Tracey Ward - Writing on the Wall

I shake my head. “Scary as the thought may be, I’m with them. You’re a genius, Nats, cause this all means nothing to me.”

“Just below, actually.”

“What?”

“Just below a genius.” she says casually. “At least by the standards set before. Now I’m considered a moron because I can’t skin a cat and cook it for dinner.”

I smile at her. “It’s an acquired skill. What did you do for a living before the world fell apart?”

She shakes her head, standing up and gesturing for me to do the same. “That doesn’t matter now, it’s in the past.”

I follow her as the takes up the clipboard and begins her rounds. “You don’t like to think about it?”

“There’s no sense in thinking about it.”

“Ok.” I say, dropping the topic. I don’t like talking about life before either so fair enough.

She sniffs the air around me. “Do they have you in the kitchens now?”

“How’d you know?”

Nats smiles. “You smell good. Like pumpkins.”

I nod. “I was canning. They do a lot of canning in there.”

“Did you know how to do that before?”

“No.” I scoff. “Do you know how?”

“Yep, but I’m from a different generation. Do you like it in the kitchen?”

I shrug as I step closer to one of the generators. There’s a discoloration on the side like rust. I run my finger down it. “It’s alright. Better than the gardens.”

“But you don’t like it?”

“I don’t hate it.”

She looks where I’m touching the generator and frowns. “Make friends in there.”

I straighten up, scowling at her. “Why?”

“Because something is rotten in the state of Denmark,” she tells me, her voice dropping low. “I promise you not everyone is happy to be here.”

“Really?” I ask, shocked. They all seem so… brainwashed. “How do you know?”

She gestures silently over her shoulder toward the sleeping guy and mouths the words Not happy.

I look over my shoulder at her co-worker but he’s still out cold. I turn to ask Nats who else isn’t happy but I catch her frowning at the generator again.

“What’s wrong with it?”

“I don’t know.” she mutters. She reaches out to touch the discoloration. “It looks like rust but I don’t think it is. The pattern is all wrong.”

“Could be blood.” I say offhand.

She looks at me sharply. “Do you think it is?”

“I don’t know. Looks like it. If it is, it’s old.”

“They said this facility wasn’t that old. They haven’t been here very long.” she mutters to herself.

“This thing had to come from somewhere else. It was probably salvaged from an old building. Maybe the blood got on it there.”

“Maybe.” she says, still frowning.

There’s a snort from the guy on the desk and Nats steps back, her entire demeanor changing. She’s suddenly light and happy.

“Where’s Vin tonight?” she asks loud and clear.

I roll my eyes. “With Caroline.”

“He’s working that angle hard, isn’t he?” she says, shaking her head.

“Does he really do it to get information out of her or is he doing it—“

“You mean doing her.” Nats says with a smirk.

“Sick. Is he doing it just because he can? Or to show he can?”

“Oh, honey,” she laughs. “He knows he can. Have you seen Vin? Just because you have your heart and panties all knotted up over some boy on the outside, it doesn’t mean Vin isn’t a show stopper.”

“He told you about that?”

“He tells me about everything. And here’s my take on what he’s doing with Caroline. It’s a power trip. He’s spent his entire life, even his life before this one, under someone else’s rule. Out there in the wild he can’t do much about that. He’s risen as high as he’s gonna go and he knows it. But in here he has options. And I think that’s what he’s doing with Caroline. He’s exerting power and control. He’s in charge with her and he likes it. Sort of his way of literally stickin’ it to the man.”

“What was he before?” I ask, trying to shake away the imagery that phrase is attempting to force into my mind.

“He was you.” she says, matter of fact. “And that’s why he likes you so much.”

“What do you mean he was me? Ten years ago nobody was living like I do.”

“Vin was. He was a kid your age from the wrong side of town living almost exactly as you do now. A runaway alone, trying to avoid becoming affiliated with a gang and scraping out a life for himself. And he wanted more, just like you.”

“I don’t know that I’ve ever wanted more.” I say softly, feeling embarrassed somehow. “I think I’ve always just wanted to keep what I had.”

“This Ryan of yours, is he something new for you?”

“Yeah.” I admit softly.

“He’s something different. Something more, and I can tell from your eyes that he’s something you want. You’re a hard as nails survivor and a closet softy. So was Vin. He still is, he’s just locked up the softy in the closet tight and he’ll never let him out again.”

“It’s probably for the best, right?”

She shrugs. “That’s not my place to say. Everyone has to decide for themselves how they want to handle this life. You need to choose whether or not you want to survive or you want to live.”

I stare at my hands thinking of brown eyes, stolen kisses, scribbled messages and how, despite my present situation, it was all worth it.

“Living is harder, isn’t it?” I ask, looking up at her. “It’s more dangerous.”

“Much more.” she agrees. Then she smiles at me. “Which is why I know you can do it.”

That night I wake up to the blurry sight of a dark face coming at me. A hand grips my head, clamping down on my mouth. It’s my worst nightmare come true; a crawler catching me sleeping.

I don’t have time to think. I go on autopilot and my system is programmed for violence. I punch the face as hard as I can. There’s a groan as I make contact and the hand falls away from my mouth. I sit up quickly, rear back and punch again, this time catching the thing in the side of the head behind the ear. It screams, something that should strike me as odd, but I ignore it. I’m still half asleep and scared out of my mind so it could stand up, plead for mercy forwards, backwards and in Latin and I’d still beat its face in.

I grab the pillow off my bed as I launch myself at the figure. I grab its dark hair and yank its head back hard until it falls backwards onto the ground. Then I pounce. I’m straddling its chest, just about to bring the pillow down over its mouth to protect me from its teeth while I drive me knee down on its throat until it snaps, when it speaks.

“Please don’t! Please stop!”

I hesitate. My chest is heaving and every muscle in my body is screaming to finish the job but I rein it in. I take in my surroundings. I remind myself where I am. Who I’m with. And when I look down I realize with horror that I’m about to kill a living human being.

I scurry backwards away from her until I’m pinned up against my bed’s frame.

“What the hell?” I gasp.

The girl sits up slowly, swaying side to side. She’s holding her hand to the side of her face where I punched her in the cheek. I can’t see her very well in the dark but I know that’s going to bruise because my right hand is aching. It’s nothing compared to what she must be feeling. Or what she’ll be feeling tomorrow.

“What’s going on?” someone calls from the other side of the room.

“Nothing.” my assailant calls lightly, shaking her head as though to clear it. I got her good behind the ear. Her equilibrium will be jacked for a while. “The new girl had a bad dream. I came over to check on her. She’s fine.”