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months of their senior year.
    On a whim, feeling the pressure of being model-thin and whining constantly about her curvy hips and thighs, Jesse caved and took her first hit of meth. Though Turner tried to warn her of the dangers, she ignored him, promising she would only do it long enough to lose fifteen pounds.
    Beautiful, sweet, carefree Jesse lost way more than fifteen pounds. She damned near lost her life. Turner tried to help get her off the mess, but Jesse became a full-blown junkie in less than two months. Fearing she would overdose, Turner risked their relationship and told Jesse’s mom. His hope was the combination of mother and Chief of Police would break through the haze of drugs in Jesse’s mind.
    He had been dead wrong.
    Jesse flew into a rage. Called Turner every foul word she could think of in the parking lot of the Piggly Wiggly. At the top of her voice, she threatened to castrate him, among other vile, despicable things. Turner tried to calm her down and take her keys, aware she was flying high. One solid kick from Jesse’s boot to his groin left Turner in a crumpled heap on the parking lot pavement.
    Less than a month later, Jesse disappeared. In the middle of the night, after being grounded for weeks, Turner’s one and only girlfriend fled to northwest Arkansas. It took over two years for her to resurface, and that only happened when she was busted at a convenience store to feed her raging addiction. Chief Parker had gone to retrieve her daughter from Fayetteville and immediately transported her to rehab. Turner had looked online and found Jesse's mugshot. When he saw the haunted eyes, sunken cheeks and pale skin, he sat inside his room and cried for the first time since their breakup.
    The blowout of their relationship and the knowledge Turner had “ratted” Jesse out, left him alone in the world of female companionship. Everyone in their tiny town knew what went down between them. Though the general comments he’d heard were positive, girls shied away from him like he had the plague. Turner knew he was one of those men people pass on the street and never give a second glance. He was right under six feet, brown hair and eyes, and a lithe build. Basically, the same description people gave the police when a white guy committed a crime. So, his label of rat overrode his bland looks and left him a lonely, bored man before his time.
    When he was a teenager, like most, Turner blamed his woes on his parents. After graduating high school, he came to the conclusion that wasn’t fair. Turner had put himself in the situation all on his own. Turner wasn’t dumb. He just wasn’t motivated in high school to study or try and obtain scholarships for college. The amount of time and effort to do so just didn’t interest him. His mother used to call him flighty and artistic when he was younger, which was true. Drawing, painting, and designing graphics were the only things Turner really felt he had a knack for.
    Unfortunately, those skills wouldn’t pay the bills, so he kept his hobbies to himself and preferred to hang with his friends rather than buckle down and study. Knowing he could work for his father seemed the best—and easiest—road to travel.
    Now, Turner regretted the decision, but it was too late to change.
    Other than the discussions and preparations for “whatever shit this old world brings” (his dad’s favorite saying around the dinner table), Turner’s home life was normal. Well, if there really was such a thing. Though his dad was all about preparing for the end of the world and teaching Turner how to survive when society collapsed, Walter and Martha Addison were good people. Honest. Well-respected throughout the community. They were typical southern Bible thumpers who loved God and others, yet standoffish of big government.
    Most of the time growing up, Turner tuned out his father’s ramblings about disasters, world-wide plagues, lying governments, and conspiracy theories. However, during