You and your son stay in the processing centre, separated until he is deemed an adult, and then he moves into the same block as you, but you don’t know each other. You are so degraded by being treated like numbers and animals for so long, that you are having trouble forming a bond.

You stay in the centre for the rest of your lives, watching the inmates around you get mistreated or killed, or rebel and protest and die, until your turn comes to lose your mind, and you lash out, and you die too, bludgeoned to death. It isn’t a nice death, but surely it’s better than being killed by zombies?

Start Again