Plague City - By Matthew Milson Page 0,2

deep in places it did not belong, Coal was of an opposing opinion. But the undeniable incitation of their acrimony, the very reason they existed, could be traced with ease to one government mandated institution. “They haven’t settled since the last Draft,” said Coal.

“It is cruel isn’t it, Henry? Families torn apart to serve the city. Forced labor. Imagine if it were one of us sent away to work the farms, or worse, beyond the wall for supplies.” A chill ran down Eve’s spine from the thought of it. “I just couldn’t bear it.”

Coal gathered the notion this was more of a test on the part of his wife, feeling out whether he was capable of sharing the same compassions, more so than confirmation of her own beliefs. It was the way she looked at him. He could read her eyes, the sole portion of her pale visage left uncovered. Had he somehow changed to her, or was it his own creeping guilt he’d buried somewhere down deep for the countless Purgings that led him to believe this? The notion of having somehow changed was something he only ever felt when in her company.

“It’s the law. Everyone contributes,” said Coal. His response was flat, unsympathetic, and even he knew how cold it sounded. Coal took Eve’s hand gently. “You shouldn’t worry about such things. I promise you, our names will never be called.”

Eve gave his hand a soft squeeze. “You know that’s not my point.” She pressed tighter against him, shivering, two bodies sharing warmth. “Don’t you think there could be a better way?”

“It’s the way it’s always been―long since the first wall. If it didn’t work, it would have changed well before our time, trust me. You can’t just change things on a whim to appease an unruly few. Besides, there’s no such thing as a perfect way. There’s only surviving.”

Eve tilted her head so her chin rested on Coal’s shoulder, softly pressing into him. She stared into his eyes. “You’re the mayor now. You could fix things,” she said as if reminding, “―if you wanted to.”

“For what? There’ll always be uprisings―someone who disagrees. Always,” he said. “Trust me; there are bigger problems to worry about than labor.”

“Such as?”

Coal sighed; an unspoken understanding of that which troubled him most. “What else?”

“That’s what the wall is for,” said Eve, again as if reminding her husband of a fact he’d simply forgotten.

Coal wanted to tell her of the spreading disease―the need for more Purgings. He wanted to remind her: The wall could not keep out the Plague, only those who had it. So much had his own eyes seen since taking office six months ago that whatever agenda he had planned, whatever transformations he had hoped to instill within the city, were all but overcome. But she did not see the city the way he did, and Coal refused to be the one to open her eyes to the doomed world he now beheld. Eve still saw hope. For Coal the world was already lost―his job, as he saw it, to scrape more time, as much as he could for the fortunate few.

“Even if I could do away with the Drafts…there’s a process to―”

“So change it,” said Eve. Coal felt her squeeze tighter against him, now acutely aware of the exchange of heat radiating from her body into his own. A single bead of sweat formed in the crook of his left armpit and ran down the length of his side, leaving a trail for more to follow. “Rules can be changed,” she said, picking at a loose thread protruding from the belly of his shirt. “What does it matter how old they are, or who made them? It doesn’t make them right.”

Coal’s right leg bounced in agitation―anger even, sudden and overwhelming. There was no winning argument, nothing he could say or otherwise do to convince Eve that he knew best. She would dismiss everything out of hand until he caved.

More beads of sweat formed and ran down his side. His pulse quickened and his head throbbed. Coal suddenly felt trapped.

“Babe, are you all right?” Eve struggled to push herself free of his hold, her eyes wide in alarm. “You’re squeezing my shoulder!”

Coal looked to his right hand, the blanket clutched tightly in a fist he did not recall making. He released it at once and threw the blanket to the floor. The relief of a cold rush of air washed over him in its wake.

“I’m sorry!” he blurted.

“No,” said Eve,