twenty-something woman in a short jumper and sandals sprawled face down on the ground. A plastic tray, silverware, and soggy canned peas were scattered around her.
A voice rang out from the onlookers. "Get a guard!"
Before anyone came, a distraught bus boy rushed over and began cleaning up the mess around her.
"Get back!"
If the boy heard the man yelling at him, he gave no indication as he continued sweeping peas into his dust pan. With his back turned, he didn't see the fallen woman raise her head with vacant eyes and begin to stuff a trail of smashed peas into her mouth. By the time he seemed to notice that the crowd who had circled around him had fallen back, the woman reached him and grabbed ahold of his wrist. He screamed as she clamped down and tore off a piece of his flesh.
Chances were…that bus boy had been put down by now. Even though a guard had taken out the woman before she could do any more damage and someone had quickly grabbed some napkins to stop the flow of blood, the boy didn't qualify for a ration of the limited supply of vaccine.
Why had no one shot the woman before she attacked? Because guns had been banned from the cafeteria twelve days back after a shootout occurred over an argument about the last slice of peach pie. One man had stabbed the other in the hand with a fork. Then, guns were drawn and the rest… well …she didn't want to think about it now.
"You got a problem with my dinner attire?" Mark asked.
"No," Cheryl said, shaking her head. She threw her arms around his neck and laughed, saying "I think that bulging piece of metal over your sock goes nicely with your outfit."
"Okay then. Let's go…"
Minutes later, they found the dinner hall blissfully quiet as they stood in line. Disappointment set in after they submitted their ration cards to the cafeteria attendant and found that the only things being served were baked beans and some hard biscuits.
"That's it?" Mark asked as he slid his tray down the rail.
"We're low on everything this week," the young male server said, scooping up a ladle full of mushy, overcooked pinto beans, seasoned with green slices that looked like jalapenos but could be anything from mushrooms to unripe tomatoes. "They cancelled Monday's trip into town."
They sat down to eat at a long table, wedging in between a family with two preschool-aged kids and an older woman who seemed to be struggling to get her beans to her mouth with a shaky hand.
"Did you know that?" Cheryl whispered, leaning closer to him.
"That they cancelled this week's safari? No, I—"
She glared at him and shushed him with a finger to her lips. There was no need to worry anyone around them.
Mark lowered his voice. "No. That was somehow left out of the spot report."
"Really? What else do you think they aren't telling us?"
" A lot ."
Cheryl didn't press him further. They couldn't talk in front of anyone else. If they did anything to alarm the inhabitants of the fort, they might risk disappearing like the guy with the shaggy gray hair who used to hop up on tables and rant that they all had implants in their brains that were set to activate and turn them into N.E.U.s at a preset time.
She laid her napkin across her lap then reached into the pocket of her shorts and took out a tiny crystal perfume bottle with a sprig of silk Baby's Breath inserted in the top. She set it in front of her plate next to her water glass.
Mark rolled his eyes. "That's really embarrassing, you know."
"I don't care," she said. "I always kept flowers on the table back home. It's one of the few things that makes me feel like I'm not living in a prison or some sort of institution."
Mark was already on his third bite of beans when she bowed her head and said thank you for the food. She wasn't praying to anyone in particular; she figured that she was just putting it out there to the universe. From time to time, she did ponder the concept of God , though. She'd run across many people that thought this apocalypse was
A voice rang out from the onlookers. "Get a guard!"
Before anyone came, a distraught bus boy rushed over and began cleaning up the mess around her.
"Get back!"
If the boy heard the man yelling at him, he gave no indication as he continued sweeping peas into his dust pan. With his back turned, he didn't see the fallen woman raise her head with vacant eyes and begin to stuff a trail of smashed peas into her mouth. By the time he seemed to notice that the crowd who had circled around him had fallen back, the woman reached him and grabbed ahold of his wrist. He screamed as she clamped down and tore off a piece of his flesh.
Chances were…that bus boy had been put down by now. Even though a guard had taken out the woman before she could do any more damage and someone had quickly grabbed some napkins to stop the flow of blood, the boy didn't qualify for a ration of the limited supply of vaccine.
Why had no one shot the woman before she attacked? Because guns had been banned from the cafeteria twelve days back after a shootout occurred over an argument about the last slice of peach pie. One man had stabbed the other in the hand with a fork. Then, guns were drawn and the rest… well …she didn't want to think about it now.
"You got a problem with my dinner attire?" Mark asked.
"No," Cheryl said, shaking her head. She threw her arms around his neck and laughed, saying "I think that bulging piece of metal over your sock goes nicely with your outfit."
"Okay then. Let's go…"
Minutes later, they found the dinner hall blissfully quiet as they stood in line. Disappointment set in after they submitted their ration cards to the cafeteria attendant and found that the only things being served were baked beans and some hard biscuits.
"That's it?" Mark asked as he slid his tray down the rail.
"We're low on everything this week," the young male server said, scooping up a ladle full of mushy, overcooked pinto beans, seasoned with green slices that looked like jalapenos but could be anything from mushrooms to unripe tomatoes. "They cancelled Monday's trip into town."
They sat down to eat at a long table, wedging in between a family with two preschool-aged kids and an older woman who seemed to be struggling to get her beans to her mouth with a shaky hand.
"Did you know that?" Cheryl whispered, leaning closer to him.
"That they cancelled this week's safari? No, I—"
She glared at him and shushed him with a finger to her lips. There was no need to worry anyone around them.
Mark lowered his voice. "No. That was somehow left out of the spot report."
"Really? What else do you think they aren't telling us?"
" A lot ."
Cheryl didn't press him further. They couldn't talk in front of anyone else. If they did anything to alarm the inhabitants of the fort, they might risk disappearing like the guy with the shaggy gray hair who used to hop up on tables and rant that they all had implants in their brains that were set to activate and turn them into N.E.U.s at a preset time.
She laid her napkin across her lap then reached into the pocket of her shorts and took out a tiny crystal perfume bottle with a sprig of silk Baby's Breath inserted in the top. She set it in front of her plate next to her water glass.
Mark rolled his eyes. "That's really embarrassing, you know."
"I don't care," she said. "I always kept flowers on the table back home. It's one of the few things that makes me feel like I'm not living in a prison or some sort of institution."
Mark was already on his third bite of beans when she bowed her head and said thank you for the food. She wasn't praying to anyone in particular; she figured that she was just putting it out there to the universe. From time to time, she did ponder the concept of God , though. She'd run across many people that thought this apocalypse was
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