"Dad, I'm so hungry."
"When will the Convoy find a Supply Point?"
A girl covered in grime, with tangled, yellowing hair and a sallow face, spoke weakly to the man in his forties beside her.
The middle-aged man's face was just as sallow, and his long-neglected hair was matted into clumps.
Hearing his daughter, he patted her head, took half a piece of dry fish from his pocket, and said quietly, "Eat this. We should find a Supply Point soon."
"Then we'll have food."
The girl accepted the half piece of dried fish. Looking at her father's hunger-hollowed cheeks, she pressed her lips together, then broke the fish in half.
"Dad, I'm not that hungry yet. You should eat some too."
The middle-aged man stared at the dried fish his daughter offered him. After a moment of silence, he nodded, took it, and stuffed it into his mouth.
He chewed in big mouthfuls without caring whether there were bones in it, trying to replenish some of his energy.
This was the last of their food.
If they couldn't get more, they would most likely starve to death.
At that thought, the middle-aged man briefly stopped chewing, then resumed, his peripheral vision settling on someone else.
It was a man around his age, with a bag beside him.
He had seen that man put several pieces of dried fish inside.
They could hold out for today. If they still had no food tomorrow, he would have no choice but to take a desperate risk.
The Convoy forbade fighting without cause, but once they ran out of food, he couldn't worry about that anymore.
It didn't matter if he died, but his daughter was only seventeen. He knew they would die sooner or later in this apocalypse, but whatever killed them, it