I stood anxiously, fiddling with a hole in my leather jacket. my eyes kept darting around: to the guard standing above the gate, to the massive tower tucked into The Starlight Inn, to the fidgety people waiting in line. But I was always drawn back to Ash. I wished she'd turn around again, so I can gaze into the galaxy of stories hidden in her eyes. They seemed to tell a story much larger than any of us; greater than any of our comprehensions. They shone a harsh light on the truth and reality of the Commonwealth, a truth she probably didn't want to know and never did, but was thrust into it anyhow. It was sad to see such an innocent soul exposed to so much. It made me want to know her, far beyond the acquaintanceship I had originally planned to guarantee a partner in case things went south. I wanted to be her…
Friend.
I mouthed it silently. It felt weird. I had never really had a friend before. My parents weren't my friends; they were my caregivers. I was highly independent and only needed my parents because otherwise, caravans wouldn't take me seriously whenever I attempted to buy 10mm rounds.
I felt the need to tap her shoulder again, but I didn't want to be a bother. I began to fidget like most of the other numb-skulled children waiting in line. Growling at my frustration, I reluctantly held back the urge to talk to her again. I suppose I'll see her around The Inn, I told myself.
Minutes turned into hours until we were finally at the gate. I stood behind Ash's family as security guards searched through their suitcases and patted them down before turning them over to the secretary. I stepped up as a guard opened my father's suitcase and pulled out piles of dirty clothes and rusty silverware, searching for a potential bomb. Finding nothing, the guard stuffed everything back in the suitcase and handed it back to my father. A guard began feeling around my pockets, pulling out the 10mm pistol I had been carrying. He eyed me suspiciously, and asked through his masked face: "Young man, what do you think you're doing with this? How old are you?" He waved the gun around in his hand.
"Nothing," I answered matter-of-factly. "You always have to be prepared, don't you? I'm 14, for your information."
He glared at me again. "I don't like you, kid. You've got that air of mischief."
"Do I, sir?" I attempted to look as innocent as possible, which wasn't all that possible considering I was dressed up as a member of one of the most infamous troublemaking groups known to post-apocalyptic America.
"Yes, you do, in fact," He shoved the 10mm into my chest. "But since you're a child and with your family, I can't lawfully withhold any item from you or deny you from entering. But," he spit on the ground. "I'm watching you, you despicable rat."
"Nice to meet you too, Mr. Security Guard." I quickly pat him on the arm and jumped down from the wooden crate they had me stand on. I shoved the 10mm into my back pocket.
As I approached the secretary keeping tabs on everybody entering The Inn, I noticed she looked horrible. She had wrinkles all down her face, not to mention she was just as grimy as everybody else. She looked stressed.
"Name?" she asked wearily.
"Walton Pierre. My father is Joseph Pierre and my mother is Isabelle Pierre." I said.
"Great. Five Pierre families." she rubbed her eyes, noticeably tired. She jotted something down on a piece of paper before motioning to another gate. "Head on in. Your bunkhouse is Number 12. Welcome to The Starlight Inn."
