They didn’t think she could hear them. They thought she was asleep.
But truthfully, Kenna could hardly close her eyes for longer than an hour or so without tossing and turning. Her bottle of pills hardly lasted three days, even with rationing. Now, she had nothing to soften the pain. What she wouldn’t give for a bottle of whiskey or vodka to take away the edge. While lying perfectly still, the injury throbbed and ached. But if she dared to move it? Or worse, did so in a manner that her ankle didn’t like? Despite maintaining the toughest resolve among them, Ken still ended up in tears.
And her medicine wasn’t the only thing they were running out of. The conversation, to which she listened intently, was about the remaining shares of food. What little they had left from the original stash—a
