"Then it's settled." The leader gestured to the group of warrior orcs in the room, "pick one to be the boy's father." I sat on the floor with my son, Max. He crawled into my lap as I whispered. "One of them is going to ... keep taking care of you. Can you tell me who the nice one is?" The orcs in the room snorted with disbelief and laughter. Max pointed to one with a shaved head and extensive tattoos. "That one?" I asked. "Are you sure?" He nodded before hiding his face into my neck. "OK." I looked up in the vague direction of the leader. "That one, I guess." He said something. They looked surprised, but the one Max had indicated came over and scooped him up easily. "MOMMA!" he screamed and tried to reach for me. I hung my head and wept. Then the warrior bent down and grabbed my arm in his other hand. He pulled me upright and led me away. "What? What are you doing?" "The boy is...

"You cannot live on the food we have for you. That leaves me three choices. Let you continue to starve, slowly dying. Or put you out of your misery, and save the resources of feeding you for someone who has a chance to live." The orc gave me a long, calculating look before he continued, "Or I can find you someone who is willing to spend his personal resources to care for a defective human." My name is Wilhemina Jensen. I am one of the few people who survived when aliens first made contact. It wasn't the invasion that made society fall, we did that all on our own. People panicked. The food supply chains broke down. We started fighting each other for the last loaf of bread or bag of flour. That was before I ever saw one of the orc-shaped aliens. One day at a time, concentrate on getting through today, worry about tomorrow if you got there. Be safe, be smart, be invisible. Take care of each other. And don't forget to feed the cat. I managed to...