The Safety Of The Vegas / Henderson Zone Essay
To avoid traffic, I took Greenhouse Alley, speeding past acres of plastic domes assigned to those who didn’t own land. Every family in the Zone had to grow the bulk of their food. Thanks to me, we had a beautiful vegetable garden in the backyard beside our greenhouse.
Most who lived in the Zones were Twelvers, but some, like Dad and grandma Welita, refused to be converted. Like many of the Henderson Originals, they followed the Laws and were allowed to live under Twelver protection, in the safety of a Zone.
Anyone who lived outside of the Zones was a Rebel. The front parking lot was full, I just couldn’t get a break, and I had to park in the one behind the depot. My knuckles turned white as I gripped the steering wheel. If she caught me there’d be no mercy, but as long as I made it to the hospital to see my dad, I didn’t care. I said a quick prayer for courage, and exited the Jeep.
The August heat in Vegas, its thick air and blinding sun, had me gasping before I reached the back of the building. Sweat ran down the middle of my back - I hated to sweat - but still I ran.
At the front of the depot…