“A what?” Mother and Karen asked at the same time.
“You know, a place where they play poker for money. And he got himself in debt to the tune of thirty-thousand. That’s where the money’s been going – gambling, and paying off the debt.”
“Thirty-thousand? Thirty-thousand what?” Karen asked.
“Dollars, Younger Sister,” I replied.
The blood drained from my mother’s face and she collapsed into a chair across the table from me. “You’d better tell me everything. Leave nothing out.”
I relayed the events of the robbery to my mother and sister, leaving out nothing except their demand that I smuggle in contraband. When I explained how the ruffians considered Brandon liable for the debt, Mother grew paler. Finally, I laid the sixty dollars Deacon gave me onto the table.
“We’re supposed to last a week on that?” Karen asked.
I didn’t reply.
“That’s just great! Not only has the useless man my father chose for my husband got himself arrested for drugs, he’s destroyed our lives too. What was he thinking? Wasn’t it enough to destroy his life, why did he have to ruin ours as well? There’s no way we’ll ever be able to pay back that money.” She looked at the front door. “And that bloodsucking leech will be here any moment demanding rent money we no longer have.”
“Actually, I’ve already seen him,” I said quietly as I took an orange sheet of paper from my pocket and placed it on the table.
Mother looked at the eviction notice and back at me. “You what?”
“I went straight to him after I got robbed, explained what happened, and begged for an extension. He accused me of lying, demanding I show him a Custodian Incident Report to prove I’d been robbed–”
“Then you have to get one,” Karen said. “Quickly, go to the Custodians and report the robbery!”
“She can’t.” Mother sighed and rested her head in her hands. “As she said, if she reports those two men, their associates will get revenge against the three of us. Besides, what happens when the Custodians examine your sister to verify her story about getting hit in the gut? What do you think they will do when they find out she isn’t Brandon?”
“So what happens now?” Karen stood, face awash with fear.
Mother looked at the eviction notice as though it was a venomous snake. “What does it say?”
“We have to be out by midday tomorrow. Anything we can’t take with us will be thrown out or sent to the Recycling Works,” I replied.
“And where are we supposed to go?” Karen demanded.
“We’ll have to go to the homeless shelter.” Mother deflated like a popped balloon.
“No way! Never! That place is a dump, a hole for paupers and no hopers – for losers.” My sister was whining now, desperate to avoid our fate.
“And what do you think we are, Youngest Daughter? We are penniless no-hopers. Losers.” Mother’s face was contorted with frustration and fury.
I felt sorry for her. For all of us. I wanted to run away from Newhome more than anything now, and could do so on Monday. But I wouldn’t. I would stay and look after my family, at least until Brandon turned up again. If I only knew where he was!
“There has to be someone we can stay with rather than go there,” Karen said.
“Who?”
Karen ran through our list of relatives and friends – which took all of sixty seconds – it was a very short list. Mother shot them all down.
“Eldest Daughter, curfew is over two hours away. Get out there and see if you can find that idiot brother of yours,” Mother said.
I stood. “Where do you suggest I look?”
“I don’t know, out there somewhere!” She pointed at the door.
Seeing the need to be somewhere else, I hurried from the flat and went looking for Brandon. Which was a completely pointless exercise, for I hadn’t the foggiest idea where he could be.
* * *
I woke early the next morning, became my brother with Karen’s help, and scoured the streets for abandoned shopping trolleys. I found two, shoved them together, and brought them back to our flat.
“What are those unsightly things for?” Mother demanded. She was in an absolute stinker of a mood. All morning she had berated and cursed Father, the supervisor, and just about everyone and everything else. At the moment she was going through the kitchen, pulling out the pots and pans she figured she couldn’t do without.
“You gonna carry that stuff on your back?” I replied. Seriously, what did she think the trolleys were for?
“Enough with the attitude!” she snapped. “Now go help your sister pack or she’ll try to bring everything she owns.”
Karen was sitting on her bed, staring into space. She had taken all of her clothes out of her tallboy and communal wardrobe – those she wore and those she’d grown out of – and dumped them on her bed. We so weren’t able to bring them all.
“Let me help you sort through those.” I reached for her clothes.
“Don’t you touch them!” she shouted.
“We can’t bring them all. Besides, there’s no need to keep every dress and coat you’ve ever worn. Just pack what still fits you.”
“You don’t understand me at all, do you? So lost in your little world with Elder Brother that you haven’t the slightest clue what matters to me.” She pouted as she ran her lands lovingly over a simple yet beautiful pale blue dress she wore as a pre-teen.
“What are you talking about?”
“These clothes? I poured myself into them when I made them – it’s like they’re a part of me. I can’t just throw them away, they’re too precious.”
“We’re going to a homeless shelter, Younger Sister, not another flat. We won’t have anywhere to put them. Not to mention we can’t exactly carry them halfway across town in just two shopping trolleys.”
“I know this is another adventure to you, Elder Sister, like running around masquerading as Brandon. But this is the worst thing that could have ever happened to me. Having to live in that place, with those people, coupled with the shame of Father getting thrown into prison? Not to mention that my reputation will be besmirched to the point that no man will ever want me to marry their son.”
I pointed at my stomach. “You call these bruises an adventure? I’m just trying to make it through each day without getting beaten up or killed, and you’re worried about your reputation? Open your eyes and look what’s going on around you! Now pack only what fits you now. And that comes from Mother, not me.” I spoke unkindly, and felt terrible for doing so, but we didn’t have time for this nonsense.
* * *
The supervisor arrived at midday and despite our very vocal protestations, told us to leave. We packed what we could into the shopping trolleys. Every scrap of food we had left, kitchen and toiletry necessities, our sewing kits, and bags of clothes for the four of us – I figured Brandon would join us sooner or later. I tried to pack some of Father’s clothes, but Mother wouldn’t let me. Pillows, sheets and doonas went on top, and then we were out.
I taped a message onto the front door, announcing where we were moving to, just in case Brandon came home and wondered where we’d gone.
“I can’t believe this is happening. How can they justify throwing three women out of their own home? How can they send someone like us to the homeless shelter? We’re not like those people. We’re not!” Karen said. She stood outside our door, looking wistfully at our home, and at all the things we had to leave behind.
“All part of the Founders’ vision for creating the perfect utopian society,” I mocked. “I mean seriously, what do we even need money for anyway? We live in a closed system!”
“Keep it down!” Mother snapped. “You want to be arrested for sedition?”
I scowled at her, but complied. Those sentiments were best left unsaid in a police state like this. I patted Karen on the arm in an empty attempt to encourage her. But the fact was, I was just as discouraged as she was. That was strange, in a sense.
I had tried to run away from this very home only yesterday. However, that was with the understanding my family would still live there. Now we were homeless. Worse, we had to leave most of our possessions behind. It was so unfair!
My face burned with humiliation as we made the trip across town to the homeless shelter. I wore my beige dress and had put my hair up, which made me even more self-conscious. When I impersonated my brother, I felt insulated from the world and its disappointments and horrors, hidden behind a facade of deception. I could never recall having felt so exposed as I did then.
Chapter Sixteen
The homeless shelter was everything I feared and worse. Five stories tall, it used to be a hospital before they built a newer one. Once cream bricks were blackened by mould and decades of dirt. Windows were filthy, and paint hung off the front door in patches. Several residents, including teenagers and the elderly, lounged on worn benches that bordered the front lawn. Some watched us with predatory stares, while others seemed oblivious to the world, lost in their own misery.
“What do we do now?” I asked when we approached the door. Karen stood behind me, her eyes glazed over with shock. I don’t think she even heard me.
“There has to be a building supervisor. Stay here, I’ll see if I can find him,” Mother replied. She disappeared through the door, only to return five minutes later. She was pale, and her breathing laboured.
“What happened?” I asked.
“He said to go in and find ourselves a room.”
“Which room – did he give you a key?”
“That’s what I asked,” she replied as though speaking from a great distance. “He just laughed and said, ‘Key? What do you think this is, a hotel? Find an empty room and stake your claim on it.’”
“You can’t be serious.”
Mother just looked at me, too tired and discouraged to bother replying.
I laid a hand on her shoulder. “It’s gonna be okay, you’ll see.”
She pushed my hand away angrily. “Life isn’t a bed of roses and silver lined clouds, Daughter. You should have realised that by now.”
We pushed our trolleys up the wheelchair access ramp and entered the foyer. My nose was instantly assaulted by the stench of stale urine, mildew and rotten refuse. I was shocked to see garbage bags actually stacked haphazardly against the walls, some having split open to discharge their rotting contents. One ceiling light flickered incessantly, while the other was out, creating an eerie, unwelcoming ambience.
Several women and girls lounged on mismatched sofas and chairs that lined the furthest two walls, chatting with each other, staring into space, or watching the large TV that adorned the wall beside the door. A teenage girl wearing a faded brown dress with a tattered hem slouched in a threadbare chair next to the window across the foyer. She turned to appraise me with a spark of hope in her eyes, but I looked away quickly when I saw that the right side of her face was badly burnt, curling her upper lip into a permanent scowl.
Corridors led to the right, left, and straight ahead from the foyer. We tried the one on our left first. Navigating our trolleys turned out to be a challenge thanks to rubbish littering the floor. Several times, I had to stop and kick it aside so we could go on. The first three rooms we came to had padlocks fitted on the outside of the doors, clearly amateur jobs.
Hearing movement, I glanced behind and saw the girl from the foyer following us at a distance. Her face was half hidden in shadow, so I couldn’t discern her expression. I wondered what her game was. She made me feel uncomfortable, probably because she was so badly disfigured. I wished she’d leave us to our misery.
The door to the fourth room was partly ajar, so we pushed it open cautiously.
“Hey, who do you think you are? Get out!” An impoverished middle-aged man was crossing the room with the use of walker. His face was livid with rage, and spittle flew from his lips when he shouted.
We made a hasty retreat, but not before I got a glimpse inside the room. It was a scene of absolute squalor. A ragged mattress with soiled blankets lay against the window, waste paper, crushed beer cans, empty food wrappers, and an ocean of junk covered the floor.
I was shocked. How could the council turn a blind eye to people living in such conditions? Why didn’t they provide proper housing and assistance to people who couldn’t provide for themselves? How could they live in opulence in North End and not care that others lived like this.
We approached the last room in the corridor more cautiously, backing off when we heard the sounds of a man and women locked in furious argument.
Mother and I turned the trolleys around, but faltered when we realised our shadow was only a couple of paces away. The girl had a sickly demeanour – her skin was too pale, she had dark rings beneath her eyes, and she was malnourished as well.
“Can we help you?” I asked, none too kindly.
“A family moved out of a room on the fifth floor last night. I can take you there if you like.” She spoke gently, with a kindness that seemed in stark contrast to the horrors of this place.
Pangs of guilt struck me like waves crashing against a cliff when I realised how rude I’d been. “Ah, yes please, that would be kind of you.”
“This way, then.” She led us back to the foyer and elevator, walking with a slight limp. Her right hand was as badly burnt as her face. I wondered what happened to her.
By some miracle, the elevator worked, even though it apparently doubled as a latrine. I covered my nose with my sleeve in an attempt to smother the stench.
“You get used to it.” The girl smiled, which I found a tad disturbing due to her maimed mouth. I mentally shook myself and focused on her person, rather than on her deformities.
“My name’s Chelsea,” I said, remembering my manners. “This is my mother, Abigail, and my sister, Karen.”
“Sofia.”
“Been here long?”
“Three years,” she replied.
“People do leave, right?” I asked.
“Depends. Some manage to get their lives back together. It’s rare though. And you need a man in the family to earn a wage. Do you...?” Her voice petered off.
“Ah, no. Just my brother, but he’s unreliable.” I said no more when Mother shook her head. She didn’t want anyone to know where father was.
“We don’t have one either,” Sofia said, downcast.
“We?”
“My mother and I.” She didn’t offer any more information, so I didn’t ask. Maybe her father was in prison too.
The elevator reached the fifth floor and Sofia lead us to a vacant room at the end of the corridor. The door was wide open so Mother went straight in, only to come out just as quickly, holding her nose and retching.
“This is the only vacant room?” she asked.
“I’m afraid so. I saw the family move out this morning.”
Seeing no point in delaying the inevitable, I held my sleeve to my nose and stepped cautiously into the room.
It was a bit bigger than I expected, with windows on the left. However, whoever lived here previously had been absolute pigs! The room was a rubbish dump, and reeked like one too. There was no furniture to speak of, just three stained, rotten mattresses, and the floor was literally knee deep in rubbish, including milk cartons, yoghurt containers, beer bottles, food wrappers, mouldy bread, rock-hard discarded pizza, and worst of all, hundreds of disposable diapers. The smell of excrement, urine, and ammonia, was overpowering. And as if that wasn’t bad enough, cockroaches infested the refuse and scuttled across the floor and up and down the walls. A violent shudder passed through me. I couldn’t abide the vile critters.
I staggered out of the room and fought to keep down my breakfast. “How can people live like that?” I gasped.
“They lose hope,” Sofia replied.
“But they had a baby!” I couldn’t imagine anyone subjecting their infant to such unsanitary conditions.
Sofia shrugged helplessly. Hearing a familiar voice sobbing in the background, I
turned to find Karen slumped against the wall with her head on her knees. I squatted next to her and patted her head. I wished my mother and sister could masquerade as foragers so that we could all escape the town together.
“We can’t live in there,” Mother said. She was leaning against a wall, her face paler than I’d ever seen it.
“It’ll be fine once you’ve cleaned it up,” Sofia said.
“Is there somewhere we can get gloves, plastic bags and cleaning supplies?” I asked, turning my mind to how we could redeem this situation.
“In the janitor’s room downstairs. Come on, I’ll show you.”
My mother grabbed my wrist. “We can’t live in there, Daughter – it’s not possible.”
I took her hand in mind. “We can make this work, Mother, you’ll see. I’ll pop downstairs and get some cleaning supplies.”
She drew in a deep breath, lifted her head, and gave me the barest of nods. As a woman who always prided herself in having a clean and spotless house, this was hitting her harder than my sister.
Sofia took me to the janitor‘s room on the first floor and we loaded up on disposable gloves, facemasks, lots of thick black garbage bags, and hospital grade disinfectant.
“Will the janitor mind if we take this stuff?” I asked, wondering what I’d say if he walked in and saw us taking all these things.
“What janitor?” Sofia replied as she grabbed a bucket and two mops.
“Oh.” There wasn’t one. Why wasn’t I surprised?
We headed back upstairs. “Hey, thanks for helping us out,” I said.
“That’s alright. Not like I have anything else to do.” She gave me another smile, her brown eyes sparkling. How she managed to remain so vibrant after three years in this place was a mystery to me. It was a testament to the depth of her character. If I could only be more like her.
“So, you’ve been here three years?” I asked as we rode the mobile-latrine back to the fifth level.
“Yeah, since I got out of hospital.”
“Due to your injuries?” I asked, indicating her burns with a flick of my head.
Forager - the Complete Six Book Series (A Post Apocalyptic/Dystopian Series) Page 82
