The Survivor Kind

“Cortez?” Robert whistled. “That’s a long haul for a foraging trip.”

“Yeah, well, the pickings are even leaner near home than they are here. We’re living Anasazi-style, in a cave in a cliff face. We’ve got some crops going on top of the mesa, but none of us were farmers, so we’re just barely getting by. The hard part is meat. The Zs keep finding us, and they keep driving off all the game. So we took the last working vehicle and came up here, kind of … hoping against hope.”


“There were four of us at the start. Now it’s just me.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, dear.” Laurie lowered her hedge-trimmer and stepped forward, looking like she wanted to give me a hug.

I backed away again, hand instinctively dropping to the crowbar that hung from my belt. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be all right. You just tell me roughly what your territory is, and I’ll steer clear. I don’t want to intrude or lure any Zs into your back yard.”

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