Vice Bunker 54 (Patreon)

Vice Bunker

Chapter 54

-VB-

I didn’t search for those lost groups out in the blizzard because I was worried or sympathetic to the people. 

No, I wanted more people who weren’t part of the established city so that no community would form to work against me… was what I would say if I was a weak leader and ruler who had to care about every single little thing with not a single trust in all of the people who worked for me. 

I allowed people to migrate and settle in my city because my wives wanted to be empathic. I kept the traitors and schemers alive because my younger wives would have wanted mercy. 

Ultimately, there were times that I did more for my wives than I did for myself. 

This would be for myself. 

To sate my curiosity. 

After all, it shouldn’t be that hard to travel from New York City to Brockton Bay. There was a single direct highway, the 95, that connected the two cities before the apocalypse, so as long as you traveled along it, it would be hard to miss Brockton Bay, even if it was a more roundabout route than going from 95 to 91, next, 91 to 84, then, 84 to 90, and finally, 90 to 95. The latter route would shave around ten to fifteen miles of extra travel.

So if more groups got lost and made never it than those who did when there were at least three different routes one could take to reach my city, then that pointed to problems that existed along the routes. 

“The ones who all made it took the shorter route?” I asked Kali, who’d been the one that interacted the most with the migrants prior to them settling in. 

“Yes,” she confirmed as she looked over what she’d written on her tablet computer (designed and made by yours truly but without a brand). “So far, it seems like the shorter route is also the safer route.”

“... The 95 is dangerous?” 

“Yes. If you are looking for trouble, then you’ll find it along it instead of the 95 to 91 to 95.”

“Got it. How are they settling in?” I asked. It’s been two days since the latest group had arrived.

“They are extraordinarily happy with the ration.”

I hummed. 

Ration provided to most people weren’t anything luxurious by old world’s standard, but spiced salad bowl, clam chowder, a cup of coffee or very light beer of their choice, and bread-like carb sticks was better than what most people in New York City were having last time I visited. My people also worked with me to try to diversify their diet, and there have been some successes. For example, a group of idiots went to the edge of the iced over bay and fished, bringing home a sled’s worth of fish. They risked their lives to do it, too, since no one knew how thick the ice was, including myself; I just never paid attention to the iced over bay. 

But the taste of fish after almost a year of isolation for the people of the port city? Some people were crying. 

… Anyways, back to the missing groups. 

“And the 95…” I hummed as I brought up an image of the New England road network. Interstate 95 ran mostly along the coast, crossing at least four different major population centers: New York City, New Haven, Providence, and Boston. 

And already, I could guess why those groups had not reached my city. Boston and New York City were Teeth bases, and while Alexandria and her stooges could provide security, there was no way they could cover all of the old New York City. For all I knew, they could have been ambushed literally just outside her immediate area of control. 

… And then I remembered something. 

In my first expedition to explore New England after collapse of the old world and the blistering blizzards, there was a pitch black “tropical” jungle that had sprouted up right in between New York City and New Haven. That jungle had black-furred giant apes. Considering that the jungle sat literally right on the Interstate 95… 

Yeah, there was a good chance that some of the groups made it there and never left it. 

(But people in that kind of a group were people I did not want in my city. “Ooh, there is a clearly unnatural forest without any snow on their tropical trees in front of us in the middle of this frozen hellscape! Let’s go in there!”)

But if any of those groups had reached Boston and met an unfortunate end there, then that was reason enough for me to scout out the city. 

“Where will you explore first?” she asked me. 

“Boston. It’s closer and easier for me send more powerful bodies and drones if need be,” I told her. “Now, what else did we have?”

She smirked as she set her tablet down, walked around her table, and then plopped herself down on my lap. And then tore open her jacket. I didn’t see any bras. 

“Our baby is not drinking enough milk, master,” she crooned as she pressed her tits against my chest with a coy smile. “Could you please be a dear and relieve me of the pressure?”

Oh. Well. 

I guessed my MILF wife wanted some more fun time. 

-VB-

While a romp in the bed with Kali and leaving her happy and glowing, I focused on my bodies scattered around Boston. The first drones I focused on were the ones right in between New Brockton Bay and Boston. 

Nothing had changed in the last few months as far as this area, once called Newburyport. The city wasn’t too damaged. In fact, there was a small community of survivors clinging to survival by fishing. On top of that, the city had a sizable manufacturing scene that saw its citizens quickly build some sort of heating room and sleds to move across the now frozen over Merrimack River. 

And no one needed a freezing room for the excess fishes they caught. 

I rolled my blob into the slightly ruined city and began to rummage around. 

My basketball sized black orb body rolled forward into the largest concentration of people right along the river’s southern edge. 

But then I stopped next to a stuffed dumpster.

… Partially, I wanted to know what these guys did. Understanding the trash of the society made it easier to understand society. 

The example I remembered for this was how “war generations” of the early 20th century usually overreported their butter consumption while “peace generations” of the latter 20th century and “digital generation” 21st century underreported their butter consumption.  

So what were these guys like…?

I climbed up the side of the dumpster and -.

Oh.

Those were human bones.