Famine Man by Deborah Tapper

He almost ran the stranger over. Ragged, fishbone thin, teeth scarily prominent in that hollow, smudgy face. Shambling away from the farmhouse, emaciated hands slamming into the truck as he swerved. He flung a curse. Swung through the gate, sudden hunger tearing his belly. Bit his nails and crunched through bone and gristle, blood flooding his mouth.

It only made him even more ravenous.

She crouched by emptied cupboards and freezer. Starving, forgetting the skeletal beggar as the door opened. Hushed her wailing, insatiable children, who gnawed her flesh with desperate teeth.

“Daddy’s home,” she crooned. “Now we can eat!”