The Man in 7 ? 8
By Justin Hughes
The Man with the peeling skin choked on his own breath, his dry cough burning his throat sharply. He held a plastic mask, which covered his nose and mouth against his face. The mask was connected to a tube which ran into a cloudy rusted tank about a foot and a half long. When the knock finally sounded on his door he found he barely had the strength to stand much less answer it. He was not wearing a shirt when he answered and this seemed to agitate the Serviceman standing in front of him. Servicemen were used to seeing the skin of the infected in moderation. Most of the population, because of the radiation in the air had some sort of severe skin growths or deformities, however the inherent shame of their disfigurement caused the general public to be embarrassed by their appearance. They covered up their boils, rashes, peeling scabs and growths in accordance with the arrival of the beautifully smooth skinned soldiers.
However, The Man with the peeling skin never had any company except for the weekly maintenance visits. As a trait of his unabashedly aggressive personality The Man was never at any time very reserved or self-conscious and never felt the need to cover his leper-like flesh just to accommodate for the comfort of another person. Especially not the Servicemen who made it their occupation to interact with the residents of White Pony.
The Man was excessively gaunt and his bones showed through the worn clothes; the thin folds of his skin would wear dryly as he moved. You wondered if just extending a finger and stretching the flesh of his body caused him pain. Even when he did not move, the dead skin normal people shed in random tiny places died in great fields on him. At one time a group of skin cells on his chest could atrophy and begin to wear under the pressure of the muscle beneath. Eventually this skin would crust or flake off, but only after he regenerated a sufficient amount of skin beneath. The hair on his head was mostly gone saving a patch of wiry gray hair on the left side of his head, under his ear. His eyes had receded so deeply into his face that the cliff of his eyebrow cast a shadow down his eye socket, partially obstructing his eyes, and sometimes vision.
Serviceman #2034, stepped into The Man's shanty house, which was composed of gently rotting wood built around a brick wall which remained from a building demolished at an earlier point in the century. 2034 was six feet and five dominating inches when donning his full orange radiation suit. He was able to see out of a 16-inch fiber glass window built into the helmet of his suit. On his back, he wore two brilliantly polished fresh oxygen tanks, which hissed whenever he took a breath. The Man was 2034's favorite stop of the day, only because he never stared at him, not even so much as a glance. In the 144 diseased homes visited in 1 day, The Man was the only one who not once asked him what it was like to have smooth skin, or what breathing in normal air was like. He never asked what the legislation was doing to curb the radiation poisoning, and he never asked if 2034 thought he was ugly. Best of all, The Man never cried in his presence. Not once.
"Watch the top pipe this time"?, The Man wheezed. "Last time you put one "?a them things in there ya almost cracked it open."?
2034 believed him. There was not much to the shanty house other than a bed in the corner, which was missing a leg and stood supported by a stacked pile of bricks. There was a table in the center of the room where a vintage model 14-inch television with fuzzy reception sat. A large box of scrap metal collected dust in the corner of the dirt floor of the one-roomed house.
"I'll try to watch myself this time, Sir"?, 2034 replied with a hiss from his Oxygen tanks. He pulled a 6 clawed bar wrench from his tool case, a pocket situated above the suit's midsection and began to remove the dull and sputtering oxygen tank only to replace it with an identical one. 2034 put his tools back inside the pouch and stood up to find The Man back on his makeshift bed, hacking into his pillow.
"You Okay?"? He raised his voice over the buzz of the filtering system. "You need me to call you a Medic Serviceman?"?
"Can I put in an order for some water? Do you take orders like that? For water?"?
"Sir, I don't take those kinds of orders but there was a Goods truck right behind mine, I can run the order by them, would that be alright?"?
The Man nodded. He scratched at his chest and large thick flakes of skin crumbled to the mattress where more piles of his skin laid, decayed. 2034 headed for the door, he thought it best to order a sanitation clean up crew for the Old Man. He always recognized the fondness he had of the man but he never actually attempted to consider any feelings of kinship with him. He thought to himself about the possibility of a normal person actually developing some kind of affection for the diseased and anonymous. His training was somewhat proficient at detecting within possible Servicemen the potential to grow attached. Apathy was a requirement in caring for these people.
As he walked out, 2034 took a glance back in to make sure The Man was breathing sufficiently. He called out to the large black truck behind him, the workers branching off into each shanty house wielding the same armor and service products for the town folk. He informed Serviceman number 4743 of The Man's desired water, leaped back onto footstool, quickly grasped the prong in the back of the truck.
Upon arriving back at the base one was immediately required to stay with up to 4 other workers in the Incubation Dome which was accessible from the outside. The Men were to step into a smaller glass room to step into which closed similarly to an elevator door, disrobe from their uniforms. There, they were to clasp small tanks of oxygen around their mouth and nose area while all the air in the room was vacuumed free of air. Once the air was ninety nine point nine percent free of oxygen, the men were asked to step into another room where they sat on four seats situated in each corner of the room. There they sat while the crew inside the base ran a radiation check on all their bodies. The check took about two hours. The men had been sitting there for one hundred and nine minutes.
The Servicemen generally picked apart three topics of conversations. Those were these emotional reaction of the residents to them, their physical and emotional responses to the residents, and the most hideous deformities among the residents. 4743 and 0400 had spent the last nearly two hours discussing the latter of all those topics. 2034 sat in a continuous daydream, puzzling over who the Man was, or could have been at one time.
6682 had been silent for the full one hundred and 16 minute radiation check. He had worked for the armed service for 13 years and transferred, after an injury to, White Pony. He had worked here the longest, and he wanted to quit more than anyone employed by the service. His pension, which was 6 months away, was the only reason he bothered coming at all. He and his wife had saved up over the years to buy a house in the Islands, and he was not about to see that dream go up in smoke. Surly as it made him, he dragged himself to White Pony everyday. 2034 stared at him now.
"What do you make of the guy in 7-8, 66?"?
Each Serviceman was assigned a four-digit number. They were not under any circumstances to interact with each other or the residents of White Pony personally. The only way they could refer to each other were through the numbers. The Servicemen who provided the packaged, food and goods were assigned numbers beginning with 4. The Air Purification men began with 2, the medics with 0, and the Working Assignment and Complaints department with 6. White Pony was divided into 8 sections which were all made up of a certain number of residential areas no number of residential areas in one section past the number 10. The Men referred to the townspeople according to their Section and Residential Area number.
"'Think he's got a nice haircut. Why d'ya ask?"? 6682 dryly spat back.
"I mean what's his deal? You know anything about him? Anything...interesting?"?
"Other than the fact that his shanty smells worse than hot **** , or that he eats half the food in the godamn complex? Nothin' I can tell you about, junior, "?s classified info."?
2034 put his head back against the wall and the room began to rotate. It turned a full one hundred and eighty degrees before the wall zipped open and two men stood clothed in white garb that handed the men their clothes. White pants and a shirt, very similar to doctor's scrubs. All the men filed into line to be lead into the larger complex where they were allowed to have a meal and sleep. 6682 stood ahead of 2034 in line and he leaned back quietly whispering:
"Before we get out there tomorrow I'll tell ya all about it. Weird guy, 7 ? 8, definitely a weird one."?
2034 bit his lip and nodded.
It was 92 degrees the next afternoon, and 2034 enjoyed his last few second of fresh air conditioning before his suit was air locked. The attendant checked all the locks on the suit and then slapped 2034's helmet.
"Ready to roll!"? He belted.
The 16 servicemen and two trucks made their way out into a long runway with a half piped ceiling running over them for about 100 feet into the distance. The metal ground they walked on led out a few yards before it joined with the gravel. Once the men were outside the tube, they lifted their hands to shield their eyes from the sun. There was not a cloud in the sky and the sun beat down on the land arrogantly. 6682 hung onto the side of one of the service trucks until he was directly behind 2034, he hopped off running, to keep up the speed, directly beside 2034.
"Walk alongside the truck!"? He shouted. "They won't be able to hear us back at base with all the noise!"?
2034 picked up the pace slightly to keep up with the massive truck along side them. He asked 6682 what he knew about the Man in 7 ? 8. 6682 seemed to slightly whisper above the noise.
"He had a family before the bomb hit! Boy, a girl, and a wife! That's what he told the census people 16 years ago. Somewhere between when the bomb hit and the time when base was organized. His wife his kids died! Guy hasn't really talked much since then."?
"That's it?"? 2034 asked.
"That's pretty much all I know from reading the census records. You need any other explanation than that to clarify just how screwed up that guy is?"?
"No...no I guess not."? 2034 whispered seemingly reassuring himself.
One stop away from 7 ? 8, 2034 grabbed a fresh air tank and a bottle of water from the back of the truck. He stepped off onto the ground and knocked on the door of 7 ? 7. A woman who could have been young answered the door. She was completely clothed without an inch of her flesh exposed to the air and wore a rag on her head. Even in her eyes, alone 2034 could detect that the radiation poisoning had been severe in her case. She turned away as he entered the room and hid in a hall way where 2034 was sure he saw another person. This was the usual practice when coming to 7 ? 7. The inhabitants of that territory were one of the more withdrawn. He left the supplies in the middle of the shanty and walked to the door. As he did he heard footsteps behind him. The girl had emerged from the hallway, her eyes turned down and her voice in a painfully raspy whisper.
"Some kind of screaming...Sir...there's some kind of noise and screaming from the house next door. We used to hear it every once in a while but...but now...now it doesn't stop."?
2034 nodded and headed back toward the door. They were sensitive enough to the looks of ordinary people who had not been touched by the radiation, the voices also threw them against their emotional edge. As he closed the door 2034 listened for some kind of screaming or noises coming from 7 ? 8. Hearing nothing, he turned back to the truck to make the final stop of the day. He wondered if The Man had past on overnight, and if he had been screaming in pain. Along with a fresh air tank, he pulled a blanket out of the truck and knocked on the door of the house in 7 ? 8.
After waiting a considerable amount of time, 2034 slowly turned the doorknob and as he opened it, he immediately heard a violent shriek. With the door wide open 2034 stared around the room to find the source of the shrieking. When he heard none he stepped over the threshold toward the bed where The Man laid on his back. His air tank was on the ground tipped onto its side and the mask was somewhere under the bed. The Man stared straight up at the ceiling and for the first time in the few months 2034 had been visiting him, he saw his eyes for the first time.
"Sir, how long have you been without your mask?"? He shouted. "Can you hear me?"?
"I don't know what else to do."? The Man with the peeling skin hissed. "I don't want to live like this...would you?"?
"Sir, if you put your mask back on I can have a-"
"I don't want anything from you..."?
2034 flinched as he heard the shriek again. This time it was painfully close but it was nowhere near The Man. 2034's eyes darted in every direction scouring the room in panic. He pulled one of the wrenches from the pouch attached to his midsection and leaned closer to the bed.
"Sir...what's that-
"I didn't know...I didn't know what to do with them...they were children and they grew...they suffered more than anyone from the radiation...it...it robbed them...it robbed them because they grew with it..."?
"Sir, where is that coming from?"?
This time the shriek was accompanied by a loud banging noise. 2034 followed it to the corner of the room, where the large box of hardware and scrap metal had been collecting dust.
"I can't lift it anymore..."?The Man coughed. "I haven't been able to for some time. I think they realize I will not be coming back..."?
"Are those...Sir, are those your children?"?
"I'm not a monster..."?
"Sir?"?
"I'm not a monster..."?
2034 stared into the corner now. He did not bother to look as the Man ran slowly out of breath. Each time the shriek came now it came with that same banging noise. A desperation to escape, and now he saw where it was coming from. Beneath the box was a door, which was held in place by a set of hinges. The box held it down with a significant amount of weight. Whatever surplus food The Man ordered obviously was not for him. However, it could not be enough to sustain two children who would obviously be developed to the point of adolescence by now. Their strength and muscular ability must have been greatly effected by their undernourishment. He stepped closer to the trap door, and carefully pulled the box from the top of the door. He crouched down, and pulled the door open.
2034 was not immediately shocked by what he saw. The two of them had most likely been down there for most of their lives. Trapped inside of a room the size of a broom closet with nothing but their own filth and scrapings of food. Being children during the bombing and growing up with the radiation was probably the most detrimental part of their appearance. Cancer had run rampant forming surplus organs and parts to oblige needs and methods of survival these two beings did not need. This was a step past the effects of the radiation on the people above. The poison deformed the residents of White Pony. For most of their lives, it was part of the children's make up. Their biology. The fact that they were under ground for so long only made the development more potent.
2034 stared for a long time down into that room. The two beings inside did nothing but stare helplessly back. As a human being, he had grown accustomed to helping people who resembled monsters. But, he wondered if The Man was truly a monster himself. He was not ashamed of his children; he was not protecting them from anyone or anything. He was frightened of them. He realized now why The Man was never ashamed of his appearance.
2034 closed the door. He stood and places the box back onto its original standing place. He looked back at the man whose eyes were still wide open. His skin had gone a pale green. 2034 leaned down and pulled the mask out from under the bed. He strapped the mask to The Man's face and turned the air on. 2034 was satisfied with common people thinking that the inhabitants of White Pony were physically inhuman. Nevertheless, something about the thought of these people being anything other than tragic victims greatly disturbed him. He turned toward the door, stepped out into the fiercely concurring sunlight, and shut the door.
