THE WEATHER HAD TURNED CHILLY, ALMOST COLD. CALEB AND Luke had both grown over the past few weeks, but in Caleb’s case, the change was embarrassing. His pants were an inch too short and getting tight around his thighs. If he didn’t replace them soon, he’d be splitting out of them. He and Luke already wore jackets from the common clothing stockpile that his mom had organized to take care of this very problem—kids who grew in an era when there weren’t any clothing stores anymore.

A few of the neighbors had fired up sewing machines powered by whatever gas was left in their generators to make coats for people, so that would help with the cold weather. Townies were expected to donate their used clothes as their own kids outgrew them. Soon, Caleb figured, he’d be donating what he was wearing now.

Of all the sucky changes that this damn war had brought, the hardest adjustment was to be without electricity. With the nights so dark—and with the standing orders to preserve any form of energy, from batteries to kerosene—it was goddamn scary to get up in the middle of the night and feel your way to the bathroom. In St. Thomas’s, he had to walk past ten sleeping people just to get to the bathroom. Assuming you hit your target—so far, he hadn’t missed—then you had to feel your way to the water bucket to fill the tank and flush.

All in all, it was easier to use God’s toilet: the ground outside.

But that was all in the past or saved for later. Right now was all about hunting rabbits. There were many elements of hunting that Caleb didn’t like very much, chief among them the dressing and skinning. It was just gross, and it made your hands slimy and stinky. He felt the same way about fishing, for that matter. But without enduring the bad parts, you’d never get to the meat, and there was nothing like freshly killed game. Pretty much any game, really, but rabbit had a special place on his palate.

His mission today was to bag as many rabbits as he and Luke could carry. More was better because they’d only be able to keep half of what they killed. The other half would go to the food pantry, where people who had no idea how to fend for themselves lived off the work of others.

There was talk around town of protests and shit if the flow of people wasn’t somehow cut off. Mostly, they blamed his mom, whom they’d started to call Queen Victoria when she wasn’t listening. Another popular rumor was that Joe McCrea and Mom were doing it. If that were the case, then they were very damned secretive about it.

Oh, and that bed his mom had promised Luke? Total bullshit. Never happened.