“Where are the horses?” Kitten asked, since the stables were mostly empty.
“Out grazing with the cows and other livestock,” Juniper said. She pointed to a trio of open-aired warehouses. “And there is our lumber mill, forge, and the welding and machine shop.”
“Do you have any cars or motorbikes?” Gizmo asked.
“No, Brother Gizmo. Gasoline is too scarce. We have to reserve what little fuel we have for the fire truck, farming equipment, and the generators that run the hospital and cafeteria.”
“Do you have any solar or wind capabilities?” Gizmo asked.
“You’d have to ask the Natural Resources Committee.”
“So many committees,” I remarked. “Where do you get the gasoline?”
“We have it delivered here once a month, but we must be frugal. In Promised Land, we live within our means.”
It sounded like another of Brother Larry’s epithets, not that I disagreed, only that hearing it from Juniper’s lips gave me the willies.
Juniper pointed out the chapel next. “Nondenominational church services are held every Sunday with Shabbat on Saturday for our Jewish brothers and sisters.”
“Is attendance mandatory?” I asked.
“No, but it is highly encouraged. Faith is the foundation of the Fellowship.”
Gizmo grumbled at that. A fellow heathen like myself, we shared a similar lack of faith. Gizmo thought the worship of an “unprovable entity” was ludicrous, while I had a hard time putting my faith in a God who was ambivalent at best. I’d seen too much tragedy to believe the big man had my best interest at heart. If there was an almighty God picking and choosing His favorites, then surely I wasn’t one of them.
But Macon, Kitten, and to some extent, Artemis too, were followers of the Christian faith, so I tried to be respectful.
We ended the tour back at the cafeteria where dinner was being served even though it was only late afternoon. According to Juniper, mealtimes followed the daylight schedule so that the kitchens could be cleaned and shut down before dark. Our effusive tour guide bid us farewell with a reminder to be on time for our assessments tomorrow, and we joined the rest of the diners in the cafeteria line.
The menu was chicken pot pie and biscuits with a vegetarian option for those who didn’t eat meat, which was pretty progressive of them. There was also a combination salad/fruit bar for those who wished for a lighter fare. Kitten marveled over the food, which included dessert, and when Teresa tried to take two servings of peach cobbler, the cafeteria worker gently reminded her she was only allowed one.
Everything in moderation, as they say.
“You can have some of mine,” Kitten said to her on the sly, breaking the rules already, my little rebel.
Once we were seated and stuffing our faces, the tension I’d been carrying with me all day finally started to abate. We were safe for the moment and we were being fed. If attending church and getting a job and possibly quitting my drug addiction were the only requirements of being part of the Fellowship, then I could abide.
Probably.
“Oh my gosh, this is so good,” Kitten said, licking his spoon with long sweeps of his tongue and moaning in a way that caused me to have impure thoughts. “The crust is so flaky and the peas are so sweet. They just pop in your mouth. Have you ever tasted anything this delicious?” he asked our small party of six. The Assholes then went on to list the high points of their gastronomic experiences and Kitten turned to me at last, “What about you, Cipher? What was your favorite meal ever?”
“The spaghetti and meatballs in Atlanta were pretty tasty,” I said.
“They were, right until the Rabid attacked. Then I almost couldn’t keep it down.”
Slaying that Rabid at the Italian bistro had definitely made our official first date memorable. I chided myself for not taking the same precautions here. (I was losing my edge already!) I scanned the cafeteria for any signs of Rabid-like behavior while Kitten loaded up his biscuit with butter and jam. He sighed contentedly after each bite, licking his fingers without any thought whatsoever to my virtue. After polishing off the biscuit in its entirety, his eyes skirted toward mine. I subtly pushed it in his direction.
“Are you sure?” he asked, already reaching for his butter knife to scoop up my accompanying portions of butter and jam.
“Yeah, you’re still growing.”
“Best boyfriend ever,” he said charmingly, and after fixing it up, generously gave me half.
“This is pretty good,” I conceded. Freshly baked bread was definitely a luxury, as was butter and dessert. All of it, really.
“A guy could get used to this,” Kitten said, rubbing his stomach where it poked out the bottom hem of his too-small t-shirt.
“Pretty sure that’s the point,” I said darkly, and all eyes turned in my direction. I cleared my throat and attempted to lighten the mood. “So, who’s excited for Placement Day?”
