Radiation Face

by Phil Skaggs Jr.

  ‘Hey, Jennings. How’s it going?’ He asks.

  ‘Not too bad, Blyberg.’ Dad grabs me around the shoulder. ‘I brought my son out here. Arnold said he’ll work on your crew.’

  ‘Well, that works for me. We’re short a few hands over here. It’ll be good to have another body around here.’ Blyberg’s heavy electronic voice breaks through the air.

  I try to get out a stupid smile so he sees that I’m friendly. I’m already thinking of getting out of here and never coming back. The place smells of burning skin and sulfur. Dad pats me as he says something to Blyberg. They exchange pleasantries and Dad is headed out of the area before I can bring my attention back to the conversation.

  Blyberg looks me over and points over to a small cart a few yards away. ‘You’re going to need to suit up, kiddo. They’re over there.’

  ‘Thanks.’ I reply and head towards the cart. I look inside the small blue box on wheels and there’s just a heap of what looks like old rags at the bottom. I reach down to the bottom and the rags are just worn to shit coveralls. They don’t look like they’d protect me from a skinned knee. The place is depressing and I think about running straight into the zone and letting all that sludge fill my lungs as I sink into it.

  But I think about getting out of here and the fight and Sam and everything else. So instead, I put the coveralls on over my clothes and zip up.

  Blyberg points me over to a crowd of guys wading up to their ankles in sludge. They’re digging in deep with a some shovels. The shovels sink in easily and as soon as a pile of the crap is lifted out and thrown in the wheelbarrow it is replaced. The crew keeps on going. Blyberg’s smile is gone now as he keeps pointing towards the guys. Finally I hear him sigh. ‘I want you over there. They’ll tell you what to do. And here.’ He hands me a shovel.

  I walk over to the guys and they look up and nod. Their faces are all twisted up and hang long. It doesn’t look like they do much smiling here. I start digging alongside them. Blyberg stands and watches for a few short minutes then walks off. As soon as he vanishes behind the trailer, one of the guys starts to ask me questions.

  ‘Who are you, man? Blyberg don’t come out of that trailer for no one.’ One asks me. His right eye drooping well below his cheek. The others wait and listen, still shovelling away.

  ‘No one. My dad just got me a job here.’ I reply.

  ‘Who’s your dad?’ Another asks. His mouth is filled with two large teeth on his bottom row which pushes his swollen lip out.

  ‘The guy who brought me here.’

  ‘Mr. Jennings? He’s your dad?’ The tooth filled mouth asks.

  ‘Wow. I didn’t know he was from the zone.’ Another says.

  ‘No wonder he treats his crew decent.’ Says the one with the eye.

  ‘My name’s Ellen.’ The one with the fat lip says. I realize that it’s a she behind those harsh features. A mistake that can happen often in the zone.

  ‘I’m Rich.’ Says the one with the droopy eye. He then rattles off the names of the other guys standing around. There’s one other woman there besides Ellen. None of the others say much.

  Ellen and Rich bombard me with questions while I try to keep working. I’m answering and digging as fast as I can. They tell me to slow down as I’ll be at this all day, but I’m trying to think of it as a training exercise. I want to dig in short quick bursts and go as long as I can maintain it.

  The group is shocked to find out that I live over in Keystone. Most of them live in the Zone and commute here everyday on some rinkydink bus. Rich lives out in downtown Keystone right around the Bishop. He was like Willy Barnes. He changed over time into a mutant like me.

  ‘I tried to live in “normal” places, but I couldn’t take it. No one wanted me there. No one. An old work buddy of mine named Willy stuck it out. I have no idea how he does it. I just couldn’t do it.’ Rich shakes his head.

  ‘It’s rough.’ I say. I tell him that I know Willy and all that. Rich asks how he’s doing and I tell him as much as I can and that seems enough for Rich. He asks me if I ever go to those fights out there at the Bishop. I tell him I’ve only been there a couple of times, but I’m hoping to go again. We keep chatting until someone clears their throat and we look over at the trailer and a shadow is making its way around. Blyberg is attached to that shadow.

  He comes out and stands there with his hands on his hips. We just keep working. He paces back and forth for what seems like forever. Everyone is visibly nervous as they keep eyeing Blyberg each time they take a shovel full over to the wheelbarrow. Finally, Blyberg walks back to the trailer and I hear a door slam. The rest of the crew breathes a sigh of relief.

  ‘I hope you plan on sticking around kid. You just made our lives a lot easier.’ Rich pats me on the back before plopping his way through the sludge.

  I mutter out, ‘Okay.’

  #

  The day ends finally and I take off my coveralls and throw my shovel in the pile with everyone else’s. The guys are smiling and talking shit as I start to make my way back to my dad’s truck. Rich stops me and asks me if I wanted to head for a drink with them tonight. I tell him I don’t. That I’m only sixteen. He lets out a laugh and pats me on the back again then says, ‘Oh. Alright then.’

  He heads back over to the group and I look back real quick to see Blysberg come rampaging out of his trailer and throwing his arms around as he points and yells at the edge of the zone where we’d been working all day. A few yell back at him, but then quickly quiet down. After a few more shaking heads they all head back to the pile of shovels and get back into their coveralls. Blysberg looks back at me and folds his arms. Then continues yelling at the crew. I quickly turn away and keep marching towards the truck.

 

  #

  Dad asks me how everything went. I give him a shrug and lean back into my seat. I feel sore. But not a good sore. Not the kind I get from a few hours of working out or even those few minutes in the ring I had a while back.

  It’s a numb ache in the back of my head and behind my eyes. I'm too drained to do anything else tonight. Too tired or bored to think really. It's pitiful.

  Dad doesn't push it. For that I'm thankful.

  The silent ride ends and I head straight for bed while Dad tells Mom to leave me alone.

  #

  I get up before Dad can sneak in to wake me up. I’m already out the door, too. I don’t want to see his face right now. I don’t want to go back to that mess and break my back with all the other mutants. So I get the pavement under my feet and I start to run.

  It’s still dark out. A good reason to have the cops on me. But I don’t think they wake up before 8am in this part of town.

  I feel my body want to stop. The muscles are pulling in every direction as I kick my legs forward. My arms swing smoothly but they pull at my neck. It hurts. But not that hurt that makes you want to keep pushing forward. Not the kind that taunts you to be a little bit faster, a little bit stronger than you think you are. No. This is the kind of pain that just asks you to curl up and forget the rest of the world. The kind that doesn’t give you anything but a sore back at the end of the day. That useless kind of pain.

  #

  I think I’m going to die today. It’s all coming down on me. That heavy cloud that hangs over my head day in and day out. It’s coming back down on me with a vengeance. I can barely pull my head out of the bed. It’s filled with pressure and anxiety. And this struggle. This struggle that we’re all going through doesn’t seem worth it. Not one bit of it.

  I don’t see how this is going to change anything. I don’t see how making it as a fighter does anything for anyone. I’m not special I’m not worthy and I all want to do it lie down and cry. Lie down, as close the dirt as I can possibly get. As near to my true position in life.

  This feeling lasts with me throughout the day.

  All I want is for someone to come and wrap their arms around my neck and squeeze. Give me a loving hug. By I try to avoid my parents all day
so I don’t break down in front of them because it’s all sitting there right on the edge and it doesn’t feel like it’s going to go away this time. Dad’s been at work. So that’s easy. But I know he’ll be hunting me down sooner or later. I’ve missed two days in a row. I’m sure I’m not welcome back.

  The muscles around my mouth and in my eyes feel like they’ve swallowed bitter pills and keeping pulling at me. They want to contort and swell up with anger and sadness. And I don’t know why.

  I don’t want to end my life but something like a ghost keeps blowing that chilling impression through my veins. I’m worthless dead man pretending to live.

  But I won’t give up. I won’t. There’s so much out there for me. For everyone. I might not climb to the top of the fighting pile. Hell. I might just fuck it all up and spend my days lying on the floor of the cage with blood and bruises sitting on me like loving pets. I might do all that but at least I’ll be doing something that I want to be doing. Something that others may scorn or not understand. Or maybe one kid will see that some freak faced mutant stood up and took a swing along side all the normals. And that might start something. Might inspire someone to do something. Someone with better skills and a better brain to fight in a way I’d never be able to.

  I’m not going to give up.

  But this feeling stays with me all day. And I go through it hurting every bit of the way. And I don’t remember anything excepting getting to bed and wondering if I’ll be getting up the next morning.

  #

  Sam calls me at four in the morning. An hour before Dad is expected to come barging through the door to wake me up. I heard him come in last night. He headed straight to bed. He pulled a double shift. He’s always completely burned out after that.

  I’m not trying to be a coward. It’s just easier this way. I know I’m not going to get anywhere with them. They’ve already written me off and put all their hopes and dreams on the normal kid that hasn’t even poked its head out yet. I don’t know.

  But now I found something else. Something that might not put in a comfortable place like this. Hell, it might just leave me bloody and even more twisted when it’s all over with, but it gets me excited. It lifts me up. Doesn’t just make the heart pound with anger and fear.

  I head out the window and swing down from a tree limb hanging outside my bedroom. It’s not the most graceful exit but it works. I head down the road quickly, hoping that the cops haven’t decided to come cruising by this early. Sam is waiting for me at her house. The front light on. Her dad still asleep.

  I’m just starting my day.

  #

  Sam leads me outside to the backyard through her nice house.

  ‘Here.’ She tosses a few dumbbells to me. Five pounders.

  ‘These are kinda small, don’t ya think?’

  ‘Yeah, but you’re a skinny guy. You’re not going to be putting on the weight anytime soon. So we’ll stick with those.’

  I look down at them.

  ‘It’s going to be about speed. And endurance. That’s what you’re going to be about.’ She nods quickly and has me start doing burpees.

  My legs were ready to give out after the first five. My arms were close behind. Those five pound weights get heavy pretty quickly.

  She has me stop before I give and has me sprint across the yard shooting my fists out in front of me. I’m swinging in the air trying not to let the extra weight in my hands pull my shoulder muscles. I grit my teeth and keep swing. And squatting. And running. And everything else she’s asking me to do. Her father opens the back door and watches.

  I notice the daylight is starting to break. It’s really beautiful. Or it would be if the sun wasn’t hitting me in the eyes every time I sit up. My stomach muscles are killing me. Forget my legs. Forget my arms. Those stomach muscles get ripped to shreds and never come back right. It burns from ribs to my thighs and I can’t stand up straight. I stop moving before she’s ready to let me finish.

  ‘Well, that was pretty good.’ She stands over me with her backpack on and ready for school while I’m still panting. ‘We’ll talk about our schedule after school. Alright?’

  My vocal chords squirt out a whispered ‘Yes’. My diaphragm doesn’t want to work right now. I roll over on my side. I know I’m not going to school. Or back home. Or anywhere right now. I just sit and wait until my body feels okay to move.

  I sit there and wonder if it was this hard when we first started. I don’t remember it being this hard. Maybe all it takes is a few days not doing anything. I finally get to my feet and walk over to the back door. Sam’s dad is cooking himself breakfast. I walk through the door and take a seat at the bar hoping he’ll offer me some water.

  ‘Here. Have some of this.’ He tosses me a plate of eggs and bacon and toast. I start eating. I didn’t think I was this hungry, but I am. I just wish my arms would let me move faster, but I have to take my time. The ache is horrible.

  ‘You shouldn’t have missed all those practices. Abe.’ He fixes himself some eggs and bacon and toast. Much more than what was on my plate. ‘That’s why she punished you today.’

  ‘Is she planning on doing it again?’ I ask through buttered toast.

  ‘Are you planning on missing anymore workouts?’

  I shake my head.

  ‘Then I think you’re safe. But she’s not going to play games. If you want to do this, you have to get in there. This is too important to her.’

  ‘Okay. I got it.’ I reply.

  We finish eating our breakfast in silence. When we are done he asks me where I am staying at. I think about going home, but I skip it. I’m not ready for going back there. So I tell him nowhere in particular and shrug. And he takes me over to the Bishop.

  #

 

  It’s hot and smells of the night before. He flicks the lights on I hear the fluorescent buzzing all around. The chairs are still there and the ring. Everything is painted a firehouse red. Except for a few highlights of black on the ring and the back of the chairs.

  ‘Here.’ He hands me a few folded chairs. And I look around. ‘Over there against the wall.’ He motions.

  I spend the next few hours picking up chairs, taking down the ring, and mopping up the floor. A few fighters come in halfway through and start setting up all their equipment. Hanging bags are rolled out. Mats are dusted off and thrown across the floor. Weights are carried over and dropped with a thud. Ropes are untangled. And when it’s all done, there are dozens of guys in the gym, running through drills.

  And I stand there off to the side unsure of what to do. Luckily, Mr. Barnes pulls me over to him.

  ‘Here. Hold this bag for a bit.’ He pushes over a large punching bag that’s been taped and reworked over and over again. It’s lumpy and barely there. It fits in my arms perfectly.

  ‘No. Take a swing pushing from your legs up through your hips.’ He’s talking to the fighter. A tall dark guy with long ears and uneven eyes.

  He takes a swing and it knocks me back.

  ‘No, like this.’ Mr. Barnes swings and I feel it through my chest. The air escapes in one puff.

  I try not to show my discomfort as my lungs gasp for air. But they notice. The tall fighter nods. His ears swinging against his collarbone.

  He takes another swing and it sends me back again. The air leaves my lungs.

  ‘Yeah. Like that. All your power comes from here. Not from your shoulders. Your legs.’ Mr. Barnes smiles and looks at me. ‘Hold your gut in when you take those. It’ll help.’

  So I listen and start anticipating each hit. Holding myself together. It helps but it doesn’t get any easier holding that bag. The tall fighter wailed on it for another ten minutes then goes to his jump rope and starts swinging his arms with it.

  Mr. Barnes takes me over to another station to spot some guys. They are pushing more than my body weight, but I stand there with hands out ready to catch this massive bar they are pumping into the air. My heart stops once as a fighter struggles to bring it off h
is chest, but he curses and spits. The bar comes up just fine.

  After a while Mr. Barnes sends me out to grab some food for some of the guys. He calls into a place around the block. He gives me directions and off I go. It’s to the left once you get out of the Bishop. And another left when you get to the end of the block. I’d never really been walking around here. Except in and out of the Bishop.

  There are mutants and normals walking around. And the humans I see look like they had better days. It was a step up from back home.

  The place is a sub shop called Hazel’s. They specialize in meatballs. Large round, saucy things that they stuff in large rolls from some grocery store down the street. It smells great in there. I say hello and where I was from and they hand me a large cardboard box lined with food. And I take it back to the Bishop.

  The fighters that remained stand in line and each grab at a sandwich until they are nearly gone. Mr. Barnes comes up at the end and takes his and hands me one. We sit and eat the sandwiches in silence and another group of fighters come in.

  #

  The rest of the day pretty much goes the same as the morning. I help train the fighters. Clean up. Run errands and do whatever else I can. Willy Barnes seems pretty pleased with everything.

  We end around 5 or 6pm.

  The fighters all start to head out and Willy and I stay behind and start to clean up.

  ‘We usually clean up before we close shop.’ He bends down to pick up a towel. ‘Makes it easier. Except when we have a fight night. Those go too late to get anything done that night so we save it for the morning.’

  I nod. I’m pretty tired. My eyes are starting to give and it’s taking all my concentration to keep listening to him.

  Willy asks me if I left my parents’ place for good. Sam had been talking to him about the whole thing. And to be honest, I didn’t know. I couldn’t tell him because I was still trying to make my mind up.