Corinna Crawford
If someone had told me that humans would be reduced to hiding in the sewers a year ago, I would’ve laughed at them. The city of Atlanta no longer resembles the peaceful haven I grew up in. I don’t recognize this place. This Monday should not be different from any other day, yet it was. A sinking feeling deep in the pit of my gut, made me lean my head in the crook of my elbow. I couldn’t shake the sick feeling that something bad was about to happen.
My nose tickled with the scent of wildflowers and I turned to see Lily, my sister. She’s underneath dad, huddled against the wall watching him intently placing his knives on him.
“Why are you looking out there like you’ve never seen the city before?” asked Lily.
Forcing myself from the opening in the concrete, I move toward
