Page 67 of After the Burn

I stared at him in confusion. “Why was I included in that?”

“Because you’re going to be in our family group too.”

I took the beer bottle from my eye, uncapped it, and drank it all in one gulp.

Fuck my life.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

TARYN

The town’s department store wasn’t really a department store anymore. It was a graveyard for civilization disguised as a thrift store.

I stood in front of a rack of shirts that looked like they’d been scavenged from every decade since the invention of cotton while Lila held up a faded yellow sweater.

“What do you think?” Lila held it to her chest and made duck lips.

I smirked. “I think that shade of yellow makes you look like one of the infected.”

She laughed. “You’re such a bitch.”

“That’s what my therapist would’ve said.”

Lila blinked. “Did you ever have a therapist?”

“Nope.”

“Then how would you know?” She blew a raspberry at me.

“Because I would’ve made sure of it.” I continued thumbing through the racks.

Harper laughed harder this time. “I can’t argue with that.”

The store occupied what had once been a discount retailer. Most of the original shelves still stood, creaking under the weight of items scavenging teams had gathered and things taken from houses outside the fence.

Nothing matched or made sense.

A wedding dress hung beside a hunting jacket. Children’s toys sat next to bedding. A blender shared shelf space with fishing lures.

The apocalypse had apparently murdered organization of any kind.

I was reaching for a black, long-sleeved shirt that looked mostly stain-free when movement outside caught my attention. People were drifting toward the front windows.

Harper immediately noticed that my attention had wandered. “Scavenging crew.”

That explained the interest.

Everyone left the store and headed toward the gates, eager to see what they were bringing in.

“Come on.” Harper looked excited. “Let’s see what they’ve found.”

I glanced toward Lila, but she was already heading out the door. I rolled my eyes but followed behind her.

The settlement gate slowly rolled open in the distance. The first vehicle through was an ancient Ford pickup that looked like it should’ve died sometime around the Kennedy administration.

The second was a battered Jeep Cherokee missing half its paint. Then an old Honda Civic followed behind it, packed so full of supplies I was amazed it could still move. The rear bumper scraped the pavement every time it hit a bump.

The final vehicle was another pickup carrying a group of scavengers in the bed alongside crates of supplies.