2. Deals Over Breakfast
Bill woke with a start.
He sat upright on the mattress, aware that something was wrong but unable to pinpoint the source of the problem.
Out of habit, he grabbed the gas mask by his gear. The mask was half way secured when he realized the odor that filtered in from underneath the barricaded door was the smell of cooking food.
Bill picked up his shotgun and quietly moved the dresser away from the door. He frowned as a rich, savory aroma reached his nose.
After silently making his way down the stairs, he was greeted with the sight of Frank holding a pan over the flames in the brick stove.
"What the hell are you doin'?" Bill demanded from behind the barrel of the shotgun.
Frank jumped in surprise, but managed to hold onto the pan. "I'm…making breakfast."
"You've gotta be fucking kidding me. What part of 'gone by morning' was hard to understand?"
"I wanted to do something to show my thanks, for saving my life yesterday." Frank edged cautiously toward the plate on the nearest table, and transferred the hot food onto it. "I was in my second year of cooking school when the infection broke out. Try it," he pointed to the plate. "It's good."
Bill didn't move. The gun remained pointed at Frank's chest.
The other man sighed. "You have a hard time trusting people, don't you?" He picked up a fork and placed a chunk of meat into his mouth. "See? Not poisoned."
In the end, the undeniably delicious smell of the dish and the growling of his stomach convinced him to sit. Bill looked down at the plate in front of him. He picked up the fork and stabbed at the meat.
It tasted heavenly; tender, juicy, and mixed with a blend of spices that lingered in his mouth long afterwards.
"What is this?" he asked.
"Pan seared steak, roasted potatoes, and baby carrots caramelized with a balsamic glaze," Frank said with pride. "Not bad from a can, right?"
Bill followed his gaze to an empty can of Dinty Moore beef stew near the stove.
"This came from that can?" he said in surprise.
"Plus some spices I found back in the kitchen," said Frank. He took a seat across from Bill, looking him in the eye. "I'm a good cook."
Bill set down his fork, mid-bite. "No. No way. Do I look like a damn fool to you? I don't need a good cook."
"Okay, then I'm also a good shot. I can help you clear out the infected from the block that was overrun yesterday."
"I don't need help clearing the infected, and I sure as hell don't need another fucking liability."
Frank leaned in closer. "You're building defenses around the whole town. That's smart, to funnel the infected into controlled areas, but it's a two-man job moving all that metal and barbed wire. We can get it done faster. You kick me out and you might as well kill me with that shotgun. There's nothing out there. No food, no shelter. Give me a chance here. I'll stay out of your way and I'll earn my keep."
Bill stared into the other man's dark brown eyes. They wore a mixture of fear and determined bravado, but they were telling the truth. The winter had been especially bad, following a dismal drought the previous summer. He had encountered more than the usual share of frozen corpses on his monthly trips to Boston. Their emaciated bodies seemed barely able to hold up the haggard faces forever etched with hunger. Frank wouldn't survive a week in the cold.
Bill picked up the fork and chewed slowly, in silence. He frowned, unwilling to believe he was entertaining the thought. Yet there he was, with pan seared steak in his mouth, some fancy vegetables in his stomach, and a serious chance of getting killed in the middle of the night by the stranger sitting across from him. He looked up to see Frank still staring into his eyes, searching for the answer he needed to hear.
Bill placed the fork down for the final time. He pushed the plate aside and sighed.
"You're gonna need a pair of work gloves and a decent jacket."
Frank opened his mouth to speak.
"And you got exactly one week to impress me," Bill continued. "After that, if I don't see this working out for any reason, you're gone. For good. Got it?"
"You won't regret it," the other man said with a genuine smile.
Bill's scowl was less enthusiastic. "I doubt that very much."