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We finally gave up after the third monster hurricane. Packed our car and drove west like everyone else. We ended up in a temporary shelter in Charlottesville until a militia group raided it, stole all the supplies, and killed anyone who tried to defend it. My dad was killed in the raid. My mom and baby sister died a month later in childbirth. Since then, it’s been me and my older sister, Breanna.
“If you want something in return, I can fuck you. If you’re interested.” She says it plain as can be. No hesitation. No inflections. It’s how she’s always managed our way through perilous circumstances and self-serving men. Better to offer it willingly than have them take it by force. That’s what she’s always said.
“I’m not pretty.” “You think that matters? It’s not about attraction. It’s about power.” “Well, yeah. When it’s forced. But sometimes it’s about attraction.” “If one person is doing it to survive, then it’s never about attraction. It’s always about power.”
Food is food, and we can’t afford to be picky when our only other choice is to starve.
They’re kind of like our grandparents used to be—plain, kindhearted country people. I guess even an apocalypse couldn’t change them.
“Mark was like that. I tried to look out for him while I was there, but after I left, I think he was mostly alone. Our mom was on her own. She had to work a lot. I think he started getting in trouble because those were the only kids who seemed like friends to him. He needed someone, and that was who he had.”
Two years later
Has he been gone for that long?!
“Don’t look so upset. You used to watch him like he hung the stars.”
“There’s only so much you can ever do to save someone from themselves.”
