Unsheltered by Clare Moleta (spiritual books to read TXT) 📕

her door, talking to the man who loaned his donkey every year for the Nativity play. The Wars memorial in the middle of the park, salmon gums and hard-baked dirt where the old people played bocce. She could smell bread and fertiliser and desiccated coconut and clove cigarettes and hot chips. A child ran across the wide road without looking.

Tears were running down Camila’s face. Angie got up quietly and moved along the row of chairs towards the entrance.

Li said, to her back, When we walked out, there was just the school and the pub still standing. I don’t know if there’s anything left now. But people lived there. We lived there. It was a good town.

Afterwards, the man with the cough came over and thanked her. He said, I won’t get too close.

It’s okay, Li said. Don’t worry about it.

Camila and Trish were waiting for her near the entrance.

The man said, I enjoyed that. I was looking forward to the dog breeding, but I enjoyed it. I didn’t know much about West. Very interesting. You could have been talking about my town.

He turned away and started coughing again, and he coughed gently for a long time, bent over. Li looked past him at the empty entranceway where the grey light came in.

Rich said, Why aren’t you wearing the gear? He’d just shot Li up with a new viral vax Management was trialling against the coughing sickness.

I’m wearing the gear. She was shaky from exhaustion and whatever he’d pumped into her system. She’d been sent to Medical from the food shed, along with everyone else from Charlie who wasn’t already sick. Come straight off the back of one and a half shifts, covering for absent labour. It was dark before she started queueing.

Like hell you are. He swivelled the monitor round and she focused on the screen briefly. It took her a minute to even remember last month’s bloods.

He said, Your lead levels are tracking twice as high as last month. You’re not using the protective gear. Why?

Because it doesn’t matter.

The fuck it doesn’t. Maybe you don’t feel sick but you are sick – you’re gunna be.

It doesn’t matter.

Have you got a death wish, Li? Cos people in here are dying fast enough. He looked worse than last time, bruises under his eyes like he’d been double-punched. He was masked but his beard had been shaved as well as his hair and it made him look more exposed. She knew he hadn’t volunteered for medic and she knew what he was up against. Half the women in Charlie had the cough now. Security had regrouped the sleepboxes into sick and not sick yet.

She said, I’m not wishing for anything.

Look, he said. I’m sorry you lost your kid. True to God, I am. But that is bullshit.

Okay. Is that all? Cos I’m back on in five hours.

No, it’s not all. I got you something.

It was a knee crutch. Top of the line. She stared at it as he brought it over to the exam table.

I don’t have the points for that. How’d you get that?

People like me, Li. I’m a nice fella. No, wait, don’t get up yet. He checked his watch, checked the injection site and her pulse. He asked about tingling, numbness, nausea. Then he helped her step into the crutch, with her lower leg resting on the platform in a kneeling position, and tightened the straps around her calf and thigh. She let him take the other crutches and cautiously tried a step. Another step. Remembering how to place her leg instead of swinging it.

Keeps that ankle elevated, see? And it’ll give your shoulders a break. He readjusted the height for her and made her practise walking the length of the container without looking down. It was so good to have her hands back, not to have her shoulders and armpits and wrists hurt with every step.

She turned to face him, getting the hang of it. I don’t understand how I can have this.

He grinned at her. Relax, Li. I told you, people like me.

She grinned back, didn’t even mean to. Wiped her runny nose on her arm.

No worries, he said. So, you reckon you can climb?

Sure. The van’s just one step up, this’ll be easier than the crutches.

Could you climb a fence?

What?

Nah, I’m just gammin with you. I can get us through the gates, I’m working on that.

She stared at him. Someone banged on the door and Rich opened it and stuck his head out. You’re gunna have to wait. I might have an adverse reaction here. He shut the door, turned back.

Li said, I better go.

I’m getting out of here, he said. You should come.

She was tired and she didn’t know why he was doing this, didn’t have an answer for him. Why do you want to get out?

Why? You serious? I mean, I know they call it Transit but have you noticed no one fucking goes anywhere?

Yeah, I noticed. You won’t get out.

I got out of worse places than this.

Go on, then. I’m not interested.

Listen to yourself, he said. You don’t belong in here.

Who did he think she was? Li shrugged. No one belongs anywhere.

Speak for your own self, woman.

She started moving to the door but Rich got in her way. What is it about this place you like so much? Apart from the free lead poisoning.

I like working. I like not thinking.

You’re a patcher, he said. You fixing anything in here?

I don’t need to fix anything. I just need to fill the time.

Until what? He grabbed her arm with his gloved hand. Li, listen to me. You lost your kid but you’re still alive.

That’s right, she said. I lost my kid but I’m still alive.

He let go. She swayed and steadied herself, suddenly nauseous. Her nose wouldn’t stop running and her arm hurt like hell from the shot. The need for sleep was a thumping weight.

He said, You know for sure she’s dead?

You think a bunch of