Tent City (7 page)

“So, who do you think it is down there?” Kit whispers, glancing at Brody.

“I don’t know, could be anyone. Could be members of The Council, could be murderers and rapists…could be anybody.”

“Or, it could be people like us,” she says.

“I’ve considered that, but I don’t think so. I know some must know about what’s going on with the relocation camps, but they wouldn’t have known long enough for them to set up camp that way. I mean, did you see it? It looks like they’ve been there for months. And even if a few did find out what was going on, there’s no way that many could have found out. Could they?”

“Wouldn’t it be wild if that
was
the relocation camp? No one said it was going to be on a fancy compound. It could be anywhere,” Kit says.

I’d never even considered that. I sneak out of the bag and search through the packs looking for the radio. Thankfully, it has not been water damaged.  It takes me a while to find a station, but then I find something on the AM waves.

A woman sounds as if she is being interviewed. I’m not sure what question was asked, but she goes on to say, “Things have been bad for a long time and now they’re only getting worse. I don’t know how they think they can get away with this, but we’ll fight back. They can’t take our kids. First they’ve taken our freedom and then our homes…this is just too much.” I can hear her sobbing and then the airwaves go blank again.

“Wow,” Kit says.

“Yeah, so much for being the first ones to know.”

“Something underground?” Kit asks.

“Must be. The Council would never allow criticism on public radio.” I fiddle with it some more, but just get dead space.

I go to put the radio back and find the envelope with the letter my dad has written and I’m heartbroken. It’s completely ruined. The moisture from the packs has leaked through to the dry areas. I might as well have dipped it into the river myself.

I try to unfold it, but doing so only damages it more. The ink smudges are like a slap in the face for not putting it in a safer place. It could have been the last thing I ever heard from him and now I don’t even have that. Why didn’t I just read it when I had the chance?

“What is it?” Kit asks.

“It was a letter from my dad. It’s ruined. Now I’ll never know what it said!” I bite the inside of my cheek to try and stifle the tears and Kit puts her arm around me, but I just shake her off. “It’s fine. Let’s just get some sleep.”

She doesn’t push it any further. We’re both exhausted and sleep is beckoning. I go back to the sleeping bag to seek some comfort by the sweet boy who seems to be the only thing keeping me going.

I hear the snap of a twig and my eyes are instantly open, but by then it’s too late. I see someone standing above me in a ski mask with a gun. Not far behind him I see two more figures. They don’t look friendly. I start to move, trying to get out of my bag slowly, so as not to startle him.

“Stay where you are,” he says, not moving the gun.

He towers over us and I find myself wondering again why Mom and Dad thought it would be safer for us out here. That’s two guns pointed at us in two days.

“Listen mister, I don’t want any trouble. Please lower your gun,” I say.

He doesn’t move, but just then Brody pops his head out of the bag and the gun drops down.

“Jeeze, what the hell do you think you’re doing bringing a kid here!” he asks.

Kit is awake and fully alert by now and she starts to stand.

“Who are you?” she asks. She gets out of her bag and starts removing leaves from her hair.

“I think I’ll ask the questions,” he says. “What are your intentions up here in these woods?”

“What’s with the masks?” she says, ignoring his questions. “Are you guys some sort of vigilantes?”

I can see this is going nowhere. There’s no sense in hiding anything so I start to just tell him everything, even though his wearing a mask and carrying a gun makes me uncomfortable.

I just need to get him to trust us enough so we can get out of here, and I can get Brody as far away from that gun as possible.

I tell him about how our family owns some of this land, and some of the cabins, and we’re just here to escape The Council, and that’s when he stops me.

“What do you know about The Council?” he demands.

I tell him what I know from the information I got from Uncle Randy and he nods to one of the figures behind him who is still wearing the mask. One of them seems to be a man, and one looks to be built like a woman.

“Shit,” he finally says, and the woman steps forward. She pulls off her mask and I hear him make a dissatisfied grunting sound at her.

“What?” she asks. “They obviously already know we’re here. They’ve got a location. What are we supposed to be hiding now? Our identity? Do you think we could just politely ask them to leave and just hope for the best? The way I see it, they have two choices: they can either join up or we can kill them.”

“What do you mean join up?” I divert, hoping to quickly move pass the ‘kill them’ part.

“I take it you’ve already seen camp?” he asks. Our faces give it away and he doesn’t wait for a response.

“Well, all right then,” he begins, and he removes his mask.

“We might as well take you back. Load up your stuff.”

I know he’s still talking, but I’m too distracted by his face to hear what he’s saying. I was expecting some sort of ruffian with a long beard and missing teeth, certainly not this. He has blond hair that’s overgrown in a way that indicates that he once probably kept it short and trimmed.

I imagine he probably looked very good with the short cut, but somehow the long locks seem to fit him too. His skin is tan, probably from hours spent outdoors building the camp. His eyes are green and hard with distrust. Kit’s already making small talk with him, which seems to irritate the girl.
 

We pack up the wheelers and our little makeshift camp and follow them back to what looks like a tent city. Brody seems to be looking a little better this morning and I breathe a sigh of relief.

I have mixed feelings about this new situation. What did they mean by join up? I certainly did not intend to come here and have hundreds of other people around, but maybe there is strength in numbers.

Maybe it would be best to lay low here for a while with other people who could help hunt and fish. I know Kit would be happier in a community than up here on our own.

I couldn’t help but feel a little hope that maybe our situation was getting a little better, but I also worried that if there were so many of us up here in these Hills, we might be easier to spot and easier to find. Not to mention, harder to feed once winter hit.

As we come into camp legitimately this time, I see things I didn’t notice before. For one, the people are everywhere. They all watch us with wary eyes as we stroll into camp. The most astonishing thing probably is that they ALL seem to be teenagers. Why are they here? As I look around, careful not to keep eye contact with any one person for too long, I notice an entire camp life.

It doesn’t look nearly as dirty as it should. There are dozens of campfires already going with smells of fresh game cooking over the open flames. Clusters of kids are carrying water up to what looks like a communal watering hole, not much different from the cattle troughs at home.

As clean as the camp appears though, the kids seem generally soiled. Not the living in the street dirty, but the having to bathe outdoors every day kind. Their clothes are dingy, probably from washing in rainwater and not enough soap.

But I see something else too. They look healthy. Their faces are glowing. Their cheeks are not sunken in like a lot of people’s are since the locusts. These people not only seem to be surviving, but thriving.

The blonde guy motions for us to enter what is actually our cabin and I’m hesitant to leave all of our stuff outside, sure it will be stolen or rummaged through. He sees my apprehension and tells the woman to guard the wheelers while we enter the cabin. I can’t say it makes me feel much better.

“Do you want me to have someone look after him while we talk?” He seems sincere enough, as he motions to Brody, especially since he no longer has a gun pointed at my face, but the memory has not quite cleared.

“Um, no he’s fine with me,” I say.

“Suit yourself,” he shrugs, as we walk in.

When I go in, it seems much smaller than I remember. It’s got two rooms in it. The one that is to the left would be the bedroom where Mom and Dad always slept. In the other bigger room is the kitchen and dining room that has the pullout sofa my brother Drake and I shared.

The last time I was here must have been when I was eight and he was six. Bunk beds were added, which seemed to crowd the room, as well as lots of plastic garbage bags of what appear to be clothing. The lighting was poor, as the only light in here is from a small window. I guess there’s no electricity here.

Kit, blonde guy, and I sit around the table and I get out Brody’s train and airplane for him to play with. He seems shy about taking them, but I assure him it’s okay. He sits down quietly by my feet, just the way he likes to sit by Mom’s.

The next hour seems to be a game of show and tell, each competing to get our questions answered first.

“So, this Randy, he’s pretty high up you say?” he asks again.

“Yes, but that’s not important. How long have you been here?” I ask again.

“So, you don’t know where he’s stationed now?” he asks back.

“Do you have to purify the water when you bring it up?”

He makes a noise that sounds much like a growl before saying, “We can discuss him later…maybe when it’s more private.”

He tells us this place has 114 residents, 117 if we choose to stay. I am surprised by this. With the massive amounts of tents, I imagined the number to be much higher.

He says there have been quite a few deaths, which is why the numbers are lower. I assume it’s due to starvation or illness just like everywhere else, but I can’t help but remember how healthy they all looked.

He goes on about how much of a community they are, and how they all pull together to get the work done and help each other survive.

He tells me everyone here has either lost their families due to death, or been kicked out due to starvation. He goes on and on about how wonderful it is here and then asks if we want to join the community.

I can’t help but feel wary of this. I feel like there’s something he’s hiding. He’s very charismatic and I find myself getting lost in his green eyes. Kit doesn’t seem to have any of the apprehensions I do, but that doesn’t surprise me at all.

“So what is the point of all of this?” I finally ask.

“What do you mean? The point of all what?” says the blond guy, whose name is Bentley.

“What is this camp? Survival? Nowhere else to go? I mean now what, when they find out about the relocation camps?”

“Truth is,” he starts, “I’ve known about that for a while. I haven’t let the others know yet, but that’s an even bigger reason to stand together. We’re strong in numbers.”

“And also much more visible.”

“True. But we’ll manage. We always do. And we’re just gonna have to be more careful now. So what do ya say?” He looks to Kit and me for a response to a question I don’t feel like answering.

He seems to be getting annoyed by my lack of enthusiasm.

“What about Brody?” I ask.

“Well,” he says, “we don’t usually allow kids in here of that age, but I don’t see any other choice. Probably going to be some people upset about that. I’ve had to turn some away because they wanted to bring their little brothers or sisters in, but you guys are here and technically this is your place.”