Nolan dreaded Fridays. Fridays meant floor days and floor days meant entering the Plan B room. A crawling sensation began in his heels as he walked the mile through the garbage-strewn streets on those dark Friday mornings. By six a.m. the crawling had moved to his calves, slowing his walk to the storage closet. By eight a.m. the crawl became a tightening in his chest as he slid his key card through the reader slot and watched the light blink green. He wished each time that the blood red light would appear. It never did.
With mop and bucket, he slowly pushed into the thick darkness. The smell assaulted him immediately—a decaying flesh smell that sent images of corpses running riot through his mind. He found the switch and flicked it, his eyes shut. When they opened, the room had its dim glow. Enough to see by. Not enough to banish the ghosts.
He mopped quickly, not caring about streaks or a missed clump of mud. No one paid attention to this floor and if they did, he'd take a scolding if it meant getting away faster.
He swung the mop bucket to the right and it collided with a bed frame. Water sloshed onto the floor.
“Christ!” he swore and then, realizing his sin, prayed quickly for forgiveness. He wanted God on his side while he was in the midst of this hell.
His eyes skimmed the girl in the bed beside him. He tried very hard after that first day not to look at any one face if he could help it. Every now and then he'd pass a girl long gone, with hair like cobwebs and flesh like flaking onion skin. Those girls were the specters that haunted his nightmares and he didn't need another image in the picture show. Yet, when the girl on the bed let out a small moan, his eyes snapped to her face on their own.
A noise? From this girl? Not possible. He stared down into her face, his heart spurring from gallop to sprint. Her fresh youthful face drew him in—pale skin, red cheeks, lips as pink as salmon served on paydays. Her long golden hair cascaded down one shoulder and spilled into a pool at the hollow of her throat. Her hands were folded below her rounding abdomen like a child ready for her first catechism.
Nolan could almost picture her at the Church of the Sunset Redeemed, the open air church a half a mile up the hill from their shanty town. On Nolan's big day, his father had run a spit-laden comb through his hair and smiled when Nolan said his commandments. It was a day all boys both loved and feared. The day they were freed from their father's shackles to make their own way. It was also the day they learned how cruel the world really was.
That day, Nolan's father had placed a hand on his son's shoulder and said, “My boy, I'd understand if you want to go, but in my heart I want you to stay.” It was that day Nolan knew what a good man his dah was. It was that day Nolan understood love means sacrifice.
All the more reason to work harder to make sure that he could afford the soothing balms that eased his father's pain. If he kept gaining favor, Nolan planned to ask one of the Breeders’ doctors if there was any chance they'd heal his father. He knew their technology was far more advanced than anything on the outside. Maybe if he worked harder—
Moaning made Nolan jump. He stumbled, sending the bucket wheeling wildly. The girl on the bed him had made a noise. He leaned over and stared into her face. Her slender nose and high cheekbones, coupled with her golden hair, made her ethereal (another word stolen from an advertisement his father had brought home from the dump). She looked like an angel. It didn't help that the only other girl he'd seen his age had been a prisoner of the local bounty hunter. Garthan had caught a wild wretch in the desert and brought her through town. Nolan had felt nothing but pity for the dirty, wide-eyed girl as the local men had handed over barter slips to spend ten minutes in a tent with the poor creature. Staring at this beauty, he felt something stir in his chest, something like drowning and ascending at the same time.
Stop it! he thought, taking a step back. The penalty for “messin' with the girls”, as Samuel put it, was banishment. And not just from the hospital, the entire city. Nolan grabbed his mop and walked over to retrieve the discarded bucket. He would be here longer because of this foolishness and if that wasn't punishment enough he didn't know wha—
“Mom,” she called.
Nolan froze. He swiveled toward the girl. These were brain dead. Samuel had said—
“Mama,” she murmured, her brow wrinkling, her head shaking from side to side as her golden hair rippled on the pillow. “Mama!” Her voice was a throaty whisper and yet there was so much terror. He watched as her hands bunched the blankets at her waist.