by Lisa Jade
I nod.
"You had no right to do that. You have no right to touch our people. I don't care if you think you're trying to help. You don't lay a finger on any of us. Do you understand?"
I force my face to seem blank, and her face contorts. Suddenly her look is not reproachful or scared, or even angry; she looks enraged.
"I know what you're doing. I know what you people are like. False sense of security mean anything to you? Well, it's not going to work! I for one am not fooled by your little act."
She lowers her gaze to the floor for a moment, and then growls. In her anger she reminds me of a very small dog. Lots of bark but no bite.
"Just get out of here. You're not welcome back except to sleep. And don't expect me to look after you, mutie. You're on your own."
My hand clenches into a fist and suddenly I'm facing her, up in her face, my eyes glaring into hers. Her own eyes are wide with fear, her mouth open like I stopped her mid-sentence. I tower over her and I feel a flicker of fear from her; but then I back away. She blows a lock of hair from her face, frustrated, but her bravado is gone. She stares at me as I flash her toothy a smile and walk out, unable to deal with her incessant whining a moment longer.
As I traipse down the stairs, I feel a stirring in my gut. I probably shouldn't have done that. It was a blatant act of aggression that wouldn't go down well anywhere. It won't bode well for me to be so confrontational. But I couldn't help it; the girl has only known me for a day, and already we're at loggerheads. As much as the reasonable, rational part of me understands why she can't trust me so easily, the tougher, angrier, more hot-headed side doesn't understand why she can't just let it go. I know some people just don't get along like others do. Perhaps we'd still be at odds even if I weren't a stranger - she just seems like the type of person who can make my blood boil.
I emerge onto Street, and am immediately pushed aside. I crouch in the doorway, surprised at how many people are up so early. They bustle around, carrying pieces of metal and scraps of cloth. Something that smells like meat is cooking in the corner, that same wizened old lady standing over it. I notice now, for the first time, how others incline their heads a little as they approach her. Like they respect her.
"Morning. Wasn't expecting to see you up and about so early."
I glance up; the teenage boy from yesterday stands there, his hands in his pockets, an easy smile on his face. I rack my brain to remember his name, but he gives a shrug. The movement is strange and awkward.
"I don't know if I ever introduced myself. I'm Thomas. I'm, uh… technically just a trainee."
He leans forward and smiles, cupping his hands around my ear.
"Or that's what they think. Personally, I think I'm the brains of the whole operation."
I blink slowly before deciding that yes, it was supposed to be a joke. I feign a laugh, opening my mouth and slightly shaking my body, but it's awkward and out of place. His face falls a little, but he quickly plasters the smile back on.
"Well, uh, Max actually sent me to come and see if you were awake, but since you're already up, I suppose that saves me a job. Follow me."
I lift an eyebrow at him.
"Don't worry, you're not in trouble. Max just wants to put you to work.
I hesitate for a moment before following. On a practical level, of course I need to earn my keep. It makes sense for me to be put to work, and I like to think I'd be unhappy at being given handouts. But another, more childish part of me stamps her foot and pouts. Can't I have even one day to relax?
Thomas leads me to the wall, where he points at a ladder. I clutch it; it's rickety and unsteady, missing rungs and creaking with every movement, but if it can carry Max it should be able to hold me. I scramble to the top of the wall, and I find myself surprised by the size of it. It's not like a wall from up here - it's more like a fortress with a viewing platform on top.
Max is sat on a rusted deck chair, his eyes fixed on the horizon. He looks so focussed and certain that it almost seems a shame to interrupt him.
"Max," calls Thomas, "I found her."
He turns his head, and it seems to take a moment for him to recognise me. Of course. I suppose I look different when I'm not covered in blood and dirt. He raises a hand to call me over.
"I believe this is yours."
He reaches under his chair and hands me my HT. I smile and take it, somewhat comforted by the cold plastic. It feels like a little piece of home.
"I've spent some time talking to your boss," he tells me, "Adam, right? The girl blurted out his name. He's definitely something, huh?"
I nod, pleased that someone else can see his impressive leadership.
"Yeah… bit of a weakling."
My face falls and I cock my head. What could Adam possible have said or done to make Max think that? Adam, the strongest person I know? He notices me staring and shrugs.
"Clearly you don't think so," he says, "don't take it seriously, okay? I just think the way your whole group works is weird. They have women going out to fight and kids learning to be doctors and builders? It's like you people are unhappy with sticking to your roles."
I frown a little at that, but decide not to push it. I've already risked myself by threatening Minni - I can't afford to piss Max off, too.
"Anyway, now that thing is yours again. Use it to communicate with them to your heart's content. I've had a nice long talk with them, so I'm pretty sure you're the legit article."
I stare down at the HT and reach for the button, but he stops me.
"I wouldn't do that right now though," he warns, "last night they could communicate to us because they were stopped for the night to make camp, but they're probably on the move again now. You don't want to draw any attention to them."
Something in my throat aches and I feel something tugging at me to ignore his advice, but he's right. As much as I want to hear them now, I can't endanger them to do so. I lower the HT and fasten it onto my belt.
Suddenly, one of the men starts to shout. We look across; one of the watchers on the wall is pointing, their finger aimed at something moving in the distance. It grows closer, a battered, beaten up bot with sparks of electricity popping out from it. I tense, but Max is on it.
"I got it," he calls, standing up and walking to the edge. As I watch, he pulls a handgun from his pocket and swings it around, showboating massively. Then he aims it, pulls the trigger - and misses by a mile.
"Damn it," he mutters, before firing again. He misses again, the bullet striking the ground in front of the bot this time. It kicks up a cloud of dust, but that doesn't slow it down. Now it's heard the shots, it's making a beeline for the wall.
Max aims the gun again, but I find myself reaching out. He's aiming too low. My hands find his and I raise them a little, aiming for him and holding him steady. He eyes me curiously and I give him a confident smile.
"You sure?"
I nod. He shrugs, looks back at the bot and fires for a third time. This time it strikes the bot's core, not stopping it but forcing it to slow to a crawl. The others cheer; Max blows on the gun and then grins, lapping up their adoration before turning to me.
"How did you learn to shoot?"
I lift my hands to sign, but then think better of it and simply shrug. There's no point in trying to explain it. It's easier to just not answer.
Max studies my face for a moment, then nods.
"Well, we don't usually allow women to leave the walls without an escort, and we certainly don't let them have guns, but I'm sure I can put you to good use. I mean, technically you’re not from here. Why follow our rules?"
He indicates for me to follow him, but not before tapping Thomas on the arm.
"Hey, do me a favour? Take over for a bit. And don't forget to take out that bot once it gets close enough."
Thomas nods, taking the gun that’s offered to him and collapsing into the deck chair. I notice that he sits with a little more pride now, holding the firearm like it's a treasured momento. Somethin
g stirs in my chest and I feel a warmth towards him. Yes. I think he's one of the good guys.
Max shows me around Street. There are storage rooms of food that they keep locked, a well that provides that somewhat-clean water from earlier, and a number of shelters. Some people try to sell or trade various scavenged items in the street. I pause and look at the wares someone has spread out, but then they meet my eyes with their own distrusting ones and I find myself moving on.
"So, uh… I reckon I'll probably just put you on duty helping with building," he tells me, "that's not to say you should actually help with it, but just to be on hand in case the guys need anything. We're always building new structures here. We filled this whole place before, and then we were attacked. We lost a few people but also all of our shelters, so we've had to rebuild from scratch."
I follow him to the corner of Street, where a small group of men are trying to build something. They have stacks of rope, metal and wire, and seem to be trying to figure out how to put it together. One of the men holds up a pole, swinging it gently from one hand to the other, confusion apparent on his face. They pause when they see us approach, but Max just waves at them.
"Hey guys. I've brought you some help for the day."
The men eye me carefully; their gaze following the lines of my body, weighing me up. No doubt they've all heard about me by now. The stranger who's here for a while, who can't talk. Maybe they've also heard about my confrontation with Minni - perhaps I've already been branded a troublemaker.
One of the men stands upright and extends his hand to me. He's a little older than Max, his hair a dark brown, his eyes soft and warm. I take his hand, momentarily surprised at the strength of his grip.
"Marcus," he says, "you're the new girl, right? I don't know your name."
He stares at me or a moment, and I realise with a start that he expects me to answer. I must look a little awkward, because he drops my hand and laughs.
"I'm just kidding. It's Ash, right?"
One of the men pipes up from behind him.
"I thought it was Mouse."
Marcus blinks.
"It is? That's an odd name. I think I prefer Ash.”
I simply smile, and he gives me a reaffirming nod.
"Alright then. Ash it is. Listen, we're trying to build a new shelter to keep out the heat. It should be fairly easy, but it looks like it could take a while. So I don't know if you want to stand there and wait for us to give you something to do, or…"
He waits until Max is out of earshot before lowering his voice.
"I don't suppose you want to help us?" he asks, "I'm going to be straight with you here, we don't have nearly enough people to build at the speed he wants."
I hesitate, then nod. I don't want to disobey, but I don't see the harm in helping out.
The next few hours are a quiet chaos. I spend at least forty minutes at a time holding structures up while the others secure them. My limbs ache and more than once I find myself wincing from the pain of the cut on my upper arm. Most of the men try to avoid my eyes, and only give me one or two word orders. At one point someone has to stand opposite me, and he carefully looks away. His eyes dart around, up, down, any direction that means he doesn't have to meet my gaze. I get it. I'm more than used to this happening. Even putting aside the stories they've heard about me, knowing that I'm mute is probably enough of a reason for feeling unsure. Most people have more important things to worry about without needing to be sensitive to me. If I'm honest, I prefer it to the pitiful, prideful look that I usually get. Ignore me if you like. I can deal with that.
Marcus, though, is more considerate. Though nervous and unsure at first, with each interaction he begins to relax, even to the point of gently ribbing me about my muteness. I must say it's the first time someone has so openly mocked me in such a friendly way - the first few times I feel a little uneasy, not sure of the meaning behind his words, but eventually I find myself warming to him. He seems like a nice person, if a little awkward and uncomfortable.
The shelter goes up slowly but surely, and as the structure is almost done, I'm set to work tying the cloth together over the top to make a tent. The men don't offer to help me; I can only imagine that something like this is deemed to be a woman's job. But as I hold the cloth in my hands, I feel a small sense of unease. I'm not a domestic type. I can't cook and I've never cleaned a thing in my life, save for sterilising medical supplies. I've never felt a need to sew or fix clothes. Anything akin to motherly affection was washed out of me years ago. It takes me longer than I'd have thought to figure out how to connect the scraps of cloth into a solid piece, and by the time I've finished the others have wandered away, leaving me to it.
I hesitate when it's time to fasten the cloth onto the frame. It's so high, three times my height, and as far as I can see, the only way to get up there is to climb. I place one foot on the nearest joint, where a heavy screw sticks out. As I pull myself up the whole thing creaks, and I wince a little. I glance behind me; but nobody is even looking my way. They bustle by, so involved in their own business that they don't even look away from what they're doing. I set my jaw and climb up again, the cloth draped over my shoulder. This time the creak is a little louder and I pause, but it seems to hold my weight. I scramble a little higher, up to the top, and reach back over my shoulder to grab the cloth and pull it. But it seems to snag on something. I pull a little harder, trying to yank it free, but it holds fast. I turn a little, pull sharply - and lose my balance.
In a second, it's all over. The structure shatters - I tip forward and fall towards the concrete floor. I feel my eyes widen and curl my body, bracing for the impact.
Chapter Eleven
It doesn't come. Instead, I feel something warm and soft around me, and hear a cry. I lie on top of it - on top of someone - my body miraculously uninjured. I open my eyes and try to shift my weight, but arms find me and hold me fast.
"Don't move. Are you hurt?"
The voice is so familiar to me that my gut clenches. Max sits up, lifting me slowly with him, his hands firmly holding onto my shoulders. I spy a nasty bruise blossoming on his cheek and frown - but he waves my hand away and helps me stand. I blink slowly, unsure of what just happened. Did I fall on him? Did he catch me? Was it some peculiar combination of the two?
He looks me up and down, and then his gaze lifts to the broken frame behind me. I glance back - that loose screw is gone. That must have been what the cloth caught on.
For a moment, I expect him to be mad at me. Adam would be. If I had screwed something up so badly, there'd be no living with him afterwards. Max turns to me and I wince, cringing back from him as though I expect him to hit me. But instead, he gently lays a hand on my arm.
"I'm glad you're okay. But why were you up there all alone?"
I shrug. I can't exactly explain what happened; but as he stares at me, he seems to piece it together.
"Did those guys just up and leave you to do this on your own?"
I don't respond. I don't want to get involved in this. But Max's face darkens, and I can sense that he's about to get angry.
Just then, Marcus and a couple of the others run up. They stare at us, Max holding my arm, the bruise on his cheek, the shattered frame, and their eyes grow wide. Marcus steps forward, concern filling his face, while the others step back in hopes of avoiding Max's anger.
"Oh god," Marcus cries, "Max, are you alright? What happened?"
Max growls, pushing me aside and stepping up to Marcus, so close their noses almost touch. I shrink back, wishing I could fade into the brick wall behind me.
"I asked you to watch her," he hisses, "I asked you to make sure she was safe. And instead you leave a stranger alone. Do you have any idea how badly Ash could have been hurt?"
Marcus' face falls, but then he growls back.
"Yeah, I get that, but come on Max. We have enough to be getting on with without having to chase some girl around. She's not even staying here. Does it matter what happens to her?"
>
For a moment, his eyes meet mine, and I feel a pang of sadness. Shame. I had thought he was a good guy, likable, friendly. But it turns out he doesn't care for me much, either.
Max narrows his eyes.
"Of course it matters. This girl is from the theme park group. We don't want to screw up our relationship with them by killing one of their people. Damn it, Marcus. When I give you an order, I expect you to follow it.”
The older man glares, and for a moment I think he might punch Max, but then he heaves a weary sigh and shakes his head.
"Fine. Fine. We'll finish the shelter."
"You damn well bet you will. Take this."
Max pushes the scrap of cloth into his hand and begins to walk away, only to pause and turn back to me.
"Come with me. I've got another job for you."
I follow, but I can feel the others glaring at me, their eyes fixed on my back. I empathise. They probably feel like I got them in trouble. Perhaps they even think I did it on purpose. I swallow hard as I follow Max into one of the buildings. I'm not doing a great job at making myself likeable at the minute.
As soon as the door closes behind us, Max sighs.
"I'm really sorry about that," he tells me, "it's not unusual for the guys to be lazy or to leave one person to do it all themselves, but I didn't expect this."
He gazes at me, and his expression softens.
"We've not been very welcoming to you, have we?" he mutters, "I heard about what happened with Minni this morning."
My gut clenches. I wondered how long it would be before someone brought that up. No doubt he thinks I'm a hot-headed, aggressive nightmare now.
"I can only apologise. Minni can be… difficult. It's not just with you. She's that way with every newcomer. But she warms up eventually, I promise. Just, do me a favour? Try not to provoke her any further."
I nod, by my heart sinks. He's being so nice to me, trying so hard to give me a chance, but I'm screwing it up at every turn. Now I know he's only being kind to ensure that our groups don't clash, I wonder if he'd be so good to me if he didn't think I was important. No doubt Adam overstated my position in an attempt to make him want to look after me - but if he knew how unimportant my position really is, he likely wouldn't be bothered with me. Damn. I need to step up and stop letting everyone down.