The world as we know it is different. Of course, it has been different for years now. Thankfully it took a better turn eventually. I walk along the rocks near my apartment. I live in the SF building (Single Female). It's how they label us now. Since the government finally got everything under control and came out of hiding, after they decontaminated what was left of civilization, they immediately set up housing. The human race was lacking. Most buildings had been infested and therefore destroyed during the decontamination. Businesses and homes crumbled to the ground as the government grabbed up whoever was still surviving. As things progressed a little more in the next year, apartments were built and separated into 'camps' as to label the people who lived there. The government of New America had to separate us as easily as possible. Those who were married or together or who had children were sent into the LT building (Living Together), and then there was SF and SM buildings. Last but not least was E building, strictly for the elderly. Duties were passed out according to age, sex, and whether you were with or without children. As a twenty one year old with no spouse or kids, I was delegated to washing clothes and cooking for the buildings who all eat at the same time.
I'm on my way to the river where we wash the clothes. Not everything is completely fixed yet. The government is still working on restoring power and running water and all that. My hair is pulled tightly to the top of my head and I'm clean, which is different than before. My top is a sunny yellow and my pants are a sparkling white. I smell like lavender soap and fruit. I just finished chopping the berries we picked and threw them in some oatmeal for breakfast. We eat oatmeal a lot, but I can't complain. I was used to eating out of cans.
"Brittany! Could you wash this for me?" Lou calls to me from my usual spot, he has been waiting for a while by the looks of the sweat on his brow.
"Of course, just put it in my pile." I tell him sincerely as he drops a handful of clothes into my bin. I wash the Single Men's clothes.
I take out the clothing scraper (as I like to call it) and sit on a tree stump next to Patty and Holly, twin sisters about my age. They are washers too, but they do daycare at night instead of cooking like me.
"Lots of laundry today." Holly mentions as she brushes her wet hand against her fire engine red hairline.
"Yeah." I agree as I start in on my pile. In all reality, it's pretty easy for me. I've been working in a group like this for a year now after being on my own in the woods trying to survive.
"I hear we're getting new members today." Patty strikes up conversation, but I just nod and murmur when she needs me to instead of talking myself. I'm not one for gossip, not after all I've seen.
"That's probably why there're so many clothes. New members means more resources." Holly says as she tries hard to scrub out stains on some kid's underpants. It's the worst part of the job, dealing with underwear.
"I hope we don't end up going into draught." Patty complains. Her words are wrong but I know how she feels, she doesn't want more people to mean we lose food again. It happened a few months ago and it was hard on all of us.
Georgia being so close to D.C. was lucky, we were one of the first places rehabilitated after they fixed their coast and Florida- so we were told. But we don't know what is happening with the West at all, if they're better or worse than us. We all assume that New America includes them, but who really knows.
I shake my head and work on getting a grass stain out of what I assume is a contractor's shirt. The men have rebuilding duty. Thanks to the fact that most, if not all, of the dead have been eradicated.
"Have you been matched yet?" Patty asks me as she borrows my soap. She always runs out quickly, she isn't great as saving up what she can of our resources.
"No." I shrug but I know it's coming.
Our leaders, President Halfax and his second in command, Kimble have put in place a new 'mating' system, so to speak. If women and men don't pair up naturally by twenty, they will be matched up as best as the government can and are expected to have two children with their new mate.
I resent the system in some ways because I know it will be my turn soon, but in others I don't mind. The world needs to be repopulated and this is life now, I'd rather contribute than have things go back to the way they used to be.
"I hope it'll be soon for me, personally." Patty continues. "It just takes the pressure off. Plus, if I get pregnant I can stop working until the baby's two, and even then I'll only have one job."
"I so agree." Holly adds with a whimsical smile.
Part of me wants to agree, but a smaller part likes the work, likes to feel needed. I don't want to just be some boob for a baby to suck on, as harsh as that sounds… I guess I just hate that gender roles have come out in the harsh new reality that is our lives.
After I finish my washing for the day I move to the communal kitchen and eatery. It's a large wooden building that is nearly empty inside, aside from picnic-like benches and the back room that houses the kitchen. It's got a big fire pit and wood-burning stove. It's got tables to cut up the meat and veggies and whatever else we need to do. I like the cutting the best, it reminds me of when I was stronger. I've grown weaker since the camps have been set up and regulated, I've grown complacent. My arms have thinned out and my thighs have gained weight, not muscle weight either. I throw a bunch of carrots into a large Dutch oven followed by potatoes and chunks of chicken. I cover it with water and spices and put the lid on, letting it boil for a couple hours so it'll turn into stew.
The camp has two meals a day and children are brought a snack at lunchtime. The meals are always hearty and filling, I think we're all on the same mind frame of anything could happen anytime. I don't think that will ever leave us. But with practice and regulation our children's children will never know that feeling. That's what the president tells us at least. I choose to believe him because if I didn't, I probably wouldn't have much hope to hold onto.
Kimberly, a thin, middle-aged woman with short brown hair stands next to me, pouring water into cups to hand to the men who are constructing more buildings. She is probably my best friend here, she doesn't talk much either. The words we speak are never wasted. She has a ten year old daughter who goes to school when she works and then helps us in the kitchen when she gets home.
"New members." Kimberly reminds me softly as she takes a drink for herself and hands me one. I gulp it down greedily, terrified that it could be the last bit of fresh water my mouth will taste. Survival mode just won't leave me.
"I heard. I put extra meat and veggies in for tonight. Don't want anyone to be hungry." I say easily. "Have you heard any word on…you know?"
Kimberly shakes her head and frowns. I know she's concerned. Rumors are that single people with children will be matched again until they meet the two-child requirement. Kimberly's husband died a while back I think, she doesn't really talk about it, and she's scared to have to replace him. She's forty though, and I'm not sure they will force her to be matched.
"I'll pray for you." I say it automatically, the words fall from my lips of their own accord. I'm not religious anymore, I don't think I am anyway. I think I lost my faith the first time I had to slaughter the dead on my own.
"Thanks Brittany." She pats my shoulder twice and smiles.
I nod and move to the cupboards where we store the utensils and dishes. I need to set up the benches for mealtime. I grab spoons, forks, knives, and bowls. It takes me a good two hours of busy work to get them all set out in proper order. I like busy work, it keeps my mind off the old days. At the end of setting the tables I have two forks, knives, and spoons left over. For reasons I don't understand I take a knife and secretly put it in my back pocket. Just in case.
Bells ring out through camp and I brace myself for an attack that won't come. I hate loud noises. The men come in first, followed by their children who sit next to them. Women come in next and complete the room. All the puzzles fit. Except there are thirty empty seats in the back that I've set for the newcomers. I swallow nervously as I grab the stew pot and dish it out into everyone's bowls. I give men and children two slices of bread while the women get one. The kids who don't want the extra slice hand it to the women. The bread is getting stale, I can feel the outside hardening unpleasantly, and I realize that tomorrow I'll have to bake more.
Bruce, the man in charge of the other men, appointed by the president himself, comes up to me. He's handsome in a pretty way. He's thin and clean shaven with short blonde hair. His muscles have weakened as well, but he's still attractive for his mid-thirties.
"Brit, we've got the newbies coming round the back. Some of them are pretty messed up, found 'em in the woods and hiding out in cars and shit." He rubs his hair nervously. "Just put the food out, I don't want you to mess with 'em right now."
I laugh inwardly, I could handle some crazed men. I've handled worse. "Fine." I agree though, knowing that arguing won't get me anywhere.
I ladle equal helpings into the bowls that are out and put three pieces of bread near the bowls. The bread is going stale and they will be hungrier if they are just getting in, I tell myself. We are told not to overuse the food, but I feel it is alright. I remember how hungry I had been when the president's men wrangled us up to begin the camps. I had eaten my two slices of bread and the entire bowl of canned soup I was given, and I was still hungry. Kimberly usually snuck me her daughter's other slice of bread until I was better.
I take my place at the singles table, avoiding conversation with the men and women. I pass kind smiles to Holly, Patty, and Kimberly from afar. I do the same for some of my other friends, though I use the term loosely. But I don't strike up conversation. I don't have much to say.
Dinner is done soon as I wolf down the chicken stew and pick up bowls for the dishwashers. That's not my duty, it's allocated to children. My eyes wander towards the back where I can see both men and women tear into their meals like savages. A few sit still, letting the food remain untouched and I can't fathom why. There are no children in this group.
I drop the dishes into a bucket noisily and flinch at the sharp sound. Kimberly's daughter, Josie, is standing with her friends from school Sara and Lila. They're on dishes duty tonight and are eager to do so. I shake my head at their naiveté, kids excited to do chores. I try to think back to my childhood but I can't. I grimace and move on.
Without thinking I walk to the back door, letting it swing open under my strong push and dash through it before I'm hit by its return. I hear the group's utensils clang onto their bowls as they look up in surprise at my presence. I bite my lip nervously. I had done so out of habit, I didn't mean to bother them. I offer sorry glances in their directions but I feel humanity has slipped so far they don't realize what I mean.
"Sorry." I manage out loud, not afraid of this new group like the rest of my companions. "I didn't mean to startle anyone."
A head whips up in the back and locks eyes on me. I can feel the heat from his stare but I don't know what it means. He looks surprised, his blue eyes are wide. His shaggy auburn hair sticks to his face with sweat and his biceps are pronounced in his sleeveless shirt. He looks menacing and for a moment I am scared, until I remember I am safe. He doesn't move for a moment and neither do I. The tension is broken when he finally speaks, his voice as gruff as I imagined. He says only one word and it is a mix of shock, awe, confusion, and a little bit of anger.
"Beth?"