Page 8 of All Your Days (Mayhem Manuscripts Season One: 1nf3ction #4)

“Ah! You’re here, Jacob. Command called from nine. They said they need to speak to you.” Emily, one of the other scientists, calls out from an office within the Lab, sticking her head out of a door.

I want to glare at her, but that would be a shitty thing to do. Not only because it’s rude, and she ranks higher than me, but also because I was told to go to Command ages ago. Emily disappears when I give her a wave in acknowledgement.

“Looks like guards are just like grunts after all. Work’s never done.” Eli's eyes are on the ledger again, but it kind of looks like he’s just pushing things around, flipping pages needlessly.

It’s not lost on me that we’ve said more words to each other today than we probably have in the last ten years. I don’t want it to end just yet, which has always been the problem.

“Somethin’ like that. I’ll see you.” I wince at the goodbye, and Eli snickers, but I turn, practically running from the Lab before I can really see his reaction.

I’ll see you ? I can’t believe I said that to the man I’m practically stalking.

I stew in the elevator in silence, all the way back down to level nine, grateful that no one joins me in the tiny box.

A sharp ding announces my arrival on nine, and the doors open to the waiting area.

Exiting the elevator, I wave at Hank sitting behind his large desk.

Hank is an appointed official from the Union, officially here to assist the guard leadership and commander in running things smoothly, and to coordinate assistance from the Union and the armymen if it’s needed. He’s our link to the Union.

Unofficially , the head of the guard leadership, Gregory Watson, is convinced Hank was a spy sent to undermine his authority, so the wily old coot goes out of his way to be as difficult as possible.

The other three members of the guard leadership team work with Hank to juggle pandering to the senior officer and minimising his damage wherever they can.

I’ve heard more than once that it’s time to force Watson to retire, but no one has the heart to take the position from him, so they’re locked in this endless battle.

“Jacob, just the guard I was hoping to see.” Hank says when I pass his desk in front of the office doors.

He’s like the guard leadership's own personal guard, only admitting those he approves past his desk.

“How can I be of service, sir?” I am very good at playing pretend armyman when I need to. It helps that I have a fair amount of respect for Hank; he’s always managed the guards with a good amount of decency.

“You’re about to be sent on a supply run. See me before you leave for the actual specs. He’s drawn something up and won’t even let the others see it. I’ve had to make some changes to the teams. It couldn’t be helped. Okay?”

The warning doesn’t fill me with hope, but I don’t disagree with the order—because that wasn’t a suggestion.

My meeting with Watson doesn’t make me feel any better. Instead, I leave more unsettled than ever, clutching a sealed envelope given to me with explicit instructions from my frantic-eyed leader to not share it with the ‘untrustworthy swines at the desk.’

“Can I see what he’s given you there, please?” Hank asks when I emerge from Watson’s office. Again, it's an order disguised as a friendly question.

I only hesitate for a second, looking back at the office to ensure the door is firmly closed.

Hank tears open the envelope without any of my hesitation, tutting over the scribbles scrawled over the page.

Unlike the kids at The Facility, I never went to school, and so I never got a good grasp of letters and such when I eventually learnt them.

But even I know that there is nothing written on that page. It’s gibberish.

“Should—should he still be allowed…” It’s insubordinate to ask, but I can’t stop myself.

At the end of the day, the man is responsible for too many lives to be that…

incoherent. And really, if anybody else in the place acted like that, they’d be sent down below for sure for fear of turning.

It’s just one of the ways Command’s different from the rest of us.

Hank seems to understand, and doesn’t take offence. He lays the papers neatly on the table, smoothing them over.

“Off the record? No. And management is doing what we can to alleviate the issue. Rest assured, you and your men are being taken care of.” He pauses to pick up a second sealed envelope from his neatly ordered desk.

“In that vein. The orders from up high are looking to ‘shake things up’, to ensure that our ‘assets are being used to the best of their abilities’. So like I said, there’s been a change to your run team.

I don’t understand it myself, but Commander Agathangelou has been in contact with the Union and there are changes happening all over The Facility. ”

Over the years, I’ve assumed the unofficial position as leader of the run teams. It’s a difficult and dangerous journey.

From the feral animals, to the raiders that still occasionally roam the arid lands, to lack of water, to the dangerous and inhospitable landscape, it’s considered by many to be a hellish risk to be avoided.

At one point it was actually used as a punishment until I argued—repeatedly—that resentful guards make risky guards that would cost us all our lives.

I’m almost too nervous to look, especially under Hank’s watchful eye. But the fact it makes me nervous only spurs me on. To spite my own feelings, I tear the envelope open, quickly scanning the names of the guards joining me.

And there it is. My usual team of Rodrick, Emmy, and Lucas, along with our regular grunts Andy and Phillip have been replaced.

I check the names twice over before I let myself react. There is no way this list can be accurate.

I haven’t had much to do with the guards Malcolm, Ryan, and Cale.

They are on a separate rotation to me, but I know them by reputation.

They’re known to be a tight trio with a habit of fucking around on the job.

It looks like, despite years of mostly smooth, successful runs, we’re back to using them as punitive measures for guards they don’t know what to do with.

Knowing there is nothing I can do about the orders, I swallow down my anger and check the names of my grunts.

Fuck. My hands tremble and the page blurs. There is no fucking way.

Eli .

There is absolutely no reason to have him moved out of the Labs into a job as dangerous as this one.

Even if I put aside my feelings about him, and rage I feel about taking him outside the walls and the safety of The Facility—Eli hasn’t even been involved in forage work since he was fifteen.

How the fuck is he meant to be able to help the other grunt Lou handle the camels they need for transport?

Or the cooking? Or literally any of the jobs they leave to the grunts on these trips?

It’s ridiculous. Totally unacceptable. It’s a death note for us all.

“No.” I carefully lay the paper on the desk and fold my arms over my chest. “I’m not going on the run with a grunt that inexperienced. It’s not safe. It’s—”

“Your orders.” Hank leans back in his chair, regarding me over the thick rim of his glasses. Hank’s older than me, and softer in the middle, but he’s managed to maintain an aura of power and authority that I usually respect. Right now, I’m finding it really fucking difficult.

“So my orders are to die in the fuckin’ desert?” I spit out, going well beyond toeing the line. Yelling at Hank is more like pissing on the line.

“The Union has faith in you and the men. Take the list. You’ll be leaving tomorrow. Your other duties have already been reassigned until then so you can get yourself organised.”

Fuck. There isn’t even time to get my men prepared. To get Eli prepared. This is going to be a monumental disaster. I can feel it in my bones.

But what choice do I have? If I kick up a fuss, they’ll just replace me. And then Eli will be out there, alone in the Outback, with someone completely fucking useless taking care of him. It’s unthinkable.

With no choice, I snatch up the envelopes—both of them—and storm my way out the Command office, cursing every man in there and The Facility itself to hell and back.