Book 1: At the Edge of Misery
Cristine Daya Gerrard, a young residency doctor in the apocalypse must mend the pieces with her broken and estranged family, while fighting for her place in a community that doesn't accept her. One man in particular doe...
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It's been two days since Cristine delivered the news to the majority of the Ranchers and of course her father asked her to lay low and keep the answers to a minimum. He held her hand in a soothing manner, hands rough and calloused, but the grip was firm and manifested the worry.
"Tensions are high and people need to process everything." Cristine shook her head no, and pulled her hand out of his. Her father's eyes were glazed and he looked sluggish so early in the morning, as if he had a bad night of sleep. According to Hailey, he and the rest of the Founding Fathers had a meeting together early in the morning.
"You always talk as if I manage how the people here react to me. I got hounded at night, had a bullet through my leg on my first day, found my belongings gone or ruines. And recently had to fight a dead that was deliberately brought to my room." Cristine's leg bounced up while listing all the type of harassment she had to endure. Even now, people steered clear from her and the looks she received were suspicious.
Her voice was lower now, more controlled, but still seething with ire. "This isn't a good place daddy... not for me. I'm tired of biting my tongue, tired of working my ass off to earn my keep like everyone else and still get shit on for it. You see how everyone looks at me- how your friends look at me." For a moment Cristine wanted to ask her father why he was in this place anyway? It wasn't good for her, he knew this but he still stayed in spite of it all. Walls, weapons, food, safety and all that were plausible reasons. But why wasn't it enough for him that her well-being came first?
She'd wonder about that these past days, even now when she told him everything she had to endure he didn't say much. He rather avoid those topics, tell her to get right with it. Cristine shook her head and leaned back in the chair and mused. "Nothing I say or do will ever make them care." Her father was quiet and seemed to listen to her for once instead of countering her frustrations with naive advice.
Cristine's eyes went glossy with anger and there was tone of finality in her words. "You don't care."
James paled and out of the blue slammed his fist on the table, hard enough to make the wood crack and send a splinter of pain up his arm. The outburst visibly started Cristine and she blinked at her father with wide eyes and gaped at him with disbelief.
James ran his hand through his full white hairs three times in quick succession and fixed his eldest daughter a stare that could have frozen the lake. He snarled more than spoke. "There isn't anything better than this place and you criticism is getting on my nerves! You don't think I get fed up with how things are? I'm trying to fix things Cristine but you're only complicating them."
Her father's gaze was blazing, but the moment he opened his mouth and spat those words, the harsh scent of drink hit her face. He was an expert at hiding the slurring and Cristine would have been fooled by his words if it wasn't for that maddening smell.
"You're drunk." The words were flat and her face was resolutely unimpressed, as if she had been waiting for it to happen. Cristine felt cold, like a bucket of ice cold water was downed on her and she clenched her fists.
