Page 9 of All Your Days
I could probably be more comforting—the guy's eyebrows have shot up to his hairline—but I never really learnt how to do that. It’s best to not coddle him anyway. This is his new reality, and I know all too well that judgement-free honesty makes things easier to deal with than platitudes and false hope.
I do have some pity for the bloke, though; the groups going at it are getting a bit rowdy. And they’re drawing the attentionof the other residents. There are about twenty down here at the moment, and they’re all drifting towards the brewing orgy.
“Wanna play cards until food gets here?” I ask, dragging Newbie’s eyes away from the tables.
“Uh, yeah.” Newbie takes a second to adjust himself without even a little subtlety. When he realises what he’s done, his cheeks turn a fierce red with his blush. He dodges my eyes when he asks, “Are we even allowed to do that?”
“What the fuck are they gonna do ‘bout it?” I roll my eyes and push off the bars, strolling to the drawers to collect the cards the guards keep handy for quiet shifts. I collect a stool for a makeshift table and put it against the bars.
“Get a chair from over there,” I nod to a stack of chairs in the opposite direction to the orgy. “What’s your name?”
“Kelly.” He chews on his lip, his body tense and twitchy.
“Hi, Kelly. I’m Jacob.” I shuffle and deal the cards quickly. “Let’s keep it simple, yeah? Go Fish. You start.”
It’s not easy to play cards, even a game like Go Fish, with the grunting and groaning and smacking of flesh going on, but we manage. I only have to bang on the bars twice to get them to settle down. And in his ill-fitting, oversized grey jumpsuit, it’s easy to ignore Kelly’s raging erection.
I learn a lot about Kelly while we play. I learn that he has a brother, and a wife—an immune textile maker—and a baby. Little Enid.
“Perfect.” He tells me when we move on to Snap. “She’s bloody perfect. The docs aren’t sure if she’s immune yet. But they keep running their tests.”
He doesn’t say any more about her after that. And I don’t ask.
I let him win this round; it seems like the least I can do.
We play for an hour and a half before the door buzzes, announcing someone’s coming.
“Jacob, boss wants you on nine.” Huey, a fellow guard—and one of the few people I would maybe call a friend—calls in way of a greeting as he swings the door wide open.
Tobias, Kennedy, and Goontie—real name Gunther—the guards on my crew who were meant to be on duty with me follow Huey, dragging the food and lab carts behind them.
Kennedy is the only one to show any signs he’s noticed the cards I’m packing up, his eyebrow raising questioningly. It’s no secret Kennedy is a stickler for the rules ‘cause he’s gunning for a position in leadership. One time he got too pissed at a fire pit night and I had to listen to his whole plan for himself—and our entire fucking crew—for leadership. Good luck to him, I reckon, even though it’s not something I spend my nights dreaming about like he does. I try not to think about the future too hard. Too easy to get disappointed when it all turns to shit.
“Ah, fuck. They’re fucking. The docs are gonna be pissed.” Goontie throws his hands in the air at the scene on the tables. He looks despairingly between the cart and the tangle of limbs a few times before wandering to the control panel while shaking his head.
“Why didn’t you stop ‘em?” Kennedy crosses his arms over his chest, trying to look intimidating.
I mirror the look he gave me with the cards, not giving two shits about his bluster. We’re roughly the same height, but Kennedy’s got a couple of kilos more muscle on him than me. That and a few years of seniority too—in years on the guard at least. I’m not exactly sure when I was born, as there’s never been anyone around to tell me. All we’ve had is a rough guess. Not that any of it matters, he’s obviously just got a bug up his butt about something and taking it out on me. That doesn’t mean I have to take it.
“What’d you want me to do? Go in there? Drag them apart? Get a bucket of water and throw it on ‘em?”
Kennedy opens his mouth to say something, but the loud groans of the orgy reaching its climax interrupts him. Just in time for lunch.
“Ignore Kenny. He’s just mad because Union’s playin’ funny buggers' and now Command is switchin’ up everyone’s shifts. It’s why we’re late. They fucked us around and had us in the wrong section.” Tobias explains, locking the wheels on the black trolley loaded up with trays holding bowls of meaty stew. Sure it’s secured, he slaps Kennedy on the shoulder, moving past him to set up the food hatch, where they pass the trays to the residents. “Grub’s up!” He calls, opening the hatch.
“Too right they’re playin’ with things, the dickheads.” Goontie agrees from the control centre computer. His white-blonde hair falls in his eyes when he looks over his shoulder at the group. “And anyway, Doc knows it’s impossible to get blood samples from this lot, let alone their splooge.”
I take deep centering breath and look across the confined space to Huey who gives me a sympathetic grin and an eye roll when Kennedy turns his back.
“You want Stevie’s splooge, I got some here for you.”
I recognise Rebecca, the former grunt, rubbing her naked body against the bars. She worked mainly outside as an expert forager and it was a real blow to her team when she got sent down.
True to her word, the remains of Stevie’s cum trail down her thighs. Despite the guards recoiling at her display, or maybe because of it, she drags her fingers through the mess, bringing it to her mouth and sucking it off with an exaggerated moan.
“Mmm…” She taunts us, her eyes too bright and shiny, her grin unstable. “Delicious.”
“Keep that shit up, Rebecca, and I’ll assume you don’t want your food.” Huey announces, expertly manoeuvring himself between the bars and Tobias, relieving the younger guard. Most of our shifts are on watch, so Tobias is still green enough to bestunned stupid by the infected’s antics. Huey, on the other hand, isn’t.
