| |
“LAUGHTER. NOW, there’s a sound I don’t often hear around this place.” Doctor Simon leaned against the doorframe in the mess hall, a pleased look on her face as she took in the euphoric scene.
Don turned away from the counter, feigning indignation as he pointed a wooden spatula at her.
“I don’t know what Sheila’s been saying about my culinary skills, but it’s all lies.” He shook his spatula for emphasis, splattering drops of sauce on the floor. “I’ll have you know I’m a highly respected chef. In certain circles.”
Sheila swatted his arm with a dish towel. “I think you’re confusing ‘respect’ with ‘dread.’ There’s a reason field rations are popular when you’re on kitchen duty.”
Aubrey smiled as she sliced the vegetables, basking in the light-hearted patter of their verbal sparring. She was more than content to leave the cooking to them. Doc’s right. Until today, we haven’t had much to laugh about. Everyone’s back where they belong, and that’s reason enough to celebrate.
The unexpected return of Garr, Sheila, Amos—and even Mateo—lifted everyone’s spirits. The tension, hanging over the Hub like a dark cloud since the Tracker ambush, vanished the moment Amos poked his head in the door, echoing Don’s signature greeting.
“Did anybody miss us?”
Bedlam erupted in response, as boisterous as it was uncharacteristic. What followed was a day crammed full of emotions and dialogue, as the group embarked on a rigorous debriefing session.
Doctor Simon candidly compared it to a “rollercoaster,” although it took several minutes to explain to her younger colleagues what that meant.
They exchanged tales about their various escape routes after the Trackers raided their meeting with the Hoarders. The conversation became spirited as they swapped impressions of Darcy and his companions.
Later, they listened with fascination to descriptions of the Enclave, and speculated about the protestors’ impact and the significance of Trackers hunting each other.
Several hours later, Garr called an end to the debrief, and announced a celebratory feast for the evening meal.
As the exhausted Runners separated into smaller groups, there was an undeniable atmosphere of giddy relief. Don and Sheila set about preparing a meal such as they seldom enjoyed, recruiting Aubrey to assist them. She’d never looked forward to chopping vegetables, until today.
“What is that incredible smell?” Jane’s voice was oddly upbeat, accented by her genuine smile. She squeezed between Doc and Garr, joining Don at the cooking unit, sniffing with great gusto.
“What—you’ve never tasted chicken that wasn’t raw?” Don placed his spatula on the counter, looking down at her with affected pathos. “This may come as a shock, but many civilizations have been known to cook their meals.”
“Was this your idea, Sheila?” Jane asked, ignoring Don. Aubrey couldn’t recall ever seeing such an open, carefree look on her face. She doesn’t look like the Snake Lady I first met. Was that only six months ago?
Sheila shook her head, tending to the sizzling meat in the frying pan. “The credit belongs to Garr. We had to hike to the far side of the Enclave to get Mateo’s truck, and he insisted we pick up some fresh meat on the way home. I guess he started planning this during the drive.”
“Thank you,” Aubrey called over her shoulder, spying Garr in the doorway behind Doc. “This mess hall has never smelled so good.”
Garr sketched a small salute, smiling. “You’ve earned it. That aroma might even convince me Don isn’t the menace in the kitchen I thought he was.”
Don performed an exaggerated bow.
“Don’t let it go to your head, big guy.” Sheila poked him in the ribs. “Stirring a pot of sauce isn’t the same as cooking the entire meal.”
“Is that so?” Don scowled at her, resuming his task. “You don’t want to see what would happen if I stopped stirring. For the record, my role is crucial.”
Amos appeared in the doorway, craning his neck to see over Doc’s shorter frame. “Let’s get moving, Jane. I want to be back by the time the feast is ready.”
Garr had assigned Amos and Jane to check on the drop-box. Doc crossed her fingers, hoping they would return with a new package to offset the cryptic message Aubrey had found.
Jane dared to dip her finger into the Don’s pot, nodding with approval after she tasted the sauce. The big man waved his spatula at her with an indignant protest, and she ducked her head as she dodged out of his reach.
“Just checking.” Jane laughed as she edged between Garr and Doc. “Had to be sure Don isn’t trying to poison us.”
She joined Amos in the hallway, and they set off at a brisk jog, their footsteps lighter than usual.
Doc chuckled again, observing the camaraderie from the doorway. She lowered her voice, glancing up at Garr. “This is one of your better ideas, Colonel. They’ve been under so much pressure lately. They needed an excuse to unwind.”
Garr shrugged, grateful to hear the cooking crew’s good-humored teasing. “It’s the calm before the storm, and they know it. But you’re right—they need this.” He laughed quietly. “Who am I kidding? I need this as much as they do.”
Doc eyed him with concern. “I won’t ask whether you trust this Darcy character or not, because that’s not the right question. Judging by everything I heard this afternoon, he’s a predatory sociopath. Once he gets what he wants, he’ll discard you without a second thought. And I shudder to think what ‘discard’ might mean to someone like him.”
She shook her head. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Colonel.”
Garr didn’t argue.
“It’s like dancing with a scorpion,” he admitted, a faraway look in his eye. “But he’s our only chance to get to the Givers. We have to strike quickly, before the Hoarders activate the Anodyne Initiative. If we wait too long, we won’t be able to move around the Enclave undetected. Darcy needs our help. He can’t afford to jeopardize the alliance.”
“That’s what I mean.” Doc faced him, hands on her hips. “Right now, Darcy needs you. But if you succeed, none of you will be necessary anymore. Win or lose, it might not make much difference.”
“No more Givers means no more Trackers. Or Implants,” Garr replied, meeting her gaze with steady resolve. “No more innocent people kidnapped by the Hoarders as raw material for their private war. We’ve been their expendable pawns far too long. I’ve buried too many good people . . .”
He caught himself, looking away for a moment. “Doc, this is a risk we have to take. Don’t worry. I’m not going to let my guard down.’
He inclined his head to indicate the cooking crew. “And I promise you, I’ll bring them back. This won’t be the last time we celebrate together.”
Doc nodded, breaking eye contact with a sigh.
“I’ll hold you to that, Garr,” she said, a brief smile lighting up her face. “I might even risk some of Don’s cooking.”
Garr chuckled, and then became serious again. “Actually, Doc, I was asked to bring you to the infirmary. Mateo has an idea he wants to run past you.”
He performed an about-face, striding down the corridor. After a final look at the cheerful company in the mess hall, Doc hastened to follow him.
“Mateo,” she muttered under her breath, shoving her hands into the pockets of her lab coat. “Still not sure what I think of him, either.”