The Lazy Chronicles: Apartment of the Apocalypse-Chapter 62: The Page-Turners’ Sanctuary
Chapter 62: Chapter 62: The Page-Turners’ Sanctuary
The library was quiet—eerily so—despite the presence of at least a dozen survivors scattered among the stacks. Makeshift barricades constructed of overturned shelves and rotting furniture lined the walls, while faint trails of smoke drifted from a fire pit near the center of the room. The air smelled of charred paper and damp mildew, a pungent reminder of the apocalypse’s toll on even the smallest sanctuaries.
Mallory adjusted her tiara, a souvenir from their earlier encounter, as she eyed the survivors. They stared back with expressions ranging from distrust to outright hostility. One of them, a wiry man with a jagged scar cutting across his cheek, stepped forward. He held a rusted machete in one hand and tapped it rhythmically against his thigh.
"This is our space," he said, his voice gravelly. "Turn around, and no one has to get hurt."
Altair’s hand rested instinctively on his weapon, but Mallory stepped forward, raising her hands in mock surrender.
"Relax, Scarface," she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "We’re not here to steal your precious book fort."
The man’s eyes narrowed. "Watch your mouth, princess. We don’t take kindly to strangers."
Greg leaned toward Mallory, whispering, "Maybe tone down the sass?"
But Mallory wasn’t listening. Her eyes had wandered to the far corner of the room, where a tattered banner hung over a makeshift podium. It read, "Page-Turners: Survive and Thrive Through Knowledge."
"Wait," she said, squinting at the banner. "Are you guys... a book club?"
The survivors exchanged awkward glances.
"We’re the Page-Turners," a younger woman said defensively, stepping out from behind a barricade. Her thick glasses magnified her wide eyes, giving her the appearance of an owl. "We preserve literature and knowledge for the future."
Mallory snorted. "In this future? Who’s going to read anything when half the population is trying to eat the other half?"
"Hey!" Alex interjected, nudging her. "Be nice."
Before Mallory could respond, the scarred man raised his machete. "You’re testing my patience. Either state your business or leave."
Altair stepped in, his voice calm but firm. "We’re just passing through. Looking for supplies and information. If you let us rest here for a while, we won’t cause trouble."
The man hesitated, glancing at the group’s ragged state. Finally, he lowered his weapon. "Fine. But don’t touch anything."
"Deal," Altair said.
---
The group settled into a corner of the library, grateful for a chance to catch their breath. Mallory immediately flopped onto a pile of dusty cushions, much to Vanessa’s annoyance.
"Do you have to make yourself at home everywhere we go?" Vanessa asked, crossing her arms.
"Why not?" Mallory replied, stretching out. "I’m like a cat. I find the comfiest spot and claim it."
Greg chuckled. "If you’re a cat, then I’m definitely a golden retriever. Loyal and occasionally dumb."
"That’s an understatement," Vanessa muttered under her breath.
As the group settled into a rhythm, Mallory’s gaze drifted back to the Page-Turners. She couldn’t help but notice the odd assortment of people among their ranks: a bearded man meticulously organizing books by genre, a teenage girl writing furiously in a notebook, and an elderly woman knitting beside a stack of encyclopedias.
"What’s their deal?" Mallory whispered to Alex.
"They’re weird," Alex whispered back. "But harmless. I stayed here for a couple of days before I found you guys. They’re obsessed with preserving knowledge, even in the apocalypse."
Mallory frowned. "Why? It’s not like the zombies are going to have book clubs."
Alex shrugged. "Guess it gives them purpose."
Their conversation was interrupted by the sound of raised voices near the barricade. The scarred man, who they now knew was named Derek, was arguing with one of his own people—a tall, wiry woman with a mane of curly red hair.
"You can’t keep making decisions for all of us!" the woman shouted. "We should trade with them, not push them away!"
"We don’t need their help, Clara," Derek snapped. "We’re doing fine on our own."
Clara rolled her eyes. "Fine? Half our people are sick, and we’re running out of food. But sure, let’s just keep hoarding books."
Mallory perked up. "Did someone say food?"
Derek glared at her. "Stay out of it."
But Mallory, never one to back down from a conflict that wasn’t hers, stood up and walked over. "Listen, Derek, or whatever your name is. If your people are hungry, we can help. My apartment is basically a magic vending machine."
The room fell silent as everyone turned to stare at her.
Greg groaned. "Mallory, maybe don’t—"
"Wait," Clara interrupted, her eyes narrowing. "Did you say magic vending machine?"
Mallory nodded. "Yup. Long story. But I can get you food."
Derek scoffed. "And what do you want in return? Our books? Forget it."
Mallory shook her head. "I don’t want your books, Scarface. I want... uh..." She trailed off, realizing she hadn’t thought that far ahead.
"How about you let us stay here for a couple of days?" Alex suggested, stepping in to smooth things over.
Clara nodded eagerly. "Deal."
Derek looked like he wanted to argue, but the hopeful expressions on his people’s faces silenced him. He grumbled something under his breath and stalked off.
---
Later that evening, Mallory returned to the apartment to fetch supplies. True to its unpredictable nature, the fridge provided not only food but also a pair of inflatable flamingos and a box labeled "Emergency Disco Lights."
"Perfect," Mallory said, grabbing the essentials.
When she returned to the library, the sight of her lugging a crate of food—and the flamingos—caused quite a stir.
"What are those for?" Clara asked, pointing at the flamingos.
"Ambiance," Mallory said, deadpan.
As the group shared a meal, the mood in the library shifted. Laughter echoed through the halls, and even Derek seemed less grumpy as he watched his people relax for the first time in weeks.
But the peace didn’t last.
Just as Mallory was about to dig into her third helping of canned peaches, a loud crash echoed from outside.
"Uh-oh," Greg said, peering through a crack in the barricade. "We’ve got company."
The group scrambled to prepare as a horde of zombies descended upon the library.
Mallory grabbed her frying pan, Blinky 2.0 skittered to her side, and Alex handed her a makeshift spear.
"Time to earn our keep," Mallory muttered, a grin spreading across her face.
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