The Hub was formed just a few years after what is considered the official fall of the old world. It first started out as a handful of stalls within an old warehouse. But it very quickly grew into something much, much more impressive.

It became the only market of its kind, a hub for traders and vendors of all kinds to come and swap goods. Quickly, more buildings were built around the warehouse, it swallowed a nearby neighborhood even. You can trade for practically anything there, and you can even pay for a place to sleep there, the length of your stay depended on the prices you were willing to pay.

The entire thing was ringed by huge trucks of all sorts, from old world ambulances to semis. The wall of now useless feats of engineering served as protection from occasional hordes of the dead. Though those hordes tended to be quickly taken care of since they were very bad for business.

I was relatively safe while making my way to the main gate, which was the only place people coming just to barter were allowed to enter. There were armed guards standing atop their walls with guns that I knew were not just for show.

Bullets were rare, and very few people still knew how to make them, so they took their shots very carefully. Which also meant that those on guard with guns were very good shots. There were no warning shots.

I needed to be on my best behavior during inspection.

Inspection was how they made sure that anyone coming in wouldn’t be too much of an immediate problem, such as checking things such as temperature and taking note of weapons.

“Stop! Stay where you are!” A woman shouts to me, I stop and watch as they finish up the inspection of the person in front of me. Always follow instructions when the people giving them have guns.

“Pull your weapons out and hold them where I can see them, then approach,” the same woman as before tells me. I pull my knife out, leaving it in its sheath as I hold it in front of me, letting the covered blade point towards the ground. I slowly walked forward, dropping my hunting knife into the bin that the woman held out for me. There was a man that was slightly taller than her standing just inside of the main gate, probably there as backup. 

“Please remove your pack and state your name and intentions,” she says next and I nod. I unclip the buckle across my chest before slipping off my pack and holding it out to her.

“I’m Maveth, and I’m here for supplies and bed for the night,” I say, my voice cracking a bit from disuse. I’ve talked to both a zombie and a person today, I’m practically a social butterfly.

“Got a last name, Maveth?” She asks conversationally, suddenly far more chipper after seeing that I don’t currently have a gun. 

“No, ma’am,” I tell her and she gives me a sympathetic nod while going through my bag.

“That’s not all that uncommon these days, so many of you younger folk lost your names. It’s so damn sad,” she says without looking at me.

What she’s saying is true, but I do technically know my last name, I just don’t see the need to give it to anyone. It isn’t anyone else's business.

“Alright, now I’ll need to check your temperature and look you over for bites. Nothing invasive, just over your arms since most bites end up being on peoples arms. Although it’s pretty easy to tell if someone is bitten regardless.”

She sets my pack down on the ground, zipping it up before she turns back towards me.

“Have you ever been here before?” She asks me and I nod. “Alright, so then you know the drill! You just need to hold this thermometer under your arm for a little bit while I give you a basic look over.”

She pulls a thermometer out from a drawer set resting atop of her makeshift desk and has me lift my arm so she could wedge it firmly in my armpit. I try not to think about how many who have had their own temperatures checked today alone.

“My name is Sarah by the way, I just realized I haven’t told you that,” Sarah says with a smile while looking over my arms. “The man being all moody just inside the gate is Able.”

Able doesn’t say anything to acknowledge her giving me his name, I don’t he’s moved since I’ve gotten here. I can see the handgun in the holster on his hip from here. 

Sarah is looking at my eyes, probably checking for cloudiness. When people are bitten, the first signs of them turning and dying is that their eyes look clouded over. Not quite like cataracts, more yellow than white.

It happens within hours of being bitten. If you were bitten around midday, you’ll be a monster before nightfall.

The thermometer beeps and Sarah immediately takes it and checks it. I’m not entirely sure what their procedure is for when someone has a fever, and I’m not finding out today since Sarah gives me a smile.

“Welcome to the Hub, remember that we do not tolerate fighting while within the walls, have a safe and beneficial stay!”

“Thank you,” I say to her while grabbing my hunting knife and pack before walking into the Hub. The man standing guard gives me a side eye as I walk past, but I pay him no mind. I know that I look a little scruffy, but it can’t be helped right now. Not everyone has a set of walls to live behind. 

Despite the setting sun, I can immediately see a handful of stalls, from right inside the gate. The lesser traders have their stalls closer to the walls, and the more prominent ones are in the center of the Hub.

Those are the ones who have things like proper baked goods and very rare vehicles that run on fuels other than gasoline, among other things. 

My attention is usually on the baked goods, it’s been years since I’ve had a cookie.

It’s always bizarre to me just how many people are out and about in the Hub, talking casually and laughing. I feel very out of place, drifting around the edge of everything.

The amount of noise also makes me uneasy, outside being as silent as possible is what keeps you alive. Silent and unnoticed means going unchallenged. While the sheer level of sound probably isn’t as bad as my mind is making it out to be, it’s still unnerving. Except for the laughter, genuine, joyful laughter. I like that sound, and there’s enough of it that I can dredge through the rest of the noises.

I take note of the trading going on around me as I make my way through the Hub. Some of the traders have higher prices than others for the same or similar goods. They get business because they’re good at making their wares seem better in comparison to those with shabbier stalls. It’s always good to know who is trying to rip you off and who is just trying to make a living.

But before I start haggling for smaller wares, I have to ensure I get my most pressing necessities.

Inside of one of what once was some chainstore called “Dollar General,” but was now home to a handful of small stalls that specialized in nonperishable foods. In faded spray paint read the building’s current name, “Canned Joy.” The words were on an old piece of plywood that had once been used to board up a shattered window. I think the name came about from the first person to have a stall inside, a woman named Joy. She’s dead now, if she was ever real.

There’s bells on this door, much like at the furniture store, but I let them jingle merrily to announce my arrival. Internally, I cringe at the sound.

“Hello there! You got here just in time, I was just about to close down for the night,” an older woman says to me, her voice worn and cheerful. She has crows feet around her eyes, which crinkle further as she smiles, and there’s more salt than pepper in her hair. Her warm and cheerful demeanor sharply contrasts the deep scar tissue on her left cheek, and the fact that she has a blunt hook for her left hand.

“Hello, uh, Josie?” I try, desperately trying to recall her name.

“Jesse, dear,” she tells me with an amused smile. In my defense, it’s been a minute.

“Right, yes, Jesse. I need a dozen cans of anything that can count as a meal, I’m not picky.”

 “Are you still a fan of stew, Maveth?” I smile at her words, of course she remembers my name, she seems the type.

I do manage to get my dozen cans of food, two of them are beef stew and some kind of vegetable. Mushrooms, I think. Another is peaches and three more are tomato soup. The last six cans consist of two corn and four green beans. They cost me seven AA batteries and two AAA batteries, as well as a pack of spare Exacto Knife blades. I had thought that the food would have ended up costing me much more, so I’m very happy with my trades. This also brings me a little closer to getting lollipops.

My next pressing matter is new soles for my boots, I doubt I’ll be able to finish my journey to Paradise with my almost crushed flat soles.

The trader my parents used to get new, or rather less flat, soles from has apparently died since my last visit to the Hub. Or that is at least what the vendor in his old spot tells me.

“Is there anyone else who specializes in shoe soles? Anyone at all?” I ask the new person, trying to keep any irritation I feel out of my voice. It isn’t their fault, I shouldn’t take it out on them. 

“Mm, not in soles specifically, more so in shoes overall,” they say with a small frown. They have a slight drawl to their voice, it fits with the freckles across their nose. Reminds me of a character from an old world storybook.

“That’ll work, where should I go?” I ask them, anxious to get going, even if I didn’t truly mind speaking with them. Talking with someone made the noise surrounding me more bearable. Like a distraction.

“Building 6, first floor,” they answer, beginning to sort through a box of what appear to be screws of different sizes. “Go in through the main entrance and his booth will be to your left, can’t miss it.” 

I thank them, which they smile at and practically wave off, before starting to make my way to Building 6. I know the way to it, it’s one of the older buildings within the Hub, established a few years after the warehouse itself became too full. It’s made of cracked brick and covered with half-dead ivy. It certainly isn’t considered one of the nicer places to set up shop, which works for me. It simply means that the prices will be lower and my things will go further.

I just hope that this isn’t the type of place that closes with sundown. I have a schedule to keep.

Getting to Building 6 isn’t too difficult, there aren’t many people milling about here like there are closer to the main gate. In turn, it’s also much quieter here, and for that I’m grateful. It’s going to take me a long time to get used to the crowds that’ll be at Paradise, but this is good practice.

Building 6 has exactly seven steps that I walk up in order to get through the door. The first one is cracked like the brick, but instead of half-dead ivy decorating its surface, it has fully dead and dried weeds poking up through its cracks. The second step is equally cracked, but it is missing the weeds that its predecessor has.

The cracks lessen with the third, and further still with the fourth step. They’re gone fully by the fifth. The wooden door that I shove open was once red, I think. It’s now long since faded and even peeling away in some places. I suppose upkeep isn’t too important if your main focus was getting people to trade their scavenged finds for basic supplies.

It smells like sawdust and old leather inside, and it is much warmer than I expected it to be. With a quick glance to my right I spot the source of the warmth. A small wood-burning furnace with pipes that reach high up into a small hole cut into the floor is next to a closed stall, glowing an inviting reddish orange. It’s a little early yet in the evening for fires to be entirely necessary, but I will not be complaining.

I turn to my left and see a thankfully open booth, piled high with shoes of all types and sizes. There’s someone already browsing the selection. He’s young, but not much more so than me. He looks to be maybe eighteen years old, though I can only see his side profile. He has tanned skin and reddish brown curls and dark green eyes, which are focused entirely on a pair of sneakers in his hands. He’s much cleaner than me, though his clothes have more patches holding them together than mine do. His shoes also have duct tape wrapped around them in one final bid to cling to life.

I’m not going to bother him while he finds some new shoes. 

I look around as best as I can from where I’m still standing. I don’t see the man who I was told runs the stall, but he can’t be far, not if all of his wares are left out in the open. While the people in the Hub tend to be more relaxed about most things, keeping a watchful eye over their merchandise is not one of those things.

Thankfully I do spot some soles that look about my size, which is good. I’m sure the price of whole new boots would be far steeper than just the soles.