Chapter 24In Which Some Time Passes and I Grow Restless
Every day is just like that first day. We run out to some place along the wall, grab breakfast, run some more, the rotations decided upon by the sheriff and his men. Once there, the fence team checks out the interior fences, while the patrols walk the wall, watching the shamblers boil and froth beneath us. I get the feeling there are other groups of boys and girls doing this same task at different times of the day, but the sheriff is careful to keep us separated, and I only see the twenty or so girls and boys who make up my group. I ain’t paired with Alphonse for every patrol, and the ever-changing roster of partners is mind-numbing.
Sometimes I walk the wall with Ida, who tries her damnedest to draw me into conversation, to no avail. Sometimes I walk with one of the other girls or one of the boys. Our job is simple: walk along the wall, make sure the shamblers don’t get too intrepid and climb over. The rotting remains of dozens of shamblers line the lee side of the wall, including the ones I put down my first day, and no matter how much time I spend on the berm I never get used to the smell. It is a foul task the sheriff has set us to, and I ain’t sure why we ain’t allowed to harvest the whole lot of them.
The only possible joy in my life now is putting down shamblers, but I am denied even that bit of relief except in the rare case where a shambler decides to test out the wall. It quickly becomes clear that the idea of a single shambler climbing the spare handholds and making it to the top is a ridiculous one, but we’re still permitted to swing down and harvest any that tries, for which I’m thankful.
I keep my sword, and Alfonse must say something to the rest of the patrol team about what happened on the first day, because no one makes a move to snatch it from the shed where we put our tools at the end of the day. No matter how long I take to get into the weapons shed, the sword is always right there where I left it. I manage to make it passable-sharp as I walk the wall, using a decent rock and a lot of spit. It still needs oil, and it’s nowhere as good as my sickles back home, but it’s better than anything else, and I’m glad for it.
In the evening we run back, eat dinner, go to church whether we care to or not—the sermons are all about as inspiring as that first one—and go to bed. On Tuesday, nearly a week since we got to Summerland, we collect our meager pay. Most folks immediately take to the general store, a line of dark faces lining up out front waiting to spend their money. The colored folks ain’t all that different from the white working-class folks, since Tuesday is payday for the cowpokes as well and they’re all up in the saloon spending what little they got. The only change is Bob and Bill standing near the line of colored shoppers, only too happy to use their rifles if anyone should get out of hand. After what I saw my first day at the wall I have no doubt they would.
I watch the line, noting a few unfamiliar faces, older folks I don’t recognize. They most likely work and live in the nicer side of town with the fancy houses. That must be where they’re keeping Lily and the Spencers, and Katherine. I’m sure Katherine is fine—she’s too contrary to be anything else—but I’m desperate to get to Lily and see if she’s okay. I can’t leave town without the two of them in tow, so until I can find them I’m trapped here.
I’m also anxious about Jackson. I haven’t seen him since the day we arrived, and after witnessing Bill’s itchy trigger finger, I fear the worst. But I’ve heard no news of him being killed, so I nurse the tiny ember of hope the same way I nurture my rage.
I don’t go to the general store, even though I’m hungry and could do for some extra chow. I take my money to the Duchess for a bath, clean clothes, and to see if one of her girls can braid up my hair. The light-skinned Negro girl I saw perched up the bar on the first day, Nessie, comes into the bathing room while I sit in the rapidly cooling bath, weaving my hair into rows so tight it makes my eyes water.
“Why didn’t you go and spend your money at the general store like everyone else?”
I shrug. “I will at some point. I’d rather have clean blankets and clothes for now.”
Nessie laughs, the sound high and lilting. “You the only one. You’re smart to stay away from the general store, though. You go there, your pockets empty real fast. They got the prices so high, even a penny whistle costs two bits!”
After Nessie finishes braiding my hair, my head throbbing because of her braiding skill, I
