Chapter 4
May 1, Year Seven
Weston-super-Mare, UK
In a strange way, Alice missed waking up hungover. She probably still could, of course, but she didn't trust that dog piss they called cider down at the market. That wasn't real cider. Not like in the good old days.
"Look at me," she muttered, "I'm getting old." Kicking off her thin duvet and stepping out onto the cold wooden floor, surrounded by artistically clashing posters she'd plucked from that abandoned budget home store, she checked her spindly spider plant, sat on the edge of her desk next to the copious piles of books. So much to read and so little time to do it. Maybe even less, depending on how the lottery went today. It's only a five percent chance, she keep telling herself. Only five percent. That's what she'd told Raleigh, too – and it'd happened to him.
Having been absent any soap for at least a week, rationing biting pretty hard this month, she didn't bother trying to wash. The shower was still too cold, anyway – according to the housing officer, this place had a busted boiler even before the war. Just her luck. Having slept naked – because why sleep and sweat in clothes you're going to need? – she grabbed the black dress slung over the back of her desk chair. Yes, with the lace on the hem it was a bit frivolous, but it was just the nearest thing to her. It still smelled of the market but that was last week, so at least she couldn't be accused of always wearing the same thing. Taking a deep breath, rubbing sleep from her eyes, missing her old habits of sitting in bed and mindlessly scrolling for twenty minutes before getting up (hopefully she could charge her phone at the centre), she walked to the window and yanked open the floral curtains.
"Good morning, Weston," she said quietly. It was looking like a warm day – the street, red-brick terraces either side, was already fairly busy with bicycles and birdsong filled the air. Itching her hand, that rash winding her up for weeks now (oh, how she missed Boots), she stepped over the extension cable feeding her precious monitor and PlayStation, already knowing how she'd be using tonight's electricity ration. Tonight would be for her. If her name wasn't called, that was. At the door, she took her bike – she wasn't the type of idiot to leave something so valuable in the hall where it was vulnerable – and took it through the door onto the landing, navigating the torn-up carpet, carefully inching it down the chairs between weathered walls and white banisters.
Movement came from the door to the left of the stairs, and Mohammed walked by, brushing his teeth.
"Morning," Alice said, and he held up a hand in greeting, toothbrush in his mouth. "Didn't use too much of that, did you?"
"No, Alice," he sighed, mouth full of minty foam, "just a dollop, like you said."
"Okay, good."
"Need a hand?"
"Please." He bounded up the stairs, took the bike by the handlebars, and together they negotiated the bike down the stairs.
"I don't like the sound your gears make, you know," Mohammed said.
"Me either, but what can you do?"
"Go to a mechanic, maybe?"
"They've got a waiting list as long as my arm." The bike reached the floor and Alice avoided looking at the hallway mirror as it did. She already knew she looked dreadful with a shaved head – but what was practical was what was practical. "You know how much everything sucks, now."
"It's really not so bad," said Mohammed, shrugging. "As long as I keep getting paid, I'm happy."
"Well, I'm glad you can look on the bright side."
"You just miss the time of plenty," he scoffed. "It's character building, this way. Go to a club sometime."
"I don't like clubs."
"How come?"
"Noisy."
"Fair enough. Where you off to, so early?"
"Work." Mohammed smirked. "What? I could have a job."
"Mate, I know you know the unemployment rate. It's all Kendra can talk about."
"She still doing her leafleting?" Mohammed nodded, reaching to the mirror to adjust it with a finger.
"Yeah – I don't know why she thinks the local elections'll make a difference. They never did in the before times."
"Can we not call them the 'before times,' please?" Alice almost laughed. "We're not in the apocalypse just yet."
"Aren't we?"
"Mate, I've been to war, and so've you – we both know this is peachy. For now, anyway."
"What you me… oh, shit, yeah, today's the day, innit?"
"Today's the day." Alice wheeled the bike to the front door – this really wasn't a topic she wanted to cover.
"How you feeling? Anxious? Nervous? Worried?"
"Well," she replied, looking back at him, "I wasn't until you said 'anxious, nervous, worried?'" Mohammed just smiled.
"You'll be fine. I got through it – you'll get through it, too."
"Five percent of people don't."
"But it's just this one time – your name won't come up, and then you'll be free forever."
"Until they make it yearly."
"Well, if they do, we'll complain." He stuck his tongue out at Alice. "You not gonna eat before you go out?"
"Don't feel like eating today."
"Fair." Mohammed sniffed – Alice wondered how truthful he was being about everything being fine. He didn't know. Neither did she – but, also, she did. As she stepped out of the door and into the warm air, something told her it wouldn't go so well. Maybe it was carried on the breeze. And if it didn't, well, that was that. Slaves didn't last long under the Covenant.
Please comment if you can spare a moment – I read every comment and legit take them onboard. Are you detecting a greater vibe of desperation to these messages? Ha.
