She tugs at my hand. “Come on. We’ve got to keep going.”

By the time we turn onto the main street, the silence I’ve grown used to here has made way for a soft buzzing of voices, the occasional shout, and once, children laughing.

Nia starts at that, before she laughs too. “Wow, that’s different.”

“Everything is.” Everything is different, and I wish I could show Leah this. She’d like it. She’d appreciate that people still manage to find ways to live.

She’d appreciate it and wouldn’t have a clue what it means, because she never saw any of this. The mere thought of it hits me hard. Leah still lives in another world. She wouldn’t understand it.

Three trucks are set up at the parking lot near the town hall. In front of them, tables are covered in large boxes of food and whatever else is handed out here. Soldiers with guns guard both. They’re all wearing masks and face shields and gloves. This must be the protective gear the note mentioned.

People form long lines in front of the tables, but no one hands out parcels yet. I assume it’s because it’s nowhere near noon yet, but the lines are growing. One or two people stand close together, with masks and hungry expressions, then there’s a gap of a careful distance followed by people. And so on, until the line turns the corner.

I nudge Nia. “We should get in line.”

She nods, speechless. Her hand goes to her pocket, and she takes out a torn piece of paper. On it is the story we wrote, the one we rehearsed until we know it by heart. She’ll have to do the talking, but if it’s necessary, I will be able to prompt her.

When we get in line, the people in front of us turn and stare. An elderly Black lady with a big, plaid scarf around her shoulders and a mask to match nods at us, but the ginger-haired man behind her scowls. He clings to a plastic card the way Nia holds on to her speech.

He mutters something, but I strain not to hear it. This is nerve-racking enough without people like him making it worse.

“Granddad wasn’t completely right,” Leah told me once. “It isn’t just good people and wolves. There are also people who assume everyone else is a wolf, and that makes them dangerous too.”

Granddad thought we were wolves.

A teenage boy with light-brown skin and sandy hair gets in line behind us. He doesn’t even spare us a glance. He has a phone in his hands, and his thumb is rapidly moving across the screen.

When Nia notices it, her eyes widen. “Wonder if I could borrow that for a bit…”

I wince. “Probably not.”

“I know, I won’t ask. I don’t want to make a fuss, but… I would like to know how my family is doing.” She scrunches up her face, like she has so much more to say but doesn’t.