The Human Race
(© Rich Restucci)
stands twenty six stories tall on two point two acres of prime real estate on
West Sunset Boulevard in West Hollywood. There are fantastic views of
Greystone Park, the Hollywood Hills, the buildings of Downtown Los Angeles, and
of course, the Hollywood sign. Just a stone’s throw from Beverly Hills, the
Bennett Towers section of Hollywood is rife with affluence.
Towers is, perhaps, a misrepresentation of title, as there is only one
structure. When I had it built, I hired a marketing and advertising firm to
come up with a name, and they told me in a sixty six page document that I paid
sixteen thousand dollars for, that the s on the end of Tower would have people
flock to the state of the art, luxury apartment complex in droves. They were
correct, sort of. I didn’t need droves, just a few select people like myself.
are twenty six floors, there are only eight rental agreements in the entire
building. Those agreements, however, paid for my beautiful building in less
than six years. My tenants, you see, are a specific sort of person. They,
like me, wanted to be prepared just in case. All of them understood why
the rent was so astronomically high, and none of them thought twice about
signing a lease the instant they pulled up to Bennet Towers in their half million
dollar sports cars, or stretch limousines. One man landed on the roof in his
seven initial interested parties, declining only one. I already had two
investors that were guaranteed living space. Two important people.
Regardless, the leases were signed the day before Bennett actually opened her
doors for the first time.
The draw of this
wonderful edifice was twofold. The heightened security that encompassed all
aspects of the building was the primary driver. Everything from the private
parking garages, to the sub-machine gun armed security force, to the
surveillance suite had been perfectly planned and built. The very structure
itself is comprised of non-flammable, reinforced plasticrete, that I’m told
will withstand an armor piercing tank shell. The entrances are constructed of
a metal alloy that one needs special military clearance to see the composition
of. The United States government wanted the same doors for sections of the
Pentagon, but the entries were too expensive. A small but powerful fusion
reactor gives us a lifetime of clean, sustainable energy.
We have our own
food source, hydroponic farms on three levels, with a small army of technicians
and farmers to keep them going. We also have farm animals at a secure offsite
location the whereabouts of which I will not divulge here. It’s all good
stuff, and we never want for tasty meals from our chefs.
is, I must say, impregnable, and it stands in one of the largest cities on the
globe. This was the second concern for my tenants and me. We were considered
survivalists by the mainstream media, which, ironically I own most of. Or
owned I should say, most of it is gone. A fortress such as this in the center
of a busy metropolis is also unheard of. Most survivalists live off the grid
in a cabin in the mountains. That would not do for us. Not at all.
Before the dead
stopped staying dead, I was an owner. I owned things. I got my start in
entertainment. Mogul is the word. Although, if I were a mogul before, I’m a
God now. The Resurrection has been a boon to me, both financially, and in
terms of professional prestige.
So with the
knowledge you are now armed with, you must understand that it was easy, quite
easy in fact, for me to succeed in enduring. Everybody else was dying, or dead,
and I sat back and watched it all on ninety inches of high definition
television. With the surround sound it was like it was in my living room. I
ate as much popcorn in those first few days as the dead ate their neighbors.
The Resurrection ran twenty- four-seven on all channels. Well, all the
channels that were still working, including mine.
unprepared. Those stations that let a little thing like the zombie apocalypse
screw up their functionality. I was still watching, and if I was watching so
were others. Where was the sense of customer loyalty those stations always
bragged about? Where were the talking heads and camera crews and grip guys?
Dead. Either chewed or chewing, that’s where they were. Stupid, all of them.
Just dumb. A little bit of prep goes a long way, and that was me. A prepper.
My station was and is still running at top efficiency. It’s the only one left,
and though I run several programs, everybody only waits for one.
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