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“She’ll be fine.”
I want to refuse his request and tell him to get the food himself, but I can’t claim to be a child. I’m eighteen, plenty old enough to brave the streets.
“Hurry up, girl. I want to get back while the sun is still up.”
“Fine, give me a minute.”
I pull on a sweatshirt and a jacket that once belonged to someone else. It’s a weird yellow-orange plaid that only an old lady would wear, but it’s thick, offering some protection.
Since we’ve been down here, I’ve been mentally preparing myself for what I would do if I had to go outside, but now that I’m faced with actually doing so, my planning eludes me.
As I’m buttoning my coat, father jerks me towards the stairs.
I don’t like how he smells and the weird look he’s giving me.
“Maybe we can go tomorrow? I hadn’t planned on going outside, and I could use some rest.”
“We go now.”
“We have enough food for the next few days,” I reason.
“We don’t need someone else taking it.”
“If they haven’t yet—”
Father pushes me again. As angry as I am, I don’t dare refuse him, because I’ve seen my father angry and what he’s capable of.
Hopefully, I can shield Maisy from the worst of it.
It can’t be that dangerous outside if father made it back in the condition he’s in, and who knows, maybe the fresh air will do me good. As it is, father won’t even let me empty the refuse bucket we use, so his allowing me to accompany him on a mission must mean it’s not that bad.
As father instructs Maisy to keep quiet, I make my way up the stairs and look at the array of weapons father keeps at the top.
There are a few baseball bats, a shovel, and a garden hoe. I take the shovel because it has the longest reach.
“You’re going to follow me and yer not to say a word. Got it?” Father growls.
For as angry as he is, he refuses to look at me. Perhaps it’s because he feels guilty that he has to rely on me to help him get food.
He yanks the curtain from the window and takes a long look outside. “It’s clear, but remember, no noise.”
I nod.
We pass through the front door and start down the street. I try to remember what my father said about the dead, but his words blend with movies I’ve watched, and it’s hard to know what’s real and what’s fake.
We’re spotted by a corpse. It’s old and decrepit, with its skin falling off its arm. Luckily, it’s stuck behind a fence, and we’re safe.
I’m led down a street where red lights shine from rooms on the second floor.
“Hey, sweet thing!” a voice calls down. I look up and see a woman.
“Dad!” I gasp. “There are people!”
He spins around, his face pure rage. “I told you to keep quiet!”
I point toward the woman, but he’s already moving forward again.
Confused, I follow. In all my father’s trips out, he’s never mentioned other people. He made it sound like we were the only ones left in the world.
