Free Surge by Katelin;katie LaMontagne

her eyes like she just remembered that there are two other people in the room.
    “Sorry,” she says. “What was the question?”
    “You’ve been staring at that bowl for a while,” I respond. “Are you full or something?”
    Nodding quickly, she shoves the soup toward John and me with a little more force than necessary, causing some of the liquid to spill over onto the desk. Turning away with suspiciously watery eyes, Olivia hops off the desk and stretches. When she turns back, I’m questioning the validity of my own eyes, since hers are clear of any hint of sadness.
    “Well, eat up,” she orders with a shooing motion or her hand. “We don’t have all day.”
    John sizes me up, before lunging at the same time I do. The bastard may be taller, but he’s not as fast as me, so I reach it first and tip the bowl up. The flavor that bursts on my tongue has me nearly moaning in pleasure and I guzzle down half of it before John elbows me in the gut for his turn. I just about bare my teeth and hiss at him, when Olivia speaks up.
    “Down boy,” she orders with a smirk. “I have more if you can behave.”
    Nodding vigorously, I’m practically panting with excitement. John’s licking the bowl so that he doesn’t waste even the slightest drop. Reaching into her pack, Olivia pulls out another canister and refills the bowl with still warm soup. The smell has me salivating with anticipation, and my stomach grumbles louder than my great aunt Helga used to snore. Flashing a smile of thanks at Olivia, I devour my portion of the soup in seconds and hand back the bowl.
    Without licking it like a certain dog beside me, who’s currently eyeing her like she’s a piece a filet mignon he’d love to sink his teeth into. And why does that piss me off? Death, that’s it. I’m pissed that his blatant ogling will tick her off and we’ll end up shish kabobs or with slit throats. Eventually, if I keep repeating it, I’ll believe it and no longer want to smack some sense into my best friend. Plus the bastard has a harem of groupies already, so I call dibs.
    “Where the fuck did you find this masterpiece?” John demands while rubbing his stomach. “And who made it? Campbell’s?” It looks like he’s ready to wage war if need be to find out.
    “I didn’t find it anywhere,” she snaps. “That’s my recipe, you cheap bastard.” Olivia balls her fists and her chest heaves in short huffs of anger. “Campbell’s? Are you serious? Those douchebags couldn’t create flavor like that, even with a gold plated recipe book.” Stepping in before John loses his teeth, I try to distract her.
    “What kind of meat did you use?” I inquire. Black hair; coming undone from her braid, swishes in my direction, before steel grey eyes meet mine. “It’s really good.”
    “Squirrel,” Olivia answers through clenched teeth. She takes a few cleansing breaths before continuing. “I caught it this morning.”
    “So, you’re alone?” John asks, testing the waters. A quick nod of her head. “For how long?”
    “A while,” she barks.
    “No family, friends, acquaintances...” John trails off as her glare turns lethal, ending that topic of discussion. I try for another.
    “Why’d you help us?” I inquire, since I am curious. She could have left us as a distraction while she escaped.
    “I didn’t help you, I helped myself.”
    “You waltzed into a store full of wheezers in a freaking frenzy, and that helped you how?” John asks bewilderedly.
    “I didn’t waltz into a frenzy , you jackass,” Olivia retorts. “I was already here.” I notice she only answered half the question, and make a mental note to discover why later.
    “What, did you pop out of the freaking ceiling like a tiny troll protecting her treasure?” I question. “Because you weren’t here when we got here.”
    “We did a sweep,” John adds with a smug smile.
    “You really need to work on your technique,” she advises, accompanied by a ‘tsk-tsk’ noise.