"Stop chewing on the metal buckle."
John ripped the leather belt out of Madison's hands. The former fashion model sobbed in the dark corner of the Grand Hotel lobby.
"There is still glue on the leather," Madison rasped. Her throat was raw and bleeding. "The glue has calories."
"You will break your remaining teeth," John warned her. He gripped his own sunken stomach.
Two brutal weeks had passed since the rescue helicopter abandoned them. Fourteen days of negative eighty degree temperatures and pitch black darkness had ruined them.
The social hierarchy of Brighthaven died the moment the aviation fuel traded hands for morning coffee.
The wealthy elites were now feral scavengers. They huddled together for shared body heat under ruined velvet curtains. Their expensive tailored suits hung
