Page 2 of All Your Days
I brush the dirt from myself, even though it’s useless—the stuff is as much a part of us as the virus is. It just gives me something to do with my hands until I get myself together. It’s a trick Moby taught me, for when I get all flustered around the smarty-pants scientists in the Labs.
But my nerves are extra shot, not just because I almost got bit by an infected snake. Nope. That’s now the least of my concerns. Because I landed on astranger. And that could very well be worse for me than the snake. Because therearen’tstrangers here. Not at The Facility.
Dusting myself off also lets me check my belt loop for my knife.
Ah, double fuck. It’s missing. I really am screwed. I peek back over my shoulder at the mountain of rubbish. Maybe I should just jump back on? I’m gonna be buggered going back without my knife.
The stranger at least seems to be having problems of his own. He’s still lying on the ground, cupping his bits and hissing in pain.
Even though he’s on the ground, I reckon he’s taller than me, by a good head and shoulders, too. But he looks like he’s only a couple of years older. He has that awkward sort of body teenagers get, when they are really done being kids, but aren’t really an adult yet.
He might look older than me, but he has to be dumber. It’s hot as hell out here and he’s got a long raggedy duster jacket that he has to be sweatin’ bullets in. It swamps his skinny body. At least he’s got facial hair. Well, kinda. It looks like he’s trying to grow a beard, but he’s only managed to grow some pubes on his face instead.
That’s what Jessica would say. She can be ruthless sometimes. It’s why I like her.
The boy finishes his moaning and turns his head to glare at me. His eyes are dark and his even darker eyebrows are pulled down in a fierce glare.
A funny sort of feeling floods my stomach, sloshing through my veins like that time I nicked some of the Guards’ grog with the other grunt kids. My stomach flips over and I'll be damned if it doesn’t feel like I'm falling from the pile all over again.
“Who’re you?” The words burst out of me like vomit. Kinda like how the grog did the next morning when we all woke up sicker than dogs.
The boy frowns even harder at me, though I can’t imagine how, or what I’ve done to earn it. When he rolls himself to standing, I take the opportunity to stare at him as much as I want to.
Where did he even get those boots, anyway? Sturdy, heavy and black, they don’t look new, but they are holding themselves together. They’re almost like the boots the armymen wear. Except he is far too young to be one of them.
Plus, I’ve never seen hair like that on an armyman, either. It’s pulled back into a half-knot and the rest is plaited with bits and pieces all through. And armymen wear their uniform—a dull brown thing with patches on their arms showing their loyalty to the New Australian Union. At least around here they do.
I’ve never seen them wearing worn through denim pants, stained so badly the original colour has been lost, and nearly threadbare shirts.Plaid. Moby told me that once, that pattern isplaid. It used to be important. But I’ll be fucked if I can remember why. Moby tells me too many things for them all to stick.
He’s a merchie!They’re here!Ah shit. It’s shameful, really, that it took me so long to figure that one out.
He’s looking at me now, too, those thick lips of his curled up on one side. My guts churn even harder at that look. Iknowthatlook, it’s one I’ve gotten my whole life. Usually, I don’t give a shit. But coming from him, it makes my cheeks burn worse than the sun.
Unlike his fancy-pants boots, my shoes are too big for my feet and soles nearly rotted off. And Glenny sewed my shirt out of old material she gathered up. Except, Glenny isn’t very good at sewing and so it hangs at a strange angle. At least my pants fit. But I reckon I’m the fifth one to wear them and it shows. But they fit.
And most importantly, we get what we get at The Facility. And we’re grateful to get it. Especially for a grunt like me—right at the bottom of the pecking order.
The moment draws out long between us, the sun unbearably hot. I want to squirm, but I don’t. I straighten my shoulders and shake out my hair. It’s longer than it should be, so Moby will be on me to get it cut soon. But it’s nowhere near as long as the stranger’s, whose braids fall past his shoulder blades. The stranger's hair is darker, too, almost black, compared to the more dull brown that falls hopelessly around my face.
I can’t seem to stop myself from looking at him. He looks… nice. Well, not like a nice person. He looks angry as shit. Hisfaceis nice.
I wonder if I could draw him? I won’t be able to get the warm brown colour of his skin because I still haven’t been able to scrounge up enough to trade for paints yet, but with my charcoals? Maybe?
“Jacob,” he spits the word out, his voice rough and scratchy.
He’s probably thirsty. Probably too hot under that giant jacket. Why is he even wearing that thing anyway? He must be just about dying under that stupid thing. Only it isn’t stupid. I am man enough now to know that I’m jealous. I’ve never had anything that sturdy to wear in my life. I reckon it would be greatfor when I have to go foraging with the other kids in the wet season.
“You here with the merchies?” I ask eventually. I’ve never been able to sit in silence for long. It drives Moby mad, but he ain’t any better, always whistling and humming in the Labs.
Jacob stuffs his hands in the deep pockets of his coat, standing a bit taller.
“Yeah.”
“Huh,” I grunt back, copying his attitude. I even stick my hands in my pockets, just like him.
Jacob notices. Probably because he’s looking at me just as hard as I’m looking at him. He tips his eyes down to my hands and raises an eyebrow. For once, I keep my lips zipped shut, even when my cheeks feel just about like I’m gonna set the place on fire.
Well, I try to keep my lips zipped. A thousand feelings I don’t know how to name squirm in my belly, making it real difficult.
