Chapter 1- The Meeting

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Phyla Sanski kicked the empty coke can across the deserted street, the clatter echoing in the eerie silence. Trash littered the road and lawn alike, abandoned cars were parked crookedly along the sidewalk. The only whispers came from the trees.

The street looked like many had been through here at one point in time, the cars and small houses broken into and cleared of all supplies. Phyla searched the street for any sign of a human being, but not a soul was in sight. The silence disturbed her- all was so empty. A sense of loss hung in the air of the town. She felt like calling out, but in the back of her mind she knew no one would call back. She was alone, and for the first time in six months, it got to her. How strange that the loss of her own hometown hadn't hit her until she saw someone else's.

Her steps were silent as she approached the curb, eyeing the abandoned cars. She kept her hip pressed along the short concrete wall that separated the forest from the sidewalk. A bus stop stood on the corner, though the bench was lopsided and the glass shattered from some past struggle. The grimy blue sign that read BUS STOP 17 in thick letters was spattered with small red dots.

Phyla unloaded her worn pack from her shoulder and stooped to read the bus schedule that laid under a plastic-covered bulletin board. She had heard rumors that some bus corporations were still running and would occasionally send some type of vehicle- if not a bus- to stop and bring wanderers to the nearest refuge shelter. If they were still following the schedule, the next bus was supposed to arrive in ten minutes. She decided to wait. If it didn't show up, she'd move into town. If it did... Well, getting on depended on a lot of things. She sat down on the sidewalk next to her pack, avoiding the blood-stained bench inside the bus stop. She rested her arms on her knees and settled in.

"I wouldn't trust their system if I were you," a voice said curtly from behind her. Phyla screamed and whipped around. "Especially while you're wearing that shirt there."

A girl close to Phyla's age stood on the concrete wall in ripped jeans, a camouflage tank top, and much abused hiking boots. She hopped off the wall, her cropped black hair brushing against her strong set jaw. Her green eyes glittered in the late afternoon sun and held the wisdom one needed during these times, though it was clear it was gained the hard way. She had a determined air about her and a strong frame. She chuckled quietly at Phyla's expression.

"S'alright- I'm a friend." She stepped forward and held out a tan, slender hand. "Name's Em Grant, it's nice to meet you." She had an Australian accent.

Phyla cautiously grasped Em's hand. It was rough, calloused, and cool. She knew this girl had strength.

"Em. I'm Phyla Sanski. It's nice to meet you, too," she muttered. Her heart was still racing from Em's sudden appearance. Em glanced at the broken down bus stop. Her expression turned concerned.

"You're trying for a bus?" Em asked. Phyla nodded. "You've heard that an organization that has taken over all public transportation, haven't you?" Phyla nodded again. "Do you know who runs the organization?" Phyla glanced back over at the blood spattered bus stop and shook her head.

"No. Other travelers I've met said that they've heard they find lost wanderers and bring them to a type of refuge shelter, " Phyla said. Em gave a sharp laugh.

"They, they. They have certainly done a thorough job of spreading these rumors. Do you know who 'they' are?" Em didn't wait for her to answer. "The S.E.I.P. officials."

"The S.E.I.P.?"

"The Sanctuary for Elderly and Impaired Peoples. It doesn't matter if you're elderly or even impaired. They'll haul you away to their 'sanctuary.' These refuge shelters you've heard about? More like concentration camps," Em spat. Phyla could hear the acid in her voice.

"Oh." She couldn't think of anything else to say. Phyla scratched her nose. "Um, you said something about my shirt?" Em grinned crookedly.

"Yeh, right. That's an American flag there, isn't it? You probably didn't know- the borders are pretty fucked up nowadays. You're in Canada. They see you with that shirt and you might as well put a gun to your head yourself." Phyla flinched, but felt grateful all the same.

"Thanks. I'll turn it inside out or something." She checked her watch.

"4:23," Em muttered, leaning forward to read Phyla's watch. "I should keep moving." Phyla looked up, slightly panicked.

"Keep moving where?"

"No one has a destination anymore, I don't think. You just have to keep moving and hope you don't end up at death's front door." She grinned. "Corny, I know, but take my advice anyway. It'll help you in the long run." She clapped a hand on Phyla's shoulder. "Stay safe, okay, Phyla? I don't want to have to worry about you, too."

"Thanks, Em. You too." Em snorted.

"Me? Stay safe? With this accent? Hah!" She turned and jumped over the short brick wall into the thick woods, still laughing to herself. Phyla stood limply, staring at the gap where Em had disappeared. She had been Phyla's first human contact in four days.

A loud squeal echoed from around the corner. A bus was here.

Phyla struggled to take off her shirt quickly and turn it inside-out. But before she could lift it over her head, a blood curdling scream erupted from the forest, making crows fly from the trees.

"Em," Phyla breathed. She grabbed her backpack and sprinted into the woods. Her breath was silent and her feet quick, she easily maneuvered through the closely knit trees.

"Parles!" a man's voice screamed. Phyla stopped dead and looked around, listening. "Parles!" the voice hollered again.

"No!"

It was Em. Phyla ran toward the voices.

"Australian filth- take her away," called a man with a thick French accent. Phyla stopped again and turned left, running toward the commotion.

She was there. In a space where the trees were not as packed together, three men in beige, squared off uniforms were towing Em away, who was putting up an amazing fight. A fourth man in uniform was shouting orders in French into a communication radio. It all seemed to be in slow motion.

Phyla quietly stepped over a low, dead branch which had not yet broken off one of the tall pines. Her back foot caught it. The branch snapped and echoed. Phyla winced.

The fourth man who had been shouting orders whipped around.

"Another one!"

"She's wearing the American flag!"

"DuPont, grab her!"

Phyla screamed as one of the men holding Em ran at her.

"Run, Phyla!" Em screamed. Phyla looked back and forth between the man and Em.

"No! Em!" Phyla didn't run.

The man tore off Phyla's pack and grabbed her wrists, bounding them together in his own hand. He shoved her head down and pushed her toward Em and the other men. The leader shouted more words into the radio.

Em and Phyla struggled to free themselves, but the men's grip was too tight. Tears started to roll silently down Em's cheeks.

"Alright, keep moving! We're bringing these two to Sanctuary VI." The man holding Phyla extracted a large needle from his pocket. Before Phyla could scream, the man had shoved the needle into her neck.

The last thing she saw were the tears falling ever more rapidly from Em's jaw.

...tick-tock

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