by Sam Kench
‘Take a seat.’ The medic standing over his shoulder said.
The recruit didn’t realize he was trembling until he grabbed the arms of the round leather chair opposite the desk and sank into it. He clasped one hand over the other and tried to steady himself. He pretended like the shakes were from the cold, even the office was a comfortable temperature.
‘Why do you want to join the medics?’ The boss asked without turning in his chair to face him.
The recruit’s dry mouth fought against him. He struggled to speak and nearly panicked upon realizing how long he had been silent. Do I tell him the truth? He asked himself. He didn’t know if the truth would be agreeable, but lying to these men seemed like certain death if they picked up on any falsehood. ‘I want to join… to be safer,’ he said in earnest.
‘Safety is a valuable commodity.’ The boss said. ‘One that I do my best to provide my men with… but my men work for that sense of safety. My men go outside and risk their lives for the safety of those who stay inside…. Are you a freeloader?’
‘Uh, a freeloader? No, I’m not. I’ll work. I’ll work hard.’
The boss spun in his chair. His long, shiny hair framed his face as he made eye contact with the recruit. ‘What’s your name newbie?’
The recruit was surprised to see the boss wasn’t wearing a medical mask, even more surprised to see how young he was. He might even be a year or two younger than me. The recruit thought. How the hell did he organize all this? He suddenly became aware that he was asked a question, and had yet to answer. He blurted out his name, ‘Patrick!’.
‘Okay, Patrick. I’m Mark, and I’m in charge here. Anything I say is law to you, and if you break the law-’ He pointed out the door with a flourish, ‘you’re back out on your own…. These men here-’ He gestured to his two personal bodyguards, ‘are joint-second in command. Anything they say is also law, unless it contradicts myself. Do you understand?’
Does this mean I’m in? The recruit wondered. ‘Yes I understand… uh, sir.’
Mark set his handgun down on the desktop. ‘I am well aware that looks can be deceiving, so correct me if I’m wrong, but you don’t look like much of a fighter.’
The recruit shifted in his seat. ‘I uh…. Not really.’
‘Are you good with a gun?’
‘With training I could be. I-’
‘What are you good at?’ The recruit blinked at him nervously. ‘What are your skills, Patrick? Everyone’s got to pull their weight around here.’
The recruit’s mind went blank and he began to fear for his life again, instantly missing those few brief seconds where he felt safe. He couldn’t help but stammer. ‘I, uh, I- Um, I-’
‘Are you good with tools? Do you know how to sew? Are you a gifted cook?’
‘I’m really clean!’ He blurted out, the first thing that came to mind. He felt his skin go hot and turn red. Stupid, stupid.
‘You’re really clean?’ Mark repeated, studying him.
The recruit decided to lean into it. ‘I- I mean I’m good at cleaning. You must need to people to keep this big place clean, right?’ He asked.
Mark gave it some thought. We have been neglecting cleanliness, he conceded. The living quarters could do with some dedicated cleaning, the kitchen was a mess (to a concerningly unhygienic degree), and no one was happy when it was there turn to clean the bathrooms. Plus, Mark thought, if he can be taught to properly clean the weapons, he’ll definitely be carrying his load. ‘Fair enough.’
The recruit smiled with relief. ‘Does this mean I’m in… sir?’
Mark pulled open one of the many drawers in his large desk and fished out a fresh medical mask. He tossed it into the recruit’s lap.
‘Oh! Thank you, sir!’
‘Levi will give you the tour.’
The purple-masked left-hand man stepped over to the door and pulled it open.
‘Start by scraping the mud and muck off everyone’s boots. Do that until 7PM and then go get yourself a hot meal in the cafeteria.’
‘Will do.’ The recruit headed for the door, but turned back at the sound of Mark’s voice.
‘I’m gonna check in on you at the end of the week, and when I do, I want to see you’ve sorted out an efficient system for doing laundry. Can I count on you for that?’
The recruit didn’t know how he would do it, but he knew he could figure it out. ‘Yes you can, sir.’
‘All right then.’
The recruit followed Levi out of the room. The gold-masked right-hand man shut the office door and did up all the locks.
Mark slid open the top drawer of his desk and deposited the handgun inside. ‘Hey Anthony, any word from the last search party?’
Anthony Glandow pulled off his gold mask, now that it was just the two of them alone. ‘Yeah, they got back an hour ago. Still no sign of Maria.’ Anthony watched Mark get a little sadder, the way he did every time a search turned up empty.
‘I’m thinking we’ve got enough men now to ramp up the searches. Maybe we send out two search teams at a time. Have them check different ends of town.’
‘I had an idea.’ Anthony said. ‘You could tell everyone we send out scavenging or whatever to keep an eye out for her as a sort of secondary objective, not just the dedicated search teams.’
‘They should already be doing that. If they’re not, then that’s a whole lot of wasted time.’
‘I mean, you know these guys don’t do anything without your say-so.’
‘Fuck. You’re right. God damn it, maybe they would’ve found her by now.’ Mark kicked the underside of his desk and swiveled in his chair to face the wall.
‘We’ll find her, Mark. We’ll find her eventually.’
‘I know we will.’
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thanks for reading my book. I hope you enjoyed your time with it, or at least didn’t find it too unpleasant.
While spending a number of my formative years in small-town New Hampshire, I would often look around at the Newfound region’s various abandoned structures and desolate patches of land, and imagine the apocalyptic tales they could serve as backdrop to. This is a world and a story that I’ve told or begun to tell in numerous incarnations over the years, and this novel has easily secured the spot as my largest project to date.
Thank you to:
Jake Sosa, for providing some much needed words of encouragement and guidance early on in the writing process.
Kaylee Adams, for being one of my first readers, and for designing the badass cover in the middle of a packed schedule.
Greg Mallette, for the detailed notes, and for championing this novel more than anyone else, myself included. Your enthusiasm for the writing helped me through some major patches of self-doubt.
Mom, for reading and commenting on more drafts of this thing than I care to remember, and for the support through all of the trials and tribulations along the road to release. Sorry you’re scared to visit the basement now.
And finally, thank you to the writers who inspired and taught me:
Cormac McCarthy, for laying out the best vision of the apocalypse the world has ever seen.
Margaret Atwood, for showing me all that prose can be, and for teaching me the importance of sensory writing.
And S. Craig Zahler, for teaching me how to write uncompromising violence, and for telling me how to keep stories surprising.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Sam Kench is a 22-year-old writer and independent filmmaker. His screenplays and short films have been awarded by festivals and competitions around the world. In 2014 he was named one of the top defenders of free speech by the National Coalition Against Censorship. He grew up in New England and spent years exploring many of the locations that found their way into the novel. He now resides in Los Angeles. The Fall of Polite is his debut novel.
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