Page 14 of Eco-Activist's Mountain Men
And now my stomach growls like an angry bear. Of course—I haven’t eaten in nearly twenty-four hours. No wonder I’m dizzy.
Where did Toby say the kitchen was? Right—turn left out this door, then it’s the next on the right. He told me to call him, and yes, I’m tempted, but I don’t want to look helpless. If I take it slow, leaning on the wall with my good hand, I should be able to hop on my good foot.
Sounds like a plan. Time to find food.
“And you can stay here all you like, you… you… hairy monster.”
The wolf just flicks its gaze at me, bored, then lazily goes back to scratching behind its ear.
I’ve made it!
Although I doubt too many people would be all that impressed with a twenty-four-year-old woman managing to hop a few steps down a corridor. Nevertheless, it feels like progress. I smile to myself. It’s been a few years since I’ve been that pleased with myself just for being able to walk four paces without falling over. I guess the last time would’ve been when I was what… ten months, maybe a year old? Something like that. I’m no baby expert.
I open the kitchen door and quite literally hop in.
“Well, well, well, if it’s not Hopalong Cassidy. Come and take a seat.” Toby’s standing by the kitchen sink, peeling and chopping potatoes into a huge, battered saucepan that looks like it’s seen better days. I know how it feels.
I hop around the doorframe, then grab the table edge as I shuffle to the nearest chair before collapsing into it with a small squeak of pain when I manage to knock my wrist on the tabletop.
“We definitely need to fix you up with crutches, or a walker, or something.”
I brighten up at hearing this.
“Great, thanks. I didn’t realize you had any.”
“Er… no, we don't. Sorry. We used to, but someone er… walked off with them, ironically.”
“Oh, I see. You're just making a joke. At my expense. Well, ha ha ha. Basically, I’m screwed, then, is that what you’re saying?”
“Not necessarily. Luke’s a real woodsman. Ain’t nothing he can’t make out of the stuff. Give him a piece of timber and a few tools, and he’ll make you pretty much anything short of a laptop computer or a pastrami sandwich on rye bread.”
“Speaking of food…?” I tilt my voice upward in a question.
“Hungry, eh? Yeah, you must be starving by now. You haven’t eaten since your fall, have you?” I shake my head. “Okay, well these spuds are for later, and we all had breakfast a couple hours ago, but why don’t I make you a nice, toasted BLT on rye bread, with plenty of mayo… or ranch if you prefer. How does that sound?”
“I’m a vegan.”
“Oh yes, of course you are. I should’ve guessed. Stupid of me.”
“What do you mean?” I don’t like the tone of his voice. Is he trying to insult me?
“Oh, nothing, nothing.” He holds out his hands in a placating gesture. “It’s just that with the pink hair and the eco-warrior banner and all… I should’ve known you’d be a vegan too.”
“It’s eco-activist, not eco-warrior, actually. What’s wrong with being an eco-activist anyway? Or with being a vegan? Meat is murder, or haven’t you heard?”
“What?” He hoots. “Meat is murder? I don’t think so. Killing people is murder—or at least it is if you do it illegally and maliciously. But killing animals? That’s not murder.”
I open my mouth to give him a lecture about how veganism is the only ethical way to live, not just because it prevents killing animals, but also because of its sustainability for the planet. But then I close it again. There’s a time and a place, and after all, he and his friends did just save my life, and he has been very helpful since, what with the bathroom trip and all.
Instead, I meekly ask if there’s anything else I can eat.
“Hm… not much… what about Cheerios? We got loads of Cheerios.”
“With milk?”
“Yes, of course with milk.” He looks at me like I’m an idiot.
“But I’m a vegan. I don’t drink cow’s milk. Neither would you if you knew what’s in it. Do you realize they inject the stuff with growth hormones? It’s not good for humans. Do you have any almond milk, or soy milk maybe?”
