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Prologue
BRITNEY
Months Ago
“When do you think dad will be back?” Maisy says as she brushes her doll’s hair.
“Don’t worry about it,” I reply, worrying enough for the both of us.
“But if he never comes back…”Her voice trembles, and I can’t say I blame her for being scared. I am too.
I offer my best smile. “He’ll come back. He always does.”
“Last time he smelt bad.” Her nose scrunches like a bunny’s.
“Everyone is dead outside. Of course he did.”
That’s a lie. Well, not a lie, just not the truth.
Father didn’t smell like decay or rot. He smelt like booze. Which doesn’t make sense. If things are so dangerous outside, why risk getting drunk?
The door leading to the greater part of the house opens and footsteps descend the stairs. I hold my breath, hoping it’s father and not some person out looting.
When the corpses first came, our apartment became flooded with the dead. As we were rushing out the window, they grabbed my mom, and as horrifying as her death was, it gave us time to escape.
Led by our father, we wandered the streets until we stumbled into the older district where big, decrepit houses loomed. With the streets in anarchy, father picked one to hide in. We’ve been living in its basement ever since.
Father stumbles into the room, dropping his bags.
“Daddy smells bad again,” Maisy whispers. “I think he’s drunk.”
Maisy was always smart, making honor roll since she started kindergarten. Now, at twelve, she’s just as intelligent, but there’s been a change in her.
She still knows how to read, multiply, and all kinds of other stuff, but all she does is play with her dolls and speak like she did when she was half her age.
I’d reasoned it was because the basement was full of toys meant for small children. But deep down, I worry she’s damaged in some way.
“Britneeeey,” Father slurs. “Britney, I need ya, girl.”
I pick up the bags and search through the canned goods. “We need more than just water chestnuts.”
Father’s hand wraps around my upper arm. “You need to come with me.”
“I need to feed Maisy.” I gesture to my baby sis. “If you haven’t noticed, she’s falling apart.”
“There’s a lot more food out there.”
“Oh, yeah? Then why didn’t you bring it?”
“I need help, is all. You’re old enough.”
Fear needles me. I haven’t been outside since we found this place. “How far will I have to go?”
“Not far, pretty girl.”
My lip shoots up in a sneer. Over the last few months, he’s called me strong, smart, and brave, but never pretty. It’s useless being pretty during the apocalypse.
“What about Maisy?”
