Page 38 of Primal Hunger

I grunt, disappointed that the CD isn’t meant for slicing throats, and move to the next object.Happinessis ridiculous and foreign. There is only survival.

There is struggle and bloodshed and a nagging hunger which is never satisfied.

“And this?” I pluck a small, hooked metal object off the wall. “Is this at least a weapon?”

She takes it from me, turning it over in her hands to examine it, before shaking her head. “It’s a can opener, but I guess youcould stab someone with it if you really wanted to. The sharp part cuts through cans that contain food and keeps it fresh for long periods of time. Things like peaches or beans.”

My stomach grumbles again at the thought of food. What sorts of things could humans possibly store for later?

“What are peaches or beans?” I ask.

“It would take too long to explain our agriculture system to you.” Erin is distracted.

We go around the room as she explains wildly foreign concepts to me—bubble gum, makeup, telephones—and I’m quickly overwhelmed by how wrong my assumptions were about these things. There are no weapons, either.

This is interesting, and I have no idea of how long I stand there, listening to her talk and elaborate the purpose behind each object I point out.

I’m fascinated.

Her voice isn’t entirely unpleasant, and in fact, it begins to grow on me the longer she tells me about the things I’ve collected. Soft, alluring, sweet. Things that also don’t exist in our world.

Everything here is a mix of darkness and danger.

The beauty died out long ago, leaving a very desolate, unappealing place. The food is almost nonexistent, and it’s all because ofthem.

They are the invisible horrors that wander through the trees, sucking the life out of everything they find. No one knows where they came from, but they infected our world like a disease, forcing Grims into the shadows. They are the only creatures that can outmatch us, the only creatures we fear.

Ripping the throat out of my enemy? Easy.

Doing so when the enemy is completely invisible? Not so easy.

They are the reason we travel through the portals twice a year, because we have no other option. Seek sustenance on Earth, or perish.

It’s enough to sustain us, but only just so.

My fellow Grim and any others trapped in this existence make the best of the only life we have ever known.

“Do you know what this is?” I’d been too lost in my thoughts to notice Erin grabbing a large pouch off the wall and rummaging through its contents. She’s holding up a machine that fits in the palms of her hands.

It has a long metal stick poking out of the top that can retract into itself, and there are pressable shapes on the front. If I had any idea before, I already know it’ll be incorrect, so I simply shake my head, wanting to hear her description of it.

“It’s a radio,” she says, turning the knobs left and right and flipping it over to look at the back. “My grandfather had one just like this a long time ago. The batteries are probably dead, so I doubt it works, but it also talks or sings to you. It allows you to hear the voices of people who are far away, or listen to music.”

She pops off a piece from the back that I’d never noticed before and pulls out two tiny cylinders. She holds them out in her hand for me to see.

“Do you have any of these lying around? I know it’s a long shot. Not many people carry batteries in their pockets these days.” She sounds hopeful.

I move across the room to a smaller pouch hanging by the door, another thing I found on Earth a few years ago, and pull the strings around the top loose. There are a handful of cylinders in various sizes, but I have no idea which ones she needs. Rather than fumbling through the bag, I carry it back to Erin, shoving it at her.

“Like these?” I ask.

Her lips curl into a smile and she nods. “Yes. Exactly. Let’s see if any of them work. Then you can listen to music yourself and see what I’m talking about.”

Slowly, painstakingly, she digs through the batteries and tries all the ones that fit, flipping them this way and that until she finds some that seem to work.

Her smile splits her face and adds beauty to her features that I may not have noticed otherwise.

Pleased, she sets the radio down on the bench by the door and fiddles with the buttons again, explaining what she’s doing as she goes. I’m eager to see what kind of noise could possibly fill her with such excitement, watching her movements intently until the machine screeches to life with a feral hiss that makes my hackles raise.

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