The name, my name that is, is Caelum, Caelum being the Latin term for "sky" or "heaven", both of which are pretty enough, except when they're represented in a word that sounds like "Kayla". Which, just as a little tidbit of info, I have been called too many times beforehand.
I'm supposed to be telling a story. Ah, yes, you want me to get on with it, so you may escape into the life I wish to trade with yours. My life currently exists in Wellington, this refugee camp for survivors during this shit period of time in the world. I prefer referencing it as a period of time, because that means there will ultimately be an end, which is comforting. One never knows what the future holds, and they either become terrified of the unknowing or comforted by it. I'm the latter.
See, flashback three years ago, I was a normal kid. Just graduated from middle school, this high-powered prep thing with every type of technology you could imagine. That lifestyle rubbed off on me; my phone is still in my backpack, regardless of the fact I haven't been able to charge it for months at a time.
And then my life went to shit. Sorry, I curse. On the bright side, I give you fair warning to my language. It's a give and take relationship.
I lost my home, my friends, my family, the life I was so used to was snatched away. Give me a surprise exam over that crap (alternative to shit because I want to spruce things up a bit).
It sucks losing everyone and everything you've known. Your moral compass does not tell you what to do in black and white anymore. Nope, now it's just greys that screw you over regardless of what choice you choose. I've watched people go sick with infection, I've had to shoot more people than I've ever wanted to, healthy and infected, and I've said goodbye too many times for the word to keep its sentimental value.
But Wellington was my break. At least, it was meant to be. A final instruction to me from all those who passed on beforehand. And I got lucky here. Even with overcapacity, I was allowed to be with my own little home. Home being in the corner of the giant rectangle fence the refugee is in, in the leftovers of a giant storage container, with canvas sheets acting as the front wall and door, and a bunk bed made from scrap metal.
It comes with a catch though. When Edith, my favorite border patroller, told me about being a foster "teenager", I was excited. See, I'm not "appropriately" young enough to be a kid in the program, but I'm not old enough to be a parent either. So basically, every time a kid comes through without a group or parent, they're thrown into my house until someone in the town takes them under their wing. Preferably someone over twenty-one. I'm sixteen, so I've never had a fighting chance to keep the kid I look after.
At the first kid, a five-year-old named Ty, I was happy. I stayed up a lot of nights when he had nightmares, and Edith came around lot more when he was in my house. We had a lot of good memories together. It absolutely sucked when he left. Then there was 14-year-old Katrina, whom I philosophized with into the early morning hours and shared a lot of funny moments with. She left as well. Pain doesn't really get any better, nor do you get numb to it. Then it was Charlotte who came and went. Then Jason. Kasey came next. Last one to leave was Avery, just over two months ago.
The thing that sucks about when they leave and they finally have guardians is that, despite promises to stay together, they don't. I don't know, maybe they give me the cold shoulder because we're not under the same roof anymore. It's not like they can really hide in Wellington, since it's only got so many people and children.
Despite my protests to opt out of the program, Edith can't help me. It was a deal we made when I first came though, and I have to respect that. That being said, it's been a helluva long time since Avery left. I'm sixteen and not getting any younger. Maybe she's finally let me out of the program, simply without telling me.
(._.(-_-(^-^)-_-)._.)
During the mornings in Wellington, everyone is woken up at precisely 8 o'clock. Everyone wakes up, gets dressed, and then, depending on what row of tents or shacks you're in, that determines when you eat in the mess hall. Being the last row and also being in the corner qualifies me for some shit timing. I've learned not to be picky.
Everyone is fed by 9:30, which is when the activities start. Activities being the things like:
a) stocking/taking note of what's in storage (riveting)
b) border patrol/scouting outside the walls (exciting, but only for older people. Namely, not me.)
c) helping out at the medical building (I wasn't too fond of this so Edith put me down as "fall risk around blood" so I wouldn't be assigned to it)
d) greenhouse (hella boring)
e) helping to prepare the meals (like the greenhouse, but messier)
f) weaponry (like taking stock, but you also learn how to fight weapons)
And I think there's more, but I don't feel like keeping track. There are no off days unless you're sick or have young children to look after (foster program didn't get me out of that, if you're wondering).
I had greenhouse duty today, but I talked to some people to cover for me beforehand (read: bribery) and instead knocked off for the rest of the day, heading back to my home to sleep. It's odd to be so used to taking care of myself. No one to tell you what to do, but no one to guide you, either.
Pushing back the canvas scraps, I take my first steps inside, kicking off my shoes, lighting a lantern, and then flopping onto the lower bunk, hearing the springs squelch underneath the old mattress. Nobody really pays attention to me unless I ask for it. Which is something I'm trying to avoid.
Then I roll off of my mattress and head to my backpack, pulling out my busted knife and a little tool kit. Before the outbreak I used to work with wire and make jewelry, and since then my skills have come in handy.
I lie down on the cool metal floor and begin unwrapping the leather ties, seeing where the metal split. Some people are gun people. Some are bows. I'm more of a knife person. I once had a sword, and let me tell you, that was a beautiful weapon to use. Sadly, it was steel and it got bent into such a way it couldn't be repaired.
As I tediously unwrapped the leather and remove the metal shards, placing them carefully on the floor so none will be lost, I hear footsteps crunching on the thick snow outside.
Crap. And I throw everything into my backpack, tuck it under my bunk bed, and blow out my lantern. I'm not particularly scared of what could happen if I'm found, but it's just instinct that tells me I probably should be.
That's when I peek out of the canvas and out onto the now-snow covered paths that run haphazardly through the refugee camp. And that's when I catch sight of Edith, comforting a girl in a blue jacket with something that looks like a green burrito in her arms. She's wearing a hat and yet has another hat teetering off the edges of her finger, the finger connecting to the hand that's holding the bundle tightly.
The girl's obviously distraught. I can tell that by the way she tries to surreptitiously wipe her eyes and the way Edith keeps a hand protectively on her back, saying words of encouragement, probably telling her awful knock-knock jokes.
It's the same way she comforted me when I came through, at least.
But I let my hand fall from the canvas, sitting on the lower bunk, thinking of how I planned this scenario out for months. I'll get the kid to and from her jobs, but other than that? I'll pass. Call me selfish, but it sucks building a friendship and having it all go to waste.
"Your friend, AJ, can stay with Rob and Angie." Rob and Angie and little Kai, who's three, and has no idea of privacy, and who has burst into my room and has caught me shirtless too many times to count. It's kind of a double-edge sword to live right across from him. At first I was embarrassed, and then I told Angie about it and she laughed and apologized. Kai's gotten better, but of course, there are always slip-ups from time to time.
"But-" The girl begins, and Edith only replies, "You can come visit him any time you want."
"Of course you can!" Angie replies cheerfully. "While you're out working, I'm staying home already with Kai. I don't mind looking after another little boy." She laughs at this, and Edith tries to coax an answer out of the girl, "Is that alright with you?"
"I can visit him any time, right?" She asks, and both reply almost instantly, "Of course."
I move from my lower bunk to the canvas pieces once more, pulling back the equivalent of curtains to see what's going on. The girl seems reluctant to hand over the burrito-bundled baby, and finally Angie asks, "What's got you worried?"
"That I'm not with him." She responds, and Angie and Edith exchange a look. Finally Angie kneels in front of her, placing a hand on her shoulder, "And what could I do to make you feel better about that?"
The girl turns to look at Edith, who simply replies, "We'll try this method. And if you don't like being away from AJ, we'll switch it. Sound good?"
She nods, and Edith turns her to face my space (or lot, or home...can we just refer to the space as my bunker?), "This is where you'll be staying."
"Am I going to be alone?" She asks, and that's when I step out of the canvas curtains, down the rickety steps, holding out my hand, "I'll be your roommate."
"This is Caelum. Clementine, Caelum."
Clementine. Huh. Clementine returns the shake, but her eyes look at me in a different light. The kid's sizing me up. Good. We both are wary of one another.
As physical appearances go, she's got skin the color of the Nesquik chocolate powder I used to use for hot chocolate. Dark curly hair tucked under a cap, and two little pigtails out the back.
At least we both share the same black hair color. My eyes are blue though, and my skin's more the color of tan cement. Yep, marvel at those descriptions.
"This is my place. You get top bunk." I reply, as all three of us head inside. I'm certain I can feel Edith's eyes boring into the back of my head for not cleaning up a little better, but at this point, the threat is lost.
Clementine glances around, not so much wary now as curious, and Edith steps forward, taking my arm as if it's a casual thing, "I need to have a word outside."
Outside in the cold and snow, breath coming out as vapor, she narrows her eyes at me, "I know you're not happy about this situation."
"Yeah, no duh." I reply, putting my hands in my pockets, and she glares at me, "Caelum, we made a deal."
"We did. But you said nothing about how I had to treat those kids I look after. I simply care that they eat and drink enough, know where facilities of the activities are located, and then, other than that, I'm free."
"Don't you dare twist my words like that." Edith warns, and for a matter of seconds we're at a standoff, glaring at one another, almost the same height, but differences magnified. Finally I relent, "Sorry."
"You know why you have this room. I want you to look after Clementine. If she so much as tells me that you, missy," she pokes my shoulder for emphasis, "haven't been helping her, I will put you back up into the regular orphan's home."
"The overcapacitied-crap?" I ask, and Edith nods, "Yes. Just like all the other kids who come by without a group. I cut you slack, so don't you forget it."
We're both quiet for a minute, and finally I close my eyes for a second, shrugging, "I'll look after her. But I'm not staying up for nightmares."
"You did it with Tyler." Edith remarks, eyeing me, and then, adding softly, "I did the same thing for you."
"Yeah. I remember." Yep. You have caught me. When I came through, I had nightmares for months. Edith actually stayed in my bunker during those times. It's an embarrassing thing to have and remember about when I was fifteen, but I'm trying to shove it aside.
Again silence, and Edith searches my face, "I know it's different that this is another kid."
"Really?" I scoff, and she sighs, "Depending on this situation, as soon as Clementine leaves, I'll let you keep this bunker, and you'll be out of the program."
"Great!" I grin, clapping my hands together, and she glares at me once more, "That shouldn't be any excuse to treat her differently than the rest of the kids you've had."
I roll my eyes, "Whatever."
Edith gives me a look, then hands me her pass, "I want you to take her to the medical center. She's got that mark on her face that I want them to look at, and a physical wouldn't hurt either."
"Anything else?" I ask, pocketing the pass, and she nods, "Take her to the warehouse. New clothes aren't such a bad idea."
I wait and look at her earnestly after this pause, and finally she rolls her eyes, "And you can get something as well. Put those puppy dog eyes away."
We both head up the steps to where Clementine lies atop the top bunk, still wearing everything, passed out. Edith and I exchange a chuckle to this, and finally she murmurs, "Let her sleep for now. Go when she's woken up."
(._.(-_-(^-^)-_-)._.)
"Wha...what's going on?"
I look up from where I sit cross-legged on the floor, piecing together the knife shards. The lantern pops and crackles in the side, and casts a homey glow across the bunker. Clementine pushes herself up into a sitting position, wincing as she puts pressure on the arm on the side where there's a nasty amount of blood.
"I'm taking you to get a physical." I remark, and she raises her eyebrows at me, "Where's Edith?"
"She had to go back on border patrol."
Clementine nods and wipes the sleep from her eyes, then begins climbing down the rickety ladder to where I've rolled onto my feet and stand up. She follows me out of the bunker and down the steps, and then begins walking behind me as we make our way to the medical center.
Something tells me she's not usually this quiet, and as I turn back to face her, she looks away. More crying, I assume. Understandable, at least.
The snow crunching and squelching under my feet reminds me of years ago, when snow like this would make the whole grade cheer upon the announcement of school closing early. Now it's just a nuisance. You know you've grown up when snow doesn't make you excited, but rather roll your eyes and grown.
The medical center stands across the warehouse and greenhouse. We call the setup the 'trifecta' or the 'holy trinity' between us teenagers.
I push back the split in the fabric to the medical center, which is this apparatus composed within a giant canvas tent. It looks like a circus tent, but then you learnt hat it's a medical center when sickness and health hang in the balance, and surprise-the fun is gone.
There's about fifty beds in here, with old curtain separating each one to give the illusion of privacy. Someone glances up as soon as I step through with Clementine, "Do you have permission to be in here?"
"I have a pass from Edith." I remark, holding up the simple card. The woman nods, and then raises her eyebrows, "What's the problem?"
I gesture back to Clementine, "She's new and needs a physical, along with examination and treatment to her face and shoulder." I sound fancy, don't I?
"Follow me, then." The woman stands up from her desk in the front, and Clementine and I fall in step behind her as she leads us to one of the beds with fabric walls. Clementine crawls onto the bed cautiously, while I stand in the corner.
"The doctor will be in shortly. If you can remove your jacket and shirt so he can examine your shoulder, that would be of much help. I'm Kalinda, by the way." Kalinda flashes Clementine a comforting smile, and gives a nod to me before letting the fabric cover the front of the room.
I turn to face Clementine, arms crossed over my chest, "Do you want me to stay outside?"
"No. Can you stay here?" Her eyes are a brilliant gold, something I haven't noticed before. But the fear is evident in her tone, so I nod, "Alright. I'll stay."
She unzips her jacket and places it on the bed beside her, then takes off her hat with hesitancy, placing it on her lap.
Clementine grimaces as she grips the front of her shirt and tries to pull it away from her chest, the blood having been long dried and causing it to stick like a second layer. I uncross my arms and move behind her, seeing her strain, and remark, "I'll help."
I keep a hand on her shoulder to steady her and myself and slowly pull the shirt from her back. The blood makes a brilliant glue, and with one last tug I wrench it free from her shoulder. She cringes, and then I ask, "Need more help?"
Clementine nods silently, gritting her teeth, and I curl my fingers around the hem on her double-layered shirt, pulling it up and over her head. Then I place the shirt on the bed beside her, and she crosses her arm instinctively over her chest, which is bound by Ace bandages by the look of it. Before doing so she puts her hat back on.
"Do you know he's going to do?" Clementine asks, keeping her arms crossed, and I shrug, sitting beside her, "Probably listen to your heart and lungs, clean out your shoulder and cheek, and...holy shit. What the hell's on your arm?"
It's a fresh scar by the look of it, the edges of it pink while the new skin in the center is white. Clementine looks down at it, then holds it out in front of her, "Dog bite."
"Seriously?" I ask, and she nods. I can't help a grin from growing on my face, and she eyes me, "Why do you find it funny?"
"Because I was bit by a dog as well."
"Where?"
She's so eager that I can't help my saying of, "On my ass."
Her eyes widen and her face goes red, not sure of what to say next. Then I chuckle, and point to my face, "Right here."
"I don't see it." Clementine remarks, eyeing my face, and I put a finger on my cheek, stretching it back so the curve of the scar shows more evidently, "It was before the outbreak, so it's pretty faded."
"You're a new face!"
We both turn to face Dr. Tristan, who gives Clementine a grin, "I must say, I haven't see you around here."
"She just arrived today." I say, and he winks at me, "Now, Caelum I recognize."
I don't feel like going into depth with that comment (just a lot of injuries over the past year involving me being a dumbass). He pulls up a chair and sits in front of Clementine, "So, what seems to be the problem?"
"My face and my shoulder." She replies, and Dr. Tristan nods, turning her face and keeping it steady so he can look at it properly, "At this rate, it looks like a wound that hasn't been able to heal properly. I'm assuming you've been out in the cold a lot?" To this she nods.
"Kalinda," he pulls back the curtain to face the nurse, "Can you get some peroxide and tape, please?"
Clementine's eyes almost bulge out of her head at the mention of peroxide, and I can't help but feel sympathy. Kalinda returns swiftly with the supplies, and Dr. Tristan wipes down her facial wound with the peroxide before sealing it with white tape. Clementine's hand doesn't unclench from the side of the bed throughout it all.
"Now, I'm going to need you to lie down for this next part." Dr. Tristan says, and I pick up her jacket and shirt and stand up, going to the side. Clementine lies down, and Dr. Tristan calls for towels, which he places under her shoulder.
"There's no other way around this. This is going to burn like hell. Just keep still, alright?" If you haven't already picked up, he's blunt.
Clementine nods, her hands curling around the mattress, and that's when Dr. Tristan trickles the peroxide over her shoulder. As soon as the liquid touches the torn flesh, she lets out a cry before squeezing her eyes shut and slapping a hand over her mouth. A tear dribbles out of her eye, and I move forward, taking her other hand, which she squeezes to death. Seeing the newest addition to the bunker writhing in pain stirs up more sympathy within me, and I'm having a hard time trying to not be more than I'm required.
"Okay. That's done." He gives a sigh before scooting back and leaving, the wound still bubbling and foaming. Clementine nods, and then she drops her hand from her mouth, looking up at me, "What's next?"
"Probably stitching." I reply, and she takes in a shuddery breath, a new version coming into play. "O-okay. I'm ready."
Dr. Tristan returns with a needle and something that looks like thread, and begins sewing up the hole left by the bullet. Clementine continues squeezing my fingers until they've gone purple in the tips, and then we both help her to sit up so he can stitch up the exit wound. She sits with her legs over the edge, and I can't see her face.
"All done. You've done an excellent job." Dr. Tristan ties the last knot, giving Clementine a pat on her shoulder, and then he stands up, turning to face me, "Caelum, make sure she isn't putting too much pressure on that side. Heavy-lifting or pulling will cause the stitches to tear, so I'll take her out of the activity list for a week until it's healed."
"Can I stay home with her?"
"You're always looking for a way out." Dr. Tristan laughs, and then he shrugs, "I don't see why not. But when she's at home, you must be taking care of her. None of your goofing off."
"Ah, you've got me mistaken with someone else." I grin, and he glares, "I'm serious. If I tell Edith, you know exactly where you'll end up."
"Fiiiine." I agree reluctantly, and he smiles, "Good." Then he turns to face Clementine, "It was nice meeting you. Sorry if I caused an unforgivable amount of pain. I'll see you two around."
With that he leaves, and I help Clementine get dressed. She stands up afterwards and holds her arm by her side. I suppose having a tear by your shoulder makes walking with your arm loosey-goosey hurt like hell.
Kalinda gives both of us nods, and then hands me back Edith's pass, "That better return to her."
"Yeah, yeah. It will." With that, we leave.
(._.(-_-(^-^)-_-)._.)
"You dressing for something fancy?" I ask, watching as Clementine eyes the little selection of dresses the warehouse has. She shakes her head, and then, "You don't want me, do you?"
The rawness of her question makes me go silent, and I raise my eyebrows, "Where'd you get that from?"
"Edith and the doctor both talk to you like I'm a chore." Her words are cold, and I lay a hand on her good shoulder, "Look, I'm sorry."
"So...you don't want me?" Her voice catches, and I fall quiet. Did I really want Clementine? I mean...geez. It's been three months since I looked after Avery, and maybe because Edith reminds me that this will be my last kid.
"You don't have to say anything. I get it." Bravo, Caelum. Two hours into this and you've already hurt the kid.
"Clementine," I begin, and she turns to face me, glaring, "What else do you have to say?"
"I'm sorry I've been treating you like that." I say, and she shrugs, "What does it matter?"
"Because it's not right that you think you're a chore. You're not. I've just been acting like a jerk." I kneel, putting my hands together in prayer form, "Oh, please, forgive me."
I separate my hands and bow to her, putting my forehead to the floor, "I am not worthy."
My display brings a grin to her face, and then I stand up, offering my hand for a fist bump, "We cool?"
"I guess so." She returns the fist bump, and then I glance at her, "If you want a dress, you can get one."
"When I was little I wore them all the time." She says, her tone soft and eyes distant, as if remembering a pleasant memory. Then she shakes her head, "I don't want one."
"You sure?" I ask, and Clementine nods, holding a stack of new-old clothes to her chest, "Yeah. I'm good."
So we leave the warehouse and head down the roads to the bunker.
(._.(-_-(^-^)-_-)._.)
After changing clothes, we head out to dinner, and then head back. I haven't learned too much about Clementine since we met, so I don't know how to spend the time. Ty loved cars, Katrina loved corny jokes, with Charlotte it was books (and fandoms), Jason it was repairing things (weapons or electronics), Kasey loved comic books, and Avery was always making instruments out of the craziest objects.
And what about Clementine, the newest? I eye her as we walk back to the bunker. It's obvious she loves AJ, but past that? I don't know her story. And she doesn't know mine.
But when I wake up to her in tears to pain or something greater that first night, I don't groan and roll over like how Edith and Dr. Tristan predicted. Instead I kick off my blankets and roll onto my bare feet in the dark, crawling up the rickety ladder to where I hear her crying. And she doesn't say anything, doesn't even looked surprised at seeing me, but doesn't react when I adjust her pillows so her shoulder rests more comfortably, or turn her head so she's not lying down on the sore side.
"Caelum...?" She manages, opening up her gold eyes, to which I grin, "If I didn't want you here, I would've left you to keep crying."
Another smile, and I bring the blanket up to her shoulder, watching as her tears continue to fall.
"I miss my old group." She manages in a small voice, tears still dribbling down the sides of her face, and I sigh, "I miss mine too."
And I spend that first night on the ladder, keeping watchful eye to whether she's in pain or in tears, my arms crossed on the her mattress, chin plopped down, legs and feet still on the cold metal.
Here's to hoping seven's a good number. I think to myself, letting myself smile before closing my eyes.
