Impersonator (Forager Impersonator - A Post Apocalyptic Trilogy Book 1) (12 page)

“You’re right. Sorry, Sofia. It’s been one of those days.” An apology from my mother – that had to be a first.

“That’s okay,” Sofia replied.

I barely got a wink of sleep that night. Not only was the mattress uncomfortable because I could feel every spring, but it also had a most unpleasant odour. I hoped it would fade with time. I was so glad we brought our own sheets and doonas. Karen sobbed until she fell asleep, which didn’t help. Mother ignored her, turning her back to us. I tried to comfort Karen by running my hand through her hair, but she just pushed me away.

Sofia turned up before seven and took us to the cafeteria. We lined up for bowls of gruel and bread, and sat at a plastic table that was bent in the middle and rocked on uneven legs.

The watery gruel tasted every bit as disgusting as I feared, but I still ate it.

“What is this slop?” Karen said. She pushed her bowl away.

“Boiled oats,” Sofia said.

“Well, it’s revolting! There’s more water than oats.”

“Goes further that way.”

Karen tried a bread roll and pulled another face. “This is so stale it’s like chewing on cardboard.”

“Some of the residents buy their own food. When they have money, that is,” Sofia said. She’d already downed a bowl of gruel and two bread rolls. I noticed her looking at my sister’s gruel. Mother hadn’t touched hers either.

“You gonna eat that, Mother?” I asked.

She shook her head, so I pushed her bowl to Sofia, and it was quickly consumed. I realised that with her mother an invalid and her father passed away, Sofia had no source of income. No wonder she was malnourished. There was something fundamentally wrong with the way the town treated those down on their luck.

After breakfast, my mother and sister retreated to our room to lament our change in fortune.

“Guess I’d better show you where the Laundromat is,” Sofia said, rising from the table.

“It’s not coin operated, is it?”

“Nope, just a room full of washing machines and dryers. Only half of them work, though.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” I followed her to the Laundromat around the side of the building, which was only accessible from the yard.

As expected, the room was long, with battered white washing machines on the floor and dryers above. All front loaders. Some machines were missing doors, others had been kicked so violently that the doors would no longer close. Others looked as if they’d been attacked with a sledgehammer.

“Well, now you’ve seen it,” she said.

“Anything else you can show me? I’m in no hurry to head back upstairs.”

“There’s a garden out back.”

“Lead on.”

We headed for the door but I quickly grabbed Sofia’s arm to stop her when the last two people in the world I ever wanted to see again entered the Laundromat.

“Chelsea Thomas.” Deacon said. After studying my birthmark for just long enough to make me feel self-conscious, he flashed a sleazy grin that made my skin crawl.

“I heard about you two.” I mentally warned myself to be very careful. I could not let on that I’d already met them, nor antagonise them so they’d hurt either one of us.

“Only good things, I trust?” With Wells massive bulk seeming to fill the narrow space behind him, Deacon came closer and ran his eyes up and down my figure, and then did the same to Sofia.

I pulled her behind me and lifted my chin defiantly, trying to hide the terror I felt being trapped in here with them. “I’m sorry, but I have to ask you to leave. As unmarried women, it is inappropriate for you to talk to us.”

His grin vanished. “There’s no need to be rude, Chelsea. We saw the note on your front door and decided to pop over and see your new home. Have to say, you’ve come down a bit in the world, haven’t you?”

“We wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t robbed my brother. We got evicted because we couldn’t pay the rent!” Guess I stuffed up with that note. It was for Brandon, not these bloodsuckers. Still, wouldn’t have made any difference. They would have found us anyway.

“Commiserations for your eviction, but you’ve been misinformed, dear girl. We did not rob your brother. He made the payment of his own volition.” He paused and became all smiles again. “Speaking of your brother, is he here? We’d like a word.”

“He’s gone out.”

“Is that so?”

“You think he’d stay here by choice?”

“When he comes home, be a good girl and tell him we dropped by. Okay?”

“I’m not doing you no favours.”

“Wells, would you have a word with the young lady? She seems a tad uncooperative.” Deacon stepped sideways to make room for his brutish accomplice.

“Fine, I’ll tell him!” I conceded quickly, having no desire to be on the receiving end of Wells’ fists again.

“Good girl.” Deacon beamed his patronising grin. They turned to go. “Until next time.”

Once they were out of view, my strength vanished and I sagged back against a washing machine. I hid my shaking hands in the folds of my dress.

“Are you okay? Who are those men?” Sofia asked as she squatted beside me and laid a comforting hand on my forearm.

“It’s a long story.”

She sat cross-legged and smoothed out her ankle length dress. “I’m not going anywhere.”

I looked at the concern in her badly scared face, and knew I couldn’t disappoint her. After all, she’d told me her family history, it was only appropriate I did the same, ugly as it was.

“It all started nine months ago. My father was coming home one night with a bottle of wine when he bumped into a Custodian patrol. In the dark, one of the Custodians mistook the bottle for a gun and shot him. But when they realised their mistake, the Custodians arrested my father, claiming he really did have a gun. There was a trial and he was given the mandatory twenty-five year jail term. He was sent to a prison hospital the next day, and a month later, sent to work in a prison factory.”

“That’s terrible!” Sofia looked aghast.

“That’s our wonderful law enforcers in action for you. Anyways, three months later, a Custodian who was in the patrol that night came forward and testified that my father was innocent and had been setup to hide the shooter’s mistake. My father was released from prison the next day and given a substantial payout to compensate him for the shooting and prison time.”

“What happened to the Custodians? Please don’t tell me they let them off?” Sofia asked.

“The one who shot my father was imprisoned and the three conspirators court martialled. The fifth one, the one who came forward to confess what really happened, was demoted and given an official warning for not coming forward sooner.”

“Where is your father now? He didn’t come here with you, right?”

I sighed as I dredged up more painful memories. “He was a broken man when he got out of prison. After getting shot, falsely accused, and then imprisoned, it was all too much for him. I think he was also mistreated in prison, but I don’t know for sure ‘cause he never spoke about it. At any rate, turns out he started taking drugs and became a gambling addict. He lost all of our money, didn’t pay the rent for two months and ran up a huge gambling debt. To top it off, the Custodians found out about his drug habit and tossed him back in prison last Thursday.”

“That’s why you got evicted?”

“Yeah.”

“What have those two guys got to do with all this?” she asked.

“They bailed up my brother on Friday and made him hand over his wage, saying he’s responsible for Father’s gambling debt now.”

“What? Can’t you report them? Gambling’s illegal, after all.” Sofia looked as frustrated as I felt.

“We could, but as they explained to my brother, they are not the sort of people you want as enemies.”

“So you’re stuck in this predicament?”

“Seems that way.” At least until my brother or I could find a way to make thirty-thousand dollars.

“Where is your brother, by the way? He hasn’t been here yet, has he?”

“Not yet, but he’ll turn up. At least, he’d better, or I’ll make sure those two thugs are the least of his worries.” I made a menacing face and she laughed.

I realised I could report him missing, but I was sure he was all right. Brandon was a survivor. Besides, if I told the Custodians he was missing, they would quickly realise I had been impersonating him at work.

* * *

I went to work on Monday. Foremost on my mind was the debt that hung over us, and Deacon telling me to smuggle in contraband to pay it off.

In the end, I had no opportunities to look for illicit items to smuggle into town because Con kept the five of us together to gut an old shopping complex of every hard plastic item we could get our hands on.

I rushed out the gate when we got back after five, anxious to get to the shelter to check on my family. Hearing Ryan hurrying after me caused me to falter.

“Hey Brandon, wait up!” he called.

“What’s up?” I asked, surprised. He’d barely spoken a word to me today. But with the other three – okay, primarily Con and Matt – heaping insults on him all day, I guess I should’ve expected that.

He joined me, a series of conflicting emotions passing across his handsome face as he studied me. I still felt guilty every time I was alone with him. It was hard getting used to.

“Wanna hang out tonight?” he asked. He looked cautiously hopeful.

My heart leapt into my throat and I almost choked. He wanted to get together with me in the evening? I wanted to say yes more than anything in the world, but it was so inappropriate, and would surely increase my chance of discovery. “Love to, but the family’s expecting me for dinner.”

“Meet up after dinner then. At the gym.”

“The gym?”

“To work out.” He looked puzzled, for I obviously should have realised that.

It was so tempting but I didn’t know anything about the gym and doing weights apart from what Brandon taught me. I had to find an excuse that wouldn’t hurt his feelings. “Thanks for the offer, and under normal circumstances I’d say yes, but I’m still pretty much a walking bruise thanks to a certain Skel using me for batting practice.”

“So set the weights lower.” His expression suddenly clouded over. He looked hurt. He had reached out to me, and there I was fobbing him off.

“Okay already! You twisted my arm.” I laughed merrily. I didn’t know who let him down so badly in the past, but I wasn’t going to disappoint him too.

The uncertainty and doubt left his eyes. “Great. See you at the gym at seven.”

“I’ll be there,” I said. He flashed me a quick grin and jogged off. I watched him go and mentally kicked myself. What had I gotten myself into this time?

On the way home, I dropped by the market and spent ten of our sixty dollars buying food I reckoned my mother and sister would eat. Mother told me off for “squandering what little money we had left” but ate it anyway. I just pigged out on stale bread and a couple of overripe bananas left over from lunch.

I got to the gym just after seven. It occupied the entire the second floor of the Metallurgy Club, but was open to all men.

“Beginning to think you weren’t going show,” Brandon said. He detached from the shadows beside the door, looking relieved.

He wore track pants and a stop, and carried a bag over his shoulder. I breathed a sigh of relief that I had the sense to change into Brandon’s tracksuit.

“Hey, I’m a man of my word,” I said. A statement I found amusing on a number of levels.

Ryan led me upstairs and I had to bite my tongue to stop gasping in shock at the sight of two dozen guys working out in shorts and tank tops. I know I was masquerading as a guy, but seeing so many in such a state of undress sent my heart racing. This was so improper! Never in my life did I imagine stepping foot in a place like this. Ashamed, I quickly averted my eyes, but then felt even more guilty because I realised I didn’t want to.

“Hey Brandon, long time no see.” I turned to see a handsome, balding guy with legs and arms the size of tree trunks. He gave me a lazy wave as I followed Ryan to a line of exercise bikes.

“Hey, mate,” I said. I had no idea who he was.

“Lost a bit of weight.” He was eyeing me with a knowing eye

“Got sick,” I replied.

“More weights. More protein drinks,” he called after us.

“I’m here, ain’t I?” I called back.

“You’re the man,” he said, laughing.

“Ain’t I just.”

Ryan and I warmed up on the bikes and then headed to a bench with a bar across it, labelled a ‘bench press.’

“Focus on upper body today?” he asked. He dropped his bag and stripped off to tank top and shorts, revealing, a physique far more impressive than my brother’s was. He obviously spent a lot of time working out. His biceps were so large I wouldn’t be able to encircle them with both hands. His shoulders were just as impressive, his quads were massive, and each knee the width of both of mine put together.

“Brandon?”

“Sorry, run that by me again?” Embarrassed, I quickly looked away and fixed my eyes on the bench press. The bench press was safe, looking at it didn’t elevate my pulse or cause me to blush. I liked the bench press.

“Okay we do upper body today?”

“Works for me.” I had no idea what he was asking.

He loaded up the bar with additional weights, lay down, and glanced up at me.

“Can you spot for me?”

A frantic look around revealed other guys working together on bench presses, with one standing behind the other and helping guide the bar back to the guide rails.

“Sure, but I’ve got a sore back, remember?”

“You’ll be fine,” he said.

I stood behind the bench press and he proceeded to lift the bar.

“What did your parents think of you becoming a forager?” he asked between exertions.

“My father supported it, but my mother said I had a death wish.”

“You know it's got the highest mortality rate of any profession in Newhome, right? A dozen fatal accidents, murders and kidnappings from Skel, and disappearances a year?” he said. He reached the end of his set and was trying to get the bar back into its cradle. I grabbed it and helped guide it home.

“Aren't you being a little hypocritical? You know, considering you're a forager now too,” I replied.

“Had no choice – only job I could get. But you – you're smart and capable. You could've gotten any job you wanted.” He lifted the bar again and started his second set.

“I think you’re over estimating my abilities.” I wondered what he would say if he knew who I really was.

“No need to be so modest, Brandon,” he grunted.

“Huh. Say, you ever gonna tell me what happened at your last job?”

“Hey, I'm asking the questions here!” He laughed.

“What's this, an interrogation?”

“Curiosity.”

“Well that’s okay then.” I chuckled.

“So come on then, why'd you become a forager?”

“Wasn't interested in anything else.” I gave him the answer Brandon gave our parents when they asked why he became a forager.

“Why?”

“Because I knew I’d be free out in the ruins.” I helped him put the bar away again.

“Free from what?” he asked quietly as he sat up and turned to face me.

“You serious? From the suffocating rules and regulations they subject us to here,” I replied just as quietly. I realised I was standing on dangerous ground. If anyone heard me bagging the establishment and reported me to the Custodians, I could be charged with inciting rebellion.

“Such as?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow.

“I've got a twin sister who's every bit as capable as I am, yet she had to learn how to cook a pot roast and do cross stitch while I was learning algebra and calculus. Not to mention my father and me sitting at the table like lords while she, my mother, and younger sister served us, waiting for permission to speak!”

“Keep it down, someone might hear you!” He glanced around fearfully to see if anyone was paying attention. He turned back. “Look, I see where you’re coming from, but don’t you respect the Founders’ wisdom in restoring males and females to gender based roles? Don’t forget that our venerated ancestors – you know, the fools who nuked themselves to oblivion – granted equality to males and females in all walks of life. See where that got them.”

“And you think segregating the sexes and treating females as second class citizens is the solution to solving the Old World’s problems?”

“By itself, no. The Founders created a society based on an intricate model they envisioned, of which the segregation of the sexes plays an integral part. Surely the almost non-existent crime rate in Newhome validates their vision?” he said.

“That the real reason for the low crime rate, or is it due to several hundred Custodians forcing the Founders’ vision down everyone’s throat at gunpoint?”

“Be careful, Brandon, what you’re saying could be interpreted as sedition.” He looked alarmed.

“Can’t you see my point?” I asked. How could he not?

“I can see where you’re coming from. There are things here that concern me too.”

“Oh, this’ll be good.” I mocked him playfully.

He shifted closer to me. “The geneticists.”

“What about them?”

“They’re over there in that tower of theirs, the Genetics Laboratory, working twenty-four seven. Why do you think that is?” he whispered.

“They’re creating improved strains of genetically modified chickens, vegies and fruit, I guess.” And dissecting people like me to find out what makes us tick.

“Do you really think they work all day and night tweaking something they developed decades ago?”

“What do you think they’re doing, then?” I asked. I watched him intently, hoping he’d join the dots from the rumours and guess what they were really doing.

“I don’t know, and that scares me. What if they start tinkering with human DNA? You know, to improve the human race?” he said, eyes wide.

“That is a horrid thought,” I said. “Though isn’t that against the Founders’ law. They said the human genome must be kept pure at all costs.”

“That’s true. But every time I see that tower I can’t help but wonder.” He nodded thoughtfully to himself, and then abruptly clapped his hands and stood. “Anyways, enough conjecture –  your turn.”

I removed three quarters of the weights from the bar and put them back on the rack beside us.

“Oh come on,” he ribbed.

“Sore back.” I reminded him as I lay on the bench and lifted the bar off the cradle. I’d never done this before, so I copied what he did the best I could. As expected, pain lanced through my back every time I lifted the bar, but to my delight, I had no trouble with the weight. All those hours doing push-ups had paid off.

“Ah, you’ve done this before, right?” Ryan asked. He was looking at me strangely again, like when he saw me using the hacksaw the wrong way.

“It’s been awhile.” My heart started racing. Was I doing it wrong? Was I giving the game away? I mentally kicked myself. I shouldn’t have come tonight!

“Doing weights is like riding a bike – you never forget how. Didn’t the instructor show you how to do it correctly?”

“What instructor?” I asked, petrified. He must have realised that something about me didn’t ring true. I was busted!

“Man, this gym has gone to pot! Can’t believe they let people in without showing them the proper technique. What is the instructor doing, anyway, watching TV in his office all day? Here, let me give you some pointers.”

“Point away.” I slipped the bar back into the cradle and let out a sigh of relief. He didn’t doubt my story.

I spent the next hour getting quality one-on-one coaching from a pro. I wasn’t the only one enjoying our workout, either. Ryan really came out of his shell, relishing our developing friendship. I just wished it was genuine, that he liked me for who I was – Chelsea – and not for who he thought I was.