Chapter 27: Uncertainty of Utopia

                                    

                                          
Peter shows me around, small groups of people smile and welcome me. I feel awkward, there's so many faces that I do not know, yet all of them are calm and kind. There's the unfamiliar sound of a crying baby, the sound I have not heard in months. This place must really be safe to house this many people; babies, adults. 
                          
						
                          
"Everyone here contributes. There's farmers, cooks, cleaners, laundry workers and scouts. Anyone who live here is assigned a job based on skill. What would you like to be?" Peter asks. This just seems so fast, one moment I'm being treated like a prisoner, the next, I'm accepted gratefully, by these strangers. 
                          
						
                          
"I have minor medical training but lots of experience in the field. You can ask my friend Sadie about her arm," Peter raises an eyebrow, making the connection that Sadie is the one without an arm. "I'd also like to be a scout, I've already made it this far in the world. You may think that I'm weak, being a young girl, but I'd really like to contribute in the most significant way." 
                          
						
                          
"I'll get someone to monitor your ability." He shows me the bathrooms, fully stocked with soap and hot running water. Next he takes me to a steel door, entering a passcode to the padlock.
                          
						
                          
When the vault unlocks, it reveals an ongoing field of crops. To the far right, is canola, corn and wheat, as well as a massive vegetable patch. To my left is livestock. They've managed to get pigs, chickens and even a pair of cows. 
                          
						
                          
"This is unbelievable, how long have you been stabilized here?" I ask, the building seems to be some large warehouse, once used for lumber or produce in a different world. 
                          
						
                          
"Well, I came across this place after the first month that this all started. Eleanor was already here, camping out. We just built on from there." This is fantastic. For once there's a home suitable for a comfortable life. "Is there anything else I can do to make you more comfortable, do you need anything?" he asks, now treating me as a guest. 
                          
						
                          
He leads me to a bed in the far corner of the Atrium. "All of my stuff is in the truck my friends were driving, and I'd really like to have a bed near all of them when they pass inspection." 
                          
						
                          
"That's all doable. What would you like from the truck?" I offer to go with Peter to unload all of it but he won't allow it. 
                          
						
                          
"Well, my clothes, my journal. There's a small metal case with medicine for my allergies," I lie about the cure, still not fully trusting him, "and my gun."
                          
						
                          
"I can permit everything but the gun." I protest but he quickly explains, "We don't want people armed; they might not be able to handle it but if you want to leave for what ever reason, feel free to take it back. The only people allowed to carry a gun are guards." I nod my head accepting the information but still fuming. I don't feel safe without a weapon. Ever since the outbreak, not having a gun on me feels like I'm a target. 
                          
						
                          
I lay on my bed, there's nothing for me to do but wait. Wait for my friends to be free, wait for my belongings to be returned. Wait. 
                          
						
                          
Another man comes up to me, introducing himself as Dan. He is here to inquire about my workstation. "So what might you want to do to contribute?" he asks, taking notes on a clipboard. 
                          
						
                          
"Doctor or a scout," I say immediately, both would be acceptable. 
                          
						
                          
"Do you have any training in any of those fields?" he questions further. 
                          
						
                          
I retell the story of Sadie and how I'd always wanted to be a surgeon. As I speak, he frantically scribbles notes on lined pieces of paper. 
                          
						
                          
"What about your experience as a scout?" I just note that I've been surviving out in the world for months, frequently making stops and runs into stores and towns. By the end of the interview, Dan thanks me and assures me that the results will be in either by tonight or tomorrow morning.
                          
						
                          
My stomach growls, I realize that I haven't eaten at all today. I am mad at myself for not eating the food provided while I was in the cell. "Excuse me," I gently tap the shoulder of a woman several beds down. 
                          
						
                          
She turns around, smiling at me, "What is it my dear?" Her hair is a grey colour, all curled around her ears. When she smiles, wrinkles form all around her face, an impressive sign of age. 
                          
						
                          
"I was wondering where to get food, I haven't eaten since I arrived," I grip my abdomen, suddenly aware of a dull ache coming from my hand. I remember the hard blow that it took, probably broken, or badly bruised. 
                          
						
                          
"We all eat together, dinner is in an hour, but if you really are in need, there's a snack bar just beside the kitchen," she points in the direction. 
                          
						
                          
I thank her, grateful for the help and head over. There's a bucket full of snack food; granola bars, crackers and cookies. I reach in, my hand returning with a packet of biscuits. My stomach thanks me with a loud rumble as I take my first bite.
                          
						
                          
While I was on the tour, I caught a glimpse of an infirmary; hospital beds lining the sides, each one equipped with IV's and medical instruments. Peter made note of a nearly full working operating room. Once I find the place again, I enter. At the front is a desk; behind the desk sits a lady. 
                          
						
                          
"What may I help you with Miss?" she asks, her voice colorful and clear. 
                          
						
                          
"Before I came in, I banged up my hand pretty bad. I was wondering if you could spare somebody to take a look at it?" She nods her head, leading me to an open bed. The place is nearly deserted; only two other beds are full. One has a child that looks like they're burning a fever and the other, an older man in the same condition. 
                          
						
                          
A nurse comes to my bed to take a look at my wrist. She purses her lips and goes off to a storage compartment by the front desk. I watch intently, wanting to know more of this place; where supplies are kept, who is in charge. As she turns around to return, a lady, with an infant in her arms bursts in declaring in panic, "she has a fever!"