According to Walker, other safe cities, dotted around the country, are in various states of flux. Some are still fighting the Eaters to hold their ground or do not have adequate survivors to maintain the infrastructure as much as they hoped. Although, Walker boasts, few are doing as well as this one.
Wyatt listened to all this with intense interest, the wheels in his head spinning. He has the same look now when he looks out the window at the clean, functional city. “Surreal, isn’t it?”
I touch the glass. “It doesn’t seem real.”
“We probably shouldn’t get used to it. If we’re really being assigned as bounty hunters, I don’t think we’ll get to stay long.”
I watch him watch the city. “Is it weird that I’m okay with that? That I want to go back out?”
“It isn’t weird to me. But I’m not sure I’m the best example of post-crisis mentality.”
I face him. Other than a sanitizing wash-off and temporary clothing in quarantine, we’re fresh off the battlefield. Less than twenty-four hours before, I’d killed Chloe with a shot to the head. We’d watched Erwin and Green be executed by Colonel Hamilton, the unknown man in charge of this city. I grip Wyatt’s hips and push up on my toes, giving him a peck on the lips.
“You may not be the best example but you’re the best for me,” I tell him.
“You lay it on thick, you know that, right?” He rolls his eyes at my attempt at sweetness. Wyatt is well aware of my inability to be the mushy girlfriend, and I’m well aware that he likes me that way.
Jude and Mary Ellen approach from the processing room. Jane? I haven’t seen her since we arrived but I have little doubt she’s already been put to work.
They clutch cards in their fingers. I take a deep breath and say, “Let’s get this over with,” before taking what I’m quite sure is just another step in the game.
Chapter Two
The bizarre feeling of normalcy only grows when we’re escorted to a nearby auditorium for orientation. The group we’re in isn’t big—maybe twenty people, of varying ages, all looking as tired and weary as I feel. I can’t imagine what they’ve been through, (the post-crisis world is difficult for anyone), but I doubt they just completed a battle with super-soldiers the day before.
“It’s weird being in a place like this, with electricity and everything,” Mary Ellen says. Her feet bounce on the ground, shaking her knees. I wonder if it’s nerves or side effects.
“Sometimes it feels like whiplash,” Jude says. “There’s no constant. One minute we’re living like cavemen, the next it’s like nothing has changed.”
I agree that it’s definitely hard to process, which may be why I’m itching to get out of here. Unfortunately, I need to learn more about this place and Hamilton, because if I’ve gleaned anything over the last year it is that power corrupts—now more than ever.
A slight woman with pale brown hair and a wide nose walks to the podium. Her lips are painted bright red and I can’t hel
p but notice her dress. It’s not the utilitarian kind that Mary Ellen wore as a byproduct of growing up with the Mennonites. No, it’s made of a silky, black material with dotted flowers. It’s the kind of outfit that you can’t fight in. A relic from a time when fashion was an acceptable consideration. It, more than anything else I’ve seen today, emits a level of luxury I am fully unaccustomed to.
A wide screen rolls from the ceiling behind her as she steps to the microphone.
“Good afternoon. My name is Andrea Miller and I’m the hospitality liaison for the city of New Hope. Colonel Hamilton extends his warmest welcome and hopes you find a path to the future in our designated Safe City.”
A picture appears on the screen with the city’s logo. It includes an American flag and a seal that says “Safe City.” Andrea looks appraisingly at the image behind her and then turns back to face the crowd.
“I’m aware that many of you have struggled long and hard to get to this day. You have lost family and friends. You’ve lost your homes and jobs and all sense of security. New Hope cannot replace the things close to your heart, but we can offer you a home and future in absolute safety. Where running water and electricity are the norm and not something to fight and scavenge for. Believe it or not, the government wasn’t totally unprepared for the E-TR virus. The likelihood of biological warfare was well known and documented by agencies like Homeland Security and the CDC. With the advent of drone warfare, anything was possible, and what was once a vague concept became a fast-moving reality. Six cities were finalized before the E-TR virus wiped out the southern states. Ten more were planned that never came to fruition. Of these six, three, including New Hope, are fully functional. The other three are struggling and we’re in the process of assisting them as they get on their feet.”
The screen behind her flips through a series of images that look pre-crisis, apartments and single-family homes, school children walking out of a classroom. The nostalgia is thick. I spot a small movement near the door. Hamilton is observing the presentation. I nudge Wyatt and gesture to the imposing man.
Andrea narrates the slides but I keep an eye on the man that brought us here. He looks to be in his mid-forties, with short, black hair. There’s gray at the temples, but he looks healthy. Honestly? Compared to those of us that came in from the battlefield, Hamilton looks robust. His cheeks carry the roundness that comes from steady meals. His brown skin is clear and he lacks the dark circles that I can’t seem to get rid of. It’s weird, because I know this man is dangerous. I watched him kill Erwin in cold blood, but he has an appealing, handsome face. There’s one thing that gives me pause. His dark eyes have a hint of something—mania? Excitement? I don’t know how to place it but it makes me uncomfortable.
The slide show stops and Andrea looms on the stage, perfectly pleasant expression still intact.
“Now that you’re in New Hope, we hope you take time to rest and recover. We’ll help you find a job and housing. You won’t have to sleep with weapons anymore or worry about your neighbors. This is truly a safe place to call home.”
“I have a question,” a voice asks from a couple of rows over. I can’t see his face but his hair is gray.
“Please,” Andrea says. “Go ahead.”
“What kind of perimeter do you maintain? I saw the fence line but does it go all the way around the city? Have you had any breaches?”
Amanda nods, her face showing the right amount of concern. With the remote in her hand she flips forward a few pictures to a diagram of a tall fence. “The city of Cincinnati had the barricades in storage. As soon as Florida was cut off from the rest of the country, the walls went up. Now, things weren’t perfect at first. Infected citizens were already here before the walls were secured. We lost people but our police and local National Guard were ready for them. They’d been trained for something like this.”