Beth had the feeling of walking on thinning ice. It was almost February, and she still hadn’t found a job that paid in Contribution Points for any member of her family. She had stockpiled everything she could buy, and downloaded everything she could think of, and planted every crop that could be planted in midwinter, but she knew it was a very small fraction of what they’d need.
And Peter still hadn’t visited.
It was getting to the point of absurdity. Beth would just have to go and visit him herself. After some thought, she decided against visiting the de la Haye house. That would involve entirely too many awkward interactions. No, it would be simpler to visit him at his new office. After finishing at the stall one morning, she let herself in through the gate onto the university campus. It didn’t take more than a few inquiries to determine Peter’s new office.
The university didn’t have much in the way of security, but that didn’t mean that the passageways were entirely empty. Beth maintained an attitude of knowing exactly where she was going and being a little irritated about everything. It worked, and no-one questioned her. Beth rather thought she recognised one of the people she passed. Then she definitely recognised the second. It had been the suit-wearer who had hovered around town hall, just in case Alistair changed his mind and wanted something from him after all. It might be a bit much to describe them as Alistair’s people. But Beth suspected it might not be too much to describe them as Alistair’s grandfather’s people.
She knocked on the full-length window next to the door. Peter turned his head to look at her, and she let herself in. It was a nice sized room, with large sash windows on the other side of the desk opening out onto the exterior courtyard. Some previous occupant had placed large plant pots directly below the window, and the view was bordered with a mass of geraniums preparing to flower. Peter looked startled to see her.
“Beth!”
“Hey, Peter,” said Beth. “Sorry for coming over with no notice, but I couldn’t get hold of you by phone.”
And you didn’t come and visit.
“I suppose you’re here looking for a job?” asked Peter.
Beth was taken aback at his bluntness but answered honestly. “I am looking for a job, yes. But that wasn’t why I came to visit you.”
She had the part-time work she’d created for herself matching clients to service providers, which was awesome. But it wasn’t a job with Contribution Points that she’d been hoping for, either for herself of for their father.
Peter waved her into a chair that seemed deliberately designed to discourage visitors. “I can’t make any promises, but I let me see if there’s anything available. Give me a minute.”
He shifted back to log onto his computer. The keyboard was in plain sight as he typed, and Beth could admit to herself that she didn’t look away. Her curiosity was too much for her. She couldn’t be certain about every keystroke, but the pattern of capitals and numbers were distinct enough to confirm her suspicions. It wasn’t just on his personal machine that he was using his favourite pattern. It was for everything. Beth bit her lip to stop herself from laughing. It probably wasn’t funny. She should probably warn him. Or even inform whatever security officer they had for the new government. But if they didn’t notice or mind, then who was she to make a fuss? She’d leave him and his passwords in peace.
As she waited, Beth had a belated realisation. She’d been very self-righteous when she had decided not to ask Alistair for a job. But given what she had noticed about Peter’s co-workers, she very strongly suspected that asking Peter was just asking Alistair with extra steps. Ethically, it didn’t make a difference that it would be Peter asking on her behalf. Arguably, that would make it even worse. Beth had a moment of mortification but didn’t know how to retrieve her words. And it had been so very hard for her to find a job by herself.
It was different, she told herself. She would propose this job to her father, like had originally been the plan. It was Peter doing a favour for his own father, that way. Who Peter had to ask for a favour in turn, and the price he might have to pay for it— well, he had volunteered, hadn’t he? Beth hadn’t even had to ask. Peter had immediately stepped forward to offer.
An actual printer whirred and spat out paper that flew halfway across the room. Peter stood up, grabbed it off the floor, folded it in half, and handed it to her.
“The instructions about how to apply are here,” he said. “But please, don’t mention my name or tell anyone where you heard about this. You understand, I don’t want either of us to be accused of nepotism.”
Beth didn’t think it was Peter’s nepotism towards Beth that he had to worry about. Not with how conscious everyone was going to be about Peter’s girlfriend’s family. But she wasn’t going to hurt his feelings by reminding him of that. His concern was also valid, and she didn’t want to make his life any harder, even in small ways.
“Thank you, Peter, I really appreciate this. But I came to—”
“I’m so sorry, Beth, but that really is all I can do for you. I am already very late for a meeting. We will talk later, okay?”
Beth found herself pushed out of the office and down the corridor, and Peter was gone. Beth cursed under her breath. She shouldn’t have let herself be distracted. She supposed she deserved what she got for coming without notice. But Peter hadn’t answered a call from her since she arrived in Pines. She could confidently say she’d spoken to him more frequently when she lived halfway across the world than when he lived ten minutes down the road.
With no other option, Beth left the university. On the way home, she had to cross the road to avoid the bank. Queues were out the street, under the grim eyes of armed police. The amount of money people could draw daily was limited, and getting more limited every day as businesses held onto their cash instead of depositing it back into the banks. There had been a brief attempt to print a local run of banknotes, but that had been counterfeited almost immediately and then very shortly been declared valueless. People were still complaining about it.
As she walked, she opened the folded sheet and read the instructions. Then read them again. She found a little alcove to stop and rummaged through her bag until she unearthed that original volunteer pamphlet. She’d been right. Peter had nothing to worry about with accusations of nepotism. Beth had nothing to worry about in asking favours of Alistair. The printout was a straight quote from the pamphlet. Anyone and everyone could apply without the faintest connections or special knowledge from anyone.
It was a job she hadn’t applied to for a reason, and that was probably the same reason it still had open positions. The position was to assist in preparing corpses for cremation.
They were handling the excess of bodies coming out of Greenmouth. Bodies that were legally required to be burnt. Bodies of entire families who had no one left to arrange anything else. Bodies that were infected. And everyone knew that there was a shortage of personal protective equipment. On paper, it was a good job. It paid generously in both Contribution Points and actual cash. Peter probably just hadn’t noticed or realised exactly what it entailed. He must have searched on outstanding positions unfilled, sorted it by the amount paid, and printed off the top one.
But their father would never go for it, not in a million years.
Beth set up her stall the next morning, but it wasn’t hard to tell that the initial demand was starting to die down. On one hand, the refugees were starting to form their own webs of referrals. Previous clients recommended them directly to their friends, and they recommended each other to clients in turn. On the other hand, her competitor was starting to expand into the more informal side of service matching. The only obstacle in his way was the caution of the refugees. With the general way they were treated by residents, they were extremely suspicious of him. But Beth had to admit he was good at his job and had a reputation of fairness. He was winning them over. Beth had been pleased and proud to have carved out this little niche for herself, but she was starting to suspect she was running out of time to make anything more from it.
Beth had stayed in touch with Gwen, so the next time they met up for a gossip session, she asked her about it. “What do you think of the other service finder? You know, the resident with the proper stall?”
“I’m afraid you’re destined for his stew pot, luv,” said Gwen. “He’s been eyeing you right up. The knives will be out next.”
That was what Beth had feared as well. Beth wasn’t na?ve. She knew that he could, and probably would, eventually reproduce all the contacts she had. With his more professional system, he could offer more than she could.
“What do you think I should do?” asked Beth.
“Might as well go along with it,” said Gwen. “He’s not been half-terrible, not for a resident. See what you can squeeze out of it before he forces you out.”
“You mean, I should sell him my business?” asked Beth. “Or, I guess, sell him the promise not to work anymore. Won’t that be betraying the people I still have on my books?”
“Eh,” said Gwen. “I wouldn’t just hand over details willy nilly, mind, but you can tell your people you’re quitting. They can’t make you carry on working, can they? They can decide whether they want to work with our Mister Proper Resident or work on their ownsome. You could make treating them right part of the sales agreement.”
Beth could do that. It was only half a plan – and one that could go wrong in many ways – but it was a plan. Now that she was more at ease, she remembered to ask Gwen about her own news.
“Remember the bloke who wanted to turn the whole of his family’s front garden into raised beds? The bloke who wanted me to do each and every thing myself?” asked Gwen.
“Yes,” said Beth. “Didn’t you tell him no?”
“I did, but you see, he came back again with an offer too good to refuse.”
“Oh, yes? I assume not a horse head in your bed?”
“No, you’ll never guess.” Gwen spread her hands. “He offered an official address for my residence permit application, with his signature on an affidavit, and everything.”
“You’re moving in with him?” asked Beth in shock.
They’d spoken extensively about the safety issues of a woman alone going to the houses of men they didn’t know. This was a step beyond even that.
“No!” said Gwen. “Well, not like that, anyway. The paperwork will say I live in the house, but actually I’ll be keeping all my stuff in the summer house out back.”
Beth wasn’t sure that was better. “You’re moving into his garden shed?”
“Just a wee bit,” said Gwen, indicating the small amount with her fingers. “It’s not as bad as it sounds, I swear. It has water and electricity and everything. Better than half the shelters, really.”
Beth felt guilty for how often she cursed having to share with Calley. The discomfort of the boat was fading into being an amusing memory. She was no longer living in circumstances that would make living in a garden shed a step up, and she should be more thankful for that.
“Do you still need the residence permit?” asked Beth. “I thought you were doing quite well these days.”
“Not so well that I’d turn up my nose at an official ration book,” said Gwen. “The grub at the shelters is getting worse all the time. And besides, it’s not like I have anything to go back to, do I? I might as well put down some roots.”
“You don’t?” asked Beth. “What about your market garden? Food is going to be really valuable now, surely?”
Beth didn’t want to discourage Gwen from residency. She knew that no-one was leaving the island except the military, not anytime soon. But Beth had no reason to know that, so she had to pretend they’d all get home someday.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
“I don’t, actually,” said Gwen. “More fool me. That Bastard put up the deposit, you see. I didn’t even blink when everything was put in his name. After all, we were getting married soon, weren’t we? What difference would it make?”
Beth couldn’t think of anything she could say. Eventually, she just managed an inadequate “I’m sorry.”
Gwen shrugged, using her whole body. “Who knows if it will even matter come next year? Maybe all food production will get nationalised without a never-you-mind. Or maybe they’ll all get bitten by zombies. Maybe I’ll be glad I was stuck here. This isn’t a half-way terrible place to wait out the infection.”
It wasn’t. Beth knew that better than most.
Gwen diverted the conversation after that, and they were soon chatting about rumours that Pines was looking into opening more land for people to grow their own food.
The next time the competitor approached her, Beth was ready. The competitor was diplomatic about it, but he wasn’t trying to hide his intentions. That made it easier. They discussed concerns about the refugees being discriminated against, and the competitor made earnest promises that he would treat any refugee on his books all with the fairness and dignity they deserved. Then they were on to dickering about the price.
Beth had thought about possible payments and had had an idea.
“I do see your difficulties,” said Beth. “But I’m sure you understand just how very difficult to find employment at the moment. If there were other options for me or my family for a part time job, either for me or a member of my family, then setting this one aside would be much easier.”
“That might not be unmanageable,” said the competitor after due consideration. “I will have an opening soon. Not quite immediately, but within two weeks or so, I anticipate that I will need additional backroom help. Unless the internet recovers of course.”
“Naturally,” agreed Beth. “If the internet recovers, then I believe we all have other options. Including our clients. Any agreement would be meaningless.”
“Under the circumstances that it doesn’t, I think I can offer three half-days a week. Minimum wage.”
Beth was currently at fourteen hours, so twelve was comparable. She was earning more than minimum wage on average, but it was an irregular and risky income. Anything that helped put food on the table was a win.
“Paid in food, materials or ration tickets,” negotiated Beth. “Starting no later than Valentine’s Day.”
“Deal,” he said.
“Deal,” agreed Beth.
And it was done. Beth knew that she was taking a risk. She was giving up her advantage immediately for a future promise. She would have no legal recourse if the competitor simply reneged. The only tool she’d have against him would be damage to his reputation. But that wasn’t an insignificant threat, not with the contacts Beth herself had. And the competitor could have destroyed her business without pretending to offer her anything, if he was that kind of person. Beth thought it was worth the chance.
But it was time for Beth to admit to herself that she needed to take the crematorium job. It was absurd of her to delay the matter any longer. She didn’t even have the same excuse everyone else had – she knew from The Book that there was no further chance of infection after death. She knew it was perfectly safe.
There was even more to add to the positive sides of the scale – there was an excellent chance that it would be temporary. Once Greenmouth was cleared out, the demand would reduce back to normal levels. This would position her perfectly. The official policy was to prioritise previous ‘volunteers’ for any vacant future ‘volunteer’ roles.
And someone had to do it. Beth would have claimed that she didn’t look down on people who handled the dead. She would have even said that she honoured them for performing such a vital function. Perhaps it was time she should start living up to the ideals she claimed to have.
Beth rechecked The Book to confirm the dates. As she thought, her father had already lost his original job. She could have the conversation already.
“It doesn’t look like my university will start up again this semester,” Beth said casually at breakfast. “So, I thought I should do the same thing as Peter.”
They were eating cold pancakes, again. It was strange how what had once been a treat had become something to be endured. They could buy as much dairy as they wanted, and flour was the bulk of their rations. The pancakes were cooked at the end of their electricity hours and kept for the next day. Sophie had converted the rather withered looking apples into a jam-like sauce to go with it, but there was only so much that helped.
“Oh?” prompted Sophie.
“You know,” said Beth. “Volunteer to help with the government. Not as glamorous as a position as Peter has landed, of course. But do what I can.”
“Doing what?” asked her father.
“I’m not entirely sure,” said Beth, lying through her teeth. “I’ll have to see what they need assistance with. After all, it doesn’t matter if it’s a little undignified. It will look excellent on my CV, regardless.”
Her father frowned, and Beth let him process it.
“I can’t say I like the idea of you doing who-knows-what,” he said. “But you might as well have something to occupy your time, I suppose. We’ve been stuck here a little longer than I had expected. I really don’t know what they’ve been up to. What do we pay taxes for, if they can’t even manage something as simple as—”
Beth let her father repeat his complaints without interruption. She judged it was better to have the second half of the conversation until they didn’t have any witnesses anyway. She helped clear up and then followed her father back to his bedroom.
“In reference to working,” said Beth. “I have good news. I managed to secure a part-time job while I was trading on the market. One that will pay in ration cards and food. I was going to take it myself, but the university will be more impressed with actual government work, even if that’s volunteer. But I’ve noticed your workload has been pretty light recently. I was thinking that perhaps you could take it until your normal job ramps back up again? Or Sophie, if you’re too busy.”
“Sophie is working very hard already, taking care of the twins and the apartment,” said her father firmly. “We’re hardly so poor that we need to send her out to work just to put food on the table.”
They were exactly so poor that they needed that, but naturally her father wouldn’t know that yet.
“Of course,” said Beth instead. “But no amount of money can buy more ration cards. You know how whiney Oakley has been getting. It really would ease things a lot for Sophie if we had just a little bit more in the way of options.”
Oakley had been wearing on everyone’s nerves, even his own.
He father sighed very deeply. “I suppose I can spare a little time. Get out the house. Meet people.”
It was an easier capitulation than Beth had expected. Perhaps her father and Sophie had been discussing things behind the scenes. That was great. Beth would take the win.
There was no excuse for delaying her own job either. Beth followed the directions to the crematorium. She was more nervous the closer she approached. It would just be ironic if even that job was no longer available. But at least she wasn’t that unlucky. After a rather grim and detailed warning that she would be expected to work with the bodies of the infected – Beth imagined they’d lost more than one volunteer shortly after starting – she was signed up and scheduled to start work the very next day.
On her way home, she paused by a commemorative wall. It was filled with little squares of people’s lives. Photographs, flowers, poems, teddy bears. There was a visual difference between the pleas for the missing and the tributes to the dead, but both were heartbreaking. Beth decided. She was going to add one for Uncle Alex. She’d put one up on the 12th of February, the date of their shared birthday.
On the wall opposite was an incongruous warning: Beware of Feral Dogs!
There was no corresponding warning for feral cats, Beth noted. Perhaps they were considered a perfectly reasonable addition to the local animal population. Beth walked across to read it. The notice claimed that the feral dogs had spilled out of Greenmouth and were a risk to unsupervised food and children. Presumably, the theory was no-one had done anything about the pet population, so they were going looking for food themselves. Beth didn’t buy it. Greenmouth wasn’t that far away, but it wasn’t that close, either. Beth thought it was far more likely that people considerably more local had decided they could no longer afford to feed their pets and had driven them away. Beth couldn’t be entirely sure, but she’d caught glimpses of a skinny figure she rather thought was the dog who had greeted her in the household registration queue the previous month.
There was nothing she could do about that, either. Beth walked back to Peter’s place and double checked all her new documentation. She was official volunteer. She even had the repurposed cafeteria cards that contained her Contribution Points. She carefully hid that away from overcurious siblings. Finally, more from hope than expectation, she checked The Book.
Version 1.2.1.
An update. A minor one, to be sure, but still, an update. She had beaten it. Her efforts would pay off. Beth moved to the end to see what she’d changed.
Three years.
That was the new prediction. Instead of it taking two years for them to fall into debt severe enough to sell her off, it now predicted it would take three. Everything she had done, her stockpiling, her finding a new job for her father, her own job at the crematorium. All that had earned her was a single extra year.
No. That was the wrong way to look at it. It had only been a month, and she had already won them a whole extra year. If she achieved even a fraction as much every month, she’d keep them way out ahead of any problems. After all, the Book clearly battled to describe why she had taken the job in the first place. It did not and could not account for the impact it itself had on the future. It was predicting only what the ignorant, careless Beth would do. Not what the informed, driven Beth would do.
She started work with determined enthusiasm. It was an experience unlike anything else she’d ever encountered. The whole job was an absurd mixture of the carefully reverend and the ruthlessly pragmatic.
Before cremation, her primary task was to look for and remove anything with batteries, primarily pacemakers. They were supposed to be removed already, but since they didn’t want to risk one exploding messily in the machine, they checked again. After that, they tidied the body as much as possible. Dressing them in a clothing provided by the family was temporarily no longer a service the crematorium offered, nor was allowing the family to attend the burning. But they did, as much as possible, try to personalise it. If friends or family were still alive, they were encouraged to submit letters and photos to place with the body. If they weren’t, the staff made their best guess at sentimental items from the personal effects and supplemented with a card or flower.
After cremation, the normal staff handled the official remains. They recycled the metal bits and pulverised the larger remaining pieces in a huge grinder (called, of all things, a cremulator). Beth, at the bottom of the food chain, operated the large vacuum to remove the ashes that fell underneath the table. She was assured that those ashes were just of the wood used. The human remains were all gathered and returned to the family. She wasn’t sure whether the families believed that either, but she pretended to herself it was true.
As Beth had expected, the team did not qualify for the limited supplies of hazmat suits, or even a regular supply of disposable masks and gloves. They made do with clear face protectors and reusable gloves, supplemented only by a surprisingly generous supply of alcohol to disinfect everything.
Beth was unique among the volunteers and existing staff in her willingness to work exclusively with the bodies of infected. Unlike the others, Beth knew that she was at less risk being exposed to anything dangerous while working with the infected than with the normal corpses. She did, honestly, prefer it. It was the ‘normal’ bodies that provoked feelings of revulsion. The victims of infection were just empty shells; paper maché slowly disintegrating into water.
It gave her an unearned reputation for dedication, and it wasn’t long at all before she was entrusted to work without supervision. Which did make certain things possible. Because one section from The Book was keeping her awake at night.
The Book was right. It was a waste. Those initial skills would be life altering. And it wasn’t as if she’d be stealing the tokens. Either she’d have them, or they’d be destroyed. Why shouldn’t she get them? The infected were kept isolated, and she had lengthy periods of working with them on her own. No one would know.
She needed to talk to Peter, and this time she would not allow herself to be distracted, she told herself.
That conviction didn’t last. She could no longer just walk into the correct corridor. She was stopped by a secretary and denied access. Beth tried to pass on a message that she wanted to talk about a commemorative tribute to their uncle – which was also true – but even after a long awkward wait, she was very firmly brushed off. The secretary went so far as to claim that Peter wasn’t in. Beth had already spotted him in his office when she’d walked past the outer courtyard. She supposed she could have tried yelling at him through the window, but… no. She wasn’t going to do that. She’d just have to tell Peter about it on the day of her birthday itself. Beth returned home, unwilling to humiliate herself further.
Except she couldn’t wait until her birthday to decide about the tokens. How many tokens would go to waste if she waited that long? Many of them. Perhaps all of them. The military was making very rapid progress in Greenmouth, and at some point, the stream of bodies would slow down or stop. If she didn’t take the chance now, she might never have the chance. No, she had to be brave and collect the tokens immediately. They could decide what to do with them later, but they couldn’t do anything if she never collected them in the first place.
Beth prayed that no-one walked in on her and paid attention to what she was doing. She couldn’t reasonably argue that she was worried about batteries in their necks. The best explanation she’d managed to come up with to explain her act of corpse desecration, was that she wanted to remove the traces of the infection from them so at least they wouldn’t still have them in death. She even had her sob story planned for how she hoped someone would do the same thing for Uncle Alex, shameless as it was to make use of him like that. But she was very aware that her explanation was weak. Even if they believed her, they’d still think there was something profoundly wrong with her. She might easily lose her job, and what would—
Stop panicking, she interrupted herself. You can do this. No one will come in.
She had spent just weeks battling with a lack of resources. She wasn’t going to let a little fear stop her from getting a head start.
It turned out to be disturbingly easy. The token was easily detectable just below the skin. With a small, shallow slice into the gap where the spine entered the skull, the token came free. It was capsule shaped and vaguely silicone in feel. It could easily have been mistaken for some standard sub-cutaneous device. Beth washed it thoroughly and placed it into the small drawstring bag she had prepared. One down, many more to go. In two months’ time, at the spring equinox, she’d be able to use them.
Beth felt her shoulders relax. It was more than just relief that she hadn’t been caught. It was relief that things were finally going well. She had a valuable job, and one that would position her to do even better. Her father would shortly have a job that would bring in food. It wasn’t much, but it would bridge the time between when their money became valueless, and the food substitute became available. And Beth had a token. Within a few weeks, she’d have more tokens than most people would see in a lifetime.
It wasn’t the life she had imagined growing up, but it was a life she could now see hope in.
