17 years old

His back ripples as he swings the ax, the metal splitting the old, dry wood with a thunderous crack. It’s hot today and the barren land provides no reprieve from the sun’s concentrated heat; few trees are left around here anymore. His skin has a light sheen of moisture, the effects of activity in sweltering weather, and watching him is my favorite pastime.

My fingers lightly drag along the hardened dirt as I uncross my legs, letting the blood flow back to my feet. I’ve been sitting here watching him for hours and yet, I could continue to do so for many more. I rub the dust between my thumb and forefinger, watching as the reddish-brown powder floats back to the ground. Daddy told me this place once had lush green grass and tall green trees, but it’s hard to believe.

Most people don’t venture out of their homes for extended periods of time and when they do, they wear a fabric covering over their heads and face. Daddy says the sun is too strong, and the air is still dangerous, but he’s slowly adapting to it. He did the same for me, therefore we can travel farther to hunt for meat.

It’s a two-day hike to the forest where we hunt for deer and bear. That’s where the long, thick grass grows, and a waterfall of fresh water sits perfectly in the center. We take those trips once a month to load up on supplies, and we try to be as fast as possible as to not run into other tribes we don’t know.

Daddy says two-hundred years ago, this place was called Los Angeles, and the very spot we live in used to be Beverly Hills, that’s how my name came about. He said it was filled with large homes, machines that would drive people around, and millions upon millions of people used to live here. Now our small town has about a hundred people residing in its tall walls, and it’s hard to imagine it any other way.

I’ve seen the crumbling foundations of these large homes, and the rusted metal frames of the machines, but I can’t imagine them looking like Daddy described. Although, I wish we had more people in our town.

The Third World War took out ninety percent of the world’s population using nuclear bombs, and now most of it looks like a wasteland, save for the few areas which were lucky enough not to be affected.

He hits the wood again and lets the ax drop to the ground, his hand firm around the wooden handle. His other hand drags along his forehead, gathering the droplets of sweat before they hit his light blue eyes. Then his thick, calloused fingers move upward and sink into his wavy, black hair, the temples lined with some gray.

“Bevie.” Those icy blues travel from my feet—agonizingly slow—all the way to my face. “Wanna run some wood in for Mama? She can get started on dinner.”

“Okay.” I stand, making sure to dip forward, letting him get an eyeful of my breasts. They really grew in these past few months, and I need him to see I’m no longer a little girl. I want him to start calling me Beverly.

Grabbing a few slabs in my hands, I feel his eyes on my ass as I exaggerate its sway all the way back to the front door of our cabin. Daddy just finished putting the second floor in this year, and I now have my own room. Not that I minded sharing a room with Mama and Daddy before, but it’s nice to be able to have more privacy.

“Mama,” I call out as I open the creaking wooden slat door. “Daddy says you can get started on dinner.” I throw the slabs on the floor beside our small iron-cast stove.

Mama comes out of our small bathroom, her long raven hair tied back, and her green eyes glowing.

Daddy says I’m Mama’s exact replica.

“How does venison stew sound?” She puts a cheery edge to her voice, but I can hear the strain laying just underneath.

“Boring.” My hand lands on my hip as I tip my head to the side. “Are you all right?”

“Of course.” Her head drops as she brushes by me, grabbing the wood to heat the oven.

Her skin is looking paler than usual, and her eyes carry heavy bags beneath their green depths. No, she’s not all right, but that’s her problem. Not mine.

He brings the heat of the sun inside with him, the warmth radiating off his skin and hitting my back. I can smell him, a mix of perspiration and musk, the scent uniquely his. I close my eyes, drawing in a deep breath, and holding it in my chest.

“Did I hear deer stew?” His rumbling voice draws my eyes open, and I find my Mama staring at me, her brows slightly crinkled in the center.

“The same thing we’ve been having most nights,” I grumble as I take a step into him, my back brushing his chest.

His hands land on my shoulders and his fingers squeeze, the calloused pads feeling rough against my smooth skin.

“Go clean up, Bev,” Mama says shortly, her face turning a crimson red.

Daddy’s hands linger as I step away, those coarse tips dragging along the nape of my neck, bringing goose bumps to the surface of my skin.

I turn on the tap at the kitchen sink, the water like ice as it runs over my hands.

“I need to head out tomorrow. It’s time to hunt and gather supplies.” Daddy hip checks me away from the sink so he can wash his hands in the icy cold water. “We need to restock before—”

“Right,” Mama cuts him off, her bright, green eyes staring into mine. “I’ll get our horses ready, and we can leave at first light.”

“I thought I’d bring Bevie this time,” Daddy says as he turns around to face us, his blue eyes penetrating outward from his dark olive skin. “She needs to learn how to gather resources for when she settles down with her own family.”

His statement brings me both elation and disappointment. I don’t want my own family, but I do want to be alone with him in the woods on a weeklong trip.

“Oh.” Mama looks at her hands wringing together in front of her. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Besides, I don’t think you should be doing anything—”

“You’re right, of course,” she cuts Daddy off and glances at me from the side of her eye. “I’ll be expecting a boar this time, too.”

“Is that right?” Daddy lunges forward and grabs her around the waist, dragging her into his body. She giggles and pretends to fight his hold, but we all know it’s a farce. Mama loves having Daddy’s sole attention.