Gray (Book 3) by Lou Cadle Page A

smell hit her: the bitter smell of spinach, probably canned, a meaty stew, and then a smell of baked goods that she thought might be cornbread. Pots and pans of every size and design added to the visual overload, and the sound of cooks talking to each other seemed louder than it was.
    Coral wanted to run from all the people and activity.
    “It’s closer to supper than I thought,” said Doug, brushing past a cook who stared after them. Coral could feel the eyes on her neck as she passed. At the far end of the kitchen, there were metal tables, where three people were still preparing food. Empty cans were stacked to one side, and a big man with a turquoise bandana and silver earring was clearly directing the activity.
    “Chef,” Doug said to him. “We have new people.”
    All the kitchen workers who hadn’t been staring now turned to look at them. Coral’s animal sense was telling her to flee, but she stood her ground.
    The chef said, “Back already? Tell me you found greenhouse supplies.”
    Doug shook his head. “Sorry. It’s at the top of our list, though.”
    He made a face, and then turned to his workers. “Back at it, please,” he said. “We’re serving in twenty.”
    Doug said, “Could I bother you for some warm water, and two of the tubs?”
    “Water’s boiling over there,” he said, pointing. “Leave us enough to wash dishes.”
    “Can we use a pantry?”
    “Sure”
    “Thanks,” said Doug. He led them to a stove where kettles and pans of water were on the simmer. Each of them took one, and Doug led them through an open door to a dim room, lined with hundreds upon hundreds of cans of food, some of them huge institutional sized, some small and without labels.
    It looked like a lot of food, but then Coral remembered the numbers they were trying to feed, and then it seemed to shrink before her eyes. Maybe they had other storerooms filled with food, but what was in here wouldn’t last a week.
    If all these people disappeared, it would last her and Benjamin more than a year.
    “They’re burning lamps in the kitchen,” said Benjamin, after Doug had stepped back out, leaving the two of them alone in the dim room.
    “Yeah,” she said.
    “I wonder how much of the lamp oil they have left.”
    Doug returned lugging two oval galvanized tubs, a couple feet long and not a foot tall. “Let’s get the hot water split between these, and I’ll bring you back some cold water and soap and towels.”
    They poured steaming water into the tubs, and the water didn’t even go an inch up their sides. Doug said, “Go on and get undressed. No one will bother you.”
    Coral hesitated for only a moment before stripping down to a T-shirt. The steam rising from the water, and the very idea of being entirely clean for the first time in weeks overwhelmed any sense of self-consciousness she had. Her fear of the strangers was still there, but none of them seemed to want to hurt her—not yet, at any rate.
    Benjamin had turned his back to take his clothes off. He grunted as he pulled off his boots. She heard him stumble, and turned to watch him balance one hand on a stack of extra-large cans.
    “Tired?” she asked.
    “Weirded out,” he said. “Too many people.”
    She was comforted to hear it. “Me too. I can’t tell if I’m being paranoid to be afraid, or if we’re really in danger.”
    “I think I’m safe so long as I’m the doctor’s husband.”
    “And I’m safe here so long as I’m the doctor—so we’re both depending on a lie to keep us alive. Either we have to do a good job of lying, or we have to get out of here before the truth is exposed.”
    Doug was soon back with two kettles of cold water and poured them in. “One more trip,” he said. Coral left her shirt on while she waited for him. It was warmer than freezing in here, but it wasn’t that warm.
    Doug returned with a pair of thin towels slung over his shoulder and carrying a lamp. He dug in his pocket and came up with two cubes of soap.