Show Me Yours and I'll Show You Mine

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"Take your pack off slowly, and toss it in front of you then put your hands behind your head and interlace your fingers," I commanded. "You make any sudden moves, or piss me off, and you can cancel Christmas."

He did as I asked without hesitation. "There's really no need for this."

"On your knees."

"I'm a friend."

I rolled my eyes, stepping forward to pat him down. I found a small knife attached to his belt at his back and removed it with a head shake. It was a glorified Swiss Army knife. The weapon was essentially useless save for opening a tin can. You'd need to get up close and personal to cause any damage, and something told me this guy didn't do up close and personal. I pocketed the baby knife, slowly walking in a circle until I was standing in front of him. His eyes went wide when he saw me, and he swallowed hard.

"Not who you were hoping for?" I smiled, sitting down on an uprooted tree.

I opened his pack, upending it, and inspecting the contents. Water, food, a notepad and pen, medical supplies, an envelope, a flare gun, and a jar full of what looked like...applesauce?

"I was hoping to speak to the man in charge. Rick, right?"

I could tell from his tone he was expecting me to be shocked by his insight. He was going to have to try harder if he wanted to impress me.

"You have to get through me first." I picked up the flare gun, eyebrows raised. "You don't need this. He stays so close you could probably just shout and he'd hear you. Assuming he can stand to be without air conditioning. Idling engines are loud, don't you think?"

"What..."

I ignored his surprise, picking up the envelope, and thumbing through the pictures. One was of a wall that was easily 15 or 20 feet high, reinforced with 12-foot-wide slabs of solid steel. The next was from a picture from inside the compound. It showed a sprawling community that looked like it was painted by Bob Ross, "That's a crooked tree. We'll send him to Washington". Insert obligatory laughs here.

"I think maybe we got off on the wrong foot," he laughed uncomfortably, "My name's Aaron..."

"You've been following us for what...two, three days now?" His mouth dropped open, but he nodded yes. "And in that time have I ever displayed any behavior that would lead you to believe I give a flying fuck what your name is?" He shook his head no. "Right, so here's how this is gonna work, you're going to start talking, and if I don't like what you say I'm going to put a bullet in your brain. Then I'm going to go find your friend, and put a bullet in his brain. Do we understand each other?"

"Y-Y-Yes," he stuttered.

"Good. Start talking."

I waved the gun at the empty space between us by way of an invitation.

"I'm a recruiter...for a community called...uh, Défenseur. My job is to find people, good people, to bring back. Eric watches my back, and protects me if needed." I gave him a drool look that made him lick his lips. Who protected Eric? "We watch for a while to make sure the people are safe then we offer to bring them to back. Once we get there our leader decides if they can stay."

Good lord, if he and Eric were the best recruiters this community had to offer it was a wonder they had any members.

"Why us?"

"You're good people, and you're survivors."

Good people, debatable. Survivors, unquestionable.

"How far?"

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