The Day Earth Died

12. Hit the Road, Amell

6 months later, we were usuals at the gym. We'd go right before dinner when officers on day shifts were showering or hanging out at the lounge and when night shifts officers worked. We'd have the whole gym to ourselves, and for a couple of hours that is if we decided to skip the dinner. 2 months prior, the lounge was renovated and an air-hockey table, television and ping-pong table were added. Amell and I had tested them when they were brand new but they didn't catch on. It wasn't our kind of entertainment.

"Hold the bag for me, alright?" I asked.

Amell got off the stationary bike, panting. He hugged the punching bag. I hit the steadied, tough surface. It only took a few strikes for pain to start distracting me.

"My hands are killing me," I said, bending down to my bag to get my bandages. I wrapped my knuckles in the fabric, tightly enough to get some solidity.

Again, I struck the bag while Amell corrected my posture and made sure my balancing was right.

"I'll never understand why you like hitting a bag," he said.

"And I'll never understand why you like running on a belt," I fired back.

"Fair, fair." He put his palms up in surrender. I chuckled and squeezed water out of my bottle into my mouth.

"Mal Keïta is demanded at the office A-001," the speaker that normally summoned sergeants and high-class officers called out.

Amell and I met eyes, surprised.

"Where's that?" I asked.

"The infirmary." My blood ran cold.

"Shit," I muttered, roughly stuffing my bottle, my uniform's vest and my boots into my bag. I also slid my card that had fallen out earlier into the front pocket of my vest hurriedly.

"Shit, shit, shit," I repeated and stormed out of the gym.

What was I meant to do at that point? They knew, of course, they knew. Could I run? Where to anyway? I was stuck, trapped like an animal in a cage. Maybe I should've expected all this. Maybe I shouldn't have come. Maybe I should've listened to mum—she was always better at rationality than I was after all. Amell followed me out and I ordered him to stay put while I solved the issues I had created for myself.

The infirmary was more than 10 minutes away, at the complete other side of the site. A corridor, then turn left, right, left again, and stairs up, down, up again. It felt like a labyrinth. At once, I entered the infirmary. It was as white as I remembered. It was quiet, apart from some distant dry coughs, the steady beeping of a heart monitor and some hushed words. The repulsive smell of weed emanated from a bed hidden behind white curtains. I peeked between the two curtains to see officers sharing a joint with some nurses. I gagged.

"Can I help you?" A voice snapped me out of my disgust. The nurse at the reception counter waited for my answer. I walked away from the barely legal gathering, gradually freed from the stifling smell.

"Yeah, actually. Where's office A-001?"

"You're Mal Keïta? Man, what did you do?" she pried, nosy.

"Where is it?" I insisted.

"Through that door, to your right." I walked away without another word.

The first door was made out of metal and heavy, the kind of heavy that could crush me to death, no doubt. On the other side, the carpet was of a horrid yellowed orange with a dirty wash of brown. It looked like barf and it made me want to barf too. I hated the feeling of warm air from the heater pouring onto my cheeks. I hated the feeling of my boots sinking into the thick carpet. Hell, I couldn't have gotten myself to like the feeling of my flesh on my bones at that moment.

I dragged my feet with all the fake confidence I could muster. The door to the office was partially made of glass. I peeped at the head nurse. She filled some paperwork, serene—more serene than I've ever been.

"I didn't call you to be snuck up on, you know," she spoke, not once averting her eyes from the files. Startled, I jumped a little but soon got a hold of myself.

"That makes sense," I muttered, entering the office.

On her desk, next to her computer and portable, were set my pills in their plastic bag. That's no good, I thought. She motioned me to sit on the chair facing her and I complied.

"So, Miss, right?" She asked.

I nodded to confirm it. She smiled, all proud of forcing me to admit my gender as if it were a shame of mine.

"What in the hell are you doing down here?" Her tone changed, littered with marks of hostility and anger.

"I needed the rations, for my mum."

"Send a father or a brother."

"I don't have any."

"Then don't waste rations on a woman's work," she said as if it were the most blatant thing on Earth.

Just say it if you're sexist, I kept myself from blurting out.

"My labour is worth as much as any man's."

"No man would need those." She shook the bag of pills in front of my face as if she had just delivered the definitive argument.

"Say that to the officers who smoke weed in the meadow." I crossed my arms.

"I don't think you understand. I have the upper hand here." There was no convincing me of that. I wasn't going to give her the heartfelt apology she craved. Unsatisfied with my reaction, she continued her empty sermon.

"You will be sent Over as soon as possible and I assure you that you'll be punished accordingly." The head nurse began typing aggressively on her keyboard.

I took deep breaths to allow my anger to subside a bit. The clock on the wall ticked and ticked and ticked again, taking its sweet time between each second. I glanced back at the door. It didn't seem to lock automatically. The nurse had put down my bag of pills close enough for me to grab it but far enough for it to slow me down in a possible attempt at fleeing. It didn't take me long to figure that running was my best bet. I snatched the bag and bolted out the door. From the corridor, I could hear the head nurse shrieking for help, at her portable radio probably.

I plopped a pill into my mouth for good measure and secured the rest in my bag. I ran to the metallic door. Behind it, boots pounded the shiny white floor soundly. Already? I cursed under my breath. As I was about to resume my escape, I heard steps behind me. I clenched my jaw muscles, preparing myself to lunge at whoever was there.

"It's just me, Mal, just me," Amell said.

Before I could speak, he took my hand and pulled me through the left corridor.

"There's an exit this way."

We turned a corner and ended up in front of a tall door with a red neon sign over it. He opened it. There was... nothing. No platform, or bridge, or anything of that sort. I was about to protest when Amell started climbing down the wall of the building. Great, a ladder again. I followed him and as I descended, a troop came running into the corridor. I accelerated.

"Why are you here?" I asked down at Amell.

"Knew you'd get yourself in trouble," he panted out.

My hands were still wrapped in bandages and slipped against the metal bars. I couldn't afford the time waste of taking them off. I shivered. It was cold, biting cold, and I was only wearing my white sleeveless shirt. The uncovered skin of my hands stuck to the icy metal, it ached for me to let go. The ladder only held to the concrete wall with a couple of screws and they seemed to weaken every time some weight was put on a bar.

And it was dark; I couldn't see the end of the ladder until I heard Amell set foot. He helped me off onto a thin platform lit by small light bulbs. Over our heads, officers climbed down and the ladder complained with squeaks ever so often. It could snap any second in its current conditions. Amell noticed it too. Screw it, I thought and ran away. Amell didn't vacillate for long and trailed after me.