“You’re worse than Simon.” The man spat on the ground before turning and working his way through the crowd.
“Yeah? Well don’t let the door hit you on the way out.” He pulled a chair over and stood on it so that those in the back could see him. “Any of you who want to leave, go for it. Nobody is going to stop you. If you seriously don’t like the way I’m running things here, then by all means, get out.” He took a deep breath and tried to count to five to get his emotions under control. “Somebody has to be the leader here. I didn’t ask for the job but it fell in my lap. Since everybody looks to me to come up with the answers, I took on the responsibility.”
“You should have trusted us with the truth,” the woman said quietly.
Hatcher looked down at her and nodded. “I probably should have. But it was my choice. I felt it was better to keep the details secret in case the whole thing backfired.” He stepped down from the chair and turned to her. “But the offer still stands. If you aren’t happy here or think you can do better on your own, be my guest.”
He pushed his way through the crowd and back to his office. It took every ounce of his reserve not to slam the door and he stood behind his desk, his hands shaking.
“That went over like a fart in church,” Roger stated flatly, pulling Hatcher from his thoughts.
“You heard?”
“Who didn’t?” Roger snorted as he sat down. “But I can see where they’re coming from.”
“Oh, can you now?” Hatcher ground his teeth. “Those…ungrateful…”
“Hey, easy now.” Roger poured a cup of old coffee and sat down across from him. “Just put yourself in their shoes. Wouldn’t you want answers if there was a cure and your fearless leader kept it from you?”
“Yeah, but…what if it doesn’t work? What if a month from now we’re still facing the Zulus and nothing has changed?”
Roger sipped the mud that smelled faintly of burnt coffee and shrugged. “Then that’s the new reality. They’ll adjust.”
“Maybe they will. They’re used to life kicking them in the balls.” Hatcher sat down but leaned across his desk. “But the kids aren’t used to having that kind of rug pulled from under them.”
Roger nodded slowly. “So it’s for the kids?”
“And the adults who are too immature to act like adults.”
Roger smiled at him. “Me? I already knew.”
“You’re not funny.”
Roger set the cup down and sighed. “Look, man. I know that you feel like you have to protect them. You feel like you have to act as some kind of buffer between them and what’s happening out there. But you got to remember, to each of them, they are the main character in the play that is ‘their life.’” He met his gaze and gave him a soft smile. “Just like you are the main character in your life.”
“Rog, I get that. I really do.” Hatcher sighed and slumped into his chair. “I just wish that they’d try to put themselves in my shoes once in a while.” He ran a hand over his face and hung his head. “Thanks to our efforts, we’ve brought them from the stone age to this.” He motioned with his hands. “They’ve got hot and cold running water. Three squares a day. Electricity, for shit’s sake.”
“And they helped to build it all.” Roger stood slowly and picked up the coffee cup. “You were the man at the helm, but they were the ones swinging the hammers. You didn’t do this by yourself.”
Hatcher gave him a ‘duh’ look. “I know this, Roger.”
“I know you do.” He took a sip of the burnt coffee then dumped the remains back in the pot. “Just try putting yourself in their shoes once in a while.”
Hatcher groaned as he leaned back in his chair. “I can tell you this…I’d be a lot more grateful than they are.”
Roger raised a brow. “Would you?”
Kevin McAlester gripped the plastic tray in his hands and stared at the offerings in the chow line. He pointed to the gray mystery meat and tried not to wrinkle his nose when the cook plopped it on his plate. He watched as they shoveled portions of canned vegetables and a brown colored gravy into a mess before waving him on.
He sniffed absently at the plate and shook his head. “I never would have thought that a TV dinner would sound good, but compared to this…”
He sat at a table and picked at the offerings. Flashes of bloody, raw meat flashed through his mind and his mouth watered spontaneously. He sat up straighter and tried to identify where the image had come from. In his mind he could easily identify the color insignia of the man that he’d murdered and eaten in his stateroom.
Rather, the man that he imagined that he’d killed and eaten.
He shoved a forkful of the mystery meat into his mouth and fought the urge to gag as his jaw went through the motions of chewing. He closed his eyes and let the image of the man’s ruined neck flash through his mind and for a brief moment, he could taste the rich, coppery blood as he ripped succulent chunks of flesh from the still warm corpse.
He swallowed the mystery meat and imagined tasting the familiar flavor of raw human as his memories overrode the signals his taste buds sent to his brain.
He smiled to himself and shoved another forkful of the flavorless patty into his mouth, his jaw barely chewing before he swallowed, his imagination relaying the flavor of human flesh to his brain again. He began to rapidly shove more and more of the food into his face when his attention was broken by nearby laughter.
“Damn, you must really like this shit.”
Kevin opened his eyes and glanced to a young sailor sitting further down the table. “What?”
“The way you’re shoveling
