I pointed one out to Robert, who slowed down the ATV.
“What does it mean?” he asked.
“One of them says, ‘…tine,’” I said. “Like quarantine?”
“I’m following it then,” he said.
“At this point, what if it’s been abandoned with weird cult people who drink cat urine to stay alive? Or something worse. Like Libertarians.”
“I’m going to be impressed that they found a way to farm cats,” he said. “And thank you for making that a very real thing in my mind.”
“Which thing? The cult or Libertarians?”
“Both.”
And so we sped on.
The signs led us to yet another site, another large tent surrounded by more chainmail link fencing. More people huddled, more mud, wearing sad dirty ponchos. The sight of it alone made me deflate.
“These are our options now,” I said. “Being ushered like cattle or urine cabins.”
“Maybe they’ll have sandwiches,” he said.
I had to nod. That sounded awesome.
He pulled in through the slightly open gate and was immediately stopped by a security guard.
He stared at us through a shielded helmet. “Number please?”
“Excuse me?” Robert asked.
“Your quarantine number,” he said. “The one you were issued to get in.”
Robert looked at me.
I pulled out my bag and withdrew the green bracelet issued at the last point. “Does this mean anything? The green group?”
The guard looked at it, almost shocked.
“You were at the West Quarantine?” he asked.
Robert nodded. “Just a few days ago.”
“How did you escape?” he asked.
We both stared at him.
“Excuse me?” I asked.
“We heard that the quarantine was taken down,” he said. “Our communication went out, but we expected some of our guys to come back from there. And they didn’t.” He took a deep breath. “Bunch of people got released into a storm of acid rain. Some punks tore the place apart looking for some girl.”
“Why didn’t you just call them?” Robert asked.
I leaned forward. “The communication was down,” I whispered into his ear.
“Does that mean we still can’t use the phone?”
I ignored the statement. “Is there room for us inside?”
The guard handed me back the bracelet. “Go right in,” he said. “You might as well stay, but who knows how long we have here.”
“Thanks, officer,” Robert said.
“Oh, I’m not an officer.” He shrugged.
Robert flared up the engine again, but the guard held up his hand. “You can’t bring that in here,” he said. “Uh, in fact, it’s ours now.”
Robert was visibly disappointed, but obeyed by dismounting. I watched as the “not an officer” took the ATV and drove off with it, laughing into the distance.
We walked into the tented area, which was packed with people, huddled cold and obviously low on optimism. Someone shoved a bundle into my arms. I looked down and saw it was a blanket.
“Find a spot,” the uniformed voice said. “Anywhere you can. We’re going to be sealing off the area as soon as the sun goes down.”
Someone handed a blanket to Robert. He stared at it like he’d never seen one before, but reluctantly took it. He held it to himself and then took in his surroundings. He groaned.
“Not in the mud,” he said. “I’m so sick of mud.”
“Well, there was a house with someone dead inside you could go back to,” I said.
He stared me down. “Remind me to put that comment in your review.”
“Ha,” I said. “Good to see your sense of humor’s still around.”
He turned away and started to walk. So I trailed after him because I didn’t know where else to go or stand. At least walking with him wouldn’t make me seem like such an outcast amongst all these people.
We walked the length of the area, which was full of families, crying children and huddled groups that were either getting to know each other or up to no good. A line for food had snaked its way around us.
“We are out of plates!” someone shouted. “You will not be issued one if you don’t have one already.”
A very loud synchronized groan went up from the entire group standing in line.
We ended up settling toward the back end of the tent next to a power generator, squeezed in between two families. Robert smiled at them, but I kept my gaze to the floor. I sunk to it and dropped my bag next to me.
“You folks from anywhere around here?” I gave them an overly big smile, knowing they would know I was trying way too hard.
The mother shook her head while the rest of the family ignored me.
“Want anything?” Robert asked.
“Water,” I said. “I would love some water.”
He nodded. “I’ll see what I can do.” He winked. “Don’t go away. I’m coming back for you.”
I winked back. He dashed off.
I took the blanket and shoved it under my head like a pillow. I let my eyes close, but when I opened them again, I saw a boy, maybe fourteen, walking off with my bag.
“Hey!” I said.
Either the kid didn’t hear me or chose to ignore me. I jumped up and followed him, quickly matching his pace.
“Hey!”
The kid started to run, tightly clutching my bag. So I ran after him. I had nothing of real value in there. It was just the principal of the matter. That was mine. It was the only thing I had left in the world, and I was getting shown up by some junior high punk.
I caught up with him and jerked the bag.
“Hey!” I said again.
The kid seemed surprised and tried to stare me down.
“Hey yourself,” he said. “Let go!”
“This isn’t yours, and you know it,” I said, gripping the straps even tighter.
The kid tried to jerk it away. “It is mine. My aunt gave it to me.”
“Really?” I asked. “Then maybe you can tell me what’s in it.”
“Uh…Skittles.” The kid jerked even harder, but I was stronger.
“Let it go,” I said. “Try stealing from someone your own age.”
A woman stared at us. “What are you doing with that child?” she asked.
“Nothing,” I said, holding fast. “There’s some confusion on what belongs to who.”
Three other women joined her. “Are you stealing a child’s belongings?” another woman asked.
“No.” I was defensive. “I’m not. It’s quite the opposite.”
The kid started to cough. “I don’t feel well.”
The women gasped. “You’re harassing a sick child?”
“How is this going to affect his self-esteem?” the third woman shrieked.
A hand came down on my shoulder. I looked up without loosening my grip. A man stood over me. He was handsome and had kind, soft features despite his gaunt and sad sack appearance.
“Miss, I’m going to ask—” He stopped. “It’s you.”
I stared at him. “Jake,” I said.
He cocked his head. “What are you doing here?”
“I could ask the same about you,” I said. “I’m more surprised that you’re in town than just in this tent.”
Jake swallowed hard and took a deep breath.
Jake, that is, my ex-Jake, and I had history. Some people would classify as our current Apocalypse as their worst phase of life ever. Mine was actually three years prior.
Five years earlier, we were engaged, and I had never felt happier, healthier or smarter. We had a future, we had a plan, but it didn’t work out. He woke up one day, stopped taking his meds and it was downhill from there. The last time I saw him was around one am when he had pulled up in front of my apartment, truck packed with his belongings. He wasn’t himself, but I thought it was a phase, so when he gave me an ultimatum, I didn’t take it seriously. He disappeared into the night, and I didn’t hear from him again. Afterward, I hit an emotional bottom, doing the one thing I didn’t want, not being hungry for my favorite foods and calling my parents—a first in five years. Despite that, I came back stronger, at least strong enough to weather through a three-year relationship with a man I had passionately mild feelings for.