Sentinel 555: AIR ✔

Friend 1

He came again—Gus. Today their eyes met when he received his rations and flashed his wrist. Maddie wondered how long he'd keep shadowing her lines before he said something.

After three weeks, he finally spoke. "Can I get a bit extra?" he asked.

Maddie glanced down at the pot before her then to the dirty mess under the limp dreadlocks standing on the other side of the metal table.

She waved him to move on.

He didn't comply. His stare suggested he expected some sort of response.

"They say you're not supposed to judge me. I am asking for a bit extra."

He focused on the ladle then on her. Laying one finger on a Volunteer's person meant a broken hand. He wouldn't dare....

The line shifted, but not by much. Volunteer after Volunteer stepped out of their respective stations to see what the holdup was.

Maddie took on the coldest stare she could as she waved a hand to dismiss him again.

Other Vagrants grumbled, some laughed. One shoved Gus and he turned, shaking off the insult. People started staring now—staring at the Volunteer. They waited for Maddie to do something—to sound the alarm, to call for help. A broken hand would be the least of this idiot's worries then. But standing here idle was a bigger problem.

"Get a load of Gus, boys. Woman's putting him right in his place," an old man said with a chuckle.

Gus grabbed the ladle from Maddie's hand and scooped up a good portion. It spilled out of his bowl when he flopped it in. "There. That wasn't so hard, now was it?"

Their eyes met and the satisfaction there was a problem. Maddie surveyed the line to see its now deformed appearance.

A hand grabbed Maddie by the nape of her white coat, yanking her back.

"Move!" someone growled. "Move that line. Move."

One hum, then two, then three, and a new row of Volunteers hurried toward them.

"Move that line! Move it. Move that line."

Maddie thought of her own hide and stepped forward to rejoin the regiment of others providing the feed.

"Wait," one weak old man said, wobbling as he held out his bowl. "How come he gets to keep that? It's not fair."

Gus skipped one person in front of him, and another. The large wall on his right meant he couldn't go far. As was its design, it forced him to weave in and out of the crowd to make any headway. He was running.

Maddie gripped her pot and walked with him, saying, finally, "Return that food."

Gus continued his journey, glancing at her once as he smirked. "Make me."

He gained speed and more judgement rods hummed to life—other Volunteers were coming.

"Return that food," Maddie demanded, gaining speed to match her new pest. "If you take more, that means someone must forfeit their dinner."

"You don't give us enough," Gus complained. "Half a bowl for a grown man? How's that fair? Kiss off."

Otherwise compliant participants fell and tripped. Maddie gripped her large pot tight and took a running start. She leapt over the table and swung with all her might—catching Gus in the face.

Everything fell silent.

"Blood," someone whispered.

"Blood."