Cookie Chronicles

Exclusion and Persistence

Winter caused a crisp vapor to emit from the breathe of the living. Every once in a while, a light drizzle of snow would fall, however, the weather remained unpredictable in Northwest Arkansas. In the Progressive Clan, in which life consisted mostly outdoors, there were roughly 90 survivors.  This clan was located in the Roger's Mall; those who populated this clan, and the few who brought this clan to the state it was in, built hefty, concrete walls; walls that served as a separation from outsiders, including the infected. This Clan rarely welcomed new members. Why sacrifice the sanctity of life that they have worked so hard to preserve?

"Everyone come get your wool blankets! I just finished knitting the final few!" A young man named Jackson proclaimed to the crowd. Snowflakes rode in the breeze and gently kissed Jackson on the his cheek. The people had flushed faces, bright red noses were a common sight around this time of year. The people of the clan, which had been taking life step-by-step, accomplishing their duties around the clan, paused their activities and approached Jackson. Some, the minority, ignored his call. Jackson stood at a small booth, supported by thin oak-wood beams that had been shred of their bark. A red tarp covered his booth, with barrels, a chair, and a lantern taking up the space behind Jackson. He stood at the edge of the booth awaiting the people. "Here you go miss." "Stay warm." "Don't let the cold get to you." "Stray away from frostbite." Jackson said as he handed out the soft blankets. "Thank you for working so hard, Jackson. Here are some potatoes I harvested earlier today." A kind women named Ashley said as she kindly placed a basket of potatoes beside Jackson.

Soon the sun began to rest. Jackson gathered his belongings, such as a heavy fur coat, and a jug of water, which was gradually turning to ice. Around the square of the Clan there were fire pits. People played music on various instruments and sung songs. Roughly 45 meters away from Jackson, there was a young women with long dirty-blonde, brown-ish hair that was striding with a sense of urgency. It was a familiar sight, and a familiar face. Jackson continued on his way. Eventually Jackson arrived home; home being a once flourishing clothing store known as 'American Eagle Outfitters'. Inside was a collection of different people, all readying themselves for sleep. There were bunk beds and tables, kids played tag throughout the revitalized store as parents yelled at them to settle down. It was warm, and it was comforting. "Hey Jackson," Jackson turned to acknowledge the voice, ", I snatched this 'Cliff bar' from one of the unruly kids over there, he definitely doesn't need the energy." A women handed him the bar. Jackson graciously accepted and began to unwrap the bar. "Thank you Magen." He took a bite and paced over to his bed. Jackson flipped over the covers and sat on the sheet-lined mattress. "He better be alive. He is resilient, but I'm doubtful." He thought. Jackson brought his feet under the covers and dozed off.

The next morning:

"How are the crops?"

'The crops are healthy."

"And the animals?"

"They are not doing as well."

"Move them to a different branch, make sure the soil is moist and grass is able to grow. Additionally, sketch up some designs for a sort of make-shift greenroom to dome over the branch. It needs to be practically air tight to keep heat and moisture in, we'll start construction next week. " Goad demanded of Braden as they speedily walked throughout the main building of the Progressive Clan; a building that was once a 'JC Penny'. Inside there were few groups of which stood in different sections of the expansive floor, all working on their own projects and tasks.

"I'm headed to the dinning hall, thank you for the update, Braden." Goad expressed her gratitude. Braden responded with an authentic smile and a nod. The two of them parted ways. Goad began towards the dinning hall, which in a time before was labeled 'Banana Republic'. She head out the doors of the main building and was hit by a forceful wind. As she walked, people waved at her and shouted good morning. Before arriving at her destination, Goad paused to check up on something. Taking a swift left-turn, she came up upon the artillery unit, (an old 'Hot Topic', which had been revamped as an artillery compound). Swaying open the tinted, glass door rang a little bell that was reminiscent of Christmas bells. An older gentleman sat behind a counter that was placed in the center of the Unit. "It's been awhile, sir. I just wanted to check up on this." Goad pulled a pistol out of her belt strap that had been concealed by her sweater. She placed it on the counter. The dry, aged hands of the man, still seated, picked up the pistol and examined it. He turned it off of "safety" and back on. Then he pressed the trigger, while pointing it away from the two of them. Somehow this led to his conclusion. "It definitely still works, however, this is a zombie apocalypse so uhh, I think you should install a silencer on it." the man suggested. "Will you do that for me?" Goad asked with a look of doubt, seemingly expecting a deny. "Well ya of course sweetheart, just come back a-later." The old man said. Goad nodded then said, "Thank you very much, sir, I will be back by the end of the day." Goad cheerfully left the store, there was much to look forward to. Outside the wind had died down. The sun shined and hearts were warm. The patter of her boots and the slight heaviness of her breathe were of the loudest of sounds around, besides the far-but-near voices of joyful survivors. Goad was passing one of the walls, this wall was connected to the outer part of the dinning hall, blocking what was once a road of entry to the main intersection of the past mall. She peered up and spotted a guard on duty, simply passing back and forth on the wall, eyes fixated on the outskirts of the region. This caused her to think beyond the inner-workings of her clan, but only for a moment.