The blond girl was ladling out ‘Apocalypse Surprise’. It was all they ate: whatever cans the scouting parties had found that day scrounging in the ruins of grocery stores and houses, mixed together and slow-cooked over a low fire.
The children were fed first, and then the pregnant women. By the time the men got through the line to her, she was scraping the bottom of the pot. One young, confident scout winked as she doled out a tiny portion and said, “That’s okay, babe, food ain’t everything. I got other needs too.”
She shot him a withering look. “Inappropriate.”
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