back, only to be kept waiting another twenty. Once we received the limited menu, we both decided on heavy items. Tara went with the country style meal: chicken fried steak, mashed potatoes, thick gravy, and a meager helping of corn. It looked as mouthwatering as it smelled. As for me, I got the steak. A nice, juicy, fall-off-the-bone sirloin, grilled to perfection. Needless to say, it was a much-deserved meal.
“Can I ask you something?” said Tara, wiping her mouth.
I choked down the last portion of my steak and coughed up my next sentence. “Go for it.”
“What’s your take on the whole ‘Volunteer’ thing?”
Her eyes darted between passing GenoTec Volunteers, garbed in yellow.
I took her question into consideration, and realized it was her turn to play the skeptic.
“What do you mean? Wait a second, weren’t you happy to be considered one of them just an hour ago?”
“I know, I know,” she said. “I’ve just been thinking about it ever since it happened. Haven’t you ever noticed them? I mean, really noticed them?”
“I don’t understand.”
Tara moved in closer, putting down her silverware.
“Whenever I’m around them, I’ve never seen them cough or have bandages over their fingers. I don’t think I’ve ever seen one struggling at all.”
I thought for a moment. Had I never watched a Volunteer for more than a few seconds? I turned to glance at the nearest one: clean-shaven, recently trimmed hair, and no sign of blood. Then I came up with a satisfying answer.
“Aren’t most of them Seraphs?”
She nodded. “I guess. Don’t get me wrong; we couldn’t live without their help. But I’ve been thinking about what you said earlier. Why are we doing this?”
She was really running with this. My own thoughts reflected from her comments. Seeing it in this light made me reconsider some of my theories.
“I honestly don’t know,” I said. “But my stomach’s full. I’m alive. And Tara,” I sent a beam to her blue eyes, “if I became healthier every time I didn’t know something about GenoTec, I’d be cured three years ago.”
She sighed at my answer, clearly unwelcome. She wasn’t satisfied.
“No, you’re right,” she started, playing with her potatoes.
I gulped some watery milk. “Right now I guess I’m just glad I can feel blood returning to my body.”
After consuming the entire restaurant—or so it felt—we decided to burn some time before our next stop at the Constitution Hotel. We entered a small shop called “Terra-Masou”, a Volunteer-operated coffee store, with a rocky terrain theme. It was a unique place with lots of odds and ends stacked and shelved. I remembered passing the store a few times, but it almost seemed too trendy and lacked the necessary elements of a post-apocalyptic establishment. I mean, we’re all about to die, right? So, I wasn’t about to stop off and grab a cappuccino.
There went my cynicism again. Another reason why I’m not making a difference in the world.
The smell of coffee filled the basin of my nostrils and I started to breathe in from my mouth only. I hated the aroma, let alone the taste, but apparently Tara loved the place. We found a tall table in the back corner facing a large window and sat down.
“Are you sure you don’t want anything?” asked Tara. “You have at least three cups for the month.”
“I’m good,” I said, watching people pass by through the window. Despite my concerns, today had been incredible. I could feel my body responding to the vaccine. I thought about life before Vax—just two days ago. Death, destruction, blood, gore. It was a stark contrast to how things were now.
As I gazed out the window, I soon began to be mesmerized into a memory. The sound of a beating electronic drum started to pound in my ear.
“Yes!” Patrick exclaimed, as he raised a fist into the air. His brown hair was dancing above the rims of his eyes.
“Settle down, Patty ,” I retorted.
It was a warm night on the
“Can I ask you something?” said Tara, wiping her mouth.
I choked down the last portion of my steak and coughed up my next sentence. “Go for it.”
“What’s your take on the whole ‘Volunteer’ thing?”
Her eyes darted between passing GenoTec Volunteers, garbed in yellow.
I took her question into consideration, and realized it was her turn to play the skeptic.
“What do you mean? Wait a second, weren’t you happy to be considered one of them just an hour ago?”
“I know, I know,” she said. “I’ve just been thinking about it ever since it happened. Haven’t you ever noticed them? I mean, really noticed them?”
“I don’t understand.”
Tara moved in closer, putting down her silverware.
“Whenever I’m around them, I’ve never seen them cough or have bandages over their fingers. I don’t think I’ve ever seen one struggling at all.”
I thought for a moment. Had I never watched a Volunteer for more than a few seconds? I turned to glance at the nearest one: clean-shaven, recently trimmed hair, and no sign of blood. Then I came up with a satisfying answer.
“Aren’t most of them Seraphs?”
She nodded. “I guess. Don’t get me wrong; we couldn’t live without their help. But I’ve been thinking about what you said earlier. Why are we doing this?”
She was really running with this. My own thoughts reflected from her comments. Seeing it in this light made me reconsider some of my theories.
“I honestly don’t know,” I said. “But my stomach’s full. I’m alive. And Tara,” I sent a beam to her blue eyes, “if I became healthier every time I didn’t know something about GenoTec, I’d be cured three years ago.”
She sighed at my answer, clearly unwelcome. She wasn’t satisfied.
“No, you’re right,” she started, playing with her potatoes.
I gulped some watery milk. “Right now I guess I’m just glad I can feel blood returning to my body.”
After consuming the entire restaurant—or so it felt—we decided to burn some time before our next stop at the Constitution Hotel. We entered a small shop called “Terra-Masou”, a Volunteer-operated coffee store, with a rocky terrain theme. It was a unique place with lots of odds and ends stacked and shelved. I remembered passing the store a few times, but it almost seemed too trendy and lacked the necessary elements of a post-apocalyptic establishment. I mean, we’re all about to die, right? So, I wasn’t about to stop off and grab a cappuccino.
There went my cynicism again. Another reason why I’m not making a difference in the world.
The smell of coffee filled the basin of my nostrils and I started to breathe in from my mouth only. I hated the aroma, let alone the taste, but apparently Tara loved the place. We found a tall table in the back corner facing a large window and sat down.
“Are you sure you don’t want anything?” asked Tara. “You have at least three cups for the month.”
“I’m good,” I said, watching people pass by through the window. Despite my concerns, today had been incredible. I could feel my body responding to the vaccine. I thought about life before Vax—just two days ago. Death, destruction, blood, gore. It was a stark contrast to how things were now.
As I gazed out the window, I soon began to be mesmerized into a memory. The sound of a beating electronic drum started to pound in my ear.
“Yes!” Patrick exclaimed, as he raised a fist into the air. His brown hair was dancing above the rims of his eyes.
“Settle down, Patty ,” I retorted.
It was a warm night on the
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