The Shelter

by Peter Foley

  16

  New life

  Surrounding the pregnant teen is a stunningly useless crowd.

  “Stand back, give her some space.” Hazel pushes through the people. “Come on, people! Someone get towels and warm water. Is there a doctor here? Or a nurse?” she asks. The response is a few low mumbles.

  “Nurse Chamberlin! Somebody get Nurse Chamberlin!” shouts the teen.

  “Go! Go! Get the nurse!” shouts Hazel to a confused-looking man, who, prompted by her sharp look and a shout of “NOW!”, dashes off. Hazel turns her attention back to the girl. “What’s your name, honey?”

  “My name is Easter,” she says in a whisper, sitting on the floor. Her stomach is heavy, she groans.

  “Okay, Easter, I know this is painful and I know it’s less than ideal but you’re about to have a baby. If it helps, all the men can leave, okay?”

  Easter nods.

  “Okay, men, you heard, leave,” shouts Hazel. “Go on! GO!”

  A line of men eagerly shuffle to the exit.

  “No, no, not my Sid!” Easter pleads. Her eyes rush with panic.

  “Who’s Sid? Where is he?”

  “I sent him to get water and towels,” says another woman as she kneels on the floor by Easter. Hazel recognizes her as the woman Pastor had referred to as “Mother”.

  “Sid is our bus driver and Easter’s husband,” Mother says, taking Easter’s hand. “Easter, don’t you worry, I’m here for you, and so are all the girls. Breathe for me. Your Sidney got us here, he drove us to Salvation and now you’re going to have his baby in safety with us girls thanks to him. Mother is here with you.”

  “Easter, you need to breathe, okay? Breathe!” Hazel says. She and Mother loudly inhale and exhale together. Voices of sympathy and encouragement speak over Hazel’s shoulder. Easter spreads her legs wide and arches her back, her face is tensed with pain. She cries out, the last few men pick up their pace towards the exit.

  “Stay calm, you’re very dilated, so this isn’t going to take long. Keep breathing and when I say push, you push, okay?… now – PUSH!” Hazel says.

  The air is hot. As the child crowns, a collective gasp takes the air.

  “PUSH!”

  Easter pushes, her hair is mottled wet and flat against her forehead. Her face is red. She cries again.

  “PUSH! You’re nearly there, you’re doing great, stay with me, Easter,” Hazel says.

  “Where’s Sid?” Tears roll down Easter’s face.

  “He’s on his way with towels and water. Stay with me now. PUSH!” Mother says.

  Sid arrives, bringing the fetched items with him. “Here I am, baby, here I am, here I am.” Sid mops Easter’s brow with a towel then takes her hand from Mother.

  “PUSH!” Hazel says.

  Easter grips his hand. Mother puts a towel between Easter’s legs. Seconds or minutes pass. Tension eventually gives way to relief, pain gives way to exhaustion. A small, thin, throaty cry from new lungs pierces the thick air. A life is brought into the world and into Hazel’s arms. She cleans the baby up as much as she can and wraps the little delicate form in a towel.

  “It’s a boy! He’s beautiful!” Hazel says, close to tears. She hands the child to Easter. The new mother weeps with joy as she takes the baby close to her bosom and gently rocks to and fro.

  “What do you think, Sid?” whispers Easter.

  “He’s perfect! Thank Father, he’s perfect,” Sid says in a whisper and a kiss.

  The Pastor walks into the room and parts the crowd. A woman in a nurse’s uniform trails behind him.

  “Congratulations,” he declares. “What a precious scene. Praise be, a new child, a miracle has happened for all of us. What a miracle, Easter, what a miracle.”

  “Thank you, Father. He has your eyes,” Easter replies.

  The nurse gathers up the baby and assures the new mother of its health.

  Far across the room, sitting silently, is Drew’s driving partner, the still-drenched woman in black. She observes the scene and is not moved, not until Sid comes into her view. In a skipped heartbeat she recognizes the tattoos on his arms. She recognizes them as belonging to the man who raided the supermarket and killed her husband. After a rush of thoughts, her feelings grow and anger ignites. She decides that soon the world will know what happened to Ethan, and soon that man will feel her pain. Soon, she will have her revenge.

  Not now, not here, but soon…

  17

  Never argue with a fool, an onlooker may not be able to tell the difference

  “What’s she going to call the baby – Good Friday?” Drew sniggers but none of the men are listening. “Ha, get it, Good Friday, right? ’Coz, you know, her name’s Easter?” For any other man the silence would have been crushing.

  Some of the men who had evacuated the Common Room found refuge in the Sermon Hall. In an attempt to eavesdrop on the action next door, every man, apart from Drew, has one ear pushed up against the smooth concrete wall that adjoins the two rooms.

  “Shush!” Huxley says. “I can’t hear a thing with you going on!”

  “I’m losing interest by the second,” Drew says, as the other men awkwardly crane their necks against the cold hard wall.

  Hazel, Megan and Mother, plus six other women, walk into the room and laugh at the sight of so many pressed lobes.

  “The party’s over, guys,” Megan announces. “Easter’s in the medical bay. She’s had a beautiful little boy.”

  “Megan, why didn’t you tell me this place is nuts?” Drew says.

  “Nuts? A woman just gave birth, deal with it.”

  “I don’t mean that, I mean the Pastor, he’s a little on The Spectrum, don’t you think? And all these followers. It’s all a bit… you know?”

  “No, I don’t know. There’s nothing wrong with this place, or our Temple, and there’s nothing wrong with faith, Drew.”

  “After an hour in this place, I dunno about that…” he murmurs.

  “At least we believe in something, unlike you. What else would you have done tonight? If you’d have known we are a spiritual group, would that have stopped you coming here? Would you have stayed out there in the hurricane and let yourself be swept away? You ought to be thankful.”

  “I am, I think. But I don’t understand your church. You say you believe in something, but what is it? That Pastor? It sounds like you’re saying that it’s better to believe in something, simply because it’s better than not believing in something? Is it really better to have faith in that weird preacher rather than nothing at all? Regardless, I’m here now, aren’t I? So we probably best get along. At least until this thing blows over.”

  “This thing will blow over when Father wants it to blow over.” Megan has her arms by her sides and her fists rolled tight. “Say thank you.”

  Drew cocks his head to one side. “What?”

  “I said, say thank you, you ungrateful lazy prick. I knew I shouldn’t have given you directions here.”

  “Okay, okay. I can tell my opinions are in the minority here. I take it back. Thank you.”

  Megan exhales loudly, she rolls her eyes and waves a hand at him. Hearing the growing tension, Mother interjects in Megan’s direction. “Come on now, dear, we’ll go and clean up the Common Room, come now. Let us be of use. It’s no good standing around here arguing.”

  “Come on, Huxley, let’s go,” Megan says. She takes Huxley by the arm and leads him out of the room.

  Before departing, Mother turns to Drew. “Stephen’s being looked after by Father. Drew, do try and get along; we’ll have no trouble here.”

  “Sure.” He sighs.

  “And, bedtime is at ten,” she continues, with a look between Hazel and Drew. “We do not have mixed sex accommodation here. You’ll be given lodgings accordingly.”

  Hazel looks at Drew and sneers at the insinuation that she would want to lodge with him.

  “Now I must go, but I’ll be back to see you to a room before ten,” Mother says, walkin
g out into the gloomy corridor.

  “Wow. I need to get out of here,” Hazel says.

  “You and me both,” Drew says, “but outside, the state is being ripped apart by a hurricane, so what can we do?”

  Hazel looks at her phone. Zero bars. “I don’t know. We wouldn’t last ten minutes in those conditions. I need to call for help before my battery dies. I need to look for some reception, some phone signal.”

  “These walls are too thick. You won’t have any luck…” Drew says. He looks at his watch, which has water floating over the dial. “Hmm, my knock-off Rolex died in the rain. And the tail has fallen off the ‘R’. I guess I have a genuine Polex now.”

  Hazel checks her phone again, casting its bright light over her face. “It’s already close to ten and I’m exhausted. Some rest will do me good. Let’s talk about this in the morning. We can talk with that crazy pastor and explain our situation. He can’t keep us locked up in here, can he?”

  Back in the Common Room the ladies find clean-up duty heavy work. Fluids pool in small thick puddles and smear the polished floor where Easter had given birth. Each person on the cleaning crew has a large yellow sponge and an orange bucket of soapy water. Huxley and Megan get to their knees and scrub.

  A microphonic whine rings from the loudspeakers on the wall. The Pastor clears his throat and speaks through the tinny PA system:

  “I am very pleased to announce that our thriving community has just grown by a count of one tonight. Congratulations to the new mother, Easter. She’s given birth to a beautiful boy. She and her baby are currently in the medical bay, resting. Well done. We all send our best thoughts to you. Much love from everyone. That is all.”

  Megan looks across the room before talking to Huxley in a whisper.

  “Look, I want to know every word he says, okay? I’m going to ball his ass up and feed it to Father. He has a reckoning coming, sooner or later.” She sits up and stretches out her scrubbing elbow and takes another glance over her shoulder. The rest of the cleaning party consists of older ladies, but she wants to be sure she isn’t overheard. Nancy and Lou kneel close by, but it’s okay, they’re both half deaf.

  “Do you mean that guy, Drew?” Huxley says. “…Urgh! This is disgusting. I can’t believe you roped me into cleaning this.” He looks at the stains on his sponge and screws up his face.

  “Don’t be a baby. It’s natural, and somebody has to help with the dirty work. Think of poor Easter, she looked exhausted.”

  For a moment they work in silence.

  “So, what’s your problem with that Drew guy?”

  “I don’t have a problem.” Megan rinses her sponge then throws it at the floor and resumes scrubbing. “He just thinks he’s better than everyone else. You must have seen the way he looks at everybody, like he’s too good for us. He’s a lazy slob and a washed-up DJ. I regret giving him directions to this place, I only did it because Father encouraged us to bring in new people, but now he’s here I think he’s trouble, so we need to keep a close eye on him.” Megan punches the sponge into the water bucket. They continue their work in silence.

  Late evening becomes night, not that anyone inside the great cement block can tell the difference between night and day, rain or sun. Not a single element creeps in from the outside world, no external sound or light can have any influence, not even the mighty hurricane winds can disturb the inner tomb, indeed, no power can penetrate the Big Gray. The outside world is a mystery now, a place that may no longer exist. The few possessions the people of Salvation brought with them are the only things in existence, only these things are certain, and only these precious things can live, grow, die.

  18

  Tom’s thumb

  “I’m sure you’ll find this perfectly comfortable,” Mother says, walking Drew into a small box room. “It’s lights out at eleven.” She says this by way of bidding Drew goodnight.

  Drew walks around the room in a slow small circle, as a small circle is all the room will accommodate. Looping left then right, he observes every detail; he wipes a finger of dust from a large speaker that hangs between two beds positioned at opposing walls, he frowns at the single naked bulb hanging from the middle of the dusty ceiling, grimaces at the garish orange patterned bed sheets, plumps the single pillow and finally tests the mattresses on both of the beds, the coarse timber frames of which echo the unsophisticated tables and chairs in the Common Room and were presumably cut and nailed together by the same man or woman on whose labor everybody in Salvation rests. During his third loop of the room – this time monitoring the lines and scuffs in the concrete floor – his vision comes upon two new features he had previously missed; a pair of sneakers.

  He looks between two worn-out flat-soled white tennis shoes and he sees they’re attached to two denim legs. Above those he finds their owner; a young man, clutching a red backpack. Appraising the young man, much like he did the room, Drew sees two coral-brown eyes under thick choppy brown hair and a clean-shaven, fine-featured, fresh-faced teenager, complete with broad round shoulders and tall slouching posture.

  “All right, son,” Drew says.

  The young man appraises Drew in return, from feet to head while a smirk twitches on his face.

  “All right, Pops. My name’s Tom.”

  “Good. My name’s Drew.” Drew nods, as if they had both come to an understanding about each other, in a way only appraising people can.

  “Where are you from?” Tom asks.

  “Liverpool.”

  “I wondered what that accent was. I’m staying in this room too. Which bed do you like?”

  “That one.” Drew points at the bed positioned against the far wall. “It’s the furthest from the door, I like that one.”

  “Yeah, it’s good that one. I like it too.” Tom represses his smirk.

  “Oh, do you now?” Drew grins.

  “Yeah. I tell you what, since I like that bed and you like that bed too, there’s only one thing we can do to decide who gets that particular bed, to make it fair, I mean.”

  “Oh really? What’s that?”

  “It seems to me, whenever a disagreement occurs between two people, when you have your side, and I have mine, such as in this case, and those two sides are in conflict with one another, the only tried and true way to break the impasse is…”

  “Is?” Drew gestures both his hands towards Tom to hasten his point.

  “We have to wrestle for it.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah, we have to wrestle for it. It’s the only way. It’s best to settle disagreements with a fight or a wrestle immediately. I’ve always known that. It’s quick and it’s simple and there can be no arguments.”

  “You must be mad. I’ve got a mad roomie, haven’t I? I’m not surprised.”

  Now fully smiling, Tom drops his bag and says, “Great, the first to submit wins the bed. Simple.”

  “Hold on. I’ve already crippled a man today and that’s usually my limit. How about an arm wrestle instead?”

  “But we don’t have a table, or a chair, or anything we can rest our elbows on,” Tom says, looking about. “You can’t arm wrestle on a bed. It doesn’t work, I’ve tried, mattresses are too spongy.”

  “Sounds like you’re scared.”

  “Me? Never! I’m up for anything, anytime, anywhere. I’ve never been scared. I’ve had to fight for everything I’ve got in life.”

  “Looks like all you’ve got in life is a red bag.” Drew points at the rucksack flopped on the floor by Tom’s feet.

  “Ah, but what’s in the bag?”

  “I don’t know, what is in the bag?”

  “What’s in the bag isn’t the point. The point is, I don’t back down, and I’ll prove it.” Tom spreads his feet and raises his hands to adopt the forward pose of a grappler.

  “All right then, but wrestling isn’t going to happen and neither is an arm wrestle, now what?”

  “Fair, fair. Okay.” Tom drops his arms and relaxes his pose. “I’ll tell you wha
t we’ll do, but I’ll warn you: it’s what I do best, it’s what I do better than anybody in the world.”

  “Righto, what is it?” Drew strokes his chin.

  “Thumb war!”

  “Thumb war?”

  “Yes, thumb war.”

  “I’m afraid that’s where you’re wrong, son,” Drew says. “You see, I happen to be Knowsley’s reigning champion of thumb war, I’m undefeated and I’m known to take on all comers.”

  “Like who?”

  “Like my niece.”

  “Right then,” Tom says, shaking off a doubt that had crept into his eyes. “I’ve no idea where Knowsley is but you’re in California now, so let’s go. One round and the winner takes all, by that I mean the bed.” Sticking out his tongue, Tom grasps Drew’s hand and furls his fingers around it. Both men point a tensed thumb straight up in the air.

  “International rules. No cheating,” Tom says. “Ready?”

  “Righto.” Drew nods.

  “One, two, three, four – I declare a thumb war!”

  Two wibbling, wobbling, rallying, wrestling taut thumbs lean in, lean back, dive for the pin, slip out and lurch at each other. Tom’s teeth pinch a projected tongue. Drew’s right cheek clenches and he can’t help but blink ferociously. Both warriors squeeze their grip, tendons in both wrists stand proud.

  “HA! One, two and… three! That’s a pin!” Tom says, bending his wrist and pushing his thumb down on Drew’s defeated digit.

  “Well, bugger my life.” Drew flaps his released hand in the air.

  “The winner, and still undisputed champion – Thomas Cake!” shouts Tom, in a deep voice, as if he were announcing his victory to an arena crowd. He presents his thumb high in the air, first to one side of the room, then to the other, all the while imitating the blare of 10,000 people. With his victory properly celebrated, Thomas approaches his prize, the bed. He leans down, reaches his arms underneath the headrest and tries to lift it. A great struggle appears on his face.