Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 86059 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86059 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
None of it does—the panties, the gloves, none of it.
I stopped asking questions a while back, though. No one’s going to give us answers, and no one’s hurting us, so it beats what I did in the past. I think of the trade tent I worked at before this, and how I had a small space to sleep in the back. How I’d sit all day long, soldering and scraping rust and trying to repair things enough for Tinker to sell them. He’d give me a few scraps for my dinner and tell me to work harder or he’d kick me out on the street and give my spot to someone else.
So I worked harder. And I hated him for profiting off of all my hard work. Every time I fixed one of the bicycles he sold to the militia, my gut burned with frustration. Every time I scraped the rust off of a dozen cast-iron pans and he sold them at a profit, I grew angrier. Every time I traded someone on the sly for an item I could repair on my own and try to make a few coins, Tinker would inevitably find it and steal it from me, telling me that it paid for my dinner.
Life isn’t fair inside a fort. Maybe that’s why I love being outside of it so much. Here, in an abandoned house, I can dream of escaping all of this. Of just getting away. Of riding the bicycle far, far away and never coming back.
I close my eyes and sigh, because I know how that dream ends. It ends with starvation and possible rape. It ends with a dragon finding me and killing me. Or a nomad. Or a wild animal. It ends with Manda and Jenny getting taken advantage of by one of the soldiers, and I’ve promised to look out for them. They’re my new family, and they’re both so laughably innocent despite everything that I feel it’s my job to protect them.
Putting my dreams aside, I get to work.
It’s hours before I realize that the sun is high in the sky and my stomach is growling. I look up from the box of broken, rusted tools I’m carefully picking through, trying to determine if there’s anything worth saving. Stuff with a cord is useless, because there’s no electricity in the After. I do find an old electric chainsaw, and I spend some time trying to figure out the proper way to remove the blade and if the chain can be used for anything. I’m sweaty and covered in grease by the time I give up and step outside of the garage for a breeze.
Brady came by to check on me once, but I imagine he’s taking a nap somewhere in a car. Nearby, my pack is bulging with all kinds of useful goodies—an old plastic butter tub that can be repurposed. A ball of twine. A roll of duct tape. Several tarnished forks and knives that can be cleaned up and made new provided I can find some polish. My bag is full of bits and pieces, and out of every ten items I find, the militia lets me keep one to sell on my own…or to keep. It’s another reason I don’t mind scavenging runs. I’d rather make money cleaning old metal forks than spreading my legs for anyone that’d want to take a turn on “Scarface.”
I’m starving, and a glance at the sky shows me that it’s definitely past lunchtime. There’s a ladder propped up against the collapsed roof of the house I just came out of, and it’s been there so long that there’s grooves in the dirt and vines have twined around the steps. I climb as high as I can go safely and peer out in the direction of the bikes, and sure enough, a distant Brady is sprawled in a truck bed, his cap pulled down over his eyes.
Naptime.
That means exploring time for me.
I climb back down off the ladder quickly and leave my pack behind. It’s too full to tote around with me and if I find anything decent, I’ll just come back for it. For now, though, I’m just more interested in having a look around.
Humming to myself, I cross through the streets and cut over old backyards, wooden fences having fallen down ages ago. There’s a few charred swaths that tell me a dragon came through here at some point, but grass is sprouting once more, so it’s been a while. Even though I’ve been out to this area several times, I’ve never been past the neighborhood, and I find myself curious about what’s nearby. I cross over another street and turn past an old stop sign, and pause in surprise.
The neighborhood’s small grid of cramped streets and even more cramped yards ends at a service road, and on the other side of the service road is an old highway. There’s a bridge to cross over to the far side, a street light still dangling overhead. There’s a sign next to the bridge, but it’s so covered in bird poop that I can’t make out what the street name is. Cars crisscross and line the dead streets, covered with debris and old leaves and trash, and beyond that, I see an old shopping center.