If You are love or mercy or whatever Scripture tells us, and Your will is being done, You have failed us. You have failed me, and I will not forgive that either.

* * *

In the end, I sleep.

Eighteen

Grace

My anger is all-consuming. It darkens the edges of my vision, and it pounds in my ears. I thought we were safe. I didn’t think anyone would come to aid us, but I also didn’t think anyone would come to harm us. Let alone one of our own.

“You’re this close to breathing fire,” Sofia says from a few feet to my right. We’re half a mile away from Hope, off the path that leads up to the building. Khalil saw a figure run away in this direction, so we’re trying to find Josie’s tracks, but the wind is rushing through the trees, and rain clouds are gathering overhead.

I can’t laugh it off. I am this close to breathing fire. “She put all of us at risk,” I seethe. “I can’t believe she could be so selfish.”

“She’s scared,” Sofia mutters. “We all are.”

“And yet none of us have stolen food from each other.”

“Because we have enough to get by. And that counts for a whole lot.” Her words are soft and measured. She’s tired. I’ve seen it happen to others these last few days, as the idea settles in that this is it now, that we’re not going anywhere. Fear and anger get replaced by fatigue.

I need my anger to fuel me. Maybe Hunter was just trying to scare me when he said I’d be responsible for everyone, but that doesn’t matter anymore. I am. I am the one constantly counting how much food we have—and I don’t know how much we have left now. I’m running lists of the dead and the dying. I’m the person Isaiah comes to when the internet is gone again or when all he can find is news reports about rising death tolls and civil unrest and overflowing hospitals and mass graves.

We have to track Josie down. We need the food back she stole from us, because we have enough to get by but not for long. We need to take a stand to make sure nothing like this happens again. We need to—I need to make sure everyone survives.

Sofia kneels in the grass and runs her fingers over the muddy ground. She picks up something and smashes it between forefinger and thumb.

I scan the countryside and try to figure out where Josie might have gone. Toward the hills or the woods? Somewhere she can hide from us or the weather? Sofia and I will have to check our traps too, but we need to do that anyway.

“Are you certain you want to do this?” Sofia looks up at me with an unreadable expression on her face.

I let my rage burn hotter and brighter. “Yes, I’m sure.”

“We could let her have this,” she suggests. “It’s only a few loaves of bread, and in the end, it isn’t going to make a difference.”