Apartment 905, Sahin, Ned [black female authors .TXT] 📗

commands. We do it. If he wanted to kill us, he would have already. I think he is just executing the orders from his commander who is probably very picky about people they allow into the compound.

The 300-pound guy searches my body. He starts with my armpits and goes down to my ankles. He does the same to Kathleen by annoyingly taking more time and touching more. She closes her eyes and grinds her teeth as his hands go over her body.

“Follow me,” he says. I want to object, but I know there is nothing better waiting for us outside. It’s probably a desert for hundreds of miles from here to Salt Lake City.

He closes the main entrance and opens the door on the other side of the room. I can hear the music louder now.

He walks slowly in front of us. He takes stairs down to the basement. We go through some kind of a lounge area where several people are smoking and chatting. One of them is inhaling a white powder through his nose. A couple is making out on a sofa in the corner of the room. Everyone seems high enough not to care about what’s going on.

We enter a huge room with a glowing disco ball. The music is too loud that it makes me close my ears inadvertently.

People are dancing while sipping their drinks. I am willing to drink whatever they have as long as it hydrates my body and gives me the calories I need.

He takes us to the hallway at the back of the basement. We go through a door that opens to a pantry with a stack of water bottles and leftover food.

“Wait here.” He points to the chairs around a table in the middle of the pantry. He may not be as bad as he seems after all.

He leaves the room and closes the door. Both Kathleen and I drink at least two small bottles of water without even breathing. I hide a bottle in my pocket and cover it with my t-shirt. Kathleen does the same. We eat some noodle mix left on the table with our hands.

“What is this place?” Kathleen asks while getting the last rolls of noodles from the plate.

“An ex-military base that was converted to a tavern for travelers doing cross-country trips?” I say. That’s the only logical explanation I can think of.

“He didn’t lock the door,” Kathleen says. I’ve always admired her observant personality.

“Ready?” I ask, finishing the noodle mix. She blinks her eyes and stands up to get going.

I take a fork from a drawer. I wish there was a knife, but this is the closest thing I can use for self-defense. Kathleen hits a glass on the corner of the counter. It breaks in pieces. She uses a bunch of paper towels to pick up the sharpest looking piece. That should work better than a fork.

I slowly open the door and look at the corridor before stepping out. I see club goers walking around. Nobody seems to be worried about us.

“They are here?” I hear someone loudly speaking. I see his arm before his body shows up in the corridor. I close the door right away. We get back to the chairs and hide our kitchenware weapons. The door opens a few seconds after.

“Welcome to the party!” a tall guy in military uniform says with a wide smile on his face. His name tag on his chest reads “Corell.” He has short hair and a fit body. His face looks freshly shaved. If I had seen him on the street before the outbreak, I wouldn’t have had any doubts about his profession and intentions. However, we are living in a messed up world now. I can’t stop myself from being skeptical.

Kathleen and I don’t say anything, but we try to smile.

“Are you a local or visiting?” he asks. That’s the question I miss hearing. It reminds me of my travels across the country. It fits in the context, but I am not sure where he is getting at.

“We are on our way to Salt Lake City,” I say. When I am in doubt, I either stay quiet or tell the truth. I choose the latter as there is a question pending for an answer.

“Almost there!” He says and laughs. He is clearly making fun of us but it’s not necessarily a bad thing.

“What is this place?” Kathleen asks.

“A place where we forget about this fricking world!” He is laughing again. I think I can see every single tooth in his mouth when he laughs.

Right after he finishes his sentence, we hear a scream coming from the dance floor.

“Ah, these crazy fo—”

Another scream cuts off his sentence. We hear glasses shattering and tables falling. Then two gunshots, followed by heavy footsteps from people running around. One of them gets closer to us—the bulky guy who let us in.

“We got a problem, boss,” he says while trying to catch his breath. Blood is splattered all over his uniform. They both storm out of the room, leaving the door open.

I don’t know what’s going on out there. It was full of people who were drunk and drugged a minute ago. It doesn’t sound very chill now. I look at Kathleen. She looks confused.

“Let’s go,” I say. Anything we do is better than staying in this room with no windows and no backup exit.

We leave the room and go to the opposite side of the corridor. There are restrooms and a janitor closet. Somebody runs toward us from the other side of the corridor. He roars as blood trickles from his mouth and hands. I see a woman a few feet behind him. She is neither in good shape. I think this is the couple who were making out in the lounge area.

We keep running the opposite direction and finally find the door for the exit stairs at the end of the corridor. I push it with both hands. It’s locked. Ricas are getting closer. I kick