When the Signal Dies, Love Is Logistics—and Every Choice Has a Cost

from the bin to pour water for Barnaby. I dipped my finger in the peanut butter and let him lick it off. The fat and protein would help his body generate heat.

The kid, whose name was Kyle, watched me from the backseat. He watched me massage Barnaby’s stiff legs. He watched me check the chemical packs every hour to make sure they were still warm.

“You continue reading …