When the Sun Goes Down

By Lindsey Bakken

In When the Sun Goes Down, the entire world has been taken out in an unspoken incident, except two small districts nestled inside a canyon, living exclusively from the rest of the world. Without closer investigation, one might consider them blessed for surviving such a disaster, but the people of the Poor District are thankful for nothing. Instead, they seek solitude and act cruelly to anyone who crosses their path. It seems that Allison Frey and her best friend, Maverick, are the only two who are able to see the good in things. And Ally is the only one who is remotely interested in their past. She wants nothing more than the opportunity to learn. If no one else is going to try to change things, she will have to do it on her own.
As an eerie answer to her deepest wish, a powerful man from the Rich District sets his sights on her while traveling through town on one of his secret trips, and he collects her to live with him in his mansion. Of course, Ally cannot turn down such an amazing shot at what she’s always wanted; especially considering the man is mysteriously handsome.
Leaving behind everyone she loves, she enters into a new life, one that’s better than her old one in extremely unfair ways. The rich people don’t have to fend off beast attacks and they live as if they know nothing of the Poor Districts struggles. As Ally adjusts to this district and a man who isn’t at all whom she’d thought, she finds that the knowledge she acquires is the real danger.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lindsey Bakken
• Release date: Nov 19, 2013
• ISBN: 9781311648044

Lindsey Bakken

Lindsey Bakken's current status is that of "Student" at the University of Minnesota. She's been writing since she learned the alphabet and is very excited to share her works. Lindsey loves to travel and wants to study abroad in London or Ireland. A few other things she loves are BOOKS, fireplaces, her job at the library, and people who don't take life so literally.

Book preview

Chapter One

The bells went off.

When I heard them, chills traveled up my spine. It’d only been two days since the last attack.

As I rushed home, I listened to their eerie, unsynchronized chorus. The uneven tolls of the bells sent terror throughout the place I not-so-proudly called home. The bells continued to shudder and echo through the town, the vibrations shaking everything. The shabby walls of wooden shops quivered as if they were afraid too, the weaker ones already beginning to crumble. I saw everyone fall apart in front of me, not just unstable shops, as they shoved people aside to get to safety. I knew I looked the same.

But we should’ve known how to handle this better by now. The bells shouldn’t have such an effect on us when we understood exactly what they warned about. Yet, every single time, the townspeople and I couldn’t help ourselves: we believed we would die. Nothing would ever prepare us for the moment we heard the bells. We ran, hoping we’d been warned in time and would make it home. Their awful rings turned us into animals, forgetting all else and focusing only on survival. We carried hope daily; we prayed that we would be safe, that when night fell we would be able to rest without worry. When the ear-shattering bells tolled, they stole our hope and replaced it with something much worse.

The tolling made the townspeople insane.

When the bells began their tolling, everyone would freeze at first, praying silently that the bells would stop ringing and the threat would be pronounced a mistake. If the bells continued to toll, every single person, ran to their homes and innumerable hovels. The less fortunate boarded up their windows and doors, praying it would be enough to save themselves. I always noticed. These responses were inevitable. Brief hope always soared. Then the determined fear and desire to survive replaced it. And I don’t include myself in that category because I am not entirely like them. I have a heart and soul.

I care what happens to the people around me.

On a typical day, the townspeople acted greedy and unfriendly, but the bells turned them into barely recognizable monsters. Sometimes I couldn’t believe it. I’d see an adult man shove a woman into the gutter in order to have a clearer, unobstructed running path.

People, naturally, were supposed to treat each other with kindness. I believed that. But every person in this town fought for themselves, knocking down their own children to get to safety. In time, I realized these people couldn’t be classified as normal. Their insides could be searched and found empty, without any anticipation of retribution. They didn’t posses hearts.

Because of the danger my own people created, I did what I always did; ducked my head low and stuck to the quiet main streets while I made my own mad dash to safety. The main streets weren’t crowded because that’s where the night beasts would come (more on them later). Therefore, I knew it was the fastest way to get to shelter.

Normally, if normal was even the appropriate word, I’d be running alongside my best friend, Maverick. Today, though, his dad had needed him to gather wood and I’d had to run to the market to find my mother a birthday present, which proved impossible and I’d been forced to return unsatisfied. I didn’t blame myself; not many pleasurable objects existed for people to buy in this world. People were too busy working to have fun and time couldn’t be wasted on trivial things such as happiness.

Adults made themselves useful however they desired—we had no one to tell us what we could and couldn’t do, which could be seen as a curse or a blessing—and went about their daily tasks silently. Some jobs included working with others, but no words passed from adult to adult, and certainly no jokes or smiles. The closest thing my own parents had to friends was Maverick’s parents and they rarely spoke a word. The main and pretty much only reason for alliances in this town was if both parties gained something from it. For my parents, it was that we got to stay in Maverick’s family shelter. His parents didn’t acquire much out of it, and we were blessed that they didn’t ask for anything. I didn’t have the slightest doubt that Maverick was the only reason my family was allowed the shelter; he constantly looked out for me.

The reason behind it didn’t much matter. Gratefulness filled me every time I thought of the shelter. Without it, we would be like the other families who crouched in their weak houses, praying a rabid beast didn’t break in. Only, we would be worse, because out of all the struggling families, mine wasn’t doing very hot. And not doing very hot in a town that was full of failure, well, it just wasn’t good. It made the odds not go in our favor.

Still, I counted my blessings because I knew what it would be like outside the shelter. Mothers were ripped to pieces while their children cried in utter disbelief and horror. I’d heard women shriek and could almost see them in my mind, being slaughtered in front of their families, who cowered behind them, wailing as they awaited their own certain deaths. In my world, carefree didn’t exist, it wasn’t in the vocabulary. Words like hatred, misery, and torture made up our dictionary. The things that young kids witnessed as soon as they were old enough to leave their front door brought me physical pain. The world was such an awful place and no one could shield them from it.

An enjoyable childhood was unheard of. If you could walk, you could work. If you could work, you were an adult. Congratulations. Have a nice life full of pain and fear. No one treated them any easier or saw them as any different. I, at age seventeen, had been sneered at and kicked and treated as an adult since I was four. Being an adult to these people just meant they didn’t have to put in an ounce of effort as far as anyone else’s wellbeing was concerned. It eased their minds to call a four year old an adult, so they didn’t feel like they were verbally or physically abusing a child.

Bursting off the main street and taking the small dirt road to my house, I exhaled a breath that I’d restrained longer than intended. I allowed air to fill my lungs as I shook my arms out. The fear had snuck into my veins unwillingly, though I knew I’d make it in time because I was never late. Maverick usually kept my focus, but this time I’d done it myself.

I loosened up and sprinted the final distance to the metal shelter sitting outside Maverick’s house. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught the movement of my parents running from the opposite direction. My father’s arm rested across my mother’s shoulders as she pulled him along. It appeared my dad had a limp; probably from work. He constantly pushed himself too hard. Hobbling along, I thought to myself how fragile he looked. He was old for a father, much older than Maverick’s, and the aging process hadn’t been kind to him. I worried about him constantly. Life had been rough on him. A man his age should’ve been retiring, but he had to take care of his young wife and daughter.

The shelter door creaked open at the sound of my footsteps—by now, our families had memorized each other’s gaits, the amount of time between footfalls and how gently we trod the ground. Maverick stood behind the door, waiting for me with a sad smile. We paused until my parents reached us. Then we all went inside and Maverick pulled the metal door shut, locking us into darkness and safety.

Silence followed as we collected our breaths, letting relief flow through our bodies.

Anyone reading this sad account of events would probably start wondering now when the good stuff would happen, and rightfully so, but this was as happy as it got. This moment when people were certain they would make it another day. I waited for my eyes to adjust to the pitch dark. It took awhile, but I could feel the ease of tension as my eyes worked to see my surroundings. My father breathed next to me, his frail arm rubbing against mine. He sounded exhausted.

Which reminded me, Dad, what happened? You were limping.

He shifted his weight next to me and spoke in a raspy voice, one that was clearly making an effort to sound nonchalant. I just pulled a muscle gathering the vegetables. Nothing you need to worry about.

He spoke the words so easily that I almost believed them. I wanted to, really. I wanted to more than anything. But I couldn’t. I hated that he had to work to support my mom and I. We’d bring his downfall. And I knew my father too well; I knew he’d never admit to being weak or sick or injured. A man’s pride was not to be taken lightly or be messed with.

My mom’s predictable, monotone voice responded to him, You should see a doctor. The way she said it, she could’ve been talking about the dirt in her garden. Sometimes, I couldn’t stand her. Too much, she acted like the other townspeople. My dad at least tried to be humane.

Their boring, loveless conversation dragged on, and as my eyes started to adjust finally I saw a tall, dark shape in the corner, built in a way that could place anywhere. I made my way over to Maverick. His arms enclosed me and I smelled his familiar scent, a mix of apples—his favorite food—and nature. Maverick didn’t smell like the bad kind of nature either; he smelled just right. I rubbed his arm and leaned into him. He put a reassuring hand on my shoulder and held me tight.

A mental list clouded my vision, of all I needed to be thankful for. I couldn’t let these attacks get me down when I had the best friend in the world by my side. With him, I could handle anything.

Everyone I loved stood around me in the shelter, their vague outlines comforting me. I turned to them. As usual, they seemed dismal. I thanked Maverick’s parents again for letting us stay with them, seeing their heads bob dismissively in detached nods. I even gave Maverick’s cranky little brother, Devin, a goodhearted high-five, though he smacked my head instead.

His father, George, built buildings for a living. Town builders trumped my own father’s job; he sold vegetables. George also received more benefits than my dad; like this shelter. I think it hurt my dad’s pride when we accepted help from Maverick’s family. People didn’t like to help other people or accept help from them, so it was understood between our parents that they wouldn’t speak of it. My dad knew what was best for us and he would do anything to keep us safe, which was more than I could say for many fathers.

We were never safe at night, but we didn’t always have to come dashing over. Every night, terrible smaller insect-like pests and dog-sized tormenters entered the town, sulking around without purpose. They couldn’t hurt anyone unless a person left their house; they weren’t strong enough to break through doors or windows like these other beasts. Still, being confined every night made for a pretty regulated life. It sure didn’t help ease the townspeople’s cruelty.

Then there were nights like tonight when the big animals came out howling. Their screams filled the air. Few had seen them and lived to tell what they resembled. It’s rumored one beast was a dog brutally beaten and mixed with a cat. Another had a long, deadly beak but the body of a donkey. It was my deepest wish to never find out the validity of these descriptions.

The metal walls were solid, no doubt, but they didn’t keep all the sound out. I could hear beasts travel by and nearby people who would shortly be losing their lives. Each attack, a few unfortunate people wouldn’t make it back in time, probably risking their lives to finish something at work or beaten down by the mob of people and wouldn’t have had time to recover and get home. I wondered what their lives had been like and what stories they could’ve shared about themselves. Then I felt remorseful because chances were they wouldn’t be missed.

I shuddered as a man screamed bloody murder, he would receive no help. Neither would the others we heard shrieking that night. To be fair, there wasn’t anything we could do to help, but it must be awful to die alone. I hoped I’d never find out.

See, I could have it worse, my dad said gruffly, still in conversation with my mother. I’d completely tuned them out and had no idea what conclusion they’d reached with his leg.

Whatever, she replied. I could practically feel the boringness and disinterest ooze off of her. I shook my head to stop the negative thoughts from coming. Sometimes, they were hard to stop, but I wanted to be the better person. I wanted to be different than everyone in town.

After awhile, the sounds of death stopped. No one dared to step outside to see if it was over, the beasts could still be out there searching for prey. We settled down for the night instead.

Maverick put his blanket on the cold metal floor. Time hadn’t allowed me to grab one from home, so he shared his with me. We waited until we could hear our parents softly breathing, his dad snoring, before we shared a whispered conversation.

I will never get used to hearing people suffer, I said, crawling onto the blanket. It did little to mask the hard, cool ground.

Maverick tugged on the thin sheet underneath us. Save some room for me. I don’t need to be afraid of the beasts if I’m going to freeze to death.

That’s not funny, Mav, I replied, though it did take away the edge of dread I’d been feeling. Maverick and I had a way of lifting each other up. Since happiness didn’t exist in our world, the only way we could ensure we didn’t become like everyone else was to not let the other slip. Most of the time, we were both in good spirits. We had to be. There was no other option, unless we wanted to fall into the despair of the rest of the town. This far, their misery hadn’t done them any favors. I liked to think Maverick and I led more enjoyable lives than them, if such a thing was possible. Who do you think that last man was? His scream sounded familiar.

I donno, Ally, but he didn’t sound too thrilled.

The up side with Maverick was that he could make any conversation or aspect of life seem less scary or important. The down side with Maverick was the same.

No, I suppose he didn’t. I stifled a yawn. Don’t you want to know more about those animals? I mean, no one tries to find answers to anything. Maybe all they want is food… I stopped midsentence, realizing too late how stupid of a comment I’d made.

Maverick laughed. Yes, it’s pretty safe to say that they want food. Any other observations you want to share?

I turned away from Maverick. I possessed too many thoughts that I couldn’t find words for. And I didn’t want to try if he would only make fun of me.

I yearned for the opportunity of knowledge. I knew the history lessons, passed down from generation to generation, but the simple story wasn’t enough to stop me from wanting more. All they said was that a terrible thing called the Haze wiped out the world, but that we’d been living in the canyon to escape the rest of the world, and had somehow survived. The story did little to satisfy my appetite.

I wouldn’t even be choosy; to learn simple mathematics or English concepts would be more than enough. The only school was in the Rich District though. Not only were we blocked off from the rich people by an enormous stone wall, but my parents would never be able to afford it. And I wouldn’t burden them with my passionate yearning to learn when I knew they could do nothing about it.

What’s knowledge good for if you can’t change the way things are? Maverick offered, breaking the long silence.

I want to be the one that changes things.

That got him to be quiet. I figured he was letting my words soak in. Usually we had honest, open talks on attack nights. Neither of us said goodnight, we just let words come out until one of us said something worthy enough for our minds to fall asleep to.

My last comment soothed him to sleep, but I stayed up the rest of the night. A pang in my heart came when my mind drifted to my parents. Mother was young, but already developing worry lines to match the older ladies in town. She hadn’t even seemed to register her birthday today, though I knew she would have denied a celebration anyway because she didn’t enjoy getting older. She also didn’t enjoy having fun or smiling, so a party would’ve been difficult. My father’s bald head and thin body made it clear to anyone who looked that he was fragile, nearly breakable just by the touch. I loved them as a girl should love her parents.

It pained me that as hard as my mom tried her smile never lit up her eyes they way it did for a happy woman and my father stressed over his vegetables more than his own health. The crops were unpredictable, but we needed them. The vegetables brought us our sole income. Money could be credited as the only thing keeping us alive, but there were other vegetable sellers my dad had to compete against as well and that didn’t help matters. He never seemed satisfied, something always went wrong. I tried to make cheery comments or jokes when I occupied his company. Sometimes it worked. As dismal as he was in his older age and struggles, a bright glow in his eyes could seldom be seen. A genuine happiness that I liked to think came out around me.

I knew that’s where I got my disposition. As a young man, I bet he’d found the bright side in any nasty situation and acted just like me, so it completely crushed me that now my parents appeared like all the other unfriendly, unhappy townspeople, but I knew that they had good hearts. They were just worn down. Well, my father was worn down; I didn’t know about my mother’s excuse. Perhaps marriage to an older man didn’t seem so romantic when his joints and muscles got weak and she could never be sure that she’d be able to make us supper at night.

I shared the pain for my parents with feelings for Maverick’s family. They were by no means rich, though they always had food on the table and in this town it meant they were rich. They didn’t have to worry about starving or finding money to fix the house when beasts tore through. However, that didn’t make them content. Silver strands laid claim as hair on both his mother’s and father’s heads. His eleven-year-old brother wore a crabby, mean scowl that matched his unwelcoming personality. Already beaten down by the world but strong enough to fight back. He scared me some days. The fire in him seemed unable to be detained. Devin hated that Maverick and I attempted happiness. He fed off our positive energy. Whenever Maverick and I shared a happy moment, Devin had a dark cloud over his head, waiting to release a storm on us.

Maverick himself was a breath of fresh air. He had this unending air of confidence and contentment. His messy brown hair hung at an awkward length that nearly covered his eyes but was too short to pull back. I loved to rustle and mess around with it. His playful brown eyes poked out under the strands intriguingly, eyes that couldn’t hold a serious emotion if his life depended on it. I’d have to say his eyes were his best quality; they had a permanent twinkle to them. One that my own father couldn’t keep.

In this world, it was always one thing or another. Seldom did life go the way we wanted it to. If strange illnesses weren’t taking out various citizens, then water was running low or the animals were attacking.

Weakness made you good as dead, a free meal to the beasts. Everyone felt weary or depressed, most often both. Yet no one spoke of their misfortune. Amazingly, the townspeople didn’t question things. They accepted the situation for what it was. I wondered if they were scared to find out why we had to live this way. They didn’t mention the horrible aspects of life or how miserable they must be. Instead, the people worked harder. They depended on one another for various things, though few would openly admit it. At the end of the day, everyone looked out for themselves. And again, no one received anything without having something to offer in return. I’m just trying to justify their actions, to shed light into their wretched personalities. Yet I’m coming up blank.

And take my parents, they never even laughed together. They didn’t share any secrets or hug each other when my dad got home from work. I knew that the sole reason for their marriage was survival. It was dangerous to be a single male or female. Without a family, one would be alone. The husband provided and protected, while the wife cared for him and the house. If they loved each other, they certainly didn’t show it.

What sort of a town lacked love?

Chapter Two

My dreams taunted me like an unrelenting childhood bully. Whenever I slept, my mind drifted to scenarios of leaving the village. If such a world existed where I’d have had someplace to go, I would’ve deserted my life here without regret. Well, okay, maybe I’d have to give it a little more thought, because my parents needed me. Together, they cared about very little, but they relied on my reassuring personality to lift them up, even if they didn’t always seem too appreciative.

Maverick held responsibility for the other reason why I wouldn’t be able to abandon the Poor District. If I asked him, I knew he’d be unable to leave with me. He and George worked hard to build Mav a promising future, which I’d never jeopardize. Joy spilled out of me just thinking about all the possibilities life could offer him; to have a good career like building meant one had Lady Luck on their side. But me, I’d care for the house and make sure my husband went to bed satisfied. That’s what my mother did and I saw no other fate approaching me. I’d been cheated out of a decent life—I allowed myself a few brief moments to complain. I wanted to be good for more than a man, no matter what the townspeople thought. Besides, they hated me no matter what I did and I doubted they’d decide to love me later in life. I wanted a career to call my own.

Some days, my surroundings boxed in on me, daring me to try and find an escape route. More and more lately, I’d been giving into the temptation, entertaining my mind with thoughts of departure. We lived deep in the canyon, but I romanticized what I’d find if I ventured further into the canyon or climbed to the very top. Last week I’d even went so far as to put on the better of my two pairs of shoes, preparing myself for the trek to the surface. Just before I started the hike though, I chickened out. The disappointment of finding nothing would’ve been too much for me to handle. This way, I could hold on to my dreams.

These thoughts welcomed me as I awoke.

The metal door hung open enticingly, letting light explode into the room. I got up quickly before the hot metal could burn me as I took in the shelter. Not for the first time, I remembered how small and plain of a space the shelter was. At night, everything seemed pleasant and beautiful because while we were in it, I cherished safety so much that I didn’t realize how harsh it really appeared. The walls, sleek metal with no portraits hung, didn’t come off as welcoming and the only decoration in the room consisted of Maverick’s blanket.

The room continued to collect heat, shaking me from my observations as I headed out. I stretched my back, listening to the pathetic cracks it produced, and made my way to find the others.

I usually woke up last, which explained why no worries festered in me when no one could be found in Maverick’s real house. Most likely, they’d already begun their day.

Then my heart stopped.

Across the street stood, or should I say stooped, my house. It had been destroyed by the vicious creatures of the night, which was putting it kindly. That’s the only way I could think of to describe the front of the small shack I lived in. Out of the four walls in my family’s possessions, we now owned three. In place of the fourth sat a pile of splinters and pieces of glass. Non-repairable. Beside it, my mom crumbled on her knees and hacked away vengefully at her garden. It appeared we wouldn’t have many flowers this year, but that didn’t matter if we didn’t have a home to protect us at night.

From across the road, I spotted Maverick and his dad studying the damage, stricken looks on their faces—on one of their faces, I should say. Maverick appeared to be devastated for my loss, while his dad seemed to view it simply as another project. My welfare didn’t matter to George. As far as he was concerned, he let me come into his shelter during bad attacks and what more could he do?

He wasn’t wrong, George. My family couldn’t rely on handouts. And as I walked over to meet them, I understood that we wouldn’t be receiving any.

Lasting one night without solid walls would be a feat of God. No one dared to be left exposed at night. And we’d never hear from the ones who did. We’d never see them again. The deadly, smaller insects and dog-sized beasts running amuck gave people all the motivation to protect themselves, but not each other. Mav’s family owned a decent-sized home, considering where we lived, yet the room couldn’t be spared for three extra people.

You’re screwed.

I hadn’t heard the brat come up behind me, but Devin stood off to my left, in his doorway. He patted the walls next to him. You’re going to wish you had some of these tonight. It was nice knowing you, but I will so enjoy seeing Mav fall to pieces when you’re dog food.

Fighting the urge to punch the kid, I crossed the street. Although I didn’t want to hear the horror of my situation confirmed, it was my house and my life that’d been newly put in harm’s way, and I needed to be informed.

George saw me first. I think he tried to show me sympathy, but his face twisted in an ugly way that just looked painful, so I studied his gray stands of hair, trying to count how many set up camp on his head. People in town didn’t have sympathy as an emotion, so I didn’t hold it against him. Then Maverick noticed me standing there and engulfed me in a long hug before I could read his face. He’d probably done that on purpose, he knew how well I could judge a situation by the amount of humor in his eyes.

Jeez guys. I pushed him away. I’m not dead yet. Can you fix it?

Whatever came by last night did some real damage here. The bit of remaining wall needs to be torn down and completely rebuilt from scratch, George said mechanically. He worked with these things after every attack. This wasn’t his first pony ride.

So, this is what you do. You fix people’s homes. I accused George. Reluctantly, I focused on Maverick. His eyes refused to meet mine and when they did, he looked like he wanted to cry, something that I’d only seen him do once or twice in the whole time I’d known him. I demanded, Why are you looking at me like that?

George took a deep breath. A lot of other houses were harmed last night. You know how it goes. To be frank, your father doesn’t have enough value to get anyone to help. The men will be taking care of the homes of the more wealthy. I’m sure you can understand that, Allison.

I could understand. I understood all too well. People cared only about themselves. The people with more to trade would get more help. Families like mine? Our lives weren’t worth the resources it would take to keep us safe. Tonight, while we cowered in our home, willing the creatures not to find us, no one would invite us to stay with them. When we cried out for help it would not come. And tomorrow, we’d rely on our blood and bones to prove our former existence, making a nice snack for the innocent daytime dogs.

The Poor District did have a few normal animals to call their own that ran around during the day, not that anyone wanted them. Most people avoided them like the plague. I, on the other hand, played with the dogs and hummed along with the birds. They held no responsibility or blame for the animals that harmed us during the night. They made better company than people too; I’d found them to be very nonjudgmental and great listeners.

To live in the rich district, that would fix everything. I’d bet they lived free lives, never having to deal with beastly attacks to damper their rich-people parties and schools. I could see them now, sitting in their ungodly-sized houses and watching the rest of us flounder around. I wondered every day what lay behind those huge walls, how they could know what was happening to us but live on like everything was perfect. They lived their easy sheltered lives, those rich people did. And in a way that made them just like the common poor people: they only cared about themselves.

The sky seemed cloudier than normal, the sun refusing to make an appearance. It was only appropriate, matching my solemn mood. I couldn’t help but wonder why bad things happened to good people.

You can stay with us tonight, of course, Maverick offered, rubbing my arm and receiving a glare from George.

Son, be real. One night, sure. But we cannot house them for months. That’s what it will take to fix this. He turned to me apologetically. Letting you stay with us will only delay the inevitable.

Father! Mav protested, genuinely surprised.

You are not the man of the house. We cannot afford guests for that long! I am truly sorry, but we must look out for ourselves.

No surprise there either. As much as his parents liked to act like they were on our side, I knew they weren’t. Maverick might be genuine, but his parents only played along, allowing my family to join them as long as it didn’t bring them any hassle. They wouldn’t put themselves in jeopardy to save my family. No, Maverick was the one who cared.

It’s only one night, Maverick pointed out.

One night turns to one week. I know how you kids are. End of discussion. George gave the destroyed wall one last scrutinizing glance before wiping his hands on his pants. I’ve got to go; some of us actually do work.

The second he was gone Maverick took an extreme interest in the wall. At first I thought his builder senses were tingling, but after a few minutes I realized he was avoiding my gaze. I’m so sorry, Ally, he whispered. This isn’t fair. A tear began to form in his left eyes. I could see its shiny raindrop qualities getting ready to spill over.

I swiped it away the second it let loose, and I spoke softly, Hey, it’s no biggie. Besides, that’s not how this friendship works. We lift each other up. So what the heck are you doing pulling that sad stuff on me? I’ll be fine. I grabbed his hand with such intensity his head shot up, surprised. He believed my words, and I had to as well. Seriously, it can’t take that long to fix a wall. We can just put a blanket up. Those animals probably aren’t the smartest.

Maverick’s face lit up. We are the least intelligent people in the world! You can sleep in our shelter.

I felt myself grinning ear-to-ear. Right in front of our eyes sat an obvious solution. I thanked whatever angel must be looking over me; he must’ve been rewarding me for not losing hope.

Not being able to stop myself, I jumped in the air, adding a classy fist pump, and then ran to my mother to share the good news. She dropped her garden spade and looked at me like I was a million bucks. Then she gave Maverick the most heartfelt hug I almost cried. After that, she ordered me to go to Mr. Mercer’s to get apples. The orders I took with appreciation. She was giving us (well me, Maverick just tagged along most days) our normal errands. Because now there was a cause again, now we would be alive to eat the apples.

Maverick and I walked the dusty stone streets, grinning ear to ear. People stared at us with contempt, no doubt wondering what we were so happy about and why we thought we had any right to laugh in public. To others, to be joyous because of a friendship made absolutely no sense. I could see them mentally scratching their heads and wondering who the heck we thought we were. Those around us walked mostly alone. The few who traveled in pairs would never allow themselves to be caught talking or, dare I even say it, telling jokes.

Walking through the town, with dust blowing in the air and crazy eyes watching us with contempt, it made for a morbid trip. I usually tried to block them out, but today I wanted to soak in what it meant to be alive. I’d intended to give the townspeople a second look since I was so grateful to be alive, but I regretted the decision now as a man stepped on my toe and then spit on the ground next to my right shoe. Maverick grabbed my arm and pulled me away, keeping me from trouble.

I waved at the cloth seller, getting a snide look in response. If anyone had reason to be rude today, the rights had been sold to me. What did anyone else possibly have to complain about?

The people in town walked either briskly, hurrying to get home and be by themselves, or slowly, too depressed to get where they needed to go. Varying degrees of motivation hung in the air, separating the lazy people from those who got things accomplished. People like Maverick’s dad didn’t waste any time, but people like my mother flounced around all day, sending me to do her errands. For a bunch of wanna-be-survivors, some had a strange way of showing it.

Around us, wooden shop signs sighed in defeat, drooping as if carrying an impossible burden. Sadly, some of these shops had just been newly repaired and they still looked ready to crumble. Store keepers studied their shops with unhidden resentment. Many tried unsuccessfully to fix their worthless shops on their own and lost them time and time again to the attacks. Hiring builders cost money or valuables. Yet after beast attacks, it was often the only way to get anything back to the way it used to be.

So what’s on the agenda today? Maverick chirped, ignoring a man that hit him with a wheelbarrow. His mild temper never ceased to amaze