Free Autumn in the City of Angels by Kirby Howell

marveled at how Ben and Rissi had been getting along so well, so close to me, practically underneath my nose, all this time.
    Ben waved for us to follow him, and we walked out to the elevator.  He pushed the “up” button with a long, thin finger.  I nervously glanced behind me at the wall of windows leading to the street as the elevator opened.
    “Don’t worry.  They’re not around today.”
    I was taken aback by his assuredness.  “How do you know?”
    “I overheard one of the guys talking on a walkie talkie.  Something about his group leaving to go help with some underground project, but they’ll be back tonight.”
    I stared at him, shocked.  “How did you overhear them?"
    He shrugged, and I noticed his t-shirt was a tad too small for his frame.  “Spying.  We’ve only been in this building for about three weeks.  We tried to stay at our house in Palms as long as we could, but we ran out of food.  We moved to another apartment complex in Santa Monica but The Front raided it.  It was all I could do to keep us hidden.  Hopped around to a couple different places since, always trying to keep ahead of their looting.  When we found this place, I thought I’d make it look like they’d already raided it, hoped it’d confuse them.”
    I raised my eyebrows, impressed and asked, “Has it worked?”
    Ben grimaced.  “So far, but Karl hasn’t been with them.  Don’t know if it would fool him.”
    I started at the name.  “You know Karl?”
    He shrugged.  “Not personally.  He’s a real creep.  I’ve only heard him on the radio.”
    I nodded and briefly told him about my short visit with them, editing out the part about the boy in the alley.
    “I bet it’s like listening to World War II propaganda back in the day.  At first it sounds pretty good, but then it gets creepy, fast.  They say we need to unite to survive, that we can rebuild together.  But then they talk about how we have to reform our ways for a better community and strip away our own wants and needs... serve them and stuff.  It’s pretty crazy.”  Ben’s voice was bitter, and his eyes hardened.  “But I’ve seen what they do.  I’m not buying their crap.”
    An image of the olive-skinned boy in the dirty t-shirt and Karl, handsome head bowed as he dug through the boy’s bag, flashed through my head.  “I don’t like them either,” I said.  Ben looked at me and we both understood.
    The elevator arrived on the eighteenth floor, and we stepped into the hallway, where Ben guided us to the left.  We passed doors with flat brass numbers fastened to them.  When we reached the door labeled “1824,” Rissi opened the unlocked door and ran right in.  Ben held the door open for me, and I followed her.  I heard her shouting with joy from deeper in the apartment.  I smiled.  She must have found the marshmallows.
    My earlier worry about the inhabitants of these apartments resurfaced as Rissi reappeared with a fistful of giant marshmallows.  She ran by, her mouth crammed full, yelling what sounded like, “Chubby Bunny!” and then disappeared again through an open doorway into what I guessed was a bedroom.  I heard Ben opening cabinets in the kitchen, so I walked toward the noise.
    Ben was stacking canned food onto the counter.  He had already piled a couple bags of chips and some bottled water and soda next to them.  He pulled open the refrigerator and immediately picked up a familiar bright pink bottle of Pepto-Bismol.  He put it on the counter with the other items and continued poking around the refrigerator, sniffing items here and there.  I could almost imagine this was his own place, and that he’d just gotten home and was digging up a snack.
    “Um, Ben?”
    There was a pause, and then I heard his muffled reply from the back of the fridge.  “Yeah?”
    “So, is that your machete down in the lobby office?”
    He reappeared holding a jar of applesauce and some extremely moldy cheese.  “Yup.  Gotta