Womens Fiction

Aftertime by Sophie Littlefield

By Sophie Littlefield

Awakening in a bleak panorama as scarred as her physique, Cass buck vaguely remembers surviving whatever negative. Having no suggestion what percentage weeks have handed, she slowly realizes the scary fact: Ruthie has vanished.And along with her, the majority of civilization.Where once-lush hills carried vehicles and trade, the roads this present day see purely cannibalistic Beaters—people became hungry for human flesh via a central authority test long past wrong.In a damaged, barren California, Cass will endure a harrowing quest to get Ruthie again. Few humans belief an intruder, not to mention a girl who grew to become a zombie and by some means became again, yet she unearths support from an enigmatic outlaw, Smoke. Smoke is her savior, and her safety.For the Beaters are out there.And the people grip at survival with their set off palms. specially once they research that she and Ruthie became the main feared, and wanted, of guns in a courageous new world….

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Sammi. ” “Why don’t you tell us about you first,” Nora said coldly, and this time she refused to acknowledge Smoke’s warning glance. ” Cass gathered her thoughts. “I lived in Silva. In Tenaya Estates. ” Smoke nodded. ” “I lived…alone. I worked at the QikGo off Lone Pine. Back in the spring, during the Siege, I stayed on for a while. I thought…I didn’t want to give up, I guess. A. meetings, until one day she was the only one in the room. That day, she knew she couldn’t live alone anymore. ” She dug her fingernails into the callus of her thumb, under the table where they couldn’t see.

There were those who had come early on for the toilet paper and aspirin and bottled water—and all the alcohol, to Cass’s relief. Now people wandered the aisles aimlessly and took random items that would do them no good anymore. A pre-paid calling card, a map. Meddlin, her boss, hadn’t made an appearance for a few days. The QikGo, Cass figured, was all hers. No matter. She didn’t care about Meddlin. The others, the fragile web of workers who staffed the other shifts, had been gone since the media went silent.

He was standing in front of a shelf that held the few personal products left in the store—bottles of shampoo and mouthwash, boxes of Band-Aids. “Would you like…” Her voice trailed off as he turned and stared at her with wide unblinking blue eyes. “Dome going,” he said softly, then raised his wounded forearm to his face and, eyes still fixed on her, licked his lips and took a delicate nip at his red, glistening skin. His teeth closed on the damaged flesh and pulled, the raw layers of dermis pulling away from his arm, stretching and then splitting, a shred of flesh about the size of a match tearing away, leaving a bright, tiny spot of blood that glistened and pooled into a larger drop.

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