Graffiti marks the walls of the garage with words I wouldn’t dare say at home. The bold colors stand out, stark against the muted gray everywhere else.
Clouds of dust follow each step and I hop to avoid the broken glass strewn along the street because with one misstep, the glass would go right through my shoe and pierce my foot. Tall, worn-down buildings made of cement blocks line every road. Cole checks on my progress, only to move faster. He shows no signs of pity or emotion about having to shoot those people earlier. And yet, he’s not outright mean to me, either. I have no doubt what some other guards would’ve done in his situation. Just the thought makes me swallow hard around the lump in my throat.
We come to an intersection. I turn my head to the right, and men with no shirts lick me up and down with their eyes like I’m a fillet, ready to eat. To my left, brightly painted and scantily clad women summon Cole. They clap as I walk past.
“What diseases do you have?” they ask me. I ignore them, keeping my eyes forward. “How many have you screwed?” The women sneer. They laugh at my obvious discomfort.
I trip over an empty bottle, but Cole grabs me before I fall. His touch refocuses me.
“Watch where you’re going,” he says while glancing at me. “Look straight ahead and don’t pay attention to them.”
I wish I could be so confident.
A massive building with a clean fa?ade appears through the dusty cloud in front of us. It towers over the other buildings, making it an easy landmark. Vehicles pull through a checkpoint in the back. Small groups of people loiter outside, smoking and talking. It’s almost normal, except for the armed men in black mounted on the rooftops.
“That’s the hospital. Where you’ll be working,” Cole says. “All citizens of the Hole are required to work. I’ll escort you there and back. You can’t miss a day of work unless you’re on your deathbed, understood?” He glares at me.
“Yes. I understand,” I whisper.
We walk for what feels like an eternity and my feet throb. I’m not sure I can make it much farther. Stupid slippers. What I’d give to have my sneakers back. I gaze upward, and the bright azure sky makes a striking comparison to life below. I didn’t know conditions like this existed.
“See the building over there?” he says as he runs his hand over his head to wipe away the sweat. “That’s your new home.”
He opens a door in a fence interlaced with barbed wire. People lounge around outside, staring as he leads me in. The citizens outside the building look fairly normal despite their brandings, but I’m still wary of looking at them too long. They banter with each other while negotiating over a bag of what looks like trash.
Cigarette smoke burns my eyes. Squinting, I follow Cole through the courtyard and into the building.
Yellow paint chips off the rough-textured wall. It smells like mold, mildew, and stinky feet. A dead body lies propped against the wall inside the doorway. The man’s clothing hangs in tatters, and the bright red tattoo on his neck sags from years of malnutrition. My hand moves to cover my nose and mouth as I gurgle on bile. Before I can look away, a maggot squirms out of his nose.
“Oh my—”
“Get used to it.” Cole shrugs his shoulder.
I’ll never get used to that.
He cracks his knuckles and keeps walking. I’m pretty sure I hit my threshold for gore and my stomach lurches.
The walls, floors, and ceilings are black except for a few remaining yellow splotches. Cole flips on a flashlight and the dim light focuses briefly on a rat as it crawls across our path. I clench my jaw and feel ahead with my hands, guessing where to step next.
“Why is it dark?” I ask.
“Shhhh.”
I hate the dark.
The doors are numbered but completely out of order. My breaths echo in the hallway and I feel like a glass vase falling to the concrete floor about to shatter.
One.
Two.
Three flights. Good. I’m afraid of heights.
One.
Two doors to the right #91116.
Cole unlocks the door, which creaks on its hinges, and gestures me to follow. The darkness prompts him to tug on the delicate chain in the center of the cell. The light intermittently reveals the stacked cinder-block walls that make up my small room. I lean against the door to catch my breath when a spider drops in front of my face, forcing a blood-curdling scream from my lungs.
He slaps his hand over my mouth. “Stop it! Just because you’re behind a locked door doesn’t mean you’re safe.” He pulls his hand away and lowers it to his side.
I nod, fearful of his touch, but more afraid of my new neighbors. He steps back and smashes the spider between his hands.
Breathe, just breathe.
The musty smell makes me cough.