Gusts

The people she works with are not her friends. Her job is cruel. Her dream is selfish.

She was feigning sleep the entire ride. The others believed that she was trying to avoid talking to them, just another example of her tasteless, antisocial behavior. That wasn’t the case at all; she was in fact counting the seconds until her next breath. The stale, musty air that the air-conditioner was pumping out was testing how strong her gag reflex was. Eighteen, nineteen, twenty - inhale. She was cringing on the inside, by being around these people in close quarters. The ones from the Fourth State were dirty to her.

The potholes on the road were not helping her stomach one bit. In the First State, there was only one road paved. The others were soft gravel so your feet don’t get cut, but the amount of holes on the ground defeats the safety precaution. Many have broken their ankles and the likelihood of cars going off the road into civilian walkways was increased. But the lives in this state didn’t matter. Well, not until they were needed.

She was sitting in the last row, unconsciously holding on to her other arm’s sleeve, fiddling with the rough cloth between her fingers. She looked like a child doing this with her scarf wrapped up tightly covering her nose, mouth, and ears in an attempt to muffle the voices coming out of the intercom from outside the window. Her coworkers studied her mannerisms - coming from anybody else would’ve been endearing, but not from her. They didn’t know why, but they felt like she was off. She was the youngest on the team, and they have access to her records. Her history, income, and scores. She passed all the tests. The Physical, the Sense and Instinct, even the Interpersonal. She did even better than some of them. So why did she feel lacking, especially on the interpersonal part? The red flag in all of this was the fact that her racial origin was made public as well. People in the First, Second and Third State are not meant to know about their races and racial history. Only a select few in the Fourth State have that privilege.

The car finally stopped. She fluttered her eyes open as if she was in deep sleep accompanied with an obnoxious yawn to shake off the whispers about her from the other two girls that were from the Fourth State.

Girl 1: “Who do you think she slept with to get on our team?”

Girl 2: “Mmm, I don’t know. But if I had to put money on it I would say someone from The Red Chair”

Girl 1: “Shut up. You think they would stoop that low?”

Girl 2: “Sweetie, a brown skinned Jezebel like her can get in anyone’s pants.”

The doors slid open and one by one they hopped off. Snapping their face masks on and wiggling into their wool gloves. She was about to get a breath of fresh air until,

“Mila, can you stay in the van? We don’t want any stowaways while we make the drop offs and the pick ups.”

She stared at him, before sighing and sitting back. The winter uniform was starting to make her sweat, another reason for her to grimace. She did as she was told by the team leader.

“What was his name again? Charles? Jonathan? Think. What is the most basic unflavored name in the Fourth State?”

Her mind wondered. It didn’t matter, she was gonna betray him - all of them - soon enough.

The team leader was unsure if this was a sign of her respecting the chain of command or her being too lazy to help them out. He was bothered that she didn’t put up that much resistance. Typical of a boy, never knowing what he wants. She was trying so hard not to look out the window, she knew if she did she would disobey orders. Not the team leader’s, but her’s.

The others opened the trunk pulling out the crates of syringes to have dropped off at the Rehab Center. The girls on the team were muttering under their breath how Mila is really just a lazy good for nothing like everybody else from the Second State. The team was walking over the curb stacking up the crates where nurses with clipboards were keeping count. Then the intercom went off again. The chilling chime ran over Mila’s arms. She was trying to get by today without having to hear that sickly sound.

“Good Time my precious friends. It’s time for the daily salute. We pledge thanks to our king that reigns over us and gives our sons the chance to touch his chariots and horses, and gives the honor to our daughters to make his perfumes. He has taken our incredibly taxing and laborious land onto his back to give his people a chance to stand tall with pride. He has given us freedom like no other and rules over us just like we asked. Now if you were following along, that was in accordance with, 1 Samuel 8. Now remember my precious friends: Speak your truth. We are always here to lend an ear to make sure you have nothing to fear. Your actions will always bear fruits in extending our roots.”

Mila didn’t participate in the daily salute. There was no law against it. Just the occasional prick of a needle if caught. She couldn’t bring herself to do it today. She felt a sickness like no other. Maybe a silent rebellion would be enough to ease her uneasiness, but the closing dingle of the intercom made her look outside the window. She disobeyed, and saw them. The potential first exposures. Freezing. There were many lined up against the wall near the rehab center so they could get their dosage from the look-a-like nurses. Mila cursed under her breath and hopped out of the van.

There was a man with white bandages over his left eye. His hair was long and oily reaching the center of his back. His left leg from the knee down was gone. He had a walking stick made out of the legs of furniture chairs to help him keep his balance when he would walk. He was sitting on the oil stained ground a couple of meters away from the rehab center. There were two children with him. A little boy that had crystal blue eyes and blond hair with a bowl cut. He was resting on the older man’s thigh trying to fight sleep from taking over him. The little girl had long black hair. It had no wave in it, but wasn’t as oily as the man’s. There’s no doubt that the man works in the mines. His eye and leg, gone. His green eye was like the green that Mila read in her book where it was referred to as paradise. Wasn’t it called the land of Milk and Honey?

The lines of citizens forming behind the barrier protecting the nurses and crates of syringes were starting to get violent with impatience.

“What’s the hold up? The syringes are right there!”

“I want to have dreams tonight! You know we can’t unless we get those!” said a man of smaller stature.

A woman yelled, “That’s not enough for all of us!” She was right. Three crates for the First State? That’s not enough even for half of the Fourth State.

Charles or Jonathan tried to make his move on one of the nurses, or what he thought was a move. “Yikes, are you sure you nurses can handle a crowd like this on your own? My team and I can stay-”

“There is no need to worry Mike. The artificials will take care of it.” Said the first nurse. Not that you can tell the difference between her and the other nurse.

Yes, that was his name. Mike. Before Mike could try again, the quiet boy on the team whistled for his attention. He never made a sound only when he wanted to instigate. Mike noticed Mila leaving the van walking towards the men with green eyes. She didn’t snap her mask into place or slide on her wool gloves. She leaned down and offered her mask to the man.

“It will help you in the mines.” She said.

The little girl was uncomfortable with Mila being so close to them. She hid her face in the man’s side. Now that Mila got a better look at the girl she noticed that she was an oriental. They sell high on the market now. Mila took off her scarf and wrapped it around her neck and face.

“Stay hidden to stay safe.”

The little boy, however, was more curious than the oriental. “Why are you here? What’s this mask for? How can a mask help in the mines?” Mila smiled and ruffled his hair. She stood up and made her way back to the van.

“Hey! What do you think you’re doing? That protection gear was supplied by the Highest Orders of The Red Chair. You can’t just-”

“Mike. Isn’t it time for the pick-ups?” Mila said, looking at his thigh bag.

That was the first time she had said his name. The words stayed in his throat thinking of ways to keep face. “I’m the team leader, what I say goes.” He was thinking, not finding the courage to say it out loud. Mila grabbed the notebook in his thigh bag and hopped on the hood of the van.

“Will the first exposers : Mary Antelope, John Snyder, Tyrone Nash, and Norman Leash make themselves known. It is time for your pick up.” Girl 1 and Girl 2 were muttering to each other, the quiet boy was snickering, and Mike was rosy red.

“I could’ve done that.”

“Do it faster next time.”

She wanted to say more, but held back. Mila jumped in the back seat of the van again. She heard giggles behind her seat. It was the blond boy and the oriental girl again. The boy asked her what she’s doing here and what first exposures are.

“The Gust will be blowing again tonight. If a first exposure has an open wound and they get hit with a 2nd wave they will turn into a Gust. We take first exposures into protection, so they don’t evolve.”

The two children were getting ready to hop off the van.

“Have you seen a Gust before?”

“No I haven’t.”

“How can one of the elites like you not see one?” This time it was the girl. She’s starting to get comfortable.

Mila stayed quiet.

“Will the first exposures come back?”

Mila stayed quiet again.

Mike and the others were getting closer to the van with an extra four people. The two children took that as their sign to leave.The ride was shorter and this time Mila was the first one out. The four first exposures were walking in front of the team to join the back of a long line of other first exposures. Mila and her team joined the rest of the soldiers. They were sitting down on plastic black chairs to wait for their next orders.

The very first man that was in the very front among the soldiers had black sunglasses and unmistakable white hair. He reached his hand out for Mila to take. She took his hand and didn’t want to let go. She felt the smooth metal in between their hands until she loosely lost his hand. She pretended that she had no association with the military's top soldier. The smooth metal was a gold heart shaped locket. She waited for her team to line up in the very back to peek inside.

Inside was a paper and in messy handwriting read. “Later tonight between the First and Second bridge.” She put the locket in her bra and noticed that her uneasiness had finally stilled.