Scavengers {#Wattys2016}

Chapter Four

 "Chill it's me", I called.

"Who's the other one?", asked my father.

"Found him in the alley. Got in a tussle" I replied. 

My father thought for a moment. "Come on up", he called. 

 I did walking up the steps back into the small apartment room. I was let in but my father stopped the man.

 "Sorry son I'm going to have to pat you down", said my father.

 He began starting up at the top and then worked his way down. There was well a lot. Three army knives, grenades, and a pistol. 

"If you don't mind we are going to confiscate these" said my father and took the hazards and put them in a box hidden from the man's view and put it in a cabinet.

"Welcome", said my father showing him into the small room.

"It isn't much, but it's a home", said my father managing a slight smile. 

I presumed to set my findings on the table. I noticed the flag was folded in it's familiar triangular shape. Neatly folded with perfection.

My mother began to dress the man's wounds and cuts with what we had. She dabbed the cut on his head pressing carefully. 

"Still when people have nothing others have the nerve to steal from others to try and show superiority! It's sick!", said my father kicking the wall. He drew his fingers through the little grey hair he had.

"They won't be bothering anyone anytime soon. I made sure of it", I said. 

"In what way?", asked my father. 

"Disabled them. Just broke a nose, and knocked the wind out of the other two. They were just kids. 17 and 19 around", I replied honestly. He nodded grimly knowing that was only the least I was capable of. 

"You alright?", asked my father to the man.

"Yes, thank you", replied the man. The candle light lit the room dimly and I could make out his brown hair and bright, very bright blue eyes.

I organized my findings and set them up in the cabinets. "You seem to be well aware of how to survive here in this city", said the man.

"It isn't a city. It's a prison. If you want to find a good city you won't find that here", said my father.

"I don't think I'll find it anywhere in this shit hole", said the man. 

We all froze and my father gave him a heavy stare at his choice of words. Of course it wasn't the accent that the man had which bothered him but it was his colorful vocabulary.

Always the vocabulary.

The man caught a glimpse of my necklace and seemed to be staring at it. I tucked it under my jacket feeling his look giving him a slight glare and hinted at my father who was still staring the man down due to his words and now the much large fact that the stranger was gloating at my chest.

 I then resumed to unpacking my finds only to repack them away in the damp plastic chipped boxes we had in the cabinets. If we had used cardboard boxes they'd be damp and moldy which would result in disease. And we don't have any medicine other than our immune systems which weren't in the best conditions either. 

"What area are you from young man?", asked my father changing the subject. 

"Uh....I prefer not to say", said the man seeing my fathers old coat...a former uniform from the US military.

"Well, you must be from somewhere within the 11 cut off sectors", said my father wanting an answer. 

The man was silent and didn't know what to say. He did he just didn't want to say it. In truth though my father already knew where the heck he was from. But he wanted a validated answer. Also he deeply wanted to know why this guy was all the way out here!

"If he doesn't want to tell then let him be", said my mother glaring at my father meaning she wasn't going to give him a choice. The man looked at me raising his eyebrows and I nodded telling him to go with it. 

My father eyed me. 

The man heaved a heavy sigh, "I'm sorry but....I don't think you would really like to know where I'm from" said the man. 

"Oh... I can see why that is unsettling. I apologize for pushing you", said my father respecting his decision. Not really. 

'wimp thought they were supposed to be tough?'  thought my father.

"So do you have a name?", asked my father.

"Jordan", replied the man.

"Jordan, well Jordan you are welcome to stay as long as you like. Make yourself at home", said my father.

"Thank you", said Jordan.

I cleaned my brass knuckles with a cloth and my mother watched as the blood was wiped away and stained the already bloody cloth from frequent use. I glanced at her having a grim face and then resumed to cleaning in silence.