A Gift of Loyalty
"Mmm..."
It really got under my skin that everyone except Sarah and me wore that subtle little smirk.
At this rate I was going to get indigestion.
"I'll get up first."
Whether it was the awkward atmosphere or not, Sarah finally picked up her bowl and left the table.
The steel door slammed shut with a clang that stung the ears.
"What the hell did you do to Sarah?"
"Probably because I took Mr. Dietrich's side."
"...Pfft—hff."
"You're in no position to laugh either, you bastard."
Mr. Dietrich, chuckling as he spooned up soup, nodded my way.
"I'm grateful you took my side. Ah, and... I'd like to apologize to everyone as well, if that's alright?"
"Apologize?"
"The truth is, watching people die during the escape sat very badly with me. While I was airing those feelings to Hyunwoo... I ended up saying things that belittled everything you all did for me."
"What exactly did you say that calls for a formal apology?"
"Maybe there was another way. Maybe the people chasing us didn't have to die— in other words... to borrow your granddaughter's phrase, 'full-bellied' talk."
"Yeah. Full-bellied talk. Still... for someone who said that, this is the first time I've met a person who actually knows how to apologize."
"You're not angry?"
"Lady Dietrich, we were soldiers of America. Land of the free. Soldiers of a country that protects every person's right to live free, and that gives them the authority to defend that right with their own hands. If we clap our hands over our ears just because we don't like what we hear— how are we any different from the Nazis or the Reds?"
"Simply put, at least everyone has the right and the chance to grab the mic."
James said it while expanding his chest. Muscle flexed and veins stood out sharp under the skin.
"Of course, whatever happens after you speak is entirely on you."
Mr. Dietrich swallowed hard, and the tension left both Curtis's and James's faces.
"You've apologized, so it's fine. At least we don't take any great pleasure in taking a life—"
"Don't take pleasure? You saying you felt guilt while smashing Nazis?"
"Well, no, but they're still the same humans..."
"How the hell are Nazis human? They're killing machines. Bastards who parroted 'just following orders from above' while stuffing every Jew and Pole into the gas chambers, and now the lunatics calling themselves the Zeroth Reich or whatever— treat those animals like regular people?"
"Father..."
"Back in my day, right?"
"Here we go again..."
"You don't need to listen. But these two—"
"How can you keep yelling Nazi, Nazi right in front of a German? Look at her face—it's completely frozen!"
"That's exactly why I have to! Until she can't think of Nazis as people anymore, yeah?"
Somehow nothing but bad luck kept landing on Mr. Dietrich.
Uneasy, I turned my head and was about to speak when—
"No, Mr. James, and Hyunwoo—I'm fine. I want to hear it. It's the story of someone who was actually there."
"You don't have to force yourself."
"It's the apocalypse. An era that's basically a lawless battlefield. If you're a survivor who's lived through that... there might be something worth learning."
Saying so, Mr. Dietrich nodded to me with a noticeably easier expression. Maybe taking his side—even while catching Sarah's icy glares—had been worth it after all. The reason "because it's the apocalypse" seemed to land well with him.
"See? There's always one or two people who like my stories. Alright then... hmm, where should I start."
I was watching Mr. Curtis settle in and rest his chin on his hand when a heavy palm landed on my shoulder.
James.
"...Shouldn't you go check on Sarah?"
"Ah."
"Go smooth things over. Apologize while you're at it."
Fair enough. She'd risked her life to keep me breathing, and I hadn't even managed a proper apology for not taking her side. On top of that, her favorability felt like it had taken a serious hit...
"Would a gift help?"
"A gift? What kind of— no, wait. Would a guy who can make anything fail to put together a decent present?"
James's eyes widened a fraction, then he muttered, nodded, and shoved me toward the door.
"Go. Leave Father to me."
I watched him dig a glass and a bottle out of his bag, plant himself next to Curtis, and start pouring before I stepped out of the room.
This time we had the luxury of a wider living sector, which meant plenty of options. And one zone already had its purpose locked in.
Farming.
I remembered hearing that somewhere in Africa they made bricks out of cow dung and mud.
Human waste.
Or shit.
...In the apocalypse, even that had multiple uses. You could smear it on a dagger or any sharp edge for a nasty infection—messy, but effective. Dump it all over an enemy thoroughfare and you tanked cleanliness while rattling their heads at the same time. I recalled a post where someone stealth-played the entire Zeroth Reich into a literal shit-field. The guy who spread it eventually died of the epidemic himself, or so the story went. I have no idea why "not karma—shit karma" stuck with me, but there it was.
"Here."
The bunker toilets had a dedicated storage tank for human waste. Flushing everything with water might sound cleaner, but it wasted water and risked contaminating the supply. Better to process it hygienically and put it to work. One of the classic uses: fertilizer.
"Huuuk."
I sealed the gas mask and cracked the lid. The byproducts of our meals greeted me. ...Turns out gas masks still don't fully stop a truly vicious stench. No wonder satisfaction tanks if you park sleeping or dining quarters next to these processing rooms for no good reason.
"Into this... sawdust."
I dumped in the scraps left from cutting timber and drilling holes, then stirred hard with an iron shovel. Back in the day a few mouse clicks finished the job; doing it by hand was pure hell. No wonder they make prisoners handle this crap. No wonder.
Breathing through my mouth, I carefully withdrew the shovel, knocked it twice to clear the residue, and dropped it into the waiting iron drum. I sealed the storage tank and cranked the heat. Sterilize with heat for two or three days, scoop the result into a separate compartment, mix more sawdust, then keep turning it for a week—repeat until done. Thinking it through in your head is easy. Thinking it through in your head.
I opened the pre-rigged hose, rinsed shovel and drum clean, and left the room. Mask off, I crossed to the opposite chamber—the one earmarked for the vegetable garden. I just hoped the reek wouldn't cling to my clothes.
"Nice."
It was finished enough to show Sarah. Wooden boards dividing the beds. Soil bags ready for planting. Drums of dirt collected while we ran the piping. A watering can cobbled together from leftover parts. We'd kept the zone sealed under the excuse of major construction work, so now—
"Ugh... the smell."
"Sarah?!"
She stepped through the door pinching her nose between two fingers; the expression was priceless—but why? I'd even thrown in a half-lie about it being dangerous.
"Well, the smell is dangerous in its own way. Your nose is going to get hurt. Right?"
Thud, thud. She walked the rows, inspecting the setup and sneaking glances at me every so often. The little snickers said I didn't need to explain the room's purpose.
"How is it? Of course—I still haven't found seeds."
"They'll turn up somewhere. Loot a few more warehouses and they'll surface."
"It's not that big. We won't be growing wheat or rice. Later on, though..."
"Later we can?"
"Probably. We'll need more hands than we have now."
"Hmm..."
The whole thing had started from her wish for fresh green vegetables. She looked interested in more ways than one.
"You still haven't... given me your review."
"Do I really have to say it out loud? You've always been amazing—whether it's weapons or anything useful. Even the watering can."
"The shape's a little rough."
The spout I'd punched with nails looked like a crime scene, and the handle was nothing more than three steel rods welded together.
"Shape doesn't matter. A watering can is a watering can."
Now wearing a fully contented smile, she stepped closer.
"An apology this solid, I'll take with both hands."
"Glad your mood's better."
"But effort like this has to come with a special reason. Right? Hmm?"
A reason.
What special reason was there?
I answered without a second's hesitation.
"Loyalty, right?"