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Our bunkhouse isn't behind a gate of any kind, so I'm able to slip out of the militia grounds and into the fort proper without being disturbed. There's a few people out at this time of night—there always are a few, chasing rats or selling their bodies—but I manage to avoid everyone and make my way to Bethany's shack. It's one of the saddest-looking buildings in Fort Dallas. A lot of the bigger buildings have been repurposed and claimed by groups who live together. Smaller families and those without a support system have to make do with what they can find, and Bethany's shack looks like the rusted remains of an old garden shed that's been dragged into the fort. The door is open, and Bethany has a fire going inside a metal trash can.
I knock, hiding in the shadows, and Bethany and her son Michael both turn to look at me. I see a wooden spoon in Bethany's hand and she's got a cagey look in her eyes as she stands in front of the fire. There's a weird smell in the air, like burning…something. It makes my gut uneasy. I ignore the way it roils and put a smile of greeting on my face.
"Is…this a bad time?" I ask politely. "I've had trouble getting away."
"No, no, it's all right." Bethany sets the spoon down behind her into a pot and then holds Michael against her. "I don't have any scraps. I'm sorry."
I pull out the cornbread. I kind of guessed that she wouldn't have anything to barter for, but I can't let her and her kid starve anyhow. Doesn't seem right. "It's okay. This one's on me. Can I come in?"
To my surprise, she hesitates. Bethany's never hesitated about food before, and it just adds to the feeling that something's wrong.
"Guess what I caught, Jenny?" Michael says excitedly. "Bugs!"
Bethany hesitates again and then steps aside. "We're making stew. You should see the size of the bugs Michael caught. They're as big as chickens. There's so much meat on them, too." She gestures that I should take a look at her stew pot.
I move closer, and the sick feeling grows overwhelming. There, bubbling in Bethany's beat up old pot, are what look like grasshoppers. Enormous, shiny ones, their mandibles enormous, their eyes gleaming and very, very dead. There's at least three of them, and they're boiling up in a stew that smells incredibly, horribly wrong.
"Oh, Bethany," I breathe, sick. I press a hand to my stomach.
"It's not the best-tasting food, but there's so much of it." She shrugs. "We haven't had empty bellies in days now. Michael finds them all over the place, and I thought, why not try it? People in other countries eat bugs, don't they?"
Not these bugs. There's something wrong with these bugs. Bile threatens at the back of my throat. Wordless, I hold the wrapped cornbread out to them. "Please don't eat those."
"Why not?" Bethany's tone becomes defensive. "You don't get what it's like to go hungry, Jenny. Sometimes we can't afford to be squeamish."
As if I've never been hungry before? As if I'm not handing all my meals over to them? But she won't understand—just like she won't understand that I don't want her to eat these bugs because I've seen them in my dreams. That they come with a sick, unctuous feeling that makes me want to scrub my skin clean of filth every time I wake up. That there's something unnatural about them, and I can't stand the thought of anyone putting them into their bodies.
All Bethany sees is a meal in front of her.
"Just…" I hold out the cornbread. "Here. Eat this. Not the stew, all right?"
Michael glances at his mother, then takes the cornbread from me. He holds it carefully in his hands, and neither one of them moves. I realize that they're waiting for me to leave so they can eat. They're still going to eat those nightmare bugs, just because it's food.
And nothing I can say will convince them otherwise. I try anyhow, because I have to try. "I don't trust them. The bugs. It's weird that they've started showing up now, seven years after the Rift." I decide not to mention my dreams, and casually shrug. "I just worry they carry things. We all heard about that fort with the plague."
Bethany nods, her expression perking up a bit. "We're going to boil them really well and clean them. Just to be safe."
I realize that's as far as I'm going to get with this argument. "That's all I ask. Be safe."
"We can't all be like you, getting free handouts from the lord of the fort." Her expression is both wry and bitter. "I asked and they won't take me. I ask all the time, but they just laugh."
I nod. I know they won't take her. Bethany's got a kid and she's pregnant with another. She's probably about ten years older than me but looks like she could be my mother. She's got a husband that beats her and gambles away what little funds they have. If they want dragon bait, she's absolutely not what they're looking for. I hate that there's free food for us and nothing for Bethany, who needs it just as badly.
