The western horizon was bathed in a golden hue, signaling the end of today's work. The survivors lined up in the maintenance room, carrying tools and materials unused during the day.
Marco counted the quantity and inspected the quality. The stink of sweat vexed him but he endured it until every survivor was examined.
The hard work emptied their stomachs, growling under the scent of food that wafted from the kitchen. Elena, together with a female assistant, ladled out onion soup into a small bowl, and served a plate of meat, vegetables, and rice to the starved survivors.
They gathered at the dining area, in front of the kitchen and behind the reception.
The soldiers observed on the sides, indifferent to the tempting aroma. They listened in on the whispers of the survivors—chattering about their work, life before the apocalypse, or random topics to relieve themselves from boredom.
