You were always one for fighting. Maybe it was bred into your genes, or maybe you picked it up from all those kung fu movies you watched as a kid. Maybe a bit of both.

You love your body because it loves fighting, too. Long, lean, strong muscles propell you over the desert floor, away from the houses and the danger. You'll never know how the worms won. They're so weak, pathetically inept at anything that requires adrenaline. Their little human masquarade would make you laugh till your gut ached if it hadn't stolen your father and your mother and anyone who ever mattered.

Except Jamie. There's still Jamie, soft and warm and curled up against the wall in the back of the cave you're fast approaching. It’s hard to remember a time when you didn't love him so fiercely, but you know he had to have been the bratty little brother everyone had before the end of the world. Well, the end of your world.

That makes you feel guilty, the sick kind of guilty. The kind you wish you could cut from yourself and throw away, but you'll never do that because it comes with the love. And the love keeps your legs pounding and your heart pumping. It's all that's left to fight for, the only thing they can't copy or erase.

The one fight you know you'll win.