Them or Us

were wiped out. There’s an empty void in these miserable people’s miserable lives now. Before, when the war was at its height, the hunt and the kill kept them occupied, but now there’s nothing. Infighting, bickering, and abusing the nonfighters alleviate some of their frustrations, but they’re no substitute. Oh for the days when there were still plenty of Unchanged to kill, I’ve even heard them say, those who are able to construct such considered sentences, that is. Frequently their conversations are nothing more than a series of increasingly aggressive nods and grunts.
    “Food,” someone next to me says, jabbing me in the gut with a bony finger. It’s a woman my height with dirty, pockmarked skin and clumps of lank yellow-white hair missing where her scalp is scarred. I take the chunk of greasy meat from her—half a leg of something or other, not sure what—then take a deep breath and force myself to bite down and chew. It tastes as bad as I expect, tough and barely cooked. I feel warm blood and grease dribbling down my chin and running down the insides of my throat, but I force myself to swallow, then bite again. And again. And again until the whole damn thing is finished. I throw the bone onto the fire, and it’s only then that I allow myself to look at what it is I’ve just eaten. I’m not surprised when I see the rest of Llewellyn’s men tearing strips of flesh off what’s left of a dog’s carcass. Dog is one of the easiest meats to find these days, along with rats and birds. They all feed off the scraps of the world, and we feed off them. Three of the fighters argue over what’s left of the food. The woman who just gave me mine hangs back dejectedly, waiting for scraps and licking grease off her fingers. She sits on the ground next to the guy Llewellyn laid into. He still hasn’t moved.
    My stomach’s already churning, reacting to what I’ve just forced down into it. I don’t have the same capacity for food I used to, but I don’t refuse it. I guess I’m fortunate that Hinchcliffe likes to make sure I’m well fed (being in with the man in charge has its advantages), but eating isn’t something I derive any enjoyment from anymore. It’s a necessity now, a chore. How food looks and tastes isn’t important. All that matters is making sure you get enough nutrition whenever you can. I’ve learned not to ask questions—you eat what you’re given and you deal with the consequences afterward. And after what I’ve just swallowed, I know there will be consequences …
    I help myself to a mug of coffee (is it coffee, or just lukewarm dirty water?), which helps take the slightest edge off the overpowering aftertaste of dead dog. The bitter liquid provides some welcome heat for a couple of seconds, but it fades quickly and leaves me feeling twice as cold. Doesn’t matter how many layers of clothing I wear these days, I never seem to get any warmer. I’m so thin I sometimes think I might snap. Sometimes, when I look down at my body or catch sight of myself in a window or mirror, I have to look twice to be sure it’s me. There was more meat on that dog leg I just ate than there is on my whole body. If they shoved a skewer up my ass and roasted me over the fire, there’d be a lot of disappointed people going hungry.
    It’s suddenly quieter out on the street, with most of the fighters either busy eating or clearing out the Unchanged hideout. Apart from the “cook” (who’s now trying unsuccessfully to pick a rogue scrap of burned dog flesh out of the embers of the fire) and her unconscious mate, there’s an ocean of space between me and everyone else. It doesn’t bother me. I’m used to it. If it wasn’t for Hinchcliffe, they’d have probably gotten rid of me by now. Fact is, I’ve been damn useful to him and he knows it. I can’t match the anger and aggression of most of the people he surrounds himself with, but I can do things they can’t, and that, he regularly tells me, makes me valuable.
    I guess he’s right. Days like today help me secure my place in Hinchcliffe’s empire. If it wasn’t for me, they’d never have found this nest of Unchanged. He’d had people out here looking for supplies, and the dumb fuckers couldn’t work out why the stuff they’d been stockpiling kept disappearing. It was me who set the traps and left the bait and tracked the Unchanged back to this place. It was me who told Hinchcliffe and Llewellyn where this shelter was and how best to