Chapter 2
“Those who have crossed
With direct eyes, to death’s other Kingdom
Remember us—if at all—not as lost
Violent souls, but only
As the hollow men
The stuffed men.”
1
After a long night at work Mel often lay on her sleeping bag for hours, reading and waiting for sleep to finally come. After a long battle she would eventually persevere and slumber would submit, reality and the long night finally fading away.
Bright and much too early she would rocket back into consciousness bathed in sweat. The Albuquerque sun was not some benevolent sky god but a merciless master, so feared that not even the sparse clouds dared dim its glow. Tents were hardly the best protection from its heat filling them up like ovens instantly. Mel often fantasized about building a little underground burrow like the wiser-than-she animals did. At least the wind helped, hence the communities rooftop locale.
She stretched out like a cat,yawning and twisting her body around trying to loosen up after working all night and then sleeping on a roof. She didn't have a real mattress yet, just layers of old clothes and blankets, and it was starting to create a real problem in her back.
Grabbing a cigarette blearily from the pack beside her she forced herself to stand. Pain shot up her back so she arched it and felt the satisfying pop. Worse than a fucking old man, her mind griped. She pulled back the sheets that pretended to be a door and peeked out apprehensively. Sure as shit the sun was staring right at her, practically taunting her.
"Late night?" a voice asked with a chuckle. Mel put on a disingenuous scowl and squinted into the sunlight to identify the asshole. Her new neighbor Christa was reclining in a chair in front of her tent, beer in one hand and a filtered cigarette in another, still giggling at her.
"How do you always manage to get that real shit without going through me?" It was true, Christa had only been in their community for a few weeks but it was still surprising to see her out there every day smoking real cigarettes like it was the most normal thing in the world. American brands, too, like Coors and Marlboro. Even Mel had trouble getting those sometimes.
"Leftovers. When I decided to leave the NYOS towers I stocked up on anything I couldn't get out here." She grinned mischievously. "Even herbal things."
Mel's eyes shot around, alarmed, hoping and thankfully being relieved to find no one around. She dashed over, startling Christa, and whispered in her ear.
"Dude, do NOT say that shit out loud. "No, not the weed," she added when she saw Christa’s raised eyebrows. "That's legal 'cause there's no laws. But a stockpile like that gets tempting, even in a relatively honest community like our own. You'll leave one day and return to find it ransacked-- if you're lucky enough for them to even wait for your tent to be empty. Got it?"
Christa nodded vehemently, eyes a little wider.
"In fact, I think I'm gonna take a beer in exchange for such an important lesson," Mel added with a smile. Christa grabbed a warm Coors from the ice-less cooler and passed it over. Then she pulled the tent flap aside and pointed at a far corner of her tent, where at least a dozen cases of beer sat stacked. Mel whistled in appreciation.
"What the fuck, you stocking up for the Apocalypse or something?"