“Are you kidding?” Todd asked. “Aren’t they diseased? Besides, how would I know what time it is?”
Joe grinned. “There’s no disease in here. The Spring of Life keeps everything vital, including the vermin. Anyhow, I’ve got a clock in the mess hall. I’ll walk you over. It’s active when I feel like turning it on, and that’s that. It’s not like time matters for you. I didn’t say it was accurate. You’re not going anywhere! Heh-heh.”
Todd stopped the overextended laugh. “Joe, that doesn’t help matters one bit. Does it? Can you just quit with the teasing and get real with me? What’s going on, and why am I still here?”
“You’re not ready… not even close. Why don’t I just ‘mess you around’ a little more?”
“Not ready for what?”
“Just forget it.”
Todd entered the room and looked around.
Kind of like a medieval version of Oakdale High. Not ready to go back there. Only a few things missing — the clinking from the kitchen, the stressed banter of the underpaid workers, and the unending chatter of the students.
“What do you think?” Joe asked. “Up to your standards? Don’t let those haughty eyes make you cast judgment on my handiwork… Don’t you dare have a lying tongue either! You know what will happen if you do, right?”
“It looks good,” Todd said. “I’ll give you props on this. Reminds me of a trip to Carlsbad I took a few years ago. Never in a million years would you expect a cafeteria to serve cold sandwiches in the middle of the earth. It feels sterile. ‘Government-managed,’ but precisely the room for me to get to work on giving you the best doggone fried rat and steamed bat that you can get around these…”
Creeper Joe interrupted, “Ah, ah! You’ve gotten it wrong. It’s ‘fried bat’ and ‘steamed rat.’ Don’t forget about the toadie frogs. Oh, lookie there. You only have seven minutes. You better get cooking. I’ll ring the bell in a bit, and you’ll see the others show up faster than a mosquito to a bug zapper.”
Joe left the room as Todd explored the kitchen area. He had many utensils at his disposal — forks, knives, wooden spoons, loads of miscellaneous tongs, meat cleavers, whisks, and stainless steel plates. He read signs mounted all over the kitchen.
REMOVAL OF ANY KITCHEN SUPPLIES FROM THIS ROOM WILL LAND YOU on the NORTH SIDE of the TUNNEL in a CELL for MORE TORTURE. DON’T TRY YOUR LUCK.
. . . . .
The large vat nearly spilled over as Todd swirled the bat around the grease and steamed the rat on the skillet. Another pot continued at a rolling boil behind the skillet with fifteen frogs.
The odor of the creatures is a lot more likeable than I could have ever imagined. I must just be that hungry. I’m ready for the day we can serve up that boar.
He finished firing up and cooking the meals for the hungry inhabitants of Level Zero. Shortly thereafter, the bell Creeper Joe mentioned rang. The creep’s voice piped through the entire area on the loudspeakers.
“Wake up. Wake up, my children. Time for some grub grubs so you can have some chub chubs! Heh-heh.”
The unlikely army of transient prisoners began their walk to the mess hall area, lining up single-file just outside the room as their anticipatory chatter remained minimal.
Todd spoke to the group as they approached, “Come on in, you guys. I’ll be serving your meal today.”
Harv was at the front of the line and chimed in, “Let me guess, fried bat and steamed rat, right?”
Todd smiled, almost welcoming the sarcasm. “Right on the money, Harv. Don’t forget about the boiled frogs… for the select lucky few.”
The best way to cope with the struggle is to have fun with it. It’ll help the rest do the same.
After all went through the chow line, Todd prepared his own plate. Once the others sat to eat, he carried his meal into the main seating area. He struggled not to fixate on the sounds of munching and chewing while the forks clinked across the tops of the stainless steel plates. A table of unfamiliar women sat together, but none looked up or acknowledged him.
“What’s going on, ladies? No love for the chef?”
They returned a cold stare in stone silence. Todd turned around and studied a sign on the wall: NO DRINKS IN THE MESS HALL.
He and Livewire made eye contact.
“Hey there,” Todd said. “What’s the word, buddy?”
“I’m not going to talk to you right now,” Livewire said. “The mess hall must maintain order at all times.” He pointed to a sign that read the same in red blocked letters on a white backdrop. “Joe will tolerate nothing less. We don’t want the sprinklers kicked on. It’s too easy to gossip around here. This is just about the only time that we’re all together. We can’t be stirrin’ up trouble in the community or pourin’ out lies like a false witness.”
“Gossip? About each other? About Creeper Joe? Oh, come on. Are the sprinklers that bad? At least everyone could have a sip of water with dinner, right?”
Livewire shook his head. “You’re thinking too casually again, like we’re above the surface. What do you think sprinklers full of bleach can do?”
“Burn skin and poison food?”
“You got it. One of many demented ways to keep us from rallyin’ together and rebellin’ against what we’re governed by. The poison’s never enough to kill us, but it’ll do a good bit of harm to your innards. You’ll be beggin’ for a trip to the Spring of Life.”
“Which is? What are we governed by?”
“I can’t answer that. These guys are old-fashioned. If the women even utter as much as a peep in here, they get accused of gossipin’.
