I woke up perfectly rested in a bed of rough-spun cloth so light and soft it seemed unreal, to the enticing smell of food calling to me.

"it's soup," a high pitched voice said in long-suffering tone. "It has no mouth to make calls with."

"Not all calls are spoken," I immediately disagreed, then stretched under the sheets, enjoying the luxurious, refreshing cleanliness. "And it's a metaphor, it doesn't have to make literal sense," I mumbled. Something about this whole situation struck me as odd but as my stomach growled in demand I shelved the feeling for later perusal and opened my eyes. What I saw was definitely not what I'd expected.

"That's what most people think," the tiny little girl said as she sprinkled ground herbs into a small cooking pot over a campfire. "Unfortunately, most people are idiots," she added as the spicy, almost leathery aroma of thyme spread through the mist-heavy air. She was maybe seven years old, on the slim side with tan skin, black hair in chin-length bob braids and matching eyes narrowed in annoyance. A black, long-sleeved jacket, matching skirt and cute little black pumps completed the ensemble.

"Quite the opinionated midget, aren't you?" I snarked as I got off the improvised sleeping bag. Then I eeped and fell back down in my haste to reclaim some cover, because under the sheets I was down to my birthday suit. "What happened to my clothes?!"

"You mean the torn, gnawed, half-melted rags that were more blood and acidic slime than fabric or leather? Those clothes?" the midget snarked back, sniggering at my discomfort. "I burned them hours ago, right after I cleaned you up." She scowled at me. "And I'm not a midget, I'm currently seven point six years old and on the sixty-second percentile of height for my age."

"That still seems midgety to me," I informed her from my lofty height of six feet and eight inches. As the mist started seeping into the sheets I huddled closer to the campfire to postpone the inevitable soaking and reached for my powers. Super Suit responded at once, slowly building up the energy that would coalesce into a new costume in about an hour. This time I'd forgo the skirt, frills and multiple parts for a one-piece utilitarian bodysuit from the neck down. The vegetation around was sparse enough and neat enough for what many Hollywood movies portrayed as forests, which meant the small camp had to be in that thicket a few hundred meters North of the school... unless I'd blindly flown much further before falling unconscious.

"Duly noted," the little girl said then started dicing mushrooms into the boiling broth with... was that a rusty knife?! I immediately took it from her - or tried. The dangerous metal bit disappeared up her sleeve before I could close the distance. "Hey! Hands off!"

"Not on your life, Midget-chan. Hand that nasty thing over before you get cut."

"It's not nasty. It's a perfectly serviceable dagger when it wants to be." She glared at me. "Plus if I hand it over how will I make soup?"

"I'll make the soup instead," I cajoled. "I can cut everything you want, just hand over the... knife." For some reason she just gave me a suspicious stare instead of letting me get rid of that murder weapon before she mutilated herself.

"Do you even know how to cook?" she asked doubtfully. Then she made the jagged bit of metal reappear with a flourish. "Not that it matters, Stabby is mine. I made it, so you can't have it."

"You named your knife Stabby?" What was wrong with the kid? Not that the name wasn't appropriate. At a second, closer look the thing looked more like a foot and a half rod of rebar someone had roughly hammered and sharpened at either end. Except it was blue-black like cast iron and not the rusty grey of actual rebar. That the kid hadn't impaled herself on either pointy end was a miracle... or something more. On second thought, a hell of a lot of things about her weren't in the same zip code as normal seven year olds. "Whatever, I don't care," I lied and she rolled her eyes at me. "What are you doing out here on your own?"

"Saving idiots and making soup, except the latter is complicated by the former" she shot back. "Ask stupid questions, win stupid prizes. Now can I add in the rest of the mushrooms without interruptions or will an hour of work go to waste?"

Silently admitting defeat, I let her do her thing. Soon, she proved to be a far better cook than me despite her age and ill-conceived tools, using the sharpened rod to cut more ingredients at the speeds of professional chefs. Apparently, the weapon also doubled as a stirring rod as well as a fork to spear bits of mushroom and vegetable matter floating in the cooking pot, which she tasted while still steaming hot and declared "conditionally edible". I tried not to wince, I really did, but she made it too hard. Any commentary I kept to myself however until the whole effort stumbled on a major problem.

"I don't see any dishes. Are we supposed to drink it from the pot?"

"Some people I know might have, but we're not idiots." She fixed me with those beady black eyes of hers and waited. When I only looked back in confusion she only said; "Well?"

"Well what? Do you have dishes or not?" My answer must have thrown her for a moment for she gave me a second look, then a third. Then she huffed and started patting the ground.

"There's always dishes but I'm too early again, aren't I? Appointed time, hah! I'll show you appointed time you..." Her grumbling trailed off, obviously not directed at me. It was kinda cute. The way she picked up a handful of mud less so. "Behold!"

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"It's mud," I told her drily. "I don't think mud pies are going to help here. Aren't you too old for them anyway?"

"Oh, now you want to be annoyingly literal? Nuh uh! I'm not gonna let you!" And with that she squeezed the mud. Instead of making a mess of everything as muddy bits flew every which way, the soup included, the mud sizzled as perfectly clean water dripped from it, leaving behind dry clay. The little girl squeezed harder and the clay glowed and hissed, gas dispersing from it as it shrunk into a child's handful of red-hot molten rock. That she split in two, half the molten mass held in either hand where it widened into two discs which then curved and cooled. In seconds she was holding a pair of bowls of whitish grey metal.

"What... the actual... fuck?"

"Mud minus water minus oxygen equals silicon-iron-aluminum alloy and thus we have dishes." She grinned up at me, showing perfect pearly-white teeth. "Elementary, my dear Maya."

"Tell me you weren't out there on your own, killing zombies." Because all signs pointed towards exactly that. It had been obvious the midget had powers the moment she responded to things I hadn't said out loud, but I'd been hoping her parents had just held down a zombie or two for her to off and gain some minimum ability to defend herself. Unfortunately, she'd just shown way more than said minimum.

"You weren't out there on your own, killing zombies," she repeated as instructed then patted me in the side. "Don't worry. Father might be too busy but I can take care of myself. I'm not the average midget, you know?"

I didn't say anything to that, misgivings or no. There were far worse alternatives. I just waited and let my new costume form as she split the mushroom soup in the two metal bowls and handed over the bigger one to me. We both sipped straight from them, no spoons or other utensils, and a dozen different flavors exploded in my mouth. Mushrooms, thyme, basil, blackberry, chicken broth and a faint aftertaste of wine were just the ones I could name off the top of my head, the others blending in a glorious ambrosia-like whole better than anything I'd had for years. Before I knew it the bowl was empty and the kid was giving me a refill.

"This was... far too tasty for words," I finally admitted when we were both done. She looked at me over the rim of her still steaming bowl, swiping the last bits of soup by hand then licking her fingers. The silence stretched on, but not uncomfortably, until I chose to speak again. "Thank you, for everything. For the food, the improvised bed," which was still too comfortable to be real, "but especially watching over me while I slept." I laughed. "And it just occurred to me... I still don't know your name. I can't keep calling you midget; it wouldn't be proper."

"Propriety is often the enemy of good sense," she replied with the air of giving a warning. "Call me Tomomi."

"Really?" I looked her up and down. "You don't look Japanese." She certainly didn't have any of the distinctive features. She looked more Egyptian, especially with her little shoulder-length braids and tan complexion.

"I'm not!" she laughed. "But I once stayed with friends there and they gave me this nickname. They said my real name was too much of a mouthful. I ended up liking it so feel free to call me that." She got up, gathered the empty dishes and threw them into the fire along with the now empty cooking pot where they quickly reverted to clay and broke apart. Moments later my new suit formed under she sheets I'd wrapped myself in, hugging my skin and banishing some last vestiges of discomfort.

"Well, Tomomi, I think it's time for me to go back to school. Like you, I have some idiots to look after still." And a doozy of a messed up situation to deal with. Hopefully, the new brand of clever zombies hadn't gotten out of the school building or everyone would be in danger. I felt recovered and ready to face them again if needed, not only physically but also psychologically. Just a good and proper rest, talking with someone that wasn't an idiot or an argumentative bastard had helped me calm down and relax, shift mental gears, put things in perspective. Yes I'd lost, almost died even, but more because I'd been an idiot than the enemy being unbeatable. In the warmth of the campfire and with two bowls of food in my stomach I could actually think, look back... and cringe at the legion of mistakes I'd made. Charging in against that nightmare plant and its minions was not a mistake to repeat but one to learn from and prepare.

That the realization came so easily wasn't normal. I'd expected doubts, self-recrimination, maybe a nightmare or two. That's what usually happened after a big enough failure and their absence here... it left me off balance. I shot the Midget a suspicious look; she gave me back a shit-eating grin and I sighed. The seven year old who was far more mature, competent and powerful than anyone her age should be if the adults in her life had been doing their jobs properly. It wasn't really my business and yet...

"Do you want to come with me back to the school?" I blurted before I could get any second thoughts. It was a question, not a demand, because somehow I didn't feel very confident bringing Tomomi anywhere she didn't feel like going.

"Pass," she said without even thinking about it. "Too much teenage drama for my liking; ask me again after you all grow up and rethink your lives." She kicked soil over the campfire, snuffing it out and burying it.

"It's not really..." I trailed off, not knowing how to finish the sentence. Not that bad? That would be a big fat lie. Not worse than the zombies? Debatable. As long as one kept to the normal, mindless zombies it was actually worse, because you got more out of killing them than dealing with asshole teenagers. "Will you at least try to be safe?" I finally asked.

"There is no try," she shot back at me and cackled. It really wasn't funny. Not with monsters getting more and more powerful. But I had problems of my own and things out here seemed... safer? No monsters had barged into our camp all this time at least. Dragging a kid closer to those monster plants... no. Just no. Maybe I should be going with her instead?

"I guess this is goodbye, then." I turned to go, but had to try one last time. "Will you try for the city? The police station should be..."

"...burning rubble?" she suggested. "Someone from there would have come looking, otherwise. Don't worry," With a little flourish she made 'Stabby' appear and disappear in quick succession. "I can take care of myself. You worry about you and try not to be an idiot."

"That's a given, you little rascal."

"That's what everybody thinks," she told me in a long-suffering tone and for the first time I wondered how far she'd boosted her mental attributes or equivalent abilities. "Whatever, we both need to get going. May your years be ninety-nine and do not move in haste. It is the slow gait that brings all to the end ordained."

"You're a very weird little midget," I told her as we waved goodbye and I took to the air. Monsters and teenagers would not wait forever.