No Exceptions

Ten

When I arrived at the kitchen I found a pair of black boots, thankful to finally have a practical piece of clothing. The room that had been converted fir cooking was small, especially considering the amount of people that had to be fed. They'd created makeshift wall with collapsible shelving, over stacked with cans. The work space to my left had the biggest stock of fresh vegetables I had seen this side of the apocalypse. They'd all been covered in sand to increase their shelf life. Clever.

It was puzzling to me the divide between classes here. How could some residents be struggling to survive, beaten for stealing a can, while the soldiers took whatever they wanted.

Stuff that! There's more than enough food to go around.

The kitchen was surprisingly quiet, with one woman with light brown hair being the only inhabitant. She sat on a stool with an unlit cigarette tucked behind her ear, flicking her nails whilst completing a Sudoku. When I approached her, she rolled her grey eyes.

"Hi there, I'm Rack-"

"I know who you are." The head cook stood, and walked over to the shelves, taking note of stock. It's going to take a lot more than ignoring me!

"It's lovely to meet you! What's your name?"

"Anita," she mumbled, giving me as little as possible to work with.

I shrugged and took one of the crates of root vegetables to a clear work bench, chopping them into small cubes.

Well she didn't say I couldn't ...

Anita finally lifted her head from the clipboard, eyeing me speculatively. "What are you doing?"

I couldn't help but respond to her in a mutual fashion. "Making soup."

The flabbergasted savior questioned, "how much? You could feed the whole freakin' Sanctuary with that pot full!"

"Exactly..."

She slammed her clipboard onto the workbench. "You can't do that! People go by points here, and you haven't got any to spend."

"Put it on my tab then," I retorted, continuing my chopping.

Anita stormed off and left me alone in the kitchen, to tell on me I guessed. My work rate quickened. My thinking was they couldn't do anything about it if it was already cooked when she came back. These people needed a proper meal and I wouldn't feel right standing idle while others suffered.

I was fortunate enough to find a few salted-ham hocks, so I added them to the soup base. Whilst it bubbled away, I made a few batches of my nonna's bread recipe, surprised at the surplus of flour there was.

About half an hour passed before I realized that I had been left alone to cook, no guards, no Negan. The process just took me over: kneading and stirring, baking and simmering. The addition of rosemary to the bread permeated the space, reminding me of my family kitchen. I can't believe I used to complain about cooking.

After a few hours everything was ready, and I slowly carried everything to the food line. Men, women and children watched on, unsure of what to do.

I went to shake the first person's hand, a young man of about eighteen. He held out a small notepad and bowl, his eyes fixed onto the concrete floor.

"What's this book for?" I took it off him and flicked through, random numbers and single words filled each page.

The poor boy blushed and stuttered at my enquiry, "iiit's my pppoint bbbook."

I held his hand. "It's okay, just breathe."

He took a deep breath and continued, "each meal costs us points. We work for points and spend them on whatever we need."

I placed the detestable book back into his hands and shook my head. I filled the bowl and smiled. "No points needed. Enjoy your dinner!"

He beamed, looking down at the soup and hunk of bread like it was gold. "Thank you miss!"

The response to the meal was overwhelmingly positive. These people were incredulous that I would be giving food away. I was going to make this a regular thing, whether the leader liked it or not.

As if on queue a two-toned whistle filled the room; a signal I had learned was Negan's signature. I watched down the line, the residents parting like the red sea to make way for their "Savior."

When he closed the gap I gulped, his power and agitation not escaping my notice. He pulled me in at the waist and planted a kiss on my cheek, right beside my ear. From any bystander's perspective this could've looked like an act of love or affection. I knew better.

His voice rumbled in my ear, causing me to shake, despite myself. "Now for a little damage control."

I looked down at my boots, fiddling with my now dirty dress. I'd been so confident two minutes ago. Now, not so much.

He smirked at me, then cocked his head towards the crowd. "Hello, my people! For the residents who don't know this is Rackel, my new fiancé." His open mouth reminded me of a bear trap, perfect rows of unassuming teeth, ready to maim you any moment. "Due to our excitement we feel for our upcoming union, I have asked her to make this meal to provide for you lovely residents." He ground his teeth at me before flicking the mask back on. "No ... points ... needed."

The people lapped it up, erupting in a chorus of cheers, "thank you Negan," and "we love you Negan." Were thrown in for good measure.

The leather-clad devil placed his hand on my back and slowly worked it south as he waved and smiled at his adoring people. He angled his head and spoke through his teeth, reminding me of a ventriloquist. "This is gonna cost you big time baby!"

I quivered, hoping my rash decision would only cost me.  He gave me one parting kiss before heading back through the crowd, revelling in the moment.

I flicked my hands as soon as he was out of sight, trying to refocus on the task at hand. You can't think about Him right now. The damage is done.

I took a deep breath and served the rest of the residents. I wore a joyous visage as one after the other gave me their congratulations and well wishes.

Play the part Rackel, just play the part.