We need no one. We have no one.
The days are now. The night is soon.
We are the ones. We are the ones.
Miraculously, thankfully, the wailing ebbed. Tucking her child into her torn and ragged sweater, Angie cradled him in her arms, rocking him gently, and felt the baby slowly tire, its hunger beginning to weaken its spirit.
Laying Chaz on the bed, she packed her non-flammable nalcuril bag with the necessities of the day. Knife. Gun. Ammunition. Gilded Warding Compass. And the few rice cakes she had stolen from the neighbour yesterday afternoon as he was napping by the emptied pool in the courtyard.
"I'll take care of you," she sing-songed to Chaz, "Mommy will help you."
And with her bag over her right shoulder, and her baby on her left, she headed out to look for the food she and Chaz - her baby - so desperately needed.
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