Written on June 29, 2012
The Mexican coke in my hand was refreshingly cool as I poured it into my mouth. It was slightly less so, however, when the truck I was illegally hitching a ride in went over a speed bump of some sort. The Coca-Cola spilled all over my already-filthy camouflage jacket and my extensively torn black cargo pants.
"Crap," I mumbled. I removed my coat and used it to dry off my pants as best I could- I didn't care if my coat was wet, as long as my pants weren't. The coke bottle had emptied when it spilled, so I just tucked it back into the package I got it from. If the driver saw the rip in the plastic that I had made with my Swiss army knife, he would probably assume that it had torn when it was loaded into the truck. However, he'd probably suspect something when he saw the empty bottles. Luckily I was pretty good at opening up the door from the inside and sprinting away as soon as the truck stopped at a gas station.
Speaking of the truck stopping at a gas station, it stopped right then. This was my chance to make a run for it. I opened up the door just a crack to make sure this was the right gas station, and in the right part of town. When I saw that it was, I hauled the door open just enough for me to fit through, then quietly shut the door again once I was outside. This gas station was always pretty empty, so nobody saw me, and there were no cameras at the right angle to see me get out of the back of the truck.
There was a small clump of trees behind the gas station, so that's where I headed with my backpack full of Mexicoke. Once under the cover of the trees, I counted how many bottles I had; 7. That should've been enough for everyone in my group to have one, and I'd have the extra. This was a real treat, because we usually only got polluted stream water or sour chocolate milk.
I followed the trees downhill along a path that was only there because I had put it there. At the bottom of the hill the trees ended, making way for a large meadow followed by a thicker patch of woods that stretched on for miles. This was at the very edge of town. Nobody ever came here, and the nearest road was the one that led to the gas station, out of the city and into the vast country that surrounded it.
Crossing the meadow, I entered the woods with the bottles of coke clinking together in my backpack. It wasn't very far to what I called the Village. It was much too small to be considered an actual village, of course. Only 6 houses- one for each person- and they shouldn't even have been called houses, they were so small. They were simply large boxes with three walls, and a cloth or blanket of sorts hanging over the fourth side. On the wall farthest the "door" of each house was a shelf near the ceiling with just enough room for a person to sleep. A ladder led up to the bed, which in most houses contained a few shaggy blankets which had been stolen from trash cans and back porches. There was also a storage shelf (usually empty, but for a single backpack) on the left wall of each house. The houses themselves, of course, were made of wood.
Once I got to the Village, I shouted my usual greeting to see who else was home. "I'm back! And I come bearing gifts!" The only person who came out of any of the houses was Rattman. We gave him that name because he had had the privilege to play video games before he was homeless, and knew a character called Doug Rattman. He liked that character a lot, and he was the only member of our group who was willing to go dumpster diving. Rattman even found good stuff, most of the time. In fact, he once found a water filter, which was why none of us were sick from drinking the stream water. People in this town were often very wealthy, enough so, even, that they could afford to just throw away a $100 water filter.
"What gifts do you come bearing, Trucker?" Asked Rattman. Rattman, 14 years old, had red hair and green eyes, and was already 6' tall. This was his usual comeback to my greeting. I answered by opening up my bag and letting him take a look.
"Got them from a Coca-Cola truck that I was hitching a ride in," I informed him. I could see the awe on his face; not even he was that good at finding a truck with something this good inside it. Rattman went ahead and took one. He knew the drill; every person got one of anything brought back to the village, and any extras went to the person who brought it, or whoever the person who brought it chose.
Rattman opened the bottle on the shelf inside his house, then came back outside drinking it. He sat down on one of the logs surrounding the stone fire pit in the center of the Village. The houses surrounded the fire pit. I put two of the bottles and my backpack onto my shelf, and one on everyone else's shelf except Rattman's. I then sat down next to him, who was trying to make his soda last as long as he could. Well, he was succeeding. It had already been about 10 minutes, and he was only about halfway through the small bottle of Coca-Cola.
"Hey, is there one of those on my shelf, too?" I knew before I turned around that it was Sneak, judging from the fact that she snuck up on-of all people- me. Sneak was only 5'5" with blue eyes like mine, and blonde hair. I had blue eyes, brown hair, and was 5'6".
"Yeah, go ahead, Sneak," I replied. She skipped silently over to her house and came back out with an open bottle. "Where's Faith?"
"The usual. Out on the rooftops, trying to run off her depression or whatever," Not only did Faith resemble the character from the video game in appearance, but Faith was even an expert parkourist. She would spend hours of the day just leaping from rooftop to rooftop, sliding down slanted glass windows 14 stories up, jumping to another building with her momentum. Scaling 3-story brick buildings and flying across the city on her own zip lines. It wasn't like she didn't pull her weight, either; some of the wealthy people in the city would put supplies in backpacks, then leave them in certain places throughout the city. Only Faith knew the locations that these backpacks were left, and only Faith could get to them anyway. After she brought them to the Village, she would return the backpack the next day and keep the supplies here.
"Cool beans. What about Gale?"
"Checking the traps."
"Engy?"
"Figuring out how to screw up the security cameras at the gas station so it'll be easier to take food from it."
"Marvelous."
Gale got his name from the character from Suzanne Collins' Hunger Games books, who was very good at setting traps, climbing trees, and hunting with the bow and arrows. It wasn't our Gale's real name, of course. They were all nicknames.
Engy had gotten his name from the TF2 character, Engineer, because he was very good at building things. Engy was also good with electronics, which is why he was working on the security system at the gas station, which was our primary source of food.
That night, I dreamed of what wonderful things the next day might bring. What substantial food, new clothes, warm blankets, and expensive mansions. I dreamed of what life might be if someone would give me a job, if I wasn't homeless. And I wished harder that anyone ever had, that I could just find a place to live.
"Crap," I mumbled. I removed my coat and used it to dry off my pants as best I could- I didn't care if my coat was wet, as long as my pants weren't. The coke bottle had emptied when it spilled, so I just tucked it back into the package I got it from. If the driver saw the rip in the plastic that I had made with my Swiss army knife, he would probably assume that it had torn when it was loaded into the truck. However, he'd probably suspect something when he saw the empty bottles. Luckily I was pretty good at opening up the door from the inside and sprinting away as soon as the truck stopped at a gas station.
Speaking of the truck stopping at a gas station, it stopped right then. This was my chance to make a run for it. I opened up the door just a crack to make sure this was the right gas station, and in the right part of town. When I saw that it was, I hauled the door open just enough for me to fit through, then quietly shut the door again once I was outside. This gas station was always pretty empty, so nobody saw me, and there were no cameras at the right angle to see me get out of the back of the truck.
There was a small clump of trees behind the gas station, so that's where I headed with my backpack full of Mexicoke. Once under the cover of the trees, I counted how many bottles I had; 7. That should've been enough for everyone in my group to have one, and I'd have the extra. This was a real treat, because we usually only got polluted stream water or sour chocolate milk.
I followed the trees downhill along a path that was only there because I had put it there. At the bottom of the hill the trees ended, making way for a large meadow followed by a thicker patch of woods that stretched on for miles. This was at the very edge of town. Nobody ever came here, and the nearest road was the one that led to the gas station, out of the city and into the vast country that surrounded it.
Crossing the meadow, I entered the woods with the bottles of coke clinking together in my backpack. It wasn't very far to what I called the Village. It was much too small to be considered an actual village, of course. Only 6 houses- one for each person- and they shouldn't even have been called houses, they were so small. They were simply large boxes with three walls, and a cloth or blanket of sorts hanging over the fourth side. On the wall farthest the "door" of each house was a shelf near the ceiling with just enough room for a person to sleep. A ladder led up to the bed, which in most houses contained a few shaggy blankets which had been stolen from trash cans and back porches. There was also a storage shelf (usually empty, but for a single backpack) on the left wall of each house. The houses themselves, of course, were made of wood.
Once I got to the Village, I shouted my usual greeting to see who else was home. "I'm back! And I come bearing gifts!" The only person who came out of any of the houses was Rattman. We gave him that name because he had had the privilege to play video games before he was homeless, and knew a character called Doug Rattman. He liked that character a lot, and he was the only member of our group who was willing to go dumpster diving. Rattman even found good stuff, most of the time. In fact, he once found a water filter, which was why none of us were sick from drinking the stream water. People in this town were often very wealthy, enough so, even, that they could afford to just throw away a $100 water filter.
"What gifts do you come bearing, Trucker?" Asked Rattman. Rattman, 14 years old, had red hair and green eyes, and was already 6' tall. This was his usual comeback to my greeting. I answered by opening up my bag and letting him take a look.
"Got them from a Coca-Cola truck that I was hitching a ride in," I informed him. I could see the awe on his face; not even he was that good at finding a truck with something this good inside it. Rattman went ahead and took one. He knew the drill; every person got one of anything brought back to the village, and any extras went to the person who brought it, or whoever the person who brought it chose.
Rattman opened the bottle on the shelf inside his house, then came back outside drinking it. He sat down on one of the logs surrounding the stone fire pit in the center of the Village. The houses surrounded the fire pit. I put two of the bottles and my backpack onto my shelf, and one on everyone else's shelf except Rattman's. I then sat down next to him, who was trying to make his soda last as long as he could. Well, he was succeeding. It had already been about 10 minutes, and he was only about halfway through the small bottle of Coca-Cola.
"Hey, is there one of those on my shelf, too?" I knew before I turned around that it was Sneak, judging from the fact that she snuck up on-of all people- me. Sneak was only 5'5" with blue eyes like mine, and blonde hair. I had blue eyes, brown hair, and was 5'6".
"Yeah, go ahead, Sneak," I replied. She skipped silently over to her house and came back out with an open bottle. "Where's Faith?"
"The usual. Out on the rooftops, trying to run off her depression or whatever," Not only did Faith resemble the character from the video game in appearance, but Faith was even an expert parkourist. She would spend hours of the day just leaping from rooftop to rooftop, sliding down slanted glass windows 14 stories up, jumping to another building with her momentum. Scaling 3-story brick buildings and flying across the city on her own zip lines. It wasn't like she didn't pull her weight, either; some of the wealthy people in the city would put supplies in backpacks, then leave them in certain places throughout the city. Only Faith knew the locations that these backpacks were left, and only Faith could get to them anyway. After she brought them to the Village, she would return the backpack the next day and keep the supplies here.
"Cool beans. What about Gale?"
"Checking the traps."
"Engy?"
"Figuring out how to screw up the security cameras at the gas station so it'll be easier to take food from it."
"Marvelous."
Gale got his name from the character from Suzanne Collins' Hunger Games books, who was very good at setting traps, climbing trees, and hunting with the bow and arrows. It wasn't our Gale's real name, of course. They were all nicknames.
Engy had gotten his name from the TF2 character, Engineer, because he was very good at building things. Engy was also good with electronics, which is why he was working on the security system at the gas station, which was our primary source of food.
That night, I dreamed of what wonderful things the next day might bring. What substantial food, new clothes, warm blankets, and expensive mansions. I dreamed of what life might be if someone would give me a job, if I wasn't homeless. And I wished harder that anyone ever had, that I could just find a place to live.