The Apocalypse Blog
by Melanie Edmonds

Tonight seems to be a night for discovering unpleasant truths. I’m all tangled up now.

Keeping this laptop a secret is proving to be more difficult than I had anticipated. As if hiding to write posts wasn’t enough, now I have to figure out how to power it.

I thought sneaking power out of one of the outlets would be easy enough. In those dim hours when the the sun is sinking behind a veil of acid, the generators run to extend our days with electric light. It’s a window of only a handful of hours and I thought they’d never notice if I plugged the laptop into the circuit.

Apparently, they keep a close eye on the power usage. A paranoid eye. The laptop had only been charging for a short time when I heard them coming around, stomping footsteps punctuated by the opening and closing of doors. I was quick to pack it all away and be busy with restacking a medical cabinet by the time they got to me, hoping that they couldn’t tell how quickly my heart was racing.

The pair of cutouts did a quick check of the room and I get the feeling that they didn’t miss much. I keep the laptop’s little metal case under my jacket; so far, no-one has noticed it. Tonight was no exception. I’m so glad that it’s still chilly enough to wear my jacket inside.

I asked them if everything was all right and they assured me that it was nothing to worry about. I can’t help but wonder why a tiny blip in power usage prompts such a thorough response, but they didn’t mention it so I couldn’t ask. Feigning ignorance can be a pain sometimes.

They were turning to leave when I had to stop them. The pair exchanged a few muttered words that caught my attention and sent the rolls of bandages I was sorting onto the floor.

The reason I was repacking the cabinet was that we’d had patients in the infirmary today. Five men of varying ages, all with similar injuries – bruises and scrapes, mostly. They said there’d been an accident and a stack of equipment had toppled over. Simon and I exchanged a glance and agreed silently; we both know the signs of a fight when we see it. We’ve treated too many fist-marks to believe that boxes did it. At least they were original enough not to include doors or stairs in their story.

After they had been patched up and sent back to their duties, I asked Simon why they would lie about the fighting. He shrugged and said it happened sometimes. There were punishments for disturbing the peace of Haven, so the smaller altercations were often allowed to fly under the official radar. When I asked him how often, he said it happened maybe once a week.

That seems like a lot to me. Simon seems to think it’s minor, and until the cutouts came to try to find my power leech, I had no reason to disagree. Their comment was innocuous enough – one said something about groups with animalistic names bringing all the troublemakers, and the other replied, “Sharks aren’t animals, y’know.”

I went cold all over, as if I’d just tumbled into icy waves and there was a fin heading my way. Bandages bounced on the floor when I rushed to snag one of the cutouts.

“Did you say ‘Sharks’? There are Sharks here?”

The soldier looked put out by my intensity, or possibly my grip on his arm. “Yeah. Not the fish, though. It’s just–”

“I know who they are.” I remember tearing my friends out of their jaws. I remember how long it took him to get his grin back. “Were they behind the fight today?”

“Probably. One of them’s usually involved.”

I was cold and my heart was beating all wrong. I didn’t know what to say next, so I let the guy go and muttered a quick thanks. Sharks, here. Somehow they’d made it all this way. All I could think about was whether Matt knew, if he had seen them yet. If they’d found and turned on him again.

If it hadn’t been raining, I would have gone to find him straight away. After the rain, it was too dark and I didn’t know where he would be in the dorms. I don’t know how safe it is for a girl to be creeping around in there at night; I think that would be asking for more trouble than I could handle on my own.

I have to find him. I have to find out where he’s working, or hang around the dining hall until his eating shift comes. I have to see him, talk to him. I have to know if it’s as bad as I fear.

The General may have segregated us, but that doesn’t mean it’s safe. I’ve never hated being separated from my friends as much as I do right now. I just want to know he’s all right.

I thought it was strange that the General never asked me about the other people we had encountered in our travels. I had assumed that he had already talked with the other Seekers, but I checked with Jersey this morning, and they were never asked either.

I thought that the army was all about debriefing, but that doesn’t seem to have happened at all. They’re sending out their message, calling for survivors to come, but they’re not actively seeking anyone. The only groups they know about are the ones that make it to the gates and the rumours that circulate over dinner. I had worried about our friends at the university being found out, but we haven’t even been asked. There’s something missing there, something that doesn’t quite make sense. I don’t like that there are gaps I can’t fill; they make me unsettled.

I should go to the General and ask him. At this rate, I’m going to have a list of questions as long as my leg by the time I get to his office again.

I spent most of the day trying to find Matt. I showed my face in the infirmary and volunteered to go beat on the bedding until it was clean. Once outside, I slipped away and headed down towards the boys’ dorms. I felt bad, shirking my duties, but my friend’s safety and happiness are far higher in my personal list of priorities.

I found Dale first, carrying equipment between buildings. He was so surprised to see me that he nearly dropped the chunk of metal he was transporting, and I gave him a hand with it while we talked. It was heavy and twisted; I have no idea what the thing was supposed to be, but it needed to be moved into one of the big warehouses, so that’s what we did.

Dale was as cheerful and easy-going as ever. I think some of it was put on for my benefit but he assured me that the rest of my boys were doing okay. They’d seen a couple of fights but were staying clear of them so far. Thorpe was over working with the mechanics; Dan and Matt were on roof repair duty; and Terry was working around the stores and warehouse-buildings with Dale, mostly moving equipment and materials around.

We put down the chunk of metal and he told me to go back to the infirmary. I wasn’t supposed to be there. I refused to turn away and Dale reluctantly pointed me towards where Matt was supposed to be working. I felt eyes on me as I headed in that direction, but I straightened my shoulders and strode. I have no reason to skulk and hide, and there were cutouts lounging around anyway.

There was no-one on the rooftop when I got there. I wandered around for a while, poking at stuff while I looked for my friend. They seem to be building something in there, but I can’t imagine what. It’s a conglomeration of so many things, bits of engines and plumbing, most of it unrecognisable now. Looking at it for too long gave me a headache, so I went outside to search again.

I wandered around a corner and found the garages, all banging and engines revving. I hadn’t gone three steps before someone grabbed my arm and pulled me aside. I was about to protest when I recognised the smudged shape looming over me, with its angry scowl and short, sharp words.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

I couldn’t help it – I grinned at him. Thorpe never changes. “Looking for Matt. Have you seen him?”

“Not lately. You have to go.”

I refused and we argued about it briefly. Thorpe was determined that I was going to go back to the infirmary – he even threatened to smack me around the head if that would keep me there. Eventually, he cracked and said that it wasn’t safe for me – he’s starting to sound as paranoid as the General in that respect – and marched me towards the courtyard I had come from. I tried to tell him that it was important and he demanded to know why.

“I have to tell him something.” I realised then that Matt probably already knew about the Sharks. The men’s dorms were a lot bigger than the women’s, but he must have already crossed paths with them. “I have to make sure he’s okay.”

“He’s fine. Go on, go. Shoo.”

I couldn’t talk him around. Finally, I managed to convince him to take Matt a message for me. Just to let him know that I heard there were Sharks here, and that I’m worried. When I mentioned the name, Thorpe went quiet. He understood, but while the big fireman might sympathise, he won’t ever show it.

“It’s in hand,” he told me, then refused to elaborate even when I insisted and shook his arm in frustration. He just firmly detached my hold on him and placed me in the doorway, positioning me like a doll. “I’ll tell him to come see you. Will that stop you from doing something stupid?”

“Probably not.” I was feeling belligerent by that point. “But it might help,” I added, in case he changed his mind. Then I confused him by giving him a hug. Dammit, I’d missed the stupid great lump and the way he orders me about protectively. He doesn’t give much away, but I trust him. He’ll look out for Matt. My best friend’s not on his own any more.

So now here I am, back to waiting and wondering, and worrying. I don’t have anything better to do.

Maybe that face I saw but didn’t see, the figure I glimpsed on the day we arrived here, maybe that was one of the Sharks. Maybe that’s why I called out, why I was so frantic. The splinter of memory I have doesn’t taste like that. It doesn’t taste like panic, or dread. But it’s so tiny and twisted that I can hardly tell, like a shard of black glass turned over in my hands too many times. I don’t know which way up it goes any more.

I should ask the General for a list of Haven’s people. There might be others we know here. I can only hope that if there are, we’re on better terms with them than we are with the Sharks.

I spent most of last night worrying about what was going on in the boys’ dorms and what exactly ‘it’s in hand’ means. Knowing that I couldn’t do anything about it didn’t help. I want to fix it, I want to make it better, but I can’t. I have to trust that my friends will do what’s best but I’m scared for them. I’d feel better if I could just hold their hands in all of this.

There are things closer to home that I can do something about. Like Jersey’s unhappiness with sanitation duty. So I distracted myself with that today.

I almost asked Simon about it, but he hasn’t spoken to me much since the whole shambler-in-the-basement thing. Instead, I talked to Peter, the nurse, and he said that they probably put her there to shut her up. Even he knows that she’s got the wrong kind of mouth to fit in anywhere, and I don’t think he’s met her yet. It makes me wonder where he hears these things. Who does he talk to when he’s not here among the injured brawlers and bandages?

“Maybe if she tried to toe the line, she wouldn’t be given the shitty jobs.” Peter thought he was funny. I couldn’t summon up a smile for him.

He also thought that I was only using Jersey as an excuse to speak to him, and spent most of the rest of the day following me around and indulging in tired innuendos. He kept going on about ‘playing nice’ and ‘stroking people the right way’. He didn’t nudge or wink, but he did waggle his eyebrows at me once. Flirting is the last thing on my mind right now but he seems harmless enough; he’s like a puppy desperate for permission to hump my leg. I didn’t put him off as strongly as I probably should have.

I caught up with Jersey over dinner. I didn’t say so, but she’s starting to smell of her work, even over the usual miasma of unwashed bodies and unappetising food.

“Toe the line? Who the fuck do you think I am?” She was as impressed with the suggestion as I thought she’d be. “It’s bullying – that’s what it is. Don’t go here, don’t say that. Do exactly as we say or else. I don’t have to take this bullshit.”

I wish that I disagreed or disapproved of her more strongly; it would have given my arguments strength. Instead, I just asked her to think about it, maybe try it for a couple of days and see what happens. In hindsight, this was probably the best approach; Jersey likes to do what Jersey likes to do, and she prefers her own choices over orders every time, no matter how arbitrary or spiteful she might decide to be that day. Maybe if she thinks it’s her idea, she’ll do it.

I hope it works. I haven’t heard what they do with people who refuse to work (other than give them sanitation duty), and I’m not sure I want to find out.

Come to think of it, there’s a lot that I haven’t heard about this place. Like what that machine in the warehouse is and what it is we’re all working so hard for. I don’t know the philosophy or purpose of Haven – maybe it’s nothing lofty or even complicated, but I’d like to know all the same.

Ever since I got out of the infirmary, I feel like I’ve been playing catchup. Even the other Seekers were settled into their places by then. If there was any kind of induction or welcoming speech, I missed it. I was just thrown into the mix and expected to swim with the rest of the shoal. I haven’t blindly followed anything but agreed goals since the bomb went off – no ‘please keep left’, no waiting for the green man to cross, no neat queues enforced by social niceties. We’ve made our own way and our own rules. Now, here we are in this strange shard of the time Before and suddenly there are laws and expectations that no-one explains. Not the same ones as there were Before, though. New ones.

I want explanations. I want reasons. I want to feel like a part of something, not just bowled along by other people’s orders.

I’m like Jersey, I guess, except that I don’t express it in the same way. She bitches and swears at anyone within reach – she’d take part in the fights if she could – while I try to find answers to my questions.

I haven’t been able to find or help Matt, but maybe I’ll be able to find the General and some purpose in all of this arbitrary action. I’m going to stick my head above the waves and see where this shoal is heading.

I heard a rumour today. I heard that Jersey had been moved off sanitation duty – it was noteworthy enough that the others who share her work were talking about it over dinner. She must have taken my suggestion to play nice, and late in the day it paid off.

Hopefully she’ll keep playing the game in her new role. I think she’s helping move some stores – one of the buildings needs shoring up against the rain, and they’re moving the contents in the meantime. I think that’s a purpose we can all get behind.

I’ve asked around, but no-one seems to know what the machine they’re building in the warehouse is for. It’s essential to our survival and our future – several people told me that, but they couldn’t tell me how or why. It doesn’t have a name. Don’t worry about it, they said. There’s a plan, one to keep us going, and that’s part of it. The General’s got it all in hand. The army has plans for when things like the bomb happen. Contingencies. They’ll make sure we all get through this.

To what? I didn’t ask but it hung over me like a personal stormcloud, cluttering up my shadow until I felt it following me.

I’m sure that I would be happier if I let these questions go, if I could just accept that this place offers survival, maybe even a future. Once up on a time, I would have. I would have trusted what someone in charge told me and carried on my merry way.

I’ve been in charge. I know that sometimes you have to make things up and fake it until you know what really is the best thing to do. I know that you don’t always have everything you need to make the right choice. It’s not some infallible, all-knowing position – it’s being the one to step forward and speak first, it’s thinking on your feet and diving in the direction that looks best at the time. It’s acting with so much more confidence than you feel that other people will follow you.

I’m glad I’m not in charge of all these people. I tried to work out just how many people there are here in Haven. Two hundred – three, maybe. So many lives, so many things to manage and control. I struggled with twenty-something.

At the same time, I’m not ready to let go. Returning to trust and ignorance isn’t as simple or easy as it sounds.

I can’t imagine how the General has dealt with it all this time, but I guess he’s used this stuff. He’s trained for it. He had control when the bomb went off and so I guess it was easy for him to just keep going. He leads because he’s leading and others follow.

The more I think about the General and what happened all those months ago, the more questions I have. He must know what happened – what really happened, why the bombs were set off, who did it. They didn’t attack the army base; they went for the cities, taking out civilians. There’s no war – the only fighting that’s going on is between ourselves and for base survival. The army is right here, not off on some front. I think if there was a war, it was over the second the bombs went off, or maybe the first time the rain fell.

The only invasion we’re suffering is by the shamblers. Who would bother invading here? Even we don’t want to be here.

The other question is just how many cities were hit. How much of the world was taken out, how much of it has had the poison spread over it, blotting out the sun and burning away everything green and good below? Have have they left us to our fate or aren’t they able to come?

So many questions. I should write a list.

The cutouts wouldn’t let me in to see him today. I got sent away with hard looks, and a leer from one of the soldiers. I’m not that easily put off (or turned on), though.

The General walks the compound every day but, just before the rain comes, he returns to his office. All I need to do is get into the admin building before the rain hits and then he won’t be able to get rid of me for a few hours. I’ll just have to see if I can get him to listen, and then to talk.

It’s not like I’m asking for a lot. Just for answers. Just to know what’s going on, in my life, in the lives of my friends. I have a right to that.

Then why am I so nervous?

While I was worrying about the big picture, smaller pictures, much closer to home, collided while I wasn’t looking. As a result, the infirmary was full, and most of the patients were my friends.

I was getting ready to slip into the admin building when they started coming in. One minute the infirmary was as echoingly silent as always; the next the door banged open and it was full of voices calling and bodies helping each other inside.

I didn’t recognise the first couple, but then I saw Terry holding a hand over his eye, and Dale behind him with blood on his face. I stopped abruptly when I saw Thorpe hauling someone along with him; I knew who it was even before I saw him. And I knew suddenly who those first two were.

“Is this your idea of ‘in hand’?” My first words to Thorpe weren’t kind. My heart was beating all out of rhythm as I helped him get Matt onto a bed. There was a lot of blood on both of them.

“He’s been stabbed,” Thorpe told me and I saw the cloth tied around Matt’s leg. I shouted for Simon through the lump rising in my throat. I had to blink rapidly to see past the denial in my head – all I could hear was ‘no, this can’t be happening, no’.

Then Matt grabbed my hand and I looked at him. His face looked terrible, cut and swelling already. He tried to say something, but he couldn’t get his split lip to work properly. I shushed him, tried to soothe him, told him it would be okay. I stroked his hair and squeezed his hand. I hoped so badly that I wasn’t lying to him.

Then Simon was there, nudging me out of the way, and Peter stepped in to help. The medic told me to see to the others and I stumbled off to do that. Anything but standing there uselessly while my best friend was in trouble and pain. Anything but looking at his battered face.

Thorpe waved me off, so I went to assess the damage on Dale and Terry. They had been victims of fists and feet, not blades; I think Matt was the only one who was victim to a knife. From the looks of the boys’ hands, they gave as good as they got. Both of them were quiet and unhappy, one of them refusing to look at anyone and the other sneaking worried glances at Thorpe. With no ice, the best I could do was clean them up and give them a damp rag to put on their swollen eyes and lips. I knew that the cutouts would scowl about wasting that much water but I really didn’t care.

By the time I was done with them, Simon was working on one of the Sharks. He said that Matt had lost a lot of blood, but he should be all right. He’d been given something for the pain and was asleep.

One of the Sharks was unconscious; another was splattered in blood, but I don’t know whose. The third was nursing his arm – possibly a broken wrist. I tried to feel sorry for them, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

Finally, I went to look at Thorpe. He was standing stiffly between Matt and Dale’s beds, glowering at everyone. He shook his head when I went to start cleaning him up, but there was something in his face. The set of his jaw, the pallor to his skin. There was something wrong but he didn’t want to admit it there in the open infirmary. Damn him and his pride.

“Fine. If you’re all right, you can help me get more supplies,” I said and dragged him off into a side room. Closing the door behind us, I told him to sit on the gurney in there. To my surprise, he did as he was told.

He was hurt a lot more than he let on. Even after I’d cleaned up his face and hands, he still seemed taut and pained. I had to make him take his shirt off before I found the reason: his side was a mess of purple and black. He stopped me when I went to fetch Simon and said he didn’t want anyone else to know. Not even Dale; maybe especially not Dale.

I’m nowhere near as good at that kind of thing as the medic is, but I did my best. Thorpe was willing to put up with my clumsiness while I tried to figure out if anything was broken. He’s got a couple of cracked ribs, maybe worse, but nothing too dangerous. I strapped him up thoroughly just in case.

“What happened?” I asked him while I worked. I didn’t think he’d tell me anything out there with the others.

For a moment, I didn’t think he was going to tell me at all. “I don’t know how it started,” he said finally. My mind started to fill in unpleasant possibilities but he continued, “I think they went after Terry.”

That wasn’t one of the options I was considering. “Terry?” He’s just a kid. I managed to feel even more sick about the whole thing. I thought Terry was just quiet, shocked because of the fight, but it could easily be more than that.

“We had words with them days ago. We thought it was sorted. Then I went to see what all the noise was about and found them fighting. Matt was already there.”

“So you waded in to help out.”

“Sure.”

I looked up at his face and his frown, and there was a sudden pain in my chest. I haven’t always agreed with Thorpe, but I’ve never regretted trusting him. He’s like a big brother, protective as a bear, and I know he got battered so badly because he took the heat off our friends. I would have hugged him if it wouldn’t have hurt him. Instead, I said I was sorry for shouting at him and felt so wretched I wanted to burst into tears.

Thorpe looked at me like I was about to do something unsettling and went on in case words could avert it. “It was going all right until one of the Sharks pulled the knife. Then a simple punch-up turned into a….”

“Clusterfuck?”

“Yeah.”

I took a deep breath and felt less like crying. “Is it going to always be like this?”

“With them?” Thorpe shrugged with his mouth; it was too painful to move his shoulders. I had to help him put his shirt back on. “Maybe. We’ll see.”

When we went back out into the infirmary proper – with Thorpe carrying fresh bandages – there was a cadre of cutouts cluttering up the place and the General standing in the centre. The Sharks were in the middle of blaming the whole thing on the Seekers, while Simon and Peter stood on the sidelines and wiped the blood off their hands.

“You don’t believe their bullshit, I hope,” I said.

“I’ll be the judge of that.” The General was, apparently, not having a good day. I wasn’t in the mood to sympathise. He ordered all of those who didn’t require further medical attention back to their respective dorms before the rain came. He gave me a pointed look and I just as pointedly went to stand by Matt’s bed. I exchanged a glance with Thorpe, and the big fireman gave me his burden of bandages on his way to rejoining the other Seekers. He’ll look after Dale and Terry.

The infirmary emptied out after that. I wanted to talk to the General but that really wasn’t the time and I didn’t want to leave Matt again. Simon said that I didn’t have to stay, but I think he knew that it was pointless trying to get me to leave. He and Peter moved the unconscious Shark into another room, which meant that I didn’t have to look at the damned guy across the room.

I wish I could have been there. I wish I could have helped with more than the cleanup. I wish I knew how to fix this. I want to beat into them how wrong all of this is. I want to shout at them until they understand. Even I know that it’s pointless.

Matt’s still asleep. Whatever Simon gave him really put him out, but at least he’s not in pain. I’m still sitting beside him, returning the favour that he did for me when we got here. Not that I need to; neither of us keeps track of that kind of thing. He’s hurt so I’m here.

I hope he wakes soon.

I finally got a chance to talk to Matt this morning. His swollen lip forces him to mumble and he can only see me out of one eye right now, but he seems to be doing all right.

I filled him in on what happened after Simon put him out, let him know that the others are okay. He and Thorpe took the worst of it and the Sharks came off badly. I didn’t mention the General’s appearance or the questions about the fight; there’s no point worrying him just yet. I’m sure there’ll be plenty of time to worry about repercussions once he’s back on his feet or at least able to form audible sentences.

I had to ask him about what happened. The subject stood like an elephant between us; we both knew that it needed to be aired.

“Did they go after Terry?” There wasn’t any point beating around the bush on this.

His visible eye went hard and unhappy – not a look I’ve seen on my friend before. He nodded stiffly. I held his hand loosely, unable to grip him because of the wrappings around his bruised, torn knuckles. “Couldn’t get to me,” he said.

I looked at him and saw what he meant, saw the cogs turning under his skin. My stomach went cold and I shook my head. “Matt, it wasn’t your fault.”

His glance away disagreed with me. He believed that because they couldn’t get to him, they went after his weaker friend instead. To punish him, to prove that he wasn’t as untouchable as he’d like to make out. Poor Terry never knew to protect himself from that.

“You didn’t do this,” I told him. “They did. You did nothing wrong, nothing at all. It’s not your fault.”

He didn’t answer. I couldn’t stand seeing him like that, beaten and still punishing himself. He hardly looks like the boy I grew up with, the one I’ve known forever.

“You stopped them.” I kept speaking because I hated the silence between us. “Before they– I mean, Terry, they didn’t hurt him badly.” I hoped I was right. Terry hadn’t seemed badly hurt when I checked him over – he’d been hit and his hands were the least damaged of everyone involved, but that was it. I didn’t want to put the possibility of rape into words, but luckily I didn’t need to. Neither of us wanted that spelled out, as if hearing it made it more real, more tangible.

“Yeah,” he mumbled to me, sighing. We were both relieved.

“So, you saved him.”

He glanced at me, unwilling to unbend from his guilt, but his fingers wiggled at my hand lightly. That was enough on that. “Was coming to see you.” It sounded like a change of subject but I wasn’t sure.

“Who was? You?”

He nodded. That was the only reason he came across Terry and the Sharks; he was on his way here. I don’t like to think about luck like that.

“Well, for future reference, you don’t have to go getting yourself stabbed just to see me. Next time, fake a sniffle, okay?”

He blinked at me, and then he groaned. I’m not sure if he said ‘ow’ or ‘cow’, but I am sure that he was laughing, at least a little bit. I was close enough for him to ruffle my hair with his fingertips and I grinned at him. That was better. That was more like my Matt.

Next thing I knew, he was grappling at my hand, awkwardly because of his bound knuckles. “Wanted to tell you somethin’,” he said.

He sounded so intent that my smile faded. I remembered him trying to talk to me yesterday when he had just got here, and I watched him struggling to get the words out with a growing sense of dread. “What is it? I’m here, Matt. What’s wrong?”

He shook his head and I think he tried to smile, but it was hard to tell with his fat lip. “Not wrong. S’good. Promise. You gotta come with me somewhere.”

“What, now? You’re not going anywhere, mister.”

“Soon.” He looked so proud of himself, but he was tapping the back of my hand with his fingertips the way I like, so I couldn’t hold it against him.

“Simon says you’ll be in bed for a few days.”

He gave a little whine. “Stop makin’ me laugh. Hurts.”

“What?”

“Simon says? You five?”

“It’s the medic’s name!” I couldn’t help it; by then, I was giggling too.

I poked fun at him until he begged me to stop – it really did hurt – and then I went and did my rounds for the day. I avoided the Shark’s room; he was awake and I didn’t want to have to suppress the urge to smack him.

The other Seekers came back for fresh dressings, fresh from a grilling by the cutouts. They have soldiers in the dorms, making sure the peace is nailed down, but somehow that’s not a great reassurance. No-one has come to talk to Matt yet, but I think Simon had something to do with that. I’m hoping that the General comes down to do it; I haven’t forgotten my list and he won’t get away from me so easily again.

In the meantime, I’m keeping my best friend company and trying to help him forget how much pain he’s in. If I have to sleep in that chair again, I’m going to wake up cricked.

Simon warned me that scuffles happen a lot around here, but I had no idea it would be this often. At least the latest one had nothing to do with the Sharks, though it had everything to do with someone getting screwed.

I feel like I’m on the fringes of a war zone. I’m unable to see the action; all I get are second-hand accounts and graphic images of the aftermath. I’m frustrated with all of it – I’d rather be out there trying to fix it than in here patching up afterwards. I don’t know if I could fix any of it, but at least I’d feel less useless in the face of all the hurt I’m seeing.

They came in in the early hours of the morning. Luckily, I was dozing next to Matt’s bed and if I’m honest, I was glad of the distraction. Watching him sleep is painful; when he’s awake, I can forget what happened in my attempts to keep his spirits up, but when he’s asleep, all I can see is the damage. His discoloured, swollen face that doesn’t look like him at all. It’s starting to go down now, but it still tugs at me to see him like that.

I had to send one of the escorts to get Simon and Peter up. It was more than I was comfortable handling on my own – bumps and bruises are fine, but I worry about the injuries that aren’t so easy to see. Internal bleeding, concussion, cracked bones – the boys are better at spotting those than I am.

There were three beaten boys this time – one army cutout and two civilians. Their injuries told me the story of what happened; sometimes it bothers me that I’m so used to reading these things. The youngest fella had a bust nose that had bled everywhere but his hands were unmarred – he hadn’t thrown a single punch and was probably an unlucky bystander that got smacked in the confusion. The other civilian seems to have taken the worst of it – it looked like someone used a bar to hit him. He was conscious but had several long, nasty bruises across his arms and shoulders from trying to defend his head.

At the time, I didn’t think it was the cutout that did it – the three exchanged looks a couple of times, and there was no enmity in any of it. From what I can tell, the cutout stepped in to pull the attacker off the civilian.

I didn’t ask who that fourth party was; it was more interesting listening to their mutterings. They didn’t say much, but the cutout did spit out something about a ‘bitch’. I tried not to be amused at their grumpiness that a girl could do something like this. It was funny because even after nine months of scrabbling and scraping to survive, they still had no idea what people were really capable of. They’ve been in Haven for too long.

It was a short while later that the culprit turned up, marched in by a pair of soldiers. Her face was marred by blood but I knew that defiant glare. My stomach clenched as I went to relieve the cutouts of their burden and eased her onto a bed. Jersey.

None of the injuries were serious, though there were a couple of head wounds that bled impressively. Lumps and vivid bruises painted pictures of exchanged aggression. No-one said anything, not even the Seeker when I asked her. She just glared at me, her anger aimed at the whole world while her jaw clenched down on the pain. She hunched over awkwardly but wouldn’t let anyone check her out. I had to wait until morning and a chance to get her alone before she’d let me help her.

After the midnight flurry of activity, the infirmary settled down into an uneasy rest. Not long after breakfast, a couple of cutouts – higher-ranking ones, from the stripes on their arms – came to question the latest combatants. The fellas had short interviews and were released back into the wild. Jersey was the last one they went to talk to, and they got a whole lot of nothing out of her. She does a good impression of a baleful rock when she wants to.

It was a little before lunch when the General came in. He spoke with the interviewers, looking grave. He tried to talk to Jersey as well but her lips were not parting for anyone. I went over to try to snag the General before he left, and he rounded on me with a scowl to outdo the ex-Wolverine.

“Why is it always your people causing trouble? If it’s not one thing, it’s another.”

“It’s my people being attacked by everyone else here!”

“If you would just stick to the rules–”

“What rules! The ones no-one tells us about?”

“Yeah, tell her about the ‘rule’ that got your boy in trouble. Go on,” Jersey said, getting up to limp over to us. “Tell her about how you’re whoring us out to the men.”

I was so stunned that I couldn’t speak. I stared at the General, waiting for him to deny it. At the edges of the room, the officers and medics looked on.

“It is not that simple,” he said with weighty calm.

“Then explain it to us,” I said.

He huffed, but he sent the others out of the room so that he could speak to us alone. He explained shortly that there were five men to every one woman here, and if there wasn’t some provision for physical pleasure, then they would make their own. So they have a system. It was expected of the women to keep the men quiet. It would be worse for everyone if they didn’t.

I felt sick as he explained it. I remembered that night I saw a group of men crossing the courtyard towards the girls’ dorms. I remembered the General’s comment when I arrived about how he hoped to have more kids for the school soon. I hadn’t realised that he intended to make them.

I asked him what would happen if we refused. He said that the whole point was to avoid rape. It was for the greater good. I saw then what he had done; he had made the girls responsible for sending some of their number to entertain the troops. Those who didn’t want to would be pressured from both sides. It made my head spin to think about.

“But it doesn’t work,” Jersey said. The marks on her were testament to that.

“It works better than the alternative. Without it, this place would tear itself apart at the seams.” That was all the General had to say on the matter. He said that he would consider suitable punishments for those involved; then he said goodbye and walked out, ignoring my pleas for him to wait.

I told Jersey that I was sorry, feeling awful just thinking about what happened, but she shook her head at me. “Wasn’t me he tried it on.”

I didn’t need her to say any more; I knew her well enough to read the truth. She had heard the commotion and found a girl in trouble, and she’d stepped in, as blunt and straightforward as always. She had spent months running with the Wolverines; she knew how to handle herself in a brawl. The girl ran off during the fight and Jersey won’t say who it was. All I could get out of her was that it wasn’t Tia.

I don’t know what to do with myself now. I’m glad Matt’s here – he means that I don’t have to go back to the dorms. I don’t want to go back – I don’t want to look at those women and wonder whose turn it is tonight. I don’t want them to ask me when I’m stepping up to take part. I don’t want to do it. Not like that.

All I can think about is footsteps crossing the courtyard outside, furtive movements in a dark building next to the girls’ dorms. We’re making so many compromises to be here, siphoning pieces of ourselves off here and there to fit into this mould.

How will we know if we’ve compromised away everything that makes us who we are?

Last night, I was numb when I went to settle down with Matt. He asked me what was going on for the fourth time that day, and I finally felt able to tell him.

As I spoke, there was something in his expression that made me pause. He already knew about the deal, about the nightly visitations. I felt oddly betrayed because he hadn’t told me, but he was surprised that I didn’t know. He said he thought the women would have told me.

I feel more out of touch than ever. I’m playing a perpetual game of catchup, only I don’t know what I’m chasing most of the time. I feel like everyone is watching me rush around, wondering what all the fuss is about.

His expression was guarded when he asked me if I would ever do it. If I’d take part in this man-feeding. Then he took my hand and said I didn’t need to answer; my face said enough. I wished that we could pick up the pretence that protected us when the Wolverines joined us, in case a relationship between us would fend off all of these issues. He said it might be worth a try.

The thing is, I’m not sure if a pretence is enough any more.

Today, even Simon commented on how quiet I was. He seemed more relieved than anything else, so I didn’t bother trying to talk to him. I kept catching Peter grinning at me; each time, my stomach flopped over on itself and I had to go do something else.

I found Matt a crutch and he got up to pole himself around the room. His face is better today, with the swelling easing slowly and the bruises losing the vivid purple edge. While he was up and moving around, I asked him about what else I should know. How much of my confusion has already been answered for my friends?

He shrugged and kept going, tap-hop tap-hopping between the furniture. We started to pool what we knew.

The rules are pretty much what I already knew. Stay to your assigned areas, don’t go wandering around on your own. It’s especially important for the girls. I asked him why, when there are so many cutouts around, and he said that that’s part of the problem. “They’re fellas too, y’know,” was how he put it. Stupidly, I hadn’t even considered that; I saw the uniforms and thought of discipline, obedience, and order. I hadn’t realised that they’d crack open their collars and be men underneath. I guess some habits of the time Before haven’t completely left me, even after everything.

The water filtration system that turned our own waste into necessary drink. The mechanic section that was keeping the vehicles going – they have a way to get the ignitions working, so they don’t have to push-start the damned things. The machine that’s being constructed in the warehouse – some vital piece of equipment that will help secure a lasting future for all of us. It’s stalled at the moment, missing some vital parts that the machine shop is trying to build out of scraps. They call it the Converter.

It felt good, churning these things over with Matt. He makes me feel more solid and it seemed to make more sense when we were done. By then, he was flushed and I made him sit down and drink some water for a while.

I still need to talk to the General. There are answers that we don’t have between us and the bigger issues are still beyond our reach. At least I’ll feel less foolish now. It’s not just me with these questions; I’m just the one that’s going to step forward and ask them, as usual. After that, well, I don’t know what will happen. But at least we’ll be able to make informed choices; no more following the herd like we’re forced to now.

I didn’t want to bother the General again so soon, but I don’t want this to drag on much longer. I can feel us all slipping and I’m afraid of what our own inertia will do. Tomorrow I’ll visit the General and see if we can sort this out.

I almost didn’t make it to see the General today. Matt insisted that I go, and though I didn’t want to leave him, I went anyway.

Last night, Matt wasn’t just flushed after his exercise around the room with the crutch: he was shaky too, though he tried to hide it. He keeps waving away my concern, saying that his leg hurts and he’s just recovering. He slept most of today and didn’t get up to move around again. I hope that’s not a bad sign.

I was going to stay with him this afternoon too, but he wasn’t going to let that happen. If he could, he would have got up and shooed me out. Instead, he just batted my hands away and said, “I’ll be here when you get back.”

I asked Peter to keep an eye on him on my way out. It might have raised some eyebrows, but I wasn’t going to leave him completely unattended. I slipped out before I could be questioned about where I was going.

The sky was darkening the way it does before the rain when I let myself into the admin building. I didn’t want to be turned away from the front and I didn’t know where the back door was, but it was a safe assumption that it had one. Unfortunately, it was locked, but there was a loose window – a brief scramble and a frantic attempt to avoid landing on my head, and then I was inside. I paused to listen, but the cutouts hadn’t heard me hit the floor. Small mercies, I suppose.

I waited for the rain to start before I tried to get to the office. The tap of acid water hitting the windows and the faint hiss as it slithered down the walls filled the building, and the eerie orange light dimmed even further. Elsewhere in the compound, a generator started up, sputtering a bare few bulbs into life.

I’m used to making my way around in half-light, so it wasn’t much trouble to sneak up to the floor where the General’s office lived. Standing in front of the panel, pale light painted my toes, sneaking out from under the door. I took a breath and knocked, and entered when permission came from the other side.

He was expecting a cutout and half-rose out of his chair in surprise when he saw me. He glanced at his window and demanded to know how I had got there. I just smiled and told him that my timing was good. I needed to talk to him and he’s a hard man to get to see – I kept being told that he was too busy. He gestured to the stack of papers on his desk as he sat down again and said that he was always busy.

“So now is as good a time as any,” I said, taking the chair opposite him. I hoped that he couldn’t tell how fast my heart was beating while I waited for him to decide whether or not to throw me out.

“If this is about what happened the other day, I really have nothing more to say on the matter.” As starts go, it wasn’t the best.

“I think you said enough. You made your position quite clear.” I didn’t like it, not one bit, but he’d had his reasons. I might not agree but I also didn’t think arguing with him would get me anywhere.

“So, what do you want?”

Now that I had finally come to it, it was hard to know where to start. I opened my mouth a couple of times as my brain kept trying to find the right question. Eventually, I wound up asking, “What’s the purpose of this place?”

He was surprised again and leaned back in his chair as he scowled at me. “I’m not sure I know what you mean.” I think he expected me to attack him somehow. That wasn’t what I was there for. Do I really come across like that to him?

“This place. What are its aims? What is it we’re all working so hard for?”

“Well, survival, of course. It’s not easy out there, but we’ve made a safe place here.”

It was tempting to argue with him on that point – ‘safety’ is a sensitive issue for us right now – but I decided not to interrupt him. I just listened while he told me about how they’re building a new future here. Getting all the basics sorted out before they move on to the real rebuilding. Food, water, power. School, skills. Children to replace the numbers we’ve lost. I asked him about the resources problem, and he said that they have enough stocked up to get past this setup period. That’s what he called it: a setup period. Months after the bomb and they’re still just starting.

It was disheartening. Of course it’ll take time, but I had hoped they were further along than that. My hope of it getting better soon is dribbling away from me; this place isn’t going to get better for some time yet.

I asked him about the Converter they’re building, and he said that it will produce power and water when it’s finished. It’s at the centre of most of the work going on here, and at the centre of the future they’re building. It’s the key to Haven’s hope and future.

When I asked him why they weren’t out looking for survivors, he said that it was a resources issue. They have enough to sustain Haven, but not frequent trips out into the wild. It wasn’t worth the expense or the risk. I started to argue with him, but even while I vented my outrage at that idea – that saving lives wasn’t worth risking something – I knew there was no point. He was a rock that had already made up its mind.

He has a way of making me feel small and stupid. Everything he said made so much sense, even while my innards rebelled and I wanted to spew my thoughts all over him. We could both feel the pressure building; it was palpable in the air between us. His answers got shorter and sharper, more defensive.

“Is there anything else you’d like to criticise?” he asked eventually, bringing his hands down on the desk with a bang.

I jumped, then frowned at him. “Yes. Why can’t I see my friends? Not everyone is a bastard that needs to be watched.”

“If I start making concessions for you, I have to start making them for everyone, now don’t I?”

“That’s so backwards.” I hadn’t realised I had said it out loud. I hadn’t actually meant to; it’s the sort of thing I usually stew on silently, like most of my objections.

Then he started shouting at me. About how my group thought they were special and didn’t know how to get along with other people. I thought I knew everything and did nothing but try to tear down everything they’d built. We were lucky that they didn’t exile people as a punishment. We should toe the line or get the hell out, because he was sick of having to justify himself all the time.

I felt awful. I hadn’t meant to do that. I was a naughty schoolkid, a child in his eyes. As far as he was concerned, I knew nothing and was shitting on everything he’d built.

Once upon a time, a dressing-down like that would made me break down in tears. I felt it coming, rising in my chest and filling up my eyes. But I’m not a kid any more. Before I knew what I was doing, I was on my feet and shouting right back at him. They took everything we had and brought us here. We didn’t ask for any of this, and we didn’t agree to it. We were just dumped here and expected to toe the line. And we deserve to know what’s going on.

It was too much. I spilled myself, then I was empty couldn’t stand there any more. The door slammed behind me on the way out but there was nowhere to go. The rain was still dribbling down outside, so I couldn’t escape. I pushed past a couple of bemused cutouts and found an empty office on another floor to shut myself in. Then I was true to form and collapsed in tears.

I can’t tell if I’m just being stubborn any more. Everything I learn about this place makes my insides turn over, and every time I think I’ve come to terms with it, something else flops them back the other way. Every instinct I have resists. But we’re fed, and we’re defended, and there’s a future being built here. I’m twisting up into knots.

They haven’t bothered me since I left the General’s office. The rain is finally stopping; I’ll be able to go soon. Back to the infirmary, back to my best friend. I’d like to say that I’d be going back to somewhere I belong, but I don’t know if that’s true. If Matt wasn’t there, I don’t know where I’d go.

I feel like I’m slipping, but it’s so dark I can’t tell if I’m falling up or down.

When I got back last night, I was still trying to figure out what I had learned from the General and what use it might be. I forgot most of it when I saw Matt.

His face was flushed again, but he hadn’t been up this time. He kept saying that he was fine but he was definitely too hot. I ignored his protests and did my job.

I called Simon in and the medic agreed about the fever. He checked the stab wound and found it angrier than it had been when I changed the dressings yesterday. Violent red lines lead away from it, poisoning Matt’s whole body with the infection.

It’s not really a surprise, we were told, considering the rusty blade that made the hole. I stared at my friend and asked why he didn’t mention it earlier, but he just shrugged. He didn’t want to worry anyone. I told him that he’s an idiot but I kept a tight hold on his hand.

Simon has given him antibiotics and said we’ll see how it goes. He was tight-lipped about it; he’s more guarded than usual, so it must be bad. This kind of infection is nothing to be casual about at the best of times, and this isn’t one of those.

I sat with Matt all day, even when he slept. I snuck in a bowl of water to ease the fever with, trying to make him more comfortable. The antibiotics need some time to work. A couple of days, the medic thinks, then we might see some improvement; in the meantime, he’ll probably get worse.

Matt’s more scared by this than he’s letting on. He’s keeping so much inside these days – he jokes and chats with me well enough, but he doesn’t say what’s really going on with him. I don’t know if it’s the Sharks or the space between the dorms, but something is making him clam up. He’s usually so open and honest, especially with me, and the notion that something has interfered with him that much scares me.

I’m trying my best at just being here anyway. Trying to keep him going with whatever trivialities I can think of. We talked a bit about the General and the situation here.

He squeezed my hand and said, “I know, Faithy. I know. It’ll be okay. We’ll be okay.”

The other injured Seekers came in today to get checked over. I had to pull Thorpe into another room to check on his ribs – he still won’t let any of the others know about it. From the looks Dale was giving us, I think he knows, so at least someone is looking out for the big lug day to day. They’re all healing okay, though.

We exchanged news. I told them what happened with Jersey – she’s back on sanitation duty, along with the fella she attacked – and that Matt was sick. They all went in to talk to him, and that cheered him up a bit.

Terry asked about Tia, but I haven’t seen her in days. I told him I’d find her and make sure she’s all right. Dale filled me in on the latest activities of the Sharks – in short, they’re keeping their heads down, both in regards to the cutouts and the Seekers. They’re not well-liked, so at least this might not blow up into something larger. I can only hope that it’s actually finished now.

Dan is the only one of the Seekers who wasn’t involved in the altercation, and word is that he’s doing okay. As quiet and unobtrusive as he is, I think Dan would fit in anywhere. He knows when to keep his mouth shut and do as he’s told. Maybe I should see if he’s got any advice for me in that regard.

I must have looked stressed, because each of my visiting friends asked me if I was okay. Even Thorpe – when he asked, I almost crumpled into tears again, because he doesn’t usually do that. I just miss my friends, I told him. I’m worried about all of them and Matt’s sick, and nothing here is what we were looking for. He patted my shoulder and I took a shuddering, steadying breath, trying not to lose control of my emotions all over him.

“We’ll work it out,” he said. We. That was exactly what I needed to hear.

He’s a rock. I never realised before how valuable that is, though a part of me always knew it. I don’t think I’ve needed it more than I do now. I was sad when he had to leave.

They went just before the rain came, and I returned to sit by Matt’s side. Sick of trying to sleep on a chair, I pulled a gurney into the room and crammed it against the wall. Most of my gear is here anyway. Simon tried to argue with me when I brought it over from the dorms, but I find that just not listening to him and doing what I need to works fine. I’m not leaving; it’s that simple.

Matt is still feverish and dozing. At the last check, his temperature had risen another couple of notches. There’s not a lot that we can do about it, though I’m still dampening him when I can. We just need to wait for the antibiotics to kick in. I think it’s going to be another long night.

He’s going to be all right, though. He has to be.