There were others too—like them. Fat. Begging.

So the scavenging of the house began. Anything to make the pain go away.

Timothy looked at his sister, who bit into a block of Velveeta, chunks of meat and condiment splashed over her face. He reached for the cheese, kicking the empty butter tub away.

“No,” she said, turned her shoulder, bit into the cheese again.

Timothy looked into the refrigerator, frowned at its empty shelves. He pulled down the milk jug and upended it down his throat. The cold liquid splashed over his face, poured into his nostrils, nearly choking him, but he gulped it down. He looked at Gwen who deep-throated the last of the cheese.

Together, they ruffled through the freezer, finding only chips of ice and empty packages.

“Still hungry…” Dad stood up from the table, picking at the chicken bones with his finger. He looked toward the kids and growled.

Mom couldn’t move fast enough to catch the cat and she entered the kitchen with clenched teeth and curled fists. Mascara ran down her face in black crooked lines.

Timothy reached toward his sister, plucked a piece of meat from her chin, sucked it from his finger.

Dad rampaged toward the shelves, found them empty, roared and slammed his fists on the counter.

Mom fell to her knees, weeping. She lay on her stomach, slamming her face into the floor over and over, kicking and slapping the tile. A small pool of blood formed, leaking from the crack on her forehead. She licked it—moaned. The cat prodded toward her, sniffed at her ankle. Mom shot a bloated hand out, grabbed hold of the tail. The cat yowled, screeched, turned and latched its claws deep in skin and fat. But Mom didn’t react. She had one hand wrapped around the tail, the other on the throat. Talons scraped and gouged her face, yet she pushed her mouth closer, clamped teeth over fur. The yowls turned to screams. Dad thundered toward Mom, slid on his knees to join her. The cat didn’t make any more sounds, but Timothy heard Mom and Dad crunching and sucking. And he was jealous.

He looked at Gwen again.

She looked at him.

It was a head on collision, both grabbing whatever they could on the other. Timothy felt a sting on his arm, the bendy part opposite his elbow, as Gwen chewed into it. He sunk his teeth into the back of her neck, yanking and pulling meat and hair away from the rest of her. The succulence in his mouth outweighed the hot pain in his arm.

They both chewed—swallowed. And were back at each other.

Gwen bit the side of Timothy’s head, ripped his right ear away like a strip of jerky. She tried to scoot back to eat in peace, but Timothy got hold of her ankle, yanked her back toward him. He bit into the bottom of her foot, feeling the satisfying plunge of his teeth into the warm meat—pulled his incisors down and flayed the flesh away in a thick strip.