Bonus Chapter

The sound of gunfire wakes me up from a horrid nightmare early in the morning. When I slowly open my eyes, I'm met by the same depressing view I've seen every morning for a while now: thin, dirty cots placed around the room with thin, dirty young woman lying on those cots. They all stare at the boarded up window in wide-eyed terror as the gunfire continues, but the sound doesn't bother me like it does some of the others.

The guns go off at all times of the day, and we're used to it by now. More than seven months of death, constant fear, destruction, and hopelessness is enough to make anyone hard and insensitive. So even though the guns are loud and I can hear whimpering from my younger bunkmates, I don't really care enough to go reach out and comfort them. They should be used to the fear and gunfire by now.

I dress for the day in mostly clean jeans and t-shirt-they're as clean as a washboard and hand scrubbing with very little laundry detergent can make them-and then I head out into t