TWD - Chapter 532: Switch to Marlboro (Patreon)

Benson stood up, walked to the other side of the tent, and waited. Elijah sat down, followed by Josephine.

Twenty minutes later, all nine people had completed their physicals, and the doctor handed a stack of forms to Benson.

“Most of you are fine. Just malnutrition, chronic fatigue, and a few old injuries that need rehabilitation. And...” He pointed at Benson.

“As for the burns, head over to the medical center later. They have better medication there. Newcomers can receive treatment on credit for now. The cost will be deducted once you’ve earned enough points.”

Benson took the stack of forms. “On credit?”

The old doctor took off his reading glasses and looked at him. “Basic antibiotics for infections are cheap, but the medication for burns is pretty expensive.”

“Can’t we... can’t we afford it?” He thought of Josephine, the youngest member of the team and the only girl.

If it was really too expensive, the whole team could chip in to treat Josephine first.

Seeing the look of concern on his face, the old doctor suddenly reached out and pinched a bit of his bicep, adding, “Don’t worry, it’s not that expensive. You look like you can really handle some hard work!”

Benson stood there: ...

The third tent was the largest, with several long tables set up inside, each holding a tablet.

A Hispanic man in his thirties sat behind one of the tables. When he saw Benson and the others come in, he waved them over. “Over here. Put what you brought up on the table.”

Benson glanced back. The pile of junk they’d scavenged from the resort was currently heaped on a cart by the tent entrance.

Rusty hunting rifles, a few boxes of bullets, moldy compressed biscuits, half a bottle of whiskey, several machetes with blunted blades, and various odds and ends stripped from the bodies of the Wolves.

Elijah pushed the cart with a vague look of embarrassment on his face. The things they had gone to so much trouble to strip from the dead now looked utterly pathetic here.

“Dump it all out,” the man said.

Elijah tipped the cart over, and the pile of junk clattered onto the table.

The man looked down at the pile, his expression unchanged. He picked up his tablet, opened an app, and began taking inventory, item by item.

“Rusty hunting rifles, three. Poor condition. Only the metal parts can be recycled. 10 points each.”

“Bullets, seventy-three rounds, mixed types. They need sorting. 20 points.”

“Compressed biscuits, two boxes, expired. Only good for animal feed. 5 points.”

“Whiskey, half a bottle. Can be used as medical alcohol. 2 points.”

“Machetes, five, heavily worn. 3 points.”

“Miscellaneous items...” He rummaged through the jumble of odds and ends. “These are useless. 0 points.”

He looked up at Benson. “That’s 60 points total. Split among nine people, that’s 6.6 points each. Do you want to exchange everything for points?”

Benson glanced at the large, conspicuous signs nearby, which were densely covered with lists of various supplies and their corresponding point values.

Bread: 0.5 points each.

Drinking water: 1 point per 5 liters.

Sleeping bag: 3 points each.

Change of clothes: 2 points per set.

Rifle bullets: 4 points for ten rounds. (No credit allowed)

Marlboro cigarettes: 10 points per pack. (No credit allowed)

His gaze lingered on the “Marlboro” line for two seconds.

“I’ll take them,” Benson said, already planning to scrounge a few points from Theodore tomorrow to scrape together enough for the cigarettes. “Split them evenly among us.”

The man nodded and tapped a few times on the tablet. “All right, the points have been transferred to your personal accounts. Newcomers get two weeks of basic support. During that time, you can run a tab.”

He paused, then suddenly slapped his forehead. He scanned Benson and the others from head to toe, focusing on their burn wounds. “Are you Benson and his crew?”

“Um, if there haven’t been any other newcomers with that name recently, I guess so,” Benson said, looking at him in confusion.

“I’m Guillermo. Leah told me to give each of you 100 initial points to use for treatment first.”

“So you can... do that here?” Joel squeezed in eagerly, speaking so loudly that someone in the line next to them turned to look.

Guillermo tapped the table, glared at him, and said loudly, “What are you thinking? This is being deducted from Leah’s points!”

The last tent.

A young woman sat behind a desk, an old tablet in front of her and a set of keys beside it. “Nine people?”

“Right,” said Benson.

The woman swiped a few times on the tablet. “Four rooms. Two doubles and two triples. You can work out the assignments yourselves.”

She pushed four keys across the counter. “Building 3 in Block A, fourth floor. The room numbers are written on the keys. The restrooms are shared and located at the end of the hallway. Hot water is available from 6:00 a.m. to 9:00 p.m.”

The nine of them stepped out of the tent and stood in the open area outside. It was already completely dark, but lights were everywhere in the industrial park.

Late at night, Benson sat up in bed, glanced at Elijah sleeping in the bed next to him, then stood up, put on his jacket, and quietly opened the door.

The hallway was quiet. He went downstairs, walked out of the dormitory building, and looked out at the lit-up, bustling industrial zone.

He instinctively reached into one pocket and found it empty. The other pocket was empty too.

Benson remembered the pack of Marlboro cigarettes that cost 10 points. He was a “rich man” with 106.6 points now. Time to make a trade!

So he turned around and walked back to the dormitory building.

A list of exchangeable supplies was posted on the wall in the first-floor lobby, with a line of small print beside it: “For exchanges outside of working hours, please contact the duty officer.”

The duty office was at the end of the first-floor hallway. Benson walked over and knocked on the door.

The door opened, and a man in his fifties poked his head out, yawning, and sized him up. “What do you need?”

Benson gave him his ID badge number. The man went back inside, tapped a few times on a tablet, then came back out holding a pack of Marlboros and a plastic lighter.

“10 points. The lighter’s on the house.”

Benson took the pack of cigarettes. “...Thanks.”

He walked out of the dorm building to a corner out of direct light, leaned against the wall, tore open the pack, pulled out a cigarette, put it between his lips, and lit it.

Benson nearly choked on his first drag, not because the smoke was too harsh, but because it had been so long since he had last smoked.

Damn it, the apocalypse had almost forced him to quit smoking.

He coughed a few times, then gradually adjusted. He drew the second puff deep into his lungs and exhaled slowly, the smoke drifting gently into the night sky.

Leaning against the wall like that, he smoked one Marlboro after another from the pack. By the time he finished his third cigarette, Benson began walking slowly along the main road of the industrial park, all the way to its edge, where a barbed-wire fence stood.

A sign hung on the barbed wire: “Military Restricted Area. No Trespassing.” Beyond the fence, the outlines of larger buildings were faintly visible in the distance.

Benson stood there gazing in that direction. After a moment, he heard footsteps behind him.

“Benson, can’t sleep?” It was Leah’s voice.

Benson didn’t turn around. “Just came out for a smoke.”

Leah, who was on night patrol, walked over and stood beside him.

“What’s over there?” Benson asked.

“The Defense Force’s training base.”

Benson took a drag on his cigarette and exhaled slowly. Then he looked back at the distant dormitory building where he was staying. “My people... they’d love it here.”

Leah looked at him and patted his shoulder. “What about you?”

Benson was silent for a few seconds, then he smiled. “I like it here, too.”

He’d made up his mind!

Tomorrow he would go find Calista, sell out The Pope, and make sure he got a good price for it. Then he would switch everyone the hell over to Marlboros!