She knows that winter is coming. She knows she won’t survive. But for now the cool air of a last fall is merely bracing as she looks down over the long dirt road, the fences, the walls. Beneath her, the hillside is solid, the grass still hardy and green over a thin layer of soil. Beneath that, rock and concrete, steel and safety. Against the blast doors, her makeshift barrier still holds. It was hasty, jury-rigged, all she could manage. Not proof against a real effort. Not really. And yet it holds. Holds them in, him in. Holds her out.
…
“Waiting for the Winter”
About the story: She knows she won’t survive the winter.
Inspired by a line in a Tony Carey song.