The 5th Wave

Chapter 7

AROUND NOON on my mission to keep my promise, I stop for a water break and a Slim Jim. Every time I eat a Slim Jim or a can of sardines or anything prepackaged, I think, Well, there's one less of that in the world. Whittling away the evidence of our having been here one bite at a time.

One of these days, I've decided, I'm going to work up the nerve to catch a chicken and wring its delicious neck. I would kill for a cheeseburger. Honestly. If I stumbled across someone eating a cheeseburger, I would kill them for it.

There are plenty of cows around. I could shoot one and carve it up with my bowie knife. I'm pretty sure I'd have no problem slaughtering a cow. The hard part would be cooking it. Having a fire, even in daylight, was the surest way to invite them to the cookout.

A shadow shoots across the grass a dozen yards in front of me. I jerk my head back, knocking it hard against the side of a Honda Civic I was leaning against while I enjoyed my snack. It wasn't a drone. It was a bird, a seagull of all things, skimming along with barely a flick of its outstretched wings. A shiver of revulsion goes down my spine. I hate birds. I didn't before the Arrival. I didn't after the 1st Wave. I didn't after the 2nd Wave, which really didn't affect me that much.

But after the 3rd Wave, I hated them. It wasn't their fault, I knew that. It was like a man in front of a firing squad hating the bullets, but I couldn't help it.

Birds suck.