Free The Sowing by K. Makansi Page B

the attack, and everything Vale had ever said or done started to seem insincere, like it had all just been an act to get us to like him. Suddenly, I hated him. As far as I was concerned, he might as well have been the murderer himself. About a month later, he came over to ask why I hadn’t spoken to him since then and why I hadn’t been in school. He brought me flowers. I took the flowers and slammed the door in his face. Two months later, my family left.
    And now his face lurks behind my eyes, waiting for darkness so he can pounce. He taunts me with his successes, his luxuries and the glamorous life he lives, while my friends and I suffocate underground and drink recycled pee. I can’t get him out of my head.
    I toss my tablet on the nearest table in a moment of frustration and stand up. I’m getting out of here. This cramped little office is making me sick. Where are Eli and Soren, anyway? They were supposed to be in here by now.
    I head out and wander through our dimly lit tunnels, ducking under electrical wires and metal pipes. Electricity is scarce down here. We can’t afford to have bright lights posted everywhere, so mostly we light our working quarters, the mess hall, and the kitchen. Even those cut out sometimes if someone’s using a high-powered piece of equipment.
    I make it to the mess hall, where an unfamiliar but delicious smell is wafting from the kitchen. I see Soren loading up a tray, and I head in to join him.
    “Hey! You’re supposed to be working on the you-know-what with me. It’s not even dinnertime.”
    Soren and I have been making a conscious effort to be nicer to each other since we started working on Eli’s project. Mostly, this amounts to us saying the same things to each other in a slightly nicer tone of voice.
    “Dinnertime isn’t dictated by the hours of the day, Remy. It’s dinner whenever I’m hungry.” He doesn’t even look at me as he responds—he just keeps adding to his plate. I’m about to spit out a really snarky remark when I look down and see the sign.
    “ Venison? Where’d Rhinehouse get deer meat? Who went hunting, and how far did they have to go to find deer?”
    “Who cares? There’s so much meat, he’s lifted the ration limit for this meal.” Soren finishes preparing his tray, grabs a fork, and smiles down at me. “You’re welcome to join in.”
    Joining Soren for dinner doesn’t sound like the most appealing thought, but we rarely get to eat meat, and the smell of roasting venison has me suddenly starving.
    Rhinehouse keeps a small flock of goats and sheep aboveground, which supply milk. In the last year, he’s even started making cheese, a delicacy I hadn’t enjoyed since I left Okaria. But he won’t entertain the thought of slaughtering them for meat. Sometimes, though, someone on base will get bored with our standard exercise routines and request permission to go hunting. Jahnu and I have never done it, but Eli, Soren, and Kenzie have all gone. Eli’s even shown me how to hold and fire the hunting bows they use.
    I grab a plate and start loading up. Sliced apples and pears, roasted venison, and goat cheese. This would have been a pauper’s meal back home in the Sector, but here, it’s a feast. On the other hand, Rhinehouse is a stellar cook—and, apparently, a master butcher and forager. He’s got a whole map of fruit trees and berry bushes around the base, and in the mornings, he sends people out to harvest. The food may not be bountiful, but it is delicious.
    When I turn back to the general mess area to look for Soren, I can’t find him. I peer around suspiciously, wondering if he’s pulled a trick on me. Just then, I hear Rhinehouse’s gruff bark from inside the kitchen, and I glance in to see what he’s yelling about now.
    “One more game, Eli, and then I’m cutting you off. This is ridiculous. You’re playing like a child.”
    Eli and Rhinehouse are sitting across from each other at a small table, with a chess board between them.