The Few Part 8: The Something of Nothing

As the light seeping into the old bakery faded, the crowd of occupants gradually drifted to sleep. John and his family had positioned themselves in a corner of the building near the door. As more people fell asleep, the building was overcome by an ominous silence.
John stared into the darkness, picturing the crowd in his mind, and seeing on their faces the false comfort he had given them. He tried to think of what he would say tomorrow when it came time to make good on his words.
As the night drew on, the moon lifted up over the building, shining beams of light through the open doorway. He glanced around at the dim faces of the sleeping bodies that were tangled about on the floor, reviving his awareness that he was the only one awake. Silently, he slid along the softened wood floor to the front of the building, and stepped out into the street.
He walked around the town, following the path they had taken on the run of two nights ago. The bodies of those they had killed had been cleared from the streets and the doorways, though John had no idea where they had been taken. The buildings were the same as they had been before, with dim candlelight emanating from a few of the mostly darkened windows. The street, which was in the daytime unspeakably ugly and fearful, was, under the dim light of the quiet night, peaceful.

Trying not to awaken those that slept or draw the attention of those who did not, John walked to the door of one of the buildings. He remembered the glass door that had been shot through on the night of the run, and noticed the new wooden door that had been put up in its place. It was the evolution of a tabletop, crafted into a door, trimmed with a meticulous attention to detail, and cut to the door frame in a job that only a skilled carpenter could have done. He pushed on the door, and it opened smoothly, on newly oiled hinges. He walked through the building, down the hallways that darkened as he walked farther from the entrance, remembering as he passed each apartment door the people in this very building who had greeted him and his family when they had first arrived.
A sadness ran through him as he thought back to the bakery and the miserable people crowded on the floor of the decrepit building. By comparison, the one- and two-roomed apartments looked wonderful. But he knew he had lost the right to stay here. He had given up that right when he ran with The Few. He turned and walked slowly back to the entrance.

As he neared the door, a heavily accented voice called his name from behind him. He stopped, and only after a moment turned to face the noise. He stared into a face with old leathery skin and bright blue eyes, and it was only after a moment that he recognized Edward.
"What're you doin' here?" he asked in an unnecessarily upbeat tone.
"Couldn't sleep." John answered, trying not to start a conversation.
"You think you can sleep any better here?" Edward shot back jokingly.
John paused for a moment. He had nothing to say. Edward filled the space in the conversation: "You can try though. Most've the people here are gone."
Suddenly interested, John spoke back. "Where did they go?" he asked. "There aren't as many houses as apartments, are there?"
"'Course not," Edward said with certainty, "I don't know for sure, but I know they're gone somewhere."

Steering the conversation to the darker subject that haunted his mind, John spoke quietly: "It looks pretty hopeless. We've got nothing but a bunch of hatred, and the ones they hate can kill them."
Edward chuckled. "That's the way its been for years. Nothin' changed tonight but the teams." As an afterthought he added "And look around. This ain't hopeless. Not by a long shot."
Easy for you John thought. You don't have to go back and tell them they're powerless. He stood up. "I've got to get back to the bakery before they wake up," he said in parting.
"This here's the best you're gonna do," Edward advised him. "Try an' do more an' you'll just get yourself killed."
John stood there for a moment before muttering a detatched "yeah," and walking out.

As he walked back towards downtown, the sun was drifting up over the horizon, and the sky glowed yellow around the boarded downtown buildings. John walked quickly, hoping to get back to the bakery before people started to awaken.
He stopped for a moment as he heard the sound of an angry crowd. Upset that they had woken while he was out, he let out a long and dejected breath and picked up the pace. The soles of his shoes tapped on the pavement with a quickening beat and then changed as his walk turned into an all-out run. He turned the corner onto Sixth Street without a pause, and ran more and more quickly.

Suddenly, his attention peaked, and he stopped. He wasn't quite sure, but he held his breath to listen for what he thought he had heard.

In the distance was the painfully familiar sound of screams and gunfire.

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