From the edge of our cornfield, I watch a large soldier get out of the tank, and I know he's going to check our house. This time I'm not imagining it, it's really happening. I hold my hands over my mouth again to keep from screaming, but my heart still pounds so loudly I swear he'll hear it.

My thoughts stop as he reaches the door and disappears inside our dirty grey house. After a few minutes, I find the soldier again through the windows of the greenhouse, and I squeeze Mom's hand to stem my anger. That's my place, I think. This man has no right to be there.

Before the blast, the greenhouse had been an enclosed sunroom off the kitchen, but during the nuclear winter, half the roof ripped off. My grandpa used the opportunity and his bags of soil from the basement to convert the sunroom into an indoor garden, our greenhouse. My mom told me I get my green thumb from him.

Garden beds in raised troughs over well water line the room, allowing green shoots and vines to grow in every direction, and I watch the soldier pace the rows of plants in confusion. He snaps a tomato from its vine, takes a bite of it, and drops it on the floor, crushing it beneath his boot before disappearing into the house again.

My cheeks warm with anger. I can't stand not knowing what he's doing or where he is. Part of me wants to run screaming after him. But another part of me, the part I never listen to, imagines snapping his neck like Dad did to the rabbit when he took me hunting three years ago. The last time I held a gun before today.

Don't think about the rabbit, I tell myself, but its eyes are already in my mind. Before I shot it, before Dad and I even went to the meadow, Daniel joked with me that he would always be the better hunter. We were always competitive like that, so with his words in my mind, I pulled the trigger. The shot echoed across the meadow, startling even me. We ran over to grab my prize.

Dad saw it first and bent down beside it. "Oh no," he said.

My heart instantly dropped. Competition was the last of my worries. "What?"

"He's not dead yet. He's in a lot of pain, Isla. When you're in this situation, what does a good hunter do now?" he asked, still trying to teach me despite the animal dying beside him.

I knelt down and saw what I had done. The rabbit's fur—which I'm certain Dad would have compared to Mom's hair had I not shot it—was covered in blood, which spouted from the bullet hole in its side with each breath. The rabbit screamed as its whole body shook, and I began crying. I was stuck on Dad's words: "He's in a lot of pain."

"Isla, stay with me, what should you do now?"

I couldn't think of anything except that I had caused this. I was making this creature suffer.

Dad grabbed my face to focus me. "You have to be strong. You can't be weak now, this is survival. You have to do something. What do you do?"

He moved his hands from my cheeks, but I was paralyzed in shame and guilt and terror. The rabbit's black eyes widened in pain and fear. He was looking straight at me.

"I'm sorry," I cried to the rabbit.

Dad pushed me to the side, and I fell in the clover, gripping my stomach to keep myself from vomiting. I watched as he swiftly twisted the rabbit's neck. The screaming stopped, and then my crying was the only sound in the meadow.

Dad sat back, waiting for me to calm down, his bloodied hands hanging over his knees. I caught my breath, and he wiped his hands on the grass before crawling toward me.

"You cannot ever do that again. Do you understand?" he asked softly.

I nodded, still crying.

"You have to be stronger than that, Isla. We won't be around forever to hunt for you. What if you're left alone? One day you will have to kill something, and if you're too weak to go through with it, you'll die. Do you hear me? You have to be strong enough to protect and feed yourself, and that means you will need to kill at some point. What you just did was inhumane."

His hot breath crawled into my skin and made my cheeks warm with anger. "I didn't mean to," I said, steadying my voice. "I didn't mean to, and if you didn't drag me out here in the first place, it would have never happened."

"Forgive me for trying to teach you something," he said defensively. "Something that will keep you alive. You know, there's more to learn than what's in those books you're always reading."

Dad couldn't read. He didn't understand what he was saying, and I barely understood the anger he forced inside me. My cheeks burned, lighting the fuses of a hundred fireworks that began exploding in my skull.

I screamed in anger and threw the gun down before racing home.

I never looked at Dad the same way again, and we never spoke about the incident after that day. But the image of his hands twisting around the rabbit's neck stuck with me, and no matter what I did, I could never shake it or the anger from my mind. We had taken an innocent life from this earth, a world already too difficult to survive in. We didn't give the rabbit a fair chance, and every living creature deserves a fair chance to survive.

I catch sight of the soldier, and I'm snapped back to the present. He is in our yard, his arms filled with our guns. He found the safe room. He has to know survivors live there.

Another soldier emerges from the open tank and runs to meet him. They talk, but I can't hear anything. The second soldier nods, and runs back to the tank. The convoy comes alive with a unified rumble as the soldier who searched my house climbs atop the first of the tanks, and reaches into his pocket to retrieve something small enough to fit in the palm of his hand, I can't see what. He moves his thumb over the object in a series of small movements before returning it to its place. The soldier scans our farm and smiles before hopping back inside the tank.

In a matter of moments, all the tanks have continued forward, leaving only the three frozen Prowlers behind. Once they're out of range, I expect the rumbling to fade, but it doesn't, and I realize why: He's awakened the Prowlers.

Their red lights flicker awake and they take their first steps toward our home in unison. The ground beneath us shakes. Gears in their legs grind as they move, and the deep drumming of their feet crashing to the ground echoes in my ears. They are getting closer.

I run through our options in my head. Run and be scanned, or stay, which would only delay the inevitable. I've seen these machines find field mice in the middle of cornfields. If they come much closer, they will definitely find us, and once they do, there's not much else we can do to save ourselves.

Mom squeezes my hand and raises it to her lips, leaving a warm kiss on my skin. "You need to get to safety," she whispers.

"We both do—"

"There's no way we both get out of this. I'm going to distract them while you take off into the house. You're the one they're looking for. You have to stay safe."

"No, that's crazy."

"I love you," she says. Before I can stop her, she's up, running away from the Prowlers and down the street toward the Crowleys' house. The Prowlers' red lights flash twice over her, and in an instant, they leap into motion, their long metal legs like pendulums propelling them forward. They pass where I'm hidden in the field, chasing her away from our home.

I hear her shout, "Run, Isla!" I leave my backpack and sprint as fast as I can into the greenhouse. My senses go completely blank except for the drumming of Prowler feet and a sudden, startled scream from my mom. It tears through me like a knife.

I make it to the kitchen, shut the door behind me, and collapse to the floor, panting and sobbing. I think of her kiss on my hand. All I want is for her to be with me now. This is worse than any of the scenarios I imagined. This is all of my worst fears combined.

She screams, and I erupt with tears. I pick myself up and race to the living room window, just like I did when the rest of my family was taken. My heart drops into my stomach: She's squirming in one of the Prowlers' claws. She struggles to get free, suspended at least 15 feet in the air. She fights against the metal claws, but they still tighten around her. One of the spiked fingers is pressed against her chest, and blood runs down the metal like tears. She screams in agony, and I feel my entire body go numb.

I remember Daniel the day he was taken. The day he died. I don't want to accept it, the thought rips through me as painfully as my mom's screams, but that's what really happens when you're taken, I know it. I could never say it out loud to Mom, she always got angry with me, so I started saying "taken" instead. But when a Prowler gets you, you die.

I'm sobbing, watching the Prowler slam my mom into its hatch. I don't know what to do except collapse on the floor like I did last time. But I'm alone now, and I can't be alone.

If Daniel were here, he would tell me what to do. He was always the strong one. The only reason the Prowlers were able to take him was because he went out into the open. For so long I've been angry at him for being stupid and selfish enough to leave his house, but he watched as his parents were taken, just as I am now. I get it: Daniel didn't leave out of selfishness. He left because what else is there to do after you lose your family? I'd rather be snatched by a Prowler than be without my mom.

Before I even realize it, I'm up, searching the kitchen for weapons. I have to try to break my mom free. Death can't be immediate. Can it?

My only weapon is my slingshot. Daniel's gun is still out in the field with my backpack, and I know from last time that that wouldn't help anyway, so I look for anything that I can use as ammunition in my slingshot.

Magnets!

There are still magnets on the fridge. That soldier pressed some buttons to turn the Prowlers on, so maybe the magnets could interfere with their functions. I once read a book on electromagnetism, and I learned about how magnets disrupt electric currents. Maybe these magnets could slow the machines down, I think. I hear Eleanor's voice in my head again: "Knowledge is power."

As I stuff the magnets into my pockets, I see a red light shining on my chest through the window. It blinks twice.

I look out in front of me and see one of the machines charging the house. I jump away from the wall, sideways into the living room, and hide my head and face from debris as the machine's massive body and shovel arm tear through the kitchen in one swift motion. I load my slingshot, and suddenly realize how stupid my plan is. I'm going to take down three giant machines with a child's toy and some fridge magnets? But what else can I do?

I stop thinking and jump to my feet, facing the Prowler directly as it tears through my house, falling through the floor and into the basement. The air is filled with dust, but I can still see its red laser streaming through the cloud. I step backward and shoot the magnet directly at the Prowler's light.

The magnet bounces off without any effect. The Prowler continues toward me, tearing open the first and second floors of my home, summoning pieces of my life to fall around me: clothes, toys, books from my room. Everything I imagined earlier is coming to life, only instead of a soldier, it's a Prowler destroying my world.

I stumble backward into the living room and shoot another magnet into the air. It sticks to the flat metal body, but the Prowler doesn't slow. I shoot again, once more aiming at the light, and this time it sticks, blocking the red beam.

The machine stops, disoriented. It tries to regain control, but the clumsy metal beast just demolishes more of our home. I want to scream, but my fear and sadness have taken all the strength from me. All I can do now is shoot.

The house is torn in two as the machine rips more of the second floor away. More pieces of our life rain down: a dresser, my bed, and finally, the bathtub. The porcelain fixture falls on top of the Prowler's body and knocks it to the ground. It writhes in the basement, trying to lift itself with its heavy limbs.

I make my escape, but I don't know where to go.

My house is destroyed—all of what we were and how we survived—and I don't know what to do. If I go to the Crowleys' house, the Prowlers will just destroy that too. Daniel's gun is still in my backpack, far behind me in the field, and the magnets don't work well enough to stop them.

I think of Mom, of the blood streaming down her body, of her screams. I have to save her, but the familiar feeling of powerlessness rises within me. I'm just a girl who reads books and grows plants. I'm not strong like Daniel, Eleanor, Ben, or my parents. I can't save my mom. I can't even save myself. My heart aches, but whether it's from grief, guilt, or running, I'm not sure. What can I do?

I hear the pounding of Prowler feet behind me. My body wants to collapse, but I have to keep going. The street stretches before me, and all I can think to do is to keep running until an idea comes to me. Or until I'm taken.

The drumming gets louder. I want to see how far the Prowlers are behind me, but I can't turn back.

Louder and louder. They're getting closer.

I feel the wind of a claw swatting at me.

I reach in my pocket and grab a magnet, still running. The drumming is deafening. I load the magnet into my slingshot, just in case it works this time. I turn around and shoot.

The magnet bounces off one of them pathetically, while the other shoots its claw around me. The force of its metal fingers squeezing my chest knocks the wind out of me. The magnets and slingshot fly from my hands. My only weapons, gone.

The Prowler's chest compartment opens, and before I can move to break free, I'm thrust inside the cavity. The door slams shut.

My entire body aches from impact, but the adrenaline racing through my veins allows me to sit up. I feel around to get my bearings. Beneath me is what feels like grass and animals, but nothing moves. "Mom?" I call, but my echo is the only reply.

I pound my fists against the metal around me, but it hardly makes a sound beneath the screaming metal of the Prowler's moving body.

The air becomes stuffy. It's getting thinner, but at least I'm still breathing. At least I'm still alive. That means my mom has to still be alive in the other Prowler, I think. If we don't suffocate, maybe we'll see each other again. Maybe Dad, the Crowleys, and Daniel survived too.

Over the sound of the Prowler's body, I can hear the rumbling of tanks, and once again, all the hope is sucked from me. The men who are after me are back.

Bang! Something crashes against the Prowler. Its gears scream in malfunction.

Bang! The gears stop moving, and then there is only silence. But something is happening to the Prowler. I can't tell what at first, though soon it becomes clear: We are crashing to the ground.

I brace myself for impact, but it's no use. My head slams against one of the walls, and I'm covered in grass and dirt and whatever dead animals the machine took before me.

My brain feels like someone reached into my skull and hit it with a hammer. I rub the back of my head and feel something warm and wet. I'm bleeding.

The cavity door swings open, and the sudden light above me is so bright, I can't tell if I'm dreaming or dying.

I squint to adjust, and with each blink, I see the sky more clearly, pink and purple from the sunset. I'm not dreaming, and I'm not dying, at least not today. I'm awake and alive.

Just then, two faces pop into the hatch. One is covered in smoke from the dead Prowler, with its eyes protected by goggles and its hair protected by a round plastic hat. The other wears only gold rimmed goggles, allowing me to see his wild, graying hair and beard. These aren't the soldiers from earlier, but I can't control my fear any longer. I let out a scream. The sound echoes in the cavity, making my head pound even harder.

The beardless face puts a finger up to its pouted lips and moves its other hand to remove the hat and goggles. Blonde, braided hair falls from the hat and drapes into the cavity: A woman. She lifts her goggles and smiles at me, her white teeth and bright eyes gleaming against her smoke-stained skin and black uniform.

She reaches her dirty hands into the cavity to pull me up, but I hesitate.

She laughs. "C'mon," she insists, reaching her hand closer. "We're the Deathless. We're here to help you."

Spots of light dance in front of my eyes, so I lift my arm and feel her fingers tighten around my wrist. "Check the other Prowlers... my mom," I manage to say before my vision goes black and I pass out.