Quilted

By A. C. Williams

Two years ago, people would have said the old farmer was paranoid, putting electrified razor wire around the whole perimeter of his property.

Today is a different story.

The line of hunched-over shoulders shuffles toward the fence line. One by one, the men ahead of me approach the gate and speak to the warden, and one by one, he turns them away.

The line moves forward.

“A shame.” The man in front of me shoves his hands in his leather jacket. “Most of these fellows don’t have what it takes.”

“And you do?” I clutch my stained canvas messenger bag.

Leather Jacket winks at me and pats his coat pocket. “I do. I’m going to sleep in a real bed tonight with a roof over my head. Maybe even an actual meal for dinner.”

I take a step as another disappointed man slips out of sight, dragging his feet.

My stomach tightens. Maybe I don’t have what it takes, either.

Leather Jacket pops his collar around his neck and lifts his chin. I am three away from the warden now. He sits in a metal shed, flanked by gun-toting guards in dust-colored camouflage.

“Where you from?” Leather Jacket asks me.

“Wichita.”

“Yeah? Me too.”

We inch forward. Now we’re close enough to hear the mumbled exchange between the warden and the next man in line. The prospective citizen holds open a wooden box, displaying the contents for examination.

“Would you look at that?” Leather Jacket mumbles.

I gawk.

Strawberries.

Ripe strawberries. It’s been a year since I’ve seen fresh fruit.

Yet, the warden smiles sadly, shakes his head, and points away. Strawberry Man sags in defeat, shuts his box, and wanders into the gathering dark.

“Sucks to be him,” Leather Jacket mutters.

“Yeah.”

My throat constricts.

What if it isn‘t enough?

If the warden turned down fresh strawberries—something none of us have seen since before the worst of the riots—what will he accept?

I clutch the strap of my bag.

Only one thing is priceless enough to get me past the barbed wire fences and heavily armed guards. No one knows I have it.

I’ve guarded it for weeks, since I found it. Kept it hidden. Told no one about it. Before the outbreak, it wouldn’t have been worth anything. But now? It’s gold.

One more step.

The man at the window pulls out a burlap bag of coins and sets it on the counter. Speaking of gold, this man is loaded with it. “Gold coins,” I hear him say. “Pure. Twenty-four karat. And more where it came from.”

With a shake of his head, the warden points him away.

“But, it’s gold,” the man exclaims.

The guards shove the bag of coins back into the man’s arms, pushing him until he turns.

He didn’t get the memo. Maybe someday gold would be valuable again, but for now, nobody has a use for it. Funny how complete economic collapse rearranges your priorities.

Leather Jacket saunters up to the metal shed and flashes a grin at the man behind the window.

“What have you got?” the warden asks.

Leather Jacket opens his coat and pulls out a plastic sack. He sets it on the counter and pushes it forward. The warden takes it and peels away the layers of plastic. His eyes light up.

I can’t see inside. I don’t know what Leather Jacket brought, but whatever it is, the warden seems happy.

“Good.” The warden nods, weary blue eyes brightening for the first time.

One of the guards steps back, opens the gate, and gestures for Leather Jacket to come inside.

“Sorry, young man.” Leather Jacket tips a pretend hat at me and hurries into the compound. “You can’t do better than that.”

The gate shuts behind him.

It’s my turn.

It has to be enough.

I approach the counter. The warden eyeballs me. I know what he’s seeing. Gaunt frame, hollow cheeks, dirty hair—it’s a good thing the refuge farms out here only accept citizens based on what they can bring to the community. I can pull my own weight along with any other worker, if they’ll only let me in.

The warden offers a weary smile. “What have you got, son?”

I open my bag and pull out my treasure.

As I set the gleaming white roll of toilet paper on the counter, the warden beams at me. He reaches under the glass and pulls the soft roll inside, squeezing it and examining it.

“Well, isn’t that fine?” he mumbles.

“Is it enough?”

The warden peels away a single sheet, his expression only turning happier. “You bet it is, son.” The warden glances at the guard. “Quilted.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

A. C. Williams is an author and entrepreneur who loves cats, country living, and all things Japanese. She’d rather be barefoot, and if she isn’t her socks will never match. A proud Hufflepuff, she takes her coffee with cream, her pizza with pineapple, and her stories with spaceships. Follow her travel adventures with Hermes the Frog on social media.

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