Ready or Not

Part 2

    A nineteen-year-old girl uselessly looks both ways across a dusty, gravel road, the poison air stinging the surface of her skin. She walks across, adjusting the backpack wrapped around her with the neck of an instrument sticking out of the slightly unzipped top. She brushes away a curled piece of her messy, golden red hair that had unfolded in front of her face. She reaches the other side of the street and gives a side glance to a woman and a child, both covered in dirt and dressed in light clothes. They are curled up under a tattered blanket; the boy held tight against the woman's side. She passes them and turns into a short hallway followed by a small set of stairs, ended by a windowless door with a sign that says OPEN in red, scratched letters. The building — like any other — is worn down.
   She pulls open the door to a small store with rusty red shelves and muddy walls. The shelves are limited and any supplies are scarce. An older man with longer smoky hair that reaches the tops of his lifeless eyes stands behind the counter just finishing exchanging a can of beans to a woman for a single coin. He glances over and sees the young girl sliding a hand along the side of the shelves as she carefully searches through them. A small smile shines through as he greets her.
   “Good morning, Meridian,” he says in a slightly cheerful voice. Meridian's hand flinches off of the shelf and she turns her head to the cashier.
   “Morning, Mr. Philips.” She turns back to the shelf to an area is already cleared out where cans of rice used to be, fully stocked. She turns back to Mr. Philips with a disappointed look. “Is there no rice left?” Mr. Philips looks to her with a sorrowful frown.
   “Sorry, Meridian. It's all been cleared out. I'm not getting anything for a while…” He turns to a closed calendar hanging on the wall behind him. He skims through the dated pages until he stops at a month. November. He raises a shaky hand and uncaps a marker that he holds in his right. He lifts the marker to the page and crosses out 06 with a black X, marking off today's date. Meridian looks down, feeling a rock of fear reach the bottom of her stomach and her breath hitches in the back of her throat. She glances back up at the calendar and shoves the rock-like feeling aside, hiding it with her eyebrows slightly furrowed.
   “Has it really been a year?” Mr. Philips slightly nods, capping the marker. He sets it down on the counter, his hand shaking more than before. He lets out a slow, lingering breath.
   “Doesn't feel like it, eh? One more year until you'll be in the Massacre game. At least you'll be safe for the next five. I'm pretty sure there has been at least seven people sneaking things into their clothes.” Meridian goes back to skimming through the shelves.
   “Why not kill them?” Mr. Philips lets out a hollow laugh.
   “Because they need to survive. They need to be prepared for the Massacre. I'm not going to deny them anything. My Ginnifer would love it here.”
   Two years ago, Mr. Philips’ daughter Ginny had won the Massacre and was taken from him and brought to The House. She didn't want to leave. The Fallout came and took her by force.
    Meridian slightly scoffs but nods along.
   “You're too pure hearted for this world.” She grabs a few bottles of water, two loaves of bread, and a candy bar. She walks to the counter and places the items on it, right after, her backpack. Mr. Philips takes the water and bread to examine them to check the cleanness of the water and to check for any mould on the bread. He sets them back to where they were, his hand continuing to shake. The sleeve of his shirt slightly lifts, revealing an old wound right above his wrist, just missing a vein. It looks like a gunshot wound, piercing straight through.
   “You're closing your shop this year, yeah?” Mr. Philips looks up at her and hesitates. He slowly shakes his head.
   “You know I can't do that. The Royal Sanctum would have me killed immediately. Stores can't close during the Massacre—” Mr. Philips is cut off as he starts violently coughing. Meridians eyes soften and her heart drops at the painful sight. The Royal Sanctum is what the government calls itself. He finally recovers and rests a hand on the table to keep him from lowering in exhaustion. Meridian sighs with annoyance and begins packing the few items into her bag.
   “This government sucks. I'll bet those slimy creatures of a cult are at The House with food for decades and air that can cure asthma.” Meridians mind flashes back to a time where her father tried to rebel against the Royal Sanctum. He had been an Inner Member in The House and had gathered a group of coal mining men and marched right up to The House. Large guns jutted out of the walls of and began firing on sight. Meridians father and a few members of his group had made it out alive and returned home only to share the news of their dead friends.
   Meridians father had told her about The house. It was big and beautiful with everything an old city from hundreds of years ago would have. It had medical units, emergency areas, and even a garden that stretched for miles filled with trees, greens, and fruit. He told her how the air around The House had smelled of flowers and freshly cut grass, mixed with the refreshing scent of after a warm, calming rainfall. The trees around them were full and green and smelled of sap while the trees back home were dry, unscented, and darkly colored. Her father always went behind the Royal Sanctum’s back and preached to the community that they needed to take a stand and fight when ever he could. Not just for them but for all of the communities. Not long after he returned, the guards of the Royal Sanctum — the fallout they were called — came in the middle of the night and killed him in front of the whole community as an act to scare them straight; to show them what happens to people that go against their wishes.
   Mr. Philips uses the back of his hand to wipe away a drop of saliva from the corner of his mouth. Bags of exhaustion sag under his eyes. Meridian slightly slides the candy bar toward him, wondering if he had forgotten about it. He warmly smiles and places a hand over it, sliding it back to her.
   “Don't worry about it. It's yours.” Meridian nods in appreciation and drops two coins on the counter for the food and water. She rips open the top of the wrapper and takes a large bite out of it, letting the mostly bitter chocolate melt on her tongue. She folds the wrapper over the other half and slips it into her backpack. She swings the bag over her shoulder and gives Mr. Philips a lazy salute as she chews through the crunchy, stale top layer of the candy bar and backs towards the door.
   “Don't get killed, all right?” Mr. Philips grins with slight joy.
   “Same to you, Meridian. Same to you.” She turns to the door, pushing it open. She travels down the steps and into the streets.
  Meridian sees the mother and child still curled together. She's about to walk passed them, but she stops. She looks to the small boy in the mother's arms. His eyes are open but stare straight ahead, any hope that was ever in him gone like a burnt out light. The woman glances up at her, and Meridian takes a small step back, but the woman fixes her stare back to the ground. Meridian takes out a wooden knife that she had carved out and crouches down in front of the woman. With the flat of the blade, she lifts the woman's chin up to meet her eyes. The woman's eyes are wide, but not in fear.
   “Please…” she faintly says, not quite sure what she’s asking for. Her throat is dry and raspy. Meridian glances around and lowers the knife.
   “Talk to Mr. Philips. He'll help you.” Meridian rises and continues down the street. The woman watches her go, wondering why she didn't just kill her.