Tracey Ward - Writing on the Wall

Not wanting to be caught with it as that will put me under heavier watch than I’m already to be under, I walk to a bin in the corner. It’s full of towels of all different colors all folded neatly in stacks. I give the pretense of leaning against it to untie my shoe and deftly slip the shiv out of my sleeve. I let it fall inside the bin where it disappears in between the stacks of colorful cotton. I can’t help but frown as I watch it go. That’s three weapons I’ve lost today.

These women are thorough. Disturbingly, latex glove type of thorough and I feel a little violated after my shower. But I am clean. Really and truly clean for the first time in years and putting on clean clothes (clean underwear!) feels amazing. When I run my fingers through my long, newly conditioned hair it feels like cold satin against my skin.

They take us out of the washroom into another long hallway. It’s cold in here and my wet hair chills me to the bone. It’s then that I realize they’ve given us nothing substantial to wear. Nothing to keep warm in the outside for too long. Long enough to, oh I don’t know, jump in the water and swim away? Once I hit that icy water, even if I made it to another shore without them catching me, I’d be frozen before I’d make it anywhere safe. That’s not an accident on their part.

We enter into a large room with glittering silver floors, wire mesh hanging from the ceiling and stark white plastic tables with matching chairs. There’s a counter to the side made of worn old wood topped jarringly with sleek metal. The sterile beauty of it gives me whiplash and I take a step back, unable and unwilling to enter. I’m amazed at how well preserved this all is. When I catch a whiff of fresh baked bread, I regain the step I lost and then some. It calls to me, pulling me forward like a siren ready to dash me upon the rocks.

What reins me in is the fact that this room is bustling with people, all of them shiny and happy. All different ages, races, all clean, well fed, well maintained. And there are just so, so many of them.

“Vin!” Breanne shouts as she takes off running.

I spot him when she jumps into his arms like a girl in love. He hugs her loosely, nods at Nats and grins at me.

“You girls clean up well.” he says, still looking at me.

“So do you. I don’t think I’ve ever seen your hair that short.” Nats tells him.

They’ve buzzed his hair until it’s nearly gone. It’s just a hint of darkness on his head, making his eyes seem brighter and his face look younger. He runs his hand over it, testing it out as he smiles ruefully at Nats.

“They have barber’s sheers and I haven’t had a real haircut in years. Figured why not.” He glances at me. “What do you think, Kitten? Does it suit me?”

“I lost my shiv.” I say, ignoring his question.

“Yeah, me too.” he mutters, glancing at our escorts as they approach slowly.

Caroline smiles at him happily, taking all of him in. “I’m glad you found each other again. Excellent. Why don’t you all get in line, eat some lunch and then we’ll give you the tour.”

“Sounds great, thank you.” Vin replies, smiling back at her.

She casts us each another glance then she and her minions shove off. When I look back at Vin his smile is gone.

“I don’t like her either.” I tell him.

He nods. “She’s trouble. Watch out for her.”

“Can we eat now?” Breanne asks eagerly.

“Yeah, Bree. Go ahead. I’m right behind ya.” Vin tells her, still watching Blondie as she walks away.

Getting food should be easy and fun. Walking up to a counter to pick what I want from where it sits warm and waiting for me sounds like paradise. But I’m in Hell. There are so many people here, easily 20 just in this room, and my skin is crawling. It’s loud, it’s hot, it’s too full. My breath starts coming in short, strained gasps. I worry I’ll hyperventilate. I hang back as Nats and Vin follow Breanne to the buffet line. I’m hovering in the doorway, both loving and hating the open space at my back, when Vin notices I’m missing.

“You okay?” he calls, his brow pinched in concern.

“I’m fine.” I say breathlessly, shaking my head.

He whispers something to Nats before leaving the line to approach me.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. It’s…” I try to even my breathing but I can’t make it happen. “There are too— too many people. It’s overwh—whelming. They’re so loud and what if… what if one gets bitten? We’ll all die. There are just too many!”

“Whoa, slow down.” he says calmly, stepping into my space and making me look at him. His face blocks out most of the room as he backs me against the wall. It’s still loud and he’s crowding me but it’s only one person. After Ryan I can handle it. This I’m better with. “Breathe slowly and deeply. Don’t worry. Risen aren’t getting in here. That’s not what you need to worry about.”

“They’re always what I need to worry about.” I mumble, feeling faint. “Them and you.”

“Me as in gangs?”

“You as in ev—everyone else on the planet. Gangs, Colonists, d—dead, undead.”

He pauses, chewing on that for a minute. When he speaks his voice is hard. “How big of a problem is this going to be?”

I lift my head, blinking up at him. “What?”

“Can I count on your or is this fear going to make you useless?”

I shove him away from me. It’s a weak effort but he lets me do it. “It’s not a fear, it’s—screw you.”

“No, you get it together. You’re tougher than this, you have to be. No way you made it as long as you did alone if you can’t adapt.” He steps close again, his words rapid and low. “Those two girls I’m with, I can’t count on them. Nats is solid but she’s no fighter and Breanne is nothing but a pretty face. These people have taken a lot of guys from The Hive and I’m hoping to find some in here and get their help getting out, but who knows? Maybe they’ve gone native. Maybe they tried to escape and their dead.”

“Maybe they were in the colony that fell.”

He nods grimly. “Maybe. Right now you’re my only sure thing. I watched you fight when they tried to take you. Even when they had you and you knew it, you didn’t hesitate to put your knife in someone. So, please, tell me that girl is gonna be able to man up and handle this.”

I glare at him, surprised to find myself breathing deeply. Evenly. Angrily.

“Can you handle it?” he presses.

“I can handle it.” I growl.

He grins at my annoyance. “There it is, Kitten.”

I make it through lunch because I have to. Vin doesn’t say anything to Breanne or Nats about my problem but he sits us at a table on the outskirts of the room nearest the door. We eat in silence and though it’s just bread, fruit and vegetables it’s delicious.

After lunch we get “The Grand Tour” as Caroline laughingly calls it because she is just hilarious and I find that the Colony is everything I dreamed it would be.

Absolute. Pure. Torture.

This building is huge and we don’t even see all of it. Apparently a lot of it is used for “storage”, though storage of what we aren’t told. We also aren’t invited to ever find out. Most of the interior is broken up into work rooms though quite a bit of it is sectioned off as living space. There are bathrooms, though not all of them work so you have to be careful, the showers, a common area that looks like it used to be an exhibit with a large TV and some seating, the kitchens beside the cafeteria and a large open area that was probably once the main exhibit but is now filled with beds. An old green airplane hangs high above in the ceiling, something I imagine could easily snap and crash down on unsuspecting sleepers, but what do I know? There’s also a pink truck shaped like a foot. I don’t ask. In fact, I don’t ask anything. I don’t say anything at all because with each step I take through this building I panic a little more. People are everywhere, talking so loudly, constantly walking by, brushing past me, touching me to say hello as Caroline introduces us. I’m sweating rivers under the thin material of my prison clothes.