Generation M Read Online Free PDF Page B

ripped her hand from the backpack to wipe the drool from her lips.
    She thrust her hand back into the pack, grabbed the bag of rice and gobbled down the last morsels of her food supply. She marveled that her stomach cramps disappeared instantly.
    With new energy, she pushed onward, but soon the cramps were worse than ever.
    She picked her way among the carnival of scavengers to the river’s edge for a drink, hoping that filling her stomach with water would ease the pain. She brought the water to her mouth in a cupped hand and gagged when she swallowed. It was salty.
    Nearby, a large fish floated on its belly. She waded up to her waist into the water; careful to keep her pack high above the water, she pinched the tail between her fingers, and then pulled the fish onto the mud. She recognized it as a striped bass and guessed it weighed twenty pounds or more. They had caught stripers off the rocks at Castine Island. She poked its fleshy belly and lifted a gill. The fish was dead. She brought her nose close to the scales and sniffed. Rotting fish had a distinctive odor, but this fish didn’t smell rotten at all. An alarm suddenly sounded from deep within Abby, and she looked around warily, eyeing kids in her vicinity, potential competitors for her meal, but none of them seemed particularly interested in the fact that she was hovering over a large, dead fish.
    The fish presented as many problems as it solved. It could satisfy her hunger for days, and she could share it with Toby and Jonzy, but once it started to rot, it would be useless. She needed to clean and cook it soon.
    She wondered if she could scrape off the scales and slice open the belly with a sharp piece of glass. Broken glass littered the ground outside most buildings. But how would she cook the fish? She could strike a deal with someone who already had a fire going, offering a portion of it in return for them cooking it.
    She cradled the fish in her arms and began walking, but after a few steps, she realized it was too heavy and awkward to carry this way. She set the fish down, opened her pack, and then worked the pack over the fish’s head.
    Head first, only half the fish fit into the pack. She slung the pack on her back. With her arms free and the weight centered, she could take small steps.
    Most kids ignored her, but a few gawked. From the desperate look in their eyes, she thought they had the Pig and wanted her fish. She met the gaze of some, trying to show she was strong, that she would fight to keep her food. She lowered her eyes at those survivors she sensed might accept the challenge and trudged onward, desperately hoping they wouldn’t attack.
    As frightened as she was, she counted her blessings. For those infected with AHA-B, a fever spiked in the advanced stages of the illness. She could not imagine the burden of a soaring temperature and hallucinations on top of the savage hunger she was already experiencing.
    Abby stopped before a puddle. The salt from the river water she had swallowed burned the back of her parched throat. She went down on one knee and drank some of the brown water. It tasted good, so she drank more. Soon, she started coughing from the mud residue. Strangely, the grit coating her tongue and throat seemed to diminish her hunger pangs. She smiled, recalling how she had made mud pies as a little girl and served them to her dolls. Telling herself she had no time to reminisce, she took another mouthful and swished the water between her teeth to sift out the grit.
    When Abby stood, a cramp exploded in her right thigh and she tumbled backward. Grimacing, she worked her arms free of the backpack straps as the muscle in her leg knotted even tighter, radiating spasms of pain. She pounded her thigh with her fist until it softened. Afraid her leg would cramp again, she thought briefly about leaving the fish behind, but in her mind, the fish had become as important to her survival as the radio.
    She struggled to her feet, slung the pack over her