At eight o'clock the next morning, the folk tune from the night before crackled from the speakers and echoed down the corridor. As the singer belted out the final "Be free," the cafeteria doors swung open.
Southies jostled through the doors, sweeping me with them. I peered past bobbing shoulders and heads at the Northerners spilling into the opposite end of the cafeteria, searching for the face I most wanted to see. When a hand snatched my forearm, I jumped.
Puffing out a breath, I grinned at Rekkan. "Good morning."
He raised an eyebrow. "You're tense. What happened?"
I darted a glance around me. Northerners filed into chairs around the long, black-steel tables closest to the door they had entered, and Southies claimed the identical tables on our dormitory's side. Bezan, evil-grandma, and the rest of the crew from the storage locker crowded the table nearest the door. Uzmed was nowhere to be seen.
My fingers twitched, itching to rub the tiny scab just beneath the collar of my shirt, but I forced my hands to relax. "Nothing. Everything's wonderful."
His growl cut through the hubbub around us. "Bullshit. What did those fucking Southies do?"
The nearest Southies glanced our way before ducking their heads.
My stomach clenched, straining my voice. "Nothing."
His brow furrowed and mouth opened, but Ivogg interrupted.
"Good morning, good morning! What a beautiful day." Ivogg straightened his checkered orange bowtie that matched his shorts. "Can I interest you two in joining our table?"
Rekkan and I chose adjacent chairs at the center table with Ivogg, Zhina, Mekkar, and the elderly from the cupboards, Figgel. Three bulky Northern women with braided pigtails and white lab coats filled the remaining seats.
On my right, Rekkan scowled at the flowery placemat as though it had burned down his fortress — or maybe even murdered a cockroach. A silver spoon, fork, and knife flanked each ceramic plate. Remembering the night before, I touched the butter knife.
Plastic.
On my left, Ivogg fluttered fingers over the edge of the table, smiling at the open space between the placemats at the table's center. Had he noticed the disappearing utensils? Did he know the Southies were crafting weapons?
Were the Northerners doing the same?
Creaking metal interrupted my thoughts, and the center of the table plummeted, leaving a gaping black hole. Around the cafeteria, more metal screeched, and more table centers dropped. Below our feet, something clunked, whirred, and sloshed. Seconds later, the center of the table popped back into place, covered in platters of steaming food.
Rekkan and I exchanged a wide-eyed glance.
Mekkar chuckled. "Works like magic, doesn't it?" He snatched a handful of strawberries from the nearest platter. "I helped build it, and it still amazes me."
Figgel squeezed Mekkar's shoulder and flashed a toothy smile. "You amaze me."
Mekkar's eyes pinned to the hand on his shoulder, and his smile faded. "Well, I wasn't the primary designer." He nodded at me. "Our best ideas came from Zafaru's mother."
My eyes dropped to the fluffy lab-produced scrambled eggs on my plate, and a lump in my throat curbed my appetite. My mother had the kind of genius to feed hundreds... but she never shared a meal with me.
Figgel rubbed Mekkar's arm. "So humble. And can I just say, your hygiene is impeccable! I can hardly even smell you."
Mekkar pulled his arm out of her grasp to itch the back of his head. "Your smell is also inoffensive, Figgel. Unfortunately, I'm married."
YOU ARE READING
Human Bait
Horror"It's true what they say about you, isn't it? You really did sip tea and smile as you watched humanity fall apart." "Nope," he said. "I sipped whiskey." Eight years into the Infection, a spunky idealist convinces a hardened recluse to help him save...
