Status Updates From Arcadia The Queen.

A butcher knife in one hand, hammer in the other, I retreated to the walk-in freezer. If something came into the kitchen, I’d shut myself in. I already knew I couldn’t lock the freezer from the inside, but maybe whatever was out there wouldn’t know how to open it, either— —or wouldn’t have human hands to work the handle.

The Queen watched from her throne with solemn satisfaction. She’d been wrong. The poor didn’t eat the rich. The rich ate themselves. I staggered away from the porthole and vomited. Hardly anything came up.

A larger unit this time, in full riot gear. They broke the door down with a tactical battering ram, fanning out with a precision that made me think this time it would be different. Maybe one of the doomed first-wave policemen had been wearing a body camera, giving this group a sense of what they were up against.