The Cure for Sleeping

Chapter Fourteen

"Here, sweetie." Anna, the cute little old lady behind the counter passes me a bowl with a wink. "I've given you an extra breadstick. You and yours could use a little more meat on your bones."

I thank her profusely and head back to my friends, steaming bowl warming my palms. I sit down on the metal bench, squished in with Thea on one side and Hazel on the other. Caroline sits across from us, lazily stirring her spoon through her own soup. I take a bite and have to hold back tears. Pumpkin soup, fresh and not from a can. Actual vegetables. I had never thought that such a thing would inspire emotion in me, but after two months of packets foods that lack expiration dates, this tastes like paradise.

The three of us on our side of the table wolf down our meals like starving things. In all fairness, we're probably malnourished by this point. The cafeteria is a long, low ceilinged room with utilitarian look to it; polished concrete floors and white, easy-to-bleach walls. As far as I know, we're still on the ground floor of the base. It looks like a huge warehouse from the outside, complete with rusting shipping containers scattered around it like building blocks. But, when Caroline walks us inside, flashing the ID card hanging around her neck at the swivelling camera mounted above the steel door, the façade drops instantly.

There was a group of armed men waiting for us inside the building, in a white-walled lobby with fluorescent lights overhead, ready to pat us down. I was decidedly unprepared for this and tried to punch the closest man when he reached for me. The man, easily in his late thirties, dodged my swing and caught my wrist, told me to look around with a mildly-irritated smile. Thea was gritting her teeth, letting the red-haired man attending her pat her down efficiently, so I relented. I still miss my knife.

When finished, the man who checked me introduced himself as Warren. He's the leader of this fine establishment, and it's his rules that we're to follow during our stay. He was happy to have 'fresh blood' at the base, and gave us an abbreviated tour. The warehouse was an emergency safe house for a very rich, very paranoid business man based in Queens. He apparently didn't make it here after the outbreak, but Warren's people discovered the place a few days in. It's equipped with kitchens, dorms, a gym, cafeteria, rec room, and enough weapons to make an arm's dealer tear up. Warren lead us through the halls, his men dispersed, speaking with the air of a general as he showed us different rooms. He's a heavily built man, with broad shoulders befitting a construction worker and hair greying professionally at the temples like a politician.

He escorted us to the intersection between male and female dorms before he took his leave. Hazel, Thea and I were steered to bathrooms set up like a high school locker room with shower cubicles and aluminium benches lining the centre of the room, gave us a few bundles of grey cloth, and left.

Somehow, they have electricity here. Fluorescent lights make my skin look washed-out and sickly, but they have hot water. The shower was pure bliss. The sad bundles of cloth turned out to be uniforms, and they hung like slate-coloured sacks on the three of us. The pants pooled so much around Thea's ankles that she had to roll up the waistband, and the sleeves hung over her hands like flippers. She was not amused. I'm just glad that they let us keep out boots.

After we were sufficiently hosed down, the women took us to out room, let us leave our bags there, and lead us to the cafeteria.

As far as I know, we're still on the ground floor of the base, but we were marched around so much that it's hard to tell. The other women around the room watch glut ourselves with amused curiosity, whispering amongst themselves. Anna brings us each a plate of apple pie, and I have to stop myself from getting up to hug her.

She has a grandmotherly kind of face. She would probably appreciate the comfort.

"So, how do y'all know Josh?" Caroline props her chin up with her elbow on the table. Her eyes are on her soup, as if she's not all that interested.