by Tracey Ward
It’s time for me to try my hand at sewing.
I wish they’d let me save us all the trouble and listen to me when I say that this is not my place. But Melissa isn’t hearing any of it.
“You’ll do great!” she beams, leading me through the building to where they store the machines and fabrics. “Everyone has hidden talents. You have so much potential but you’ve been robbed of the chance to experience it. We’re giving that back to you. It’s so exciting!”
I am not excited.
She continues to lead me toward the sewing room, which I think is odd. I know where it is because I saw it on the tour. I tell her as much but, again, she isn’t hearing it.
“I want to make sure you meet everyone and get settled in,” she insists.
She wants to make sure I show up is what it is and fair enough. Left unattended, I wouldn’t set foot in that room. As it turns out I’m glad I do. The second we walk in and all heads lift from their work to see who has arrived, I come face to face with my attacker.
The room is laid out long and narrow. A large loom that I imagine was part of an exhibit sits at the far end along with two ancient looking sewing machines, the kind from the old days that you pedaled with your feet instead of running on electricity. Most of the 10 or so women in here are sitting at long tables with baskets of fabric, pins, patterns and God knows what else in front of them, but I only have eyes for one.
“Everyone, we have a newbie here,” Melissa sings, pulling me forward to put me on display. “This is Joss. She’s been through a lot of the outdoor jobs recently, staying out in the fresh air. She’s needed to take her time adjusting to the good life.”
She smiles at me as the room breaks into small chuckles.
I smile faintly, trying to look sheepish. “I’m blown away by having a hairbrush again. Everything else is a little overwhelming.”
More soft chuckles around the room. I can feel all eyes on me as they weigh me down with their pity. Melissa even whispers an ‘Oooh’ and rubs her hand on my back. I resist the urge to shake free.
“Well, that nightmare is over. You’re safe and sound with us now, sweetie. Girls, let’s make her feel at home, alright? Who would like to show her the ropes?”
All hands in the room rise eagerly. All but one. I look at my attacker and watch as she tentatively raises her hand, obviously not sure about being in close quarters with me. But if she doesn’t raise her hand like everyone else it will look suspicious. The sheep mentality of this joint rolls over me hard in a hot, smothering wave.
I have got to get out of here.
“Lovely, thank you!” Melissa cries, happy to see everyone so eager to take me on. She gestures to the group and smiles at me. “Take your pick.”
I pick the hesitant girl with the fading yellow bruise around her eye.
She’s about twenty five or so, petite and kind of mousy. I’m pretty surprised she felt confident enough to take me on. My left shoe weighs more than this girl.
She watches me closely as I walk toward her and sit down slowly at her end of the table. I’m sitting directly beside her specifically to make her nervous. I’m in her peripheral but there’s nothing separating us, there are sharp scissors in her basket only a foot away from me and I’m a big angry unknown for her.
I smile warmly, extending my hand to her. “I’m Joss. What’s your name?”
“Lexy,” she murmurs.
“Not gonna shake my hand, Lexy?” She doesn’t answer. “Probably smart. I have a pretty brutal handshake. Nice eye, by the way.”
“Nice right hook,” she replies, turning to look at me.
I smile again. “I have a lot of practice.”
“That answers my question then.”
“What question? Whether or not I can take you? Shouldn’t have even been a question.”
She shakes her head, looking away. “I wasn’t looking for a fight.”
“You grabbed my face in the dark while I slept. If not a fight, then what were you looking for?”
Lexy glances down the length of the table nervously. I look as well and catch all eyes on us. They quickly go back to their work.
“I was looking for you,” Lexy whispers.
I frown. “Why?”
“There are rumors that one of you in the group that just arrived was living alone on the outside.” She leans in closer to me. I think it’s a brave move because I don’t like it. At this point, even I don’t know how I’m going to respond to her. “A lot of people think it was that girl Nats, but I’ve always thought it was you.”
“Why does it matter?”
“Because you know stuff. Stuff that isn’t filtered by the gangs or… other people,” she replies as though it were obvious.
Now I’m intrigued. “What stuff am I supposed to know?”
“How’s it going, girls?” Melissa asks, appearing out of nowhere.
“Great,” Lexy says with a buoyant smile. She’s good at turning on the happy, a lot like Vin, and I remind myself to be wary of her. “We were just talking. Getting to know each other. What pattern do you want me to teach her?”
“Something simple to start. I don’t think she’s going to be much of a seamstress, right, Joss?”
Her sweet tone makes my skin itch. Do they teach that tone here? The pitch of the voice that rides in your veins and vibrates at a frequency that makes you feel like you’re ready, willing and able to murder puppies in front of children? What kind of jacked up witchcraft is that? It’s like the devil’s brown note.
“Dead friggin’ on, Mel,” I tell her happily. “I’m better at ripping things apart than putting them together.”
Melissa smiles tightly as she retreats to the doorway. She stands watching the room but really she’s watching me. I’m pretty sure that ripper comment is going to get back to Caroline which means it will probably get back to Vin and I’ll get another lecture. Woo. Hoo.
“So this pattern is for a children’s t-shirt. It’s the easiest one we have,” Lexy says, pulling out material and laying it in front of me.
“That’s great,” I say, pushing it aside. “What stuff do you think I know?”
“Nothing,” she mutters, glancing at Melissa. “It’s not a good time.”
“You must have thought I knew something good if it was worth sneaking up on a girl from the wild while she was sleeping. So what was it?”
She doesn’t answer me. I sigh. I’d rather she wanted a fight. This is annoying.
“Why are we making children’s shirts?” I ask, examining it. There’s a lot of letters and symbols all over this thing but none of it means anything to me. “I haven’t seen a single kid here.”
“Not in this Pod, but there are children in others. They grow so fast, go through clothing so quickly, we all help make things for them.”
“That’s what you guys call each other? Pods?”
“Yeah. What—“ She takes a breath. “What do you call us on the outside?”
“Colonies,” I say with distaste. “You’re all the same thing to us.”
“How many are there?” she asks, her voice barely audible.
“How many of what are there? What are you asking?”
“How many Pods? How many Colonies are there?”
“How should I know? Three I think, though probably more,” I say, surprised by the question. “Wait, do you not know? How do you not know?”
Her eyes dart to Melissa as she fiddles with the pattern absently. “They don’t tell us.”
“That’s weird.”
“They don’t tell us a lot of things.”
That, I think, is not so weird. This Colony is smaller by far than the other two in the stadiums and I wonder if they’re the only ones kept in the dark. Are there larger Colonies somewhere else that keep secrets from the stadiums?
“Did they tell you that the zombie population was almost gone a couple months ago?” I ask casually, taking a gamble.
She freezes, her brows pinching in confusion. “That�
��s impossible. Have you seen how many Risen are outside?”
“Yeah and it’s nuts compared to downtown. Up until recently, when one of your Pods fell, the Risen weren’t even much of a problem.”
Lexy stares at me, her eyes suddenly sharp. “What makes you think a Pod fell recently? How recently?”
I study her face and I wonder how far I should go with this conversation. Twice now I’ve seen how quickly this girl can flip the switch and become someone else when the need is there. I wonder if I’m seeing the real her now or if this is all an act to draw me out. To find out what I know about their operation. Maybe she, Mel and Caroline are the best of friends and I’m sewing with the enemy here.
I push the pattern across the table toward her and sit back in my chair. “Why don’t you go ahead and show me how to make that shirt now?”
***
Vin shakes his head. “That’s not a shirt.
“It is too a shirt!” I cry indignantly. “Nats, tell him it’s a shirt.”
Nats, who is just waking up and enjoying a rare moment with us, sighs warily. “Honey, it’s not even close.”
“What? Yes, it is. It has a neck and sleeves. I worked really hard on this!”
“Put it on then,” Vin challenges.
I scowl at him. “It’s a child’s shirt. I can’t fit in it.”
“Too many waffles.”
“Excuse me?!”
He pulls the shirt from my hands and holds it up in front of me. “Show me where the kid’s arms fit through.”
I roll my eyes. “They fit through the sleeves, here and her—ah hell.”
I’ve sewn the sleeves shut.
“Do you see why it’s not a shirt now?”
“Shut up,” I mutter, snatching the shirt back from him.
Despite our awkward moment, Vin and I have fallen back into our regular routine. Caroline must have been thoroughly reassured of his affection for her (a thought that makes me ill) because she hasn’t given me the murderous look she did in the cafeteria. She still hates me, that much is clear, but she looks at me more like she wants to end me quickly as opposed to dancing in my blood.
“So this girl that attacked you,” Nats asks, thankfully changing the subject, “you couldn’t get a read on her?”
“No, not really,” I admit. “I mean, I think she’s legit but then again people aren’t really my thing, you know?”
“Yeah, we know,” Vin says emphatically.
I throw the non-shirt at his face.
“How’s Breanne doing?” Nats asks.
“She seems alright,” Vin tells her gently. “Caroline’s really taken her in.”
“Caroline really takes in a lot of people,” I say brightly. “Right, Vin?”
He smiles. “I knew it. I knew you were dirty. I just had to wait and have faith.”
“So you think she’s okay?” Nats presses.
“Yeah, I think she’s great. Places like this, they really do work for some people. Breanne is one of them. She’s happier here than she ever was at The Hive.”
“And you’re not worried about going back and having to tell Marlow you lost a dime?”
“What’s a dime?” I ask.
Vin looks at me pointedly. “You remember what I told you about currency?”
“Yeah.”
“Breanne is a dime. A tenner.”
“What, like ten dollars?”
“Yeah.”
“Are you serious?!” I cry, feeling massively insulted on Breanne’s behalf. “That’s insane. She’s beautiful.”
“Not really,” Nats says evenly. “She’s pretty, sure, but that’s not all that matters. Personality plays a big part and she’s sweet, but she’s not much else.”
I want to ask Nats what she is. If she’s a dime as well, though I can’t believe she would be, not as smart as she is. But I’m worried it’d be offensive to ask. I’m also blown away by the fact that Vin labeled me a hundred dollar bill. What is it about me that sets me so high?
I look up to find him watching me, his eyes amused. He knows exactly what I’m thinking.
“You flattered yet, Kitten?”
I can feel myself starting to blush so I change the subject. “Who’s Marlow?”
The amusement in Vin’s eyes vanishes. “Marlow is the King of The Hive.”
“He’s basically Vin’s boss’s boss’s boss.”
“Wait,” I say, looking to Vin. “You’re that high up in The Hive?”
“You’re surprised?”
“I thought you were a Stable Boy.”
“I told you, I’m The Stable Boy.”
“I don’t know what the difference is? Is there one?”
“It means he’s a big deal,” Nats explains. “He’s kind of like the gang’s banker. So going back without Breanne is going to be like losing money. It doesn’t look good.”
“What will happen to you?” I ask him quietly.
He smirks. “You worried about me?”
“Maybe a little. What will happen?”
“Nothing,” he says coolly, looking at Nats. “Cause we’re gonna tell them she’s dead.”
Nats nods solemnly in agreement.
“That seems extreme,” I tell him. “Can’t you tell him she doesn’t want to come back?”
“No. She belongs to the gang. Time, effort and resources have gone into her.”
“What? Like food and water? She owes her life for that?”
“Food, water, shelter, soap, clothing and medicine. The women in the stables are the healthiest people in The Hive and these days that doesn’t come cheap.”
“If you’re so high ranking how are you okay with losing her?”
“Because I’m the one who would have to deal with her if we took her back. It’s fine for the King to want to keep all of his women at any cost, but the reality falls on me. I’d have to work with a woman who’s been to the other side and loved it. Can you imagine what a nightmare it would be to get her working again after she’s lived like this?”
I look at Nats. “But you’re okay with it? You’ll go back?”
She grins. “I don’t like cages any more than you do. But Breanne is good with them. Especially gilded ones.”
“But aren’t you owned by The Hive? Isn’t that a cage?”
“Nats has paid her debts in full and she keeps it that way,” Vin tells me. “She can walk at any time. She’s free.”
“And you choose to stay?”
“Where else would I go?” she asks softly, yawning. “Alright, kids, I’m going to work. Find a way to get us out of here, would you?”
“You got it, Nats.”
“Later,” I call, watching her walk away.
“You’re already healthy,” Vin says, watching me with a sly smile. “You’d be out of debt and free in no time.”
I groan. “Give it a rest. What are we gonna do about getting out of here? You got a plan yet?”
“You need to keep sewing or join the laundry crew,” he says, turning serious. “We need more clothes than they’ll ever give us at one time. It doesn’t have to be sweaters and jackets, but we need layers at least.”
I glance at the balled up material of my almost child’s shirt and shake my head. “I think I’d better switch to laundry.”
“I think you should stay where you are.”
“Why?”
“Because of the girl.”
“I don’t know what her deal is, though. I seem to know more than she does and that’s assuming she’s not a spy. What if she’s working for Caroline and her crew? What if everything she says and does is a test?”
“Then you better not fail.”
I glower at him. “That’s not helpful at all. What does that even mean?”
“Look, you’re smart, Kitten,” he says, scratching his head lazily. “You’ll figure it out. I have faith in you.”
“Alright, fine, I’ll make friends with her.”
“Good. You need to start playing in all their reindeer game
s or you’re going to end up an outcast. That looks more suspicious than anything.”
I scowl at him. “Are you quoting Christmas songs at me?”
“It’s that time of year,” he says with a smile.
“Ugh, don’t remind me.”
He chuckles. “Not a fan of Christmas?”
“No. I hate it.”
“What if I promise to get you something pretty this year? Something shiny? Will that get you in the holiday spirit?”
“Just don’t get me a Cabbage Patch doll and we’re all good.”
“Deal.”
Chapter Fourteen
The next day I take one for the team; I tell Melissa I’ve found my calling in the sewing room. She’s genuinely excited, smiling at me like I just told her I found Jesus when what I’ve actually committed to is learning to make socks. Have you ever made a sock? From scratch? Don’t, it sucks. But it guarantees me time with my future best friend, Lexy, so I do it.
“You have to pull the thread through tightly but not so tightly that it snaps or bunches the material,” Lexy drones.
“We think a Pod was overrun with Risen because the population exploded over night,” I tell her quietly, touching the sock as though I’m examining it. As though I give a crap about it. “One day there was barely a zombie in sight, the next it was like the old days. A fallen Pod is the only thing that makes sense.”
I listen to the sound of her breathing evenly but I watch as her hands stumble with her work. “It could have been one of your gangs.”
“Not possible. There’s only one gang in the area big enough and it’s still intact. Also, there were children.”
“You don’t have children on the outside?”
“Some of the gangs do, the ones who keep women, but not this many. Why aren’t there children here?”
“This Pod was abandoned for a while. We just reclaimed it. They selected groups of us from other Pods to come and build this new one up again. It was a lot of hard work with long hours and tough labor. And there are so many Risen here. It’s too dangerous for children.”