Autumn in the City of Angels (3 page)

I sat on the couch for hours wondering what to do.  After witnessing a young boy being shot in the street, I wasn’t sure it was a good idea to go running around outside.  But, if I could make it, I wouldn’t be alone anymore.  Surely being scared among other survivors was better than being scared and alone, like I was now.  I looked around the big empty rooms and glanced out the western-facing window at the setting sun.  I had just enough light to make it to the warehouse store.

I knew exactly where to go.  My father believed in buying bulk and dragged me along on our twice-a-year visit.  The corner of Lincoln and Washington was less than a mile north of me.  I was tired of being alone.  I didn’t want to wait until morning.  It was time to say goodbye to the solitude of my penthouse apartment and rejoin society.

I took a deep breath before I shoved open the glass doors of the lobby.  I hadn’t been outside at street level in a month and a half.  In that time, the confusion and chaos had been replaced with a cool ocean breeze and the occasional sound of distant seagulls.  I told myself it was peaceful, not creepy.

I warily started my journey, scanning the street around me as I walked slowly past the area where I saw the young boy shot down.  He wasn’t there anymore.  I wasn’t sure when he’d been moved, but I was almost glad.  He didn’t deserve the street for his final resting place.

My steps slowed further as I walked close to the car he went down behind.  I wondered if there’d be blood there, staining the spot where he’d spent his last breath.  I didn’t look for it.  I forced myself to focus straight ahead and proceeded cautiously, hoping any people I might run into would be from The Reconstruction Front – not the monsters I saw from my balcony.

The going was slow.  My own paranoia greatly hampered my speed.  I constantly scanned up, down, left, right, looking for any signs of danger.  But I never saw any, only the occasional white, homemade flag tied to streetlight poles, indicating that The Reconstruction Front was near.

I was a half-mile away when I saw a girl about my own age sitting on a foldout concert chair, and playing with a small white flag, drawing figure eights in the air.  Instinctively, I jumped behind the fat trunk of a palm tree to hide.  I peered around it and watched her.  She had extremely short, white blonde hair and sat with one leg hooked over the arm of her chair, her foot bouncing along to a song only she could hear.  It was as if she were just hanging out, waiting for the fireworks to begin, blind to the spectacle of a burned-out bus in the street just in front of her.

My movement must have caught her attention, because she dropped her flag and jumped up, smiling and waving as if we were best friends.  I hesitated, unsure of what to do.  “It’s okay,” she called.  “It’s safe!  You can trust me!”  I stepped out from behind the palm tree and, when I closed the distance between us, she reached out and hugged me tightly, catching me off guard.

“Hi!  My name is Sam.  I’m a Greeter for The Reconstruction Front.  Welcome!  Where you coming from?  South Bay?” she asked as she gestured to the south.

“No, not that far south.  I was in Marina del Rey when I heard a radio broadcast about other survivors meeting here.  Are we safe out in the open like this?”

“Oh, yeah.  There are other Greeters around.  We’d know if there were looters or bad people out.  So you heard the radio message, huh?  We were so excited when we finally got that thing up and running.  Hopefully, more folks will hear it like you did.  What’s your name?”

“Autumn.  What did you mean when you said you were a Greeter?”

“I wait here for other survivors and, when I find someone, I bring them in!  We’ve got Greeters all over the city.  Well, let’s get you to headquarters so you can meet Karl.  He’s the one who started The Front.  Rounded us all up, started pooling supplies and stuff.”

I hung on every word.  It was refreshing to talk to another person.  “He’s the leader?”

“Well, kind of, but nothing official or anything.”

“So, do you know how many are left?” I asked, pensively.

“Not exactly.  Karl thinks only about one percent of folks survived here in Los Angeles, but we don’t really know about the rest of the world.  It’s too early to tell.  We plan on spreading out soon to find out, though.  If we’re still here, there’s got to be immune people in other cities, too.”

“I see,” was all I could think to say.  How many people were in the city?  I tried to remember the figures I learned in California history class.  Was the population of the city of Los Angeles around four million?  What was one percent of that?  Forty thousand?

“You okay?” she asked, breaking my concentration.

“Yeah, fine.  I just didn’t realize how few of us were left.”

“Karl says we’re all special, that we’ve been chosen to re-populate the Earth in better and brighter ways than our predecessors.”

That was mildly creepy, I thought, but I smiled and said, “I guess that’s an optimistic way to look at it.”

“I was so scared until I met him, but now that I know why I was left here, it helps to understand everything, why everyone died... you know?”  She looked at me with excited eyes.

I tried to smile and nod, somewhat amused and a little taken aback.  She seemed to really believe what she was telling me, and it appeared to make the burden of being left alive easier for her to bear.  I almost envied her optimism, though I wasn’t quite ready to accept the idea that being immune was a gift.  But I didn’t speak my doubts aloud; she seemed like a sweet person, and I wasn’t about to start a debate with the first survivor I’d run into.

“Come on,” she said as she spun on her heel and started toward the warehouse.

“So why the warehouse store?” I asked, matching her quick pace.

“You know any bigger buildings in the area?  Plus, it’s got tons of food already and great storage.  We’ve been bringing whatever we find to store there, but it was pretty well stocked already.  And it’s easy to protect from looters.”

Large white flags made from bed sheets hung around the parking lot of the warehouse store, indicating we had made it to The Reconstruction Front’s stronghold.  Sam waved at several people loitering around the large front doors.  At first I thought nothing of it, like they were just hanging out, but as we got closer I noticed that a couple of the people she waved to were armed with guns.  Instead of the comfort from a possible safe haven, uneasiness began to overtake me as we neared the entrance to the large store.  I tried to rationalize a reason why they’d need so many weapons here.  Were the looters she mentioned before violent?  I thought of the horrible men from this morning.  I supposed guns were necessary to maintain peace and order if there were people like those left roaming what was left of the city.

When I passed through the mammoth garage doors of the store, I gasped as I saw the multitude of supplies heaped into mounds.  They had everything.  To my right, I saw what seemed to be an endless supply of canned goods.  They could feed an army for years with what they’d amassed.  Overhead fluorescent lights lit the front of the warehouse, while the back of the store was shrouded in darkness. I tried not to gawk at all the supplies, but bags of chips and boxes of cookies caught my eyes and made me salivate.  It felt like a decade since I’d eaten anything but canned tuna.

“Hey, Karl!  Where you hiding?!”  Sam yelled.  Her shout startled me, and I jumped, forgetting about the bag of Chips Ahoy I had my eye on.

“Over here, kid,” a calm, low voice replied.  The voice was familiar to me the instant I heard it.  It was the man from the radio.

Once we reached the customer service desk, I could see over the counter and found a man hunching over with his back to me.  He was digging through a bag, tossing items into piles.

“Got a new recruit here from the marina.  She heard your broadcast earlier.”

“That’s the third person today,” he said as he straightened out and stretched his back.  I could see how tall he was as he stood to full height, and something was familiar about his hair, the rich brunette color, the wavy disheveled style.  Suddenly, I felt my heartbeat quicken, and whatever Sam said in response fell into the background under the loud humming in my ears.  Time seemed to slow down as I watched him turn around to look at me.  He smiled with perfectly straight, white teeth, but it did nothing to comfort me.  I knew him.  I’d seen him and his friend kill that boy outside my apartment.  I took a step back instinctively and struggled to catch my breath.  I was in danger here.

“Well, aren’t you a pretty little thing?  Just like our Sam.”  He leaned casually on the counter.  “I know you’re probably scared, but you’re safe now.  We’re glad you’re here.  What’s your name?”

“Autumn,” I whispered automatically.

“Nice to meet you, Autumn.”  He extended his arm to shake my hand, but the thought of touching him made me sick.  I had to think fast and get out of here.

I motioned over my shoulder to avoid his hand and stammered, “I have some stuff at home I think you could use here.”

“What a good girl you are, already pitching in.”  He looked at Sam. “I think I like this one.”

“Oh yeah, I like her, too,” Sam said.  Her bright face seemed so innocent.  Did she know what he was capable of?  Or was she in on it?  I couldn’t tell.  She looked at him with such devotion and admiration.  I wanted to slap her.

“I can be back by morning,” I said, trying to sound confident.

“Don’t be silly!” she said.  “We’ll take you tomorrow and help you gather everything up.  Besides, Karl’s run into some unfriendly people, so you’ll be safer with one of us.  Then we can look at getting you settled.  You don’t have to stay on the Westside if you need a change of scenery.”

“Okay,” I said, realizing they weren’t going to let me out of their sight.

“Walk with me,” Karl said, his lips curling into a smile that belonged on a glossy magazine cover.  He rounded the counter and lightly touched the small of my back, guiding me forward.  Though his hand was large and warm through my thin shirt, it felt like an ice cube was sliding down my back.  Karl gestured to the warehouse around us and said, “I’ll give you a tour of the place, maybe find you a snack?”  He raised an eyebrow, a perfect freeze frame of a heartthrob actor’s headshot.  Karl couldn’t have been a day over thirty.  He had an angular jaw and cheekbones, broad shoulders, and his clothes looked tailored just for him.

I forced my feet to keep pace with Karl and Sam as they showed me around the warehouse.  The ringing in my ears threatened to drown out their words, so I focused intently on his mouth as he spoke.  Time seemed to slow down as I watched him form each vowel and consonant.

“You feel like something salty or sweet?” Karl asked with a gentle smile.  I could sense he was trying to win me over as he had Sam, who walked along with us, smiling up at him like a dope.

“Sweet,” I said, stumbling over the word.  I tried to smile back at him in the way he was smiling at me.  Not wanting my behavior to seem odd, I made an effort to sound as normal as possible.  “Sorry, I just haven’t been around anyone in a while.  I can’t believe how much food you have here.” I motioned to the neat stacks of boxes that disappeared into the darkness behind us.

“We’ve been blessed, for sure,” he said as he found a bag of M&M’s and passed them to me.  I took the bag and quickly opened it.  I slipped one into my mouth, savoring the crunch of the shell and how the milk chocolate seemed to flood my senses.  Nothing had ever tasted so sweet.  For a moment, I felt thankful for the gift, but was instantly stricken with a realization.  Was this how he had brainwashed Sam?  I forced myself to stop eating the sweet treat, folded the bag in half and tucked it into my pocket.

“I think I’ll save a few for later.”  He smiled at me approvingly.

“I think you’d make an excellent Greeter.  You have such a pretty face.”  I blanched, but tried to not let my revulsion show.

“Oh, really?”

“Absolutely.  Sam could show you the ropes.”

“Oh, I’d be happy to,” Sam said excitedly.  “Once you get used to telling the good guys from the bad, it’s pretty easy.”

“Good from the bad?” I questioned.

Karl answered, “It’s a sad truth, Autumn.”  His voice was like a soft roll of thunder in the distance, exciting and ominous.  “But there are some out there who just can’t be trusted.  They’re looters and thieves who have no intentions of re-joining society and prefer living on the fringes.  For the most part, they’ve been good about not hurting our Greeters, especially pretty girls like yourselves, but they can be a problem for those of us here protecting the supplies.”

“But, if they’re looting, they’re probably just hungry.  Why wouldn’t you give them some?  Seems like there’s plenty to go around.”  Karl smiled and shook his head, agreeing.

“We would, certainly, if they would just come to us and ask, but unfortunately it’s just not their way.  As it stands, if we were to let them just come in and take from us, they would take more than their share, and we can’t allow our own people to go hungry.  So we’ve had to take up arms against them.  It’s very sad, but a necessity, I’m afraid.”

“Oh,” was all I could muster in response.

“I didn’t have much before The Plague, and what I did have was taken away.”  He looked genuinely sad for a moment, and I wondered what was taken away from him.  A job?  A girl?  A child?

His dark eyes flickered down at me from underneath their fringe of even darker lashes.  “I made a vow that I would change things.  I would make them see it doesn’t have to be this way.”  His eyes were like dark tunnels, and I felt lost.

“Stay with Sam tonight,” Karl said suddenly.  “I’ll talk to you more tomorrow morning.  No need to overwhelm you now.”  He reached out and closed his hand tightly around my arm.  “You’ve been through a terrible ordeal, Autumn.  And you survived because you’re special.  I’ll take care of you now.”  He squeezed his hand tighter around my arm.  He really was handsome.  Maybe I was confused about what I saw this morning.  Maybe the boy stole from them, and Karl was trying to maintain peace by – by having him
shot
?  A voice in my head interrupted.  An image of the boy’s head sagging on his shoulder replayed in my memory, and I dug my fingernails into my palm, forcing myself back to reality.