Морин Макхью - Wastelands - The New Apocalypse

Now, I stared across the hall and idly thought, I wonder where they got the supplies for that mural . All across one wall stretched wild blotches of deep green forest. The rays of a setting sun cut between the trees, lighting up rough earth. Still-wet paint glistened in the candlelight.

“There’s a cut here.” Mum tapped the back of my calf.

I ran my fingers over it. A faint feeling of pain registered, almost like a bruise.

“You should get that doctor girl to disinfect it.”

We finished checking the rest—nothing—then Mum grabbed the KAFOs again. With one of them in hand, she paused. She turned it over, fiddled with the knee joint. “What that woman said… in line for dinner.”

I was still studying the mural. “She was charming, right?”

“You’ll have it harder than most people once we leave, yes, but… it doesn’t mean that…” Mum chewed her lip, for once at a loss for words.

“I know you won’t make promises you can’t keep.” I finally tore my eyes away, taking the KAFO from Mum. “Thanks.”

“I just hate…”

I’d had a lifetime of people looking at me in horror or pity or with too-friendly smiles, or trying hard to not look at me at all. Only the occasional person would lean in and confide: I couldn’t deal. I’d kill myself if I were you. How do you do it?

That meant only the occasional person was misguided enough to say it to my face. Didn’t mean no one else had that same thought, talking with their friends over dinner: You know, if it were me…

The woman’s words weren’t news to either of us. She was just the only person in the shelter to say it out loud.

I looked past Mum at a dozen whispering families clustered together in their beds.

“I know,” I told her.

“You’re doing what ?”

“Shh, shh!” Samira looked into the main med bay to see if I’d woken anyone. “You’ll be fine without me. Dr Kring is still weak, but he’s sharp enough to give advice.”

“Go back to the part where you’re leaving the shelter tonight. I thought outside was—”

“Parts of the shelter—like the air vents—reach above the water level. We can exit safely.”

“Safely! Nothing about that is safe!”

“The shelter has an inflatable raft. Ahmed has a hunch where we can find even better transport. If we reach other shelters, we can trade for food, flashlights—”

“They might’ve been badly shielded too. And they’d be just as stuck. Why would they have food left?”

“They could have working radios,” Samira insisted.

“Radios.” I blinked. Damn it—she was right. “Why you?”

“Because I won’t let my fiancé go alone. And because we need to be able to trade something—like medical assistance.”

“Well… you’ll miss our next show.”

Samira laughed and held up a medical spray. “Haul up your pant leg.”

Word spread quickly.

By mid-afternoon the next day, everyone knew the following things:

Three people had killed themselves.

The med bay had been raided by someone convinced they had a food stash.

A young couple had left the shelter to seek help.

Those Latvian girls had another performance at five o’clock, in the sitting hall behind the kitchen.

“I don’t know about this,” Ginta said. “Maybe they’re right. Is it in poor taste?”

Vera shook her head. “You kidding? Look, people are already staking out spots. It might be their last chance to see a show. Besides, we’re not the only ones performing. I saw these fifteen-year-old twins doing magic tricks for the kids, and a woman in the hall across sang opera this morning.”

“Was it any good?” I asked.

“ Awful ,” Vera said. “Just awful.”

I smiled.

“Why the smile? Less competition?”

“It’s… just nice to picture.”

“Maybe we inspired her.” Vera beamed. “See. Helping.”

“You just want applause.” Ginta sounded quietly annoyed.

“If I do,” Vera said, “it’s ’cause applause is a good indication that people are happy.”

“It’s fine if you just like applause, too,” I said. “Any reason is fine.”

“I don’t even know mine.” Ginta played with her empty sleeve. “I didn’t have anything else to do. Is that awful? I enjoyed it, really, I just—”

“You’re good ,” Vera said. “You really are.”

I nodded. “You are. But if you weren’t…”

Ginta glanced over.

“That opera singer didn’t let it stop her, either.”

Ten minutes before the show, Ahmed pulled me aside to speak with the woman from management.

“You can’t cancel us,” I said. “People are excited. We prepared a whole new song—”

Ahmed shook his head. “No, no. We need your help. You heard about what happened last night?”

“The med bay break-in?”

“Among other things. We were supposed to have left days ago. We’re stretching food we barely have. We thought… you mentioned public speaking. You could help with an announcement about the rations. We won’t last the way we’ve been going.”

Eyes ceilingwards, the woman said, “We’re not lasting anyway unless your brother finds help.” She looked back at me. “An announcement would look better coming from—”

Ahmed cut her off with a glare.

“You could help,” she amended.

I frowned. “I’m supposed to tell everyone they’ll be even hungrier… so they won’t get pissed at you ?”

“That’s not it.” She hesitated. “People are agitated. There are fights, break-ins. The meal lines take forever. We’re not simply cutting back, we’re streamlining: everyone will get the same.”

“What?”

“You wanted to keep people calm, right? Making exceptions doesn’t help. It’s not fair to everyone else. These shelters were built on a principle of equality—”

I laughed, short and high-pitched. The shelters’ very existence proved the opposite. “I’m sorry. Okay, let’s ignore anyone who’s already underfed, ill, or injured, has diabetes or anaemia… I’m with you.”

“Look, we can’t help—if they—everybody should receive the same treatment.”

“Except it’s not the same if it hurts some but not others, is it? But I said I’m with you. Do go on.”

Her lips pressed together. “Do you want to actually help? Or just keep yelling from atop a table?”

I stared at her long and hard. “You can come on stage after the show. But I’m not making your announcement.”

Ginta dropped out. “I can’t focus. I’m sorry. I’ll cheer really loudly, though.”

Vera would take over for the few lines that needed backing vocals the most. Her voice wasn’t as good as Ginta’s, and she was overexcited, rattling off the lines too fast.

“Don’t worry about that, okay?” Mum said before helping me on stage. “People won’t even notice.”

“I wasn’t worried,” I said.

“Oh. Forget I said anything, then.”

“Is that weird?” I wondered suddenly. “We’re doing this for them. Shouldn’t I care more about what they think?”

“Are you?” she asked. “Doing it for them?”

At a loss for an answer, I let her help me onto the table.

“Go. Kick ass,” Mum said. “And enjoy.”

On stage, Vera and I looked out at the crowd. A few dozen people stood near the tables. Even behind them, people had gone quieter than usual. Many looked up with interest.

I took a deep breath. “Shelter management has an announcement after the show. Stick around.”

A few people murmured to each other. Vera was eyeing me, waiting for the signal—a flick of my hand—to begin. Previously, we’d dived right in.