Chatty Town

Chapter Five : The Auto Shop

I open my eyes. I'm staring at a concrete ceiling with exposed air vents and rusted metal beams holding up the structure of the ceiling. I move my head to the left and see the back of the couch towering over me. I'm laying down. A sigh escapes my throat, as I move my hand across the fabric of the couch I lay on.

"Hey, you're up." A familiar voice enters the air and I turn to see them. A tall man stands in the middle of the room.

There's brick walls all around me with a concrete floor stained with what I think is oil or blood. Or both? There's an elevator door to my right protruding out of the wall. Behind the man is a tan sofa couch with patches on its arms and seat. The man walks towards me from the chair, I assume he was sitting in it until now. And in this instant as he's walking towards me I remember how I got here. The gunshots. The voices wanted to attack me. Wanted to kill me. Panic grows with each step this man takes towards me. I think he's in his late twenties. He has stubble on his face from not shaving and he's dressed in a red shirt with a ripped collar and paired with dirty jeans.

My heart races and I push myself up off the couch and my bare feet touch the cold concrete floor. He lunges at me and his hands grip my shoulders as he shouts "Hey! You're safe! You're okay. No one's going to hurt you here okay?"

At his shouting, teenagers and young adults walk into the room from behind him. I tilt my head to the right to see behind him and I see a red car, a sedan, lifted on a large metal contraption. There's a tool box on a metal table and blue rags.

"What's wrong with her, Dem?" A familiar voice asks from the gathering crowd.

I look at the man in front of me, gripping my shoulders and he tilts his head to the crowd behind him.
"She was in a coma for ten years, Zeph. She's just a bit rattled." He lets go of my shoulders and crouches down in front of me.

Ten years? In a coma? I hear the words and I know what they mean, but it doesn't sound real. That can't be right.

"Judging on your clothes, I'm sure you went to Olsen's shop before making your way here. I'm sure you have a lot of questions." He puts his hands on his knees and pushes himself up with a sigh. "But we have some for you- and seeing how there's more of us- our questions will just have to trump yours for now. Okay?"

I look at the crowd of teenagers and young adults and most of them have the same look on their face. Furrowed brows and a downturned mouth. Except for two. One teenager, maybe 13, his eyes are sad as he looks me up and down and then looks to the girl beside him. She's maybe in her mid twenties. Slim build with asymmetrically cut blonde hair. Dark eyeliner circles her eyes. Her eyes pierce mine with anger and disapproval. Her lips are pursed and her arms are crossed until she looks at the boy beside her and she pulls him closer for a second before stepping in front of him. Her arms cross again.

Murmurs from the crowd grow louder and the man in front of me shouts, while he keeps a fixed gaze on me. "Quiet down." He drops down a little so our eyes are level. "You can speak, can't you?"

I nod. "Y-yes."

The blond girl takes two steps forward, "Well, would you look at that, Dem, the chatty speaks."

The man stands up again and turns to her, "She's not one of them!" He looks back at me and crosses his arms. "Are you?"

I look at him. I'm here. I feel here. But I don't understand anything that's happening, not since I saw that man in the street.

"Are you one of them!?" The guy shouts at me as he grabs my shoulder.

I shake my head. "One of them? Who's them?"