Page 21 of The Tomorrows After You
“Well, I guess that would be me. I’m Miriam, I’m the executive director. I—”But she stopped short, excusing herself to jog over to an older man who began to unbuckle his belt, about to piss right in the middle of the room. Miriam put a hand on his back and gestured to the restrooms.
Tiredly, she made her way back to me.
“Somehow, I have a feeling‘executive director’doesn’t exactly cover it.”I gave her a warm smile, and her hesitancy melted away.
Miriam had been working at the Center since it opened over ten years ago.
The building had been an old elementary school that sat empty for several years after it had been used for temporary housing following the Valley fires.
“They decimated the Valley. Wiped out an entire block of houses. Dozens of families lost their homes.”
“That’s right. Everyone got brand new houses?”
“Yes and no. The church commissioned the Valley Housing Project. They hired some up-and-coming building company that was supposed to revolutionize affordable housing. The deal was that they could live rent-free if they paid the county and state taxes and took a job in the coal mines.”
I furrowed my brow.“The church paid for the entire Valley to be rebuilt? And then forced people to take jobs at the mine?”
Miriam shook her head. “I know how it sounds, but it was quite the opposite. Many of the folks who lost their homes needed work anyway. Pastor Blackwell piloted an apprenticeship program and before you knew it, people had a homeanda job. It was one of the best times to live in Godot.” She looked wistful.
“But didn’t Pastor Blackwell shut down the mine years later?”
“Oh, he had to. Half the valley was developing some form of lung cancer, asthma, or some other health problems. He offered those who were still willing to work a job through the church but by that time, most of the valley had already fallen sick. Then, of course, came the Chimera.”She shook her head with a rueful expression.
“Chimera?”I asked, but she seemed lost in thought.
“Hm? Oh, yes, the Chimera. It’s the street name for a hybrid drug that popped up several years back. Horribly addictive. Some kind ofcross between methamphetamine and heroin.”She looked around, and I followed her gaze.
As I surveyed the Center, the weary bodies passed out on the cots, I realized they didn’t look like the meth addicts that I stumbled across on the streets of Easton. They were more haunted, gaunt, lifeless.
That instinctual tick landed in my gut like a rock.
“Any idea where it came from?”
She frowned at me.“No, but these things tend to spiral like this. A few health problems in the more underprivileged communities lead to a rise in opioid use and when the money runs out, they switch to cheaper alternatives or whatever they can get.”She swirled her finger in circles.“Eventually they have kids that are already predisposed to addiction and before you know it, an entire community is pitched into a hole too deep to dig out of.”
I nodded.
“Do you guys have Wi-Fi?” I was already itching to do some research on this drug.
Miriam almost laughed.“Sorry, sweetheart. We operate on razor-thin budgets here. I’m the only paid employee we have outside the maintenance crew.”
“You run on volunteers?”I asked.
“Oh, yes. We need all the volunteers we can get. Breakfast is always a struggle. It’s one of our busiest meals and it’s hard to get volunteers up that early.”
There was my opening.“Do you need an extra hand tomorrow?”
Miriam smiled with appreciation.“Always, my dear.”
I shrugged.“I don’t have a lot of culinary experience, but I know how to wash dishes… I was going to find a hotel tonight,”I lied,“but I’d be happy to stay here if you’ve got an extra bed so that I can help out in the morning.”
Miriam gave me a tight-lipped smile and I could tell she saw right through me. My face burned and I looked away, acting casual.
She patted my hand.“Of course, dear. Come, I’ll show you where you can put your things down.”
The next morning, I whimpered to myself before I even opened my eyes. I had tossed and turned all night. I sat up, eyes still closed, twisting the soreness out of my neck.
When I opened my eyes, the Center was bustling already. I looked at my watch. Not even six a.m. I groaned again, digging my phone out, hoping I had an email from my bank. I don’t know if I could do another night of this.
