Amy snuck into the bathroom in the cabin, not because she coveted the luxury of an indoor bathroom, but because she wanted to look at her reflection in the mirror over the sink.
She’d never been the pretty sister. Misha had been the beauty queen, with her fair complexion and her golden locks, but Amy had never cared. Or at least she had pretended to never care. Amy had garnered her own share of attention through sports. She’d been the jock of the family. Before s**t hit the fan she had played all of the sports, excelling in basketball, and soccer. Her long, lean body had been stronger, faster, more agile, and in the end, that had served her well.
Being a pageant winner got you killed. Being strong got you respect. Amy had quickly assimilated the survival skills necessary to thr
