After the Apocalypse by Maureen F. McHugh Page B

the compound, but one of her roommates had female problems—bad cramps—and planned to spend the day in bed drinking tea and reading magazines. Baiyue was going to use her ID to leave.
    “You have to,” Jieling said. “You want to grow old here? Die a serf to New Life?”
    “It’s crazy. We can’t make money dancing in the plague-trash market.”
    “I’ve done it before,” Jieling said. “You’re scared.”
    “It’s just not a good idea,” Baiyue said.
    “Because of the girl they caught in Guangdong. We’re not skipping out on our debt. We’re paying it off.”
    “We’re not supposed to work for someone else when we work here,” Baiyue said.
    “Oh, come on,” Jieling said. “You are always making things sound worse than they are. I think you like staying here being little Miss Lei Feng.”
    “Don’t call me that,” Baiyue snapped.
    “Well, don’t act like it. New Life is not being fair. We don’t have to be fair. What are they going to do to you if they catch you?”
    “Fine me,” Baiyue said. “Add to my debt!”
    “So what? They’re going to find a way to add to your debt no matter what. You are a serf. They are the landlord.”
    “But if—“
    “No but if .” Jieling said. “You like being a martyr. I don’t.”
    “What do you care,” Baiyue said. “You like it here. If you stay you can eat pork buns every night.”
    “And you can eat congee for the rest of your life. I’m going to try to do something.” Jieling slammed out of the dorm room. She had never said harsh things to Baiyue before. Yes, she had thought about staying here. But was that so bad? Better than being like Baiyue, who would stay here and have a miserable life. Jieling was not going to have a miserable life, no matter where she stayed or what she did. That was why she had come to Shenzhen in the first place.
    She heard the door open behind her, and Baiyue ran down the hall. “Okay,” she said breathlessly. “I’ll try it. Just this once.”

    The streets of Shanghai were incredibly loud after weeks in the compound. In a shop window, she and Baiyue stopped and watched a news segment on how the fashion in Shanghai was for sarongs. Jieling would have to tell her mother. Of course, her mother had a TV and probably already knew. Jieling thought about calling, but not now. Not now. She didn’t want to explain about New Life. The next news segment was about the success of the People’s Army in Tajikistan. Jieling pulled Baiyue to come on.
    They took one bus and then had to transfer. On Sundays, unless you were lucky, it took forever to transfer because fewer buses ran. They waited almost an hour for the second bus. That bus was almost empty when they got on. They sat down a few seats back from the driver. Baiyue rolled her eyes. “Did you see the guy in the back?” she asked. “Party functionary.”
    Jieling glanced over her shoulder and saw him. She couldn’t miss him, in his careful polo shirt. He had that stiff party-member look.
    Baiyue sighed. “My uncle is just like that. So boring .”
    Jieling thought that, to be honest, Baiyue would have made a good revolutionary, back in the day. Baiyue liked that kind of revolutionary purity. But she nodded.
    The plague-trash market was full on a Sunday. There was a toy seller making tiny little clay figures on sticks. He waved a stick at the girls as they passed. “Cute things!” he called. “I’ll make whatever you want!” The stick had a little Donald Duck on it.
    “I can’t do this,” Baiyue said. “There’s too many people.”
    “It’s not so bad,” Jieling said. She found a place for the boom box. Jieling had brought them to where all the food vendors were. “Stay here and watch this,” she said. She hunted through the food stalls and bought a bottle of local beer, counting out from the little horde of money she had left from when she had come. She took the beer back to Baiyue. “Drink this,” she said. “It will help you be