Apartment 905, Ned Sahin [books to read for 13 year olds .TXT] 📗

This is how a Saviors’ camp entrance looks like.

After being attacked by them yesterday, staying at the house wasn’t safe anymore. We interrogated the Savior I shot in the storage room, then we left the house with as many supplies as we could carry in our bags. We walked almost all night to get to the nearest big town, Asheville. We rested a few hours in an abandoned condo. Early in the morning, I left the condo and walked to this camp the Savior had revealed to us during the interrogation.

“I am Matt. I heard that you guys are recruiting,” I say with a smooth voice and a forced smile.

“Drop your bag and step forward,” he says, slowly approaching me. I drop my almost empty bag and walk toward him.

He checks my arms, torso, and ankles. He takes my ID from my wallet. Then he searches into my bag. I only have some energy bars and a bottle of water inside. I didn’t bring any sort of weapons.

“Follow me,” he says. He makes a hand gesture to the guy on the lookout to open the gate. The eight-feet tall steel gate begins sliding steadily. Once upon a time, this place used to be a local military base but is now Saviors’ camp for suburban supply chain and human resources.

He takes me to a room and asks me to wait there. After about an hour, a shorter than average guy with long hair and a dirty beard enters the room. He resembles one of the bisexual characters in Queer Eye.

“Here is your ID, Mr. Macaine. They call me Big Six here,” he says as he sits on the other side of the table.

I am not sure why they call him Big or Six.

“So, tell me about your story,” he continues. “Your address is in Charlotte. What are you doing here in Asheville?”

I tell him that I ran out of food in the city, so I headed to the mountains hoping to survive in the woods around small towns. After encountering a human-like creature, I gave up and decided to join Saviors for more comfort and safety.

He nods and leans back. The tension around his jaw loosens up. It looks like he is buying my story.

“You came across a Rica? What was it like to deal with one of them?” he asks. I guess they call them Ricas because of the drug Oxyrica that made them what they are.

I tell him about my fight in the jungle. How the creature kept walking despite being sprayed twice. I tell him how I ended his miserable life with a rock. He enjoys the story, especially the last part with a rock dropped on the creature’s head.

“It’s a lot more intense than my first encounter with a Rica. I just run the hell out of there,” he says, grinning at his own encounter.

After asking several other questions about my life and family, he looks satisfied with my story.

“It all adds up, but I am still not sure about letting a stranger in,” he says. I am not sure if he is bluffing but it sounds like it’s time to play my last card.

“I can give something in return…” I say.

He seems more interested now. He leans forward.

“Do you need a cache of masks, protective clothes, and food?” I ask. I tell him about the storage unit full of valuable supplies. I offer the address of the place in exchange for my admission to the camp. He doesn’t even think twice.

“Well, you know how to convince people… We can also use your help for setting up equipment in the camp,” he says.

“What about my family? Do you think you can reach out to someone in San Francisco and find out their whereabouts?” I ask. I know that it’s too much to ask considering we have just met, but I need to know it before giving away the storage unit.

“Let’s see how you do here first. I may try reaching out to some folks there in the Highland Republic depending on your performance,” he says. This guy must be coming from corporate America. He uses performance-based rewards in post-apocalypse.

It looks like the West Coast is now called the Highland Republic. I hope it is as democratic and humane as the name “Republic” implies.

One of his men takes me to the newbie barrack and introduces me to other guys. There are five men in the room and are having lunch around the table in the middle of the room. I see metal bunk beds by the wall.

I walk to a corner bed that looks unoccupied. I push my bag under the bed and sit on the clean sheets. One of the newbies approaches me.

“Are you hungry? We have some extra soup,” he says, smiling. I nod and stand up to follow him.

“I am Toshihiko, but they call me Toshi. Welcome aboard!” He gives me a chair at the table and brings a bowl of soup.

They each introduce themselves and welcome me to the team. It’s a more friendly environment than I thought. Most of them are in their 20s. Toshi and I are probably the only ones in our early 30s.

After a quick introduction round, they continue talking about their daily routine. It sounds like their days are filled with cleaning, repairing, growing plants, and taking tactical and weapon training. From what I understand from the conversation, newbies eventually are tasked for supply runs and other operations outside.

Toshi asks me to help him clean the overgrown thorns inside the wall perimeter after lunch.

I go to the restroom before we leave the barrack. I use the small pen I brought with me to write a few notes of what I have seen in the camp so far on a piece of toilet paper. I then put it in my pocket.

We pick up tools from the greenhouse. I see a lady watering plants.