Роберт Уилсон - Days Since... - Jenny - Day 986

The Cave sat in the middle of the Depot, consisting of most the aisles from the original store’s floor plan. Tarps were stretched aisle over aisle, creating a ceiling across them. Then, only along the perimeter shelves, tarps were bound along their sides for the walls. Inside the Cave, gaps had been made by pulling some of the shelving units apart, leaving just enough room for a body to sneak between aisles. And for the rest of the space, tents were lined up side-by-side. To Jenny, it reminded her of a homeless encampment she had once seen on the news a long time ago, only cleaner. I guess…

In reality, she lived in a squatter’s camp, pure and simple. Despite the conditions, she couldn’t complain too much. It served its purpose. A place to sleep. A place to rest. Fortunately for her, she stayed on a perimeter aisle. Less foot traffic and it stayed quiet for the most part. But there were others that had it better. Only a few, maybe a handful, had the pleasure of one of the back offices converted into bedrooms—Griffin and Danny being two of them. Those were true luxury. A lock. Privacy. True privacy. Being able to choose who came and went.

Following the low-voltage lighting, she squirmed her way between the tents—through the cramped pathways—underneath ropes with moist clothes and rags slung across them—tiptoeing over extension cords snaking their way across the concrete floor toward the front of the Cave. All while managing not to spill a single drop from the bucket.

“Hey, Jenny.”

Startled, she turned toward the line of tents behind her.

“Just me…” a woman in her forties mumbled through a surgical mask, tinged with brown. Tentatively, the woman shuffled forward, her heavy trench coat hung loosely over her meager frame. She made certain to keep some distance between them as she spoke. Some still played it safe. Safer than most believed was necessary nowadays. “You have anything fun on the agenda today?”

“Fun? Doubt it.” The snarky reply caused the woman’s shoulders to slump. Realizing her curtness was uncalled for, Jenny tried to lighten the blow. “But we’ll see. Probably going to take it easy today.”

“Makes sense.” The woman nodded. “Heard you weren’t feeling well. You ain’t sick are ya?” She forced the question quickly. Jenny could see the nervousness in her eyes, the fear.

“Not sick. No. Just overdid it yesterday.”

“That’s good,” the woman said, visibly relieved. “No tellin’ what’s still floating around in the air out there.” Again, she shuffled closer to Jenny. This time, pulling a small jug from her trench coats inside pocket. “You mind running this over with yours?” Once she brought it forward into the light, Jenny realized its contents—the same as her bucket.

“Go ahead.” Jenny set it to the floor. “I’ll get yours to the yellow tank too.”

The woman tipped her jug until it was empty, then wiped the spout with a rag she had hanging from her belt. “Thanks. I just—”

“Don’t worry about it. I was already going.” Jenny went to leave, about to push the tarp clear from the makeshift door frame that led out of the Cave, but hesitated. “You haven’t seen Griffin around have you?”

“Not in here, no. I’m not sure I’m the one to ask. You know I don’t like to venture out unless I have to.” The wrinkles across the woman’s forehead creased inward. “But if you’d like me to, I could ask someone in here to go out and find him? You need him now?”

“No!”

The woman gave her a baffled look.

“Sorry, no.” Jenny settled her voice. “I was just wondering. Thanks, though.”

The woman offered a quick nod before Jenny pushed the tarp clear and left.

Jenny flinched, raising a hand to block the natural light pouring through the rectangular cutouts in the roof—numerous sections that had been punched out, framed, and filled with windows. Even with the light—that tiny bit of added warmth—the drop in temperature when exiting the Cave was noticeable. It helped remind her why the tarps were necessary. Justified the staleness of the air inside. Every time she made it out of there, Jenny eagerly sucked down a large portion of what she considered real air, no matter how frigidly cold it was.

In front of her, a large shadow moved across the wall. A person atop the roof, one of the sentries, no doubt. She craned her neck to follow the person’s path through short glimpses in the windows. They paused every so often, most likely to wipe the falling snow from the solar panels which powered the car battery banks.

If Danny won’t let me continue on the team, he could at least arrange a sentry post for me, right? I mean, why not? What could he argue? Of course, he’d find something, but he’d have to at least hear me out. I already proved I can shoot. I’d be at the Depot for regular meals and rest. It’s pretty much what he wanted for me anyways, so just stick me on the damn roof with the other guys.

I guess it’d be cold, but at least Griffin wouldn’t be up there to bother me. And during my downtime, I could hang with Grant. That’d keep Griffin away from me around the clock. Win-win. This could be as easy as swapping me with Derrick. What the hell could Danny say was wrong with that?

I’d miss Sherman, though. Maybe this isn’t such a good idea. That’s a lot of training I’d be wasting. I guess I could always ask Danny if he’d still let me train with him every once and awhile. Now, I’m probably getting close to asking too much. Damn it…

At the registers in front of her, several people gathered, some standing, others relaxing on the conveyor belts, chatting between spoonfuls of stew. Jenny caught someone’s attention. “Heard this is thanks to you,” a man said, lifting his spoon in the air as a salute. Jenny smiled, slightly embarrassed, but gratified with the recognition as others joined him in thanking her. They waved her over, but Jenny declined, lifting the bucket to show them her excuse why she couldn’t, unsure that if she didn’t have it, she would have obliged them anyway.

“Come back when you can,” the man followed up. “Don’t be so damn shy all the time.”

After a polite nod, she stepped off toward the Garden Center. A few people passed her in the opposite direction, smiles plastered across their faces, hands being warmed by bowls steaming with stew. Each person made eye contact with her, speaking to her between slurps. Word had certainly gotten around.

“Thanks, Jenny.”

“Way to go, kid.”

“Tastes great.”

“It smells like it,” Jenny replied as she neared the not-so-automatic sliding doors which led to the outdoor Garden Center. She pushed one side open, leaving barely enough space for her and her bucket to squeeze through. Straight away, the air stung her face, cut through her pants—an instant pang of numbness smacked her thighs. “Whew!” She shivered. The deep freeze that greeted her and the shrill scrape of shovels across concrete sent a chill down her spine. Each breath seemed to bite back—harsh and bitter cold.

Her way to the yellow tank and soup line was mostly unhindered. She took a swath of bare cement, sidestepping one of the younger boys shoveling paths in the fallen snow. He scooped his work into coolers near the Depot’s outer wall. From there, it would be hoisted onto the roof and added to the catches. Each catch fed the rainwater (or snow in this case) down through the roof and into the filtration systems assembled upon the shelving units inside the Depot. Every bit counted. The semi-trucks full of bottled waters on the dock wouldn’t last forever no matter how many times they replenished the stock. When they had nature’s help, they took it. Even if it was hard work