Holding up her hands, she quickly said, “It’s alright, I’m not a resident. I’m new here. I just wanted to talk to you for a few minutes, if that’s okay.”

Most of them looked uncomfortable, unwilling to meet her gaze, but one of them finally stepped forward, a young black woman. She had her hair pulled back into a bun, splashes of pale blue house paint across her cheek, a stark contrast against her dark beautiful skin.

“Can I help you, ma’am?” she asked in hushed tones, her nervousness palpable. Her gaze flickered left and right, as if scanning the area for possible observers.

“I just wanted to find out your story, how you got here, if you want to share.” Rachael did her best to sound reassuring. “My friends and I are trying to decide if we’re gonna stay here. I’m Rachael, by the way.” She held out a hand.

After a brief hesitation, the woman took the proffered hand, gave it a quick shake and dropped it. She did not, however, offer her name. The woman shrugged. “I’ve been here since the cars died and everything went to shit.”

“What happened when you got here?”

“They took all my stuff, my supplies, said that it was the price I needed to pay to enter, and that they’d let me live here for a while, stay here, and I would be able to work off the food they gave me and the supplies and clothes and shelter.” The words poured out of the woman in a rush, like a stopper had been pulled out. “That it would probably only take a few months, that everyone who came in did it. And that once I worked it off, they would help me and my family find a safe place to go to where we could set up homes for ourselves, build a community.”

“And that was six months ago?” Rachael asked.

“Yes, ma’am.” She paused, shooting a dark look off into the distance. “They lied, I haven’t seen anyone work off whatever debt these people claim we have. If anything, they keep saying us workers are using more than we’re earning. That we need to earn more. Work harder.”

“That’s happening to all of you?”

The woman nodded.

“Why don’t you just leave?”

“Where would we go?” She gave a harsh laugh. “And even if there was somewhere—”

“Paloma!” One of the other workers, a man who looked like he could be the woman’s brother, shook his head and drew a finger across his neck. She caught herself and turned to go back to her work. Then she stopped and looked at Rachael once more.