It's not so far after all. He arrives shortly before noon, though it's hard to tell exactly on such a cloudy, rainy day. A few steps before the wall-to-be he stands and just - stares. He has never seen so many people before, which is somewhat ironic considering that a few weeks before, there were a lot more people than there are now. Some part of his mind tells him to be glad that all those people survived, and he is, he really is, but just now, it's hard to feel this way. Everything is overwhelming, and somehow, it hits him now: that his old life is over for good. That nothing in his life will ever be the way it once was.
He shakes his head quickly and violently to get over the feeling. This is not the time: already he can see curious eyes directed at him. Not the place to break down; there is no way but forward. So he takes a deep breath and walks towards the person nearest to him. Or perhaps there's another one who's a bit nearer, but the one he chooses, he looks at him...a little less curiously, more welcoming. As if, and he is aware how absurd that is, as if he were truly happy to see him.
"Um," he says, his voice hoarse. It's not in disuse, he has sung a lot the last few days, but he still has to clear his throat and try again. He hasn't talked to another person in weeks.
"Hi," he starts again, hesitantly meeting the friendly, expectant eyes of the other man. He seems to be a guard of some kind, a soldier; he has a battered gun by his side and wears something that is probably supposed to pass for a uniform.
"I'm - can I ask you a question?"
"You're new, aren't you? I'm glad you're here," the guard says, and Kurt understands what he doesn't say: I'm glad you're alive. Either way, he appreciates the sentiment. He manages a smile in thanks.
"Um, what's with the...wall?" he asks. What - or whom - are you trying to keep out?
"Look, if you're new here, you have to get registered. I'll take you to the office, and on the way, I'll explain everything you need to know, alright? Including the wall."
"Register, huh? I'm glad to hear bureaucracy hasn't died."
It's meant to be a joke, but the guard doesn't laugh. He just smiles a little tight-lipped and explains,
"It's necessary so we can estimate how many people live here. We are already rationing the food, because if there isn't any arable land again soon, there will be problems. I'm sure you'll agree it's better to be prepared."
Kurt mumbles something incomprehensible, because this is something he hasn't thought of at all, and also it does nothing to answer his questions, instead raising about fifty new ones.
"So, officer - the wall?" he prompts, but the man beside him laughs a little and says,
"Please don't call me officer. I'm just part of the new militia, we don't have an official title yet."
"So what do I call you?"
"Well - my name is Blaine."
"Kurt," Kurt says, taking the offered hand and then staring at Blaine as long as it takes to make him laugh sheepishly, look away and say,
"Right, the wall. This town here, it's presumably the only one left. We're right in the middle. A few miles in any direction, and you walk right into water, lava, depends on where you go. This town is the only place left, everything else is gone. We don't know if this place is safe. We've been spared yet, but who knows? So the wall is us trying to feel a little bit safer. It won't do much against storms, of course, but maybe it will help keep the water and the other stuff out. You're expected to put in a few hours a day to help building it. You'll be given food, somewhere to stay, and some clothes if you need them in return."
"So you're not trying to keep anyone out? People, I mean?"
Blaine looks at him strangely. "I don't think anyone else is coming. Before you, there haven't been any new arrivals for at least a week. I think everyone else is just...gone."
It is strange how a thought like that kills all conversation. Silently, they walk beside each other, Kurt is lost in his own thoughts, but he can't really tell what he's thinking. Everything is jumbled, but first and foremost in his mind is a sense of relief. For the moment, at least, he is safe, as safe as can be with forces of nature closing in from every direction. He even feels this sense of purpose, anticipates the feeling of doing something to protect them, even though he strongly suspects that the reason for the wall is to give people this feeling just as much as to provide some protection.
He looks around a bit as they walk. He is still too overwhelmed to really take everything in, but what little he sees overwhelms him even more. Houses made of stone, old ones that are four or five stories high - no one knows how to build like that anymore. There even are a few cars, and he gapes a bit, remembering the uproar the one time a car came into his village. He can see, though, that they are not used to drive around right now. There are blankets and clothes lying in some of them, and he guesses they are used as additional places to sleep.
He registers quickly with a too formal official, and afterwards, he feels...bleak. Once more, it settles in that everything is different now. He is now an official citizen of a new city - the only city left, apparently, and god, does that feel weird.
Blaine, who seems to have nothing better to do than show him around all day, picks up on his mood.
"You'll get used to this. We'll all get used to this. Look at the bright side: you survived until now, didn't you? You lived through yet another apocalypse."
"I wasn't alive during the last one," Kurt says sullenly, but Blaine is right. Some ancestor of his survived the last apocalypse, about a hundred years ago, that didn't only cost a lot of lives but also whole civilizations they see the remains of but know nothing about. Someone of his family made it through that one so that Kurt could survive this. Talk about some resilient genes.
Blaine leads him through the city, back to the building site, where builders are given food and clothing stamps and are assigned some place of accommodation. Kurt doesn't expect much, and that's exactly what he receives. Still, the clothes he is given may be threadbare and not fit exactly, but they do more than only cover the necessary places, and he is pathetically grateful for the warmth they offer. He is asked if he wants a razor, and he nods emphatically and promises himself a lot of private time with it as soon as he gets to a place with some water.
His new lodgings are a cot in a one-room wallboard hut, one of three, but his roommates aren't there. He feels a little lost without Blaine, who has gone back to his duties, but he takes the opportunity of the privacy to make use of the bowl of fresh water on the single dresser and wash and finally get rid of the beard. Then he sits down on the cot he assumes is his; the others have nails in the walls behind them with clothing hung on them. He dresses in his new clothes and lays the old ones down on the bed to mark it as his, resolving to find needle and thread as soon and possible to see if he can salvage anything. He has a feeling he shouldn't let anything go to waste.
Then he ventures outside once more. He blinks; the light seems too bright after the dim interior of the hut, despite the overcast sky, and when he can see properly again, he gulps. It will take time to find his place among all those people, who all look so busy and as if they belong exactly where they are, leaving him on the outskirts, a mere observer.
He sighs, and walks over to the buildings site, rolls up his sleeves, and goes to work.
A few days go by. He meets his roommates, two girls called Santana and Rachel who are, as far as he can tell, completely different but both equally hard to bear. Santana seems constantly angry, and is either taciturn in a sullen, poisoning way, or downright mean. Rachel is so naïve it hurts, and much too chatty for his frayed nerves. He is polite but distant, as is his way, though both of them seem to do their best to provoke him to the cutting, cold remarks he was feared for in his village.
He soon is in the hut only to sleep.
He looks around the city as soon as he dares without Blaine, or anyone, to guide him. He marvels at the high buildings and the cars, and wishes for his dad to be here; he would have given a lot to see this. He even talks to people and kind of makes friends with Millie, the lady who passes out their small meals and the excuse for coffee they get. He doesn't know if that's a blessing, though; she is sweet, but she tells him things about the food he'd rather not know.
"It's thin, but it's real coffee. When that's gone, it'll be ground nuts with sugar and some charcoal for color. When the nuts and the sugar are gone...well, you can imagine," she says, and, "We've already planted a lot of potatoes. They don't need much ground and keep well. Prepare to eat a lot of them. If it gets really bad, they're fine in a stew with rats. And mud, for the trace elements."
No, he really could have done without that knowledge.
He doesn't talk to Blaine again, though he sees him around a lot, and he waves and smiles at him but is always too busy to talk. Kurt watches him assign people their places at the wall or break up fights with a stern, but infuriatingly benevolent expression on his face, and he can't see why everyone seems to trust him so much, to trust him to have only their best interests at heart, to care. Except then again, he can.
He works on the building site a lot, and uses the time for...well, networking. After all, while the necessities are taken care of now, a time will come when the wall is finished, and it's best to be prepared. So, when a guy he pisses off somehow tells him to suck his dick, he replies, "Sure, if you can pay." He gets flipped off, but word spreads, and soon other guys approach him who take his offer seriously. It isn't an established clientele yet, and it takes some time for him to determine what he should take as payment - there's no money, but he trades his services for needles and thread, food stamps, a blanket.
So, the next time he sees Blaine, Kurt has his mouth wrapped around the cock of some guy who stands against the wall, eyes closed and mouth open in ecstasy. It's dark, and they're in a small alley, but Blaine finds them nevertheless. Kurt hears him clear his throat, and he lifts a finger to indicate he should wait, never interrupting his ministrations. When he feels the guy is close, he pulls of and lets him spill on the ground, finally lifting his head.
"Hi Blaine," he says, rises and dusts his knees while his client gathers his breath, presses some food stamps into his hands, smiles, and disappears.
"You can't do that, you know," Blaine says.
"I can, though. I'm actually very good at it."
Blaine grins, though Kurt has the feeling he'd rather not. "I mean, you can't do that in public."
"It's a back alley, Blaine, it's hardly public. Plus, I can't very well take them home. I have two roommates, it might hurt their delicate sensitivities."
Though at least in Santana's case, he doubts there are any sensitivities left to be hurt.
"You have to make arrangements. It's public indecency, Kurt, I can't allow that," Blaine says, then smiles at him. "Now, do you want to get dinner together?"
Kurt smiles and nods. He isn't fooled, though. He's seen the way Blaine looked at him while he was blowing that guy, and it was anything but offended.