She took a slow step forward. Her voice softer now, imploring. “Why do you say that?”
It was all I could do. I lowered my hand, the leather from the book shone under the overhead lights. “Then I saw when the Lamb broke one of the seven seals, and I heard one of the four living creatures saying as with a voice of thunder, Come.”
“I looked, and behold, a white horse,” Kenya continued. “And he who sat on it had a bow; and a crown was given to him, and he went out conquering and to conquer…Pestilence, the first of the four horsemen.”
The lights above seemed to dull, and then brighten. Kenya wrenched her head up. “Shit, generator’s going. I gotta go and check the fuel.”
She shoved the clothes toward me, and stepped away. “Listen, you didn’t cause the quake. Lord knows there’s a lot we are accountable for, but one woman holding a Bible isn’t going to cause that… That door right there,” she raised a hand and pointed to the other side of the room “will take you to the shower room. The others all shower in the morning, so you got the place all to yourself. Use as much water as you want, there’s soap on the side, it smells funky, but it’ll do the job, and when you’re all clean, we’ll eat and sleep. Too late to go anywhere tonight; if you want, you can head back home in the morning.”
Her smile was sad, and not comforting. “Give yourself a break, okay? God knows, surviving in this city, you deserve it. No one’s going to hurt you here, we’re the good guys.”
The good guys. My heart soared with the words as she turned and left, and even in the echo of her boots I found it hard to comprehend—I’d found others, others that were good, others who cared…others who were creating a cure.
My knees shook as I took that first step—they were creating a cure.
It wouldn’t bring back my family. But it would give us time to breathe. Time to re-group. I lifted my head to the faint echoes of her boots. It’d give us time to find the good people left.
We could create a new world.
One without greed.
One not hungry for power.
One based on honesty and love.
As I hit the door and pushed through, my steps felt lighter, just like the thud in my chest.
Hope filled me as I stared through the shadows in the shower room. Faded light sliced through the gloom right over the massive showerhead. I lifted my gaze to the glass segment in the ceiling and stared at the sickening yellow clouds. Now, if only we had some way to heal the weather and undo all that had been done.
I kicked off my boots and eyed the bank of open shower stalls. I was lucky, I had a shower at home, but not one so big and spacious.
I closed my eyes, remembering the coconut-scented wash Mom used to buy for me. I’d give anything to return to that time, to tell them how much I missed them. I’d wrap my arms around them tight and wouldn’t let go, not to breathe…not for anything.
I sat on the long bench on the side of the room and peeled the thin gray socks from my feet, then came my jacket. I glanced at the glass window in the door as I shrugged the heavy leather free.
There was no sound from outside, no thud of footsteps that I could tell. Still, I watched the glass as I worked the belt buckle and then the button on my jeans.
Trust.
There was that word again. The one that stilled my fingers, the one that made me weak. My pulse picked up pace, thundering like a locomotive through my chest as I rose from the seat. I popped the button, and eased the zipper low. I didn’t even have to push my jeans down anymore. They tumbled like a damn avalanche to my feet.
No matter how many cans of food I ate, no matter how many biscuits and cakes I made with water and oil, the weight just slipped from my body. It was the days searching, the endless hours spent rifling through cupboards and bathrooms that made me lean.
Too lean. I lifted my hands to my shirt and snagged the hemline, raising it enough to reveal my stomach.
The fabric trembled under my hands. I took one last look at the window before I yanked the shirt over my head. I wanted to go further and step out of my panties and bra. But I couldn’t, not yet.
My trust was such a fleeting thing, like an animal racing for safety. Not yet…I took a step forward and headed for the shower. Not yet, but one day. I grasped the steel lever and pulled. Water gushed from overhead, hard, sudden…slamming my heart against the inside of my chest. I shoved my hand under the spray, cupped the stream, water trickling through my fingers as I lifted them to my face.
It smelled sweet, and fresh. I opened my mouth and licked. No sour taste, no bitter smell. I lifted my gaze to the showerhead. The steel was shiny and smooth, not pitted or rusted.
I closed my eyes and took a step. The hard spray hit my face and cascaded, running down the length of my arms. My lips curled as I stood there…a shower. A real, glorious shower. A hum vibrated my lips, even with the weight of this world inside me there were blinding moments of perfection.
Some brackish-looking muck sat in a small white container on a shelf. I reached in, scooped the gunk into my hand, and winced. Kenya was right, the stuff smelled foul. But back home, I was down to using detergent. The stuff smelled nice, but it left a film of sweat and dirt behind, on my clothes and on me.
This stuff…I gritted my teeth and ran a line along my arm. This stuff looked like it’d scrub the damn streets clean. I washed, and lathered, spreading the muck in my hair. Strands squeaked under my fingers as I coated and rinsed. I shoved my hand under the edge of my bra and skimmed my breasts, before reaching for the hemline of my panties.
I washed fast, glancing over my shoulder to the window in the door, and stood under the spray. This moment was better than a belly full of food, to be washed and clean, to be safe with people I could talk to—and I could get to trust. I hit the lever and shut the water off as my thoughts turned to Kris.
He was an asshole, even the end of the damn world didn’t change some people. Water ran in rivulets as I walked to where my clothes were and grabbed a folded towel from a pile on the bench. Everything about this place was just as it would’ve been back then, folded, clean, neat—as though time for them had stood still.
Work gave people purpose.
And in purpose there was always hope.
I dried my body and wrapped the towel tight while I slipped my wet underwear free. The sweat pants hung from my hips. I yanked the string tight and tied it in place before I dragged the clean shirt over my head.