Outbound

Chapter Two The line kept moving despite the fact that the receiving end wasn’t even open for business yet. It was his job, though, and he did it well. He had never left the line without his voucher. He was a dedicated man. Darrian Kraig was twenty-five years old, unemployable and uneducated. He spent his days in various voucher lines or jockeying for position in them. He spent his other days shut-up in the little one-room apartment Uncle George had left him in the will. The apartment was the only thing he had in the world. He was luckier than most. Seventy percent of the population lived on the streets or huddled together like sardines in one of the public assistance shelters crowded together downtown when it was too cold to stay outside. The apartment had no running water, no sewer, no electricity, and no heat. It was a castle compared to some. Thieves ransacked the place every time he was gone; he’d come to expect it. He didn’t have anything to steal any more; even the doorknob was gone. There wasn’t a stick of furniture left. Most of that had been burned five years back during the blizzard of ’34. He hid his blankets under the floorboards Uncle George had fixed up as their secret hiding place years ago. He also kept what other few things he did have there, too. He had a change of clothes and his shaving kit, though the blades had run out long ago and he didn’t think they made them any more. His beard wasn’t as bad as some, he kept it trimmed up with the piece of sharpened tin he housed under the floor, a crude knife that was his only utensil, weapon and mirror. He had a comb and a book he couldn’t really read. Uncle George used to read it to him, though. He knew it was called “Bible.”