Meat

Chapter Three

The new boy was still unconscious, the chain holding his head just off the floor. He twitched when Jemima tickled her fingers against his ribs, however, so she wasn’t too worried. Setting down a bowl of porridge and a banana next to his head, she retreated from the stall and locked the door in place.

Mornings were always busy, made worse by the approaching full moon. Not only were there the animals and crops to think about, but the influx of extra bodies meant another dozen people to feed. Some of the younger members offered to help, whether it was cooking meals for their brothers and sisters, or in helping with the animals. However, they often caused more problems than they fixed, and more often than not, Jemima sent them out of the way.

The cars had pulled up over an hour ago, men pouring out and into the house where they knew food would be waiting for them. It was only a few minutes before Jemima heard the scuffle of them trudging out of the back door. She went to have a look, those men could eat for their country and it was unheard of for them to leave a meal so quickly. Each man had loaded himself up with food, plates and bowls, and rounds of toast grasped tight in their hands. They retreated to the shade of a large beech tree off the gravel and slumped down onto the grass, laughing and talking loudly whilst she went about her work.

Jemima unlocked the next stall. Its occupant was awake and stared at her with unnaturally large brown eyes. She shifted back as Jemima approached.

“Breakfast,” Jemima said, setting down the bowl and banana.

“I’m allergic,” the young woman murmured.

“To bananas?”

The woman nodded.

Returning to the stall door, Jemima picked out an apple from the basket and returned, holding it just out of the girl’s reach. The woman shifted onto her knees and brushed her bedraggled hair from her face as she shuffled forwards and carefully plucked the fruit from her hands.

“Thank you,” she murmured quietly and hurried back to her position against the wall.

Jemima nodded and picked up the banana from the straw, locking the stall on her way out.

The young man in the next stall only stared disdainfully as she placed down the porridge and orange in front of him. His thin wool scarf had been wrapped underneath the metal chain, protecting his neck from the cold metal. His arrogant stare only made Jemima smile all the more broadly. He’d wept and begged the first night, the first to be brought to the farm. He’d been picked up in the next city as Jack and Darren made their way through. The two young pack members enjoyed their food more than anything and had spent a beer filled evening telling Kaleb how they’d been dying to try to eat ‘healthy’. Sure enough, the first time she had delivered dinner to the young hipster, he’d sobbed at the injustice of animals being slaughtered for food.

Jemima had smiled blandly, picked up the piece of chicken and dropped it onto the straw, placing the plate of vegetables next to the discarded meat. Sure enough, when she went to collect the plate the next morning, the chicken had mysteriously vanished.

“Morning!”

The cheerful greeting as she opened the next stall brought Jemima up short. She blinked and gazed at the man, no older than twenty-five. He had slicked back his ratty hair and brushed his hands down over his shirt as he got to his feet. Jemima ladled a serving of porridge into a bowl and grabbed an apple before stepping into the stall.

“Good morning,” she said.

Though the chain would easily reach to where she stood, the man didn’t move. He gave her a calm, almost cheeky smile and waited until she had stepped back before he stepped forwards to pick up the meal.