“I still do, but someone’s coming. Quick, get into the cellar and take Uncle Fred with you.” She grabbed the shotgun from its spot in the corner by the front door.

But Beth didn’t budge. With bright eyes, she asked, “Why are we hiding then? Maybe they’ve got news of other survivors. Maybe it’s a man.” She clasped her hands together and bounced a bit in excitement.

Fred snorted. “You’ve got less brains than most blondes, Bethie. What if it’s a scout for some gang looking for gals to sell? What if-”

Hannah cut off her uncle before he listed all the possibilities that could befall two girls in a lawless land-it tended to be lengthy. “Just get your ass downstairs now. I’m not taking any chances.”

“That’s the problem,” Beth grumbled as she grabbed the handles to Fred’s wheelchair. “We finally find someone alive, and we’re going to hide like rabbits in a burrow instead of befriending him.” Even as she complained, Beth wheeled their uncle down to the cellar using the rickety ramp they’d built for emergencies.

With the door shut behind them and the sounds of the motorcycle closer, Hannah cracked open the shotgun and made sure it held some casings before she snapped it shut. Sliding the pump forward, she chambered a shell and then stood behind the front door, resisting an urge to go on tiptoe and peer through the half-moon window.

I hate to say Beth is right, but what if whoever is coming is friendly? It would be nice to see other people again.

Or the person coming could be a psycho rapist who would hurt her and Beth before killing them all. Hell, it could even be the man she’d maimed, looking for revenge.

Safety lay in staying here, undiscovered. She wouldn’t chance the well-being of her family, no matter how lonely it got.