The Female Pipeworker

One moment, everything is as it’s always been. We’re marching through the power station halls, ordering the plant workers to pick up their lazy boots. I tell Axel a joke and turn to hear his response, but then it happens- a piercing scream bursts my eardrums. I cup my hands over my ears and hit the ground. The next thing I know, we’re running down the halls into the power room. I watch in horror as the giant turbine whirs to a stop. The yellow lights flicker then are gone, replaced by the red emergency bulbs that flash in harmony with the sirens’ scream.

“There!”

Someone grabs my shoulders and whirls me around. It’s the machine room captain. He’s shouting above the sirens and vigorously pointing to the pipework. A vertical white cloud catches my eye. I lean over the railing and see it- the busted pipe, roaring like an engine and bleeding steam like a wounded artery. I finally understand what the machine room captain is shouting.

A steampipe has burst!

I nod to the captain. As he sprints towards the control bay with Axel, I tighten my rifle to my chest and slide down the rusted ladder, over the grated platform, under and over pipes, until I reach the bleeding vein.

I’m not the first one there.

Staring at me from the other side of the platform is a pipe worker wearing a thick face shield and wielding a welder’s wand. We stare at one another for only a second, then the pipe worker tosses me a rusty chain. As I clumsily grab hold, he hooks the other end of the chain to his harness and leaps over the side of the railing. The chain tenses in my hands, cutting into my flesh. I almost lose my grip. Digging my boots into the grates on the floor, I straddle my feet to hold steady as the worker stands on the bleeding vein and skillfully walks towards the wound. When he reaches the steam, he crouches on the pipe and carefully hooks a chain around the opposite vein, then gently lifts it back into the bleeding mouth. A jet of steam pierces through his jumpsuit, slicing through the flesh on his arm. He curses but holds steady and finishes guiding the smaller pipe back into place. The jet of steam evaporates. Wrapping the chains around anchor points, I watch as the worker lights his wand and hurries to weld the pipes back together. The cones of the electrical turbines begin to whir.

A second later, the rusted chains break. A burst of steam ruptures from the pipe, blasting my eardrums once again. The pipe worker screams, then everything goes silent as I watch the white flames engulf his body. The chain yanks me upward. I pull it to the right, away from the steam, then dig my hands into the rusted metal and hurry to pull the pipe worker up and over the railing. He looks at me, face exposed, fighting the urge to give up from the pain. I pull out my knife and hurry to cut away the clothing burnt into his chest. He tries to stop me, but doesn’t have the strength to fight back. I slice through the thick suit and rip it open. But when I expose his chest, there’s something there besides the flesh wounds. I stop and stare. By law, only men are allowed to work, with the only exceptions being nurses and receptionists.

But he is undoubtedly a she.

Footsteps rumble behind me. My eyes move up and meet the fear in the worker’s eyes. I hurry to strip off my jacket and wrap it around her. She pulls the itchy cloth tight over her burnt chest. As I help her stand, Axel and my squad arrive with a team of plant workers. Axel says something to me, but his words are fuzzy.

“Take him to the hospital.”

Axel grabs my shoulder, pulling me close to yell in my ear, and points to the injured plant worker. The words are clearer now.

“Matthew, we’ll take it from here,” he says.

I hurry to get the girl out of the crowd and up the ladder. She cooperates until we’re outside the plant. At the intersection that leads to the hospital, she stops and refuses to move.

“What’s your deal?” I ask her, tugging on her arm.

“I’m registered as a male in the Party’s system, so the nurses will report me upon examination,” she whispers. “Thank you for your help, but please, just leave me here.”

She collapses on the ground. Frantic soldiers and off-duty plant workers rush past us, too consumed in fear to give a second look. I scoop the girl’s petite frame into my arms and carry her down the street. We march past the hospital and turn a corner. I set her behind a trash can in the shadows of a narrow alleyway.

Am I really about to do this?

“Wait here,” I say, then hurry across the narrow street and enter the main doors of the hospital. A nurse sees the rivulets of blood lacing my palms and hurries me into an exam pod.

“What did you get cut with?” she asks.

“A rusted chain,” I reply. “Please, can you do a contamination test?”

“Of course,” she says. She pulls a spatula from the cart and scrapes blood and flesh from my hands into a cup.

“I’ll be back momentarily,” the nurse says, then slips out of the pod and down the busy hall. The pod is a half-wall cell, so I do a double take to make sure no one is looking, then reach into the cart by the door and hurry to find something that mentions burns.

Matthew, what are you doing…

I stuff a couple of vials and a tube of pain paste into my boots, then slam the drawer shut just as the nurse rounds the corner. She returns to the pod and informs me the wound is contaminated, so I’m given a series of injections and my hands are wrapped in antibiotic bandages before I’m dismissed. Outside the clinic, I hurry across the street to the trashcan.

The girl is gone.