"Not arguing with you there," Noah said with a sigh. By that he meant he wasn't arguing either point. He was cynical enough to believe that many people were a waste of space, even if he was usually diplomatic enough to keep that opinion to himself. Also, he was well aware that they were at optimum comfort level when it came to having their needs met, food and supply wise. All they could do was glean as much as they could from what remained and store it up. The end was fucking nigh, indeed.
"Because you're smart," Noah replied succinctly to her rhetorical question. "You know what the world's like." He'd bet on Bea up against just about anyone hand to hand. She was quick and determined to defend herself however necessary, and he had to admire that. Only the strong survived anymore.
Ashing his cigarette again, Noah eyed it. Not much left, but he'd smoke it to the bitter end. There weren't enough luxury items left to waste anything, and this would likely be his last cigarette for another month or two. He could roll with that. Snorting, he replied, "Getting an ass-beating's the least of my problems if I got bit." He had no way of knowing for sure, of course, but he had the feeling deep inside that he was not immune. He didn't think he could be that lucky. At least he had more than his share of experience with automatic weapons, hence why he was still alive today.
"Different, yeah," he agreed. "I never thought I'd live in the 'burbs." Or in a prison, but he was grateful for it under the circumstances. He thought they were as safe as it was possible to be.