Anthem
Chapter 6
After the conversations subside, we're given more information. It will take many hours to get there, so we're told to get comfortable. I adjust my makeshift pillow and stare at the dropgate of the plane. As I begin to mull over what would happen if it were to open with me so close, I decide to move. I pick up my pack and move away from the back and towards the front where people are grouped. I awkwardly navigate around crates and boxes to a group I recognize from my barracks. Or rather, former barracks. My eyes land on Derrick since he's one of the few people I'm on a casual talking basis with. He's speaking to another soldier whose name escapes my mind. Merrell...? Merri...? [i/] I rack off a list of familiar names as I get closer. I sit down hurriedly as they both break into loud laughter as something Derrick had said. I smile and laugh with them, trying to look like I fit in. Derrick claps a hand on my shoulder and I jump.
"Hey Jill, what's up?" He asks. I'm suddenly overwhelmed by his friendliness.
"Nothing" My voice breaks. I clear my voice and give a slight laugh to show my embarrassment.
"Nothing." I repeat, stronger this time. He nods and gives my shoulder one more rough pat and goes back to his conversation. I quietly set my backpack up and lean back against it, sinking back and splaying out my legs. I half listen to Derricks conversation, half think about what I've gotten myself into. Momentarily my mind strays to my father at home. At first I was contemplating not doing anything and letting him think I had jumped to my death or been kidnapped right out of my window, but as the recent volunteers are rounded up for our promised benefits for loved ones, I find myself writing his name and the address of our apartment. I haven't received any letters or any recognition that he's thankful but at least he knows I'm alive. I think back onto our last fight. I'd yelled, almost outright told him I'd leave him for dead. More empty promises on my part. Our verbal fights are mainly composed of threats and screaming. I'm jarred back to reality as Derricks friend snaps his fingers in front of my face, his upturned eyebrows high and a half smirk on his face.
"Anyone there?" He asks. They both laugh.
"Yeah. Just thinking." I mentally wince trying to remember his name. As if he can read my mind, Derrick looks between us introduced him again.
"I don't know if you guys've met before. Jill, Murray. Murray, Jill."
Murray reaches out for a shake. His hands are rough and calloused and squeeze tightly. I give a stiff smile and shake back, pulling my hand back quickly. Soon enough the lost sleep catches up to me and I nod off.
I wake up. My eyes are still closed, I'm grateful for the excuse to not to have to face anybody. My neck is so stiff I eventually have to adjust myself. I open my eyes and notice that my glasses are hanging askew off my face. I put them back over my nose and sit up straighter. It seems I woke up just in time. Uniforms are being tossed around. A boot speeds past my face, narrowly missing my nose. After it lands I grab it and try it on. It's not even close to a perfect fit but it's good enough. I search the floor until I find one of the same size. Our uniforms are thickly padded and heavy. Even my new stronger frame struggles to keep it up. The helmets are also armored, and have goggles mounted on the front in case we need them. The entire uniform is in a gray and black hexagonal camouflage. A red and black insignia covers both shoulders. I go behind some crates to change into them immediately. I stretch a ponytail holder off my wrist and work my short hair into a ponytail. It's grown a bit since it was cut short so I manage to do it with hardly any hassle. I lean against a crate with my legs to my chest for the remainder of the flight. It's not too long. There's a low rumble as the landing gear unfolds, and we land with a sharp jerk. The few who remained standing topple over along with a few of the crates that aren't roped in. The back opens and Everyone steps out in a disorderly mass. I shield my eyes from the blinding winter sunlight as I step out. We appear to be on the outskirts of a large city. Paris? The airfield is much larger than the one in our training facility. The large field is crisscrossed with runways and buildings that cover an grass that previously existed. From what I can see, tall fences lined with barbed wire surround all sides of the runways and strips of buildings lie directly outside. A few parked cars, but other than that the parking lot is deserted. Our plane landed about twenty yards from the nearest fence. Guards yell something unintelligible at civilians who linger to stare at us unloading. One raises his gun and the crowd quickly disperses. A young man with sandy blonde hair glances back at us. We make eye contact and I try to give a friendly smile but it comes out as more of a grimace. It's unlikely he saw it at this distance anyway, I assure myself. We're ordered to unload the plane of its cargo. We bring the crates to a nearby warehouse.
"Jesus." Huffs one of the girls helping me lug a particularly heavy load. "It feels like this is filled with rocks." She complains.
"No, it must be something liquid." I reply, feeling the slosh of liquid inside. One of the uniformed warehouse workers overhears us.
"Canned goods." He says, barely paying acknowledging us as we set down the crate in the designated area.
"I think something broke. It smells like horseradish." The girl muses. The mans head shoots up looking concerned.
"Set it to the side. Go unload the rest of the cargo." He quickly walks away towards the door to the supervisors office.
"That's a lot of fuss over canned goods." I frown. The girls eyes light up
"He left his clipboard." She says with a slow smile. She grabs the clipboard before I can stop her, flipping through pages and looking back and fourth between the pages and the numbers identifying the crate's shipment.
"What are you doing." I whisper, my mouth is dry.
"I don't think this is canned goods." She furrows her eyebrows. "Here we go."
"What did you find?" I ask curiously.
"Container 153: bis(2-chloroethyl) sulfide" she reads.
"It's gibberish. Sounds like some kind of antibiotic." she tosses the clipboard back onto the table and we leave before the man returns.
"Hey Jill, what's up?" He asks. I'm suddenly overwhelmed by his friendliness.
"Nothing" My voice breaks. I clear my voice and give a slight laugh to show my embarrassment.
"Nothing." I repeat, stronger this time. He nods and gives my shoulder one more rough pat and goes back to his conversation. I quietly set my backpack up and lean back against it, sinking back and splaying out my legs. I half listen to Derricks conversation, half think about what I've gotten myself into. Momentarily my mind strays to my father at home. At first I was contemplating not doing anything and letting him think I had jumped to my death or been kidnapped right out of my window, but as the recent volunteers are rounded up for our promised benefits for loved ones, I find myself writing his name and the address of our apartment. I haven't received any letters or any recognition that he's thankful but at least he knows I'm alive. I think back onto our last fight. I'd yelled, almost outright told him I'd leave him for dead. More empty promises on my part. Our verbal fights are mainly composed of threats and screaming. I'm jarred back to reality as Derricks friend snaps his fingers in front of my face, his upturned eyebrows high and a half smirk on his face.
"Anyone there?" He asks. They both laugh.
"Yeah. Just thinking." I mentally wince trying to remember his name. As if he can read my mind, Derrick looks between us introduced him again.
"I don't know if you guys've met before. Jill, Murray. Murray, Jill."
Murray reaches out for a shake. His hands are rough and calloused and squeeze tightly. I give a stiff smile and shake back, pulling my hand back quickly. Soon enough the lost sleep catches up to me and I nod off.
I wake up. My eyes are still closed, I'm grateful for the excuse to not to have to face anybody. My neck is so stiff I eventually have to adjust myself. I open my eyes and notice that my glasses are hanging askew off my face. I put them back over my nose and sit up straighter. It seems I woke up just in time. Uniforms are being tossed around. A boot speeds past my face, narrowly missing my nose. After it lands I grab it and try it on. It's not even close to a perfect fit but it's good enough. I search the floor until I find one of the same size. Our uniforms are thickly padded and heavy. Even my new stronger frame struggles to keep it up. The helmets are also armored, and have goggles mounted on the front in case we need them. The entire uniform is in a gray and black hexagonal camouflage. A red and black insignia covers both shoulders. I go behind some crates to change into them immediately. I stretch a ponytail holder off my wrist and work my short hair into a ponytail. It's grown a bit since it was cut short so I manage to do it with hardly any hassle. I lean against a crate with my legs to my chest for the remainder of the flight. It's not too long. There's a low rumble as the landing gear unfolds, and we land with a sharp jerk. The few who remained standing topple over along with a few of the crates that aren't roped in. The back opens and Everyone steps out in a disorderly mass. I shield my eyes from the blinding winter sunlight as I step out. We appear to be on the outskirts of a large city. Paris? The airfield is much larger than the one in our training facility. The large field is crisscrossed with runways and buildings that cover an grass that previously existed. From what I can see, tall fences lined with barbed wire surround all sides of the runways and strips of buildings lie directly outside. A few parked cars, but other than that the parking lot is deserted. Our plane landed about twenty yards from the nearest fence. Guards yell something unintelligible at civilians who linger to stare at us unloading. One raises his gun and the crowd quickly disperses. A young man with sandy blonde hair glances back at us. We make eye contact and I try to give a friendly smile but it comes out as more of a grimace. It's unlikely he saw it at this distance anyway, I assure myself. We're ordered to unload the plane of its cargo. We bring the crates to a nearby warehouse.
"Jesus." Huffs one of the girls helping me lug a particularly heavy load. "It feels like this is filled with rocks." She complains.
"No, it must be something liquid." I reply, feeling the slosh of liquid inside. One of the uniformed warehouse workers overhears us.
"Canned goods." He says, barely paying acknowledging us as we set down the crate in the designated area.
"I think something broke. It smells like horseradish." The girl muses. The mans head shoots up looking concerned.
"Set it to the side. Go unload the rest of the cargo." He quickly walks away towards the door to the supervisors office.
"That's a lot of fuss over canned goods." I frown. The girls eyes light up
"He left his clipboard." She says with a slow smile. She grabs the clipboard before I can stop her, flipping through pages and looking back and fourth between the pages and the numbers identifying the crate's shipment.
"What are you doing." I whisper, my mouth is dry.
"I don't think this is canned goods." She furrows her eyebrows. "Here we go."
"What did you find?" I ask curiously.
"Container 153: bis(2-chloroethyl) sulfide" she reads.
"It's gibberish. Sounds like some kind of antibiotic." she tosses the clipboard back onto the table and we leave before the man returns.