The World We Live In | 𝚃. 𝙾𝚃𝚃𝙾 ♤

Chapter 3

Cristine headed to the pantry after she left the infirmary to get ammunition for her gun. It was a bustling day, and everyone was busy one way or another. She passed the half-open tent where the younger community members had their afternoon classes before their chores. It made Cristine smile. Seeing the lined tables with the tiny human beings listening attentively to their teacher explaining the chalkboard almost felt like the world hadn't ended. Incorporating structure and system for their children was Jake's idea, and it was met with a lot of support from their parents. It wasn't just to gain a sense of normalcy or distraction from the outside; it was about teaching them the basics of survival and practical knowledge for the future. If they were going to maneuver through the madness of the new world, educating their youngest was one of the steps. The Survivalists were intelligent enough to choose a path of self-sustainment. Something even Cristine still didn't know as extensively herself, but she was a quick learner herself. She had to be and passing on that knowledge to their people; their younger ones was key. Seeing people walk in and out of the pantry with supplies and materials, Cristine made a little sprint down the stairs. She breezed through the entrance, heading in a straight beeline for the armament. The militia made a few adjustments to the barred caged. It could now house one person in charge of keeping track of every bullet and gun they owned for safety measures. With the few new people came stricter rules, and the system for a lot of stuff changed. Everything had to be accounted for, especially when it came to guns and medical supplies. Someone from the militia usually kept track of the weaponry. At the same time, one of the medics did the inventory for the medicine. When it came to the guns and ammo, everyone's name was recorded near the beginning and end of the day by either Troy, Cooper, or Blake.

"Alright. Here are your weapon and two boxes of ammo." Cristine heard his voice before she could see him and swallowed with slight anticipation. Avoiding the stream of people going in and out to gather their usual tools and equipment for their chores on the land, Cristine stood in the short line. Running her thumb up and down underneath the rough material of her knapsack's loop, she patiently waited her turn. She started to chew on her lower lip. "Make sure you don't squander them. Our ammo is plentiful, but we don't waste it. Got that?"

"Yes, sir." The militia member, clad in his uniform, answered religiously after the comment of his leader. After the militiamen finished writing his check-in, Cristine tipped her head down in silent greeting at his respectful nod. She walked up to the counter of the secured wire storage partition. He'd just turned to secure the rifles that just got in. Cristine took a minute to stare at his back and noticed that he was still wearing his lighter uniform and not his full attire when going out for a run.

"He must've pulled through the night," Cristine thought to herself and unclipped the gun and holster from her hip and placed it on top of the half-open counter of the caged booth. The sound of her dropping the metal grabbed his attention after he fastened one of the AKs and twisting his head. Troy's serious expression fell flat only to relax when registering who it was. Showing him a closed-lip smile with her arms crossed, Cristine pushed her gun forward, much to Troy's judging stare over the fact that she hadn't brought it back. "I forgot to check in because of my long shift. But since I'll be going out in a couple of hours, you could write my name down for today again?" Her request came out as a question at the end.

"Huh." The sound leaving Troy's mouth was an unimpressed one. His turtle face showed that he wasn't going to let it slide either. Not when it came to rules he set in place. Cristine groaned and removed her cap. Troy feigned browsing through the clipboard's paper sheets and heard him mutter some irrelevant names on the list to search for hers. Cristine tapped her left boot on the stone surface and scratched the side of her temple. This was ridiculous.

"Troy-"

"Here we go. Cristine Gerrard checked in yesterday at 1800 hours. I see you picked your usual, the Glock 17." Troy wasn't going to let this slide, so Cristine endured. She listened to the man talking about the gun its stats, taking it for himself to examine the handgun compact handgun. "Produced in 1982 in Austria. When this one first came out, people were concerned about how durable and reliable it would be. Eventually, the Glock became the most profitable product line, and they supplied these in more than 48 countries."