“Beets, Tomatoes, Peas,” the middle aged lady listed, her voice brimming with irritation and her eyes glued onto Roy.

“Ah... ok,” Roy stammered out as he located the three cans of vegetables within the pile stacked in the shopping cart.

Clasping the three cans in his arms tightly, Roy maneuvered back to the counter and deposited the gleaming aluminum cans onto the rubber surface of the former grocery conveyor belt. The women inspected each can in detail before gesturing for her son to pick them up with his free hand. The boy looked a year or two younger than Roy, in a small town like Anamosa that was likely to mean they attended the same high school.

“Hey, um... are you from Anamosa High?” Roy asked, as he faced towards the boy.

“Yeah, you too?” he responded as he picked up the stack cans, balancing the tower like a circus acrobat while he held a bowl of gruel in the other.

“Un-huh, were you in the auditorium when... this all started?” Roy continued, unaware of the frown creeping onto the mother’s face.

“You weren’t? Envy you man, it was total chaos in there after they tried to grab some grub from the café. The teachers couldn’t even agree on what to do, some took their students out of the school, others stayed. A few kids even left on their own!” the boy explained, waving the tower of cans to and fro to emphasize his words.

“David, that’s enough!” the mother finally interrupted, adverse emotions hidden just underneath her features. The shout quickly silenced the boy.

“And you, young man, should take a good hard look at your life!” she turned around and stomped after her son who retreated towards the living quarters after her mother’s words. A girl followed in the rear, a middle schooler in Roy’s eyes.

“Go to hell,” she goaded as she walked past, giving him to evil eye all the while.

Roy wiped a bit of sweet from his brow and regarded the cart stowed behind him; a dozen colorfully labelled cans stared back, reminding him that he had a few more residents to serve before he was done. Most of the first comers had been polite; they praised his willingness to dedicate his time towards what was essentially volunteering. Some had taken the cans and left without a word, but Roy could sympathize with what was on their mind.

As time passed though, Roy realized that the intervals between guests lengthened, until he had ample breathing room between to survey the crowd. Several lazed around, making no move to approach Lestrat who served the gruel, other moved lethargically and took their time. He had thought they were tired, that was before they got to him.

Unlike the first wave, he hardly received any thanks; much more common were frosty glares and biting remarks. One man had even tried to grab a can from over him, until a quiet cough from Madelyn dissuaded him from that course of action.

The girl sat on a shelf elevated well above the clearing near the front; she spooned at a can of peas while her eyes slowly hovered over the crowd. Many more coughs were directed towards Lestrat’s direction, indicating the generally higher level of unpleasantness that permeated that area of the room.

A group stood near the front, as many people were there as Roy had cans left.

“Kids step aside, let the adults inside!”

“More food for all!”

"End this tyranny!"

The crowd shouted, voice unified into a whole, as they stomped their feet against the water, adding extra emphasis to their words. No amount of coughs seemed to be enough to disperse the group, who attracted attention as others finished their meals and gathered to watch the proceedings.

Roy wasn’t aware of any tyranny that had occurred, but as he looked down at his own empty bowl he reflected on the quality of the food that had been served. A bowl of thick white stewed wheat with a feel beans bobbing in its murk and a can of vegetables constituted lunch, it was probably the same for breakfast and dinner. The people here had probably subsisted on that regimen for several days now, all while crowded into a insanitary dump that offered little comfort and privacy.

No wonder their faces were awash with righteous anger as they pumped their fists and shouted at the top of their lungs, shaking off the oppressive buzz that normally infested the camp. Roy could understand their complaints and arguments, but his own room back home had reeked of dirty laundry and perspiration. His parents were often away so his meals consisted of sliced bread and canned tuna. This was only a small step down, a step assisted by his superior CON value.

Lestrat shuffled uncomfortably behind his stand as the group got rowdier. Others in the crowd joined in on the chant, several even stepped towards the group to show their solidarity. Roy recognized Jake in the crowd, one arm around his wife and children as he pumped his fist with vigor. The spirit of the people was fine and all, but being on the receiving end of that energy set his body into quivering in anxiety.

Trying to diffuse the situation Lestrat announced as loud as he could, “We’re serving seconds, so calm down please!”

The concession seemed to please few, and soon those that had moved to get seconds were pressured into staying by their neighbors. Roy took the initiative as he tossed the remaining cans in his cart to the crowd around him. A few were taken, others were left in the water, and one was even thrown back at him, impacting on the register beside with a dull thud that sent jagged cracks across the machines plastic exterior.

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“Everyone, I have an announcement to make!” A burly figure stood at the door, his blonde hair cut short and blue uniform immaculate. Greyson stood behind him, his impromptu dress and untidy black hair a sore contrast with the leading figure. The blonde haired man was probably Owen, he looked to be in his early thirties, and his face oozed an aura that screamed trustworthy and reliable.

“I see that you are all very upset over the food and conditions here,” his voice cut over whatever din remained after his entrance. Several murmurs of assent rose up and the group near the front boldly stated their concurrance after Owen finished.

Owen walked up to Lestrat and peered into the metal pots still holding gruel, “Ugh, what in the world is this?” His expression shifted into a comical frown as he pinched his nose with one hand and slammed shut the lid with his other.

More nods and quiet agreements followed, intermixed with shouts of outrage.

“It’s Saturday today and we’re going to grab some real lunch, why don’t we head towards the back and get some canned chili? After that we can sort out the other stuff.” the crowd roared their approval as they made way for Owen, who twirled the rung of keys in his hands as he headed down an aisle and disappeared past the crowd of people following him.

The front of the store was almost empty now, a few cans, and a multitude of bowls lay scattered on the ground, shapes distorted by the disturbed surface of the water. Only a few individuals stayed, some seemed torn, the allure of chili almost too strong to resist. Roy and Lestrat stood behind their counters, the later head down in shame.

Madelyn stepped out her sentry position and landed gently in the water sending a light spray and small ripples across the water. She gave everyone that stayed a brief nod before walking up to Lestrat. The boy’s knees buckled and he sat heavily into the chair behind him, like a puppet collapsing after a performance.

The girl gently pulled him up by the arm and guided him towards his office, taking a wide berth around the throng of people who had gathered near the food stores. Their cheers and bubbling excitement drifted in the air, quieting as they reached the front, turning into haunting whispers that burdened the few individuals who had chosen to stay

Roy turned his eyes away, as he recalled Lestrat’s instruction back in the store room and began to pick up the bowls that littered the ground. The empty and full cans would also need to be collected or the water would be further polluted, and their situation further degrade.

The few people that had stayed watched for a moment before they joined in, picking up the litter with languid motions and then ambling over to the carts to deposit the cans, empty aluminum cylinders rested like husks with their jagged ends and crushed appearances.

-----

Roy handed out the unopened cans to the few that had stayed around to help, than he deposited the carts off to the side, someone else could deal with those, he was far too overstretched already. His blood had stopped pumping after a little while spent collecting garbage, the chore and its tedium helped to dampen the rush of the moments that preceded it.

Colored liquid dripped from the carts and into the water, red like tomato, orange like carrot, or simply murky white like the gruel they had served. That didn’t bode well for their sanitation, but there was nothing he could, or was willing to do about it. He certainly wasn’t going to pay for the consequences considering his superhuman constitution and the poison resistance the fungus growing within him provided.

That was petty, almost cruel, picking himself back up, Roy pushed the carts out the front door and deposited them some distance away from the store. There was the likely hood that monstrous animals would be attracted to the smell, but they had plenty of grocery carts and the addition of a wood board to elevate the bottom was not complicated. The monster could take the empty cans; he couldn’t even find it in himself to care about the aluminum bowls. He kept the pots inside though; they still rested on the counter Lestrat had tended.

The cleanup had taken a while, the crowd gathered near the back had mostly dispersed, only a few stragglers remained to chat with Owen, a beacon in the crowd. The buzz of a great many voices coalescing resumed, with an intensity lacking from that which had permeated the room before lunch.

Roy let himself get lost in that ocean of voices, thinking about nothing in particular as he stood silhouetted against the pale white diorama of the windows. There was something about doing work now that had never appealed to him before; it was the boredom, the tedium. He could appreciate it in good doses between the bursts of terror and excitement.

Roy turned around as splashing footsteps approached from the side. Greyson looked more haggard, less confident than he had when they first met, but a half amused smile still cracked his rock like face.

“Fucking hate lunch, it’s when they’re the rowdiest. Breakfast if fine since everyone’s still complaining about a sore back, and their too tired to whip up a frenzy during dinner,” Greyson pointed out, part derision and part amusement infused in his words.

“It’s like this every day?” Roy mustered up the courage to ask, this was the fifth day if he included the afternoon this all began.

“Nah, we cooked up as much fresh food as we could the first two or three days, but it’s all mildew covered shit now. ‘Specially with this blasted humidity,” Greyson replied with a bit more flavor than Roy would have expected out of an explanation.

“Now we’re on gruel and canned veggies and these pussies are throwing a hissy fit,” he concluded as he made to spit, but reassessed the prudence of spitting into water they were all wallowing in.

“What about the chili then?” at least that was what Owen was promising the crowd, and they seemed to have gotten their fill.

“We’ve got a stock of that stuff too, chili, spam, sardines, but we keep it for the Task Force and when shit hits the fan. Got to get some extra oomph before and after a fight,” Greyson looked around at the rows of stark shelves, interplays of black and grey with their shadowed interiors and the edges of their horizontal planes, “They don’t need that stuff if all their gonna do is lounge around like a bunch of slobs.”

“Oh,” it made sense in a utilitarian way, give the fighters an extra dose of protein and the other nutrients, while the others lived off enough for their sedentary lifestyle. The shelves of food in the back had appeared nearly endless to one man, but according to Lestrat there were a hundred and eighty-seven people. With that many mouths and an finite supply, they were bound to run out sooner rather than later.

“Well, you go get some rest. You’re part of the Task Force and they’re heading out later for the usual, see ya kid,” Greyson gave him a solid slap on the back before pushing through the glass double doors and returning to his station  just outside the store.

It was probably a good idea to rest now, the morning trek had been winding, and the recent work, though monotonous, had taken a bit more of his energy. He would have been exhausted had this been before the blue screens appeared, but with his much greater CON he was barely tired. Still, it was always a good idea to conserve his power for when he needed it.

Now that he thought back to the meal, it had been less than gratifying; it would be hard to fight with only that in his stomach.