“No cards, no rations,” the soldier interrupts her.

Nia wavers, and I reach out to steady her. “Sir, you don’t understand. We are all minors. There are fourteen of us left, and we’re hungry.”

Her words are met with murmuring from the people around. The girl in the line adjacent to us is staring from us to the soldier and back, her eyes hard. The man who left the line in front of us has crossed the street and glowers. Someone behind us tells us to stop holding up the distribution.

Another soldier jumps off the truck and walks toward us. She glances at her colleague. “Any trouble here?”

Nia is full on trembling now. “We don’t want to cause any trouble, we just want food. We want to find a way to make it through this too.”

The soldier looks down on both of us. Her voice holds an indifferent edge when she says, “This food is allocated to Sam’s Throne and the people here. If you want to claim rations, I suggest you contact the state officials or private company in charge of your care.”

“We have no working internet or phones,” Nia throws back. “How are we supposed to do that?”

“That is not my problem. Perhaps you can come into town and find assistance here.” The soldier gestures vaguely at the people around us, who are either staring or have taken a step or two back. The guy across the street is joined by another familiar face—Store Guy, gun and all. He’s talking and gesturing, and his face is turning a threatening shade of red. Wolves, the lot of them. I’m sure they’ll be dying to help us.

She turns on her heels toward the trucks, and the other soldier shoos us to the side.

“No card, no rations. Clear the line, please.”

My heart sinks, and my shoulders drop. Next to me, Nia’s breath hitches.

No cards, no rations.

We’re so hungry.

The soldier is resolute, and someone behind us grumbles for us to hurry, and we may be surrounded by more people than I can wrap my head around, but I’ve never felt so lonely and so forgotten before. I reach for Nia’s sleeve and pull her away, because it’s the only thing I can do. Because it won’t make a difference to them to see us crying.

That’s when Store Guy and the guy across the street take a step in our direction.

Without taking my eyes off them, I nudge Nia and sign, “Careful. They’re dangerous.”

I’ve barely finished the thought when Store Guy points at us. At me. “Thief!”

One of the veins at his temple throbs, and his neck bulges.

The voices and murmurs of the crowd around us become a tidal wave, and my breath catches.

“We gotta go!” Nia shouts. And we don’t hesitate for a moment longer. We run, while the other man shouts, “Someone stop her! Stop them both!”

I glance behind me to see that he’s grabbed his shotgun, but his eyes are darting between us and the soldiers who are making their way toward them. No one responds to his call, though everyone’s turned to look at what’s happening.