Behind Our Walls by Chad A. Clark

watched his universe explode around him.
    Meredith and Lot were the last ones to show up and she spoke as they approached.
    "We didn't find anyone."
    "Well that's it then," Rowen said. "The place is empty."
    "Did anyone find any supplies we could use?" Lot asked.
    "There's a ton of condiments," one of the others said with a smirk on her face. "Some moldy buns and a few stray cans of food that rolled under some work benches. But for the most part everything is pretty well picked over.."
    "Well I figured that we would have to go out on a supply run at some point," Lot said. "It would have been nice if there was a little bit more on hand, is all."
    Lot turned his attention on Ricco. "How long have you been here, sir?"
    "I don't remember."
    "Seen anyone else?" Lot asked, echoing the line of questioning that Rowen had already given him. Ricco started to tuck his head down between his legs, as if the attention frightened him.
    "I already asked him." Rowen stepped in to try and give him some space. "He's been keeping to himself for the most part, so I think it bodes well for us if he hasn't—"
    "What are you going to do to me?" Ricco's voice was barely audible, but the abject misery in it stopped the conversation cold. Sophie felt completely taken aback at the apparent implication that they might hurt him, but also recognizing how much harder it was to trust people, let alone a small colony of complete strangers. What reason did he have to trust them when handing over the gift of his faith could potentially end in his own death?
    "We aren't going to do anything to you," Rowen answered. "We're happy to be able to help you. There's even more to our group than what you're seeing here and assuming everything checks out, we plan on trying to start over here."
    "You're welcome to stay for as long as you want," Lot added.
    Ricco looked from face to face, clearly not believing any of it. Sophie noticed his legs tremoring, as if preparing to bolt if he detected anyone with the intent to do him harm. He looked like he wanted to be grateful, but had reached a point in his life where his experiences made him unable to do even that.
    "I had a family," Ricco said. It seemed like everyone leaned in closer to hear him. Several minutes went by and Sophie thought there wasn't going to be any more to the story but he went on. "I consulted for a big bank before all this. People must have known who I was because when things started falling apart, some men broke into our house. They held guns on my wife and daughters and said that I had to help them get into the bank's vault."
    Sophie felt her throat and chest constrict, tears starting to form as she guessed how this story would end. It was becoming more and more common, but still gut wrenching to hear.
    Ricco went on, in a deadpan voice, as if shutting his emotions off from his brain just so that he could get through the telling. "I tried telling them that I didn't have that kind of access and that even if I did, what good was money going to do them anymore?"
    Sophie looked around and saw the same look of pained empathy on everyone's faces. It was like bearing witness to everyone's private moment of reflection set against Ricco's monotone delivery.
    "They shot my wife first. The man who did it, he didn't kill her outright. First, he shot her in the leg. I guess they thought I would take them more seriously. I kept yelling at them that I couldn't do anything, but he still shot her in the stomach. They made me watch her die, held me down and forced us to look into each other's eyes as she was...as she was going. Then my daughters—" His voice finally faltered just as Sophie was about to reach her own breaking point. She didn't want to hear any more of the story. Still, she saw every unspoken detail as clearly as if she had been telling it herself.
    The silence hung in the air like a physical weight. Sophie wanted to say something, anything that would change the subject away from the misery that had