“It was better than starving,” Bea replied with a shrug. There wasn’t any glamour left in trying to survive. It definitely wasn’t like all those post-apocalyptic movies where everyone still looked like they were showering every day and sleeping at the Hilton. But she couldn’t complain either, the compound was the best place she’d been at in awhile. At least since her first safehouse was overrun. “I’ll take shitty food any day over starving. It doesn’t sound like the best way to go.” Neither did zombie attack, but she avoided that as best she could.
She was torn between being grateful he’d accepted the apology and being irritated that he’d brushed it off like something women did all that time. But before she opened her mouth she bit down on her lip and really thought about whether or not she wanted to start the argument all over again. “I don’t hit people unless they deserve it,” she told him. “And people can think what they want and say what they want.” Some of it was true, and it wasn’t like she made a secret of being kind of prickly.
“So we’re going to call a truce, and I’m going to help you take all this shit back to the infirmary,” she said decisively, taking the containers that the kitchen staff handed her and motioning for Zach to open up the canvas bags. “If you stay down here a hell of a lot longer they’ll probably come searching for you.” How long had it been? Maybe ten minutes, fifteen at max. It was possible that no one would get up in arms that quickly about where their food was, but if they loitered in the kitchen it would get cold pretty damn quick.
“Unless you want to try and sweet talk your way out of bringing cold food.”