I know the risk I take every time I leave the hidden away, safe confines of the caves. For the last several months or so, I’ve been trekking into the city to forage for non-perishables to supplement our food supply. Now, five years later, Father is dead, and the food storage is close to gone-rapidly depleting. And less than twenty-four hours later, we sat in the backseat of our red ‘84 volvo and watched as the only place we’d ever called home disappeared from view. Uri and I watched through the slats of our boarded up windows as the long convoy rolled into town. The President wrote it into federal law that the preventative drug was mandatory for all citizens in the nation, and that in every city and every town, the military would ensure obedience to that law was enforced. It wouldn’t cure anyone who contracted the virus, but it would make anyone who didn’t have the virus immune to it. However, a pharmaceutical company backed by the government created a preventative vaccine. People were desperate for a cure, but there was none. Rumors of a fast spreading, incurable and fatal virus had taken the world by storm. It’s been my home for five years, and I share it with a few others who fled the city the day the big green government trucks rolled into town.
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