“You know this one’s kind of cute. Too bad it’s a filthy dirtbag alien,” Will calls out as he kicks away the carcass. We’re not actually sure if they are aliens, but it seems like a fitting category for them. I ignore him as I scan the area around us. I can almost see the approaching city through the tall, dried-up grass around us. We’ve tied a rope between our bodies to avoid getting separated in the sea of overgrown wheat. It’s a bad place to be for an ambush, and the rope limits our mobility, but it’s worth it despite Will’s arguing. I've seen too many movies to leave it behind. 

The past week, we’ve walked nonstop. But now, we are almost there. Each step brings us closer to Will’s little sister. We’ve spent years tracking down old friends or family who could still be alive. There's been no luck so far. We wanted to come for Marcy a long time ago, but she was on a road trip when the Glyphs arrived, and we’ve only been able to locate her recently. We found a postcard two months ago at Will’s aunt's house saying Marcy would be in this city for another two weeks before going abroad. A small address was scribbled across the margins. If she’s not here, then that’s it. We will officially have no one else to go looking for. For Will’s sake, she better be alive. 

I’m startled from my thoughts when Will’s hand wraps around my mouth to silence me and yanks me into his chest from behind. I’m about to elbow him in the mouth when my body tenses. I can’t help the growing grin under his palm as I stare out at the large prairie dogs before us. The growl of my stomach is almost loud enough to scare them off. We’ve just found our dinner. 

The warmth of the fire and the smell of roasting meat are almost enough to put me to sleep. After Will managed to successfully flick a knife into three prairie dogs’ skulls, we made our way to the edge of the city and took shelter on the first building we could find with easy roof access. The two of us always sleep on top of buildings instead of inside them. It started off as a safety mechanism since a lot of Glyphs can't climb or fly, but it’s melted into a tradition of sorts. I’ve grown fond of spending our nights under the stars. You don’t realize how much you're missing out on them until the world nearly ends, and with it the light pollution. 

“Is it ready?” Will asks for the tenth time in the last ten minutes. I can practically hear his stomach growl under his words. I spare him a quick, annoyed glance. “What? I’m just asking so we can put the fire out quickly. There’s a reason we don’t normally make one.”  His words are nothing more than taunts, but the truth of them makes me sit up a bit straighter with anxiety. He’s right, we don’t normally light a fire, but it’s been weeks since we’ve come across something meaty to eat, and I’d insisted it would be ok to light one just long enough to cook it. 

“Whatever, I’m going to go take a piss, unless you’d like to help me, that is?”  Unfortunately for me, I laugh at Will’s awful attempt at a joke and shoo him off with a middle finger. It seems our time together has destroyed my sense of humor, and I’m left alone, smiling at the fire.