𝗧𝗼𝗺𝗼𝗿𝗿𝗼𝘄'𝘀 𝗟𝗮𝘀𝘁 𝗕𝗿𝗲𝗮𝘁𝗵 | an apocalyptic novel ©

Chapter 6

Notice Me

1995

Maxine

It's been about two weeks since I arrived in the refugee camp – so far, the conditions here are more humane than an animal kept in a shelter.

I am positively surprised about that.

Chatter from outside of the tent wavers in my ears and I turn around in my bed to face the entrance.

My plastic binder is in my view, lying on a folding chair next to my bed. I didn't consider looking into the binder or reading the letter ever since it fell into the water.

I swing my legs over the edge of my mattress until my naked feet touch the cool ground and reach out to grab the weathered bleached plastic binder.

It's considerably... light.

And when I shake it, there is no movement of the said letter seen under the dull binder cover.

No.

Sure, it's a letter, I can write it again, the question is – when? How?

So far, I don't seem to have the materials, at least I couldn't gather any paper or a pen.

Unless... I go and find them.

Already thinking, I throw on my jacket. Recently, I realized that it has holes in the sleeves and my fingers start to fiddle around with them every time I put it on.

I slide into my shoes and head for the exit of the tent.

The stench of burned material stings in my nose.

Something burned – was it an accident?

I can't make out any source of the fire or the smell.

But my curiosity wants to investigate. Plus, I have a reasonable explanation of why I'm wandering around like a stray cat.

Looking for a pen and paper is not necessarily my top priority at the moment, but it's hard to tell what priorities I have.

Surviving? Contacting my parents?

I start walking in one direction.

So far, the women I met a while back here have shown me around my district, yet alone on foot, everything feels like a maze. The layout in my head that I placed out so neatly is disrupted by unexpected turns and corners. That tent wasn't there before, this truck has not been parked here.

The weather is gray, it could rain.

I rub my eyes and scan the district for any remarkable object I can remember.

There!

Not an object, but someone.

Someone familiar.

I spot the Commander standing at the makeshift oil barrel table where I've last seen the women. He writes something on a note block, occasionally letting his eyes drift over the vicinity. When he spots me, he grins. I grin too, and walk over to him.

"You were on time for lunch today, I'm impressed," he greets me.

I scoff dramatically. "Are you keeping track records on me, Commander?"

"Call me Ryle," he simply says, smoothly dodging my question.

Ryle...

"Okay, then, Ryle. I'm-"

"Maxine, I know."

His response knocks me speechless.

Of course, he knew long before, how else would he know I was late to eat every time? After all, I told him my name the first day I was here.