Wasted World | Episode 2

not a gang,” Angela said. “I took the clothes the kids are wearing because we’ve had to keep ahead of a lunatic shooting off handguns, murdering everyone in sight. If I’d had the time I would’ve taken some for myself.” She spread out her arms and showed him the filthy remains of her dress, most of which was missing from the thighs down.
Corey could see something heavy weighing down both front pockets of Angela’s dress. “Speaking of guns…”
She patted the bulge on her right side. “We got away from the guy, took one of his weapons.”
“And the other one?” He pointed at her left side.
“I found that one on my own before I met up with the kids.” She hadn’t told Amanda and Michael about her night spent on a couch with an old woman melted into the fabric of an armchair at her feet. She wasn’t going to share that information with Corey Walker either.
“I see.” The young man held out both hands. “Well I can’t let you in any further unless you hand them both over. Marie’s orders—no weapons past the front doors.”
She glanced at the children. Amanda wanted to go inside. So did Michael, but he didn’t want to surrender the guns any more than Angela did. “I’d feel a lot better if we could hold on to them. I promise to keep them concealed.”
A woman spoke up from the shadows behind the young man. “And I promise I won’t let the three of you in another step if you don’t lay those guns on the ground at your feet right now.”
Corey bent down quickly and picked his rifle up. “Uuhh, this is Marie… my boss.”
Marie Hodgkin gave him a look that said they would be talking more about this later. “Your choice, lady. Give up the guns, or you carry on down to the next hotel.”
Angela had already made her mind up. She didn’t look back at the twins for approval. “We can have them back when we leave?”
“Of course, but I can’t imagine where you’d want to go. We have everything here you could possibly want. The parkade has been secured and is constantly guarded.” She shot Corey another dirty sideways glance. “The hotel has enough food and stored water to last the fifty-seven guests below for two or three months.”
Angela’s hands slowly slipped into her pockets. The woman in front of her stared into her eyes, challenging her to try something stupid. She was small, at least six inches shorter than Angela, but her presence was commandingly large. Her blond hair was pulled back tightly into a bun, and her thin lips were only a slit sitting above her pointy little chin. Her legs were spread apart slightly, and her hands were planted on her hips. The hotel uniform she was wearing—a neatly pressed black suit with white shirt—fit perfectly and could’ve have probably fit Amanda perfectly as well. Her green tie was pulled up tightly into the collar of the shirt.
Small in stature, but huge in presence. Angela heard Michael groan as she handed the guns to Corey. Marie took Angela by the elbow. “Smart decision.” They went into the hotel lobby and walked through the spacious area. There was a second Armageddon-oxygen-mask-wearing guard stationed behind the front desk. He waved at them with the tip of his rifle. There was a third guard at the back entrance, and a fourth standing at the vehicle ramp leading down into the underground parking lot.
Marie’s little black shoes clicked along the pavement and her voice echoed off the walls. “The hotel was almost at full capacity when the bomb hit… over two-hundred guests.” Angela noted the word guests for a second time. She had referred to the survivors as guests, as if they were still checking in and out on a regular basis. Marie Hodgkin either took her position very seriously, or she was suffering from the biggest case of denial Angela had ever seen. “Three quarters of them up and left. They jumped in their cars and drove away, leaving most of their belongings in the rooms above. Not sure where the hell they thought they were going.”
Michael spoke up. “They drove away? But none of the cars work anymore.”
“Most don’t,” Marie said. They were on the first level. She pointed to a stairwell leading down. “But some of the vehicles farther down still managed to start. Corey seems to think it has something to do with all the concrete underground. Whatever electromagnetic pulse that shot out over the city was shielded by it. Not all the vehicles work, but most on the third level still turn over, even though things like onboard clocks and other computerized controls have been scrambled.”
Get that thought out of your head and get it out right this second.
I’ve done bad things already, Dad—I’ve taken things without paying, and I’ve murdered. I’m sure adding car theft to the list won’t send me to hell any faster.
You don’t have a driver’s license. You can’t even drive.
You taught me how to drive when I was fifteen, remember? And I don’t think they’re any police left to pull me over and ask for identification.
That was thirty years ago, girl. Cars are different now. It’s not like riding a bicycle.
Marie was still talking, unaware of the conversation going on inside Angela’s brain. “A few of those left tried leaving with their vehicles, but I commandeered the keys.” So much for that idea, Angela thought. “We have to keep things safe and quiet down here. I can’t have people tearing up the underground in cars and running the other guests over.” She wagged a hand through the air. “Don’t worry, I’m not crazy. If any of those left owning vehicles that still work want to leave, they can. Same rules apply for car keys as weapons. Check them in and check