If you wanted to have anything, or do anything, you had to have a one on twelve meeting with the council. They were the only ones who could allow you to leave the camp or allow you an extra share of that month’s rations. Typically, they were unreasonable, unwilling to let you leave if you weren’t a member of the hunting team. They said it was for the camp’s safety, that those who left were more than skilled to deal with what was going on outside the walls and those who didn’t weren’t equipped mentally or physically to handle themselves. But if you did manage to convince them to let you leave, or let you have more food than someone else, you had to work for it – do twice as many chores around the camp as you otherwise would, miss out on a couple of meals, or worse, sign up for bait duty.
Val hated assigning that last one. The looks of dread the people would give when their leader, Greg, would sigh and tell them that the only way he could allow ‘something as outrageous as that’ would be if they put their name on a list that would surely result in their death, or very close to it. But he only had half a vote, could only make so much noise. Having the loudest voice and firmest hand apparently had its ups.
The woman before them that day wouldn’t stop arguing with Greg though. She started screaming at him that bait duty was for morons who couldn’t pull their weight in another way. She was new to the camp, had little to no experience with the rules. At one point she volunteered to go hunting, saying that she’d surprised them and bring back twice as much game as the rest of their hunters.
“We have more than enough hunters.” Greg said, his arms resting on the long table. “We don’t need any more.”
“Then let me do something else! I’ll be dammed if I let you send me out their like a piece of meat.”
Back when he had first joined the camp, Val had been forced into being bait. You would be thrust outside the walls, forced to make as much noise as possible, then run around the barriers of the walls while those on the wall would take down as many of the dead as possible. If you were lucky you wouldn’t have runners chase you, just the slower kind, the hobblers, or crawlers. But if you were unlucky, you’d get a fast one sprint behind you, arms dangling useless at its side until it got close enough to grab you by your hair or clothes and tackle you to the ground. Having people be bait wasn’t for the better of the camp, it was a sick game so that Greg could identify who was strong and who was weak. He’d seen plenty of smart people eaten because they weren’t fast or strong enough.
Greg glared at the woman before them, lowering one hand under the desk to grab the gun he stashed on the underside. “Are you saying that you’re unwilling to do your duty as a citizen here?”
She seemed to get angrier with every word that left the leader’s mouth. “No. I’m saying, that you have a shit ton of nerve to think you can send me out there and not expect me to rip your dick off in the middle of the night.” Greg had her removed from the room after that, shouting after her that she still had a chance in the safe zone as long as she completed a day of bait duty and didn’t mouth off again. She was put in a cell for the night.
At the end of the day, Val made sure to have a talk with Greg. “What do you think you’re doing?” He hissed under his breath so no one else could hear them.
“I’m exerting my dominance.”
“That’s bullshit. We’re not animals man, we don’t just throw people out there because they spoke their mind or asked to go hunting.” Greg narrowed his eyes, and leaned into Val’s personal space.
“If you would like, I could send you out there too old man, so go ahead, keep trying to tell me that how I’m leading this group is wrong.” He leaned back to look Val in the eyes. “I have done everything I can to keep this town safe, I have let you off with a warning on more than enough occasions.”
Val stood there silently and waited for Greg to leave the room. He kicked his chair across the room once he was alone. “Asshole.” He hissed at the door Greg had left through. The man could think that he was protecting the group, pulling his weight by keeping everyone on their toes and enforcing the rules, but all he did was cause everyone to fear and hate him. Not even his soldiers or his very own wife could stand to look at him. He was one of the few people that some would say were built for a world in shambles, that he couldn’t function in a world where everything went right.
He went back to house late that night. “What are you still doing here?” He dropped his coat and keys on the front table, startling the young man leaned over a table, a desk lamp illuminating him and the box of metal he was working on. Val had originally been the only doctor in the entire safe zone for a while before they started collecting a bunch of other people who also had a medical or otherwise background, so he was one of the few people who had their own office and lab. He often let the kids of the camp come in and do experiments or use his tools to work on little projects. Maverick frequented his office the most.
“I’m almost done with this!” The boy said excitedly. He sat down, then stood back up, paced around, and sat back down again. He always seemed to be a weird one.
“Okay, well, if you leave, lock up, I’m going to bed.”
“Goodnight.” The boy said, moving the light on the desk to illuminate more of the box.
“Night.”
He could hear and see the boy tinkering around with whatever that box was until way later than he should’ve been before he grabbed it, turned off the lights, and left the building.
Safe Zone #6 had originally been quarantined by the American military, but was soon left to its own devices. The original walls had blocked off a block of New Orleans streets, including some little shops, a few apartment buildings, and a restaurant or two. When Greg and his original group of ten had taken it over, they expanded it a few feet on every side. As more and more people joined the zone the borders were extended farther and farther out, giving them as much space as possible. Most people who held class-A jobs; doctors, mechanics, cooks, and teachers got their own house and sometimes their own buildings (like Val had). Those who were less needed, i.e. class-B workers; historians to record the events, bankers, and luxury services workers lived in the apartment buildings, usually getting their own rooms. If you had no special skill and didn’t work you either lived on the streets or shared rooms with five to ten people.
If you walked along the streets of the Safe Zone you’d see the rusted remnants of the street car tracks, manhole covers that were screwed tightly shut, and sewer drains that were bared off. They had spared no expense. Every entrance and exit to the camp was heavily guarded or completely blocked off. The only way in or out was through the main gate and that had at least two henchmen guarding it at all times, one of the ground, one on the wall, watching for biters. There were times where you’d think the zone felt like a home, but majority of the time it felt like a prison with no chance of escape.
Part of Val wanted to leave, to take his chance outside the walls, but the other part of him, the reasonable part, was shouting that he’d die in a week. He had only spent a day on his own after everything started when Greg scooped him up and drug him across the country until finally settling on the Safe Zone. He had been lucky. At least that’s what he told himself.
The next morning he learned that Maverick had asked something extreme of Greg. He had asked to go on a scouting mission for some parts that he needed to finish his ‘project’. He barely had time to harness his weapons in his belt and get dressed before he knew he had to be at the council’s quarters. Maverick was already standing there, in front of the table, the metal box from the night before in his hands. Val stared at him, taking his seat, and looking over to Greg. The man was smiling. “What is this again?”
“A radio. It’s almost working, it just needs a transmitter.” He said seriously, dialing down his usual perky personality that Val had gotten used to. “There’s a RadioShack nearby, I saw it a while ago, if I can just get to it, then I can finish this.”
Greg ran his hand over his face, still grinning at the boy, in that predatory type of way. “And why are you so keen on finishing this…art project.”
Maverick got defensive in all the wrong ways. He took a step forward, gripping the box, and raised his voice. “It’s not an art project, if I can get this working than maybe I can contact the other Safe Zones, I have all of their channels, the military left a list on them here, I can-,”
“No matter. You can go.” Greg took a sip of his water, not taking his eyes off the Maverick as he grinned and relaxed. He bowed, explaining that he’d go the next morning, and he wouldn’t forget the opportunity given to him. “But,” Greg said, setting his water glass down. “You will go today. And you will do so after completing a three hour bait duty.” Val’s jaw went slack and he glared at the man. “You will complete this duty and leave for the parts you requested and you will return tonight. If you do not, suffer the consequences.”
“But. Sir, I, the last time,”
“Yes, the last time you nearly died, I remember. You were ten and you tripped. I was the one who saved your life. I am giving you a fair deal. The reason I instill these duties on those who ask for these things, for these privileges, is so that people will stay inside these walls. I am keeping my community safe. Asking to leave is an insult to me and the entire council, you must suffer the consequences.”
Maverick looked like he had been stabbed, multiple times. He glanced at Val, who was trying not to stare at Greg with that ‘are you kidding me’ look. The boy was pleading silently for him to lessen the punishment, to get him put on dish duty or something menial like that. Val almost kept his mouth shut, until Maverick started to be led out of the room. “You bastard Greg.” He said. The other man raised his brow and looked at him, challenging him to continue. “The kid didn’t even ask for that much, and you feed him to the god damned hobblers!”
“Don’t forget about the runners, they’re the ones that have the highest mortality rate.”
“You heartless prick. What’s with you lately, you keep signing people up for their deaths, why? So you can feel powerful, so you can fulfill your stupid little god complex? Get over yourself. You’re treating these people like prisoners, yet you constantly say that they are like your family. You don’t feed your family to monsters.” He hadn’t realized he was spitting until the man next to him wiped the side of his face with a look of disgust. Not many people yelled at Greg. Not many people yelled. It was much better to stay quiet.
Greg pushed his glasses up, and cast a look over at Val. The helpless boy standing in the middle of the room was soon forgotten, and the man’s attention was turned on his colleague. “I have known you for roughly five years now, and I have done nothing but give, and give, and give to you. And all you do is question my actions and my leadership.” He stood, walking around the table and towards Maverick. “This is the second person you’ve openly argued with me about putting on bait duty. It is a rite of passage, no matter how many times you’ve done it, how old you are, or how long you’ve been with the group. Tell me Val, how old are you?”
“Forty-three.”
“And how many times have I put you out there with those…things.”
“Twice.”
“Only twice? Well that’s a shame. We’ll make it thrice.”
It was like being hit in the face with a brick. “You’ll what?” He growled.
The man sighed, walking away from the boy and back up to the table. He rested his hands on the tabletop and leaned towards his fellow council member. “You can join the people you care for so much, just this once, and maybe you’ll think about going against my word again. You’re not terribly old, Mr. Stephens still voluntarily goes out once a month and he’s in his fifties. You’ll do just fine.” He leaned away and walked out of the room, waving his hand and saying something only tangible by his guards, as he went.
And that was why Val was standing at the gate at noon, with his gun stripped from him, his knife hidden in his boot, and three kids at his side. There was Maverick, who was pale as a sheet, ready to vomit, the woman from the night before who looked more like she was going slit someone’s throat than anything, and another young woman who looked like she was either blind or in so much shock that she couldn’t function anymore.
Yan, the leader of the wall team, was the one preparing them for the run. It was always the same speech. “When you get there you’re going to have to immediately start running, the bells on your wrists and ankles should make enough noise to draw a good batch of ‘em over near the wall, if you’re feeling adventurous, start yelling and even more should come by. Be careful out there, you each will be offered a hammer if you’d like some additional protection.” He looked at the group, and added one last thing that he seemed to develop over the years. “Please, just be careful. I’d really hate to clean your bodies up. ‘Specially you Val.” He patted the man on the shoulder. Val nodded.
The question that was on majority of the people’s minds, was why they still needed to do this. Originally it had been a way to spread the biters out, so they didn’t put too much pressure on one part of the wall and wear it down. But over the years the walls had been reinforced multiple times and could handle the force of a speeding truck without collapsing. Bait duty had become solely a punishment or payment to the council. But Greg would say that it was their duty to wean out the number of dead walking around, to lessen the impact they would have on the ‘poor souls who had yet to find solace within their sturdy walls’. It was a big ol’ pot of bullshit and the community had eaten it up.
No longer did people question the rash decisions their leader was making, most of them just embraced them as is and went with the flow. Those who did speak up were given a gun, a weeks’ worth of food, and sent on their way, told that if they could not respect the council and its members than they would be better off outside the walls of the Safe Zone.
All of it was bullshit. Those in power knew that. Yan knew it, Val knew it, and even Greg himself knew it.
The gate began to open and the hammers were all passed out. Val gripped his with enough strength to turn his knuckles white. He wasn’t going to die, not out there. Not by the hand of that mad man.
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