Donna_Sheldon

In a post-apocalyptic world, you'll find four main types of people. Those who fight with all their might "the hunters." The ones who leech and exploit others "the pests." The predators, who see everyone as prey. And lastly, we have "the survivors," the resilient ones who never give up.

Everyone often fits into one category, but it's hard to determine which one Maya falls into. She's not exactly a fighter, considering leaving her room was a chore even before the apocalypse. A predator? No way—she's always been a pushover.

You might think she's a survivor, but that's laughable. She'd rather die from starvation than resort to scavenging. So, how should we categorize her? leeche? Nope.

Perhaps a new category is needed: "The Lost"—those struggling to find their place in a shattered world."

THE LOST : After The End

I sit up straighter than I have in days as a tiny sliver of hope flickers through me. My bladder, which has been holding on for dear life, suddenly does a gleeful little dance. Unfortunately, that dance is more like a painful twist, reminding me how close I am to bursting.

"One at a time," Jay says, his voice sharp and dripping with authority. He pulls a gun from behind his back and waves it around like he's auditioning for a low-budget action movie. "No tricks, Maya, like last time, or I'll shove this pistol down your throat and watch you paint my walls red."

He grins, baring teeth that are surprisingly white for someone so utterly vile. "Don't want you doing your business all over my floor. Smells bad and takes me out of the moment, you know?"

CHAPTER 71