Phew! I made it through. My dystopian scene.

​It's been a tense couple of days. The results were posted this afternoon for the dystopian scene. I've made it to the next round. I was very worried about this last challenge. After I submitted it, I thought about all the things that were confusing in the scene. The next challenge is to write a romance scene with one kiss. Voting will be Thursday and Friday. We all like kissing! So this should be fun. My husband is disappointed I didn't pull out the Bombshell Bra. But the kids are home from school and I don't own one. Too bad.
 
Will I. Am     
 
            I am no longer Will.
            My teeth vibrate from the tremble in the earth and the cold. The wool blanket the man-lady threw at me last night won’t cover my toes and my chin.
            And Rissa is gone.
            I should have thrown a punch, kicked a groin, yanked that man-lady’s rifle out of her hands before I let them separate us.
            Yet that animal carcass hanging outside my jail—no, holding room—of the main lodge and the five or so women I’d seen, gave me hope that this community would be safe—at least for Rissa.
            We left the last community in the middle of the night. As soon as Rissa started strutting and bending over and using that breathless voice around the food guard, I knew we had to leave. Sure, she got us stockpiles of beans and creamed corn and oatmeal packets, but that guard was looking for something other than food.
 
            The door bursts open. I jump up from the mattress, my hands in fists, my jaw tight.
            A body slams into me, then arms are around my waist and this person, this girl is soft and trembling.
            “Chris.” Her voice is high, over loud. She pushes away.
            When Dallin found Rissa and me huddled in a demolished gas station, licking out the glop from a can of chili, he said family members could join their community. I had to pretend to be his girlfriend’s missing brother and Rissa had to be his sister.
            The man-lady stands in the doorway. “This is Chris?” A gun rests in her arms like she can take me down between the eyes before I blink.
            “I’m sorry, Chris. This is Leah.” The girl holds onto my arm and her hand chills me through my jacket. She faces me. Her eyes are warm and brown and wet with tears. “We help each other. We have to.”
            We walk past the man-lady—excuse me, Leah—with her gun, past the carcass, and away from the lodge where they’ve got Rissa. I stop. But if I’m this girl’s brother, Rissa means nothing to me.
             “You’re home,” the girl says, loud again, and then leans into my arm, her chest brushing against my jacket. “Dallin sent me. Rissa, your sister. She’s there.”
            Now I want to be Will. Not this girl’s brother. And I don’t want to owe her boyfriend anything.