His Princess (A Royal Romance)(5)

Or you can use the microwave, which we do. It’s as big as a regular oven and covered in scratches. It probably leaks radiation, but at this point I don’t care.

I lucked out and drew the veggie bean burrito. I should hate it but there’s something about the crust that reminds me of a pot pie. It doesn’t taste very burrito-y at all, but that’s fine with me. I munch it down in big bites, gulping bottled water in between to cool my throat before the superheated burrito can sear it like a steak on a griddle.

Steak, it’s been so long since I had a steak. Some things from the real world I do miss, I suppose. A nice rib eye would go well tonight.

I’m so hungry I eat the burrito and the nasty crackers (that always taste rotten, and are usually fairly soft) and the jelly and the chocolate. That one will make me regret it in the morning. I even mix up the coffee powder and drink it cold.

Melissa eyes her “chicken and noodles” and frowns at my precious burrito, or the few tiny crumbs that are left of it when I finish. She looks like she might lick the crumbs off my paper plate.

“I hate this stuff,” she confesses. “I know we should eat the same food as the people we’re helping, but I can’t stop myself from wishing for something better.”

She bites her lip, probably trying to figure out which sin that is. Gluttony? Avarice? Pride? One of them. It’s not Wrath, I know that.

I leave her to it. I want to sleep. I turn off my little lamp and lie out on the cot. Melissa doesn’t like it that I strip down to my skivvies in the heat, but she can stuff it if she thinks I’m sleeping in a damned nightshirt like her. It’s going to be in the upper eighties tonight. At least the humidity drops rapidly when the sun goes down.

The fan oscillates between us. Melissa reads for a while then shuts off her light.

When it’s finally fully dark in the tent I roll over, facing away from the flap, and stuff my thin pillow up under my head as much as I can.

It’s moments like this when my resolve starts to weaken. What the f*ck am I doing this for? I’m completely overreacting, like a spoiled little girl. People would kill to take my place in the world. Like the people here. Ask any one of those girls out there to trade places with me and go home to a cushy teaching job where they can get fat eating bonbons and teaching the Odyssey to bored ninth-graders and they’d cut off their own arm for the chance.

A restless, dreamless sleep falls over me. It’s never really quiet in the camp. Melissa may be so straightedge she cuts herself, but somebody out there is f*cking. I hear giggles in the distance. It’s like summer camp, some nights. Last month one of the girls went home after she turned up pregnant by one of the men.

It’s sometime past midnight when I hear the tent flap open. A hot breeze blows up my back, and light cuts in a thin line across the tent wall.

I freeze. Very, very slowly, I turn and look back over my shoulder. Brad just walked into our tent. Melissa is already up, sitting up in bed. She’s dumping a dress over her head. Brad just got a view of the full monty, or as close as one can get with Melissa. He saw her ankles, how scandalous.

I’m a little mad at him for so obviously checking me out if he’s with her, for her sake. I’m happy for her, though. If anyone in the world needs to get laid, it’s Melissa. She yawns, and Brad’s voice hisses in the dark.

“Quiet, we can’t wake your roommate.”

“Tent-mate.”

Brad lets out an exasperated sigh. “Come on, we don’t have much time. We’ll miss the truck if we don’t hurry.”

Truck? What truck?

As Melissa follows him out of the tent, I sit up, yank on a pair of shorts and a shirt, and tug on my boots. Something isn’t right. What truck? They can’t leave the camp. It’s against the rules.

Following after them, I hang back and hope they don’t notice my shadow from the harsh lights. They weave between the tents, making a circuitous route toward the back of the camp. When they reach the fence, Brad peels back the chain link from one of the posts and holds it for Melissa while she slips through, then heads through himself.

Frowning, I start to turn back. If they want to go f*ck in the bushes, I’m not going to stop them. I just hope he’s not pressuring her into something she’s not ready for.

In the distance I hear the distinctive rattle-chug-chug of a diesel engine. It’s not one of the generators either. I find the loose section of chain link and pull it back, scratching up my hands in the process.

It makes a hell of a racket once I’m through, but I don’t think that matters now. Quickly I make my way down the hill. Behind the camp the ground slopes away sharply toward a creek where we’ve been drawing water to filter for bathing.

Down at the bottom I spot Brad and Melissa, lifting big wooden crates into a truck together. It’s a military vehicle, painted a drab brown.

As I move closer I make out the markings on the side of the crates. It’s food from our camp, food for the orphans and villagers. Why would they be stealing food?

I move closer, crouching in the tall grass along the creek bank. The water burbles softly, almost drowned out by the diesel rattle. It glows like a strip of silver in the dark. No moon tonight.

That must be deliberate.

Brad grabs Melissa around the waist and hoists her into the back of the truck.

I step out. “Where the hell are you going?”