Taste good?” Brenda asked as she dug into her own food. “Please. I’d push my own mom down the stairs to eat this stuff,” Thomas said. “I’d kill your mother for something fresh out of a garden. A nice salad.” “Guess my mom doesn’t have much of a chance if she’s ever standing between us and a grocery store.” “Guess not.

Brenda frowned, then focused on Thomas. “You’re—we’re—doing the right thing.”“I don’t think there is a right or wrong anymore,” Thomas said, hearing the numbness in his own voice. He desperately wanted sleep. “Only horrible and not-quite-so-horrible.