“Look, what do you want?” I snapped.
Atticus reared his head back as though he’d been wounded. “Jesus! Tone. I was just going to say how important it is for the fairer s*x to be represented in any post-apocalyptic scenario. You know, women.” He leaned close to me, I have no idea why. “My boys call them tassels—f**k if I know. Something out of Williamsburg, I suppose. Like putting crayons in your beard, or whatever.” He stepped back to address us all. “All of which is just my way of saying—you have a home. A base. A place to hang your hat. And because of that, I’ve only got two questions.” He hefted the axe suddenly and decisively—before switching it to his other hand and touching it to the ground. “Where? And why, since you have your own turf, would you come prancing onto ours—a crime pun
