s unit, I held my breath as I entered his bedroom. Then, on the nightstand, I spotted a burnt match in an ashtray.
Our sign.
He hadn’t been caught, nor had he backed out.
With some weight relieved from my shoulders, I finished the Class Fours and returned to the main corridor, where Tamra was finishing up herself.
“About to head up to the Class Ones,” I announced.
She nodded. “Me too.”
As we had soiled linens to launder and a tub full of trash, we used the freight elevator.
Tamra stepped onto an empty sixth-floor landing.
The seventh was equally as desolate.
To avoid unnecessary comingling, there were strict protocols about who could be inside the building while we were cleaning.
Once we left, someone came in to do a final sweep with an aerosol disinfectant.
I chose to believe that the spray disinfectant had more to do with the infection than it had to do with Sanitation’s presence.
Room 716 took less than a half hour.
There was barely dust.
Though the space was high-end, it felt cold and impersonal. However, it was one of the cleanest living spaces I’d ever entered, my former condo included.
Unit 722 was just as tidy yet cozier.
Whereas 716 had primarily white paint with some gray mixed in, this one had a bold black feature wall. Class Ones had access to electricity and solar for TVs, but the only thing on the wall was a large map of the complex with what appeared to be routes highlighted.
The tall windows overlooked the complex’s exterior, which showed a train arriving in the distance.
As I didn’t need any additional negativity in my life, I transferred my attention to the sofa and its soft caramel leather.
Then, there were built-ins filled with books next to the feature wall, and I smiled when I spotted The Lord of the Rings.
The weirdo loved The Lord of the Rings.