Confliction: Chapter 3

         She took a deep breath, and sat under the shabby shite gazebo, lost in a swath of thousands.  The smell of sweat was difficult to bear, as every person in the crowd pressed close to one another to sit in the shade of the tent, which only made it hotter as a result.  The day was baking hot.  It seemed as if winter had just ended, and already the days were bearing down on her.  Was this some kind of magic, or did she forget the summers of years past.
         There were no clouds in this sky, and despite the temperature, she had no desire to see them again.  She had left them behind in Kiookia; big black things that only meant trouble.  All that had followed her was the smell of them.  But that was everywhere now, and the world was growing used to it.  The refugee camp she had been placed in was on a hillside, just north of the entrance to the peninsula, and there were so many people there, that they blanketed the ground.  Hundreds of white gazebos had been set up to keep some shade on the ocean of people, but with so many of them, some of the men had declared that the tents should be exclusively a women and children's refuge.  The men stood just outside the layer of shade, red skinned and squinting, with cracked lips and shiny foreheads.  She was sorry for them, but grateful just the same.  No men were hers, and no one knew her, and just the same, she was protected here, at least to a degree.  She didn't feel safe, though.  She had been shoved down at the afternoon ration call and she had had her rationed bottle of water stolen right out of her hand by a child that looked to be no older than twelve earlier that morning, and it hadn't been even close to this hot yet.  When she had complained to the soldiers stationed at her tent, they had ignored her, and had mocked her by drinking out of their much larger canteen, and giving a big refreshed 'aahhhhh'. 
         She walked out of the tent, and sat in the sun amongst the men, and no faster had she moved than her spot had been filled with a ragged young woman with sweat stains down her back.  The ground was soft, at least, and trampled grass was trying to stand upright again, between her crossed legs.  The sun beat down on the top of her head as she sat, and she could feel beads of sweat beginning to form in her brown hair.  She picked a piece of grass out of the ground, and placed the end of it between her teeth, biting down to release a small trickle of bitter juices between her teeth.  It was worse than nothing.  She spat a green spit to her side.  A soldier dressed in white with a rifle slung over his shoulder on a leather strap glanced at her as she looked up, and kept on walking, expressionless.  She leaned against the pole of the tent and closed her eyes.
         She had slept only once since she had escaped the inferno in Kiookia, and she must have gone over what had happened a thousand times.  Every time her thoughts drifted, she could see a giant in red pressing himself against her and feel the heat of his skin against hers.  She couldn't let her thoughts get away from her anymore.  She could still feel the fingers on her shattered hand, even thought the whole hand had been sawed off the moment she had reached a doctor.  It didn't hurt anymore, and nor did her toe.  She had been kept pretty numb since she had arrived, and they had made sure to put a fresh painkiller in her ration box for every meal, just to make sure her time at the camp was as comfortable as one could help. 
         Her first sleep had been wonderful.  The pill that she had been given in Kiookia had kept her pain at bay for a good several hours, and she had found the waiting ATV, just as she had been promised, and had driven north at full speed along the plains for hours and hours.  But the painkiller had worn off by midday, and her hand had begun to throb painfully.  She had been so desperate to get rid of the pain as soon as possible that she had taken both pills in one swallow.  She found herself dreary and had fallen asleep in the back seat just before she had reached the highway.  By the time she had woken up it was past midnight, and twinges of pain were moving up and down her arm.  She had run out of pills, and had to spend the rest of her voyage enduring unbearable pain every time a gust of wind hit it, or when she had smacked it against the wheel when she had needed to slam on the breaks once.  That time she had let out a scream, and tears had streamed down her face, leaving her unable to see or think for what may have been as much as ten minutes.  Insects were beginning to be attracted to the smell of her hand and it was everything she could do to keep them away.
         She had never been so happy to come up to a road guard, and when they had stopped her, she had cried blessings out the drivers side of her vehicle until they had run over to her and pulled her out of the seat on a stretcher.  It had been sunrise when she felt the painkillers enter her system, and she had smiled at the golden face of the surgeon that was sawing her hand off.
         They hadn't kept her under observation like she had hoped they would, but instead had prescribed painkillers to her rations and put her arm in a sling with a stern warning to be careful with it.  Then they had sent her out into the throngs of people at the camp.
         Her mind wandered.  Red and laughing.
         She thought about her mystery saviour in the city.  Not a soldier, and not an attacker.  It seemed like an odd place for him to be.  She had essentially given up hope before he arrived, because who would come save her in the middle of an evacuated city.  She took a deep breath, savouring the fact that she was still able to do so.  What was he doing there?  She felt foolish for sticking around herself.  She thought she had nothing left to live for, that there was nothing they could do to her that she couldn't handle.  But nothing was worth what had happened to her that day.  Even her defender's slate black eyes had been cold and indifferent to her, treating her like she was stupid, but not for staying in the city, rather for simply being alive. She hated feeling that way, and when he had sent her on her way she had cursed his very existence under her breath.  But it was natural, she felt, that she should find herself thinking about him.  But for him, the best she could have hoped for was death.
         She opened her eyes and made contact with the eyes of a man she had thought to be sleeping directly opposite from her, leaning against another pole.  Their toes were almost touching, and may have been, but he had gone to deliberate effort to avoid contact with her bandaged toe that was stained a deep red with blood.  She would need to head to the medical tent after dinner rations.
         “Hey,” he said.  He didn't sound too enthusiastic, so she returned the greeting, making sure not to smile at him in the process. “Where're you from?”
         “Kiookia,” she replied.  He was a big man, with a shaggy beard and a tangled black mop of hair.  His tooth was chipped in the front, but he wasn't smiling.
         “I hear that's gone now too,” he said, glumly.  She didn't respond confirming it to him through her expression. “That's a shame.  I heard amazing things.  Always wanted to go there.  I guess I can't now.  Bastards.  I suppose they are coming here next.  Although I can't imagine why they would keep us here if they were.  Cannon fodder, probably.”
         She didn't like to think about that.  “Where are you from?” she asked.
         He closed his eyes and let out a sigh, and a small smile as if reminiscing.  “Jaantaen,” he said softly.  “Have you ever been?”
         “Yes, once.”  She remembered Jaantaen from her childhood.  Towering city walls, and thick, built of stone and steel smelted together.  She had stayed in a hotel built against the wall, and had learned the walls weren't much more than an image at this point, although they had a rich military history once. 
          “My father was a farmer and lived outside the walls.  I moved into the city when I was old enough to leave home.  My dad was so mad,” he said smiling.  “It was a beautiful city.  The smell of rain on the sun-baked stone.”  He breathed in deeply.  “I wonder if they will rebuild it.”
         Tragedy brings people together in a strange way, she thought.  His home is gone, same as mine is, and even though neither of us know each other, we feel fine about opening up.
         He opened his eyes and smiled. “If they even get a chance that is.  I've seen what those bastards can do, and it's nothing like I ever seen.  I swear I seen one of them summon the fires of hell to do his orders.  I don't care what science says, that’s a goddam demon in my book.”
         She couldn't disagree with him.  She had felt the heat against her flesh, hotter than any man should be.  “These aren't men, that's for sure,” she said to him.
         His eyes perked up.  “What you seen 'em do?”
         Rape and murder and destroy.  That seemed to be all that mattered.  “I saw it rain fireballs.”  She lied to him.  Stories are all they have left; may as well make them good ones.
         “Hellfire, huh?  Yeah a couple of guys round here've seen that too.”

         Rationing happened at quarter to five, and took over an hour.  As the time drew nearer, the low din that usually blanketed the hillside had turned into a steady roar, and when first sight of the food trucks was caught by the crowd, there arose the usual cheer that spread among the thousands, although the vast majority could never have seen the trucks.  The massive crowd had been divided alphabetically when they first arrived, and a hundred soldiers were deployed to see to the feeding.  She watched them setting up their soapbox pedestals, as the soldiers opened the the back of the trucks.  There wouldn't be a riot of any sort, she knew that, but the soldiers looked worried nonetheless, clutching their guns tightly and scanning the legions of hungry eyes that followed their every movements.  When they were ready, two soldiers stood around the truck while two more moved through the crowd, probably watching for signs of trouble.
         “Niab, Hedric.”  The first name was called, and a very excited Hedric moved through the ranks  grumbling crowd-mates shoving him past them, upset that they hadn't had their turn yet.  Upon reaching the front, he showed his ID to the soldier and was handed a tin lunchbox and a bottle of water, which he moved off with.  No one would dare rob him with all the soldiers eyes on him.
         “Niabrin Family, Serod.”  A family moved their way up, two children, a mother and father, all of them got a lunch box and a bottle of water.
         This continued for a long time.  The names were semi randomized, presumably so as not to favour a specific person unduly.  The cost of that, of course was that there was no telling when your name would be called, so you had to wait and listen carefully.  Name after name, and family after family was called, one at a time at first, and as the crowd began to disperse, two or three at a time.  She watched the soldiers watching the crowd, their hands at their sides near their weapons, ready for anything.
         “Kardec, Layla.”  Her name was called, and she couldn't help but smile.  She hadn't realized just how hungry she was until about half an hour had gone by and she had continued to go unfed.  She pushed her way past people, being very careful not to touch her mangled hand.  As she moved, more and more eyes rested on her.  There were still a couple hundred more names to be called, so she got dirty looks from a few people who had yet to be placated by food.  As she reached the front of the pack, her eyes met the distributor, and he looked down to call another name.  A soldier with sunglasses read her ID and handed her the box, and held out the bottle of water, questioning how she would grip it with one hand available to her.  She slid the box in her sling and held on to the bottle with her one hand, then headed off to the tents, for one last shot at shade before the sun went down.  No more than two attempts at robbery or impersonation took place that night.  One person would be going to sleep hungry and another one would be in the medical pavilion, nursing a concussion caused by the butt of a rifle.  At least he would eat.
         The tent smelled like beef and gravy, and the thick air was stiflingly hot. The benches were full when she arrived and a large crowd of people had gathered around the edges waiting for someone to vacate a spot.  She had walked around a bench once when a person started getting up.  She moved forward quickly, and was pushed aside by a large hairy man who must have been close to forty  She gained her balance and just as he was about to sit down, she slipped her slender body onto the bench, into a sitting position.  His behind couldn't fit between her and the person next to him, and he spent the next several seconds trying to shove her aside.  He finally backed off, and shouted a few choice threats at her before he caught sight of a solider across the bench that had his attention drawn by the kerfuffle he was creating.  After all, she was a helpless little crippled girl.  He took his little box and moved back into the crowd possibly waiting for another seat, or possibly resigning to defeat and going to eat on the grass.
         She placed her bottle on the table, then her tin lunchbox.  The box was a deep green colour and looked to be brand new, possibly never even used before.  The latch was a shiny polished steel.  She stared at the bottle of water, unsure of how she was going to open it, before fiddling with the latch on the lunchbox.  Eventually she got it open, examining the contents carefully.
         She was surprised at the generosity of it.  Three slices of brown roast beef had been thermally sealed in a container in the lower right corner of the box, while beside it, a similarly sealed puddle of gravy was waiting to be poured over top of it.  Wrapped bread was alongside with two spread packets and a pat of butter.  There was a cup of fruit salad hidden amongst what looked like a whole carrot that had been sliced into sticks, and a tiny carton of milk hidden in the corner.  It was warm and wouldn't quench her thirst, but that was what the water was for; if she could figure out how to open it.  A little baggie with her pill in it was stuck to the roof of the tin next to a piece of paper with a list of food and their ingredients and nutritional value, as well as an inspiring note from the army, informing how happy they are to have her co-operation in this trying time. There was a fork, but no knife.
         She looked around at how others were managing, finding that most were having trouble with the large pieces of meat, getting drips of gravy all down their fronts and on their carrots.  She kept her beef and gravy sealed and took her time at the carrots, snapping them into small pieces and chewing them into mush before moving on.  The longer it took her to eat, the longer she could sit at the table.  She pocketed the pill, deciding that she would wait until she wanted to sleep before taking it, and pulled the fruit salad and spread packets out of the box.  A puff of steam escaped as she peeled away the wrapping, and the gravy oozed across the grey slab that awaited her.  She waited for it to spread evenly, then dumped the box upside down over her slice of bread, with the meat landing in the middle.  The man next to her turned to watch her do it, and as she placed the second slice on top of it, and took her bite of the roast beef sandwich, he looked down at his messy box and a smile of 'why didn't I think of that' came to his lips.  She smiled at him and took another bite.