Chapter One

 

 

Eight Months Later

 

‘THE QUEEN WILL fix it,’ the old man said. ‘Ain’t nothing on the river she don’t handle.’

He poked at the contorted body of the stray cat he was roasting on his campfire, spat into the flames laced with burning plastic and singed fur, and offered a smile that proved his dinner was going to be hard to chew.

‘The alternative is to go it without permission,’ he continued, ‘but I don’t recommend it. Last I heard, The Fishermen were eating anyone who floated past without the Queen’s say so.’ He smiled again. ‘And don’t think they don’t have a taste for dark meat, they’ll put anything in their cooking pots.’

Grace squirmed, as much at the reference to her ethnicity as the thought of feeding cannibals. The world had ended and here was someone who thought it important to point out she was African American.

‘Talking of food,’ said the old man, lifting the hissing carcass from the fire, ‘I don’t mind sharing if you don’t mind keeping me company.’ That smile again. all purple gums and breath that made your eyes water. ‘I don’t mind a little dark meat either.’

Racist and willing to sleep with kids. What a great city this was.

‘I’m fifteen,’ she said.

He shrugged as if the information was meaningless to him. No doubt it was.

‘World’s moved on,’ he said, ‘nothing matters anymore.’

She left him to his meal, thankful that he was too weak to stop her.