Apocalypsis 01 - Kahayatle

with a quick jab to the throat was because I didn’t want him freaking out any more than he already was.   Plus, I hated hurting people who were nearly half my size and almost that small in weight.   “Dude, what are you going to do?   Shoot me?”
    “Maybe,” he said, stubbornly.
    “Yeah, right.   I don’t think so.   Not today, anyway.”   I turned to go.
    “Wait!” he said, a desperate tone in his voice.
    “What?” I said, half turning.
    “Did you say you have noodles?”
    “Yeah.   So?”
    “I have sauce.”
    My eyes widened.   Sauce on noodles sounded like a ten-course meal at the fanciest restaurant in the entire world to me right now.
    “You lie,” I accused.   I wasn’t sure what his game was, but I wasn’t interested in playing.   Who would have spaghetti sauce left in times like these?   At this point, the only thing anyone had was the crap no one wanted to eat.
    “No.   It’s back in the other room.   I’ll show you, if you agree to share your noodles.”
    I thought about it for a second.   Noodles and sauce.   It would almost be like a normal meal.   My earlier ideas about not eating any more starch seemed not so important anymore.   Plus, I could just eat the sauce plain if I didn’t feel like having the noodles.
    “Fine.   I’ll trade.   No need to show me, I trust you.”   The kid didn’t look like he could hurt a fly, and I had no doubt that I could protect myself against him, gun or no gun.   I tried not to think about the man responsible for my confidence because it would only make me upset to think about him being gone.
    “No, not a trade.   We combine.”
    “Sure, whatever.   Where?”
    This was the sticky part.   If we were going to eat together, one of us would have to abandon our house - which meant it would become a target for one of the gangs.   They had too many eyes on the comings and goings of people in the streets to fool for long.   I feared leaving my house for anything these days.   Even now, for this, I had taken a chance.
    “Backyards.   At the fence.   You cook the noodles and bring them.   I’ll bring the sauce.   We’ll divide it in half.”
    “I should get more than you.   I’m taller and heavier,” I said.   I was guessing this twerp was about twelve, just the age that had saved him - or cursed him, depending on how you looked at it.   Anyone not in the middle of puberty was long dead.   Those furthest away from it had gone first, the old people and the babies.
    “No.   Even split, fifty-fifty.   I need the calories.”
    “Fine.   Whatever.   What time?”
    “One hour.”
    I shrugged.   Dinner for breakfast.   But it was still early enough that I felt relatively safe going out of my house just to my yard.   And at this point, I was no longer recognizing foods as appropriate for certain times of day.   I ate when I was hungry, and I ate what was at hand.
    “See you then.”   I left his house without looking back, not really worried that he was going to shoot me in the back.   He knew I had pasta now, so I was a valuable friend to have.   At least until it was gone.
    ***
    I cooked the pasta using the gas stove in my kitchen, using as little water as possible.   Since entering survivor mode, I always drank the pasta water after it was done cooking, even though it was pretty gross.   It was a precious resource I couldn’t afford to dump down the drain.   Today I put it into two glasses - one for me and one for the kid living behind me.
    An hour after our meeting, I snuck out my back door, now doubly nervous about being seen.   I still wasn’t completely convinced this kid was telling the truth about his sauce, and it was getting closer to the time that the raiders would be waking up.   I had to be back inside before anyone came looking in my windows.
    I got to the fence and whispered, “Are you here?”
    “Yes,” came his response.
    I held up the bowl of rigatoni that I had cooked, bringing it level with the top of the fence.   “Here’s the pasta.   Put the sauce in.”
    I heard some noise on the other side of the fence and then something hit the side of the bowl.  
    A few seconds later he said, “There.   I’m done.”
    I pulled the bowl back down, and sure enough, a big blob of sauce sat on the top of my sad-looking noodles.   I smelled it and nearly swooned at the tomatoey goodness.   I didn’t care one bit that it was cold.
    “Do you have a bowl?” I asked.
    A plastic