The old woman gathers items from the overflowing shelves surrounding us and places them on the worn dented table in the centre of the room. Taking my hand, she tugs me down into a wooden chair. I stifle a scream from the pain and she promptly stands me up, spins me around and inspects my back.

"How did you manage to shred your trousers?" She waves her hand dismissively. "No matter, you don't need to tell me anything unless you want to. Take your time. I know it can be a shock coming from there back into the world." The woman smiles and her already aged face wrinkles further; her features get lost momentarily in a million creases. She dabs something cool and wet against my face. "You look pretty good considering, not wasting away like the others. You also have hair. I've never picked up one with hair."

She leans back. "Were you not in there long? I bet you weren't, you look too healthy. Where did you get the cast? I didn't think they cared if you broke anything." 

The wetness returns to my face, wiping away the dirt ingrained into the little cuts which sting slightly with every wipe. I stare at her mouth, thin shrivelled lips which keep moving, asking questions but not really waiting or expecting an answer.

"Were you one of the favourites? They always treat the pretty ones or the more willing ones a bit better. Not that I'm judging. I understand, I would do anything to make my life easier in there. You have to, don't you? Especially, if you think the remainder of your life is going to be spent in a version of hell." She inspects my cast. "It's a bit broken. How long has it been on for?"

"Five to six weeks." 

"I'll take it off then. It should be healed. However, with the food they feed you, I wouldn't be surprised if it hasn't. First, let's change these shredded clothes." The woman tugs at my clothes and I stiffen, protectively wrapping my arms around my body.

"No need to be embarrassed, I've seen it all: scars, burns, disfigurements, all the bits and bobs of male and females, sometimes in combination. I know what they do in a labour camp and I know the reasons you're sent there for. I help no matter what. I'll let you know your options so we can reduce the chances of you getting caught again."

Her use of the word labour camp surprises me and I loosen my grip without thinking. She tugs my top away and her eyes linger on my exposed unmarked skin. She pauses for a second, a frown briefly crosses her face before it's gone and she's smiling. I search her face for signs of disgust but I don't detect any.

"Isn't that a surprise, you're an unmarked girly! I thought you'd all been sent to the slaughter. I myself try to avoid being marked, only have the compulsory ones. All the rest are ridiculous; The State's way of making us conform and a way for people to show off. I don't care what holiday they've been on or what their hobbies are, if I needed to know, I'd simply ask." She tuts loudly, turning my wrists in her hands. "Where are your labour camp brands?"

"I haven't come from a labour camp."

"What were you doing out there then all alone? Oh no matter, none of my business but you're lucky I found you. Officials are always patrolling that strip of road because of the labour camp near there. They don't want anyone to know what goes on. I go up and down, always on the lookout for labour camp escapees. Haven't had one for a long time but over my lifetime I've helped a few. Just like my grandmother, and my great-grandmother before. Something of a family tradition you'd say."

"Did you ever help a boy called Grey?"

"No Grey. A Graham and a May but that was over a decade ago. Last one I helped was three or four years back. Escapees not as common as they once were. Are you looking for him?"

"No." I gaze out the window at fields of tall golden swaying plants.  Large machines marked with the gold State Circle symbol ruin the otherwise peaceful and lush landscape.

"It's beautiful, isn't it. Long ago, it all used to belong to my family but The State claimed all the land when they came into power. My grandmother was lucky, they allowed her to remain in this house. She was adamant about this cottage not being knocked down and replaced with one of their new houses which they started to build. It would be travesty to destroy this place, all the character and history it holds. They've already eradicated so much of our past we have to hold onto what we can. Now take off your trousers. I'll clean you up then get you some new clothes."

The woman waits for me to undress. Walking around my body, she dabs the cooling liquid against my skin. "You've really done a number on your backside and your legs. I can see why you had problems sitting. It's going to take a while till you'll be able to use a chair." She chuckles deeply.

"How do you do it without The Officials questioning you?"

"My job requires me to travel up and down that strip of road a few times a day."

"What do you do?"

"I'm a masseuse to help alleviate women's ailments. Women all around the country require my skills so I have to drive around a lot." The woman shrugs vaguely.

I automatically know this is a cover for her real dealings.

The woman clears away the bowl of liquid and the bloodied cloth. My eyes travel over her open case which is full of medical looking equipment, long metal looking scissors, scalpels, metal funnels. 

She performs something medical yet not permitted by The State, a procedure which needs to be done in people's homes, away from public eyes and requires her to be there for an hour or so. The realisation of what she does doesn't surprise me. I've heard of women who receive illegal abortions. It was hard not to, visiting the sort of establishments who were my customers.

"I used to hear of people who would provide a service specifically for woman to eliminate unwanted stress," I say simply.

"An important service. I do specialise in alleviating women's stress. I believe I'm the only one left, have been for a while. Are you in need of assistance, girly?" The woman turns towards me warily.

"No, but I've heard of women who have benefited from your services."

"I try to help but what I do can also destroy those girls and women, mentally and physically. Yet, the risks are lower if I do it than if they do it to themselves, but I shouldn't have to be the answer. It should be done properly without judgement by The State." The woman shakes her head and retrieves a large pair of scissors which look like they belong in a torture chamber. She cuts off the cast, exposing my shrivelled skin to the cool air. "But one day in the afterlife, those who encouraged and actively participated in The State's rules cruelness will have their comeuppance."

"Maybe."

"You don't believe?"

"I've been too busy trying to survive this life to worry about the next." I rub my free arm, the skin pale and flaky. 

"This life is definitely harder for some than others. Problem is we all want everyone to agree, to have the same ideas. We find it hard to understand differences, we want everyone to think and feel the same but we're won't, human nature." She hands me a neat pile of clothes. "Originally, The State set out to improve society, a fairer life, less poverty, less aggression and abuse, family values and who wouldn't want all that. Except, they've tried to control our life, force their ideals on us all, tried to make us fit their version of acceptably normal. My grandmother always told me that sometimes freedom is more important than perfection."

"Do you worry about getting caught?" The rough material rubs against my tender skin as I dress and I should be thinking about how I'm going to get back to Dorothea, what my next move is, however, I want to stay longer. This woman intrigues me, her openness is refreshing and I feel more comfortable than I have in a long time.

"I used to when I had a family but I'm alone now. My husband died over a decade ago. My oldest committed suicide twenty eight years ago, he was only sixteen. He was gay and couldn't stand the idea of having to get married to a woman. It affected my youngest badly so he rebelled and ended up getting sent to a labour camp a few years after. I have no idea which camp but it doesn't stop me dreaming of finding him wandering along that dirt road I found you." The woman faces me. "I have to do what I can. We have a responsibility to do what is right, to help people who are in trouble and right now, there are many. Do you have somewhere to go?"

"Yes."

"Let me give you a ride." The woman wraps a scarf around my neck. "Better cover your lack of birth brand. I wouldn't my clothing to be the reason you got caught."

"Thanks." The damp mildew infused scarf causes a dip in my stomach. This crumbling shack with its lived-in mismatched furniture is the most at ease I've felt since Grey was taken. Maybe, it's the way she offers help expecting nothing in return or the way she doesn't seem fazed by my unmarked skin. Part of me wishes I could stay here instead of return to The State's messed up version of normal living.

The car journey is filled with the woman's voice telling tales of her family, her grandmother and great grandmother and people she helped escaped. She's risked and achieved so much I feel slightly ashamed at the fact I have spent my entire life trying to save only myself. For so long, my only drive was survival and it's only now I've lost those I care about do I want to do something.

Arriving at the house, Dorothea is waiting for me on the porch, shrouded by the dim shadows of evening, her concerned face illuminated by the street lamps.

"Thank you for everything," I say.

"No problem. Anytime you are in need of assistance you can contact me and it doesn't have to be just relating to woman's stress. You and me are not so different, both of us have managed to evade being caught by Officials for a long time. You're a survivor, I can see it in you." The woman hands me her card. "My name's Shar. In all the excitement I forget my manners and didn't properly introduce myself. Now get going. The State keep a watchful eye on me and they'll be questioning why I was here at this time of night, I don't want to lead them to you. They always seem to know my whereabouts. Very sneaky they are."

"It's your Birth Brand," I say softly, indicating towards her collar bone. The new gold fluid shimmers in her updated Birth Brand. "It acts as a tracker. The labour camp escapees have all had the tracker part removed, it's the only way they can get out undetected."

The woman frowns, contemplating my words, as though she's not sure she believes me. Would this be the normal reaction? Unbelieving, as though they think even this form of control is beyond The State's realm of messed up beliefs.

I shut the car door behind me and approach Dorothea but she doesn't acknowledge me. Her focus is on Shar in the car. Dorothea's face is pale, her hands are shaking, the same signs of panic from the other night are returning. Selfishly, I'm too tired to comfort her, to distract her from the past events which continue to torment her.

"Cady, are you ok? That woman, she... " Dorothea falters. Inhaling deeply, she focuses on me. "If you were in trouble you should have told me."

"I've already caused enough trouble for you and your family." I shuffle past her, into the house. Dorothea places a hand on my shoulder and stops me.

"Cady, I want to help." She looks around the happy smiling photos crowding the hallway walls as though they will somehow help her or maybe she's worried their listening. "I got pregnant at sixteen. I was in love and we were going to get engaged but it fell through. When I found out I was pregnant, I went to my mum and she told me I had to have it terminated. She said I couldn't bring shame onto the family and that The State would take me and the baby." Tears run down her cheeks "Faryl doesn't know. No one does apart from me, my mum and that woman."

"I won't say anything." I wrap my arms around her, ignoring the pain of my back as the cuts reopen but this time they pour grief and sadness instead of blood. 

Dorothea hugs me back and I imagine how long this secret has been festering, how many times she has almost told someone then stopped herself. Even now, she is only telling me because she thinks I used Shar's services.

"Mum?" Max's voice makes our head both turn around. He's glaring at me. "Mum, what are you doing?"

"Your mum was just comforting me," I say, wiping non-existent tears from my face. "I had a disagreement with my fiancé."

Dorothea smiles at me weakly. "What's the matter, Max?"

"Nothing. It's late, I was wondering what all the noise was." 

Dorothea readjusts herself and forces a fake lightness in her voice. "It is late and we could all do with a good night's sleep. Good night, Cady."

Dorothea places her hand on Max's shoulder and guides him back towards the bedrooms. I wonder how many dark secrets are contained within the walls of these normal houses on this normal street. My guess is too many.