friends,” Chris said.
From the far side of the public park, I saw a group of the cowboys walking with Tori and Kent. One guy carried our gym bags, though Tori held on tight to her own. Kent had Olivia’s huge sack over his shoulder. He really did like Olivia. I don’t think he would have carried anybody else’s bag. Unless it was Tori’s. Okay, stop, Tucker.
From the other side of the building came a few more of Chris’s people, along with Jon. We all met up in front of a building with huge white columns over which the name “Quincy Market” was painted in big gold letters.
“This is where you register,” Chris explained. “They’ll process you through, and then I’ll take you to get something to eat. I assume you’re hungry.”
“Wait, register?” I asked.
“What kind of processing?” said Tori.
“We’re trying to be organized,” Chris explained. “Lots of people are coming through. Right now, we’ve got the only record of who survived the massacre.”
“Makes total sense,” Jon said. “It’s like the first census of the new world. It could end up being a historical document.”
“New world,” I repeated. “I’m not sure how I feel about calling it that.”
“It won’t take long,” Chris assured us. “We’ll take your bags and meet you back here.”
“I’ll hang on to mine,” Tori said.
I had no doubt that she had stashed one of the guns in there.
We all exchanged looks and shrugs and headed inside.
Stepping into the old building, we came upon a long counter that was normally a display for historical artifacts but was now being used as a reception desk by three pretty girls who didn’t look much older than Olivia. One of them waved for us to come over. I took the lead and went first.
“Hello. My name’s Madalyn,” the first girl said to me in a welcoming voice that instantly put me at ease. “How are you doing?”
“I’m not sure how to answer that,” I replied.
She gave me a sympathetic smile. “I hear you. Welcome to the Hall. Not that anybody really wants to be here, but it’s better than being out there alone.”
I shrugged.
“We need to get some information before you officially join us.”
“Uh, sure, whatever.”
“What’s your full name?”
“Tucker Brody Pierce.”
The girl opened a big, old-fashioned ledger book. Several pages were filled with a long list of names. I guess that’s how things had to work in this “new world.” We didn’t have power to run computers. Madalyn wrote my name down with neat, girl-typical handwriting. She asked me my date of birth, where I was born, and what my parents’ names were.
“Great,” she said. “Gigi will take your medical history. I’ll see you around.”
That was my cue to move on, so I slid over to face the next girl in line as Tori stepped up to Madalyn.
“Hello, my name’s Madalyn. Welcome to the Hall.”
Gigi was an equally pretty girl who asked me all sorts of questions about what kind of diseases I might have or if I had ever had any operations or injuries. She diligently wrote everything down in her own ledger book. I didn’t question them as to why they needed the information. Like Chris said, this was the only official record of the survivors. It was all so casual, as if we were checking into the Blackbird Inn for a vacation, not picking up the pieces after an attempt at genocide.
The last girl, Ashley (also cute, for the record), asked me to give her a brief account of where we were when the attack happened and the places we’d been on our way to the Hall. I gave her short answers, which is all she wanted since she was writing it all down. I expected a surprised reaction when I mentioned that we were out on the water when Portland was first hit, and that we had fought our way through the largest air-sea battle in history to get to the mainland, but she didn’t even blink. I guess she had heard all sorts of hairy stories. Ours was just another one.
I heard Gigi, the medical girl, ask Tori, “Are you
From the far side of the public park, I saw a group of the cowboys walking with Tori and Kent. One guy carried our gym bags, though Tori held on tight to her own. Kent had Olivia’s huge sack over his shoulder. He really did like Olivia. I don’t think he would have carried anybody else’s bag. Unless it was Tori’s. Okay, stop, Tucker.
From the other side of the building came a few more of Chris’s people, along with Jon. We all met up in front of a building with huge white columns over which the name “Quincy Market” was painted in big gold letters.
“This is where you register,” Chris explained. “They’ll process you through, and then I’ll take you to get something to eat. I assume you’re hungry.”
“Wait, register?” I asked.
“What kind of processing?” said Tori.
“We’re trying to be organized,” Chris explained. “Lots of people are coming through. Right now, we’ve got the only record of who survived the massacre.”
“Makes total sense,” Jon said. “It’s like the first census of the new world. It could end up being a historical document.”
“New world,” I repeated. “I’m not sure how I feel about calling it that.”
“It won’t take long,” Chris assured us. “We’ll take your bags and meet you back here.”
“I’ll hang on to mine,” Tori said.
I had no doubt that she had stashed one of the guns in there.
We all exchanged looks and shrugs and headed inside.
Stepping into the old building, we came upon a long counter that was normally a display for historical artifacts but was now being used as a reception desk by three pretty girls who didn’t look much older than Olivia. One of them waved for us to come over. I took the lead and went first.
“Hello. My name’s Madalyn,” the first girl said to me in a welcoming voice that instantly put me at ease. “How are you doing?”
“I’m not sure how to answer that,” I replied.
She gave me a sympathetic smile. “I hear you. Welcome to the Hall. Not that anybody really wants to be here, but it’s better than being out there alone.”
I shrugged.
“We need to get some information before you officially join us.”
“Uh, sure, whatever.”
“What’s your full name?”
“Tucker Brody Pierce.”
The girl opened a big, old-fashioned ledger book. Several pages were filled with a long list of names. I guess that’s how things had to work in this “new world.” We didn’t have power to run computers. Madalyn wrote my name down with neat, girl-typical handwriting. She asked me my date of birth, where I was born, and what my parents’ names were.
“Great,” she said. “Gigi will take your medical history. I’ll see you around.”
That was my cue to move on, so I slid over to face the next girl in line as Tori stepped up to Madalyn.
“Hello, my name’s Madalyn. Welcome to the Hall.”
Gigi was an equally pretty girl who asked me all sorts of questions about what kind of diseases I might have or if I had ever had any operations or injuries. She diligently wrote everything down in her own ledger book. I didn’t question them as to why they needed the information. Like Chris said, this was the only official record of the survivors. It was all so casual, as if we were checking into the Blackbird Inn for a vacation, not picking up the pieces after an attempt at genocide.
The last girl, Ashley (also cute, for the record), asked me to give her a brief account of where we were when the attack happened and the places we’d been on our way to the Hall. I gave her short answers, which is all she wanted since she was writing it all down. I expected a surprised reaction when I mentioned that we were out on the water when Portland was first hit, and that we had fought our way through the largest air-sea battle in history to get to the mainland, but she didn’t even blink. I guess she had heard all sorts of hairy stories. Ours was just another one.
I heard Gigi, the medical girl, ask Tori, “Are you
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