Free Eaters by Michelle DePaepe Page A

water.
    Cheryl lay there, certain that she was getting a fever. Trying not to panic, she told herself that it was just hot in there, and it was probably her imagination. She tried to relax despite the cacophony around her. Eventually, fatigue took over, and she fell asleep.
    She awoke what seemed like few minutes later to hands tightening around her throat.
    Gasping for air, she opened her eyes and saw the smoking witch straddling her. The woman was obviously sick now. Her eyes were bloodshot and her skin looked as dark as ash. Cheryl struggled in vain to push her off. With her throat constricted, she couldn’t even scream.
    This is an even stupider end, she thought as her head felt light from lack of oxygen. Then she noticed the carving knife on the floor and grabbed it, just a second too late. The woman knocked it out of her hand, sending it skittering out under the tent.
    With no other means of defense, Cheryl stretched up and bit the woman’s hand before it returned to her throat.
    The woman let out a shrill scream and slapped Cheryl across the face. Then, in the blink of an eye, she was gone.
    Cheryl sat up, coughing and gagging. She threw the sheet open to get some air, causing a group of nearby refugees to stare.
    As she slowly regained her breath, she realized that she could detect the metallic taste of blood in her mouth. If she hadn’t been infected before, she certainly was now.
    A few minutes later, Katherine and Morena returned.
    “Five bucks a donut! Can you believe it?” Katherine took the paper towel off the top of the paper plate, revealing three glazed donuts and one with chocolate icing. “And look…they got mold on them!”
    Before she had a chance to think about asking for one, paying them, or considering the quantity of mold, Cheryl snatched one off the plate and stuffed it into her mouth. It was truly stale and hard, but the sugary flavor was ecstasy in her mouth. She ate the whole thing with just a few chews.
    The ladies stared at her.
    Then, the embarrassment hit. What did I just do? Am I sick? Why did I do that? “I’m really sorry. I guess I was just really hungry. I’ll pay you back, I promise.”
    Morena shook her head then turned to Katherine. “Uhhh…you want one now?”
    “No thanks. I’m still too queasy from the entry exam. I’ll save mine for later.”
    Later that afternoon, they kicked her out of the tent. As she wandered around looking for another spot, she saw Morena talking to a man with a holstered gun and pointing to her.
    Great. She was marked now.
    She eventually resigned herself to a spot just a few feet away from the restroom. She was so dehydrated from sweating and the lack of water that she only had to venture in once. It was a quick, unpleasant trip, and she had to use the toilet as sick people lay around it.
    As evening advanced and the light grew dimmer, the building got a little quieter. The dominant sounds were coughing and whimpering, instead of the frenzied voices from earlier. She leaned against the wall next to a pedestal topped with a vase of mums, and wrapped her arms around her knees. She closed her eyes for a moment and had just begun to wonder when or if she’d see Mark again when she heard a voice in front of her.
    “Cheryl…”
    Like she’d conjured him just by thinking about him, it was Mark.
    “Hey…come on.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her to her feet. “You’ve got to get out of here.”
    A piercing scream came from the direction of the bathroom, and she saw two men rush in with guns.
    When she turned back to Mark, she saw him untying the laces on his boots.
    “What are you doing?”
    He didn’t answer, just kept loosening the laces. Then he began unbuttoning his camouflage shirt that said Breton on the pocket. He handed it to her. “Put this on.”
    “Why? It’s hot. I don’t want—”
    “Just do it, Cheryl. I have my reasons.”
    She took off her cotton blazer, and put it on over the camisole she had on underneath. It was