Storm

SEVEN

My name’s Chris,” the big guy said, holding out his hand to shake. “Chris Campbell.”

I shook his hand and said, “Tucker Pierce. This is Tori Sleeper, Olivia Kinsey, Kent Berringer, and Jon, uh, what was your last name again, Jon?”“Purcell. Jon Purcell.”

“Welcome,” Chris said. “Though I guess that’s an odd thing to say. There’s nothing welcoming about Boston anymore.”

Chris seemed friendly enough, though I wouldn’t challenge him to a fight. He had biceps like hams that strained his jersey. He didn’t have a trace of a Boston accent—which was strange, considering he was wearing a Sox jersey.

He motioned to the others behind him and added, “You’ll meet the rest of my crew soon enough. Where are your parents?”

None of us answered.

“Never mind,” Chris said quickly, picking up on the fact that he had touched on a sore subject. “We’ve all got stories.”

“How did you guys survive the attack?” Tori asked.

“Different ways,” Chris said. “Bottom line was, we were all deep underground when those bastards hit. I work for Mass Electric. I was working below the Prudential Center when the power went out.” He chuckled and added, “I was afraid it was something I did. Thought I was gonna catch hell. Took me two hours to get back to street level, and when I did…”

He didn’t have to describe what he found.

“Is this it?” Olivia asked. “Are you really the only survivors?”

“Nah, we’re just the cowboys.”

“Cowboys?” Jon said.

“We got tired of sitting on our butts and boohooing, so we grabbed these cop cars. During the day we sweep the city, looking for other survivors. A lot of people made it, thank god. We round ’em up and bring ’em all together. Like cowboys.”

“Yippee ki-yay,” Kent said sarcastically.

“Hey,” Chris shot back. “It’s a good thing. We’ve all lost family and friends. We gotta take care of each other.”

“Sorry,” Kent said, chastened.

“Don’t worry about it. Gotta keep a sense of humor, right?”

“Do you have any idea why it happened?” I asked.

“No clue,” Chris replied. “One minute everything was fine, the next minute the city got swarmed by these flying Darth Vaders.”

“Darth Vader is right,” Kent chimed in. “We think they came from another planet.”

“That’s just one theory,” I said quickly. “We have no idea where they came from, except that they have United States Air Force logos.”

Chris was visibly shaken by that. He looked back at his other “cowboys,” who looked equally stunned.

“How do you know that?” he asked.

“One crashed in Portland,” I replied. “We saw the wreck.”

“Seriously?” Chris asked, his excitement growing. “You got a close-up look at one of them bastards?”

“We saw a whole lot that you probably didn’t,” Tori said.

“Well, then you gotta tell us,” Chris replied enthusiastically. “Not knowing what’s going on makes it that much worse. Though I guess things can’t get much worse than Armageddon.”

Armageddon. It was the first time I’d heard that word. Was it possible? Was this the beginning of the end of the world?

We were ready to tell them what had happened on Pemberwick Island, but Chris asked us to wait until we got back to a place he called “the Hall.” It was the spot where the Boston survivors were congregating. One of the cowboys went with Kent and Tori in the Explorer. There was no way Tori was going to be separated from her guns. Olivia glued herself to me. There was no way she was going to be separated from someone she trusted. Kent started to protest, but Olivia hurried me away before he could say a word.

I really wished she wasn’t playing this game, whatever game it was. I didn’t need trouble with Kent.

Jon went on his own with one of the other cowboys.

Olivia and I walked toward Chris’s police car. Before we got in the back, I glanced at Tori and Kent. As they walked together, Kent put his arm around her like he was being protective. At least I think that’s what it was about. Tori didn’t shrug him off. I have to admit, I felt a twinge of jealousy, though I had no right to feel that way. We had been thrown together under dire circumstances and had a connection, but that didn’t mean we were, like… together. She could let anybody put his arm around her while she leaned in close and put her head on his shoulder… which is what she did. It was none of my business.

Then again, I thought Kent was all about Olivia. What was his deal?

I decided that we had a bigger drama going on and stopped staring at them… as he brushed Tori’s hair out of her eyes and gently helped her into the back of the Explorer.

Olivia had her arm draped through mine, and the length of her body pressed against my side like wallpaper. She was scared and needed any kind of security she could find. I didn’t mind, especially after what I saw between Kent and Tori.

Everyone else loaded up, and as if on cue, the cars took off— but in different directions. In seconds we were moving along the deserted streets of Boston.

“I thought we were all going to the same place?” Olivia said.

“We try not to travel in groups,” Chris replied. “You never know when one of them planes will show up. Right after the attack they’d sweep through the city looking for strays, but that’s happening less and less. The plane that was after you was the first one I’ve seen in days. I think they did what they came to do, and now they’re done with us.

I thought of the plane that had attacked us in Portland. Was that what it was doing? Searching for strays? With their evil mission complete, would they now leave us alone?

“How many survivors are there?” I asked.

“Hard to tell because they come and go. At any one time there might be about a hundred at the Hall. But there are plenty more out there, scared and hiding. We find ’em every day.”

“What exactly is the Hall?” I asked.

“It’s like a refugee camp,” Chris explained. “There’s food and a place to sleep and even some doctors. We pretty much take care of one another.”

“If it’s so great, why would anybody leave?” Olivia asked.

“Different reasons. Some go looking for loved ones. Others don’t want to be in a large group. They’re afraid we’re sitting ducks. For me, I’d rather be with people. If I’m going to die, I don’t want to be alone.”

“Do you think the planes hit other cities?” I asked.

Chris gave me a quick sideways look and said, “Don’t you? What happened up in Portland?”

“Same thing,” I replied.

“There you go. I don’t know who those devils are, but they seem to have only one goal, and that’s to wipe us out.”

That put an end to the conversation.

Every time my mind sought out the wider implications of what was happening, I was hit with a gut-twisting sense of sadness and dread. How many people had been killed? Hundreds of thousands? Millions? Billions? It was too staggering a concept to comprehend. I found that it was better to focus on the here and now as opposed to letting my mind wander to the big picture. Thinking too far ahead was like looking into a dark hole… with a black plane inside, lying in wait.

It had only been a week or so since the attack, but downtown Boston was already showing small signs of disuse. Garbage blew along the sidewalks and collected along the curbs. Broken glass was everywhere, some from smashed windows and others from shattered streetlights. Of course there were plenty of abandoned cars. Many had crashed into buildings or had blown through glass storefront windows. The once busy city was quiet. There was no noise at all, not even from the cooing of pigeons. The only sound came from the wind that blew through the abandoned urban canyons.

I was beginning to accept that this was the new normal. I hate to admit that because it meant I was willing to accept an unfathomable future, but what choice did I have? At least it meant that I could move forward and not crawl up into a ball, wanting to die. That’s saying something. I think.

Chris pulled into a parking lot and announced, “We’re here.”

Olivia and I looked around and had the same thought: “Where’s here?”

We were in a nondescript section of the city with no hint of survivors.

“We’ve still got a short walk,” Chris replied. “Like I said, we try to stay spread out. I’m not sure what good it does, but at least it makes us feel like we’re taking a little control.”

He led us along the sidewalk for a few blocks until we made the turn into an open park, where our question was answered.

“The Hall” turned out to be Faneuil Hall. I’d visited the place with my parents and knew a little bit of its history. The thumbnail description is that there were three three-story brick buildings that dated back to colonial times. Two of them ran parallel to each other and had to be at least a couple of blocks long. Faneuil Hall was originally a meeting place where speeches were given about fighting for independence from England. After that it served as a kind of town hall. It eventually became one of those historic spots that they renovate to look like it did back in the day. At some point the place was turned into a sprawling indoor/outdoor marketplace.

From the outside, the buildings looked as though they were from the 1700s, but inside were aisles of shops where you could buy anything from fried clams to artwork to dog collars. It was mostly a tourist spot. Locals didn’t buy refrigerator magnets of the Old North Church. But the restaurants were always busy, which meant it was a spot that drew lots of people.

At least it did before the population was wiped out.

The place wasn’t crowded, of course. But I did see a few people walking quickly between buildings, as if they didn’t want to be outside any longer than necessary. It was a surprise to see other people, which is further proof that I was getting used to the new reality.

“Here come your friends,” Chris said.

From the far side of the public park, I saw a group of the cowboys walking with Tori and Kent. One guy carried our gym bags, though Tori held on tight to her own. Kent had Olivia’s huge sack over his shoulder. He really did like Olivia. I don’t think he would have carried anybody else’s bag. Unless it was Tori’s. Okay, stop, Tucker.

From the other side of the building came a few more of Chris’s people, along with Jon. We all met up in front of a building with huge white columns over which the name “Quincy Market” was painted in big gold letters.

“This is where you register,” Chris explained. “They’ll process you through, and then I’ll take you to get something to eat. I assume you’re hungry.”

“Wait, register?” I asked.

“What kind of processing?” said Tori.

“We’re trying to be organized,” Chris explained. “Lots of people are coming through. Right now, we’ve got the only record of who survived the massacre.”

“Makes total sense,” Jon said. “It’s like the first census of the new world. It could end up being a historical document.”

“New world,” I repeated. “I’m not sure how I feel about calling it that.”

“It won’t take long,” Chris assured us. “We’ll take your bags and meet you back here.”

“I’ll hang on to mine,” Tori said.

I had no doubt that she had stashed one of the guns in there.

We all exchanged looks and shrugs and headed inside.

Stepping into the old building, we came upon a long counter that was normally a display for historical artifacts but was now being used as a reception desk by three pretty girls who didn’t look much older than Olivia. One of them waved for us to come over. I took the lead and went first.

“Hello. My name’s Madalyn,” the first girl said to me in a welcoming voice that instantly put me at ease. “How are you doing?”

“I’m not sure how to answer that,” I replied.

She gave me a sympathetic smile. “I hear you. Welcome to the Hall. Not that anybody really wants to be here, but it’s better than being out there alone.”

I shrugged.

“We need to get some information before you officially join us.”

“Uh, sure, whatever.”

“What’s your full name?”

“Tucker Brody Pierce.”

The girl opened a big, old-fashioned ledger book. Several pages were filled with a long list of names. I guess that’s how things had to work in this “new world.” We didn’t have power to run computers. Madalyn wrote my name down with neat, girl-typical handwriting. She asked me my date of birth, where I was born, and what my parents’ names were.

“Great,” she said. “Gigi will take your medical history. I’ll see you around.”

That was my cue to move on, so I slid over to face the next girl in line as Tori stepped up to Madalyn.

“Hello, my name’s Madalyn. Welcome to the Hall.”

Gigi was an equally pretty girl who asked me all sorts of questions about what kind of diseases I might have or if I had ever had any operations or injuries. She diligently wrote everything down in her own ledger book. I didn’t question them as to why they needed the information. Like Chris said, this was the only official record of the survivors. It was all so casual, as if we were checking into the Blackbird Inn for a vacation, not picking up the pieces after an attempt at genocide.

The last girl, Ashley (also cute, for the record), asked me to give her a brief account of where we were when the attack happened and the places we’d been on our way to the Hall. I gave her short answers, which is all she wanted since she was writing it all down. I expected a surprised reaction when I mentioned that we were out on the water when Portland was first hit, and that we had fought our way through the largest air-sea battle in history to get to the mainland, but she didn’t even blink. I guess she had heard all sorts of hairy stories. Ours was just another one.

I heard Gigi, the medical girl, ask Tori, “Are you in much pain?”

“I’m fine,” Tori replied, tight-lipped.

They were obviously talking about her gunshot wound.

“We’ll get you right over to one of the doctors for a look,” Gigi said.

She reached for another, smaller book and made a notation.

“You guys are pretty buttoned up,” I said to Ashley. “It’s like you’ve been doing this a long time.”

Ashley frowned and said, “I know, right? So many people have been coming through. I guess that’s a good thing but… it’s so sad. At least it helps us focus on something other than the horror of it all.”

She had said the exact right thing, but it felt kind of… rehearsed. She must have said the same thing a few hundred times. That was good news. It meant there were many survivors.

“That’s it,” she declared. “You’re all set. Head on outside and… good luck.”

“You too,” I said and headed for the door.

The whole process of being questioned, logged, and filed was unsettling. Knowing that our information might be the first census of a new world was humbling, to say the least. But it helped that the girls were friendly and cute. It softened the sting.

I went back outside to wait while the others finished up. Our bags were lined up together, with Olivia’s giant duffel on the end. Tori joined me a few minutes later. We stood together, awkwardly, not sure of what to say or do next.

“Well,” she finally said. “That was… thorough.”

“Seriously,” I responded. “I expected them to ask me for a blood sample.”

Tori scanned the courtyard, deep in thought.

“What?” I asked.

“I’ll go along with the program,” she said. “For now.”

“Well, yeah. I don’t see any better options.”

She gave me a hard look. “Are you still dismissing that radio message?” she asked.

“I’m not dismissing it at all, but we found a group of survivors right here. Why would we travel all the way across the country?”

“Because whoever sent that message wants to fight back,” Tori replied. “These people seem like they’re ready to spend their lives here.”

“That’s crazy,” I said, scoffing. “They’re just trying to make the best of it.”

“I don’t want to make the best of it,” Tori said angrily. “My father’s dead. I won’t forget that.”

I didn’t bother to tell her that I hadn’t forgotten either. I held the grief close to my heart, not letting my true feelings show, because when the time came for me to act, I wanted to do it on my own.

Tori picked up her bag and clutched it under her good arm.

“You do whatever works for you,” she said.

The tension between us wasn’t just because I hadn’t backed her up on going to Nevada. She was regressing back to her old self and closing me out.

“How odd was that?” Kent exclaimed as he strolled from the Quincy Market. “I wonder what time they’re serving tea?”

“It’s wrong,” Tori said flatly. “They’re taking down useless information while all that matters is that those planes could show up at any time and finish the job.”

“They might,” Kent said. “So we should make the best of it while we can, right?”

Olivia and Jon joined us soon after. They hadn’t spent anywhere near as much time being “processed” as I had. I guess that was because I had already given them the information about where we had come from.

“Now what?” Olivia asked, pouting. “Didn’t that big fella say something about food?”

“It’s going to be dark soon,” Jon pointed out. “I don’t want to be outside in case…”

He didn’t have to finish the thought. None of us wanted to be around if the planes came back at night, when their laser weapons worked. If anything, we needed to be three levels underground.

“See? That wasn’t so bad,” Chris said as he strode quickly toward us. “Let’s get you set up with a place to sleep. Then we’ll get you some food and have one of the doctors look at Tori’s gunshot wound.”

“How did you know about the gunshot wound?” Tori asked.

“News travels fast,” Chris said with a shrug.

“Not that fast,” Tori countered.

“You’d be surprised. Follow me.”

We grabbed our bags—Kent took Olivia’s—and followed Chris across the park to one of the other large buildings.

Inside were lines of stalls that normally offered food and touristy trinkets, but not anymore. That’s not to say it was empty. Lots of people were there, but rather than shopping they were busy working on projects. Some were cleaning out food from the restaurant stalls and sanitizing the place. Without refrigeration, things were going bad. Further along, we passed stalls that had already been cleaned out and turned into comfortable places with chairs and couches where people read books or played chess.

Not everyone was keeping busy. We passed a few people who were huddled in chairs, silently crying. Others were curled in corners, their arms wrapped around their legs and their heads buried. Many were alone; some had sympathetic friends with them to offer comfort. It was a sad reminder of how so many lives were destroyed and loved ones murdered.

A few stoic folks gave us a small wave or an acknowledging smile. We may have been strangers, but we had one thing in common: We were all survivors of the most deadly attack in history.

Chris spoke with many of the people as we walked past, calling out a quick “Hello!” or “How’s it going?” Several times he stopped next to a person who was visibly upset just to give them a comforting rub on the back. He was acting like a camp counselor whose main duty was to try to keep everybody happy. But it was more than that. From what we had seen so far, he was taking care of these people when they needed it most.

Since leaving Pemberwick, my friends had looked to me to fill that role. I was never comfortable taking the lead and making decisions, but somebody had to do it. Now it seemed as though we had connected with someone who welcomed that challenge. I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t a relief to let somebody else be in charge. It was good to know people like Chris Campbell were around to help keep what was left of the world from spinning into chaos.

Halfway along the building we turned into a doorway to find a flight of stairs leading down. There was a cardboard box full of headlamps inside the door. Chris gave one to each of us. We strapped them on and followed him down below.

“This is where most of us sleep,” he explained as we descended. “There’s no telling if those planes will come back at night, but since we know it’s safer underground, we try to stay down here once the sun sets.”

Kent said, “It’s like the opposite of being vampires. We’ve got to hide from the dark.”

“You could put it that way,” Chris said. “It’s creepy, but whatever works for you.”

Kent shut up.

We descended to the lowest level of the building. Anything that had been used to run a market had been cleared out of the long basement and replaced by cots along either wall. I could only see as far as the throw of the LED light from my lamp, but I had to guess that there were at least fifty beds on either side. People had definitely made themselves at home. There were makeshift curtains strung up between now useless floor lamps to create small, private living spaces.

Chris led us between the rows of cots where people slept or read books using their headlamps. Chris’s cowboys must have pulled them from all over the city. Some people had tacked photos to the walls, but mostly the personal items were suitcases or canvas bags that were kept next to the beds.

Many people were quietly sobbing or staring blankly at the ceiling. I had no doubt that their minds had cast back to the life they had lost. It was gut-wrenching.

Finally, Chris stopped at a few unoccupied cots topped with empty sleeping bags.

“I’m afraid it’s coed,” Chris pointed out. “I guess that’s the least of our problems.”

“Speak for yourself,” Olivia sniffed, perturbed.

“Fine by me,” Kent said and dumped Olivia’s giant bag on a cot. He claimed the cot right next to hers.

Tori took the cot on Kent’s other side.

“Lucky me!” he declared, beaming happily. “A Kent sandwich.”

We all ignored him.

I went to the other side of the aisle, just to be away from Olivia. I dropped my bag on a bed next to one that already had somebody’s suitcase at the foot. The cot on the other side of mine was empty, so Jon took it.

“Try not to use the headlamps more than necessary,” Chris warned. “We’ve set up a battery-recharging station, but it gets backed up, and since it’s run by solar power, we’re at the mercy of the sun.”

“Looks like you’ve got it all figured out,” Tori said. It didn’t sound like a compliment.

“We’re trying,” Chris replied. “The food’s pretty good too. We’ve got people scouring the city, and there’s still plenty left that’s fresh. Can’t say how long that’ll last. At least when winter sets in, we’ll have natural refrigeration.”

Hearing that made my heart sink. Winter was on the way, which would add another level of hardship. Days would be short, and there was no heat. More people would surely find their way to the Hall, which meant overcrowding would become an issue. What seemed like a comfortable place to stay and plan our next move might quickly turn into a congested mess.

Once again I had to force myself to deal with the moment and not look too far ahead. The future wasn’t a happy place to be.

“Once you get settled, head over to the building across from this one,” Chris said. “We’ve set up a kitchen and mess hall. Help yourself. Tomorrow we’ll work you into the system and assign you some duties. Everybody is welcome here, but you’re expected to pitch in.”

“No problem,” Jon said enthusiastically. “Whatever you need.”

“Excellent,” Chris replied. “As long as we can rely on one another, we’ll be okay.”

“And live to be old and gray in our little basement commune here in the heart of Boston,” Tori said with fake delight.

“We’re doing the best we can,” Chris said, obviously tweaked by her sarcasm. “Come with me, Tori. You’ve got to get that shoulder looked at.”

“I’m okay,” she said curtly.

Chris softened and said, “I’m just trying to help you out.”

“Don’t be dumb,” I said to Tori with no sympathy. “The last thing you need is an infection.”

Tori was holding in a lot of anger. She didn’t like to be told what to do, especially by someone she didn’t trust… which was everyone. Including me.

“Fine,” she said and stood up, still clutching her bag.

“You can leave that,” Chris said. “The honor system works.”

“Don’t push it,” Tori snarled.

“Suit yourself,” Chris said with a shrug and headed back the way we came in.

Tori hesitated a moment, then followed. We watched them disappear into the darkness, then looked to each other in the light from our headlamps.

“Well,” Olivia said. “This is cozy.” She didn’t mean it.

“I think it’s great,” Jon said as he stretched out on his cot with his hands behind his head. “They’ve thought of everything.”

“I don’t get you, Jon,” I said. “You’re acting like this is some big adventure.”

“Isn’t it?” he replied.

“What’s your deal, Chadwick?” Kent asked. “I mean, who were you before the invasion?”

“There isn’t much to tell you,” Jon answered. “My parents died a while back, and I live alone. Put myself through Bowden on scholarships because I’m exceptionally intelligent. Graduated last year. I have degrees in engineering and chemistry. I was working at the hospital to make ends meet until I decided on what to do with my life. But I’m only twenty-one. There’s no rush.”

“Yeah,” Olivia said sarcastically. “The future looks really rosy. We’ve all got so much to look forward to.”

“That’s it?” Kent asked. “That’s all you have to say about who you are?”

“What do you want to hear?” Jon asked defensively. “You want to know what books I read or what movies I like? You want to know my favorite food? Favorite team? Favorite color? None of that matters anymore, so why even think about it?”

Jon had lashed out so angrily that even Kent backed off. We sat there for a few seconds in silence, while Jon’s words ate at me.

“I think you’re wrong,” I finally said. “I think it does matter. We can’t forget who we were.”

“Unless you didn’t particularly like who you were,” Jon said. “Maybe this is a chance to become somebody new.”

They were simple but stunning words. It could be that for some people the destruction of the human race might actually offer a new beginning. People who were unhappy with their lives were given a chance to start fresh. To reinvent themselves. There was only one catch…

…you had to survive.

“I’m hungry,” Kent announced. “Who’s with me?”

We all were. Olivia, Jon, and I followed him back upstairs, where we deposited our headlamps and headed outside.

Night had fallen. A low, warm glow came from the windows of the long building that ran parallel to the one we had just left. The thought crossed my mind that it might be smart to block off any light coming from the windows that would tip-off the Air Force that people had congregated. Apparently Chris and his cowboys hadn’t thought of everything.

When we entered, we found ourselves in a large restaurant room. Light came from several battery-powered camp lanterns that rested on many of the tables. It wasn’t bright, but it was enough to see by. I guessed there were about thirty people eating. Some sat alone, others huddled in groups. They spoke softly, as if eating in a library.

“Kitchen’s that way,” one guy said to us, pointing.

I led the others through swinging doors and into a kitchen, where we were instantly hit with a wave of delicious smells.

“They’re cooking?” Kent said, surprised.

Other than the fact that the only light source came from strategically placed lanterns, the kitchen looked every bit like a fully functioning restaurant kitchen from before the attack. Two chefs were at stoves that held large pots and pans that were bubbling and steaming.

“It’s gas,” Jon said. “The burners are lit!”

It was a simple yet amazing sight that would have been commonplace only a few weeks before.

“Grab some plates at the end of the line,” a friendly chef called out. “Tonight we’ve got steaks.”

“Steaks!” Kent exclaimed. “You mean, like… real steaks?”

“Where did all this food come from?” I asked.

“You name it,” the chef replied. “We’ve got people scrounging all over the city. Can’t say how long the fresh stuff will last, so get it while you can.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Kent said and hurried toward the food.

We passed through a doorway into a section of the restaurant that was set up to serve the meal. Several people stood behind a long table spread with platters and bowls containing an impossible selection of food. There were salads, mashed potatoes, multiple varieties of rice, corn on the cob, apples, baked potatoes, glazed carrots, multiple varieties of soup, and, yes, steaks. Thick steaks. Juicy, cooked-to-perfection, impossible steaks.

“I think I’m dreaming,” Olivia said with dismay.

I was too hungry to question it. I grabbed a plate, then thought for a second and grabbed another plate. I filled one with potatoes and fruit, and on the other I picked out the heaviest steak I could find.

The servers behind the counter watched us with bemused smiles. At one point I made eye contact with an older woman chef who had been watching me and suddenly felt self-conscious.

“Am I being a pig?” I asked.

“Absolutely not,” she said with a laugh. “If you don’t eat it, somebody else will. Just don’t make yourself sick if you haven’t eaten in a while.”

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take,” I said and continued to load my plate.

The last time I had eaten a hot meal was when we were prisoners in the SYLO camp on Pemberwick Island. How long ago was that? It felt like a lifetime. My stomach thought so too. The smell of food brought on a growl of anticipation.

At the end of the line were juices that actually seemed to be fresh-squeezed. They must ha ve been using up whatever fresh fruit was still around before it went bad. I grabbed a glass of lemonade. This may not have been the greatest meal I had ever eaten, but it sure felt like it.

We claimed a table in the restaurant and ate without a word. Ta lking would have slowed the input. I had to force myself to eat slowly for fear my stomach would reject the tonnage that I was shoveling down. I also didn’t want to look like an animal.

Kent didn’t have the same concern. He ate furiously, shoving in whatever he could balance on a fork. Jon wasn’t much better. Olivia ate too. I’d never seen a girl gorge the way she did. At one point we made eye contact, and she gave me an embarrassed smile… before letting out a deep boomer of a belch.

We both laughed and continued to chow.

At one point the lady server came up and stood over our table.

“I see we have some healthy appetites here,” she said warmly. “Don’t be shy about going for seconds.”

The words were barely out of her mouth before Kent and Jon were on their feet and racing each other back to the kitchen.

“Somebody’s going to get sick,” Olivia said. “It might be me.”

“You wouldn’t be alone,” the woman said. “Newcomers are always overindulging. It’s human nature.”

“This is incredible,” I said. “I mean, it’s a feast.”

“Some days are better than others,” the woman said. “Everyone has something to offer. It’s amazing what can be accomplished when your sole purpose is to take care of one another. Enjoy.”

The woman moved on to another table to see how they were enjoying their meal.

“I could get used to this,” Olivia said as she bit into a perfectly ripe tomato, the dark red juice running down her chin.

“It’s not bad,” I had to admit.

“It’s all so… civilized,” Tori said with disdain as she sat down at the table with a plate of food. Her bag was draped over her shoulder.

“What did the doctor say?” I asked.

“Not much. He pulled off the bandage, grunted as if it was exactly what he expected to see, put a few drops of antibiotic or something on the wound, wrapped me back up with fresh gauze, and sent me on my way. He didn’t even look me in the eye. Now I know what a dog feels like at the veterinarian. No, I take that back. At least a dog gets a pat on the head.”

“He’s probably exhausted from treating so many patients,” Olivia offered.

“No. He just didn’t care. What’s with the feast? Are these people living in denial or what?”

“They’re making the best of a bad situation,” I offered.

“They should spend less time getting comfortable and start worrying a little more about how to stop this from happening again.”

She put her head down and ate. A lot.

I said, “You’ve been doing nothing but criticizing these people, but you sure take advantage of what they’ve got to offer.”

Tori didn’t look at me. She said, “Why not? I’m not stupid. But as soon as I’m back up to speed, I’m out of here… with or without you people.”

That was it. Tori was headed for Nevada. Maybe it was the right thing to do, I didn’t know. I needed time to sort out my own thoughts. My only consolation was that she needed some time to heal. Maybe by the time she was ready to leave, I would be too.

After eating, we went back to our subterranean barracks. We were given towels and directed to makeshift showers that were erected in the bathrooms. They were nothing more than hoses stretched across the ceilings with nozzles that dangled overhead. The water was cold but welcome. It wasn’t until I was nearly finished that I realized how incredible it was that the water was still running. Just like the gas in the restaurant. The people who had survived to meet up in the Hall were a resourceful group.

When I got back to my bunk, I found that my neighbor had returned and lay on his cot reading. He was a gray-haired guy who looked as though he may have been athletic at one time, but the clock had caught up with him.

“I’m Tucker Pierce,” I said, holding out my hand to shake. “Sorry to crowd you like this.”

“Jim Hardimon,” the guy said as he shook my hand. “You’re not bothering me. Plenty of people have come and gone already, you’re just the next.”

“How long have you been here?” I asked.

“Since the day after the attack. I was in my basement that night, working on the furnace. I complained about having to fix that cranky old thing but it ended up saving my life.”

“How did you end up here?” I asked.

“I drove into the city from Brookline, figuring I might find some people. I stumbled on this group and helped set the place up, you know, changing it from a tourist trap into a camp of sorts.”

“You all did an incredible job,” I said.

“Good enough, I suppose. Most of the credit goes to Chris Campbell. He really took the bull by the horns and organized us all. Good man.”

I glanced over to Tori to see if she was hearing Jim’s story. She was pretending not to be listening.

“What happens next for you?” I asked.

He shrugged and said, “That depends on what this is all about. Somebody must have won this war. All I know is that it wasn’t the people of Boston. I figure we’ll find out sooner or later. Until then, I’m staying right here. I got no family. Anybody I care about is gone. I can’t imagine finding a better place to be living, given the hand we’ve been dealt. Can you?”

“No,” I replied while glancing at Tori. “Considering all that happened, this place is pretty sweet.”

“I’m going to milk it until, well, until somebody tells me otherwise. Gotta look out for number one, you know. I suggest you do the same.”

With that, Jim rolled over to go to sleep.

I looked at Tori. She glared at me and turned away.

I suddenly felt dead tired. It had been a long, eventful day. I went to sleep with the hope that the next day would break with tradition and be totally boring.

When I woke up, I checked my new watch. Five _a._m. At home I could sleep until noon. Those days were long gone. I was wideawake and knew I couldn’t force myself to konk out again, so I got up to do a little exploring.

It was still dark outside, though the sky was beginning to lighten. Dawn was normally alive with the chirping of early birds vying for their daily worms. I did hear the chirrups of a few random birds, but nothing like normal. At least it meant that a few of them had survived.

I also heard the sound of a running engine. It was the only sign of human life, so I followed it. The noise brought me to the far end of the building that housed the restaurant we had eaten in.

When I rounded the corner, I saw a large delivery truck idling near the back doors. Several people were hard at work unloading it. They carried out boxes of fresh vegetables, bushels of fruit, and at least five sides of beef. These were the scroungers who combed Boston for the food needed to feed our little colony. They probably searched every square inch of the town so that nothing would go to waste. It was good to see that there was still some fresh food around.

I was about to head back to the barracks when I saw another vehicle approach—a bus. It was big, the kind that people used to travel long distances. It pulled up beyond the truck that was being off-loaded and stopped. What was it doing there? Dropping off the next crop of survivors? When the bus door opened, I saw that it was empty. So what was it doing?

My answer came when a door opened at the end of the building and a line of people walked out, single file, headed for the idling vehicle. One of the cute girls who had processed us when we arrived appeared at the door of the bus, holding a clipboard. Was it Gigi? Or Ashley? I couldn’t remember. She stood at the vehicle entrance and made a notation on her clipboard as each person boarded.

The passengers were mostly men, but I did see a few women. They didn’t seem particularly excited about going wherever it was they were going. They dutifully waited their turn, gave their name to Gigi or Ashley, and boarded the bus. There was no conversation. No pleasantries. No personality to the event at all.

Five minutes later, the door to the bus closed, and the vehicle pulled out. The girl stayed behind and walked to the building, where she was met by… Chris Campbell. He checked the clipboard, took her pen, and made a note at the bottom, then handed it back to her. Without a word, they both went on their way.

I don’t know why the event bothered me. Maybe it was because I couldn’t come up with a logical explanation for what had happened. Or maybe because it looked like the people were being treated like numbers on a list.

It was something I needed to ask Chris about. But not just then. I wanted to have people around me when I brought it up because I had the weird feeling that I had seen something I wasn’t supposed to.