The Unit, Mike Lynch [i am malala young readers edition TXT] 📗

muted creaks as he pushed the front door open. A quick slam generated a momentary displacement of air, but it dissipated just as quickly as it had been created.
"That you, Sam?" a familiar voice called from a room in the back. Standing 6’4” in his bare feet and a pair of broad shoulders that enhanced his physical presence, Chick Larsen came out with a wet washcloth draped over his head, a look of acceptance swathed across his apple-sized cheeks. "Looks like you didn't want to stay home today either."
Sam's eyebrows arched and he parked himself behind his desk. Throwing a long hard look out the window, both sets of springs squeaked loudly when he sat back in his chair. "Anyone been in today?" Several cobwebs hung delicately in one of the corners. He would have to do something about that.
Letting out a forceful sigh, Chick threw the washcloth onto his desk. "You already know the answer to that." He likewise plopped himself into his chair and jerked the bottom drawer open. A bottle of Hennessy's rolled into the view, clanking loudly when it banged against the side of the drawer. "You want a slug?"
"Naw, not at four-thirty in the morning. That's a little early for me."
"Four-thirty, six-thirty, ten-thirty—what's the difference? In my book it's the middle of the day, we might as well say it's been a busy day, and the one thing we need right now is a drink. You used to throw back quite a bit of this stuff back in your time. We should enjoy what few pleasures we have left, for tomorrow we—"
"Die," Sam finished for him.
Chick poured himself a drink and downed it in one gulp. "Here's to dying," he said with a grin, and poured himself another.
The air felt heavy, oppressive, so Sam rose from his seat and went over to the window. "In the beginning, when this whole thing started," he said in a distant voice, "dozens of people came here every day, making one kind of claim or another. Some we knew were lies, others were legit. In the end, we pretty much approved them all." He turned back and took in the distant gaze of his friend. There was a time when Chick never let the setbacks of life get him down, such as the car accident that clipped his leg or when he lost his brother to cancer. These days, he saw the same hopeless expression on his partner’s face with greater frequency.
"Not many people are around much anymore.”
"You know most of them have gone north,” Sam added after some thought. “Not as hot there, or so they say."
"I'd give anything for a glass of ice-cold water right now."
"If the politicians keep their promise, you may just get that glass of ice water." Sam caught sight of the unit in the corner of the office. He could almost imagine the cool liquid going down his throat one satisfying gulp at a time. "I don't know if there's enough power reserves left at the electrical plant for that kind of output. A freezer takes a whole lot more energy than the unit. But I don't have to tell you that."
Chick just sat there, the same solemn expression as before. After several moments, he pushed out of his chair and limped over to the window. "Though there isn't much money left in the safe it sure would be nice to help out a client. Don't know what he'd buy with it but the thought of giving him a little bit of help, even for a while, makes being here worthwhile."
"Whatever hope I had about the future ran out a long time ago, long before news came out about the sun. No matter how hard you try, you can't go back and change what's been." Sam thought back to the conversation he had with his brother. "It's kind of ironic. Doesn't matter where you go, it's nothing but dead ends. If only there was a way of undoing the past." He turned towards his partner and said in a sarcastic tone, "Didn't see myself spending my twilight years with a drunken gimp."
The sounds of hearty laughter erupted in the office.
"It feels good to laugh like that," Sam said after he got control of himself again. "It's been too long."
"Well, then. That calls for another drink." Chick scooted over to his desk and poured the amber-colored liquid into his glass, this time to the brim. Several sips later, he polished off the rest of his drink with a single tilt of the head. "Can't think of a better way to get through the day."
Sam’s mood turned somber when the office fell silent, and he checked the time. If his watch was right, it was four thirty-seven. Was this how he wanted to spend his day, watch his partner get drunk and complain about everything wrong with the world? That's not what got him out of the house. Though it may not have promised much, doing some office work at least offered him a respite from the drudgery that faced him at home. "I think I'll finish alphabetizing the files. After that, maybe clean this place up, sweep the floors and wash the windows."
"Suit yourself." Chick tipped his glass in Sam's direction and polished off the last little bit of cognac still clinging to the bottom of the bottle.
As night turned into morning temperatures rose to the point of making the office unbearable. Even with the doors and windows open all the way, barely a breeze could be felt. Yet, Sam steadfastly organized last year's claims and put them in their respective folders, sweat dripping down his face, every movement like a hot weight pressing down on him.
Once the organizational part of his day had been completed, he took out a dirty rag from the broom closet and went after a cluster of cobwebs cuddling up against the uppermost window corners. It would have been an easier job if he had the benefit of water, but what little they had left was kept locked in the basement, too precious a commodity to waste on dirty windows, though the thought had crossed his mind more than once. It was just like his father had drilled into his head, "A clean office is a smart office."
Chick, on the other hand, must not have had a father like his. He sat at his desk and watched him the entire time without a word said. Sam had tried guessing what might be going on behind those listless eyes; perhaps he hoped a customer would grace their modest establishment one last time, or that a miraculous gust of wind might bring a momentary relief from the heat. Whatever his thoughts, he inexplicably kept them to himself.
Without any warning, Chick rose to his feet and grabbed his briefcase. "I think I'm done for the day. Doesn't look like anyone will be coming in...now or ever."
Sam wiped off a thick layer of sweat from his forehead. Though his partner's sudden announcement came as something of a surprise to him, he masked his reaction with a casual air of indifference. "Come on now, you can't go. A customer could still show up. It's only twelve."
"Twelve o'clock." Chick shot a quick look at his watch. "I didn't realize it was that late. That big red ball in the sky barely moves anymore. It just sits up there, burning everything away. I think we're all done."
"Hopefully not overdone." Sam's weak attempt at humor did not have the impact he expected.
"Nice try." Chick put on his hat and thrust out his hand. "It's been a pleasure knowing you all these years. We've had some good times together."
Sam took hold of his friend's hand and grabbed it tight. "Are you sure I can't change your mind?"
Chick pressed both lips together and shook his head.
"Well, if you ever need a loan for home improvement or maybe a little extra cash for a trip to the Bahamas, you know where to find me."
A broad smile blossomed on Chick's face before he headed out the door like a man on a mission. "Man, it's hot," he said to no one in particular. "Hotter than I think it's ever been."
The office suddenly felt lonely, lonely and empty. Too big for one person, that was for sure. Sam went over to the safe and pulled out every last bill. Cramming them into his pocket, he found his hat and slipped it on. This time, he didn't bother to lock up.
A familiar neon sign appeared through a thick haze of smog a half a block from the office. The crimson hue gave his surroundings a maudlin feel. No more striking colors to grace the palette; long gone were the strong greens and cool blues that once encompassed his surroundings. How he missed them. No matter, Sam thought. He wouldn't have to put up with the deprivations of life much longer. After that, well, he would worry about that when the time came.
Sam crossed the street and hurried over to Ernie's, anything that would get him out from under the blistering sun a little quicker. He jerked backed the front door and stepped into the shadowy remnants of what had once been a bustling grocery store. Today, most of the shelves lay barren, a thin layer of dust a testament of that fact. A pair of large black flies buzzed passed him as he made his way to the back of the store.
Manning the post he had held for almost twenty years, Ernie sat in his office beside the deli counter. Sam's attention drifted towards the glass display. A small piece of salami was just what he needed, if only there was a piece to be had, or a slice of ham, or roast beef, or turkey for that matter. How he missed the satisfying taste of meat.
"You're a little early today," Ernie said in his distinctive New York accent. He teased the edges of his handlebar mustache between his index finger and thumb. "It's not even half past twelve."
"Yeah. Thought I'd call it a day." Sam brushed past an empty magazine rack. "It's been days since a client has come into the office. I had hoped someone might show up today, but I don't think there's anyone left to come in. Looks like we're the last ones around here."
Sam caught a faint hint of sparkle in the old man's eyes, something he hadn't seen in a long time.
"I thought you might be in because you heard about the delivery I received a short while ago."
"I know, it's Tuesday. Canned vegetables day." He scanned the office behind Ernie. "So what do you have for me this time? Kidney or lima beans?"
The edges of Ernie's mouth pushed upward, forming something of a smile. "Not today," he said as he played with his moustache.
Sam pulled out a few bills, stared at them, and then shoved them back into his pocket. "I guess it was a wasted trip then. We all knew the government warehouse would run out of emergency supplies sooner or later."
"You couldn't be more right and