Area 52

The following morning is less hectic than yesterday. Larson, I learn, is diabetic like me, which is pretty cool, since I’ve never met anyone else who has it.

The boys are still loud and rowdy, but it’s easy for me to ignore them and dig into my meager serving of lumpy oatmeal, without any sugar. Demetrie shoves us all out the door and slams it behind us, not there to see me fall when my roommates run past me. I wipe the blood off my knee and scurry onto the bus.

I rest my head against the window, closing my eyes. The ride is smooth and bumpless as the bus glides over the ground, hovering just an inch over the magnetized road. I wait until it’s safe to jump off without getting shoved to the ground, and head into the old building.

I immediately see Joe by the entrance, and he hurries over to me right when I walk in. It feels so nice to have someone waiting for me – Alex is fun to hang out with, but he doesn’t really care. “Hey!” I smile, and he returns it, giving me an affectionate hug. “Niiick! Hey! How are things??”

“They’re okay,” I force a smile. Better than yesterday, at least.

“The guys still tormenting you?”

I shrug. “Not at the moment.”

“Well, that’s good.”

“Yeah,” I say as we head down the hallway, noticing the novel clutched in his right hand. I wonder again what he’s doing here – nothing seems to be wrong with him – but then again, nothing seems to be wrong with me, either. But I don’t ask. I guess I’ll find out sooner or later.

My arm hurts like a bitch from the injection, and I rub the bandage gently. He looks at it, frowning.”What happened there?”

“Shot,” I say, with a smile. “Didn’t you get one?”

“A flu shot? No.”

I tilt my head. “Not a flu shot. Birth prevention shot.”

He stops dead in his tracks, as if he’s attached to a string that’s gone taut. He turns on his feel and states at me. “Birth prevention?”

“You’re really new here, aren’t you?”

“No, I’ve been in the… they make you get birth control shots?”

“They always have. You didn’t get one?”

“No!”

I step back. Joe seems angry… too angry. “What’s the big deal?”

“This whole place is fucking ridiculous!” His fists clench at his sides. “I knew it was before I got shoved in here, but I didn’t know it was this bad! You’re okay with not being able to have children?”

“I don’t want to have kids-“

“Maybe you don’t-“

“Joe! Don’t let anyone hear you!”

“Why not? What, will they shoot me for speaking out against their wonderful system?”

I gulp. My legs go weak as I think of my grandfather. I clutch my chest and swallow the lump that’s suddenly there. “Yes, Joe, they will.”

“Then let them! It’s better than being here!”

Tears fill my eyes. “Just keep your voice down,” I plead, and he glares at me with a look that could kill, his lips parted slightly. It scares me, but it also reminds me of Jen – that young, rebellious look he’d always have. But Jen, also, would never hurt a fly. I think about that incident and I shudder, a tear leaving my eye. I wrap my arms around myself and quickly wipe it away. He quiets down, but sounds just as angry, though calmer. “Look where we are. Look how crowded this place is. Our food is fucking rationed because there isn’t enough[/]. Don’t you get sick of always being just that itty bitty bit hungry?”

“I do…”

“Not having enough space, or supplies? Seeing people you love getting killed every day?” – Again, reliving that memory. I tremble – “And next year we’ll have to work to live here. To live. For nobody’s benefit but their own. We could function in society just fine before. Is this what you want, Nick? Is it?” He steps close to me., his voice keeping that eerie, angry calmness. “Is it?!”

“I… they can’t help it, Joe.”

“They could let us out of here.”

“But we can wipe out diseases here. If we isolate everyone. They’ll all die out.”

“But look how many people die and suffer in the process, Nick. Is this really what you want to do for the rest of your life? Do you want to be hungry all the time? Not having enough room to move your arms? Watching people get shot?” He leans even closer, and his voice drops to a whisper. My lip trembles. Another tear. “Is it?”

“No.”

He nods, and straightens back up. “That’s all I needed to hear.”

________________________________

Joe lives in the middle of a broken down, dirty neighborhood. I kick a can out of the way as we tromp down his street, covered in potholes and full of litter. A Levibus wouldn’t even run here – the streets haven’t been replaced with the modern, magnetized Levitracks. You’d have to use a good old-fashioned car, which most people don’t even own. Or install the spare tires that come with Levicars for such occasions, and then uninstall them back on the main road.

His house looks like it ought to be condemned. It’s a very small townhouse, squeezed between a dozen more on each side. A tiny expanse of lawn is parched and littered with trash, not even deserving the title of a lawn. A window is broken on the first floor and the roof is caging in. White paint is peeling off the rotting wood door and I cringe as it screeches when we enter. “Home, sweet home,” Joe grumbles as he walks me inside.

The wood floor is dusty and dirty, and a book shelf near it is crammed with papers and boxes, trash and different odds and ends. Ahead, down the dark hallway, paper peels off the walls . To my right is a tiny room with a couch and a table, tilted pictures on the wall. The floor has clothes and dishes strewn all over and I can tell that someone tries to keep it clean while someone else couldn’t care less. To my left is an unstable looking staircase.

“Are you hugry?” Joe asks, leading me through the narrow hallway. There’s a man already in the kitchen, but he leaves just as we enter, pushing me inconsiderately out of his way.

“Jeez,” I mutter. “Oh, um, no.”

He looks at me. “Yes you are.”

I know I need to eat, but I don’t want to take his food.”

“I can eat at home…”

“Bullshit. Come on, Nick.”

I bite my lip. “I have to check my sugar.” Before he can respond, I shrug my backpack off and pull out my meter, pricking my finger and waiting for the number to register, feeling his eyes on me the whole time. “Diabetes,” I mumble, ad he nods knowingly. He opens up the pantry and I look over at their small supply of bread, rice, dry cereals, flour, cans of oatmeal, pasta noodles, meat, crackers, and a few very small jars of jelly and peanut butter. In the fridge there isn’t much else – eggs, a block of cheese, and milk. "We don’t have much…”

“Which is why I can’t take anything from you.”

Joe sighs, but he doesn’t argue. He grabs a small bushel of grapes from the counter and pops one into his mouth, looking out the stained window. I stare down at the partially ripped up tile, stained by water and God knows what else. It makes my skin crawl.

“Does anyone else live here?”

“Yeah. My mom, my brother, a couple with two snot-nosed kids, and an elderly couple.”

“Jesus!”

I feel bad now. “I can’t take your food.”

“You need to eat something.”

“So do you.”

“You’re skinnier than me.”

“No!”

He sighs in defeat and leans back against the counter. Outside, I hear muffled shouting. Two voices, one much deeper than the other. I remember the guard I saw when walking here, and bite my lip. Joe tenses, looking towards the window. “Kevin…”

“Kevin?”

:My brother… he’s always getting into fights… oh, God…”

I instantly think of my grandfather an a wave of panic rushes through me. Joe races to the window, and I follow, hearing the screaming get much louder. Two deafening shots, and it stops.

____________________________________________

I have never seen such apathy in my life. I feel like I’m in some kind of twisted horror movie. Joe’s mom won’t stop screaming in her hysterics, but no one will offer any comfort.

“Shouldn’t have been acting out,” the elderly man says simply, as Joe’s clinging to his mother and wailing. And there isn’t anything I can do.

“They didn’t have to kill him!”

“He should know how things work around here!”

“How things work?!This place is fucking sick! It goes against everything America stands for!”

“Ungrateful brat.” The old man snarls, his bony hand whipping forward to slap Joe across the face. “America doesn’t want us.”

I can only see Joe’s back, but I think he’s crying. His shoulders quiver, and he turns around and races out of the room, shoving me aside. I follow him up the staircase to the smallest room I’ve ever seen – in fact, it’s a closet. He collapses on a mattress on the floor. I’ve never seen anyone cry like he is. I don’t know how to help, but I know leaving is the worst thing I can do. So I sit next to him, placing a hand on his back and just letting him cry, murmuring something over and over until he falls asleep.

__________________________________________________________________

I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to get up less than I do today. I feel like I have been hit my a flying truck.

“Go back to sleep, Joey,” his mother says gently as we drag ourselves to the table, but the old man hisses “No, he has to go. And him-“ he points at me. “Why is he still here? We don’t need another mouth to feed.”

“He’s right,” I say, starting to head for the door. But she insists I sit down, so I do. Joe splits his cereal with me and we share a banana. And then we go back to bed.

I go home around five in the evening. The old apartment seems almost inviting after seeing Joe’s dump. But that feeling is erased when Demetrie snarls “Where were you last night, Brat?!”

He forces me to eat another Hellpepper. Bit this time, I don’t cry. I don’t moan, even though it burns and stings, I just take it. Too tired to fight, but determined not to give him any satisfaction. And when it’s all gone, I trudge to the bedroom and sink into my bunk. The boys leave me alone. Logan isn’t there. And, even though it’s all I’ve been doing all say, I go right to sleep.
__________________________________________________________________

The next day, it’s all over school.

Some kid - one of our classmates – tried to run away. The guards shot at him, but they missed. He kept running. They let him go. Later, the found his body, being pulverized by the fangs of tigers.

The kid was Logan.