Epilogue
HARKINS
The city is abandoned.
Every city is abandoned.
The people have all been mostly transported, laborers and breeders relocated to the warehouses, where they work themselves to death for a non-livable wage. Some have gone into hiding underground, finding refuge in new cities inside of catacombs.
They say only the stupid stay above ground, that only the brainless risk getting caught and put into the prison-like, slave-labor system the church created.
There’s no middle class anymore, no poverty or even mid-level wealth.
There’s the elite, and then there are those who are forced to give up everything to keep the cycle of consumerism spinning like a well-greased wheel.
We stayed.
It’s the perfect hunting ground for people like me and Camila.
Here, she waters her monsteras on the porch, shaking the stalks and wiping the dust off the leaves so they can breathe better, as she says. I wrap another layer of barbed wire around the top of our concrete fencing.
“The sign’s gone out again.” She points to the letter S on the marquee that refuses to hold its glow.
I shrug. “Maybe more people will come by if they think it’s still a comedy club.”
Camila smirks. “Trickster.”
“Devil woman,” I taunt, wrapping my arms around her waist and bringing her to my chest.
A scream comes from inside, and then the dogs howl.
“I thought you fed them?” I question.
She chuckles. “I thought it would be more fun if they get to work for it tonight. Figured I’d let him think he’s getting away so the dogs can get a good chase out of it.”
“You’re a menace, Darkling.” I bury my face into her neck.
She sighs. “Fine, I’ll go feed the dogs. Fix the sign, please?” She points to the flickering letters.
They read: Laughter House.