Watchers

Chapter 2: Incoming

Sasha wakes up a few hours later, the sun just beginning to rise over the filthy city. Her neck is just as stiff as she knew it would be, and it takes her a minute or two of gently tilting her head from side to side to regain motion in it. Then she crawls slowly out of the Kia Motel, careful to avoid the suspicions of the Watchers as she pulls her jacket tight around her and shivers in the early morning cold. She can see her breath today, and before long it will become difficult to survive out here without better shelter.

She looks up and down the street. No one's out just yet, but there are lights on in some of the houses, early risers getting ready for morning shifts in the factories a few miles away. Sometimes Jane comes and takes Sasha's bed in the morning, to catch a few hours of sleep before the rest of the world wakes up and the tickets for loitering start being issued. She's nowhere to be found today, though, and Sasha wonders if she went back on her word last night.

She promised not to go to the shelter alone, but the look in her eye, almost manic, said that would be difficult.

Sasha spends most of her time alone, anyway, so she dismisses the thought and gets ready for the day. It's a weekday, which means she'll spend about eight hours standing on a freeway exit ramp, holding a pathetically dirty and tattered cardboard sign and taking antiquated old coins from people on their morning commutes. Hardly anyone uses paper money anymore, so usually it's not too difficult to convince people to part with theirs - and then exchanging them for modern electronic funds becomes Sasha's problem. It helps when she unzips her jacket and lets her chest be seen - one of Jane's more lucrative business tips - but it means spending the morning with blue lips and goosebumps on every inch of her body.

Most of the time, Sasha can make a day's living this way, but when the weather turns colder and her toes start to go numb before rush hour is even over, she always starts to wonder if Jane doesn't have the better idea. It's rougher work, and more dangerous, but at least she gets to be warm for a few minutes here and there, and be with people.

Sasha had been born during Trump's first term, and by the time she was old enough to have to fend for herself, the Watchers were in place and the cameras had gone up around the country. She has never known any different life than this, but sometimes Jane tries to convince her that things used to be better when she was a kid. She's in her fifties and old enough to be Sasha's mother, and she always insists that it's more than just the nostalgia effect. There were no cameras back then and everything on the Dollar Menu actually cost a dollar. Sasha finds herself thinking about Jane's stories often when she's standing on the freeway ramp, wiggling her toes to keep the frostbite away and trying to maintain that perfect mix of pathetic but friendly in her expression.

* * *
By the end of a long day, Sasha has eleven dollars in change jingling in her pocket, and there's a McDonald's nearby that will take the coins. Her stomach is rumbling and she's beginning to feel light-headed from hunger, but it would be nice to share her bounty with Jane so first, Sasha goes around to some of her usual hang-out spots. She knows that Jane picks up most of her Johns in the camping section of Wal-mart recently - it has become a sort of prostitution shorthand that the Watchers haven't caught on to yet, although they always figure it out eventually. She isn't there, though, nor in the three or four other places Sasha knows to check. She gives up the search, deciding that Jane must be with someone in a parked car somewhere, or in a flea-infested motel if she's lucky.

She goes to McDonald's and plops down her hard-earned money on the counter, ordering a hamburger and a milkshake which she hopes will stick to her ribs for a while. She looks around the restaurant while she's waiting and sees a mix of disdain and uneasiness whenever she meets someone's eyes. Sasha is used to this look - the diners take one look at her clothes and her ratty hair and decide she's ruining their meal with her presence, and the employees are uncomfortable because they know just how perilous their positions are. One day they're working for minimum wage and flipping burgers, and the next day the self-serve stations and fry cook robots could show up in great big wooden crates to obliterate their jobs and turn them all into Sasha. It happened to her not all that long ago, so of course it could - and probably would - happen to them.

She takes her food as soon as the bag is placed on the counter and heads for the door, and on her way out she spots a man sitting in a corner booth, staring at her with narrowed eyes as he shoves a Big Mac into his mouth and chews with his cheeks filled to bursting. She's pretty sure he's a Watcher, out from behind the cameras in order to catch up on his quota for the day, and that's another good reason to leave. Sasha hasn't done anything wrong, but it's always better not to be noticed.

She goes back to the Kia, which is fortunately still waiting for her, and sits in the front seat for a change of scenery while she eats. Maybe Jane will come by tonight when things get slow. If she went to the shelter, she can tell Sasha how it was, and if she didn't go then she'll certainly redouble her efforts to drag Sasha there with her. Sasha decides that if Jane asks, she will go.

* * *
The next morning, Jane is still nowhere to be found and Sasha begins to worry. Jane is the only friend she has these days, and even if a fifty-year-old prostitute wasn't the company that Sasha would choose for herself, Jane had always looked out for her. Sasha wonders if she has failed at returning this gesture. Maybe Jane isn't at the shelter after all - maybe she never went. Maybe something awful happened with one of her Johns and she's laying in a ditch somewhere, waiting for Sasha to find her.

She has no choice but to head over to the freeway ramp - regardless of where Jane is, Sasha still has to eat - but she is anxious all day, eager for it to be over so she can look for Jane again. This time, she'll widen her search, and she decides with resolve that she'll even check the area hospitals if she has to. They're not friendly places for people like Sasha and Jane, but she's becoming more and more convinced with each passing car that her friend needs her.

Just as the evening rush hour traffic is beginning to die down and everyone with a home to go to is getting off the roads, a red car pulls up next to Sasha on the ramp. The driver pointedly ignores her, turning up his radio and flipping down his sun visor to avoid any possibility of acknowledging her presence. This is pretty typical behavior and Sasha has gotten used to it - if anything, it's helpful to know who the discompassionate people are so she can focus on friendlier drivers.

She begins to walk further down the ramp toward the next car in line, but the radio catches her attention and she pauses.

"Are you down on your luck? Down and out? Strapped for cash? Broke as a joke? Come down to the Haven of Salvation and get a hot meal, a nice shower, and clean clothes. Maybe even a shave and a job. We're located at 77 Main Street, and we're here twenty-four hours to serve you. For He will deliver the needy, and blessed is the one who is kind to them."

This has to be the same place Jane was talking about. There couldn't be two of these shelters in a city that's so patently unkind to its growing homeless population. At least she knows the address now - she'll add the Haven of Salvation to the list of places where she'll check for Jane as soon as the traffic rush ends. There's a very good possibility that she'd gone there in her excitement, and if it was as amazing as Jane said, maybe she had stayed after all.

The light changes and Sasha heads back toward the top of the ramp. She sees the window of the red car roll down and for a split second she thinks that she was wrong - he's feeling generous after all, or maybe the low cut of her shirt had a part in changing his mind. She takes a step toward him, extending her hand, and he hurls a Big Gulp out the window at her. It's a direct hit, soaking through every layer of her clothes, and he drives away without a backward glance.

Sasha steps up onto the curb in shock, trying to wring the cold liquid out of her clothes before it has a chance to soak in. The temperatures are so low she can see her breath and she feels an ice cube slip beneath her shirt. She shivers as she shakes it onto the asphalt and mutters, "Damn it."

If she doesn't get out of these wet clothes fast, she'll end up hypothermic and then she'll have to go to the hospital.