Deadland's Harves(14)

As we headed back to the park square in the Humvee, Bill detailed his plans about getting back to Marshall to find his family. Though, for pointing out all the obvious details, like stopping by farmhouses to look for food, his plan was really simple: drive back to Marshall while watching out for the herds.

Even though his constant talking grated on my nerves, I could relate to how he felt. If I’d been separated from Clutch or Jase, nothing short of death would’ve stopped me from finding them. However, as much as I understood Bill, I was also disgusted with him. He was too afraid to head after them on his own. It was bad enough he’d abandoned them in the first place.

“We’re here,” Tyler said a few exhausting minutes later, as he pulled the Humvee into the small parking lot for the park office, where all Camp Fox business took place, including three group meals per day. “Welcome to the Fox Park square. It serves as our command center, chow hall, and the place for just about any other group activity.”

“The university’s student center was our town square,” Manny said, a hint of sadness in his voice.

Bill had quieted when we arrived, likely from the smells of dinner overtaking his senses. Starving, I headed straight for the door, and the three men were right there with me. A couple of the park’s residents walked out the door as we approached. Tyler held the door open, and I politely followed the two newcomers inside. Even though Bill was a chatterbox, both he and Manny seemed like decent, albeit smelly, folk. Regardless, it would take longer before I trusted them enough to welcome them into the fold of Camp Fox.

Inside, I found Kurt already hitting on one of the women who’d arrived today. It was par for the course for the Guardsman who treated every day like a frat party rather than the end of the civilized world.

Tyler grabbed a tray, stepped into the cafeteria-style line, and nudged Kurt. “I need you to check on the north gates.”

“I’m sure they’re fine,” he replied all too quickly before smiling again at the young woman basking in his attention.

Tyler’s jaw tightened. “I wasn’t asking.”

Kurt’s smile fell, and he stood straighter. “Yes, sir.”

On his way out, he winked at the woman, and her flirtatious smile left no doubt as to whose bed she’d be sleeping in tonight. That was Kurt. He hit on every woman. Hell, he hit on me but mostly only when Jase was around, likely because it pissed Jase off. He obviously liked Jase even though he seemed to be constantly picking on him, so I figured it was some kind of friendship hazing ritual. Clutch, on the other hand, was a completely different story. Kurt didn’t risk hitting on me when Clutch was around. Maybe because Kurt looked to him as Sarge. More likely it was because that any sense of humor Clutch had was lost in the stampede that crippled him.

The smell of beef stew made my mouth water and drew my attention to the small buffet line. Made with wild greens, berries, and some other local plants that I hadn’t yet figured out, it was my favorite meal. As soon as Tyler got a bowl, Nate set a generously sized bowl of stew on my tray. Nate, like everyone else here, performed multiple duties. Like Kurt, he was also a Guardsman and a scout under Tyler, but he was also a damn good cook. Between Vicki and him, they planned all our meals.

It was easy to see that Nate thoroughly sampled each meal. He was one of the few scouts whose clothes fit tighter since the outbreak. After giving Nate a grin, I moved on and grabbed a handful of nuts and two crumbly chunks of cornbread, our daily staple. One thing the Midwest had plenty of was corn, but there was one big problem. Farmers planted seed corn, with only small pockets of sweet corn scattered across the area. Seed corn was made for cattle feed or corn syrup. Hard and bland, it generally wasn’t exactly consumable without being ground down into cornmeal. We’d grown accustomed to the simple taste. Hell, I even looked forward to Nate’s corn hash every third morning.

That was the way things were around here. Everything had become a routine. Hard-boiled eggs or hash for breakfast, meat as dinner’s main course every other day, and only vegetables and grains on the alternate days. Sugar and salt were restricted for medical use only. After a while, a person’s palate became accustomed to a blander fare, finding new flavors in things like dandelion tea and root soup. But that wasn’t always the case. Some things were just simply flavorless, or worse, tasted like weeds.

Tyler led us back outside to a picnic table. Manny and Bill followed us rather than sitting with their own people.

“Real beef?” Manny asked, swirling a spoon in his stew, while Bill slurped directly from his bowl, completely oblivious to us.