Page 3 of All Your Days
“Thanks. For gettin’ me down.”
Moby’s right. I gotta learn to sit in the quiet. I just can’t stand it.
Jacob looks back over his shoulder at the rust pile. At least the snake hasn’t come back, though when I tell them what happened, the guards will be by later today to set fire to the pile. Just in case it isn’t the only one.
When Jacob turns back to face me, it feels like a punch in the guts. Maybe I need to go to the doc ‘cause this can’t be right.
“Don’t mention it.” With the hard way he says it, I’m pretty sure he means it, too. “You better get back. Get someone to fix your back.”
Until he mentioned them, I’d been too distracted to notice the scratches shredding my back. But now that Jacob drew attention to them , they’re stinging painfully.
“Nah, yeah. Thanks. Again.” I wave at Jacob, and then quickly rip my hand from the air, spinning on my feet.
Only, I can’t seem to make my feet go, not fast anyway. I hang about, hoping that Jacob will say something else—anything else. But he doesn’t. I can feel his scowl on my scratched up back nearly all the way home.
Just like I hoped, the merchies are gathered in the grounds of The Facility’s inner compound. While the compound does their own supply runs to outposts and settlements, not every settlement is able to do the same.
Moby says that merchies are the backbone of survival for the people living out in the remote regions of the New Australian Union. The groups travel between settlements trading supplies and information.
Even though they are under the protection of the armymen and the Union government, it’s pretty risky out there for merchies. Not only do they have to deal with the harsh conditions out here, but they also have to contend with roaming infected humans and animals and, probably more seriously, the occasional raider group.
Raiders were more common in the years after the first Red Rain—the big storms that swept around the world spreading the virus. Moby says that red rains were common back then. We haven’t had one in years. Back then, everyone lived near the ‘coast’, where the weather wasn’t so harsh and rain—real rain, not the red rains—was more reliable. But after everything went to shit—my words,notMoby’s—they couldn’t live in the cities anymore; it was too dangerous. So they all moved inland. Itwasn’t until after the war and the Union formed and they created the armymen that order was restored.
There are two lots of walls that keep us safe here at The Facility. First, there are the big ones, far out of the way and made of concrete and stone, with big metal gates and watchtowers for the guards. No one really goes past those walls, unless they're on a supply run. It’s kind of easy to forget they’re even there, unless you see them when you’re out with the animals or foraging the land between them and the inner compound walls. Those are smaller, less scary looking and made mostly of metal bars, with another big gate with guards on watch all the time to keep us safe.
Not all merchies are allowed within the big inner compound of The Facility, so seeing their caravans and trailers and camels in the courtyard near the main building means today's trades are going to begood. Maybe I’ll finally be able to get myself some paint.
Most everything around the main building has been built in the years since The Facility became what it is now. There’s only a couple of out-buildings still left from the old days, all of them small-domed, white brick buildings that don’t look much useful for anything. There’s also a couple more fenced off areas where the grunts and craftsmen live and work and other areas for the animal stables and the few crops we manage to grow outside.
The main building itself was built to withstand pretty much anything—and really, it has. It doesn’t look as impressive as it really is. It’s like a giant grey thumb sticking out the ground. A big domed circle like the other buildings, it looks like it’s only a few stories tall, but really, most of the building is under the ground. I’m lucky to live inside with some of the other kids.
It’s on my way inside the main building, heading to my bunk to get my stash for trade, that I notice something is off about the way everyone is standing around the merchies. I have to fight toelbow my way through the crowd to see what they’re looking at. Whatever it is, it’s obviously important because the commander is striding down the weather-worn concrete steps of the main building of The Facility.
Commander Saad doesn’t have to elbow his way through. The residents make way just because of his presence. We still make it to the middle at the same time.
“Commander, thank you for your sanctuary.”
I recognise the merchie woman who greets Commander Saad, but only barely. It’s been a good couple of years since her crew’s been by. She looks different now—that exhausted kind of look that comes when people get sick before their time—and I don’t remember her having a cane before. Now she’s leaning on it heavily. Even with the cane, two merchies are keeping her steady. Her greying blonde hair is pulled up in a similar style to Jacob’s and her clothes are hanging off her thin body, just like his did. But where his was ‘cause he hadn’t grown into them, it looks like hers is ‘cause she’s shrunk from being ill.
“Sarah, you know you’re always welcome here.” He leans forward like he’s going to give her a hug hello in that awkward way adults do until he thinks better of it. Probably because she looks like she’ll keel over if he touches her wrong. “Come on, let’s talk and you can update my men on the situation.”
When the commander turns to lead the way to his offices, it becomes clear why the two merchies cling to Sarah the way they do—she can’t walk without help.
They half carry her up the stairs, while the remaining handful of their crew stick close to their transport, watching their leader disappear with worry.
The courtyard turns mad once the heavy, metal doors to The Facility seal shut, the residents rushing to find out what happened to their visitors, and begin their trades.
It’s not till late that night that I’m able to find Moby. He’s hiding like he usually is, deep within the Labs of The Facility. I’m a man on a mission when I find him. First, I want to show him what I managed to get in my trades. He always likes to see what I get. Today, it was a small rock with shining purple stones inside, and a package of pencils with a small pad of homemade paper. It’s rough to draw on, but it’s easier to get than the fresh stuff.
More than that, I want to find out the gossip about the merchies. He’s the only adult I really trust, ever since the first day he arrived by order of the Union. Before that, all I had were the other orphans here.
Moby’s never shielded me from the truth of the world before and he doesn’t tonight, either. In the quiet, fluorescent-lit labs, over a steaming cup of lemon balm tea, Moby tells me about what happened to Sarah and her merchie crew. About how they arrived at the next closest settlement to here, only to find it overrun with the infected.
“Ravaged, by their own,” Moby says quietly, swirling the tea in his chipped mug. He looks at it like he cansee. Like he’sseen. I don’t ask, though. There are things you learn not to ask the people who’ve been outside our walls. Some things you can’t unknow.
Just like there are things you can’t unsee.
“Sarah copped the worst of it, of whatever they walked into. They haven’t shared much, Eli, but they were lucky to make it out with their lives.”
