Page 18 of All Your Days (Mayhem Manuscripts Season One: 1nf3ction #4)

Chapter eight

Eli

Jacob has exactly zero worries about me wandering off on my own while we’re here. If anything, the bigger concern is me plastering myself to his side and never letting go.

As we make our way through the outpost I realise I am unprepared—we all are.

Cale, Malcolm, Ryan, and Lou shuffle along in shocked silence around me.

It’s not Jacob’s fault. It’s one of those ‘you gotta see it to believe it’ kinda things.

I thought since I spent the first years of my life in the grunt housing outside the main complex building, that I had an idea of what we were in for.

I was wrong.

The narrow streets are made of the same red dirt as everywhere, with homes on either side.

Far apart when we first come in, then they get packed closer together the further in we get.

There’s only the stars and a handful of torches to light the way, making everything seem scarier than it should be.

There are too many shadows for dangerous things to lurk in.

Fear slithers up my spine. Even though the place seems almost dead, I can feel eyes on us, and if I stare into the darkness long enough, I swear I can see the outlines of people. No one calls out in greeting, no one stops us. No one walks the streets with us.

It’s eerie.

Not to say there aren’t signs of life. There is a stench in the air, something vaguely animal but unfamiliar, likely from the goats settlers have recently begun farming.

And there’s music, too—twanging, lively sounds, blending with the sounds of laughter and yelling.

Only the ground is too flat to hear where it’s coming from.

It feels like it’s coming from everywhere and nowhere at once.

Yesterday, I overheard Jacob explaining that the outpost is built near an old mining town.

The original town was pretty much burnt to the ground in the war with the Federation, but the people here have fought hard to rebuild.

It’s not easy for them; the bore water here is so salty it’s pretty much undrinkable.

There used to be a way to fix it, but that’s been lost. The people’ve had to finagle new ways to get enough clean water to drink.

Part of our payment for lodgings is the extra water barrels we filled at the last well on the road.

I’m not entirely sure where that lodging will be, though.

Or what it’s going to look like. So far all I’ve seen are mud brick homes with leather flaps for doors and window coverings, and buildings cobbled together with whatever scraps of wood and metal sheeting that could be put together.

Those ones would be deadly hot in the summer.

“It’s bigger than I thought it’d be,” Lou mumbles, shuffling close to box me in when we finally see someone stumbling down the street. The man—well, I think it’s a man—hobbles past us with a nod.

“It used to be smaller, but keeps growin’,” Jacob answers in the same low tone.

It explains why, after we turn down another street that doesn’t look like it should be a street at all, the houses seem better built, more permanent.

A couple of the boxy, brick buildings look like they are even from before the red rains.

Though they look in rough shape compared to most of the ones built since.

“That’s the actual outpost and Union offices,” Jacob says quietly, pointing to a building made of big bricks, kind of like the ones The Facility is made out of.

Only it’s a much prettier building than back home.

It’s two stories, with a little garden of hardy looking plants on either side of the torch lined path to the front door.

There’s a little undercover area there, too, with a lonely seat by the door.

Even in the dark, it looks cleaner than anything else here, and really out of place.

It’s the only place with glass in its windows.

“And that’s the trade shed. We’ll head there after we hit the outpost.” He points to another building as we pass, a huge rectangular building made of metal and wood.

The Union offices sit on what would have been the edge of the original outpost, but now it’s the beginning of the middle of the compound. It’s louder here—brighter, too, with more torches to line the streets.

And people. No longer loitering in the shadows, they watch us out in the open now and the difference between the outpost and The Facility becomes even more obvious. Back home, our uniforms have us looking all kind of the same.

That’s not the case out here, where they have to make do with what they have. Their clothes remind me a little of what I used to wear as a kid—sewn together with scraps of whatever could be found and reused.

At least with the layer of sweat and grime coating us from our day out in the sun, we fit in. It seems to be baked into everything here—including the people.

It’s new, and it’s making my skin itch.

For all the people, I notice there doesn’t seem to be any guards.

It’s overwhelming, to be somewhere so new.

To be somewhere where I haven’t known everybody since basically the moment I was born.

I’m ashamed of the fear clawing at my stomach.

At least there doesn’t seem to be anyone out at this time of night.

Well, they’re definitely somewhere , because I can hear the party going on.

It sounds kinda like fire pit night, when it’s gone on too long and the residents have had too much grog. That’s when shit gets messy.

I know there're guards on watch in the towers, but the lack of guards has me nervous. The people here… they are so exposed? What would happen if someone in one of those mud houses turned? There isn’t even a door to stop them.

As if he can sense my unease, Jacob’s hand settles right there on my back, right where the tension is forming. He keeps his hand there, guiding me along, keeping me anchored to him.

We pass a building that’s bigger than the others. It’s not as well made as the outpost, and definitely wasn’t built before the ed Rains, but the wood slat building seems more sturdy than the rest of the place. More permanent.

The building’s a long one, with windows cut out all along, and a covered porch. The window shutters and the large door in the centre of the building are open wide, with an old sun-weathered woman on a rocking chair.

There are more women in the windows, and some men, too, I realise, and more naked breasts than I ever hoped to see in a lifetime.

I am pretty sure I can see some people fucking against a wall through the windows.

Like, right there. I stare. I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t stop myself.

It’s not that I’m against having a little fun wherever you can get it, but having a root right there in the window? That’s a bit much. Isn’t it?

“You ‘right lads? Lookin’ for some fun?” The woman yells out, her voice harsh, harsher still is the sharp cackle that pierces the night, making us all jump. Guess I wasn’t the only one caught gawking like a galah.

“Leave it.” Jacob warns, when Cale goes to open his mouth. Thankfully, the guard listens and we move on, making a left when Jacob tells us to, leading us to where we’ll be staying.

The hotel sits on top of the pub, which is where most of the shouting is coming from. It just gets louder the closer we get.

The hotel and bar is one of the buildings that remains from the old days.

It might have been nice once, but it’s been through a lot in the years since.

The pub portion of the building is single story, while the attached hotel is two stories.

It’s the same square sort of look as the rest of the old buildings—like someone got two mismatched boxes and just stuck them together and said she’ll be right.

The glass windows to the pub are long gone, replaced with shutters that sit open, allowing us to see the patrons inside. Half the shutters on the hotel side are hanging off, with some windows just boarded up instead, and the railing on the second floor hangs from the balcony on a good portion.

My hopes are not high that wherever we’re sleeping is any better than the tents.

“Ryan, you come with me to check us in and get our rooms organised, everyone else, wait here.” Jacob gives my back a little stroke before he leaves and like a child, I want to beg him to not leave me behind.

We’ve attracted the notice of the men in the bar. Their drunken hollers are enough for me to squeeze myself between Sheba and Adeeko, with Lou and the remaining guards in front of me. It says a lot that I’d rather be between two camels than be exposed to the strangers.

“Yo, look who we got?”

“Freshies for the trade!”

“What kinda trade, though?”

“Ah! Don’t be shy! We’re nice, come say hi!” The men—drunk on whatever they’re drinking call out through the windows. Our lack of response only seems to encourage them.

“Hey cobber! I know you!” One of the dickheads is half hanging out the window, yelling and waving his arm. “Oi, Jacob! Whaddya doin’ here?”

They catch Jacob as he jogs out of the door to the hotel side. Thank fuck he doesn’t stop, just turns and calls back to them.

“Just on a trade run, the usual.”

It hits me again, that despite my ingrained fascination with Jacob, he has this whole other life outside The Facility I don’t even know about. Does he have friends out here?

Oh god. Does he have a—a–I don’t know, a man out here?

Is that why he does the trade runs? Is that why he has never had anything serious with anyone back home?

Have I imagined everything between us for a whole ten years ?

Is that why he bolted to his tent the other night?

Because he knew he was coming here to… to connect with someone?

Fuck.

Adeeko bumps my head with his grotty mouth, grunting grumpily as he shifts on his big feet. The poor shithead must be tired.

“Join us for a drink, yeah mate?” The man calls out again, his accent so thick I can barely make out the words. Or maybe it’s just the grog.