Nessa considered the two black toenails on her left foot.

This was just flarking disgusting.

She rubbed her foot, and her fingers came back bloody. The prodigious blister she'd been nurturing must have burst. Nessa picked up her sock, and saw it was stained with blood. She discarded it, and forced her foot back into her shoe, not too proud to yelp through the pain.

The food was gone. The water was long gone. This morning, she'd squished her hands into a muddy bank, and lapped up the brown water that seeped through her fingers.

Her nose was running, her side ached, and she was sweaty from top to bottom. She had spent last night in a crumbling old building, one of the ones from Before, and awoke covered in curious spiders. An hour later, when the last one crawled out of her collar, she had swatted it, and briefly considered sucking the sticky remains off of her finger before wiping her hand in the dust.

In short, this was much, much harder than she imagined.

She struggled to her feet, hobbling a little as she did. The midday sun tried to push her back down, but she took one step, and then another, and got going again.

Somewhere along the way, Nessa had decided that the beating sun was just about the worst flarking thing in the history of creation.

A farmhouse sat all by itself. It was at least two miles east to the nearest town. Nessa staggered past it. She had decided to let herself walk until she got to the end of the property, and then she would try to run again.

Before she got there, she saw two things that came together, forming an equation in her mind.

A truck. And a child.

She took off running before the idea was even fully formed. The little boy, maybe six years old, was no fool, and tried to sprint away from the crazy lady. His little six year old legs, however, let him down, and Nessa closed the distance and scooped him up.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

"Don't talk, don't move, and I promise you'll be fine," she said to him as he tightened her grip.

Nessa pulled out her knife, put it near the boy's throat, and called out to the house.

"I've got your boy! I've got your boy!"

Two figures emerged from the house, a man and a woman. Both of them had long silver hair. They were too old to be the kid's parents.

Oh, thank flark. Grandparents. Unconditional love. Slower reaction time. This could work. Unless the kid was a hopeless jerk that everybody secretly wanted rid of.

"You're not a hopeless jerk, are you kid?" she whispered quietly, but didn't get an answer.

"Please, you don't have to hurt him," said the woman.

The man had his hand up, like he was trying to keep Nessa calm. He probably had her pegged as a juiced up scavenger. Nessa guessed she couldn't blame him, but still found herself offended.

"Does that thing work?" she asked, tilting her head toward the truck.

The pair looked at each other, and then the woman nodded. Nessa thought the man looked disappointed, like he had wanted to lie.

"Keys," she said, trying to sound as tough as she could.

"They're in the house," the man said, his hand back up again.

"Go," she said to him.

She hoped he wouldn't come back out with a gun, and wondered what she would do if he did.

"Please, he's just a little boy," the woman.

"I don't want to hurt him. I just need this truck. Look, you probably don't believe me, but a lot of people's lives depend on this. I'll bring it back. I promise," Nessa said.

The woman looked skeptical, but stayed focused on the little boy.

The man came back out again, keys held up high.

"Toss 'em," she said.

He did, and landed some distance in front of her. Nessa rolled her eyes. She pushed the boy forward as she shuffled toward the keys. The knife trembled in her hand as she tried not to push him into the blade.

"Pick up the keys," she said to the boy, but the boy didn't move.

"Pick them up," she said, louder than she intended.

The boy sobbed, and bent to pick up the keys. Nessa reached around and grabbed them out of the boy's hand. She pulled him toward the truck. He was really weeping now, and Nessa felt both terrible and annoyed.

She opened the door, and put the key in the ignition. She looked over at the couple. They looked worried, like Nessa might decide to take the boy with her. She put the knife away, and leaned in to whisper to him.

"I'm going to let you go, and you're going to run to them. As fast as you can," she said.

She did, and he did, the couple running to meet him.

Nessa hopped into the driver's seat and slammed the door. She had only driven a truck a few times, and hoped there wasn't anything unusual about this one. She pushed down on the gas pedal hard, wanting to get away from this place as quickly as possible.

The couple receded in the rearview mirror. The woman was hugging the boy. The man was staring after her. Nessa thought he looked wistful.

She let up on the gas, slowing to a manageable speed. Nessa let out a deep breath, and realized her hands were shaking on the wheel.

The farmhouse disappeared behind her, and Nessa was alone, the sun shining brightly through the truck's windows.

She wondered if she could have hurt the kid, if it had been the only way.

She thought about Spratz and Bratz, and the hundred feet of death circling slowly, over and over, and thought that she probably could have.