A Day in the Life at the Silverthorne Camp (Patreon)

Waking up in my trailer on that fateful day off, I pulled back the curtains, letting the dull sunlight filter through. The sky above the Trailer Court was its usual shade of overcast gray, hinting at another day of uncertainty in this makeshift civilization.

Dawn's muted light made its way through the cracks of my trailer's curtains, softly drawing me from dreams of a world lost to chaos. In the moments between sleep and wakefulness, memories of a time before mixed with the present, leading me to momentarily forget my surroundings. The sounds of life from the Silverthorne Camp jolted me back to the present.

Taking a few moments to get dressed, I put on my regular clothes that were given to me when I first moved in. They were simple business casual, but they were clean. I stepped outside and took a deep breath. It was always much nicer on the north side of camp. The guards here were not too friendly, but at least they acknowledged me on my way past the date. My status in the camp was complex — I was necessary to the people in charge, but most people didn't know why.

Strolling over to the South Side was like walking into another world. It felt like one of those flea markets Mama used to take me to on Sundays, only a lot bigger and a tad wilder. Tables were set up with all sorts of things, people yelling about what they had to offer, and everyone else moving about trying to get the best deal. Kinda reminded me of ants on a sugar cube.

In the middle of it all were these kids playing some made-up game, laughing and shouting. I stopped momentarily, watching them, thinking about how kids always find a way to be kids, no matter where they are.

Then, my tummy did that thing — the growly thing. So, I shuffled over to the Cafeteria Tent. Inside, it was buzzing like a beehive, folks talking, eating, and some even singing. I grabbed some food, a little of this and some of that — all stuff we've managed to find or save up.

Trying to find a spot to sit was like playing musical chairs. Every time I thought I saw a seat, someone would get there first. But then, cutting through all the noise, I heard, "Hey, over here!"

Turning, I saw Kylie. With her bright hair and smile, she was like a lighthouse in a foggy harbor. We'd chatted a few times, and she always got a kick out of my funny stories and weird comparisons. "Figured you'd be daydreaming somewhere," she said, patting the seat beside her.

"Was dreaming of food mostly," I said with a chuckle, taking a seat. "You know, the usual."

We had a really good chat, talking about all sorts and everything. She'd listen, sometimes even hold my hand for a bit, making my heart do funny flips. I wasn't sure why she was so lovely, but it felt really good. Made the food taste even better.

As the chit-chat settled, there was a lull, and a thought bobbed to the surface of my mind. The kind of thought that always gets stuck in your throat because it might be a little too personal, but curiosity was gnawing at me.

"Kylie," I started, playing with the spoon on my plate, "If you don't mind me asking... how did you end up here, at the Silverthorne Camp?"

She hesitated, her fingers drumming lightly on the table, and her eyes looked distant. "Well," she began slowly, "I used to be a dancer. Not here on land, though. I danced on a cruise line. Big boat, lots of lights, music every night." Her lips curled up into a half-smile. "It was fun, you know? Getting to see new places and meet people from all over."

I tilted my head a bit, "Sounds exciting. Not many get to do that, traveling around on a big ship."

She nodded. "It was. Until I decided to take a break visit my sister in Colorado Springs. I was supposed to be there for just a couple of weeks." Kylie paused, taking a deep breath as if bracing herself. "Then the outbreak started. It all happened so fast. People getting sick, turning... I couldn't reach my sister. Phones were down, roads were blocked."

I could see tears forming, "That sounds really tough, Kylie."

She wiped away a tear, offering a small smile. "It was. I eventually made my way here. Back then, it was just a FEMA camp. But, as you know, things change. The Silverthornes came, took over, and here I am."

"Being on the cruise line must've been magical," I said, the image of a grand ship and dancing lights in my head. "Being here's probably a world away from that."

She gave a sad little chuckle, twirling a strand of her auburn hair. "You've no idea. The luxury, the music, the freedom to dance – it was a dream. Here... it's a whole different dance." She looked away for a second, a hint of darkness in her gaze.

I tilted my head, trying to understand. "Different, how?"

Kylie sighed, her shoulders tensing slightly. "Well, for starters, a place like the Hall of Desires... they've approached me several times, wanting me to... work there because of how I look, I guess." She looked down, and I noticed her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her plate.

My stomach knotted up. "That's... I'm sorry you had to go through that."

She shrugged, but there was a hardness in her eyes. "It's not just there. Some of the guards, too, they... they get ideas. Hit on me. Say really disgusting things. Makes it hard to know who to trust."

Wanting to lighten the mood, I offered, "Well, you can trust me. I don't have an ulterior motive. Just... curious is all."

She gave a small, appreciative smile. "I know. And thanks. Most folks don't really bother to ask or listen."

"But, you know," Kylie continued, her voice taking on a careful tone, "the Silverthornes... they've given me a bit of protection in their own way. They have... expectations of me, I guess."

I raised an eyebrow, "Expectations?"

She bit her lip, hesitating. "Just... tasks, things they want me to do. It's a way to survive, you know?"

A suspicion scratched at the back of my mind, but I didn't voice it. Instead, I gave a nod. "We all do what we must."

She met my gaze, a mix of gratitude and something else, maybe guilt, in her eyes. "Yes, we do."

Reaching over, I lightly touched her hand, "I'm glad you're here, Kylie. With everything going on, it's nice to find a friend."

She looked at me, her eyes shimmering with gratitude. "Thanks. It's been... hard, but people like you make it bearable."

When it was time to leave, with my belly full and my heart feeling light, I wandered back into the South Side. It was still that big, loud market, but I saw it a little differently now. It wasn't just noise and chaos; it was stories, lots of them, all jumbled together. And somewhere in that mix was me and Kylie, just two more stories finding their way.

The folks setting up their stuff to trade, the kids running around chasing each other, and folks talking about everything and nothing — it all sort of mixed together into a big, noisy soup. It was nice, in a weird way.

But then, all that noise got broken up by some really loud shouting. Two guys were squared up against each other. One was kinda small but looked really jumpy, waving his hands around and poking the big guy in front of him, who looked like he could lift a whole car if he wanted to. His big arms were crossed, and he seemed more annoyed than angry.

Sometimes, folks get into squabbles, and someone from the Silverthorne Militia usually shows up to settle things down. But this time, everything happened really fast.

The little guy whipped out a shiny knife and made to go for the big guy. But the big guy moved, pushing the smaller one aside. The blade didn't get the big guy, but someone nearby got nicked, and there was blood.

People got all stirred up, and I got knocked about. My feet, which are usually pretty sure, tripped up, and I thought I was about to get a close look at the ground. My world spun, my thoughts a whirlwind. I curled up to avoid anyone hurting me, but the fight was broken up before long.

The dust settled a bit, but my head was still full of bees. It's like when you shake a snow globe real hard, everything goes all topsy-turvy. A firm hand gripped my arms, pulling me to my feet. The sharp features of a man known as Special met my eyes.

"You okay there?" he asked, voice gravelly but not unkind.

I took a moment, breathing deeply, trying to steady my heart. "Yeah, think so. Thanks for that." I gestured vaguely at the spot where the commotion had occurred.

He looked me over, an eyebrow raised. "They really rattled your cage, didn't they?"

Chuckling weakly, I replied, "Felt like I was stuck inside one of those snow globes, all shaken up."

A hint of a smirk appeared on his lips. "Not a bad way to put it."

The brief moment of camaraderie made me feel bold, or maybe it was just the relief speaking. "I've got a, well, kind of a favor to ask."

His eyes sharpened, "What kind of favor?"

I hesitated for a moment, then let out a sigh. "There's this girl, Kylie. I just... I want to give her something. Something nice. I don't know where to start looking in this place."

Special looked thoughtful, then nodded. "So, you're looking for a trinket to catch her eye? Well, it just so happens I might know a guy."

My face lit up, "Really?"

He leaned in a bit, giving me a conspiratorial look. "But it'll cost you. Nothing's free in Silverthorne."

I nodded eagerly, "Anything, just... I really want to do this for her."

Special clapped me on the back, "Alright then, let's see what we can do."

We parted ways, and I continued on. For all its loudness and sometimes scariness, the camp also had folks who'd help you out when you least expected it. And as the day went on, I thought about that more and more.

Feeling a little hopeful, I walked along the Thruway, passing the Hall of Desires. The place always looked really busy, and today was the same. A fella standing outside called out to me, "Hey, looking for something to take the edge off? Maybe some company for the night?" He gestured inside, where I could see shadows moving, hear soft giggles, and smell something sweet and smoky.

"No thanks," I said quickly, moving on. That place, with all its promises, felt wrong to me.

As I walked farther, the South Side stretched out with its maze of tents and stalls. There was Quinn's Daycare, where you could hear the kiddos laughing and playing. It warmed my heart; hearing them made me think that maybe there's still hope in this world. Then there was the Traders Tent. I remember buying a nice pair of boots from them once. They were folks who used their hands to make things. Made me respect them a lot.

Walking through, looking at everything, it made me think. This camp is like a big ol' patchwork quilt. Some patches are a little rough, some soft, and some shiny. But they're all stitched together, making something big that keeps us warm. And in this big ol' quilt, I'm just a tiny patch, trying to find my spot and fit in.

Walking further into the South Side, amid the sounds and scents of the marketplace, a large sign caught my eye. Bold letters, colors brighter than most things around here, it shouted a message of Hope:

"THERE IS HOPE!

News is spreading of a cure for the Zeta disease. Scientists at the CDC predict a treatment within weeks. The end of the outbreak is within sight. We must stay strong and work together!"

I paused, looking at the sign. It was one of those that I had a hand in creating. My mind wandered back to the Silverthornes and my peculiar role in the camp. They'd taken me in, gave me a job, a purpose. While my science background was once used to study, research, and explore, now it is employed to craft messages like this. Words and ideas to keep the camp's folks calm and hopeful. Propaganda, they call it.

A small voice in my head sometimes wondered if what I was doing was right. But then I'd think about Mr. Sullivan. He's the big boss, the guy who seems to have a plan for everything. He'd been good to me, and I wanted to make him proud. "Give them hope," he'd said, "Hope keeps folks in line. It keeps them working together."

The more I thought about it, the more it made a sort of simple sense. People needed something to believe in, especially now. And if a sign or two, or a well-crafted message, could give them that, it wasn't such a bad thing after all.

Making my way back to Trailer Court, the sun cast long golden fingers across the camp, painting everything in a soft amber glow. The difference between the South Side and Trailer Court always struck me. Gone were the makeshift stalls and the pressing crowds. Instead, Trailer Court boasted organized rows of trailers, each a tiny bastion of private space in this communal world.

As I approached one of the checkpoints, guards stood stiffly, their eyes scanning the crowd. They were looking for the glint of wristbands, those small but significant markers that separated the residents of Trailer Court from the rest of the camp. I held up my wrist, displaying my band. One of the guards nodded, his face impassive, and I was allowed through.

Walking between the trailers, I could hear soft murmurs of conversation, the distant sound of a baby crying, and the faint guitar strumming. Small slices of life are contained within metal walls.

Reaching my trailer, I unlocked the door and stepped inside. It wasn't much, but it was mine. I could still remember the weight of Kylie's laughter during our meal, her teasing comments, and the touch of her hand. Thinking of her, a smile crept onto my face, and I lay down on the makeshift bed. Lulled by the memories of our time together, my mind drifted into sleep.

I wasn't sure how much time had passed when knocking jolted me awake. Groggily, I reached the door and opened it to find a young boy, no older than twelve, clutching a small package.

"Delivery for ya," he mumbled, extending the package towards me.

I took it, a little bewildered. "Who's it from?"

"Dunno," he replied with a shrug. "Just was told to give it to ya." Without another word, he turned and scampered off into the growing darkness.

Curiosity piqued, I unwrapped the package to reveal a delicate silver chain glinting softly in the dim light. Attached was a small note: "As requested. We'll settle up tomorrow. -Special."

Holding the chain up, it shimmered, catching the last vestiges of daylight. Thoughts of Kylie came rushing back. I imagined the chain draped around her neck and how it would look against her skin. The gift felt right, a token, a small piece of beauty in a world that often felt bereft of it. As night settled around the Silverthorne Camp, my heart held onto a newfound hope fueled by a simple silver chain and the promise of tomorrow.

My name is Murphy, and this was a day in my life.