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the men have gone to the
building on the left. My stomach sinks as Jack disappears into the
doorway. How much of him do I remember, and will memories be all I
have now?
    We pass through the doors, and the smell of bleach,
soap, and antiseptic burns my nostrils. The floors and walls are
all tile, and we stop before a window set into the wall. An old
woman stands there, and she looks more tired than anyone else I've
ever seen in my life. Her thin, gray hair is loosely pulled back,
and limp strands hang down around her face.
    “This is Worker 143,” the agent says, barely
acknowledging the old woman. “If you show model behavior, you will
be rewarded with positions like this one. Worker 143 is very happy
here, aren't you?”
    The old woman's gaze never wavers from the one
discolored tile on the wall. Her eyes are dull, her hair is dull,
and her skin is dull. She could never pass as happy.
    “The detox procedure is as follows: first, hair. A
breeding ground for lice and other vermin. Your hair will be
shaved.” As she says this, some of the women around me shift their
weight, the most outrage they can safely express. The agent ignores
them. “Second, shower. You will be hosed off and washed with
antibacterial, antimicrobial soap. It may be harsh on your skin.
Third, medical examination. A medical professional will examine
each of you to ensure your physical health and determine if any
inoculations are necessary.” She clasps her hands behind her back.
“Take off all your clothing and give it to Worker 143. No outside
materials are allowed inside our facility. After showering, you
will receive approved clothing.”
    I glance around at the nine women. About half of
their eyes hold nothing—no emotion at what's being asked of them,
no outrage at being treated this way. Two of them look more
exhausted than angry. The rest look the way I imagine I look right
now. Livid. I'm to strip naked in front of these people I don't
even know? Get rid of these clothes that are my only possessions in
the world right now? Wear something the government tells me I have
to?
    Anger flashes through my eyes. I'm sure the agent has
seen it before because she crosses her arms over her chest, tilts
her chin, and her eyes dare me to defy her. I'm not cowed by her
look, but I know resisting is useless.
    I take my clothes off. I try not to look at the
others around me; I try to give them that little scrap of privacy.
As I unzip my pants, I remember the single crimson thread from the
rug in the cabin. It's too small and hardly significant, but it's
one thing I'm sure I can hide and keep. Some small way I can claim
something as my own. My eyes find the agent. She's not looking at
me; she's watching one of the hollow women who fumbles with her
buttons. I slip my hand in my pocket and hide the string between
two of my fingers.
    I give my clothes to Worker 143. As I pass them
through the window, the first wave of expression passes over her
face. Sadness. She takes my clothes and caresses them, as if she
knows what they represent, and turns around, opens a metal grate,
and dumps them down a chute. A blast of heat and a faint orange
flicker tell me I'll never see those clothes again. I clutch the
thread tighter, clinging to my last souvenir of the outside.
    Once we've all given up our clothes, the agent leads
us down the tiled hall to the next door. The tiles are cold on my
feet, and I cross my arms over my chest and side-step to try to
stay warm. I wonder if there's heating in this building because it
feels just about as chilly as it does outside.
    We pause before the door. The agent rests her fingers
on the handle and turns to us. “Your hair will be shaved in here.”
She smirks, and I wish I could wipe that look right off her face.
“Don't worry. This is just a one-time procedure to ensure no pests
are transmitted to the others here. After this, you're free to grow
your hair.” She says it like she's doing us a favor.
    I run a hand through my hair. It