“Wait. Why pepper?”
Jeanie’s eyes go wide. “Girl, you haven’t heard? They announced it today. Big press conference and everything. Pepper is the…what’d they call it? I don’t know, but if you’re infected, it makes you storm. It triggers the Violence. Caps-something, some molecule, I don’t know. All the stores are pulling it from the shelves. Black pepper, salsa, jerky, pepper spray.”
Chelsea glances back at her kitchen, so quick, but Jeanie catches it.
“Yeah, go inside and get some, if you want. Better self-defense than a bulletproof vest, these days. Looks like you’re packing out. I don’t blame you. David finally hit critical mass?”
Chelsea takes a deep breath. It’s a long story, and she doesn’t really have time to tell it now.
“I called the Violence hotline on him…” she starts.
And of course Jeanie connects the dots. “Oh shit! So they took him away. What’ve you been doing since then?”
“Keeping inside.”
“Oh. Because now you’ve got it. Why didn’t you call me?”
Chelsea looks down and away, and Jeanie puts a hand on her arm. “Honey, it’s not your fault. You know that, right? So don’t you start feeling bad about it. I would’ve texted you, but David caught me at the mailbox and told me to leave you the fuck alone, or else. His exact words. I didn’t want to make it worse. Didn’t know if he had access to your phone. And I looked for you outside, but…well, it’s a hell of a time, isn’t it?” Before Chelsea can answer, Jeanie keeps on talking. “Wait, where are the girls?”
Every question brings a new flush of shame and rage, but Jeanie is the closest thing to a real friend that she has left, and anyway, what does she have to lose, telling the truth? “My mom’s going to take them for a while. Get them vaccinated. I have to find a job.”
Jeanie frowns at the mounds of bags barely visible through the van windows.
“So you’re just leaving?”
Chelsea takes a step closer to the van. Every moment now means something it didn’t before.
“There are no jobs here. I’ve got the sickness. I need to go up north, where it’s cold.” She squints up at the sun; it’s already in the mid-nineties in Florida. “Colder. I need to make enough money to…” She cuts herself off. She doesn’t have time to get into the thing with her mom and money and vaccinations. “Support the girls. But I need to hurry. David could be coming home any moment. So I guess this is goodbye.”
She looks up at Jeanie, wondering if theirs is more of a hug friendship or just a nodding sort of thing, at this point. They used to have coffee, go to neighborhood Bunco, do Zumba. When she was selling Dream Vitality, Jeanie was the only person who bought any, even if it was just a bottle of lavender and a diffuser, and then Jeanie was the only person willing to tell her to back off about the oils, already. But in the last few months, David had gotten bitchier about Jeanie, and Chelsea couldn’t take it anymore, so she just stopped answering.
Oddly, Jeanie isn’t frowning, not even that polite sort of social frown people use when they don’t know what to say. Jeanie’s dark-brown eyes are alight and crinkling in the corners like Santa Claus.
“What is it?” Chelsea asks.
“You’re going to think this is crazy, but I’ve got a lead on a job. Jobs, plural. Pays really well. And they don’t care if you’re infected because they’re promising vaccination.”
“What is it?”
Because Chelsea will do anything for her girls, but…there are some jobs she just can’t do.
Jeanie pulls out her phone and shows her an email. A flyer, really. As Chelsea realizes what it offers, she shakes her head.
“The Violence Fighting Ring?”
Jeanie nods. “Sounds badass, right?”
“No way. That’s insanely dangerous.”
“No, it’s not. You have to keep reading.”
Chelsea waves a hand and steps back toward the van. “You can’t be serious. When we’re storming, we’re just gone. Monsters. If you have it, you know that. We can’t fight each other. We’d kill each other.”
Jeanie pulls back her phone, chuckling. “You didn’t read it all. It’s like pro wrestling. It’s all made up. You just pretend to fight. Costumes, props. They’ll train you.”
“If it’s just like pro wrestling, then why aren’t they using pro wrestlers?”
“Because they want it to seem real. Real people, people you don’t expect. No steroids, no insane bodies. Regular folks, caught in the throes of the Violence and battling it out on the stage.”
Chelsea backs into the van’s open door, sits on her seat, and chews her lip. “Why?”
“Because it’s all bread and circuses! The people are scared, and they need entertainment. Didn’t you watch that old show, GLOW, about the underground women wrestlers? This is like that. We could get in on the ground floor. Tryouts are in Deland through Sunday. I was going to leave tomorrow morning, but maybe we could head out tonight, if you need to hop town.” She shoves her hands in the pockets of her jean shorts and rocks back on her heels in her flip-flops. “No prior experience needed. Girl, I’ve been shopping and making deliveries for rich assholes for weeks—for crappy tips—and I’m ready to make some real money, do something fun. And get vaccinated. It’d take years to get it, otherwise, at the going rate. Don’t you want to get the hell out of…” She waves her arms at Chelsea’s house. “Don’t you want to get away from this?”
“Not from my girls,” Chelsea says, oddly breathless.
“Oh, it’s only Deland. Just two hours away. Come with me. Make a bunch of money. The pay is good; a hell of a lot better than the delivery shifts I’m picking up. Believe me: Nobody here is hiring, and nobody up north wants a new employee with a Florida tan. You need that vaccine. And it sounds like your mom will keep them safe.”
Chelsea isn’t so sure about that, but it’s also the best idea she’s come across. She hates the thought of driving north into a place she’s never been with no real destination in mind, all alone, knowing every moment that she could run out of money or pop a tire or snap and kill someone. She understands that the delivery services don’t pay enough to survive, and she knows she’s not qualified for much, considering she has a high school diploma and no references. David cut off every ray of hope, every avenue of escape. Did he do it on purpose, or is it just a side effect of his shitty, controlling ways?
“I have to leave today, Jeanie. I can’t be here if he—”
Jeanie puts a hand on her arm again, squeezing gently. “I know. I know you can’t. I just need to finish packing, and we could go. Might be good for you, y’know?”
Chelsea feels like she’s standing on a precipice, like she’s staring down into an abyss that’s endlessly dark and yet somehow welcoming. She had no options, and now she has one. Even if it’s insane, at least she won’t be alone. At least she’ll have hope.