Finding Serenity

Chapter One: Fay

When we'd first heard about Serenity I laughed so hard my stomach ached. In the early years, dozens of these so-called Safe Havens were always just on the other side of that mountain range, just across the country on the other coast, just past the bogs, or hills, or cities, or highways. Just became a place in and of itself, an inside joke we'd tell each other from time to time. When another group of survivors told us Serenity was just on the other side of the forest we'd been so certain that we'd find nothing just as we always did.

Imagine my surprise when tall metal walls could be seen in the distance.

"I can't believe it," Marisol muttered under her breath, her arm wrapped under her little brother's to help him stand. "I just... I can't." There were tears in her eyes, heavy ones. Jaime was already crying under his breath, poor kid.

"I'll believe it when we're inside," I grunted, pulling my backpack higher on my shoulder. I hadn't wanted to come here in the first place, thinking it would be nothing but a waste of time. Even if there was a safe haven in the woods the chances of it being overrun with survivors was too high to ignore, what was to say it would still be accepting people by the time we got there? Who was to say they were even accepting people when we heard about it? I wanted to say that I thought we needed to keep moving north, we already had concrete evidence that the dead didn't do well in the cold, but the look in Jaime's eyes was enough to break me. The kid deserved to have tangible hope for once, and if it was only a week out of our way what was the real harm? It wasn't as if we were on a tight schedule.

"Do you think they have electricity?" The thirteen-year-old asked, his voice thick with excitement for the first time in a long time.

"I highly doubt that." I snickered, glancing over at him out of the corner of my eyes. "But maybe." He seemed to like that answer because the smile that broke over his face was wider than the sun.

"I don't even care if they have electricity, I just want to sleep on something that isn't hard or molded." Marisol sighed dreamily. "Can you imagine sleeping in a bed?" She asked, and I shook my head. At this point, I honestly couldn't. I circled around to Jaime's other side, taking his arm to speed things along as we made our way to the gates we could now see through the break in the trees. As we stepped out of the foliage we heard a long loud whistle, a herald harking our arrival. By the time we made it to the gates themselves an old man with a weathered face was looking over the top of the wall.

"That's fine right there, folks!" He called, scanning each of us critically. His eyes fell on Jaime where he stood between us, his arms around our shoulders and his weight on one ankle. "He bit?"

"No!" Marisol and I yelled too quickly, both of us pulling him a little closer without even meaning too. The man on the wall arched his thick, wild eyebrows before disappearing for a moment, talking in a hushed voice to a man we could not see.

"Names?"

"I'm Marisol, this is my brother Jaime, and this is our friend Fay." Jaime shifted his weight to me as his sister, the oldest of the three of us, stepped forward. "We're just looking for a safe place to stay."

For a long moment, the man on the wall didn't say anything, he simply stared as if he were trying to read something on our faces. After a moment he nodded. "In that case, my name's Bobby, and y'all came to the right place." With a second whistle, the heavy metal door began to ascend, and we were given our first glimpse at the town of Serenity.

Other than the massive metal wall surrounding it, the town was so achingly normal. Despite the fact that I could see where the pavement had been ripped up to make room for growing crops the houses were clean looking and well maintained, not boarded up and broken down. People were wandering up and down the sidewalks chatting as casually as anyone had ever chatted as if they didn't have a care in the world. I could smell food being cooked, and my stomach ached at the idea of an actual meal.