The Endgame Chronicles (by Hugh White) novel Chapter 525

Chapter 525

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The man held his clothes in his hands, standing there in nothing but his underwear so everyone could see.

The manager looked him up and down. “Don’t let it happen again. Next time you find anything, you turn it in to me. Otherwise, you won’t get off this easy. Got it, kid?”

He shoved the struggling boy aside, scooped the food off the floor, and took it for himself.

“Dad! Dad…” The boy rushed to his father’s side.

“I’m fine.” The man pulled his clothes back on and forced a reassuring smile onto his pale face.

Tears welled up in the boy’s eyes. “Dad, it’s my fault. I was careless. That’s how they noticed.”

“It’s not your fault,” the man said softly. “That manager’s nose is just too sharp.”

“But… But…” The boy stared at the spot where the food had fallen.

People had already swarmed it. Some licked the floor. Others used their bread to wipe up the grease, scraping every last bit.

“Our food’s gone,” he murmured.

A quiet voice whispered in his ear. “I still have some.”

The boy looked up. His father’s face was bloodless, his brow tight with pain. Slowly, the man slid a chicken leg out from inside his sleeve and placed it into the boy’s palm.

“Let’s eat somewhere else,” he said, patting the boy’s head.

He bent down, picked up the bowl with just a little soup left, and used his own bread to soak up what remained on the floor. Then, he led the boy away.

In a secluded corner outside the trash pit, the two of them crouched against the wall. The stench was overwhelming, but it was safe here.

The chicken leg came out of the plastic bag and was handed to the boy.

“Dad, you eat, too,” the boy urged.

“I’ve had enough of this stuff already,” the man said. “You eat more.”

“That was before,” the boy said stubbornly. “Things are different now. We eat together.”

He was about 14. Before the world ended, he would’ve still been in middle school.

Two and a half years of apocalypse had stripped away all his softness and childhood. He looked at his father with stubborn resolve, insisting that he ate.

The father smiled faintly. He looked at the chicken leg, then tore off the part that had already been bitten, still wrapped in plastic.

The rest of the leg went into the soup bowl.

“That’s enough for me,” he said. “You eat the rest.”

“Dad…”

“Eat,” the man said firmly, “or I’ll really get mad.”

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The boy didn’t hesitate anymore. He took the bowl, with the chicken soaked in thin soup, and ate it with the bread.

“Good?”

“Yeah! It’s really good!”

The father smiled. He poured the remaining soup into the plastic bag, thinning out the last of the grease, then took the bread that had already soaked it up and bit down hard.

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