Grey

by Kayley Barratt

  Elijah could help me in more ways than he thinks.

  Chapter 25

  I sit with my back hunched over the edge of the table, holding my head up with my hand as I repetitively sigh to myself in boredom. It’s been two hours since I finished my breakfast and it’s been two hours since everyone finished theirs. We’ve sat in silence for so long now that it’s beginning to irritate the life out of me. I’d rather be whipped than surrounded by statues. My eyes keep flicking up to the small, round clock on the wall and then down again, then up again, hoping more minutes pass with each time I look; but that isn’t the case.

  We’re not allowed to talk anymore. The leaders have energy in their systems now, they’ve exorcised their attention spans to pick up when anyone speaks and they indefinitely shut them down when that happens.

  I suddenly hear chairs slide backwards and my head flinches up in a heartbeat, something is finally happening. The leaders have decided they’ve kept us waiting long enough, how nice of them and are now standing above their table, staring at us.

  “Group A,” one leader calls. He is the blonde-haired leader from yesterday that escorted me out of the medical waiting room. “You are working the field.”

  Phew. My body begins to sink into the chair in relief. I bite my lip, hiding the joy. I look at Group A for some kind of reaction, but they just remain lifeless, like they’re not even here.

  “To it,” the leader says through his teeth.

  On that cue, group A crawl back to life, each body rising stiffly from their chairs with their hands entwined behind their backs. One-by-one, they begin to follow their dorm leaders out of the building, leaving the rest of us waiting in anticipation.

  A woman with glossy red hair and thick glasses is the next to speak. “Group B. You are working separately. The men are working the grounds, patrolling the compound and keeping guard on every entrance.”

  “Every entrance?” I whisper.

  “Shush,” Carol snaps.

  “There’s more than one entrance?”

  Carol ignores me.

  “The women,” the woman continues. “Are working the facilities. Pastor wants every dorm cleaned, every carpet vacuumed, every speck of dust wiped from sight. Every window is to be cleaned, every toilet is to be scrubbed and when you are done, you are working the kitchen for this evening. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, Madam Veronica,” group B replies in unison.

  “What are you waiting for?” she screams.

  Group B, now fearful, each scurry to their feet—almost tripping themselves over as they do. Madam Veronica leads them towards the exit, followed by a few leaders that are still yawning and holding cups of liquid to their lips, including Elijah. He doesn’t look at me as he leaves, but I keep my eyes on him until he’s out of sight. His bushy black hair is the last thing I see before I’m forced to look elsewhere.

  Even though the dining hall is getting smaller and smaller, it still feels the same, it still feels as though everyone is still here. Our dorm leaders remain and I scroll my eyes across them, wondering who will do the honours.

  “Group C,” Madam Joan says. She was my first choice, her voice is even more husky in a morning, she sounds as though someone has stuck a pencil down her throat. “You will also be separated. The men are working in the warehouse, leader Edward has some very… fun jobs for you. And the women, you are to be placed at laundry.”

  Laundry. I let that word roll around in my head for a few seconds until it sinks in. I partially remember visiting the laundry room last night and I completely remember the migraine I received from it. And that was just from two minutes. How am I meant to cope with an entire day of it?

  I guess it it’s not the worst thing in the world. At least, it’s not the field. Anything but the field.

  She clears her throat and we all stand together, turning in synchronisation towards the door. I follow behind Carol as the lines begin to take off. As I step out into the bright light of day, I’m curiously scouring the grounds for other entrances.

  I haven’t seen another entrance. The only entrance I thought existed is the main gate, the one that I entered through yesterday when I was oblivious to what this place was. Are there underground entrances? If there is, then why are group B trusted to guard them? Surely, only leaders should be able to guard them, considering Salome is proof that even members of group A can still try to contact the outside.

  Unless, they’re locked, or coded. And the only way out of them is to type in some top-secret code that only Duncan himself knows. But then, what would be the point of guarding them at all?

  As I drift back to the main gate, I see members of group B surrounding it, standing either side of the perimeter while holding large weapons in their hands. The type of weapon is unclear from this far away, but they resemble shot guns. They’re holding in their hands the very weapons that could help take down Duncan and his force, but they just stand there and hold them instead? More than fifty members make up group B’s men, if they are all given a gun for patrol, then they could easily take Duncan hostage and demand us to be let out. It’s that simple.

  Well, it looks that simple. In my head, it all plans out perfectly. Reality is much different.

  I enter the laundry room, picking up the smell of vile body odour and barbaric sweat. In front of my eyes, laid out on a long table are rows and rows of uniforms; all different sizes, all different materials, with all different stenches. Behind the table is a wall full of washing machines—they just look like giant circles on top of each other. I’ve never really seen one up close. I was too dazed last night to notice.

  All the members begin spreading around, like they’ve done this a thousand times. Some begin picking up a pile of clothing, throwing them into the giant circles on the wall—while others are taking out uniforms, bed sheets and covers from inside the circles that have already been washed, and are passing them to members that are standing at enormous steam presses. I flinch as a woman brings the steam presser down onto a sheet that she rolls beneath it, the noise is sharp and terrifying, and I watch as the steam rises to the roof.

  “Newbie,” a voice says from behind me. I turn around to meet the blonde’s stare. “Do you want a personal introduction to the steamer or are you actually going to get to work?”

  I swallow, reluctant to give a reply to that as I’m not sure what the right answer is. All I know is that the steamer looks hot, very hot and I’d rather be as far from it as possible. I begin walking forwards, once again copying everyone else and mimicking their actions. The rumble of the machines is so loud and thunderous that I grit my teeth, and cover my ears, trying to block out the banging that attaches itself to my eardrums. I gather up some clothes from the table, turning to place it into an empty machine, but I don’t have any idea what I need to do. I see a girl gently shaking a white packet and then she rips it open with her teeth, tipping it into an open compartment of one of the machines.

  “Where do I get one of those?” I ask a woman who is folding over a sweater. I point to the packet the girl is holding, and the woman looks but then hangs her head. “Hello?” I say. “Are you listening?”

  The woman blatantly ignores me. I know it’s loud in here, but she can definitely hear me at this close range and I don’t want to have to raise my voice, in case I draw more unwanted attention. I give up and I go looking for the suspicious packet myself. My quest leads me to a cupboard behind one of the steamers and I gently open it, while flinching every second when the steamer is brought down.

  My fingers prick at a small basket of packets and I find the one that has washing powder written across it. I head back over to my machine, only to find that it’s already been used. Salome is stood at it, she presses a button and the machine roars to life, and it’s the last one. She glances at me over her shoulder, a grim smirk darkens her face.

  With no more machines to fill, I’m standing at the steamer trying to work out how to somehow fit into what everything else is doing and do it the
right way. Only, I don’t get the chance, because a few seconds later, a sheet is thrown into my stomach.

  “What do I do with this?” I shout to the girl that has given me a sudden stomach ache.

  “What do you think?” she says. “Steam it.”

  “Right,” I say to myself. “Steam it. Okay. I can do this.”

  I rub the sheet in between my fingers before rolling it out beneath the steamer and lifting my hand up to cup around the long, metal handle. I bring the machine down slowly, squinting my eyes almost closed as I can’t watch. I feel the collision beneath me, I hear the agonising press of the heat against the material and I feel the steam hit my face. I let go of the handle, lifting it back up and I widen my eyes to observe.

  The sheet has been flattened by the heat, the creases rolled out so it’s all the same level—except the other half. I reach over the machine to swap the halves, pushing the steamed end over so it flops over the table to the floor.

  This isn’t so bad. This is actually really easy. It’s just like a giant iron. A smile of pride takes form on my face at what I have just accomplished. But the others aren’t so keen to celebrate. As I look around the room, they’re all still giving me scowls and deadly stares.

  They’re suppressing their anger because a supervisor is present. For now, it’s just glares and scowls, but what if she leaves? I glance back to the steamer that I hold in my hand. If she leaves, there’s nothing to stop me from getting burned.

  And that’s exactly what they’re all thinking too.

  Chapter 26

  Paranoia is a cruel thing. Crueller than anything physical because we know we’re doing it to ourselves and there’s no way to stop it. I used to feel that way every moment of breathing in the Sanchez household—I didn’t just walk on metaphorical egg shells, I crawled on them. The same thing is happening now, only, it’s not bringing me comfort to act defiant. That’s the last thing I need to do. If I’m ever going to get the women on my side, I need to try to extend an olive branch. But Carol is living proof that Salome holds grudges.

  She works another steamer in the corner, her lips curling into a haunting smile aimed at me every time she brings it downwards. Her eyes lock with mine and the piercing brown breaks into pieces of evil as she glares at me.

  Is this woman going to smother me in my sleep?

  I drop my eyes, focusing on the work rather than the paranoia of what might not be happening. It might be all in my head. I’m stronger than this. I know I am. It takes all of five seconds to convince myself of that and all of two seconds for it to reverse completely as the door slams shut across the room.

  Blondie is gone.

  On that signal, the women and girls stop what they’re doing, and Salome walks around her steamer while rubbing her palms together. I take in a large breath and then I catapult myself towards her.

  “Listen, Salome, about what I said—”

  “What you said or what you did?” Salome responds. “Neither are tolerated.”

  “Both,” I say. “I’m new, I’m still getting the hang of things. It’s all a misunderstanding, right?”

  “Right,” Salome agrees, still rubbing her wrinkly palms together. “Bring her to the steamer.”

  I flinch as bodies begin moving across the room, my natural instinct is to move backwards into the wall, looking for some kind of weapon to defend myself. But as my heart accelerates with fear and my body stiffens with shock, I suddenly realise I’m not the one she’s referring to.

  A deafening scream erupts from across the room as Carol is grabbed by two tall, strong women and dragged forwards while her small body is fighting with all her might.

  “No,” I whisper. Adrenaline soon pumps into my system and I use it to push myself into the commotion. “Salome, don’t do this!”

  “Do what?” Salome says with a small laugh. “Carol is about to have a very unfortunate accident.”

  The two women hold Carol behind the steamer, forcing her skinny arm to extend beneath it. Carol’s body shakes with fear, her bruised eyes staring down at her arm.

  “I guess you did me a favour, Elizabeth,” Salome shouts. “This is much better than making her group less.”

  I glance around to all the members. “Are you all just going to stand there?” I scream. “Victoria?”

  Victoria flinches as I call her name, she looks towards the ground, trying to act invisible. Some of them are just as shocked, they stand still, unwilling to voice their opinions. Salome stands behind Carol, her hand gripping the handle.

  “I’ve waited a long time to do this,” she shouts.

  Frantic, I run towards them, ready to do anything to stop it. My intervention is met with arms that grab me in my run—they restrain around my stomach, holding me in place so I can’t move. I struggle, bashing my head backwards until it collides with a face. The arms go limp and I push myself onward, only for more members to surround me, I try to throw them out of my way, but multiple strong arms tighten around every muscle of my body. An arm squeezes around my throat, firmly locking me in place. I’m paralysed.

  Salome starts to bring the machine down.

  “Wait!” I scream. “Do you have a daughter?”

  Salome pauses, her eyes pointing at me. “What?”

  “You were trying to write to someone, on the outside, was it your daughter? Or your sister, or your mother, or even your granddaughter? What would… you do, if someone did this to one of them? She’s a child, Salome. She’s scared and she’s hurting, and you have the power right now to let go of that anger and to forgive her.”

  “Forgive her?” Salome says, snarling on the word. “If that letter had been sent, we would all be free!”

  “I know,” I say. “And she knows that too. She just wants to make things right. Look at her, look at what Duncan did to her, don’t you think she’s suffered enough? If you do this, then you’re just as bad as him, as all of them. You’re better than that.”

  Salome struggles with that, she bites on her lip, her hand trembles as she holds the machine above Carol’s arm.

  “Salome,” a small voice calls from the other side of the room. Mary walks forwards, her arms cradling a piece of clothing. “Please don’t do this.”

  “Look away, Mary,” Salome says.

  “You’re scaring me. If I do wrong, will you do that to me too?”

  “No,” Salome says, she shakes her head, still fighting with herself. “No,” she repeats, calmer this time.

  “Show them that you’re better,” I say. “We are all better than what they make us believe. You’ve just lost your way because this is what you’ve known for a long time. You had a life on the outside, you had a family. Don’t you remember that?” I look around the room. “You all have families. You were all born into religion, like I was, but you have the choice to be whatever you want. They can’t ever take that from you. It’s imprinted into your DNA, it’s what makes you think differently to how you speak. They will try to break you down until there’s nothing left, but you are still human. You still have a right to this world, a right to be free.”

  “Shut up!” Salome screams. “Shut up!”

  “We are all in this together,” I say. “If you begin acting like them, then that’s the first step to becoming them. It’s what they want. You.” I stare at a pretty young woman with bleach blonde hair across the laundry room. “What’s your name?”

  “Lilian,” she says.

  “Lilian,” I repeat. “Do you have someone on the outside that you left behind?”

  “My sister,” she replies. “I think about her every day.”

  “See,” I shout. “You haven’t forgotten the ones you love. You never forget them. Think of your families, think of your life before this happened. Weren’t you happy? Even for just a little bit? Wasn’t there someone that gave you a reason to wake up in the morning? And isn’t that same person still the reason you wake up in a morning? The reason that you haven’t given up. Trust in that. Even when it’s hard, even whe
n you’re hurting, believe in that. Believe that you will see them again and you can be stronger than this hell.”

  Salome’s hand gently moves upwards and then she steps backwards from the machine all together, her eyes widening as she takes deep breaths. Carol is released and she pulls back her arm, rubbing it continuously while her face lights up with relief.

  “Y-you can let go now,” I say to the person that still has their arm around my throat. She unravels it and I take a gasp for air.

  There’s a still silence that follows. The only sound that can be heard is from the banging of the machines, but that sound is hardly an issue anymore. Carol meets my eyes and the look she gives me is euphoric.

  The other women are looking at me too, but not in the same way as before. Their stares are gentler, kinder—and their eyes resemble something unfamiliar to me, like I have just risen a hundred feet above them. They’re looking up to me and not down at me, a notion which starts to worry me.

  “Will you get us out of here?” a girl asks me.

  I’m so startled by her question that I don’t process it. I look over them all again and I find that they’re waiting for an answer, like they’re all thinking the same thing.

  “I don’t know,” I say. “But I will try.”

  Chapter 27

  Two Weeks Later

  Today is my fifth time in the field. Every time I’m out here, it gets a little more bearable. I cross the soil, carrying my brim-full basket of potatoes as I waddle towards the truck. My joints are sore, my throat dry and my back feels as though it will snap in two at any moment. But that’s okay, because the group now supports each other. When one is down, we stare at them until they rise and they do.