Hope On The Rocks/Issue 31

This is Issue 31 of Hope On The Rocks, entitled "Not Like Africa".

This issue is Miles-centric.

311, Not Like Africa
A little under two months ago, a man named Gavin Cart reached us at The Rocks, via radio. Since that, we have been wondering who that man was, and why he lied to us. To Al, he said he was in Waynesburg, but to Lia he said he was in Kansas. Axel’s former supply runner and tradesman, Landon, died about a week ago. He wanted me to take over, and I said yes. Now I am going to Waynesburg Refugee Camp to trade with them. The other supply runner is named Peter. He is a nice man, a few years older than me. He seems reasonable. Right now, Peter and I are loading the van with tradeables, with help from Nick. Axel is sitting in his wheelchair, watching. “What do I do if Gavin Cart isn’t there?” I ask Nick as we help each other, getting a small generator in the van. “Ask them where he is.” Nick says, with his usual depressed voice. Since Helen died, Nick hasn’t been able to conversate with. And with me dating his daughter, it makes it even harder to reach him. “Yea, okay.” I say as we get the generator inside. Peter, who is in the van, pulls the generator in place. “Listen, Miles.” Nick begins, looking at me with tired eyes. “I am happy for you and Lia, don’t get me wrong...” “Thank you...” I say, not sure how to react. I look at Peter, who begins to load more boxes into the van. “But, Miles... Please don’t die. I don’t want Lia to end up like me.” Nick says, a tear forming in his eye. I look away, to avoid the awkward look. “Yea... I will.” I just say and smile. Nick nods, and we go to help Peter again.

Peter is driving. I never learned how to. We’re driving on the highway on which we were found by William. We drive in silence. An awkward silence; I hate those. “How far away is this refugee camp?” I ask, breaking the silence. “We’ll be there in 20 minutes.” Peter says, not looking away from the road. I see why; cars is jamming the highway. “You’ve been there much?” I ask. I know it’s lame, but I don’t know what to talk about. “A couple of times. Landon and I were there four or five times in total.” Peter says, continuing to concentrate on the road. I feel like I need to ask about Gavin, so I just do: “Does there live a Gavin Cart there?” Peter shrugs with the words: “I don’t know everyone there. Why, a relative?” I shake my head. “No, no... I honestly don’t know who he is.” Peter has a wondering look, but chooses not to respond.

The refugee camp is only surrounded by a fence with barbed wire. Still better defended that Rogersville. The gate is opened from the inside, by someone I can’t see. Peter nods and smiles to the man, who I can’t see. He then drives the car inside. I look around; there’s kids, families. They seem to enjoy being here, or well, how you now enjoy things like this in a zombie apocalypse. Peter stops the car at a tent, standing in the far end of the refugee camp. My guess would be two hundred residents here, due to the tents. It’s about same size as Rogersville. A bit smaller. I get out of the car, Peter follows. Two men head for us. A black friendly looking man walks behind a more serious looking man. “Where’s Landon?” The serious looking man asks and shakes hand with Peter. “Miles here has taken over for him.” Peter says with a faked smile. I can tell it’s faked, as he hates to talk about Landon. The serious looking man shakes my hand and introduces himself: “Neil Bradson. Nice to meet you, Miles.” He looks at the black man, who is standing talking to Peter. “That’s Adam. Welcome to Waynesburg Refugee Camp.”