Richard walked out of the healers, nodding at Fang. “Alright. We have Dmitri’s permission to visit the silos. Let’s go see what you want to eat.”

  Fang again hardly reacted. Richard was relieved Fang at least followed him when he moved toward the farmlands again. Richard gave hesitant nods toward other works, trying to be more confident in all this.

  He reached the silos and hesitantly reached out with his hand. Whatever Dmitri did to his palm, the door opened. Once other people noticed Richard had the power to open the silos, they went back to work. The silos must be Dmitri’s jurisdiction, like the healers’ backroom was Lucy’s. Richard walked down the spiral staircase and glimpsed how deep this building went. Once he reached the bottom, he could easily reach all the shelves. It wasn’t necessarily tall, but it was long. It ran the length of the base camp, and Richard was surprised this was only the first silo. Would there ever be a time when these shelves would be completely full? That would be at least a decade’s worth of food per silo. He already knew this, but this confirmed that these buildings were the most valuable artifacts of base camp two.

  “Alright, what do you want?” Richard’s voice echoed in the long chamber.

  Fang stared at the shelves. The shock morphed into horror on Fang’s face. “There’s not enough. This is why they don’t want us to have any.” His chest hitched as he stared wide-eyed at the food. “I shouldn’t eat. I need more discipline.”

  “Wait, Fang. Hold on a second. Look how huge this place is. I doubt this place has ever been filled to bursting. There’s too much space. Not only that, there’s two of them.” He remembered what Kendra said and tried to put a comforting hand on Fang’s shoulder. “There’s at least four years of food here. You’ll be fine. Choose whatever you want. As much as can fit in your inventory.”

  Fang listened to Richard, then studied the shelves again. At least he didn’t look so distressed. “Did… did you want any?”

  Richard glanced at the potatoes, onions, and tomatoes resting on the shelves, and those were the veggies he could immediately identify. He was certain there had to be some sort of enchantment to keep this food from rotting. He had mostly ignored the fact that he had skipped breakfast, but seeing the food now made it hard to ignore. Lucy’s suggestion came back. If he made it to dinner, he might get a stronger ability to fight off hunger.

  “No, this is about you, man.” Richard glanced at the shelves. “I’m fine.”

  Fang nodded, and Richard was relieved to know that Fang’s hearing was not great as his stomach rumbled in protest again.

  Dinner. He could make it to dinner.

  Fang walked up to the shelves, and he looked defeated again, though he tried to hide it. “I don’t know how to cook. Do you?”

  “No. At least… I don’t think so? Hard to remember.”

  Fang gave a dry chuckle at the attempt at a joke, except Richard wasn’t joking. He really didn’t remember if he knew any recipes.

  “But you know what? That’s part of the fun. Let’s get some things and see how well we can make some food,” Richard said.

  “Do you think they’ll let us use the kitchen?” Fang asked.

  “I’m certain they’ll be more focused on the gaping hole in the front gate than who’s using the kitchen.” Richard was worried about reminding Fang of the front gate, but this new, safer adventure seemed to intrigue Fang far more.

  “Alright. I have no idea how they make the protein slurry, so I guess we’ll have to make something else.” Fang focused again on the shelves.

  “Two guys figuring out how to cook food. What could go wrong?” Richard asked.

  Fang cracked a smile, and Richard felt like he had won.

  They gathered some food into their inventory and slipped back out of the silos. Richard waited for Fang to come up the stairs before he closed the door. The afternoon sun was beating down on them as people focused on their jobs. A few people were sliding a newly created stone block into a portion of the broken wall. That gave Richard some comfort to see.

  They entered the mess hall and then moved toward the back. Richard had never been in the kitchen area. After being here a few days, he noticed classes were on rotation for jobs, and one of those jobs was the kitchen and cooking food. He had no doubt that when he got a class, he’d follow that same chore rotation. For now, he was enjoying the small perks of being a newbie when he could get them.

  Like being placed near the silos when demonic monsters broke into the camp.

  Richard blinked, trying to scrub the guilt from his soul. In this world of numbers and levels, they should have protected the higher-level people. Like Jace or Amrynn. Actual leaders of the classes. Instead, they saved the newbies.

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  Richard glanced around the darkened kitchen, then pulled out the potatoes, carrots, and onions from his inventory. “I think we were supposed to make the meal plan before we went shopping.”

  “Huh?” Fang asked.

  “I… don’t know. It seemed like the right thing to say.”

  Fang unloaded his food, too. Tomatoes and squash, mostly. Richard looked at the food, then glanced at Fang.

  “Do you have any ideas?”

  “Anything can be a soup if you try hard enough,” Fang said.

  Richard chuckled. “Soup is always a straightforward choice.”

  “That or fry everything up.” Fang lifted a bottle of blue liquid he had from his inventory. “I think this is oil.”

  Richard took the bottle, sniffing it. “Yeah, I think it is.” The bottle was a little less than halfway full. “I say if it’s in the silos, we can use it.”

  “We could… make some fried hash? Just sorta… fry everything?” Fang said before wincing.

  Richard searched for a really big pan. “Let’s do it.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, let’s start chopping.”

  Fang clearly didn’t think Richard was serious, but he assumed this was way more about cheering Fang up than eating a meal, so he wanted to say yes to whatever Fang suggested.

  It took a bit of searching, but they found knives. Fang knew how to get water, pumping from a spigot near the door. They washed their vegetables, then they got to work chopping. Fang left Richard to chop the onions while Fang figured out how to start a fire, which Richard did not appreciate.

  “Damn, I hate onions,” Richard mumbled. “You’d think with my level I’d have the ability not to cry while chopping these stupid things.”

  Fang snorted as he started feeding the fire. “With how dangerous onions are? That’s got to be a special skill you have to unlock from Order.”

  Richard grunted. “I wouldn’t be surprised, honestly.” He then rubbed his eyes as they stung. “I can’t feel bruises, but I feel this? How does any of this make sense!”

  Fang cackled as Richard grabbed handfuls of water and splashed his face.

  The onions were finally done, and Richard’s face was soaking wet. They placed the chopped veggies on a plate, then got them over the fire. Fang and Richard both sat in front of it, letting out a sigh. Richard stared at the contraption that Fang had lit a fire under, and all he could think of was stove. When he thought of a stove, his first impulse was to reach forward and twist a knob. It was strange to think of this right now.

  The thing that broke him from his thoughts, ironically, was the silence. It crept in like a weed. They had been distracted with the job of getting food together and roasting it. Now that they had some time while it finished, the silence pressed on every side of Richard like it was waiting for this moment to pounce.

  “Am I a coward?” Fang asked.

  “No.”

  It was Richard’s knee-jerk reaction. He didn’t dare hesitate. He knew one reason Fang had come to him was because eventually they would have this conversation. It was also, much to Richard’s dismay, the main reason he wanted someone else to do this with Fang. He didn’t know the person he was on the planet Earth, but he could tell that hard conversations made him so nervous he was fighting off nausea. He was terrified of messing it all up, and more terrified that Fang would break down. Richard didn’t want that, so he wanted to make sure Fang got help. Richard just wasn’t sure he was the person to do so successfully. Because if he failed…

  “No, you’re not a coward,” Richard said again.

  Fang looked at him, and Richard forced himself to look back. “It’s just… I was…”

  Richard waited. He probably should have given suggestions of his own, but there were old experiences buried under a ton of fog from his life on Earth. This was a hard conversation, and his instinctual reaction was to steer Fang clear of asking him for help. That realization was almost sad.

  Richard closed his eyes, listening to Fang stammering, and focused on his past life. It was almost easier to imagine his past self as an actual being he could have conversations with.

  Whatever happened, it’s going to be okay now. True, I’m in an apocalypse, but… I died alone. Friends have hard conversations. Fang clearly won’t hurt a fly. Let’s have a hard conversation and help him instead of pushing him away.

  Richard opened his eyes again as Fang kept stammering.

  “It’s alright, Fang. What happened last night…” Richard’s words caught in his throat. He had to acknowledge that part of him didn’t want to have this conversation because he wasn’t ready to face what had happened himself. “It was bad for everyone.”

  “I did nothing.” Fang’s stammering finally stopped. “I curled into a ball and waited it out.” He covered his face and cried. “I don’t belong here. I’m a coward.”

  Run. Run. Run. Run.

  Richard closed his eyes again and did his best to take a steadying breath. He wasn’t good with the touchy-feely, but he also knew he was desperate for friends.

  “You belong,” Richard said. “I promise you do.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  Richard then allowed himself to lean on an idea that he didn’t believe himself. “Because Order sent you here.” His throat went dry. Was he seriously leaning on religion to comfort someone in a hard time? That was something he swore never to do. A promise so strong it reached past the fog of his memories and slammed into him, calling him a hypocrite.

  “Order?” Fang asked.

  Richard pushed past the thoughts. “Yes. Order. As far as anyone’s concerned, she’s the one who’s in charge of stopping this whole thing. You’re here for a reason.” It was incredible how easily that phrase came out of him, even as his mind screamed that he needed to stop the hypocrisy.

  Yet Fang was mulling it over. “You think so?”

  “Yes.”

  Richard didn’t believe it, but Fang did. So that was enough.

  “Why would Order send me, though?”

  Richard shrugged. “I don’t know, man. But perhaps one day we will. Because… Order needs you for what you can contribute.”

  Richard checked on the food as part of his mini escape, even though the food hadn’t been in there long. He left Fang alone with his thoughts, and Richard had a strong desire to scrub his mouth out with soap. Maybe the reason he hated hard conversations was because he felt like lying was necessary.

  Did he lie, though? He wasn’t sure. If Death was real, then Order was real, too. He remembered what Dmitri had said about Order. She was real. This wasn’t just a bullshit story to sell to the masses to make them feel better about their lives. Other people acted almost reverently with Order, but he had questions. Could he ask her his questions? Would he really expect answers from a being such as her?

  To his surprise, he felt like he could. Questions were an admission of confusion, and answers brought clarity. That was literally what Order was about. Perhaps he should put together a list of questions he wanted to ask her.