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Back Angels of Vengeance
Chapters (68)
  1. Blurb
  2. CONTENTS
  3. Dedication
  4. CHARACTER LIST
  5. 1
  6. 2
  7. 3
  8. 4
  9. 5
  10. 6
  11. 7
  12. 8
  13. 9
  14. 10
  15. 11
  16. 12
  17. 13
  18. 14
  19. 15
  20. 16
  21. 17
  22. 18
  23. 19
  24. 20
  25. 21
  26. 22
  27. 23
  28. 24
  29. 25
  30. 26
  31. 27
  32. 28
  33. 29
  34. 30
  35. 31
  36. 32
  37. 33
  38. 34
  39. 35
  40. 36
  41. 37
  42. 38
  43. 39
  44. 40
  45. 41
  46. 42
  47. 43
  48. 44
  49. 45
  50. 46
  51. 47
  52. 48
  53. 49
  54. 50
  55. 51
  56. 52
  57. 53
  58. 54
  59. TWO MONTHS LATER
  60. ONE YEAR LATER
  61. TWO YEARS LATER
  62. FOUR YEARS LATER
  63. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
  64. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  65. Also by John Birmingham
  66. ALSO BY JOHN BIRMINGHAM
  67. Copyright
  68. Cover

The first of her provisions she found in the third aisle. Five-gallon plastic bottles of water. The contents would taste foul after all this time, but water did not go off as long as the seal on the bottles remained unbroken. With no running water in the motel she’d chosen to lay up in tonight, she had no choice but to seek out potable supplies. Food was more of a challenge. On the journey to KC, they had hunted and trapped wherever possible, but occasionally they came across stores of food preserved well enough to use. Sofia knew what to look for, thanks to Trudi Jessup, who had schooled all of them in the shelf life of canned and dried groceries.

Into her backpack went half-a-dozen cans of corn, a tin of peaches, two packets of vacuum-sealed lentils and – the Lord Jesus be praised – one large canned Christmas cake. A real score. She checked the tins for dents and swelling and the packets of dried food for any sign of insect infestation. She would do a more thorough check once back in her room, but as an experienced scavenger, she was confident she’d just secured enough food and water for three days.

Once upon a time she would’ve thought nothing of walking the ten or twelve blocks back to her new hideout. A trip of maybe fifteen or twenty minutes. But returning from the market this night, she was heavily weighed down as she negotiated a treacherous passage through more streets overgrown with vegetation and blocked by wreckage and fallen trees. Advancing in short bursts of movement. Scurrying from cover to cover. Always watching and listening to avoid being discovered, Sofia took over two hours to return to the Economy Inn, a two-storey motel of brown bricks and weather-faded trim on the southern edge of Temple’s town centre. It was close enough for her to feel as though she was in some sort of contact with the federales, but far enough removed from their comings and goings that she didn’t have to remain in hiding every hour of the day.

Despite the chill of the night, she was sweating by the time she got home.

Home.

How sad that she should think of the Economy Inn as her home.