Amongst Them.

Where The Ends Meet.

Rays of sunlight advanced through the upcoming hills and radiated the majestic lands behind when the truck pulled to a stop on a hillside, John was a bit curious to what was over it. Monroe's hairy hand disrupted John's thoughts as he hit the back window and a muffled, "Everybody out!", followed. It was about a little over an hour when they were riding to the supposed "sanctuary", according to Monroe's calculations, and John was ready to take a stretch break to make the rest of the trip a bit better for his sore bottom.

But, the trip was already over. Monroe and Sarah walked over to the group of stretching younglings and presented what laid beyond the hillside where the truck rested. "Welcome to Oasis, your safe place; or puddle of water, in a desert of shit." Everyone was a bit confused to Monroe's words. A few whats and transfixed faces, followed by Sarah in utter helplessness letting out a sigh. Jeremiah asked, "Where's the puddle?"

"We're here, you idiots." Stating the obvious, Sarah motioned her hand to the hilltop, "Have a look for yourself, it's yours if you don't fuck up."

John was confused to what Sarah meant by "fuck up", and he was also found it hysterical at Jeremiah's comment, but he pushed it off because he really wanted to see what was presented on a silver platter over the hill. Running to the others, he finally saw why everyone was saying, "Holy shit," and gasping at the view. Oasis looked like a giant anthill, swarming with ants after you'd stomp your stubborn foot onto the pile. It was a massive community.

Sarah and Monroe walked up to the group, both smiling, John noticed, and heard, "It's gets 'em every time," coming from Sarah. Monroe responded by a laugh. Oasis really did get John, though. It was a vast array of makeshift trailers in many rows surrounding an enormous, but abandoned-looking manor, with a supportive little town square around it. Surrounding everything else, was a huge rectangular perimeter, or just a colossal wall to put it short. Supporting all of the various metal sheets of old steel, was giant tires stacked up the size of a great oak, and then steel girders probably "borrowed" from nearby construction sites that were posted against the wall at a 45 degree angle.

Oasis was really a sight for sore eyes. John eagerly wanted in - mostly for rest - along with all of the temporary group, it was really obvious. He would be lying if he said he wasn't astonished. Perplexed on the whole, guarded area, he also noticed a number of outposts. One outpost the size of a deer blind, or larger, was implanted into each corner of the walls, along with one around the middle of each wall. It was a titan of a place, John didn't think it could every be taken down.

After letting the group embrace the treasure chest that laid before them, in the fields that looked about a mile away, Monroe ringed the dinner bell, "Everyone in, we're saving the world, yee-haw!" Although it was pretty funny to hear a grown man with a gun strapped to his old western holster, the saying sounded fake.

Don't let your guard down yet, John, he thought. The team gathered back into the sweat-lodge of a cargo port, the engines growled on, and they were off. John decided to be happy. Just at bliss, he thought. Through all he's been through in the past year or so, by himself for a couple months, he let himself be the way he was as the bull truck charged down the hill, throwing up dust and rock shrapnel. Eyes in the cargo port didn't meet, hell, most of them were peering out of the side of the truck to see the nearing Oasis grow larger each passing second. Everyone was smiling, ear to ear, and that's all that mattered.

. . . Except for what happened next. As the truck pulled to a stop, the engine shut off, and both Monroe and Sarah sat silently in their seats. A minute went by, maybe five minutes, and everyone became unsettled. Awkward shifting, groans of impatience, and turning heads occurred as a handful of worrisome teens sat in the heating cargo port. A beed a sweat trickled down John's forehead and past his lips, he then swiped it away, and his worries flooded back again. "Biters", as he heard Monroe remark earlier, stumbled out of the forestry, closer and closer to the truck.