[flashback] sick day

[2goodarms]

A decade isn't enough time for illnesses to evolve from their pre-freeze state. So many of them start the same way they always have: with a chill. A lot of times, people don't even know they're sick. What's feeling a little colder than usual, needing to curl up a little tighter under your allotted blanket?

So Curtis doesn't know, for a good forty-eight hours, until the shivering doesn't quit even after Gilliam loans him two more blankets. As soon as Tanya feels his forehead, he's whisked away to the very back of the Tail, stumbling a little as the train heaves along the tracks. Everything's tilted just a little too far off-kilter, and weaves just a little too sharply whenever they go over a bump. He's grateful when he finally has a chance to sit down.

...Actually, maybe he'll lie down for a bit. Yeah. Just a couple minutes.

Comments

[2goodarms]

Curtis sighs, and closes his eyes.

"Yeah," he mumbles.

[hate_gettin_older]

"I'll pick up your food," Edgar volunteers, "and I can keep people away from your bunk so nobody bothers you while you're resting."

[2goodarms]

Curtis cracks a smile, eyes still closed. "Thanks."

[snowpiercer_npcs]

"But," interjects Evie, "I want to keep you back here for another day or two so I can keep an eye on you."

[hate_gettin_older]

Edgar scowls -- he can keep an eye on Curtis just fine -- but doesn't object, if only for fear of being evicted from the vicinity himself.

[2goodarms]

"Couple days is fine," he says, as if he could see Edgar's scowl. Curtis tries, and fails, to stifle a yawn. "Be okay after that."

[hate_gettin_older]

He nods quickly. "Sure you will."

Because -- well, because he will, that's all. This kind of sick isn't dangerous, not really.

[2goodarms]

"Yeah."

Half-mumbled.

[snowpiercer_npcs]

Evie tests the compress -- it's lost most of its cold, but remains damp enough to be useful -- before shifting it back to his forehead. She looks up at Edgar.

"I think it's best you let him sleep for now."

[hate_gettin_older]

Edgar hesitates, glances at Curtis, and sighs resignedly when it looks like the order isn't about to be countermanded. "Okay."

And to Curtis: "I'll come back later, then. See how you're doing. -- Want me to bring you anything?"

[2goodarms]

"Nah. M'good."

He seems to be fading fast, now that there's some food in him.

"Thanks, man."

[hate_gettin_older]

He grins a little, pleased as always to have been useful, and takes off with a wave to Evie.

He's already working out what he can offer by way of barter to get Curtis's next protein block, if he can't make it to the next headcount.

[snowpiercer_npcs]

Curtis is still asleep when the next headcount comes. Evie doesn't wake him; he still has two-thirds of a protein block left, and she can always share hers if necessary.

She joins the murmuring throngs of people as they file out of their bunks, crowding to the front of the train to wait for the guards' arrival.

[hate_gettin_older]

Edgar eels through the crowd, tugs at the hem of Evie's sweater to get her to look down at him.

"Is he okay?"

[snowpiercer_npcs]

"He's okay," she confirms. "Still asleep."

Evie peers at him a bit more closely.

"That wasn't your protein block you gave him earlier, was it?"

[hate_gettin_older]

He shakes his head. "Nah, traded for it. -- Did he finish it?"

[snowpiercer_npcs]

"Good," she says. Someone Edgar's age can't skip meals as easily as an adult. "Not yet, but I'll see if he's ready to eat more once he's up..."

Her attention drifts as the murmuring grows louder, then abruptly cuts back into a hush. The guards have arrived, guns lifted, the crate of protein blocks parked between them.

And so has a bug-eyed woman wrapped in lavish furs, nose wrinkled like simply stepping back here is like stepping into a pile of dog shit.

[hate_gettin_older]

Edgar's lip curls unconsciously in reaction to her expression. Or perhaps it's simply to her appearance; she's clearly a front-sectioner, after all.

Maybe this will be one of the rare occasions when one of them shows up to dole out some special treat, like the Thanksgiving raisins that one time a year or two ago, or the boiled potatoes he can only dimly remember from even longer ago, still hot and unbelievably delicious. There's nothing behind her but the usual protein blocks, though, which means she's probably not here for anything good.

[snowpiercer_npcs]

"All right, line up," says one of the guards. As always, contrary to the giant gun and full riot gear, he sounds positively bored by the situation.

Obligingly, the crowd shuffles into position, ten to a row. The guard pulls out a clicker and starts to count off: "One. Two. Three."

Evie and Edgar are in the sixth row; when the guard reaches them, she kneels down with the rest.

[hate_gettin_older]

Edgar does too, although he can't resist stretching up a little bit to try to see past the grownups in front of him.

The lady in the fur coat is still just standing there, looking at them all like they're bugs.

[snowpiercer_npcs]

Five minutes later, headcount's over. The guard with the clicker falls back to murmur something in the woman's ear. Her lip curls further in response.

When, by force of habit, somebody toward the front stands up, intending to start the line to the food cart, the second guard advances. "Nuh-uh," he says, ushering him back with a few menacing jabs of his rifle. "Nobody gets up yet."

Delicately, the woman reaches behind the cart and picks up a megaphone with her spindly fingers. It crackles to life, and her voice booms through the Tail.

"Would anyone like to guess," she says, "how many protein blocks are in this cart?"

[hate_gettin_older]

A beat of silence.

People glance at each other, confused, uncertain, beginning to be apprehensive. Is there a shortage? Are they cutting rations?

Edgar looks up at Evie with a frown, and then across at Tanya further down the row; she's eyeing the woman grimly and doesn't see him.

[snowpiercer_npcs]

Nobody, however, dares to speak up, so the woman continues, crisply, "Nine hundred and seventy-eight protein blocks we have generously brought to you. And yet, how many of you bother to emerge from your filthy bunks to receive them?" Another pause for effect. "Nine hundred and three. A difference of seventy-five. Seventy-five wasted blocks, gifted to all of you by the grace of Wilford the Divine, that your laziness has hurled back in his face."

[hate_gettin_older]

A few rows behind them, someone makes a quiet spitting sound. Without turning to look he can't be sure, but Edgar's pretty sure it's Macgregor; he saw the man's bushy red hair around there when they were lining up, and besides it's the kind of thing he would do, brave in the face of the watching guards, utterly contemptuous of any talk of Wilford the Divine.

Edgar bites back a grin of satisfaction, and watches the woman keep talking.

[snowpiercer_npcs]

"And this is not the first time I've witnessed such an egregious insult!" she's saying -- nearly shouting, by now. "Every day, every head count, this cart does not leave empty. If it could merely be explained by a handful of deaths each day, that would be simpler, but no. No. Even knowing you will not be fed, you prefer to shirk your very few responsibilities. So."

She pulls herself straighter, taking a moment to adjust her outsize glasses.

"Effective immediately, should you not be present for three consecutive headcounts, your ration will be stricken from the records. Permanently."

Evie's jaw drops.