I didn't know what Daryl's problem with me was, and why he was being so harsh towards me. It's not like I couldn't help out with stuff; I wasn't useless and I'd proved that by managing to stay alive all this time practically by myself. Sure, I was always hungry, dirty and tired but that could change if I was accepted into a decent home. By not inviting me into his camp, he was practically killing me, I was sure of it. It wouldn't be long until I couldn't last much longer and after being rejected, I was ready to give up.
After he'd walked away, I stared at the ground for a while, well and truly fed up. I couldn't remember where I'd left my bike, and my shovel felt like it weighed a tonne. As I got up to leave, I dragged it behind me and left a trail through the leaves on the forest floor. After spending an hour trying and failing to find it, I threw myself down again. It was starting to get dark again and, although I'd lost all concept of time, I knew it was getting late and cold. I was hungry and thirsty - so much so that my stomach growled and throat scratched. The only food I had left was the tin of dog food I'd scavenged what seemed like a month ago. I'd been putting off eating it but it was my last resort as everything else I'd found was eaten on the journey to Atlanta.
I didn't want to look at it as I ate it. I closed my eyes, picked it up and threw it in my mouth, chewing it as fast as I could and getting rid of it within minutes. It was slimey, disgusting and full of grissle but still the most substantial meal I'd had in weeks. I wondered what the camp were having for dinner. Something warm, probably. Something a bit better than dog food. But I had no way of finding out, as I wasn't one of them.