Page 105 of Homebound
She stumbled out of the grotto when the darkness thinned out enough to be able to move about. Dropping her eyes to the rocky ground, she searched for her tin can. Curse them, whoever they were. That tin can was the only container she could use for water.
There it was, badly dented now on one side, lying next to a… body. Gemma whimpered as she stumbled backwards, unaware of doing so until her rump hit the wall. Her mouth dry, she worked to get a grip of her fright while looking at the shirtless dead Perali alien laying in front of her.
Stepping carefully around him, she snatched her precious can and cradled it in her hands, examining the body.
The alien’s head had been smashed mightily with something heavy, creating a small cave on one side of his skull and forcing his ear to fall in. Blood liberally smeared his face and shoulder on the injured side. One eye was closed, but the other one was not, and it stared, glassy and unseeing, at Gemma.
She shuddered.
She couldn’t just leave him here, could she? He wouldn't be found for days. Her grotto’s location out of direct access from the street was its main attraction, but in this case, it presented Gemma with a problem. She imagined coming here every night and stepping over him. Sleeping in her cave with the decomposing body keeping her company.
Amazed at how complicated her life had become in mere days, she bundled up her possessions like she did every morning and stuffed the bundle into the grotto. She had to stop and take several deep breaths to gather her courage and her strength.
Then, taking hold of the Perali’s legs, she started pulling him toward the street like a horse pulling a sleigh. He was heavy as hell and his head made sickening sounds as it bumped against the rocks on the ground.
Reaching the corner, Gemma carefully peeked around to make sure no one was around. It was still relatively dark, and the street was deserted.
She dragged the body into the street and left it there to be found, fading away as fast as she could. She felt small and cowardly for not seeking justice for the poor killed and robbed Perali, yet very protective of her grotto. Like a small wild animal, she was anxious to protect her territory. Even from the dead.
Weak from the lack of sleep and hunger and winded from her morning activities, Gemma took her place in line at the docks. As before, the man in the mushroom hat came out and read aloud open assignments. People responded. Gemma responded too, to all, though today it was hard to pretend to be eager. She squared her shoulders as she raised her hand and tried to make eye contact with the recruiter whenever he passed near her. She stubbornly stayed almost to the end.
Eventually, she had to admit defeat and leave for the market before it closed. She bought a slice of hard bread, a small chunk of cheese, and a pint of goat milk. She gulped the milk down first careful not to let a single drop escape.
Food wasn’t a luxury. She had to have the stamina to work when selected.
The dead Perali disappeared by the time she came to the grotto, no doubt picked up by the militants to be buried in a no-name alien grave behind the City’s sewers. Here today, gone tomorrow. Like he never existed. Gemma wondered if he had a family. Would anyone on this earth notice that he never came home? She knew nothing about Perali home life. Perhaps they were solitary, lonely creatures without attachment, roaming this world all on their own. Gemma felt like that about herself.
That night, the dreams came. Of the prison with its smells and sounds, the regulated routines and squeaky buckets. Of aliens. Of Simon.
She woke up in her cold, dark cave in tears. She wouldn’t allow her mind to turn to Simon during the day and kept the debilitating memories under the lock and key. And there were other things to occupy her thoughts, her entire life to worry about. But seeing the dead Perali had provoked the dreams.
She dreamed of Simon’s huge black eyes, shiny like the blackest onyx. His mass of hair she so lovingly braided and a smooth, graceful way in which he moved, his limbs almost lazy in their rising and falling, in performing mundane tasks, in killing…
I won’t leave earth without you, he’d said.
He’d meant it at that moment, she was sure, just like Zeke had meant to send for her from Meeus. But distance dulled feelings, righted bias, and put things into perspective. Simon and she were too different. They weren’t meant to be…
Gemma spent the next two weeks going to the docks and standing in line, moving not an inch closer to being employed. She watched people getting picked and couldn't help but notice that the lucky hires were almost exclusively men, strong-looking but not rough, unlikely to turn into troublemakers. The mushroom man had an eye for selecting quality goods, she had to give him that.
There were women in the line, of varying ages and sizes, but like Gemma, they usually waited in vain. She had seen a few receive assignments, but they were an exception to the rule.
Only once the mushroom man looked down his nose at Gemma and asked if she could drive a monorail trolley.
“Not that particular trolley, but I am an exceptionally quick learner. Very mechanically inclined.” She produced a bright smile, but it was lost on the man; he’d already moved on.
She continued to buy her food at the market where the lady at the dairy stall now recognized her. They smiled at each other and engaged in small talk.
Gemma’s money was dwindling at an alarming rate. She finally had to resort to eating only every other day. She didn’t mind. Besides the savings she’d realize, her need to go to the bathroom would also diminish, and that alone was hugely appealing. The grotto boasted no amenities, and even after so many days of practicing it, baring her buttocks to the wind while crouching behind buildings was torture to Gemma’s senses. Yes, she was ill-prepared for her new circumstances. Blame it on her parents.
She wondered what mom and dad would have thought had they seen her as she was today. She knew they would have been sorry for her and heartbroken. But would they also be disappointed at her inability to adapt? What would Foy have said? Sudden tears filled her eyes. Every time she thought of Foy she wanted to weep, and he’d been dead long before her world had crumbled. She’d come to terms with her parents’ deaths, but not with Foy’s. Her beautiful, capable brother. He would have known what to do now. Unlike her, Foy had been a fighter. He had been resourceful. He had been their future.
A sick feeling crept up on Gemma with the thought that if one of them had been destined to die, it should have been she, not Foy.
Gemma angrily wiped away her tears. She wouldn’t let Foy down. He’d sacrificed his life in battle against aliens so that people like Gemma could go on living. And so she would. She must.
It was raining again today, a slow cold drizzle, monotonous and morose. After standing by the docks all day, Gemma’s clothes were thoroughly wet, and by the time she left the market, she started shivering. Nibbling on her customary bread and cheese, she slowly made her way back to her grotto, thinking about everything and nothing in particular. She hadn’t noticed them approach.
Suddenly, someone grabbed her by the arms and brutally spun around. Another set of hands caught her and wrestled her arms behind. Her bread and cheese fell on the ground.
