"Knuckles, you know, the apocalypse has enough problems without you eating all the protein."
The leather- and metal-clad beefcake holding his platter in front of Carlton said nothing, perhaps thanks to the tight face mask he wore. It also might have been the argument moments from ensuing had happened a hundred times within the cook tent of Last City, where the ultimate chef held court. A few other survivors sat at tables and ate, conversing in low tones about raiders, or the man-eaters, or the dust storms, or whatever it was that day. Carlton never listened in. Wasn't polite. They didn't tell him how to cook, he didn't tell them how to defend Last City.
Dusty brown sunlight rippled in from under pieces of sewn-together leather and plastic. Raised voices sometimes intruded from outside, but fights never entered the cook tent. Ulcer saw to that.
Knuckles, who rose over Carlton a good foot and had an easy eighty pounds of quads and shoulders on him, grunted and poked his tarnished wooden platter toward Carlton. "If I have told you once, I have told you a hundred times. If you want more meat, you need an extra meat ticket!"
Knuckles looked a half-second away from breaking his platter in half with a single thrum of his immense biceps, and then where would he be? Without a platter, and Carlton still wouldn't give him any extra meat.
"Chef!" his assistant, Bean, yelled from the back of the cook tent. "Bruiser and his crew are riding up!"
"Go on back and get the second pot going. Ulcer!"
A man who could have been Knuckles's clone--save for the "Kiss the Bouncer" apron Bean had stitched for him, which covered his swollen pectorals--stomped up. "Make sure that rowdy bunch doesn't cause a ruckus. You know what to do if they don't?"
Ulcer swung his ponderous head forward in a single nod, then turned in a circle. Bean, carrying an old cast-iron pot, almost ran into him, but his huge hand jolted her to a stop. He grunted a hello, then moved aside to let her pass.
"Thanks, Ulcer. Chef, I don't think we have enough." She filled the pot with water from a large metal basin and set it on a burner next to the first.
Carlton raised an eyebrow at her. "What do you mean?"
"I mean I don't think we have enough. Bruiser just arrived, we didn't get the normal shipment of grains from East City, and I think Captain Ludwig is also visiting with his retinue.
"Captain Ludwig, you say. That could be a problem. The man likes his entourage." Carlton put a hand to his chin. "We'll have to think something up. If only we could-" Carlton looked up.
Knuckles, still standing with his platter in hand, grunted. Carlton made a come-hither motion with his finger, and leaned on the counter. "Knuckles. You want more meat?"
Knuckles grunted an affirmative.
Carlton nodded. "Then go find the grain shipment from East City. You'll get your meat."
The behemoth turned and strode from the cook tent. A minute later his huge vehicle roared to life. Carlton turned to Bean. "He'll get it done. Get a good stew stock going. These people roll in here, they think they want meat. What they really want is filling. Ah, speak of the devils."
Bruiser swung into the tent, duster tracking in the dirt under him. He removed his wrinkled, supple hat as other members of his crew entered. "Chef."
"Bruiser. I trust your expedition was successful?"
"The canyon's been scouted. And now we're hungry. What's on the menu?"
"Well-" Carlton picked up a stunted carrot and carved it in his hands, dropping pieces into one of the pots. "I have some fine oregano sauce over the meat of your choice, and Bean has just begun a pot of her famous 'one-vegetable stew.' Sure to keep the shakes away!"
"We'll take anything."
"I hope you have your meal tickets."
The entrance flared open again, and Captain Ludwig strolled in, along with his own group. Ludwig and Bruiser caught sight of each other, and their legs spread. Their hands hung by their belts. Their eyes narrowed.
"You gotta lotta nerve-" they both said, as Bean yanked on Ulcer's alarm cord. Ulcer entered the tent and thudded up to the main table.
"Keep those two from doing anything stupid," Bean said, gesturing at Ludwig and Bruiser. Specificity was required when speaking with Ulcer. He nodded, and a minor scuffle began. A few harsh words flew, such as "lummox," or "deadbrain," and one of them got his knife out, which quickly turned into a scrap of bent metal in Ulcer's fist.
A table upended, and a broad back smacked into one of the poles keeping the tent upright. It cracked, and the ball of violence that had quickly grown to take up the interior of the cook tent froze.
The pole let out a loud crack. Bean whimpered.
A large shadow entered the tent. Knuckles, carrying a crate under one arm, and a tired courier under the other. "My apologies," the courier said. "Breakdown on the road."
"Boys, if my restaurant falls because of you, no meal tickets for a week," Carlton said. "Take that kind of behavior outside or by God I will have some new meat for my pot. Now then, if you'd like to take your seats, the stew will be ready shortly. Bean, why don't you run and find one of the engineers. Tell him we've got an emergency in here."
Bean scampered. Knuckles set the crate down. Carlton could do a lot with it; he was the ultimate chef. In this case, unfortunately, "ultimate" meant "last."
The leather- and metal-clad beefcake holding his platter in front of Carlton said nothing, perhaps thanks to the tight face mask he wore. It also might have been the argument moments from ensuing had happened a hundred times within the cook tent of Last City, where the ultimate chef held court. A few other survivors sat at tables and ate, conversing in low tones about raiders, or the man-eaters, or the dust storms, or whatever it was that day. Carlton never listened in. Wasn't polite. They didn't tell him how to cook, he didn't tell them how to defend Last City.
Dusty brown sunlight rippled in from under pieces of sewn-together leather and plastic. Raised voices sometimes intruded from outside, but fights never entered the cook tent. Ulcer saw to that.
Knuckles, who rose over Carlton a good foot and had an easy eighty pounds of quads and shoulders on him, grunted and poked his tarnished wooden platter toward Carlton. "If I have told you once, I have told you a hundred times. If you want more meat, you need an extra meat ticket!"
Knuckles looked a half-second away from breaking his platter in half with a single thrum of his immense biceps, and then where would he be? Without a platter, and Carlton still wouldn't give him any extra meat.
"Chef!" his assistant, Bean, yelled from the back of the cook tent. "Bruiser and his crew are riding up!"
"Go on back and get the second pot going. Ulcer!"
A man who could have been Knuckles's clone--save for the "Kiss the Bouncer" apron Bean had stitched for him, which covered his swollen pectorals--stomped up. "Make sure that rowdy bunch doesn't cause a ruckus. You know what to do if they don't?"
Ulcer swung his ponderous head forward in a single nod, then turned in a circle. Bean, carrying an old cast-iron pot, almost ran into him, but his huge hand jolted her to a stop. He grunted a hello, then moved aside to let her pass.
"Thanks, Ulcer. Chef, I don't think we have enough." She filled the pot with water from a large metal basin and set it on a burner next to the first.
Carlton raised an eyebrow at her. "What do you mean?"
"I mean I don't think we have enough. Bruiser just arrived, we didn't get the normal shipment of grains from East City, and I think Captain Ludwig is also visiting with his retinue.
"Captain Ludwig, you say. That could be a problem. The man likes his entourage." Carlton put a hand to his chin. "We'll have to think something up. If only we could-" Carlton looked up.
Knuckles, still standing with his platter in hand, grunted. Carlton made a come-hither motion with his finger, and leaned on the counter. "Knuckles. You want more meat?"
Knuckles grunted an affirmative.
Carlton nodded. "Then go find the grain shipment from East City. You'll get your meat."
The behemoth turned and strode from the cook tent. A minute later his huge vehicle roared to life. Carlton turned to Bean. "He'll get it done. Get a good stew stock going. These people roll in here, they think they want meat. What they really want is filling. Ah, speak of the devils."
Bruiser swung into the tent, duster tracking in the dirt under him. He removed his wrinkled, supple hat as other members of his crew entered. "Chef."
"Bruiser. I trust your expedition was successful?"
"The canyon's been scouted. And now we're hungry. What's on the menu?"
"Well-" Carlton picked up a stunted carrot and carved it in his hands, dropping pieces into one of the pots. "I have some fine oregano sauce over the meat of your choice, and Bean has just begun a pot of her famous 'one-vegetable stew.' Sure to keep the shakes away!"
"We'll take anything."
"I hope you have your meal tickets."
The entrance flared open again, and Captain Ludwig strolled in, along with his own group. Ludwig and Bruiser caught sight of each other, and their legs spread. Their hands hung by their belts. Their eyes narrowed.
"You gotta lotta nerve-" they both said, as Bean yanked on Ulcer's alarm cord. Ulcer entered the tent and thudded up to the main table.
"Keep those two from doing anything stupid," Bean said, gesturing at Ludwig and Bruiser. Specificity was required when speaking with Ulcer. He nodded, and a minor scuffle began. A few harsh words flew, such as "lummox," or "deadbrain," and one of them got his knife out, which quickly turned into a scrap of bent metal in Ulcer's fist.
A table upended, and a broad back smacked into one of the poles keeping the tent upright. It cracked, and the ball of violence that had quickly grown to take up the interior of the cook tent froze.
The pole let out a loud crack. Bean whimpered.
A large shadow entered the tent. Knuckles, carrying a crate under one arm, and a tired courier under the other. "My apologies," the courier said. "Breakdown on the road."
"Boys, if my restaurant falls because of you, no meal tickets for a week," Carlton said. "Take that kind of behavior outside or by God I will have some new meat for my pot. Now then, if you'd like to take your seats, the stew will be ready shortly. Bean, why don't you run and find one of the engineers. Tell him we've got an emergency in here."
Bean scampered. Knuckles set the crate down. Carlton could do a lot with it; he was the ultimate chef. In this case, unfortunately, "ultimate" meant "last."