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HOLLIS wished they'd gotten out of Atlanta when they had the chance. Not only was one side of Interstate 85 blocked with a line of abandoned vehicles a mile long, but the streets that lead to it were overrun by them.
It's been about 20 days since the car crash — Day 0, that had been. The effects of her concussion had waned by now. She still got killer headaches every morning, but that might have more to do with alcohol abstinence than anything else.
It didn't take long for the military to take action and establish a "safe zone" — it got overrun 5 days ago. It's been chaos ever since.
Hollis made the right call to stay in the apartment and wait most of it out — she prayed to God, for the first time in years, when they started dropping napalm on the streets. She shivered at the memory — Della sobbing under her arm, both of them in the tub, with the shower spraying cold water over their heads. She still remembered the terrified scream the little girl emitted when a bomb dropped a hair too close to their building, causing it to shake threateningly — a cry that you remember and shiver at the haunting memory.
That was 3 days ago.
The thought of Della made her uncomfortable. There had been no sign of her parents, which resulted in sleepless nights where they'd wander around the apartment aimlessly; like ghosts, looking out of windows and keeping a constant surveillance over the entrance door.
Hollis didn't care if David was alive — he was either dead or blackout drunk. On the off chance that he was alive, she was sure he'd skipped town a long time ago, wife and kid long forgotten.
Val was the one she was worried about, the same seemed to apply to Della.
Out of the two sisters, Hollis was always the one that took care of shit. She wasn't afraid of confrontation and in fact during their teen years — she craved it. She was the one that jumped at the opportunity to go out camping and hunt with their father.
