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The Survivor
Myra swore under her breath as she cut through a thick tangle of Kudzu. The damn vines were everywhere, and made traveling through the forested hills of the Ozarks a complete nightmare. Her arms ached terribly from the continual effort of swinging her machete, making it feel like it weighed twenty pounds more than it had when she had started her flight through the countryside. ‘At least the weather has cooled down some,’ she ruefully thought, grasping onto anything that might give her some...