Ten. Giraffes. Ate. Books. About. Eating.

It was the end of the world and Jamie had long hair. They always hated having long hair but the nuclear apocalypse made it difficult to acquire the necessary hair products to maintain a voluminous and decent-looking mohawk. So, Jamie grew their hair out because they looked at least ok with shoulder-length hair, but the lack of hair washing opportunities did tend to give them a greasy winter soldier vibe.

Jamie and Laura had been lucky. Just before the bombs dropped they had been administered the green shot. Jamie’s mother had been CIA and Laura’s parents had been part of the team that developed the shot. The shot only worked on kids younger than 14 and older than 8 and given to children of prioritized government agents and scientists before being shipped to population centers. 

The shot had only been administered to about 1/6 of the population below 14 and above 8 when a nuclear bomb fell on San Francisco. The next one was in Texas, then New York, then Maine, then Georgia. The coastlines were dangerous even to people who had green. Most of the adults in the coastal states died within days or weeks. Adults in the midwest usually had a few months or even a year if they could get their hands on Iodine pills. The surviving coastal kids moved inland, away from the bombed cities. Canada and Mexico were completely walled off, no one got out and the only people who came in were foreign researchers who came to take readings and whatnot. 

Laura was always sick, her immune system wasn’t compromised but it sure was shitty. She was a tall lanky thing, she grew too fast leaving scar tissue in her joints, resulting in her inability to walk when it rained. She had asthma and was prone to pneumonia. Her heart was perfectly healthy, although it could never seem to keep blood flowing to her fingers and toes. She had the body and metabolism of a swimmer, it was one of the only sports she’d been able to comfortably participate in. She had horrible seasonal allergies that resulted in her sleeping upright during the spring and summer.

Jamie was allergic to birds and pineapple. The pineapple wasn’t much of an issue given that pineapples just didn’t fucking exist within the continental US anymore. But their allergy to birds was quite inconvenient given the inclusion of Salem in their merry band. Who names a chicken Salem? Laura apparently. 

They were hiking along the overgrown, abandoned I-35, almost at Albert Lea, having left Clarks Grove about three hours ago. With all their gear and Laura’s bad knees they moved slowly, still almost an hour and a half away. The sun was setting, they’d have to camp just off the road. Salem was already sleeping. 

They were sitting across from each other, a fire separating them. Buffy licked at her bowl of food noisily.

“Once.”

“There.”

“Is.”

“You can’t do that,” Laura complained, “You can’t just change the tense like that.”

“Why not?” Jamie argued good-naturedly, “It’s one-word story. It doesn’t have to be coherent.”

Laura glared through the flames. Laura had curly hair that looked good cut short, even without any mouse. It was unfair. 

“Fine. Ten.”

“Giraffes.”

“Ate.”

“Books.”

“About.”

“Eating.”

“Ass.”

“Beautiful!” Jamie commented. “We should be professional writers!”

“Obviously.”

Laura sank her canines in a piece of jerky, tearing roughly. 

When the fire sank low, all four creatures piled into the tent. Salem in her woven basket-backpack. Jamie, Laura, and Buffy all parallel, Laura sandwiched in the middle. Every night the temperature dropped lower and lower. They had to make it to Kansas before the weather declined too much, Laura wouldn’t survive another bout of pneumonia. They’d stay in Kansas, or maybe Oklahoma, as close to Texas as they dare, for a year, the next winter they’d take advantage of the cooler conditions to migrate to the northeast tip of Arkansas or Mississippi. 

Far too early in the morning, Salem began screeching, in response, Buffy howled and barked. 

“Jesus,” Jamie muttered. “I know you’re pushing an egg out of your ass and all, but could you try to keep it down? Some of us are actually trying to sleep.”

“Silenziosa,” Laura ordered. Buffy went silent. “Eggs for breakfast.”

“Egg, singular.” Jamie sighed, or tried to, finding that their nose was significantly useless. “Goddamn bird.”

Laura had been luckier than Jamie. Her parents had squirreled away a horde of iodine pills, when the radiation came, they had the means to extend their lives. Jamie’s parents had a bunker beneath their house. Not a radiation-proof bunker mind you. It did help, but inevitably the poison began to seep through. Their skin had just begun to blister when the goddamn assholes who called themselves the US government came knocking.

They’d dragged Jamie kicking and screaming from the California coast to their own knock-off impossible city buried beneath DC. They wanted to get their hands on as many kids who had been dosed with green as possible. They wanted to see if the process could be replicated in adults. Jamie and a couple dozen others pretended to have food poisoning and enacted an intensely complicated plan that led to their escape, upon which they all scattered to the winds. Jamie had crossed the great lakes and ended up in Minnesota where they met Laura.

Even before the bombs dropped, there had been a massive medication shortage, the result of hoarding and theft. When Laura had caught pneumonia, they used the last of the anit-biotics to treat it. There wasn’t a single dose more within 200 miles. And so they set off with the three surviving animals from Laura’s farm a Sicilian buttercup hen, Buffy the livestock guardian, and Cas: a shire horse with brilliant blue eyes; Laura was a Supernatural fan in a past life. 

Cas got colic a little over a week into the trip and Laura’d put a bullet in his head. And so now, most of their shit was in a little red wagon that they took turns dragging behind them. Salem was perfectly healthy and was good for another few years of fresh eggs. Buffy was fit as a fiddle save for the suspicious-looking lump that was beginning to form on her chest. Laura would probably be able to remove it if they could get their hands on some ketamine. 

The sun had fully risen about an hour ago, but they only broke camp and started walking about 20 minutes ago. 

Jamie stopped.

“Look!”

“It’s just a window,” Laura huffed.

“Exactly! It’s just a window. The one wall and window are still perfect and the rest of the house is termite shit.”

“So?”

Jamie dropped the handle of the little red wagon. “I’ve always wanted to jump through a window like they do in action movies,” they declared, striding toward the offending monument. 

“Oh my god,” Laura sighed, “Please don’t.”

“It’ll be fine look,” They showed off their layered pants and skirt, long-sleeved leather jacket, and gloved hands, “I’m all covered.”

“Jesus Christ.”

Jamie wandered to the far side of the field, meeting Laura’s eyes through the window.

“Ready?” They shouted.

“Please don’t,” Laura shouted back.

“Come back here with my dog asshole!” Buffy sat back on her haunches, tilting her head in confusion.

Jamie ran forward, and with their arms up to shield their face, dove through the window. It shattered with a brilliant noise as Jamie hit the ground and used the momentum to roll back onto their feet.

“Tada!” They announced, stumbling slightly.

“What the fuck Jamie,” Laura hissed.

“Oh come on, you have to admit that was awesome,” Jamie was smiling cheek to cheek.

“It was dangerous.”

“It was also awesome.”

Laura snorted and began to walk again. Jamie grabbed the wagon and took their place beside her. They poked her in the side repeatedly

“Admit it. Admit it. Admit it. Admit it. Admit it. Admit it. Admit it.”

“Fine!” Laura snapped, swatting their hand away. “It was awesome”

“Yes!”

“It was also dangerous and stupid.”

“But you admitted it was awesome,” Jamie teased, poking Laura’s perpetually sunburnt cheek.

Laura rolled her eyes.