Survival in the Shadow

The dust was the first thing that never left. It settled in the lungs, a gritty reminder of the day the world cracked open. Sarah coughed, a dry, rasping sound that echoed in the cramped confines of the repurposed grain silo. Outside, the sky was a perpetual bruised twilight, the sun a weak, diffused disc struggling to pierce the perpetual haze. It had been three months since the Sleeping Giant of Kansas had roared awake, and the world was a broken thing, gasping for breath.

Her daughter, Lily, a wisp of a girl with eyes too large for her gaunt face, stirred beside her. A low whimper escaped her lips. Sarah reached out, her fingers tracing the delicate bones of Lily’s cheek. Fever. Another one. The ash, clinging to everything, was a silent killer, a slow poison that crept into their bodies. They’d lost three people in the last week to the “ash lung,” their breath growing shallower with each passing day until it simply stopped.

“Mama?” Lily’s voice was a reedy whisper.