The Final Shade of Pink

The plague. An image of a rotting corpse coated in sores and ulcers is enough to define its effect. It has been two years since the outbreak they call Morbus Rosea, the fatal illness spreading among all women -

All but one.

I am Sahara Dhillon, and I am wanted as a breeder. I am the only woman left in the human race and they need me to keep this nightmarish planet breathing. But I am not a tool. Or a breeding machine. I am a person and I am alone - I have not seen another human in what has felt like a lifetime, though who knows how long my existence will be out in the woods I call home. I have no one; I do not remember my father's face, but I know he was a "bad man" like all the others. My sister died in my arms from the excruciating illness, and my poor mother, with her eyes wide, used her last breath to say, "Run."