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Breakups are hard in the postapocalypse: fish remaining in the sea number in the dozens, plus your ex might get ripped on engine cleaner and set half the compound on fire.  Amid the frantic sand buckets and wet burlap, Helen catches accusing glares. Everyone liked them together. Couldn’t she have stuck with him? Taken one for the team?

They find him sleeping it off in a spider hole near the burnt-out greenhouse, and comfort him. Helen, exhausted, grabs an MRE and trudges off to eat in dawnlight. Hot sauce packets are liquid gold these days, but, Helen decides, she deserves one.