29 April 2015, Afternoon
Marlene's insides stewed like a pack of boil-in-bag rice. Stopping briefly to fan herself, she was startled by a sudden shout from the platform above her.
"Pick up the pace, people!"
Marlene sighed. Dawson needed to calm his tits, but that would've been asking too much of the supervisor up on his perch. A short, thin man who perpetually looked as if he'd just sat down on a cactus even as he stood outside his office – little more than a rusting shipping container braced on struts to raise it above the floor. Bright lights hung around it from the trusses of the ceiling, necessary to illuminate the inside of the factory that would have otherwise been poorly served by the few windows lining the walls.
Those few windows also made the factory about as well ventilated as a furnace. Summer had yet to arrive with gusto but it was already stifling, regardless. Marlene resumed pushing her trolley and hoped whomever that decided they had to wear those suits would have children born with no assholes.
Including Supervisor Dawson, who was now clapping his hands impatiently, adding a bit of percussion to go along with his squeaky, a cappella encouragement. It was a wonder that he could see anything through the thick glasses that shielded his narrow eyes, but he could and he did. Not that he had much effect; lethargy was the order of the day, with most of the workers moping about the concrete floor, looking not unlike a video playing in slow motion. The momentary bursts of quickened pace after each of Dawson's exhortations seemed to stem more from a desire to shut him up than from any actual industry, as they slowed again after a few minutes.
Or half a minute, as Marlene felt her legs slow after a few paces again. But it wasn't as if she was doing it on purpose; it felt like there were sandbags strapped around her calves as she trudged forward with each step. Sandbags filled with bricks, to be specific. The load she was pushing wasn't a help, and even her trolley's castors were groaning at the weight. What once would've been a forklift's job was now done through sweat and sinew, with manual labour taking the place of machines in a curious reversal of what'd been going on in that factory, and others like it all through the district, for several decades.
It made the going much slower, it made little sense in view of how few of them there were in the place, and FEDRA could not care less. All that mattered for them was that each ration card they paid out was well paid for in return by each worker's toil, and then some. That was enforced by supervisors like Dawson, human closed-circuit cameras keeping wary watch on their behalf, scanning the floor with their heads swiveling at regular, almost mechanical intervals. Neither civilian nor military, the type inspired a special kind of loathing from most people in the QZ in addition to the usual dislike that wearing FEDRA-blue inspired.
"That means you too, Dandridge!" he yelled, his magnified gaze now fixed firmly in the direction of Marlene.
And of course, from those who had to work under them. But it was, Marlene mused bitterly, exactly as Nadine had put it: "Work harder or starve, it's your choice." Mopping her forehead, she swallowed down the retorts welling up her throat and quickened her pushing through the lines.
Lines, even if few of them were still running. The old worktables still filled out the factory floor even their surfaces had mostly had been cleared of all equipment, save for a couple. Specialized tools that had necessarily remained, those machines were a jumble of acronyms and alien terms; SNLS, 3TH O/L, SNCS, flatlock, bartack...Marlene had little idea what each meant, except that they all had something to do with the manufacture of garments.
Garments, such as the yellow coveralls on Marlene's back; workers' boilersuits for FEDRA's labour, manufactured in the various colours that would designate their wearer's jobs, all sharing the same basic consistency that was not unlike burlap, and the hessian-esque material also provided as much comfort for the wearer.
The head of the line gave Marlene a commiserating smile as the trolley inched up beside the end of her worktable. Her face was also mottled with sweat – she was suffering the same in her own yellow suit, which also designated her real status in a position earned through dint of experience, but which provided little addition by way of pay or benefit.
"Don't worry," she muttered, as she began loading yet more piles of shirts, freshly-made, neatly folded and bound together, onto Marlene's already heaving trolley. "He always picks on the new guys."
Head bowed, shoulders slumped, and leaning over her trolley for a small breather, Marlene could only nod her reply as she watched the bundles land. If she hadn't despised those outfits before, she sure as well did now. Bereft of all insignia and motifs at this stage, they were inoffensive enough with only the beige labels beneath their collars providing sparse information on their size and the factory of origin. However their blue shade and crisp cut was immediately recognizable to any citizen of the QZ; besides those vile boiler suits, the factory also made those most hateful of things – FEDRA uniforms.
Struck by a desire to get the process over with, Marlene stepped away with a small spurt of energy, and began helping with loading up the trolley. That earned her an approving nod from the older woman, who no doubt misinterpreted her action as some kind of commendable work ethic.
But that was understandable; the Head had been a diligent woman even from Before; hardworking, responsible, and never complaining – a supervisor's dream. But then she probably had to be, to have single-handedly raised a child, from when the kid had just barely entered first grade.
Marlene was just about done with loading up the bundles of shirts when the squeak of an opening cap came from beside her, and looking over, she saw that the older woman was holding out a green canteen towards her.
"Have some before you continue," she said.
Marlene took the welcome reprieve in her hands, and shut her eyes as she lifted the bottle to her lips – the lights above were blinding, and beads of sweat were still trailing down her brow as she tilted her head back. Tepidity filled her mouth, and her parched tongue was more disgusted than quenched by the musty liquid of dubious purity. The canteen was a far cry from those bottles of moonshine, but there might as well have been whisky in it as she drank gratefully.
"Thanks, mom," she said, hoping her words conveyed the smile that she was unable to, as she returned the bottle.
It probably did, for her mother gave one briefly in return before stepping back towards her station, eyebrows knitting in concentration. Her job was serious business, not least because FEDRA didn't just let anyone do it. Marlene couldn't see any reason why anyone would want to be, but it'd taken a while for her mother to be cleared to work on the line making FEDRA's uniforms – she had been head of the other, coverall-making line up until quite recently.
Yet even if she had to pull quite a few strings to keep her daughter close to her on that floor, Marlene would've much rather not had anything to do with those blue shirts. Still, she drew an ounce of comfort that her mother could've had something to do with making the clothes on her back – a really small ounce that barely made a difference to how uncomfortable they were to wear, and Marlene hastened to pull down her front zipper as she pushed the trolley into corridor exiting the production floor.
She wasn't doing it to cool herself down, though. The corridor was dank and unlit, out of sight of Dawson, and indeed any of the other workers. As such, it was the only place where she could reach into her trolley for two sets of shirts and pants, which she quickly shoveled inside her coveralls, before zipping it up fully and doing up her collar again.
Marlene wasn't the nervous sort usually, but the sweat forming on her head as she exited the corridor had little to do with the even more stifling packing and loading bay of the factory. The bundles were packed in the same numbers; she was banking a lot on the hope that packers wouldn't notice, or wouldn't care. It was a fairly safe bet, but even as she started unloading the bundles, she couldn't help feeling a little unease at the situation.
And more than a little resentment at the confluence of circumstance that had put her in that situation.
25 April 2015, Dawn
Its hands had been showing the time, but Marlene didn't know where in the world the sun rose at eight past ten.
For a moment she briefly considered the notion that it was mid-morning, and that the sunrise was just incredibly late. But the clock had simply stopped running, and the rising sun meant that she had been up all night. And although she was feeling the effect of that in earnest, she was also finding it difficult to get some rest despite the medic's orders.
Sore muscles found hard plastic as she lay back against the bench, and Marlene let out a winced hiss as she glanced at the clock again. It had stopped, but then again being able to tell the time did no one a lick of good in these places, so that was probably why no one had bothered with replacing its batteries.
Besides, that was also to be expected for a place that was running on a bare minimum of staff as it was. But the doctor seemed to run a tight enough ship regardless – the non-functioning clock aside, the white tiled floor was spotless, as were the white tiled walls. Gleaming white, like the light from the noisily buzzing fluorescent tubes on the ceiling, illuminating the covers on the gurneys parked off to the side of the room. Immaculately white, as was the respirator on the face of the nurse and the gown of the doctor.
White, everything in that damned place was white. A cold, stark white – as had been Nadine's face. But it already had been before they reached the clinic, for all colour and what strength that was left seemed to seep out of her friend's wound together with her blood, as Marlene limped her way through the alley with Nadine's arm draped over her shoulders, leaving the street, the patrol, and the firefight behind them.
They made it through a couple more blocks; a couple hundred yards – though it might as well have been a couple hundred miles for what it felt like, and for how long it took – before Marlene felt Nadine's breaths getting shallower even as her own were getting heavier, and the warm liquid seeping through her own shirt from Nadine's wound pressing against it. She was starting to realize, as she lay Nadine down again to hastily trim a leg off her jeans, that not getting her some medical attention was quickly becoming not an option.
Even if she didn't fault Nadine for not wanting to go to a hospital, and even if she didn't know the specifics (the few times she tried prying had ended with incredible sulks), she knew all she needed to, at any rate – that Nadine had lost her entire family in one, to say nothing of her own experience. And so the idea had been to get her home; home, the one place she had thought of, a little childishly, in her worsening panic. Her mother would've known what to do; she would've gotten them out of the mess…if only they had enough time!
For the life-sustaining liquid continued to ooze out of the laceration, even as tightly as Marlene bound the makeshift dressing was bound against her friend's waist, dyeing the blue denim a deep red. Slowly, certainly slower than without, but surely. And that had finally convinced Marlene to give the woman's insistent objections the short shrift. No, Marlene had decided, she would get Nadine to the nearest doctor – but she was sure that her friend wouldn't have approved of even this tiny clinic on a deserted street corner.
It was her first time in the place – indeed, trying to find it had been a struggle, or an even greater one than it already was with her load – and Marlene ran a palm across her face, as though it would wipe away the dirt of fatigue from it, wipe away the thoughts that wouldn't stop coursing through her head, and wipe away the throbbing pain inside. It didn't work, she found, as her sore, tired eyes swept the floor in front of her for the umpteenth time that evening – or rather, morning.
Not everything in the room was white, though. The floor's tiles weren't entirely white, not with the trails tracked around them. Her shirt wasn't white, not anymore. Neither were her shoes. And come to it, probably not the gurney Nadine was lying on, behind that door…
"You really need to get some sleep."
The voice of the nurse – the sole nurse – whose blue boot covers came into her field of view, making the trio of colours on the floor strangely patriotic – broke into Marlene's consciousness, like a freight train slamming into a stalled car. At least, that was what it made her migraine feel like. She made a noise that was meant to be an agreeing hum of reply, which came out more as a grunt. But then, even raising her head to look at the medic took a deliberate effort on her part at that point.
The nurse was a woman, not that Marlene could tell from the muffled voice coming from behind the respirator. Not from the figure either, the baggy hazmat suit made it impossible to make that out. Marlene could tell the nurse was a woman, and that she had been up all night as well, because of her eyes.
"Test is negative," the nurse continued, flipping back the folded over pages of her clipboard, reading off a printout.
Marlene scratched at the band-aid on her arm absently, her gaze fixed on those eyes, which blinked back towards her as they observed her almost-complete lack of reaction. It was probably a sum-of-parts thing, for there were no particularly memorable features about those eyes, she thought. Simple almond shapes framed by short eyelashes and shallow double eyelids; the minimalist detail only served to draw attention to the deep hazel of the irises, which were especially accentuated by the catch lights gleaming off them. If the medic wasn't a she, then he would've been a really pretty-ass he. And she had just given Marlene some really, really good news by any measure.
But it wasn't what she had been waiting to hear all night, and it seemed that the medic realized that. She let out a sigh as she undid her respirator, and then folded back the hood of her suit, shaking her hair loose. And that caught Marlene's attention, because all else aside the medic was definitely a she; her hair had been tied into a slightly messy ponytail that'd been squished beneath the hood and respirator. Long hair, the colour of which was not too unlike the drying-out stains on Marlene's shirt. But more importantly, did the fool have a death wish? The nurse hadn't been through decontamination yet, and even if she was supposedly not infected, what about Nadine –
"Her too," added the nurse, the slight exasperation in her voice softened with the gentle, comforting smile on her face.
Marlene's shoulders slumped, an action borne out of relief and exhaustion in equal measure. That probably meant that she could finally get some rest, but that was still miles away from her mind at the moment.
"Can I see her now?"
"She's sleeping," said the nurse, shutting out a yawn with her clipboard. "But go ahead. I'll still need to handle these, it'll take a while…Doc's still in there, by the way."
The nurse gave a meaningful look at Marlene on her last sentence; it was safe to say that the doctor had been rather unenthusiastic over keeping his clinic open past curfew, and certainly he would be having some words with Marlene now that they had the time.
The doctor was hunched over a crash trolley when she entered the examination room, still tidying up the implements he'd just used. He glanced up on hearing Marlene's footsteps, and gave a grudging tilt of his head in acknowledgement; if she didn't know any better she would've expected the man to go "Ma'am" like his forbears of old. But she did, and she did know him better, so the grunt he let out as well didn't faze her one bit. No, the old man, whose unimposing stature and soft voice belied a kindly demeanour, was as shrewd as they came.
"You girls kept me up all night," he grumbled, voice muffled beneath the respirator he still had on even if his hood was already folded back too. "Not in the way I'm used to, either. This is definitely outside of consultation hours."
But Marlene didn't have ears at the moment. Only eyes, and they definitely weren't for the small man in his unkempt, mostly-white overcoat.
"Wasn't easy," sighed the doctor, as Marlene stepped beside the gurney. "But she's tough as old boots, even if she doesn't look it."
Red had stained its sheets, as Marlene had thought. An IV needle ran from the arm to a packet hanging to her side, the ugly green plastic surrounds looking especially unwelcome on her friend's pale skin. Nadine's head lolled slightly with her mouth vaguely ajar, and were it not for the almost imperceptible ebb and flow of her chest, Marlene would've thought she wasn't breathing.
"Just in time too. You're lucky I'd been stayin' late," he continued.
They were. Nadine was in bad shape, even after the doctor had patched her up.
"Can't even begin to imagine if a patrol decided to stop by tonight…"
Shrewd he may have been, but the doctor was never subtle, and it was even less so when he was trying to be. To the uninitiated it might've seemed like he was having a simple grouse after a grueling night, but Marlene knew her good customer well.
"Okay," she began, defeat permeating her every word. "How much is this gonna cost me?"
"I don't know," the doctor said in a tone of innocence, head shaking as he continuing his tidying up. "I leave these things to Johnson out there mostly. But I'm sure it's a fair margin, same as you two."
His use of Nadine's favoured term was deliberately ironic, and so being able to see the bitchiness of karma unfold before her eyes was a special kind of kick in the gut for Marlene, but she kept her face impassive.
"I don't have any cards for the moment, but you know I'll have some quickly enough."
Marlene's offer was a tentative step – it was still a negotiation after all, ain't over yet. Even if she wasn't offering much, or anything. She couldn't anyway; those robbers had made off with both their stock and their cards – something that had been a major point of contention when she'd limped into the place, shouting. And giving poor Johnson out there a frightful start, perhaps. But she was desperate. Which was why she also pulled out Nade's switchblade, which she was now fingering guiltily in her pocket, when the doctor had balked at taking them in, briefly.
The doctor seemed irritated, probably as he recalled the moment. But then he nodded; he probably had a proposal in mind already. After all, her credit with him ought to be good - not least because his credit with her was good.
"There's another way if you're interested," he offered.
"I'm not going on a date with you no matter how many times you ask," Marlene deadpanned, but quite seriously. How many times did the man need to be shot down before he got the hint? Not enough, evidently.
"There's an idea, now that you mention it." The doctor took his respirator off now, revealing a grin in his unshaven veneer. "But no, coupl'a guys I know are in need of some things."
"Haven't they tried the market?" asked Marlene, missing the rather glaringly obvious.
"It ain't the kind of stuff you could get there usually. And without her around, can't say I'm exactly sure…"
The doctor's voice trailed off as if he were still deciding on something, and his eyes bored into Marlene's, looking like he was evaluating her. Marlene met his stare in stony silence, and it eased after a few seconds as the Doctor glanced at his patient on the gurney, expression unreadable.
"But I reckon you'll figure a way," he had said finally.
1 May 2015, Evening
She had refused initially, right off the bat. Trading on the black market was common enough, and even their usual 'shine runs were relatively innocuous compared to what the doctor was asking of her. But because Nadine was lying on the gurney between them, because she would remain lying there for at least a few more days, and most importantly, because all of that had to be paid for one way or the other, she had acceded.
And so Marlene had obtained those uniforms over the week she'd been working at the factory. And she did it professionally – or at least to her mind, it was. The first two days were spent scoping out the routine of the place, planning how she would get the things out of there without being arrested on the spot or at the checkpoints.
She would've thought that she'd be calmer about it by now, but she wasn't. But at least her hands had stopped shaking, unlike the first day – it had drawn a small glance from the sentry, but the duty sergeant hadn't noticed it, thankfully. But she was confident that she'd covered her tracks well enough, and the doctor had been pleased to see her returns, even on that first day.
"FEDRA, huh?" he had said. "That's even better, 'cause I was thinkin' military would do fine enough…hell, never thought I'd ever say that."
Two outfits on that first day, two on the next day, and two on this final day made for a total of six, which was what the doctor ordered. All of which she had just dropped off. And he may have been chuckling as he said it, but Marlene had exactly a place in mind where he could shove those uniforms and his damned drawl as she continued her brisk journey between his apartment and his clinic. She still didn't know what they were for, but then she really didn't want to know – all that mattered was that she would finish paying the doctor off, and hopefully it'd all be back to normal.
Yet she couldn't deny that, in a world where a young woman of twenty-two found employment as a black-market trader, and was dropping off stolen government outfits for a doctor, 'normal' was becoming increasingly difficult to define.
Nurse Johnson was at her usual station of the reception, fulfilling one of her multiple roles as always, when Marlene entered the clinic. The doctor may have been home already, in close observance of FEDRA's policy, but she had kept it open each night of that week past curfew, and definitely past her own working hours. Extended visiting hours for her sole patient, and the sole visitor. It was nothing short of kind, even if her manner didn't show it.
"About time," she said. It'd become almost a greeting between them; she was taking a risk by keeping the clinic open too. "Go on, she's looking better today."
'Better' was difficult to define too, because the sleeping Nade that Marlene saw was still mostly as pale as she had been a week ago. She had been awake for brief moments, according to both the doctor and nurse – not that Marlene had been around for any of those, not with her work hours.
For some reason, the sight made it difficult for Marlene to breathe that instant. And then she didn't have the faintest idea why she was holding her head in her hands, which started getting wet. But it was also a sum of parts thing, probably. Nothing overly major in and of themselves, but every bit of the past week added up to a load on her shoulders that she found too much to bear right then.
She couldn't even stop herself when she heard the footfalls of the nurse beside her, even with the pang of embarrassment heating up her wet face. So stupid, she must've heard her. And she didn't want to be seen anything like that.
"Shh," the nurse hushed, holding an arm over Marlene, patting her back soothingly, "it's okay…"
But it wasn't. Marlene couldn't see how any of it was. Even if none of it was her fault, objectively. And even if she'd just finished with paying it back. She didn't know why, but it just was.
"C'mon," the nurse urged, helping Marlene to her feet firmly. "Let's get something in you first. You haven't eaten, right?"
Perhaps that was why. Having went straight from the factory to the doctor's apartment, and then immediately to the clinic after that, Marlene hadn't had any time to get any dinner in her. A reason as mundane as they came, but no less valid. Marlene allowed herself to be led to what was probably a pantry, where the nurse sat her down at a small table. She wasn't looking – her hands were still shielding her face, more so that the nurse wouldn't see it – but she heard the sounds of cutlery being moved about. Only after a few minutes, along with the thud of a mug before her, did Marlene calm down enough to remove her hands.
"You really look like you need this."
It'd been a while since her last mug of that, and she did. Marlene took the mug gratefully in her hands and wafted in the nutty aroma; already a tad stale, but still ever so good. A luxury that even she and Nadine seldom indulged in, no sugar or milk to adulterate the comfort of its bitterness - coffee. The nurse took it the same way, but the micro-grimaces she gave on each sip told Marlene that her taking it straight was more down to frugality than preference.
"Right…" she said, her breathing easing up at last. "Listen, thanks."
"Don't worry, it's Doc's. He can well afford this stuff," the nurse grinned, misunderstanding Marlene.
"I meant for this whole week. You didn't have to do this. You'll be in a world of shit if you get caught…"
"Hey, forget about it. Look – Nadine's hard stuff, she'll be fine."
Marlene nodded, even if it seemed strange to her that the nurse was talking like she'd known Nade for years.
"Well, thanks for this also, then," she said, raising the mug.
"Forget about it," repeated the nurse. "What's it among old schoolmates, right?"
Marlene could only stare back blankly. Schoolmates?
"We probably only met a few times. Remember those post-exam drink nights?"
The honest answer was 'yes'…broadly. Which was to say that Marlene remembered that those times must've occurred, but she remembered more of their after effects than the actual nights. She blamed Nadine then. And even now.
She nodded her head anyway, hoping that would do.
The nurse's eyes narrowed. "You don't remember me, do you?" she asked suspiciously.
Marlene honest answer was 'no'.
"Sure I do," she said calmly, hoping that would suffice, but the nurse's bullshit-o-meter was inconveniently sharp.
"Go on, what's my name then?" the nurse continued, with something like displeasure crossing her face.
"Johnson, of course."
"My first name, genius."
Why was she taking it so seriously? Marlene hemmed with a silly grin, trying to look as if she was playing her (it didn't seem to work; the nurse's eyebrows continued to furrow as she raised her own mug to her lips) whilst racing furiously through the archives of her mind for the answer.
What was it, something like Joan…no, it starts with an 'A', she could vaguely recall. Ashley…Allie…Amy…
The redhead's eyes were fixed on Marlene as she sipped the coffee, and it was to Marlene's relief when she saw a lighthearted grin on her face as she placed the mug down.
"It's Anna, you dodo," she laughed.
A/N: Finally, right? In more ways than one... Many apologies are in order for the delay in updating, so for all you wonderful people who have been following this - sorry, very much! :3
