Throughout the course of the night, Jackie had somehow managed to be forced into the floor- again. As her weary mind broke through the hazy barrier of unconsciousness, she was vaguely aware of the icy concrete floor pressed against her face. She mumbled a string of profanities, eyes fluttering open, and pushed herself upright with trembling arms. This was the fourth consecutive morning that the young woman had awoken to find herself in the floor, and she was beginning to feel the effects. Her back was stiff and her hips ached, due in large to both the hard concrete and the chill that seemed to linger in the shelter. It never ceased to amaze Jackie just how frigid it became underground. Though they were closer to the Earth's core, the dark, damp storage rooms were always considerably colder than the surface. It seemed that no measure of preparation would be sufficient enough to entirely shield them from the harsh elements of the post-apocalyptic world. However, Jackie was far from vulnerable, even in the confines of a decrepit, numbing basement. She was stronger than most of the women in the pack and, judging from the work ethic some lacked, she could probably fare better than most of the men as well. She could manage fairly well with very little, and therefore saw no need in reclaiming her mattress from the young children.
There were three of them curled up in what had formerly been Jackie's makeshift bed, two small boys and a girl who appeared to be significantly younger. The toddler, Elizabeth, had been salvaged from the ruins of a small home, and the boys -twins, Nicholas and Mikey- had taken a liking to the child soon upon her arrival. The trio was a rare exception to Jackie's preferred solitude. Despite her aversion to others, she found their childish tendencies and rosy cheeks charming and allowed them to accompany her at times. On many occasions they'd showered her with unwanted attention and her simple reactions had always seemed to fulfill their expectations. So, begrudged as she was, Jackie couldn't allow herself to deprive the little ones. Instead, she watched over them, studying their features as they snored lightly. Their facial structures, though varied, held the same serene expression of contentedness and for a moment Jackie envied their youth. Though Jackie was still considered a child at seventeen by some, she had matured at a fast pace. All of her life, even before the world caught fire, she'd excelled faster than others- not academically or physically, but mentally. Needless to say, she was well very well aware of the severity of the dilemma that had become daily life over the course of a few years, and the danger that came along with it. But the children were too young to know any better. They'd been so small when the bombs fell, so growing up like they had soon became natural. Their simple minds never considered any of the negative possibilities that were all too likely. So they slept peacefully, soundly, unaware of the impending dangers that threatened to tear their new world apart.
Pity. It was uncommon that Jackie ever felt it- towards anyone: herself, the other survivors, even the less fortunate whose disfigured, rotted corpses were still stumbled upon occasionally when the Scavenging team was sent to explore the ruins. But as she gazed at the slumbering children, she could not suppress an overwhelming sorrow. The apathetic expression that was so familiar to her features slowly faded to one of anguish, and she found herself truly worried for them. That was dangerous. Jackie knew from experience that drawing near to people, especially during such difficult, uncertain times was sure to lead to heartache. Allowing herself to grow attached to these children was an invitation to tragedy. She reminded herself to be wary of these thoughts as she stood, stretching her spine. There were few others awake at this hour, and she realized with a sweeping glance across the room that she was the youngest to rise. The large analog clock on the far wall read far past eleven a.m. so it came as quite a shock that so many had slept in, herself included. Then again, time passed much differently underground. When it was always dark, time was a concept that no one bothered to grasp. Things simply happened on their own time. Eleven o'clock may not have been as obsolete as it seemed.
Jackie dismissed the thought, and bent to grab the duffel bag next to her mattress. It consisted of two pairs of ripped jeans, three pairs of shorts, a few tank tops, jackets for the colder seasons, and pajamas along with a few toiletries and her scanty stash of cigarettes that had both accumulated and diminished over time. That was it. That was everything she owned. Even the mattress that she slept on was not hers- they rotated every night so that no one person was forced to sleep on the same one nightly lest it be particularly stiff. The way Jackie saw it, she was lucky to have even that much. After nearly a third of the nation had been reduced to rubble, they were all fortunate to have obtained what little they did. But many of the survivors thought of themselves as terribly deprived. It was almost embarrassing to hear the complaints of others; how there was no hot water or how few articles of clothing they owned. But she held her tongue each time a remark was uttered, not bothering to waste her time or snide remarks on the pitiless scavengers. It wasn't as if they'd listen to Jaquelin West anyways.
About the room, there lay approximately twenty-one mattresses. They were far from congruent, differing in size depending on how many people were expected to share what mattress, and always seemed to be in the most inconvenient of places. As Jackie began crossing the large area from the corner in which she slept most nights, she found it difficult to keep herself balanced. The maze of sleeping bodies never proved easy to maneuver about, but it had become much less difficult over time; the struggle had been reduced to such a level that was less of a worry and more annoying than anything else. People stirred in their sleep, subconsciously aware of Jackie's passing, and she quickened her pace to the back section of the room. It had been deemed a dressing room of sorts- sheets had been hung from the ceiling to block off a portion of the shelter so that people could dress in privacy. She freshened up, then changed quickly from her pajamas into more fitting attire: a pair of holey jeans and a tank top with a light windbreaker. Her cropped haircut offered little in the way of styling, so she ran her fingers through it, grimacing at the unpleasant texture. Though she worked to keep her hygiene up to date, there was only so much that old hair products could do for bleached hair. Jackie figured that letting her hair grow out and ridding herself of the chemicals would probably make things easier, but the natural brunette didn't suit her features or desires. So, every few weeks she'd chop of her hair and bleach it blond. It wasn't the most feminine of styles, but she liked it. And apparently, others did too, for all to often she'd had members of the pack requesting that she style his or her hair as well. More often than not, she'd obliged, and on few occasions had even been rewarded with a trinket of some sort- a pocket watch, some old jewelry, a CD player. Though none of the items held any value these days, she'd accepted them graciously. It was nice having simple, useless things to keep alive the fading memories of her previous life.
The curtain that Jackie had been sheltered behind suddenly flew open, and a woman stood in the entryway. Jackie could gather from her presence and her aged appearance that the past few years had taken a toll on her. Her eyelids were still heavy from sleep, and only widened when she took note of the blond's still form hunched over her duffel bag. "I'm sorry." The groggy apology from the intruder was only half-hearted, and Jackie dismissed it, zipping her bag. "Don't worry 'bout it," she muttered, shoving past the wrinkled woman with a forced expression of indifference. As she broke through the curtain that divided the dressing chambers from the rest of the storage room, she noticed that most of the men and women had finally woken up. Mattresses were being dragged to the supply closet and a cardboard box of canned fruits replaced their presence. Like ants to a picnic the survivors fled to the food, all eager to get their share. Greedy hands clutched for the supplements and were batted away by the distributors. Over the clamor, one strong voice was distinguishable above the rest. "We've reduced rations. One can per adult, and children have to split them." Cried of outrage and appall echoed off the walls, but Jackie simply frowned. They'd reduced the rations only a week ago, and they'd been forced to do it again. The food supply must have been diminishing, but no one else seemed to notice. The only concerns of her peers were how much or how little they would receive; how full their bellies would be at the moment. They didn't seem to take into consideration how empty they'd be once the food was all gone.
"Morgan's orders, people. Take it up with her if you've got a problem with it." Morgan. Jackie grimaced in disgust at the mention of her name. She loathed the young woman with a passion. Authoritative figures always gnawed at Jackie's nerves, and this redhead was no exception. She acted as if she had some sort of power over others, as if she ranked higher than the rest, as if she were too good to fellowship with anyone, except maybe Timothy. Her "holier-than-thou" attitude was enough to make Jackie sick, and she cursed the woman silently as she took a seat on a crate near the ashen fire pit in the center of the room. Many mornings an elderly man named Abrahm told the children stories of dragons, and Jackie joined them for the sole purpose of filling her time. Though she acted as disinterested as possible, she actually thoroughly enjoyed the stories, despite the fact that they were only fiction. As Jackie waited for the children to scarf down their breakfasts, she pulled a pack of outdated cigarettes and a lighter from her pocket. Over the years, smoking had become a habit of hers. She was well aware of the damage it caused and the dangers that came along with it, but over the course of three years she hadn't found anything that calmed her nerves like a cigarette or two. She peeled the plastic wrap from the box, then pulled a stick from its place and lit it as she held between her teeth. The ember tip glowed dully and she studied it, inhaling deeply. A hand clutched Jackie's shoulder only moments later and she turned swiftly, taking the cigarette between two fingers. "You know, that's not an eloquent feature, Jacqueline," Abrahm's gravelly voice chided as he gazed down at her intently. The man was relatively old, in his late fifties, and very tall, with a puff of gray hair atop his head. He was always cheery, and even as he scolded Jackie, he smiled wistfully. Jackie merely shrugged, fending off the guilt with a long drag from the cigarette.
Abrahm patted her back wordlessly then crossed to sit on a stool opposite the pit. Upon his arrival, the children flocked to his side, forming a circle around the black remains of the fire that had been lit the previous night. Nicholas and Mikey were among the eight or so little ones that crowded the area, but Elizabeth had not yet shown. Worry struck her features as she considered the possibilities. The small girl could have easily been trampled under the mass of people eager for breakfast. Jackie started to stand, but a pudgy hand tugged at the corner of her jacket before she could get her footing. Elizabeth. "Hi, Jackie." Jackie smiled down at the small child, trampling the remains of her cigarette beneath her foot. Elizabeth open her mouth, bearing a toothless grin and a set of dimples. Jackie gasped in mock amusement, mouth dropping open to aide the effect. "Elizabeth!" she exclaimed, scooping the girl into her arms. "Did you lose another tooth?" The infant giggled, dark curls bouncing as she nodded. Jackie laughed, adjusting the child so that she sat upright in her lap, and motioned to Abrahm and the other children. "Look, he's about to tell another story. You want to go join Nicholas and Mikey?" But Elizabeth shook her head, intent on staying where she was. Jackie frowned, contemplating taking the girl to her "brothers." However, Abrahm had already begun his story, and interrupting the children to burden them with a toddler would only agitate them so she allowed the girl to do as she pleased.
"It was a different time, mind you. Dragons were peaceful, friendly creatures, and their riders kept an order to the world..." Within moments both Jackie and Elizabeth were enthralled with the tale. Abrahm's voice was hypnotizing, and lured in even a few of the adults. Jackie wasn't sure exactly why that was- the stories held no sustenance, omit the truth in dragons' existence. Maybe it was because he seemed so sure of himself; because, whether others believed or not, he did. Confidence was key in story-telling, and he had plenty of it. Jackie shook her head slightly, warding off the thoughts. She had a tendency to analyze the few good things in life, and that all too often led to disappointment. It was time she relax a bit, let the complacency that so many had take over, and enjoy herself. You owe it to yourse- A voice interrupted Jackie's thoughts, and she turned reluctantly. Morgan had spoken in passing and tossed a scarf onto Elizabeth's head. "I'm going to go out and explore ruins, Jacqueline. You're welcome to come if you want." The woman's tone had been very careless, almost offensive, and Jackie glared at her back as she disappeared up the staircase that led to the surface. She absolutely hated the redhead, and scavenging alongside her was the last thing she wanted to do. But it had been a while since she'd been above ground, and this was the perfect opportunity to do so. With an exaggerated sigh, Jackie stood, allowing Elizabeth to slide to her feet before trampling off to follow. She mimicked the young woman as she walked, wrapping the scarf around her head like a hood, and surfaced only a few feet behind. Morgan's words repeated themselves in her mind as she neared the woman, and a scowl wrinkled her brow.
"Its Jackie."
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