There are three rules among the rubble sweepers.

Rule 1: What you find, you share.

Rule 2: Leave the site better than it was when you arrived.

And rule 3: Never leave a fellow sweeper behind.

The rules are simple and purposeful. If we didn't follow them, the rubble sweepers might disband, and the country doesn't need that now. What it needs more than ever is to be united.

The sweepers are like the belt buckle of America, holding everything together. At least that's what my parents tell us. We span from as far west as Kansas to as far east as West Virginia, though we don't stray far from interstate 70. That's what we swept first, and now it's the highway that connects all of the roaming rubble sweeper tribes. Without permanent homes to live in, 70 has become a home to all of us. It's a start.

My parents remind me and Nate of this as our tribe gathers around the campfire somewhere outside of Kansas City. We're making our way to the rubble sweeper hub in St. Louis, one site at a time.

"I'm glad we get to be part of something so much bigger than ourselves," my father says. "This is one of the largest revitalization projects this country has ever seen, and we get to be part of it. I mean, did you ever imagine we'd have the opportunity to make such an impact as survivors?"

"Never," my mother agrees. "We are so lucky."

I turn to Nate and roll my eyes . "Yeah, okay, guys. We get it. Rubble sweeping is awesome."

"Hey," my father barks. "You should be grateful. We are—"

"—Part of something, yeah. I really do get it." They don't appear convinced. "I really do. I don't mean to be so sarcastic, I'm just kind of sick of the propaganda. Like, I get it, rubble sweepers are awesome, and Uncle Stan is awesome for getting this tribe started."

My father glares at me. "Don't forget to share what you swept today. C'mon, hon," he says as he pulls my mother behind him toward our tribe leaders, my Uncle Stan who had been a prominent car dealership owner in Topeka before the apocalypse and his wife Aunt Carol.

"Well," Nate starts, "you really have a knack for pissing your parents off, huh?"

"Please. Someone needed to tell them it was overkill. Don't tell me Uncle Stan or Aunt Jill wouldn't have done the same."

Nate shrugs, and I feel like the biggest jerk. He lost his mother, my father's sister Jill, when he was four. I don't remember her as Nate's mom but as my father's sister. She and Stan are older than my father, so they were always picking on him. I only have one other vague memory of Nate's mom, which I only ever think of when I pass honeysuckle. We were by this honeysuckle-covered hillside, and she was tickling me until my sides hurt with laughter. I remember the pain, but I also remember her smile.

Nate has her smile, wide and warm and the tiniest bit sneaky, like they're always up to something but you're sure it's something kind. Kind of like tickling, actually. No one ever wants to be tickled, but once someone sneaks their fingers beneath your chin, you can't help but laugh.

"Sorry," I say. "It's been forever, but I still forget sometimes."

"It's alright," he says, shrugging again.

"Okay. Well... time to share our sweeps."

I walk ahead of him to stand in the now forming line that leads to Uncle Stan. Ahead of us stands a girl Nate's been crushing on, Emilie. Another in a growing list of ladies Nate's won over. Even though her back is turned to us, I can tell it's her by her white-blonde hair.

"Your girlfriend's in front of us," I whisper back to him. He peers around me to catch a glimpse of her, and then smiles that sneaky smile.

"Be right back," he says.

Nate jogs up the line with carefree swagger until he's beside Emilie. She turns to him and smiles. She kind of looks like frozen yogurt shops from before the world ended: Bright and light and cheery, with skin like vanilla and lips like strawberry sauce.

I smirk thinking about how harsh I look compared to her with my wiry mess of gold hair and my scraped skin. But apparently that doesn't deter losers from talking to me, because just then Darren comes up beside me.

"Mind if I cut?" he asks. This kid has been trying to hang out with me for weeks now, and no matter what I do, he just refuses to leave me alone. Annoying isn't my type.

"Yeah, I do," I say.

He holds his hands up mockingly and laughs. "Sorry, but the first rule of rubble sweeping is sharing. That includes places in line."

"No," I say, taking a step away from him. "It doesn't. Seriously, go away. Can't a girl have some privacy to spy on her cousin?"

He leans his head past my chest to get a look... and also probably to be near my chest. "Oh, nice. Emilie is super cool."

"Right," I say, trying my best to infuse as much annoyance into two syllables as I can. "Unlike you. Now go away. The shop's closed, not interested."

He frowns indignantly. "Bitch," he murmurs as he walks away.

"Oh, yeah sure," I call after him, drawing everyone's attention. "You don't ever leave me alone, but I'm the bitch. Probably 'cause I won't pay any attention to you, right?"

He shoves his hands in his pockets and quickens his pace as he goes back to the end of the line.

"Jerk," I say under my breath.

Nate makes eye contact with me from ahead in the line, and Emilie looks at me with concern. He waves for me to cut the line and join them, so I do.

"Are you okay?" Emilie asks. Even her voice is light and cheery.

"Yeah I'm fine. Darren is just so obnoxious."

Nate puffs up. "Do you want me to talk to him?"

I smile, because I'm pretty sure he lowered his voice to sound more masculine. "No, I'm okay. I handled it."

With that show of bravery out of the way, Nate smiles wryly and refocuses his attention on Emilie. I just wait, trying not to strain myself with the massive eye rolls I'm doing behind Nate's back as he asks her get-to-know-you questions and as she replies through endless giggles.

"What's your favorite color?" and "If you could go anywhere in the world, where would you go?" and "What would your career be if the world hadn't ended?"

"Purple," giggle. "I don't know, probably Paris to see the Eiffel Tower," giggle. And, "Either an actress or a fashion model."

Finally, it our turn to hand over our sweeps to Uncle Stan and Aunt Carol. Emilie found an old first aid kit. Thank you for sharing, Emilie. Nate didn't find much except for a Swiss Army knife. Thank you for sharing, Nate. Then it's my turn, and I hand over my sweeps: A pair of sunglasses and a crazy expired granola bar.

Still, Uncle Stan rests his hand on my shoulder as Aunt Carol places the sunglasses with the other sweeps in the back of a big wagon. She tosses the granola bar into a trash bag. Rule #2 of the rubble sweeper life: Leave a site better than how you found it. No littering allowed.

"Thank you for sharing, Ava," Uncle Stan tells me. He leans closer to my ear and whispers, "Stop yelling at people. It makes us look bad."

"Then tell your groupies to stop being assholes," I whisper in reply. I lean away and smile insincerely before walking away.

I sit with Nate and Emilie beside the guardrail of the highway, waiting for our dinner-time MRE pack. My parents, Aunt Carol, and Uncle Stan will pass them out once everyone has turned in their sweeps. Nate and Emilie laugh, sharing their most embarrassing anecdotes (that was Nate's last prompt), and I lean back against the cool metal, watching our tribe.

There are certain things I like about being a rubble sweeper and certain things I don't. For instance, I like the order and the rules. It gives shape to my life and provides me with a purpose. As much as I make fun of my parents, they're right. It's nice to be part of an effort to make a change in this shitty world.

But I hate that being part of that change means being part of a community. I don't like many people. Just Nate and occasionally my other family members. I've never had a boyfriend, so I don't really see the point. I guess if I ever fall in love that will change. I've also never had a best friend besides Nate, so I kind of can't stand people who aren't him. I'm very particular about who I let into my life, and sometimes being a rubble sweeper feels like being forced into kinship with all these strangers.

Can't we just clean up the world and find stuff, and then quietly go about our business?

Nate and Emilie laugh about something. Who knows what, I wasn't paying attention. It reminds me that Nate will never be like me. He seeks out lots of connections. He's kind of annoying in that sense, too. But as long as he's my best friend, I'll have to deal with that. I don't know... I guess I could learn something from him. I could use some softening, and having a small group of friends wouldn't totally suck.

I decide to join in the conversation, and share my most embarrassing story: Getting diarrhea during a sweep. Emilie laughs, her nose scrunching in disgust, and Nate adds more details to the story that I'd rather just forget. We laugh until Aunt Carol comes around with two MREs, one for Nate and one for Emilie.

"Where's mine?" I ask.

"If you want to receive the benefits of this community, you will act like part of the community," she says, then spins around so that her hair flips off her shoulder, and walks back toward Uncle Stan and my parents. They all look at me with the same disappointed look.

"Is this a joke?" I ask to no one in particular.

"It doesn't seem like it," Emilie replies.

"What the hell?" That time I address my question across the road to my parents. The campfire blazes between us. They look away. They're punishing me.

Nate opens his MRE, scoops out half of his "chilli with beans" into his hand, and slides it back. He hands me the rest as he licks his fingers.

"Are you sure?" I ask. Normally I'd protest, but my stomach's growling.

He looks over to my parents as they shoot him a menacing glare, like don't you dare feed my child. He licks the last of the chilli from his hand. "Yep, I'm sure. Take it," he says.

I grab it and drink the rest of the chilli straight from the bag.

"Wow, that was really sweet," Emilie says.

"Thanks," Nate replies. He exudes cockiness. If I didn't know him better than anyone else here, I would think he had done it just for Emilie, but I know how his mind works. Deep down he just wants to be a good guy. Like his smile, Nate is not always what he appears to be.

***

The next morning we start our rubble sweeping with the sun. Our tribe continues down interstate 70, cleaning and collecting and making things new again as we go. Uncle Stan and Aunt Carol lead the tribe with the wagon hitched to the back of a pair of horses one of the other sweepers owned back in Topeka. We all carry trash bags for garbage and slings for our sweeps. Any reusable metal or glass from cars is immediately thrown into the back of a truck one of the other sweepers used to drive to haul foods between factories and stores. As we travel, Darren and some other sweepers set up traps for animals and predatory groups of survivors. We move slowly, but as always... we move purposefully.

Nate is tired after his night. He and Emilie stayed up after I fell asleep, and if the bruise mark on his neck is any indication, I'd say they had a good night.

"So...," I start, "did you have fun last night?"

He smiles to himself. "Mm hm."

"Onto the next girl?"

He bites his lip as he reaches into a car to grab a stuffed animal. "Actually, no. I think I will hang out with her for a while," he says. "She's sweet."

I freeze mid-crouch. "Really?"

"Yeah. She made me laugh a lot."

"And then she kissed you a lot too, huh?"

He smirks. "Yeah, that too."

As I reach beneath a car to gather some shards of glass for reuse, I hear something strange echo from past some trees to the south of us. At first, it sounds like a constantly rolling, high-pitched thunder, but the sky is blue and clear. There isn't even the hint of a storm.

The whole tribe stops and turns toward the sound. "Whoa," I hear my uncle tell the horses. We wait, stuck in our places, and listen to the sounds become louder. As it intensifies, it begins to sound more like distant machines. Maybe it's a fleet of poorly reconstructed cars or something, with their gears grinding and their exhaust blowing out with each press of the gas pedal.

"I'm going to check it out," Darren announces to the tribe, and apparently we are all too awestruck to respond. I've never heard anything like this before. I'm sure no one else has either.

Darren drops his snares and crosses the grassy median toward the meadow on the other side of 70. He continues toward the trees as the volume of mechanic noise increases. The tiny bits of broken glass on the pavement around me jump, and soon, I feel the vibration in my feet as well. Whatever is making that noise, it's big, it's metal, and it's coming for us.

"We should get out of here," I tell Nate.

His face is stuck in fearful anticipation. "Yeah," he breathes, but neither of us move a muscle.

The trees begin crumbling down, as if they are being pushed aside by whatever is heading our way. Darren stops at the treeline. He peers around the trees, and as they start to topple in front of him, a red light flashes twice through the brush. He stumbles, but turns around as quickly as he can, sprinting back to the road.

"Run! Run!" he screams over the now deafening clamor of metal and gears.

The last of the trees fall to reveal the most insane thing I've ever seen. It's a fleet, not of cars, but of some kind of huge, humanoid machines. 10 of them.

Their legs are like giant chrome stampers with joints, and they make their mark on the earth with each step. One of the hands of these things is something like a construction truck scooper, and the other hand is something like the claw in those toy machines. Their chests are like a huge safe, door and all, and at the top of them is a red light, all of which are focused on Darren.

As the dust from fallen trees settles, the machines take off after Darren, chasing him toward where our tribe is now left vulnerable.

"Run!" Darren screams again over the shrieking gears, but just as he says it, the nearest machine reaches for him with its claw and pierces Darren through the chest. Someone in the tribe squeals in agony, and Nate crouches to the ground beside me, throwing his arm in front of me.

Blood spurts everywhere, darkening the grass with a red stain, and the machine opens the door of its chest safe and whips Darren's body into the empty space. What is happening?

Shocked out of our stillness, Nate and I, along with the entire tribe begin to scatter. When Nate pulls me to stand, I'm so focused on trying to find my parents and Uncle Stan and Aunt Carol in the chaos that I almost don't notice when one of the machines flashes its red light twice over my heart. I don't know what that means, but I know it's not good, and when the machine starts charging at me, I know I'm right.

Nate takes my hand and pulls me north of the highway where all the others in the tribe are heading now. We don't have a destination, we just have a purpose: Get away from whatever these things are that just skewered Darren.

We drop our bags and our slings and sprint as fast as we can away from the machines, but soon, I see some of them in the corner of my eye snatching up people. I can't hear anything over the screams and the stampede of metal, but I can tell the explosion of sound is getting louder, especially now that it's accompanied by my heart beating in my ears.

Left and right of me and Nate, people are being scooped off the ground or squeezed in the claws before being thrown into the machines' bellies. Seriously, what the hell is happening?

Finally, I catch sight of my parents to the east of us, and I open my mouth to scream for them when one of the machines scoops them off their feet and slams them into its chest. I feel like I'm choking on the air, and then, my breathing gets worse: The machine behind us catches me and Nate in its claw and squeezes the air out of our bodies.

"Emilie!" Nate manages to yell with the last of his breath. Her white blonde hair spins as she looks back, just in time to see Nate before a machine gets her too.

With one swing of its arm, we are stuffed into the machine's body, and before the door slams shut behind us, I catch sight of Darren's bloodied, lifeless body staring up at us from a bed of grass and dirt. I scream, and then all light vanishes as the door closes.

Nate doesn't miss a beat before I can hear him pounding on the inner metal wall. I do my best to shrink my body away from Darren, but inside the running metal body, everything shakes and moves around us. With every step, I feel more blood, and at one point, his hand flies toward me. Even in death he won't leave me alone.

The faint hissing of air into whatever chamber we're in is my only comfort. From outside, I can vaguely hear screaming, but then it stops and the machine slows until its seems to walk at a normal pace. Well, a normal pace for a giant humanoid machine, whatever that is.

"Did you see my parents? Aunt Carol? Uncle Stan?" I ask Nate. He doesn't respond. "Are you nodding your head? I can't see. Please tell me you're not dead too."

"No, I didn't see them. Where are you?" he asks.

"Over here. I'm holding my hands out, try to—There you are," I say, feeling his calloused fingers on my wrist.

He sits beside me. "What is this?"

"I have no idea. But I think we're going to die."

"We're not going to die," he says, albeit unconvincingly. "As long as we stay together, we will be okay."

"Sure, okay," I reply.

***

For who knows how many days we survive off of the grass the machine has in its chest with us. One day it throws in a deer. In the stinging light of day, I can see that Darren looks as putrid as he smells, but I try not to focus on that or my extreme hunger. Before the door shuts behind the deer, Nate and I exchange looks. Once the door shuts, we both leap at the deer. Nate twists its neck, and I use my nails to start ripping through its flesh. We don't talk about it again, but after a while, the smell of death begins to become unbearable.

When I am sure I can't take the darkness and the hunger and the smell any longer, I lay my head down on the bloody grass to finally rest. That's when the whole machine seems to collapse on the ground with a head-pounding thud. Grass, dirt, and blood cover us, and we cough to clear it from our mouths. Then the door swings open, and instead of seeing another animal or plant thrown in, I squint my eyes to see a face. A human face. He backs away in disgust.

"Good God, it smells like shit in this one," he reports to someone we can't see.

"Anything in there?" the unseen person, another man, asks.

"Yeah," he coughs, and waves some of the smell away from his nose. "Two survivors, one girl, one boy," he reports like we aren't right in front of him. "Then a bunch of plants, a dead boy, and a dead deer, half-eaten. Jesus, did you two...? Nevermind, I don't want to know."

This time I say it out loud: "What the hell is happening?"

He smiles. "Feisty, huh? You are in a government bunker in DC. You've been collected by our droids, and now you will be assessed."

"Assessed?" Nate asks.

The man nods. Now that my eyes have adjusted to the light, I see he's wearing a military uniform. "For your skills."

"Get us the hell out of here," I yell, catching another whiff of death.

The man moves aside to make room for someone else, another man, this one with a thick neck and broad shoulders that block the light. He examines me with a scowl. "What's your name?" he asks.

"Ava. What's yours? Oh that's right, there's a damn corpse beside me," I yell. "Let us out!"

He lips part in a smile, nothing like Nate's smile. There's nothing kind about the way this man grins.

"I'm Captain Keith Jones," he says. "I like your spunk. How'd you like to do a very important job for me?"

"Like getting out of this hellhole?"

He chuckles. "That's part of it."

I stretch up my hand, and his thick arms lift me from the belly of the machine. We're in some sort of concrete grey machine garage, and people come up to work on their metallic bodies now that they're apparently shut off and lying down. He lifts Nate up next and we catch our balance on the metal platform where we stand.

"Where are our family members and friends?" Nate asks.

"Why are you asking me?" Captain Jones responds.

Nate scowls. "Because there were other machines, and they took our family. Her parents, our aunt and uncle, my girlfriend. Where are they?"

Captain Jones looks through Nate, and whistles for the other man to come closer. "Collins here will take you to be assessed, young man. He will talk all about your family there, okay?" He doesn't give Nate a chance to answer before he instructs the other man, Collins, to bring Nate to someone named Gunther for assessment.

Collins grabs Nate by the arm, and starts yanking him down the metal platform. We exchange panicked looks.

"Don't leave me alone here, Nate. Please, don't leave me alone here, okay? Come right back," I call after him. Nate nods profusely, but I can tell he's trying to hold himself together. He's trying to stay strong and appear unafraid.

Captain Jones grabs my arm, and starts pulling me in the other direction. "Your assessment will be with me through here," he says.

He leads me to a small room with racks of clothes. There's a woman inside, her hair greying with age, and there's a strip of duct tape over her mouth. She looks like she's been crying. "What the hell is this?" I ask.

"Your assessment," Captain Jones replies. "Meg, find her something to wear, will you?"

The woman, Meg, nods her head once, and then disappears into the racks. She returns with a golden, sequined ball gown.

"Put it on," Captain Jones tells me.

Meg holds out the dress to me, and I take it tentatively. "You can't be serious. It's the freaking apocalypse out there, and you want me to wear this?"

"Where you're going you will be safe. You won't need to run or scavenge or eat wild animals raw. You will be a lady."

"Are you kidding?"

He shakes his head. "No. Put it on."

I grip the fabric in my hands, even though they're still grimy with blood. "What about my family and Nate? Will they be at this place too?"

"Your family is dead," he says quickly and without emotion.

It hits me hard. "What? How do you know?"

"Because we opened the collector droids from your mission, and we found them dead. There were a great deal of people in them, all dead. Yours apparently was the only droid equipped with our new ventilation system."

I catch my breath, stuttering. "But Nate will be with me at this new place, right?"

"If he chooses to. He will have the option to stay here," Captain Jones says.

"Okay, well, he will choose to come with me. He's like my brother, basically. He won't leave me."

"Okay," the Captain says, disinterested. "Put on the dress."

I unzip its back. "Are you... going to leave or something?"

He backs up to a stool and takes a seat. "Go ahead. Put it on."

I want to scream. My tribe is dead, Nate is somewhere else in this crazy bunker, and this Darren-esque asshole is making me strip down in front of him and his... captive? I change my clothes as quickly as I can to leave Captain Ass as little time to see me as possible. Once I've pulled the dress up to my hips, Meg sneaks up behind me to zip the dress closed.

I turn to face the Captain, my shoulders slumped in the least ladylike position I can muster. "Happy now?"

His creepy smile returns. "Yes. Much better." He stands up and walks to the door, but stops me with his massive hand to my shoulder. "Stay here. Meg, clean her up. Make her look less mangy, more... comforting."

As he exits, Meg pulls the stool up to me, and then she pushes me to a seated position. She unzips the dress so that it is folded at my waist, then drapes a towel over it. Then, she takes a sponge and cleans the dirt and blood off of my skin. After I'm clean-ish, she puts a ton of makeup on me, so that I don't even recognize myself.

But seriously, what the hell is happening?

When I'm all done, she re-zips me into the dress, and pushes me out the door. "Thanks?" I say.

Captain Jones and the Collins guy are waiting for me outside. "Where's Nate?" I ask.

"Time to go to your new home," Captain Jones says, gesturing for Collins to lock shackles around my wrists.

I swing to punch him, but Collins ducks, and swings the shackles shut before I can strike again. "Where is Nate?" I yell. "I will kill you, where is Nate?"

Captain Jones smiles widely. "I really do love your spunk."

"Tell me where my cousin is!"

Collins has me by the waist now, and he speaks into my ear, "He decided to stay here. We offered him a job too good to pass up. He left you."

"What?" I scream.

Some other guy comes up to Captain Jones with a box, and the Captain opens it to find a syringe.

"Tell Nate to come here! I need to hear him say it! Have him tell me he's leaving me!"

The Captain drives the syringe into my arm. "You'll have a new family soon," he says.

Everything starts to go black. That bastard is sedating me!

Rule #3 of being a rubble sweeper is never leave a fellow sweeper behind. Family wouldn't leave me behind either, no matter what the reason. But now Nate's leaving me behind. He's no longer a sweeper in my tribe. He's not even my cousin anymore.

My thoughts start to cloud, and I'm drifting into forced sleep.

Now Nate is nothing to me.