The Lunch

He couldn’t remember the last time he had a proper meal. His shoes were worn down. One of his soles was partially detached from the shoe so that every time he walked forward, a flopping noise followed him. All he had to his name was an old backpack and a few bottles of half-drunken water. He’d stopped feeling pain in his feet a day ago, and Paul was too scared to take off his shoes and see the damage.

           Maybe that’s why, when he saw the sign—Greensville, 5 miles ahead—he ignored his wary thoughts and picked up the pace. He wasn’t sure how many towns were still standing at this point, but even if the place was in ruins, there could be some supplies left over. Paul hiked the backpack up his shoulders, ignoring his aches and pains, and followed the road toward Greensville.

           The road paralleled a river, muddy and thrashing due to a recent rainstorm. Paul had to walk around the potholes and cracks in the road. It had been some time since anyone had come to fill them, and it had probably been even longer since cars had traveled over the asphalt. The closer he got to the town, the less it seemed that nature was taking over. Houses had trimmed lawns, and balloons were tied to a mailbox, announcing someone’s birthday.

           Paul smelled barbecue—actual, honest barbecue. His stomach started to gurgle. For a few precious seconds, Paul felt a burst of energy race through his body, and he ran toward the smell.

           The town of Greensville would have been the perfect place to go for a vacation, had the world not gone insane. There were old houses, probably there for hundreds of years, but well looked after with fresh coats of paint. Paul saw people talking with each other over white picket fences, laughing, and joking with each other as they tended to their yards. At first, no one seemed to notice him. Then a young girl, blonde hair in pigtails, pointed at him while tugging on what must have been her mother’s skirt.

           One by one, the people stopped talking, looking at him with wide eyes. Paul forgot the smell of food, aware that he probably didn’t look very good to the small population. He had a scruffy beard, torn up clothes, and probably smelled to high heaven. These people might not be used to seeing travelers. Usually, nomads received cold treatment wherever they went. But Paul’s stomach clenched. The barbecue was too tempting. He had to get some, even if he had to beg these people on his hands and knees. Paul froze as a man opened his fence gate and walked towards him.

           The man seemed well dressed, sporting a blue button-down shirt and khaki pants. He looked like a true, blue, American man, with styled blonde hair and freakishly white teeth. Paul shuffled backward as the man got closer.

           “Hello!” The man said, holding out his hand. His voice carried over the neighborhood, snapping the rest of the town out of their shock. The conversations continued, though they were hushed as if everyone wanted to snoop in on the conversation. Paul slowly took the man’s hand and shook it.

           “Hi there.” Paul’s voice was scratchy from lack of use. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Nice to see some friendly faces.”

           “I don’t doubt that!” The man laughed, a terribly loud sound that hurt Paul’s ears. He continued to shake Paul’s hand. “My name’s Dan. You look like you’ve been through the wringer. How about we offer you some food?”

           Paul’s mouth watered at the thought. Perhaps there were some good people left in the world. “Please,” he begged, following Dan into his yard. A woman, maybe Dan’s wife, smiled widely and quickly came forward with a sandwich. Ah, that’s where the barbecue smell came from. He practically inhaled the sandwich. The meat was a little tough for barbeque, but at the end of the world, he took what he got. Dan’s wife quickly supplied him with another sandwich.

           “Sit, sit.” Dan guided Paul to a lawn chair, and the tired man gratefully sat. Dan waved his wife toward their home. “Linda, get this man a lemonade, will you?”

           Paul didn’t dare ask for what he really wanted, which was water. He was already halfway through his next sandwich and couldn’t spare a breath to speak. Linda jogged into the house; the screen door slammed shut behind her. Dan pulled up another chair and sat in front of him, still smiling, hands steepled.

           “What’s your name, friend?” Dan asked, patiently waiting for Paul to finish chewing. “And where are you headed?”

           Paul swallowed, lowering the sandwich away from his mouth. The smell was intoxicating. It took all his willpower to stop.

           “I’m Paul. I’m just traveling back home. It’s a town east of here, maybe a few days travel.” He wasn’t entirely sure if that was true. Paul was no hiker. He had no far away home was, but Dan was waiting for an answer.

           Dan raised an eyebrow, still smiling. “Ah, really? And I assume you mean no harm to us, right? I mean, no offense, stranger, but you don’t seem very threatening.”

           Paul took another bite of barbecue as Linda came back with the lemonade in her right hand and another sandwich in her left. She gave him both. Only then did Paul begin to feel a little bit guilty. Yes, he was hungry, but how could he eat all these people’s food? It was a precious commodity nowadays.

           “I’m no threat, I assure you. I am more than thankful that you have shared your food with me. That couldn’t have been easy.”

           “Well, yes, it certainly isn’t easy to come up with something to eat nowadays. But we get by.” Dan turned to his wife, taking her hand in his in the perfect show of affection. “Linda, is that your homemade lemonade? Darling, you’re spoiling him!” Linda didn’t say anything, opting to fan herself with her hand instead.

           Paul looked down at the drink, throat suddenly dry. He’d been living off pond water and week-old, bottled water for who knows how long. He brought the drink up to his lips, taking a tentative sip. Sour, but oh so refreshing. One sip turned into another, then another. He took bites of his sandwich in-between sips.

           “Thank you,” he managed to get out. “You have no idea what this means. This must be burdening you—”

           “Well, to be honest, Paul—it was Paul, right?” Paul nodded, and Dan continued, crossing his legs. “It is a little strenuous on us. We are a small community. We don’t have any of those fancy hunting guilds to protect us out here. Usually, we just ask visitors to give us a little something in return.”

           Paul paused mid-bite. Of course, there was always something. He swallowed, noticing the tangy taste the lemonade had left in his mouth.

           “I…” He pulled off his bag, unzipping the top. There was nothing worth value in there, yet still, he looked. “I don’t…maybe I can work for you?”

           Dan’s smile finally dropped. He rubbed the back of his neck, humming.

           “Well, I don’t know about work. See, we aren’t farmers, Mr. Paul. Ever since this mess started, we’ve had to do everything just to get by. We have kids here. Families. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

           Maybe it was the warm day mixed with the cool breeze, or maybe it was the food and drink finally settling in his empty stomach. Whatever it was, Paul was having a hard time concentrating. Dan was still waiting for an answer.

           “People depend on you. I mean, you have to provide for your community.”

           “Yes, yes!” Dan clapped his hands and stood up. Paul tried to do the same but was stopped when Dan put a hand on his shoulder. He was smiling again. It was such a friendly grin. Paul could imagine seeing Dan at the local park, throwing a baseball to his son, or helping at the community kitchen. Dan’s hand tightened on Paul’s shoulder.

“You see, this world has a give and take principle, you know? No no, don’t get up. You see, some people would see what we do as cowardly. We don’t ‘fight to protect ourselves’ like other towns.” Dan made air quotes with his fingers. “But really, we aren’t afraid of anything. We don’t need face-to-face combat to stay afloat. We do just fine on our own. We do what we can to protect our families. Now does that sound like something a coward would do?”

           Paul felt his body tingle, like when he’d laid on his foot too long and now he couldn’t feel it. With herculean strength, he turned his head back to the street where he had come from. The people, once confined to their yards, were now staring at him again. The little girl from before was actively up and down in excitement.

           Only then did Paul begin to feel some form of panic. He had to get home, to his family. He tried to stand, but he only got up a few inches before his arms failed him. He fell back into the chair with a strained huff. His head would have fallen forward if Dan hadn’t grabbed his chin. The man patted Paul’s face, still smiling, smiling, smiling.

           “Don’t you worry about a thing. Rest. You were very brave about all this, Paul. Very brave indeed.” Dan’s words echoed, as if they were in a cave. Paul’s body slumped forward, his eyes falling shut. Paul had never felt so tired. That meal had been so good. Any other feeling other than sleepy bliss quickly left, and soon Paul forgot why he was even here at all. Dan let go of Paul’s face, waving over his wife to help hoist the unconscious body up.

           “Come on, Linda. Let’s get him downstairs.” Linda complied, taking Paul’s arms while Dan grabbed his legs. The two worked together to get Paul inside.

The rest of the people in the town slowly looked away. An elderly couple walked down the street, hand in hand, whispering to each other. A young woman went back to tending to her garden, sprinkling fertilizer over her peonies. The girl in pigtails had stopped jumping. She happily followed her mother into the house, ready to have a lovely barbeque lunch.