《Goodbye Eli》


 Chapter 1: Blood in the Water

    Souless, hollow eye sockets stare back at me. His bones are clean¡ªpractically sterile¡ªas if carved from ivory and bleached white for good measure. It looks fake. Or maybe it¡¯s my heart that thinks it looks fake. It¡¯s nothing like those skeletons you pick out from the halloween store when October rolls around, the plastic, shiny ones made from molds. Those ones are smooth with soft edges¡ªlacking detail and texture. Lacking the intricate lines of matte, real bone.


    I blink, and the image vanishes from my mind.


    I clench my teeth and hold up the revolver, aiming at a knot on a tree about twenty feet away. But my finger never pulls the trigger. I can¡¯t really shoot. Not out here.


    A gunshot in a world like this is like blood in shark-infested waters: you never know quite what you¡¯ll attract, but none of it is good. Of course, that¡¯s if the rusty thing even works. I only keep it on the off-chance it might save my life one day. Also, it looks scary, and in a world like this, intimidation matters.


    I slide back from the center of the swimming hole, wading through chest-deep water back toward the rocky edge where my bag sits. I lean over, setting the gun just inside the flap. When my fingertips graze the soft leather cover of my uncle¡¯s journal, I pause. His skeleton flashes through my mind again and I swallow a lump in my throat.


    Even after all these months, pain still swirls in my chest. Like a wound scabbed over only to tear open again; eventually, you become numb to the pain. Only, I¡¯m still waiting for that numbness to come¡ªstill waiting for that freedom.


    It¡¯s a familiar feeling¡ªgrief. The first time it hit me full force was when my parents died. The nights after the car accident were dark. I was fourteen and my little brother, Ivan, was only four. But I wasn¡¯t alone back then. Uncle stepped in and saved us. He saved me. When my world turned upside down and the dark waters of life threatened to swallow me whole, Uncle reached in and pulled me out of it. He set my feet on dry land again.


    I rub the worn leather journal cover between my thumb and forefinger for the millionth time. Two hundred and fifty-one pages flit through my mind. I could recite every word if I wanted to. They are signed forever on my soul. I suppose that¡¯s what happens when you read the same thing over and over for eight months straight. Uncle may be gone, but at least I have his words¡ªhis thoughts. So long as I have that, he isn¡¯t gone. Not really. Not for me.


    I take a seat and ease my head against the swimming hole¡¯s rocky armrest, letting my body sink a little lower in the water. My toes poke out of the crystal water, revealing grimy nails ringed with black that match my fingers. I should clean them¡ªmy nails. The thought floats lazily through my mind like the fluffy white clouds overhead.


    A darkening horizon warns of rain, but I close my eyes, focusing on the warm afternoon sun instead. The cool spring water coaxes weariness from my bones.


    Uncle would never approve of my skinny-dipping in the middle of the woods.


    Too dangerous, he would say.


    But if there¡¯s one benefit to living in this barbaric world, it¡¯s privacy. I¡¯ve spent weeks trekking through woodland mountains without hide or hair of another living soul. I might be lonely if I wasn¡¯t so relieved. Uncle warned in his journal about the dangers in this new world, this world without civilization. Without law.


    Without women.


    They don¡¯t wake up, Natasha. Maybe it¡¯s better this way. The men who survive here are no men at all, but monsters. Count yourself lucky that you don¡¯t have to live among them.


    Ah, yes. Lucky. That¡¯s me. Like a broken mirror.


    Every living human transformed into stone in the blink of an eye. But the apocalypse didn¡¯t start then. It started when people began to wake. Only the men woke and even then, not all. In his journal, Uncle guessed less than one percent of the population had woken from the stone sleep. And from what he could tell, over one hundred years passed, leaving little of the civilized world intact.


    It happened in a blink. I remember the burning in my lungs when it happened. Fire consumed my chest, like holding your breath underwater until that moment when every cell in your body screams out. Gasping and retching, stone flaked off me like the scales of a reptile, leaving me shaking like a leaf in nothing but my skin. One moment I¡¯m laughing with my friend and the next I¡¯m gasping, staring at the ruined remains of a world that was. A few feet away sat my uncle¡¯s skeleton. I knew it was him because of the wedding ring. Even though my aunt died ten years ago he still wore his ring. His skeleton hand clenched an old journal tight against his rib bones.


    The first few weeks were horrible. It rained. I sat shivering and starved, too scared to leave the crumbling remains of my friend¡¯s old house. It was university break and her family had invited me over for Thanksgiving dinner since I couldn''t make it back home to the East coast that year. Only now it wasn¡¯t Thanksgiving, it wasn¡¯t her house, and everyone I had ever known is dead or gone. I remember hugging my knees and just staring. I stared at Uncle¡¯s skeleton as night turned to day and then back again. Maybe that¡¯s why I still see it every time I close my eyes. I stared too long and now it¡¯s seared into my corneas until the day I die. Until I join him and become a skeleton too.


    That¡¯s when Uncle saved me. Or at least, his journal did. When I finally mustered up the courage to pry it from his bony fingers and read a page my world came rushing back. I heard his voice in each word and suddenly, I wasn¡¯t alone. It let me stop and catch my breath¡ªpulled my mind back to the present. When I reached the end, I decided to continue where he left off. Only, I would write to my little brother, Ivan, instead.


    I¡¯m going east, Ivan. I¡¯m going to find you.


    Even if he is stone, I must find him. I have to know. And maybe he is awake. The thought brings dismay as much as it does hope; this world is no place for a thirteen-year-old.


    I will protect you, Ivan.


    I take a deep breath, filling my lungs with early spring-scented afternoon air and sink below the surface of the water. The scent lingers in my mind¡ªwarm and sweet, filled with cedar and pine. Underwater, the outside world is muffled, creating a silent calm. My exhale, long and slow, sends tiny bubbles jittering upward, tickling my forehead and catching on my eyebrows. The threads of my mind unravel like a scarf cut loose in a breeze. Empty lungs tug me back to the world of sound and I break the surface of the water with a gasp. Millions of maple leaves rustle in an ocean of green as birds add their voices to the symphony. Somewhere off to the left, a lizard scurries through the underbrush. Nature¡¯s concert plays on.


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    I start to sing. The song is a tragedy, warning of the dangers of hatred. My voice carries the mournful melody over bubbling waters for an audience of hundreds, each tree standing at attention. It reminds me of Ivan. It was one of his favorites.


    I climb out of the water, squeezing handfuls of liquid from my long, blonde hair as it streams down my back and chest. Dust and tiny pebbles cling to my feet on my way to my clothes drying on a branch. As I reach for my shirt, movement catches the corner of my eye.


    A person is crouching not more than twenty feet away. Silent. Head tilted, watching me.


    Another human. A man.


    My breath catches in my throat as it clamps shut, preventing the scream in my mind from reaching the real world. I blink once. Then again. He¡¯s still there. He¡¯s really there.


    I yank a swath of clothing from the nearest branch, clutching it over my bare body. My antithesis stares with every inch of his skin covered. Dressed in black, with a face shadowed by his hood and a scarf masking his lower face, all I can see are his darkly tinted, red-rimmed aviator goggles fixed on me.


    My heart stutters. My mind races to my revolver hiding inside the flap of my bag. Blood be damned, I¡¯m staring down a shark right now. But before I can act the masked man stumbles backward, darting off into the woods out of sight. My heart beats a mile a minute as I try to register what just happened.


    My worst nightmare.


    A chill crawls across my wet, bare skin raising the hairs. Silence bears down on me from every side and then a crack of thunder rumbles overhead. The storm is here.


    I rip my clothes free and fumble to put them on. Where did he go? Are there others like him? My eyes skitter across the woods as I hop, shoving my foot into a boot as panicked questions tumble over one another like a horde of zombies. I don¡¯t see him anywhere. Maybe he is a scout. He must be running to get more of his group. How many men will be crawling around this mountainside?


    He knows. He saw everything.


    The thoughts hit like a lightning strike and my hands shake as I struggle to tuck my hair away into my baseball cap. I should cut it short. It¡¯d be more manageable. And safer too¡ªmaking me look more like a boy. But I love my long hair. It reminds me of Mom, plus Ivan always loved to braid it. Of course, cutting it short to obscure my identity is pointless now. Not when I go walking around completely naked.


    Stupid, stupid!


    I try to squash the hellish images popping up, but it feels like one of those carnival games where you smack the little rodent with a hammer as it comes out of the hole. Only, there are a million holes and hundreds of rodents and only one hammer. I race down the game trail, my backpack thumping wildly against my spine as thunder cracks behind me.


    A ruined road of crumbling asphalt crosses my path leading to the remains of a small town. Brick buildings with broken roofs, missing walls decorated with rusty cars, and leaning light poles testify of a time which now only exists in the mind. A few giant oaks stand tall amid the decaying old world and tufts of grass encroach into every crack and crevasse. Time has stolen back the space in nature¡¯s name.


    I veer off into the town in a split-second decision. I need to hide. The masked man is surely spreading word, gathering more like himself. I could try to outrun them but it¡¯s too risky. If they have horses, dogs, or simply a man faster than me, they¡¯ll catch me for sure. But I passed through this town on the way to the swimming hole once before. If I can find a place to hide then maybe I can slip past them in the dead of night.


    Broken glass crunches underfoot as I catch my breath, jogging lightly past ruined shops. I need to find something worth holing up in.


    I pass statues¡ªstone people frozen in time. One man sits in an ancient broken-down Mercedes. Another stands at a street corner. Others have fallen over, eaten up by earth and vines. Will they ever wake? Maybe, if they¡¯re lucky¡ªor unlucky, depending on how you look at it.


    A thundering of hooves in the distance raises the hairs on the back of my neck. I duck for cover inside an old liquor store and crouch beside a stone man with a missing shoulder, peering through shards of glass sticking out from what used to be the front window. A gang of probably twenty men pull up on horses across the street.


    Raiders.


    Out of everything Uncle warned of in his journal, raiders were top of the list. At least grizzlies and wolves just want to eat you. Raiders want to have fun. One time, Uncle stumbled upon a man barely alive, strung up in the woods left to die. He¡¯d been skinned alive by nearby raiders. Eyes gouged out, fingers and toes cut off, and most of his face missing. Apparently, it can take hours, even days, to die from that, depending on how it¡¯s done. Uncle wanted to help him but the man just begged to die. It was the first time he''d ever taken a human life.


    I¡¯ve never seen raiders this close before and my heart pounds. They are a mismatched bunch with lots of muscle, missing teeth, excessive body hair, and¡ªI imagine based on their grimy looks¡ªnot a bath between them. Do raiders even bathe? Their ages vary from maybe twenty to middle age, but each holds a weapon. Many have guns. I watch as they mosey around, a few of the younger ones goofing off with each other, feigning punches. One man with a baseball bat swings at a statue, taking the head clear off. Like a stone over water, it skips along the decrepit sidewalk, rolling to a stop against a fallen lamppost.


    I swallow, my mouth dry, as I stare at the stone head and remember Uncle¡¯s written words.


    Statues are still people, Natasha. A broken statue is a broken person.


    Statues may not be susceptible to illness, or disease, or the ravages of old age, but they are still vulnerable to death. Even if every unbroken statue woke up today, the population would be decimated. With raiders around, it¡¯s a miracle anyone still wakes up at all. Could these men be with the masked man from the swimming hole? No. Probably not. If they are, he hasn¡¯t told them yet. They are oblivious to my presence. I¡¯ll wait until they pass.


    ¡°Check the liquor store for something good this time. I¡¯m sick of Jake¡¯s homemade stuff,¡± a gruff voice says from the back.


    The liquor store.


    My brain splutters to a stop.


    But I¡¯m in the liquor store.


    I creep out of sight and find a door leading to the back. Already I hear footsteps approaching from the front. I ease the door open. The motion sends glass and debris on the floor scraping against the tile and I flinch¡ªfreezing in place.


    Footsteps stop and an eerie silence falls over the space. They heard me. I know it. My heart picks up speed as I sneak through the opening and make my way down a hallway leading to an office and a door marked Exit.


    I place my hand on the knob as voices on the other side make me stop. The tone is easy. Relaxed. They don¡¯t know I¡¯m here but if I open the exit now they will see me. A crunch of glass under someone¡¯s boot comes from behind and panic squeezes my lungs.


    Can¡¯t go forward. Can¡¯t go back. And there¡¯s nowhere to hide.


    Another crunch, this one closer.


    I¡¯m out of time. I see only one choice.


    Run.

 Chapter 2: Rube Goldberg Machine

    From a crouch, I ease my shoulders back and let my backpack slide to the dirty floor with a soft thud. I burst out of the building in a dead sprint, passing a raider to my right and clipping a loose wire fence to my left. Somehow I register the cold slick of liquid dribbling down my arm, but I feel no pain. My mind is set. I must make it to the woods. If I can lose them at the river, then I might have a chance.


    Shouts of surprise and excitement sound off behind me, but I don¡¯t slow my pace to glance over my shoulder. Gunshots boom. A smatter of bullets flicks the ground, nearly catching my heels. But they miss because I¡¯m fast. Always have been. I was the fastest girl on the softball team in high school. Even got a scholarship to university.


    The woods are about five blocks away when I feel my legs slow of their own accord and my lungs start to burn. My run from the swimming hole sapped my strength and exhaustion ebbs through my adrenaline-spiked mind. Horses squeal and their hooves thunder behind me, getting closer by the second.


    I won¡¯t make it.


    I swerve left into an alleyway and at the end a weathered cinder block wall greets me. Perfect. I scramble up and over as two men on horses pull around the corner. The men curse as they realize they must follow on foot or find another way. The other side of the alleyway connects up to a street with a baseball field across the way and behind that, lie the woods.


    I run for it. I¡¯m fast enough. I can make it. But as my boots reach the grassy field, something catches my legs, pulling them together. I trip, falling forward. My momentum sends me sliding as weeds mixed with sharp gravel bury into my hands, shredding through several layers of skin.


    My legs are stuck. I glance down. A mess of rope with stone weights on either end wraps several times around my ankles. In the distance, the man who threw it cups his mouth with his hands and lets out a howl of excitement like some kind of rabid wolf.


    Then I see the others.


    Animalistic sounds pierce the air as they all rush in my direction, cackling like hyenas.


    My fingers fumble as I struggle to flip open my pocket knife. With it, I free my legs before they reach me, jumping up and turning to run, but it¡¯s too late.


    An enormous body collides with mine from behind, sending me back to the ground and crushing me with its weight. My lungs are robbed of oxygen and I gasp like a fish under a boot, squirming and twisting, trying to stick him with my knife. But I might as well have an elephant perched upon my back.


    Laughter and hollering of all sorts erupt from the group as they gather around. A boot kicks my hand, sending the knife flying.


    ¡°Flip him over. I wanna see how old this one is,¡± a gravelly voice demands somewhere from the left but a younger one complains.


    ¡°Look how scrawny.¡± Something hard jabs at my ribs. ¡°So weak. Let¡¯s just kill him now.¡±


    My heart stops. They don¡¯t know I¡¯m a girl. But the moment they find out¡­


    ¡°Naw, he¡¯s fast. He¡¯ll be fun for sure.¡±


    ¡°Not fast enough.¡±


    They all chuckle at that.


    Panic¡ªraw and real¡ªspikes through my body and I suppress a whimper of dread. I know what comes next. What they¡¯ll do to me. It¡¯s the horror ever-crouching in the back of my mind. The one whispering into my ear every time I hear a twig snap in the middle of the woods or catch unexpected movement from the corner of my eye.


    Only now it doesn¡¯t whisper¡ªit screams.


    The weight lifts. I splutter for breath, leaping forward. Something hard like a baseball bat whacks me across my back and I collapse to the ground, pain shooting everywhere. Tears spring to my eyes and I hear more laughter.


    A boot makes contact with my side, and again I struggle to breathe. More splitting pain, and a strangled cry gurgles in my throat. I curl up into a ball to protect my head and vitals, preparing for more. But nothing comes. Instead, I hear a cry of surprise overhead followed by shouts of outrage and the frantic shuffling of feet.


    Thud.


    I crack my eyes open. The dead face of a raider greets me, his nose resting a hair from my own. Years of grime and sweat cake his skin like slime on an old fish tank. I can practically taste the scent of sewer and body odor radiating off him in waves. But it¡¯s his expression¡ªfrozen in an eternal look of surprise¡ªthat steals my breath. The tuft of an arrow buried deep into his brain pokes through the socket of his left eye.


    I scramble backward, the stabbing pain at my side a distant memory. A whizzing sound cuts through the air overhead. To my left, another man drops to his knees, moaning with three arrows protruding from his chest. I blink. Thwip! Another appears in his neck, gushing blood as he claws at his throat, collapsing to the ground.


    My heart kicks into overdrive and I turn tail and run as fast as my legs can carry me. Gunshots ring through the air, but this time they aren¡¯t directed at me. I am all but forgotten.


    When I reach the tree line at the end of the field¡ªpanting and gasping¡ªI stop and look back. Three men lay unmoving on the ground and another three have turned to fight an unknown attacker in their midst. My breath catches when I see who it is. The man from the swimming hole is a blur of black and red as he cuts down the raiders mercilessly. Even with their guns, they can¡¯t land a shot. His movements are fluid and swift, shooting arrows from a distance and using two long, curved blades the moment he comes within reach.


    A chill crawls down my spine. This man knows exactly what I am. What happens when he finishes with them? Will he come for me? What will he do to me?


    I should run.


    But my stiff, weary legs refuse to obey. My eyes are glued to the disaster before me as if it were a gruesome magic trick. Down the street, I catch sight of at least a dozen more raiders on horses. They charge his way but he doesn¡¯t see. He ducks and thrusts his blade, plunging it deep into the chest of one man, and then twists¡ªusing the mans body to block a shot from the last man standing. As the last man fumbles to reload, he rips his sword free and crosses the distance in a flash, cutting him down the middle in one fluid sweep of his blade. The raider lets out a panicked-sounding howl before collapsing to the ground.


    As he does, the gang on horses pulls up, circling the masked man. He stands, swords drawn, head down, eyeing them in a silent calm. It is a standoff. He, with half a dozen of their dead comrades at his feet, against the twelve of them. I wait for the bullets to go flying. He might be able to down a few of them, but not before they pump him full of metal in the process.


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    A conversation of some kind ensues between them and he drops his swords. One of the raiders approaches from behind and clocks him in the head with a bat. The masked man falls to the ground, unconscious. I flinch and look away as they take turns kicking him, the sound of the thuds making it far enough to reach me across the field. When I look back, they¡¯ve picked him up, heading back down the road.


    Once they are out of sight, I let out a shaky breath of relief, one that¡¯s shallow and full of pain. I lift my shirt. On my left side where my ribs are, the skin has turned a dark purple. Bruised? Hopefully just bruised. Each breath may hurt, but at least I can still breathe. If those raiders had discovered what I am¡­


    I close my eyes and calm my trembling hands. But the masked man showed up just in time. I let out a pathetic, breathless laugh at the irony. If he hadn¡¯t seen me at the pool he surely wouldn¡¯t have intervened to stop them. And in the end, the raiders took him away, leaving me scott-free.


    Hallelujah.


    With stiff legs, I return the way I came, crossing the field and stepping past dead raider bodies. Thunder cracks overhead and tiny raindrops sprinkle the area. I glance at the dismal sky.


    A wheezing chuckle greets me from somewhere below and on reflex I leap to the side as if dogging a rattlesnake. A man lies a few feet away with a gash across his chest and blood leaking from the corner of his mouth. He gives me a pained, hate-filled grin as he lies dying. Despite his state, his eyes still glower darkly as if he might kill me with his gaze alone.


    ¡°Your friend is about to suffer more pain than you can possibly imagine.¡± He lets out a gurgled sneer.


    ¡°He¡¯s not my friend.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s the spirit.¡± He snickers more before a watery cough interrupts. Mouthfuls of blood sprout from his lips like a fountain. ¡°You¡­you would have made a great raider if you weren¡¯t so puny.¡±


    I scoff and turn away. What an appalling, despicable man.


    ¡°Down the road, take a right at Johnny¡¯s sign. I dare you¡ª¡±


    The man cuts off with more gurgling, and soon, silence fills the old baseball field. I stop and stare over the desolate space.


    Chain link fences lie in rusty messes, their metal wires sprung free long ago, grasping their claws at whatever dares pass by. Aluminum bleachers along one side of the field are covered in twisted vines and weeds. A tree pushed up through the seating, bending the decrepit metal and making the space its own.


    A soft breeze sends gooseflesh up my arms as trickles of sweat dance down my neck. A bird in the distance sings a happy melody as if to mock the dead surrounding me.


    I refuse to look back at the raiders¡¯ bodies, left by their own people to be food for wild animals. Discarded like refuse. What kind of humans do that? Even when one of their own still clung to life, they abandoned him to die alone. The dying man¡¯s words float through my mind and I hug my throbbing ribs as new aches spring to life.


    If this is how they treat their friends, what happens to their enemies? How long will the masked man suffer before they allow him to die?


    He shouldn¡¯t have surrendered. It would have been better to go down fighting. Based on Uncle¡¯s stories, death is quicker and the pain would be fleeting. I shake away the pointless train of thought. The masked man is not my concern. Men die every day, and if I¡¯m not careful, I¡¯ll join them. I must focus on surviving long enough to find my brother¡ªa hard enough job without worrying about strangers.


    I return to the liquor store for my backpack and search the surrounding buildings. But to my dismay, I find nothing. No food. No weapons. Nothing but some cracked cans¡ªfood long spoiled. After two hours of scavenging, I cut my losses and headed down the street.


    I walk parallel to the interstate highway, just inside the treeline to avoid being spotted. It would be easier to take the crumbling, broken pavement but after today I find there is no such thing as being too careful. I would rather fight the shrubbery and climb over boulders than risk a repeat of earlier.


    The setting sun pierces through trembling leaves and paints the bark all around a brilliant shade of auburn.


    The birds surrendered their song to the impending night giving room for cicadas to pick up the slack with their buzz. In the midst of it all, an odd kind of roar catches my ear. Like the roar of the ocean but different. I freeze. It sounds like a hundred people all shouting in unison coming from deeper into the forest. Slowly, I turn to see an old faded sign.


    Johnny¡¯s B¨CQ.


    The rusty paint flaked free in some spots leaving only Johnny¡¯s and no BBQ, but without a doubt, it¡¯s the same sign the raider mentioned before he died.


    I hit the ground hard, my heart a tennis ball in a match against my ribs. My breath comes in shallow, strained gasps and I cram my eyes shut. Just how close am I? I swore the raiders headed in the opposite direction so why do I hear them now? I kick myself for not paying closer attention to my surroundings. What did that raider say? Take a right at Johnny¡¯s sign? I should go left. No. I should turn back. No. Ivan is east. I must keep going east.


    The distant rumble rises and falls, and nostalgia slaps me like a wall of fine mist. High school and Friday nights and softball games. The feel of the softball hitting my bat and soaring far, the crowd roaring.


    The source of the sound must be a mile or so away. Up ahead, horse hoof tracks cut deep through long-dried mud, pulling off the interstate and leading deeper into the forest.


    The roaring reaches a peak and then dies down again. Something has them excited.


    Then it hits me.


    The masked man must be down there. If they haven¡¯t killed him, then maybe he is the entertainment. I shudder and look away. Uncle only came across raider victims a handful of times and only after they were abandoned to die or already dead¡ªstrung up in the woods or a in old city square. Every new story Uncle described seemed more horrifying than the last and now the masked man is at their mercy. Are they breaking all his bones? Taking turns carving him up? Burning him alive?


    I try veering my thoughts away, but I might as well be playing tug of war with a pit bull. For every successful step back I get yanked forward two more. Horrible images pop into my mind like roaches in your bedroom. I cram my eyes shut and let out a loathful moan, wishing them to leave.


    Stop it.


    This doesn¡¯t concern you. Just keep walking.


    I rise to my feet, taking a miserable step forward. Just one foot in front of the other. But my feet are lead, my legs stiff as sticks. When I reach the tracks in the dried mud I stop. It¡¯s like an invisible wall disconnects my brain and my feet. These tracks lead to the raider base.


    What if I¡¯m wrong?


    The question sends my brain stuttering to a halt.


    Maybe the shouting has nothing to do with the masked man. Maybe they killed him straight off. If he¡¯s already dead, then there was never anything I could do and this horrible clawing in my chest can go away. The roaches¡ªexterminated. This tug-of-war game¡ªwon.


    The stupid thought is just that, stupid. Idiotic. But also incredibly enticing, and its roots grow fast and deep. Who knows why a base full of raiders is screaming like a bunch of banshees? Maybe they fight to the death with each other for fun.


    The last few hints of sunlight slip below the horizon. I could be quiet. They would never know I was here. And it would just be a peek. Just enough to satisfy my curiosity and prove the sound has nothing to do with the masked man.


    The thought draws me like a magnet and I take a step down the path but stop. What are you doing? Have you lost your mind? Did they hit you in the head back there? Did you forget about Ivan?


    I can¡¯t do this. I need to find Ivan. If I do this I might as well abandone my little brother to this apocalyptic world. I narrowly escaped capture from these savages and now I want to run right back to them? And for what? A man I don¡¯t even know?


    And a dead man, at that.


    Unless, he¡¯s not dead.


    But he probably is. Most definitely, probably. Maybe.


    I let out a frustrated groan and shake my head, stomping back down the ruined highway, away from the raiders. Away from the masked man.


    And toward Ivan.

 Chapter 3: A Heros Savior

    You stupid, idiot.


    The logical, sane half of my brain calls me out as I step down the old mud-cracked path into the woods. I lasted an entire thirty seconds on my quest to get to Ivan before I turned around, abandoning my bag by the highway and stepping lightly over damp earth, heading toward the raider base. The logical half of my mind still battles the idiot half. By all rights, logic should win, but here I am. An idiot. Doing idiot things.


    Just a peek. Then I¡¯ll come straight back here and never look back.


    What do you expect to find? A dead man? Are you really risking everything for a dead man? And what if he¡¯s alive? What then?


    Then nothing. Ivan is still my priority. Even if the masked man is alive, I¡¯ll just come back.


    And have nightmares for the rest of your life, no doubt.


    I grit my teeth. An earthy, petrichor scent rises from the ground and fills my lungs. Its warm, musty smell soothes the anxiety in the back of my mind, even still, I swear my thumping heart threatens to reveal me, pounding like a drum as if it might wake the entire forest. The distant rumble of voices grows louder and soon I can make out individual shouts from the crowd. Jeers and cackles mix with thunderous shouts of anger and disappointment.


    Through the brush, I spy a rundown restaurant building and beside it, the remains of a gas station. A simple wooden structure rises two stories through the partly collapsed roof serving as a lookout post. No guard on duty. The muddy clearing out front, a parking lot once upon a time, more closely resembles a junkyard now with messes of vehicles, trucks, and bikes strewn helter-skelter. I follow the treeline behind the restaurant to where nearly one hundred men crowd in a circle.


    There in the center sits an enormous pit, probably ten feet deep, and the length of a basketball court. Sharp barbed wire circles the top with wooden spears pointing inward. Weathered aluminum bleachers and logs line the outside of the pit for seating, but the crowd mostly stands, screaming and shouting. Men mob around the edge of the pit, some throw empty bottles or rocks while others shout and guzzle alcohol. Even from my distance, the smell of it swirls with a pungent armpit odor and stings my nose. A ring of torches illuminates the world inside the pit, and the sight sends my heart hitting the ground, wrenching down the blood in my body with it.


    Inside, a man armed with nothing but a small knife stands off against an enormous grizzly. I watch as he ducks and rolls around the creature¡¯s deadly swipes, using his knife to slice when an opening presents itself. A thick metal collar chains the man to the center of the pit, but it does little to hinder his movements.


    Stripped of everything except pants, by all rights, I should not recognize him. And yet, I do. I see the haunting ghost of the masked man who cut down those raiders on that baseball field. The movements are exactly the same: fluid and controlled. And again, like before, I find my eyes cemented to the scene. Unable to look away.


    Even from this distance, the cuts and bruises across his body stand out. The flickering torchlight catches the deep, red gashes and mottled purple across his body in distressing detail. Despite it, he moves effortlessly. Dodging left and right, missing the bear¡¯s attacks by a hair. It lets out a roar¡ªdeep and guttural. Just one misstep means death.


    But his steps are true. Just like in that baseball field he seems to hold all the cards, ducking and swiping at the giant beast. At first the cuts send it into a frenzie but then it seems to tire. The crowd screams in excitement as he finishes it off with a clean swipe across its neck. It falls beside the dead bodies of a cougar and giant boar.


    One man in particular is agitated, cursing up a storm from his spot in the crowd. He sports a mohawk streaked with red and wears a string of shriveling human skulls across his chest like some kind of archaic barbarian. He rips something small and shiny from his waist and tosses it to the ground before leaping into the pit. Approaching with two crude broadswords drawn, he lets out a roar, making the crowd go wild. Mohawk is half a foot shorter from the man with the knife, but his fit, stout frame reveals bulging muscles.


    The man with the knife stands erect, eyeing his opponent in a kind of silent calm.


    Mohawk strikes first, lashing out with his swords, but the move is easily evaded. Like water around a stone, I begin to notice a pattern as Mohawk finds it impossible to land a blow. The man with the knife avoids every lunge, strike, and jab in a beautiful kind of dance. But his partner¡¯s patience wanes. In his frustration, Mohawk bends down and grabs the chain leash. It rattles as he yanks it hard, sending the man with the knife to the ground.


    The unfair move creates the opening Mohawk needs. He leaps forward, blades slashing down for a kill. No! I let out a gasp, gripping the tree beside me until bark crumbles away in my hand. But the man with the knife, quick as lightning, rolls backward onto his feet, coming up beside his attacker. He drives his knife into Mohawk¡¯s stomach, twisting and yanking it up. The two of them freeze for what feels like an eternity until Mohawk¡¯s body falls lifeless to the ground.


    Silence descends over the crowd.


    He did it. He won. Relief swells in my chest. Of course he did.


    The man with a knife drops his weapon and brandishes one of the swords left by his dead adversary. An older, balding man in the crowd shouts something and picks up a gun, pointing it at the man in the pit.


    I blink in shock. But he won. Will they really kill him? After all that?


    What comes next leaves me dumbfounded. The old man with the gun closes his eyes, turns his head away, waves the nose of the gun a bit, and pulls the trigger. A blossom of red appears on the shoulder of the man in the pit, dribbling down his arm, and the crowd explodes with satisfaction. The old man opens his eyes and the two exchange stares, neither blinking until the old man breaks out with a grin. He shouts, but I cannot hear over the ruckus, and the crowd begins to disperse for the night.


    I crouch motionless, hidden in the woods, staring at the man in the pit. The show is over, but I cannot seem to tear my eyes free of the grim scene. How has humanity regressed this far? These men were once members of society, civilized society. Unless, perhaps, they weren¡¯t. Rapists and murderers can wake from the stone just as easily as any other.


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    When almost everyone is gone, the man in the pit eases himself to the ground and lies on his back, one hand cradling his head as he stares at the night sky.


    I should go. Already I have dawdled too long, best to leave now while I still can. I should have listened to the sane half of my brain and kept walking past that stupid sign. My eyes catch on the man in the pit. If anyone can handle themselves around these monsters, surely he can. Surely. He can kill whatever they throw down there at him.


    But can he dodge the next bullet from a gun?


    So what? Why do I care?


    Because you¡¯re the reason he¡¯s down there. He saved you from them.


    Best not to let the sacrifice be in vain, then.


    I tear my mind free and turn to go when something new catches my eye. The glimmer of metal in torchlight there in the mud where Mohawk stood before jumping into the pit. That¡¯s right. He tossed something away before leaping to his death. I squint and creep as close as I dare to the forest edge before my heart skips a beat in recognition.


    A ring of keys.


    My stomach bottoms out and I clutch the tree beside me. Keys to his collar. It must be. What else could it be? I sit frozen long enough for every single one of the torches lining the pit to burn out leaving nothing but dim moonlight illuminating the area. Men¡¯s voices reverberate off the cliff¡¯s edge coming from the building to the side. One wrong move and I will alert them, and then it really will be over in the worst of ways.


    I remember my uncle¡¯s words he wrote in the journal.


    The world is not what it once was. Madness has overtaken it.


    I should turn around right now. The man in the pit is, after all, a man. And he knows my secret, which makes him the most dangerous man alive right now. In fact, it¡¯s a blessing the raiders caught him, and here I am looking a gift horse in the mouth.


    But I can¡¯t tear my gaze from the ring of keys at the edge of the pit. If I walk away now, I will feel guilty forever. He ran away at the swimming hole. At the time, I thought he might be running to alert others but now that seems unlikely. So why did he run?


    Why did he run?


    He was twenty feet away, he could have captured me easily, especially considering the situation. I was in no position to fight him off. So why didn¡¯t he?


    The question sprouts a stupid kind of bravery in my chest and I glance over at the buildings. The last few stragglers loitering about disappeared into the cafe¡¯s back door a while ago, leaving the clearing between me and the pit wide open. It would take less than a minute to grab the keys and toss them over the edge of the pit.


    This time I don¡¯t think, don¡¯t stop to consider the consequences of my actions because it doesn¡¯t matter. Stupidity already won out once tonight and it''s winning again. After all, if you can''t fight them, join them. I dart to the edge of the pit, snatch the keys on my way, and peer around to an opening in the barbed wire.


    The man lies on his back in the center of the pit but as I stare, he looks up. A moment passes and he sits up, face trained in my direction. We simply stare at each other and I can¡¯t make out much in the dim moonlight but I feel his shock. You and me both, bud.


    I throw the keys with all my strength and hear a soft thud as they hit his chest. All those years as a statue and I still got my throw. I glance over to the restaurant. Still no cry of alarm, only the sound of booted feet on an old, wooden floor and distant conversation.


    I turn on my heels to race back to the treeline when my foot catches on a bundle of knotted rope tied to the base of some bleachers. Rope? Why is there rope?


    I glance behind. The barbed wire which rings the top of the pit stops here, leaving this one section of the pit open. This must be where the raiders get in and out. Without a second thought, I sling an armful of the rope over the edge.


    There. Now you¡¯re on your own.


    I couldn¡¯t have done more. Keys and a rope leading to freedom? I practically picked him up and carried him to safety myself.


    I race back to the woods as a shout rings out from the watchtower. But I am already lost behind the leaves, flying over fallen logs and tearing through shrubs. I¡¯m not too worried. With no dogs, I just have to get far enough away to find a solid tree to hide in.


    Then I hear something.


    Another pair of feet thump in pace right behind mine. My heart drops even as my feet pick up speed. One of them found me. Already? How? They might have seen my general direction from the watchtower, but it should have taken a hot minute to spread that kind of information. And they couldn¡¯t have expected a jailbreak.


    The person starts to close in and panic floods my system. My worst fears display themselves like a movie theater in the forefront of my mind and I beg my legs to carry me just a little faster. But my pursuer is too fast and a hand grabs my shoulder from behind. I pivot, turning my body and whipping out my knife in the same motion. I swipe it in their direction, hoping to get something vital when they sidestep out of reach.


    ¡°Wait,¡± the person says in a hushed tone.


    My eyes go wide. Instead of a raider, the man from the pit stands across from me.


    ¡°You?¡± A new kind of terror grips me and I wave the knife like a maniac. ¡°Stay away!¡±


    From this distance, I get a good look at how much of a mess he is. One eye is swollen shut and a nasty cut on his chin matches the one on his busted lip. Blue and purple stains up and down his torso like they used his body for batting practice. They probably did.


    ¡°Why did you do that?¡± he asks.


    Do what? What did I¡ªOh.


    He means why did I rescue him?


    Because I¡¯m an idiot. Because I couldn¡¯t leave him well enough alone and just be happy that I survived another day in this literal apocalypse of a world.


    But instead, what comes out of my mouth is, ¡°Why did you run?¡±


    Even between his swollen face and the darkness of night, I can make out his confusion. Men¡¯s voices, less than a block away, catch my attention and I let out a curse. I should have been running far from here, but instead, this guy decided he wanted to chit-chat. I hold the knife up threateningly, though it feels more like a plastic toy around him than sharpened steel.


    With my best menacing look, I say, ¡°If I see you again, I¡¯ll kill you.¡±


    Then I turn and run, leaving it at that. After all, the raiders will be coming for him too. Hopefully, they follow his trail instead of mine. When I reach my bag, the raiders sound distant. The occasional flurry of gunshots gets cut off quickly with distant shouting. I guess they found his trail after all.


    Lucky for me.


    For the next hour or so I make good time putting distance between myself and the raider¡¯s¡¯ base. The random gunshots grow fainter, and when they become tiny pops, I start looking for a tree to stay in for the night. I settle for a large oak. The branches are low, which makes it easy to climb, but they get thinner near the top where I¡¯d sleep. Far out of sight and safe from wandering eyes.


    As the adrenaline trickles from my system all the pains of the day float to the surface. My ribs are especially keen on making me suffer. My mind is a chaotic mess of thoughts and emotions as it flies through the day¡¯s events. The face of the dead raider laying inches from my own. The masked man cutting them down in the field and again in the raider pit. I see his bruised and beaten face lit by moonlight. The confusion there. My mind fixes on the image and as it does, I feel the strands of my mind unwind. Exhaustion rises up and with every breath I feel my consciousness inch further and further away.

 Chapter 4: An Unwelcome Friend

    Sunlight filters through the canopy to dance warmly across my skin. I squint at the rustling leaves and blue sky beyond, cottony clouds scattered about. Somewhere below me, a babbling brook tangles through the brush.


    For a moment I travel back in time. To ice cream and softball and lazy Saturday mornings. Out on my uncle¡¯s farm down by the stream, sprawling out on meadow grass beneath giant maples. My little brother, Ivan, screaming excitedly about a fish he just caught.


    He was just a skinny little kid with freckles, blond hair, and enough imagination to power the whole state of Rhode Island. His infectious grin could light up a room better than a lightbulb and his obsession with magic tricks made him a hit with all the other kids in eighth grade.


    I try to sit up and my whole body rebels. Tendrils of pain stretch from my ribs across my side like spidery fingers dragging biting nails deep across my flesh. But I push past it all, gritting my teeth and tossing my bag to the soft, mossy earth below.


    When my feet hit the forest floor, I stoop to grab my bag, but as I straighten, a wave of dizziness clouds my vision and I clutch a branch to stay upright. It¡¯s hunger. Or rather, my body¡¯s response to the lack of sufficient food. Two months into my journey east to find my brother, and I¡¯m ashamed to say I may not be the best scavenger. No, scratch that, I¡¯m terrible. I barely find enough to keep myself alive from day to day and this last week proved especially bad. Add to that yesterday¡¯s incredibly high-calorie-burning activities and I can already tell it will be a struggle to get through the daylight hours without passing out.


    Since I woke from the stone I¡¯ve survived on nothing but scavanged food from the old world. In the beginning, before I decided to set out to find Ivan, I thought I might try my hand at growing a garden but nothing worked. Even when I managed to find a few ancient seeds packets that didn¡¯t disintegrate in my hands, I couldn¡¯t get anything to grow. I¡¯ve kept an eye open for berry bushes or fruit trees but there¡¯s no trace of any, as if they never existed in the first place. I¡¯m not surprised. Uncle wrote about how the plants changed, nothing about them is edible anymore. In fact, they¡¯re dangerous. He doesn¡¯t know why. Maybe it¡¯s the same thing that caused the stone sleep, or maybe it¡¯s from all of our meddling with genetics and pesticides. Regardless, everyone either scavanges or hunts now.


    As I wait for the world to finish prickling back to life, I notice something laying near my feet where my bag had been: a pile of colorful feathers. Beautiful, shiny, and rusty-red with black speckles and a ring of white paired with deep navy. A bird? A dead pheasant. I glance overhead, scanning the area. What killed it?


    Flipping it over, I can tell it¡¯s fresh, very fresh. Still warm. The neck flops at an odd angle. Broken. I frown. Did it fly into a branch? How odd. Do birds even do that? I search for any other signs of damage but come up empty. Maybe I crushed it with my bag by accident. The ridiculous thought makes me want to laugh. Well, the meat looks good. As if on cue my stomach rumbles, sending fresh waves of hunger pains gnawing at my middle. I need no more encouragement, a small, smokeless fire won¡¯t draw unwanted attention this far from the raider base.


    The first bite is heaven. Truly. I have never tasted anything so good before in my life, and I know what they say: anything tastes good when you¡¯re starving. But this makes me rethink the whole scavenger strategy. Maybe I¡¯ll try hunting instead if only I had a proper gun. At the very least, this will make it hard to swallow another can of expired beans. With my belly full and no leftovers to speak of, I head east. Uncle¡¯s map shows I have at least a four-day walk before I reach the nearest town.


    ~~~


    It took me a while, but my idiot brain finally put the pieces together. At first, I thought I was going crazy. After all, it was just a feeling. A prickle running up my spine. But no matter how much I looked or listened or spied out of the corner of my eye, I saw only forest. Heard only forest. Still, I sensed him. Sensed his eyes on me.


    If not for the string of dead wildlife appearing every morning, I would think I was truly losing it. Always at the base of my tree. Left for me.


    ¡°I know you¡¯re out there!¡± I shout into the woods.


    Silence.


    ¡°I know who you are, too. Go away.¡±


    Still nothing. I suppose I did threaten him with death the last time we met, but I doubt he hides out of fear. That is, if it¡¯s really him. But honestly, who else could it be? A raider would never bother with stalking, and a random passerby would either attack or avoid me. It must be the masked man.


    He may just be leaving me breakfast now, but what happens when he grows tired of watching from afar? When he decides it¡¯s not enough. When he wants more?


    My mind usher¡¯s up images of the masked man mercilessly cutting down those raiders in the field. Their blood watering the ground. I see the way he took down that bear. A grizzly. I thought raiders were dangerous but I don¡¯t stand a chance against a man like him. He could do whatever he wanted to me and I¡¯d be helpless to stop him. There¡¯s no one to call for help. No 911. No cops. Nothing. I¡¯m completely alone. The thought shoots adrenaline through my veins like fire.


    ¡°I mean it! Stop following me.¡±


    But I might as well be yelling at a frog in a mud puddle with the response I get. Nothing.


    The next morning, fresh game waits at the base of my tree. This time a young boar. The man is like a cat, leaving dead presents on your doorstep in the morning. Only much more dangerous.


    I huff in frustration. The worst part is I actually need the food. Badly. But knowing it came from this stalker nearly takes away my appetite. Nearly. I have half a mind to leave it except hiking through the woods all day on nothing but yesterday¡¯s meal means I can¡¯t. A few days of food doesn¡¯t change the weeks of near starvation I still need to recover from. I lost more weight than I can afford these last few months, and I swear every passing week gives me a new rib to count.


    I need a trap.


    I could feign injury. He might come out, but even with the element of surprise, I doubt I could touch him. Let alone hurt him. The way he fought down in that pit still sits at the surface of my mind. Maybe I could hole up in a tree and wait him out. Wait until he gets bored and either comes out of hiding or leaves. But I lack the supplies for such an endeavor.


    As I nibble on roasted boar and brainstorm ideas, I pull out the map Uncle left me, wiping grease on my shirt before tracing the faded colorful lines with my fingertips. Judging by the mountain range ahead, I should reach the nearest town by the next morning.


    I finish my meal, climbing to my feet and stretching out my back and arms. The hazy sky overhead invites humidity, drawing in a world of gray like a warm cloak clinging to my skin as I trudge through squelching mud and scratchy thorny overgrowth.


    I stop abruptly. Listening.


    Nothing.


    Just like every other time I¡¯ve tried to catch sight or sound of him. The masked man is undetectable. Either that or I¡¯m hallucinating, but my satisfied stomach testifies to my sanity. I continue my slog along the crumbling highway and decide to ease my anxious heart the only way I know how.


    I sing.


    Say what you want about all the things we lost. Airplanes. Internet. Civilization. Plumbing. By far the greatest loss was music. Music is a special kind of art: a marriage of time and the mind. The power of a song¡ªa melody¡ªto reach out and touch the deepest parts of your soul and walk with you through time. In sadness, it eases into the most broken parts of you like a soothing salve. In happiness, it sends you soaring higher than a bird. I love to get lost in my songs, letting the sound of my voice stretch through the space around me.


    The interstate leads to a huge ravine where the remains of a cement bridge sit on either side. At least two hundred feet of nothing but empty air lie between me and where I need to be. Luckily, a monkey bridge connects the two sides. It¡¯s the type they teach you to make in boy scouts. The type my uncle showed me how to make when I was a kid. It consists of two rope handrails tied loosely to a single base rope which you walk on. The whole thing effectively making a ¡®V¡¯ shape. I rub my hand over the thick rope. Fairly new. Maybe a couple of years old? Not molding or rotting at least. I wonder who made it.


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    The thought draws my gaze around the open space. No one is around. The other side is clear: nothing but broken pavement and thick forest for as far as the eye can see. Overhead, the sky darkens as a storm rushes in from behind and I smell it¡ªheavy and metallic with undertones of earth and grass. An icy gust steals the warmth from my fingertips and I curl them into the palms of my hands, leaning to peer over the edge. Rocky sides disappear into a haze but the steady roar of angry waters echoes up. My mind conjures up images of jagged black stones jutting up from foaming white water.


    With a tight jaw, I lift my foot and set it on the rope base, testing it against my weight. The rope sways in the breeze, and every nervous jerk or clumsy foothold amplifies the movement across the length of the bridge. A sprinkling of raindrops splatter my baseball cap and I grip the rope tighter.


    I could turn back. Head south until I find another way across but according to my map it will take at least a day. And the bridge down there may be destroyed too which would end up taking me further away from Ivan. No, I need to take this opportunity. Get to Ivan as quickly as possible.


    You can do this.


    I fight the tremble in my chest and put one foot in front of the other. The storm gusts up from below, sending the bridge hopping and my heart climbing higher. With every step forward, I must yank my hands¡¯ vice-like grip free for a moment to keep going. Halfway across, the rain grows stronger, turning from tiny specks into giant drops, smacking through my clothes like sharp, icy daggers. The tremble in my chest grows outward into my extremities and my teeth start to chatter.


    The bridge jerks in the breeze and my boot slips from the single base rope. I gasp as I slip, my body dropping low. My arms remain stretched out above me, my hands clamped to the wet, arm rail ropes in a death grip. My lungs suck in a breath and forget what to do with it. I glance downward and my stomach lurches. The fog has lifted just enough to reveal angry waters and rocks sharp as teeth below.


    I see myself falling. Feel the sudden ¡®whoosh¡¯ of air past my ears before I reach the bottom. My bones crack. My head splits open. And then the icy waters swallow me up. The vision makes my heart stutter and grip loosen.


    With a shaky exhale, I lift my eyes. I can see the other side. It¡¯s maybe twenty feet away. Normally, I enjoy heights. The view at the end of a hike makes it all worth it. But it¡¯s different when your life is on the line. Not just mine. My brother¡¯s too.


    Ivan needs you.


    My little brother is somewhere on the other side of this bridge. I won¡¯t die here. I can¡¯t.


    I use every last bit of strength to pull myself back upright, steadying myself despite the earthquake coming from my knees. Careful now, I put one foot in front of the other, keeping my eyes ahead. Just ten more feet. Then eight. Then five. Almost there. A small gasp escapes my lips as my feet meet solid ground again.


    I stumble forward, falling to my knees and gripping beautiful wet, tufts of grass, digging my fingernails in deep to the damp earth. I bow my head, forehead touching the earth as I focus on breathing. Behind me, the bridge still twitches in the breeze. It¡¯s empty. Lonely and destitute.


    Once the shaking in my arms and legs abates, I pull myself up and continue, following the interstate. The rain turns into a torrent. As if Noah returned from the dead and brought the flood with him.


    I take shelter under a nearby rundown gas station as the temperature drops. Setting my backpack on the remains of a bench out front of the building, I pull out my jacket from my bag and put it on. And as I zip it up against a rush of cold, I realize my luck. I crossed that bridge just in time, a few more minutes and I would be stuck trying to cross with this mind-numbing cold and blinding rain.


    A sudden thought stops my heart.


    The bridge. The stalker must cross that bridge too. At least, if he wants to keep up with me. That¡¯s my trap. That¡¯s how I will lose him. My heart speeds up at the very thought.


    Grabbing my gun in one hand and knife in the other, I drop my backpack and race back down the interstate, desperately hoping I am not too late and kicking myself for not thinking of it sooner. I should have cut the bridge the moment I crossed it but staring death in the face left me distracted.


    As the bridge comes into view, I stumble at the sight.


    There, in the middle of the bridge, stands a man clad in black, hands gripping either side. He stares downward, not moving. Frozen.


    ¡°Hey!¡±


    I have to scream to be heard over the pouring rain. I level my gun, aiming down my sights. ¡°Stop following me.¡±


    He looks up at me. Every last inch of skin is covered once again, and those red-rimmed goggles stare eerily. He says nothing.


    ¡°I mean it!¡± I pull the hammer back. ¡°Turn back now or I will shoot you.¡±


    But rather than turning back, he takes a step forward. With those endless black voids set on me, I sense determination. I glance around. The storm is the perfect cover I need to shoot this gun. Its boom could be easily assumed to be a crack of thunder.


    ¡°If you take another step, I will shoot,¡± I shout over the storm. I know he hears me, but it seems to encourage him as he steps forward.


    I brace myself and pull the trigger.


    Click.


    Panic settles in my gut.


    Click. Click. Click.


    Jammed. I should have known better than to expect the ancient hunk of junk to work. In frustration, I chuck it at him. It grazes his shoulder, disappearing into the ravine. I turn to my knife next, cutting at the rope. There are three ropes holding the bridge up. Two handrails and a larger, stronger base rope. I must cut all three to down the bridge so I get started on one of the handrails first.


    The rope is thick¡ªthicker around than my fist¡ªand I¡¯m stuck frantically rubbing my dull pocketknife against it. The strong fibers flick, unwinding, slowly but surely. He picks up his pace and my stomach twists. If he reaches me what will he do? I did try to shoot him, and now I¡¯m cutting the rope to the bridge he stands on. He is close, about three-fourths the way across when I heave all my weight into the knife and the last few strings snap free.


    The handrail collapses and the bridge goes slack. With only one handrail, everything is unbalanced and loose. The masked man is left clinging in the rain. With one arm looped over the single handrail, his feet dangle in the air as he struggles for a foothold onto the base rope. If I didn¡¯t know better, I would say he looks panicked. Like a black cat who found itself clinging viciously to a tightrope in a circus.


    ¡°Just go back,¡± I shout.


    But he finds his footing and his gaze locks onto my side like a marathon runner staring down the finish line. Slowly but surely, he inches my way. So I put the knife on the second handrail rope. Maybe it is the strain of weight with half the bridge gone, or the rope has rot, but this one cuts much easier. My knife slices through like butter and it falls away.


    The masked man dangles now, both hands white knuckling the base rope. The rain starts to let up and I stand watching and waiting for him to fall. But instead, he pulls himself up and loops one leg, and then the other, around the remaining rope. He begins to rope traverse my way, keeping three points of contact on it, two hands and one foot. He shuffles his hands and feet alternately, like an upside-down crab, speeding up in his approach.


    I drop to my knees, panic searing through my brain as I try to cut the last rope with shaking hands. This one is thicker than the other two, the threads more compact. Harder to slice. My eyes dart between the man and my knife. He¡¯s almost made it. Soon, he''ll be close enough I could reach out and touch the top of his head.


    I can¡¯t let him reach me. What would he do to me? He¡¯s dangerous and now he¡¯s probably angry, too. Fear frenzies in my mind and then the last few strands of rope snap free.


    He falls.


    His body disappears with the last of the rope below the fog into the ravine. I stand up, panting and shaking all over. I did it.


    He¡¯s gone.


    My knees give out and I collapse to the ground in relief, knife falling in the mud. I pull my knees up and hang my head between them. My heart rams against my ribs so hard it hurts. The sun breaks through the clouds, but I shiver, every inch of my body, drenched.


    I laugh. A weary, exhausted-sounding laugh straining at the ends¡ªalmost choking. The relief is real and yet part of me feels sick. Something deep inside my gut, twists. Did I kill him? I did, didn¡¯t I?


    I just killed a man.


    My hands clench to fists around my knees. I really did. I didn¡¯t want to. But what else could I do? I told him to go back. I didn¡¯t want to do it. I just wanted him to stop chasing me.


    It doesn¡¯t really matter though, does it? Regardless of the reason, a man is dead because of me. And not just any man either, the man who saved me from raiders. The same one I saved from those very same raiders. I see his bruised and beaten, moonlit face, brows scrunched in confusion outside the raider base and bite back sudden, unexpected tears.


    Movement pulls my watered, weary gaze.


    The remaining rope hanging from the other side of the ravine moves. Jerking.


    I blink. Could it be?


    The rope tugs a little bit one way and then the other. A head emerges from the fog on the other side of the ravine. Then shoulders. Then a torso.


    The man is climbing up the rope.


    He¡¯s not dead. I jump to my feet, surprised and frightened all at once. And maybe a little impressed. Will he make it all the way? Can he? The hope sprouting in my chest startles me.


    He climbs to the top much too easily reminding me again why I wanted distance from this man. We exchange stares when he stands on the other side with nothing but the ravine between us. The sun breaks through more clouds and fills the space with warm, yellow rays. Any other crossings should be at least a day away according to the map and by then I will be long gone.


    I can¡¯t help but smile. He¡¯s alive. I didn¡¯t kill anyone. I didn''t kill him. And now I¡¯m free. I pick up my knife and baseball cap which fell in the mud sometime in the fiasco. My sopping wet mess of hair drapes my shoulders, nearly reaching my waist. I give him a parting bow before turning to go.


    Goodbye, masked man. May we never meet again.

 Chapter 5: From Frying Pan to Fire

    Dirt. The smell of it fills my mind. Like my mom¡¯s garden after a rain. I crack my eyes open and see a pill bug crawling in front of my nose. Its little antennas swivel every which way as it tastes the air. I used to play with these as a kid. They curl into balls like tiny hedgehogs. I¡¯d pick them up and roll them around in my hand.


    I flinch as I try to sit. Everything hurts in a steady ache. Nothing but steep walls of fresh earth meet me on every side. A hole? My mind gropes to remember. Three days after escaping the masked man at the bridge I found a game trail a little ways from the interstate and followed it, hoping to maybe catch something to eat, when the ground gave way beneath me, and then, nothing.


    I stand, tracing my hands along the walls. This is too steep and straight to be made by nature. Too deep and wide for an animal. Man made this. I can even make out the shape of a shovel in some places. I fell into a pit. I have to get out before¡ª


    ¡°Hey hey hey! Mikey, look what we caught.¡±


    My stomach drops at the voice overhead.


    ¡°What is it? Better not be another skunk. I¡¯m not falling for that again.¡±


    A curly-haired redhead pokes his head over the edge. Beside him, his balding friend gives me a grin, showing off a gaping hole where one of his front teeth should be.


    ¡°Hey boy, what you doing all the way out here?¡± The balding one asks as he points a shotgun my way.


    I¡¯m scared to answer. Scared to speak. My attempt at a man¡¯s voice is pretty cheap. I pull my baseball cap down, checking to ensure my hair is tucked up tightly inside.


    ¡°Not the talkative type, huh?¡± He harrumphs. ¡°Well, it don¡¯t matter. We¡¯ll be taking ya to the chief either way.¡±


    A rope appears over the edge of the pit and I stumble back, horror blossoming at their words. For a while, I stand frozen as my mind races. I can¡¯t let them take me. But a quick glance around and I know there''s no other way out but up their rope.


    ¡°Alright, now I don¡¯t want no funny business. Mikey here will shoot ya if you so much as twitch the wrong way. Got it?¡±


    I glance up at the one called ¡®Mikey¡¯. He looks to be no older than seventeen, with gangly arms and legs, curly red hair, and pale skin splattered with freckles. His young face holds an innocent look.


    Run. Yes, I think I¡¯ll run. I struggle to climb the rope, but manage to make it to the top and grasp at the soft weeds above. The moment I do, Baldy starts barking orders.


    ¡°Lay on the ground, spread eagle. Do it now.¡±


    I clamber over the edge, but instead of lying down as instructed, I dart away into the woods. A shotgun sounds behind me and red-hot fire flashes across my left thigh like someone splashed it with molten coals. The pain sucks my breath away but I push it aside and keep going. I get maybe fifty feet before metal snaps under my left boot and I hit the ground. A giant bear claw trap swallows my ankle. My thick, calf-length leather boots saved my bone from getting snapped but just barely.


    The cocking of a shotgun comes from the bushes. Baldy emerges, holding the gun this time and pointing it at me.


    I hold out my knife, waving it threateningly. I know it¡¯s useless against a shotgun but what else can I do? I can¡¯t let them take me.


    ¡°Come on, kid. We ain¡¯t gonna kill ya. But if you fight, I¡¯ll shoot. Drop your knife and roll over like I told ya before.¡±


    I swallow hard. I have no doubt Baldy will shoot me. Shoot to kill. The redhead boy watches excitedly. I have to decide which would be better. Dying here, or letting them take me to a base full of men who haven¡¯t seen a woman in who knows how long. The moment they find out what I am, I will probably wish I ended it here.


    But I take too long. Baldy starts toward me, walking around to my side. I follow him with the knife, tripping some from the claw around my foot. As I do, the redhead comes sneaking around the other way, getting way too close. I turn to swipe at him, but as I do, Baldy whips his gun around and uses it as a club to smack my knife away. It dissapears in the brush, out of reach.


    Redhead pounces, and with the trap pinning me in place I can do little more than brace for impact. As his six-foot-tall, wiry frame clamps around mine in a bear hug from the side, we both hit the ground. I manage to block his arms from my chest with my own, but once on the ground, I can do little more than squirm as the pair yank my arms back, winding a thick rope around them.


    By the time they get my foot out of the trap, I¡¯m panting from the struggle. My thigh feels like it was dipped in lava, and tears spring to my eyes as we march through the woods. I try to keep pace despite the pain as the redhead keeps one hand on me from behind and Baldy takes up the rear with the shotgun.


    ¡°It¡¯s not so bad here, you¡¯ll see,¡± the redhead says quietly. His voice is gentle and encouraging. ¡°We got plenty of food and there¡¯s protection from raiders. Kinda looks like you need it.¡±


    What about protection from you? Raiders are one thing, but I doubt these men will care what I want any more than a raider would. I keep my mouth shut and my head down.


    We reach a ten-foot tall wooden wall with a gate to match and a watchtower up front. The top of the wall is made of sharp, pointed pikes and lining the base is a wooden spike wall. A man at the top shouts, ¡°Got a little more than you bargained for this morning?¡±


    ¡°Naw, just a scrawny kid. But Mikey finally got to shoot something.¡±


    The two of them laugh and I feel the redhead¡ªMikey¡¯s¡ªgrip nervously tighten on my shoulder. I grit my teeth as we step through their enormous gate. The gate may be meant to keep things out, but all I see is how easily it can be used to keep things in.


    Men are everywhere. Some stand around talking, but most are busy. The clinking of a metalsmith pounding sounds off somewhere to our right while the sawing of wood comes from behind. Two men lift a log, pushing it into a stack for the makings of a cabin. I count over four dozen cabins and in the middle of everything sits a wide open square. A wooden platform rises from the deep mud a few feet, but the thing sitting in the center makes my feet falter.


    A metal cage.


    Baldy gives me a shove. ¡°Come on now. It¡¯s only until the chief decides what to do with ya.¡±


    My feet turn to lead, and I struggle against the hand pushing me forward. But Mikey is stronger than he looks and simply shoves me along. The pain in my thigh has steadily grown worse, and all it takes is one kick from Baldy and my leg gives out, sending me tripping into the cage.


    The redhead¡ªMikey¡ªcloses the door with a soft click and locks the padlock. He crouches to meet my level as Baldy walks away.


    "Don''t worry too much. Just do whatever the chief says and you''ll be okay." He whispers before walking away.


    I doubt it.


    The smell hits me like a slap across the face and I crinkle my nose at the distinctive outhouse odor. I roll myself into a sitting position and swallow back bile. How many men have been trapped here before me and for how long? I suppose the longer I¡¯m here the better. After all, no one is looking too closely at me here. I need time to think of an escape. But liquid trickles from my wound, spotting the sewer-soaked, mud-caked floor of the cage red. Even if I can find a way out, how far can I get with this leg?


    I cannot tell if one hour passes or five because I struggle to stay conscious. The pain in my leg spreads like wildfire, clawing down my calf and up my hip. It has a heartbeat of its own and I fight to keep my breaths even.


    I hear shouting from somewhere to my left before I¡¯m dragged from my metal prison and forced to my knees.


    ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡± A deep voice demands from overhead.


    I flinch and keep my head down. I should answer. Silence will draw suspicion, but pain sends my thoughts scattering every time I reach for them.


    ¡°I asked you a question.¡±


    ¡°Nat,¡± I mumble to the ground.


    ¡°Look at me when I¡¯m talking to you.¡±


    My gaze skitters across the muddy deck below. Until now, I¡¯ve hidden behind the baseball cap, a chest wrap, and baggy clothes, but my feminine features are not exactly subtle if viewed straight on. Maybe I should have spread some of that sewer mud on my face. The thought brings bile to my mouth. Too late now.


    A rough hand grabs my jaw, jerking it upward, squishing my cheeks painfully. A pair of dark eyes bore into mine and a new sense of dread crawls into my stomach, curling and twisting like a tapeworm.


    This must be their chief. He is a giant of a man; his hand alone swallows half my face. He¡¯s well-built and bearded, like some kind of WWE champion. Hard, compact muscles reveal years of training in combat and endurance¡ªand killing. Probably. His eyes burn with impatience, but after a moment they narrow.


    We exchange stares for a moment too long and I know he knows. Or at least suspects. Every fiber of my body shakes and not from the pain in my leg anymore. He rips off my baseball cap and my hair spills out around my shoulders and back. I hear surprise from a crowd behind us and he yanks me up by my arm, which is still tied behind my back. The shine of a blade in his other hand catches my eye and I jerk away on impulse.


    ¡°Hold still.¡± His grip squeezes painfully.


    He slices my shirt right down the middle and I shiver as cold air invades my flesh. My bra preserves what little dignity I have left, but it¡¯s not much. I have a small chest, but it¡¯s enough because he calls someone over and hands me off to them.


    ¡°Get the doc. And take her to my cabin.¡±


    Voices are buzzing. Eyes bore into me from every direction as they push me along to the far end of the camp where a resort-style cabin sits with a large wooden porch and sliding glass doors. Inside, I¡¯m taken to a sofa covered in furs. I feel dizzy and can¡¯t stop shivering even when they add wood to the fireplace. My thigh is unbearable now and I feel like I might retch.


    ¡°Where is she?¡±


    A new voice comes from a clean-shaven man who appears somewhere to my left. He crouches down beside me, peering behind round spectacles, and presses a hand to my forehead. After some poking and prodding, he shines a light in each eye and makes note of my bruised ribs and other various cuts I don¡¯t remember getting. But when he touches my leg, I jerk back, fresh tears springing to my eyes.


    The man grumbles and then asks, ¡°Who¡¯s the idiot who shot her with buckshot?¡±


    He follows it up with a slew of mumbled profanities before stopping to glance up at me. ¡°Sorry.¡±


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    Sorry for what? I can barely think past the fire consuming my leg. All I want is to be left alone. Why can¡¯t they leave me alone? What did I ever do to them anyways? Why must this world be so cruel?


    ¡°¡ªneed to get it out, okay?¡± The man with glasses is talking to me again, but I missed what he said. I shake my head at whatever it is and cram my eyes shut.


    He grabs at the buttons on my pants and panic rockets through me. With my arms still tied behind, I do what I can, using my one good leg to kick him square in the chest. He falls back, but then more hands show up to hold me down.


    I shout in frustration and fear. Glasses successfully yank my pants off and they flip me over onto my stomach. I scream, but it is muffled by the furs on the sofa I am pinned against.


    ¡°Get off me!¡± I struggle, but it only succeeds in more and more weight showing up to hold me down until I can barely breathe, let alone move.


    Dizzy, out of breath, and exhausted I stop for a moment. I feel Glasses digging around in the back of my thigh where the worst of the pain is. I hear the solid ting of metal on metal. More digging. Another ting. More digging. A ting. This goes on for some time before cold liquid pours over my leg. It stings so bad I gasp and shudder but the burning subsides and I catch my mind beginning to drift. Everything still hurts but the pain grows distant. Despite the cold, darkness welcomes me warmly with arms spread wide.


    ~~~


    Pine sap crackles and pops somewhere to my right. I try to sit up but a splitting headache stabs through my temple.


    ¡°Take it easy. You lost a lot of blood.¡±


    I frown at the familiar voice and see Glasses sitting in a chair nearby. I lay in an enormous bed piled high with furs. The large room holds mounted deer, moose, and even a bear head on the wall. An antique, iron styled dresser and mirror sit along the back wall and a fireplace warms from the other end.


    ¡°How do you feel?¡±


    He leans forward in his chair, hands wringing as he watches me.


    My mind strains to remember what happened and then I feel my face grow hot. This man undressed me. I check under the sheets and then snatch them closer, my face growing hotter. The walls seem to close in around me.


    ¡°Where are my clothes? What did you do to me?¡± My voice cracks and I swallow. My sandpaper-dry tongue is glued to the top of my mouth.


    ¡°I had to remove them to treat your injury.¡±


    ¡°Even my underwear?¡± I hiss.


    ¡°Yes,¡± he snips back with a scowl. ¡°I tried to warn you but I don¡¯t think you heard me. I didn¡¯t know what other injuries you were hiding. The chief requires me to be thorough. The last thing any of us want is you dying.¡± He mumbles the last part.


    Me dying? Was it really that bad? I shove my rising panic aside, letting my fingers run over the soft wrapping around my thigh. It does feel much better¡ªit hurts, but the fire is gone. My body aches, but it always aches. Even still, I glower at him darkly.


    ¡°Well, I don¡¯t die so easily.¡±


    ¡°I beg to differ. You nearly went septic back there. Even now, your injuries are extremely serious. Besides¡±¡ªhe gives me a pointed, hard look¡ª ¡°if they weren¡¯t serious, then there¡¯d be no reason for the chief to wait until you recovered.¡±


    What? Wait until I recovered? Wait for what?


    My fingers turn to icicles as my breath loses all depth. The answer looms overhead like a monster stepping out from the shadows. Its lips spread thin as long, glistening needle-like teeth of terror hover over my throat. But I refuse to look directly at it. Because if I do, I might lose what little sanity I have right now and I cannot afford that. I need to keep it together. For Ivan. For my brother.


    ¡°Give me back my clothes.¡±


    ¡°You should drink some water.¡±


    He nods to a cup sitting on the end table by the bed and a plate of food rests beside it. As if on cue sharp talons of hunger claw my stomach open and the smell of roasted boar sends my saliva glands into overdrive.


    I eye it suspiciously. ¡°Is it drugged?¡±


    ¡°And what would be the point in that?¡±


    I can think of several reasons, but keep my mouth shut, deciding against giving the man ideas. A sedated person is easier to control. I always considered being drugged into submission the luckiest scenario should I be captured. Then again, drugs are hard to come by in this world, and I imagine most find brute force works just as well.


    I clutch the sheets close as I reach over and take the cup, lifting it to my lips and sipping. Tastes like nothing. Smells like nothing. Well, I have to drink some time. I empty the cup and then move on to the boar. My stomach rumbles in satisfaction and I stuff my face faster than I can swallow. Without the masked man leaving me presents, I had returned to my previous diet of water and air.


    I scrutinize the small scrawny man before me. He shares nothing but a frown with the guard by the door who resembles a bull more than a man. If the guard is a bull, then Glasses is an irritated, mangled housecat. Even still, his eyes are keen and quick.


    Another voice sounds from the doorway. ¡°Glad to see you¡¯re feeling better. If you had died, I would¡¯ve had to kill that boy.¡±


    I swallow as the chief comes into view. He waves Glasses away and takes a seat beside me on the bed. I stiffen at his proximity and clutch the sheets to my chest. At least Glasses had the decency to sit in the chair.


    ¡°Nat, you said? Would that be short for something else?¡± His eyes gleam like a predator upon discovering a small animal to play with.


    I push the empty plate away, wiping the grease from my face with the back of my hand, and give him a good glare.


    ¡°Natalie?¡± he guesses, watching me. ¡°No¡­ Natalia?¡±


    His hand lifts to touch a lock of my blond hair and his gaze roams across my eyes and nose, pausing at my lips before meeting my eyes again. ¡°Russian, I think. Perhaps Natasha?¡± He grins. ¡°Ah, that¡¯s it. Natasha.¡±


    I fight a squirming, wriggling mass of discomfort in my middle and resist the urge to swipe his hand away.


    I meet his gaze evenly. ¡°What do you want?¡±


    He leans back, placing an arm on the headrest behind us, and crosses an ankle over his knee comfortably. His arm radiates heat across the back of my neck, sending my hair on end.


    ¡°You are a mystery to me Natasha. One I would like to solve if you¡¯ll help me.¡±


    ¡°Sorry, I¡¯m not in the habit of helping strangers.¡±


    Not unless they wear a mask and get trapped in a raider pit, apparently.


    A smirk tugs the corner of his lip. ¡°That is something I can remedy if you like. We don¡¯t have to be strangers. In fact, I am confident that we will become very good friends.¡±


    I sneer at the prediction. ¡°Or enemies.¡±


    Something touches my shoulder and I jump at the contact. He laughs and I realize it¡¯s his fingers, reaching from the headboard to graze the skin over my naked shoulder blade.


    ¡°You don¡¯t want to know what I do with my enemies.¡± He grins wide despite the thinly veiled threat. ¡°But let¡¯s be friends. Ask me whatever you want.¡±


    ¡°Fine.¡± I give him a shallow smile. ¡°When can I leave?¡±


    ¡°Leave? Leave to go do what?¡± His brows raise and he gestures with his hand. ¡°To go die out there in the wilds?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve made it this far; I¡¯ll be fine.¡±


    ¡°A woman all alone out there is bound to have horrible things happen to her or end up dead. Probably both.¡±


    My eyes narrow. ¡°It seems horrible things can happen to you wherever you are.¡±


    A slow smile curls his lips. ¡°You¡¯re quite right. So why leave? Stay here where I can protect you.¡±


    I grip the sheet tighter. Protection? What a joke. He presents the idea of me staying as a question, but I see the truth in his eyes.


    ¡°I don¡¯t want your protection. I¡¯m not scared and I want to leave.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think you know what you want. How long have you been awake? One month? Two?¡±


    I see. Besides the sprinkling of gaslighting, all this talk is simply him fishing for information. But what¡¯s he looking for? I need to make him show his hand.


    ¡°Three.¡± I lie.


    I woke up over eight months ago. But if he wants me to be naive, then naive I shall be.


    In the beginning, I spied scavengers like myself in the distance passing through cities, but we shared equal measures of fear for each other. I avoided the occasional raider gang by simply staying quiet and out of sight. The swimming hole marked the first time another human saw me.


    ¡°Three whole months.¡± He whistles long and low, grinning. ¡°You¡¯re basically an expert.¡±


    I grind my jaw at the fury I feel building in my chest. ¡°What do you want from me?¡±


    ¡°Natasha, what kind of man do you think I am not?¡±


    I give him a simple glare in reply. Where is this going?


    He continues, ¡°I am not weak. I am not dumb. And I am not wasteful.¡± His eyes turn dark with the last word.


    Like a whiff of smoke, his tone warns of a blazing forest fire right out of sight. Aware of just how alone we are, I pull the sheet up closer and shift away. Nothing but glowing embers remain in the fireplace across the room, and gooseflesh shivers down my arms.


    ¡°Men¡¯s lives are a dime a dozen out here, Natasha. But a woman¡ª¡± He leans forward and speaks quietly. ¡°I¡¯ve never seen one. So tell me why I, a man who is not wasteful, would ever throw something so valuable away?¡±


    My heart hammers in my chest, clawing up into my throat, cutting off my breath. He is close. Too close. With nothing but a paper-thin sheet between us, his eyes gleam with desire and something else.


    Something dangerous.


    I see a lion held back by nothing more than mere hairs of self-control. And with every passing second, a few more strands snap free. My mind scrambles for something, anything I can say to keep him talking.


    ¡°You¡¯ve never seen a woman before?¡±


    His focus breaks and he pulls back. ¡°Women do not wake from the stone.¡± His eyes narrow. ¡°You should know this, so what are you asking? Unless¡­¡±


    Unless what? What am I asking? I don¡¯t even know, myself. He misreads my panic for something else and I haven¡¯t decided if it is a good thing or not.


    He reaches over and grabs my chin, forcing my eyes to him. ¡°Have you seen more women, living women?¡±


    If he thinks there are more women, will he be more inclined to let me go? I swallow a ball of anxiety but remain quiet. Quiet enough to look guilty. To answer without answering.


    ¡°Where?¡± He demands, the grip on my face grows tighter. ¡°Tell me now, girl.¡±


    I flinch in pain and he shoves me away. Anger radiates from him like a burning furnace and I am trapped in it. My eyes lock on the door. I can¡¯t stay here.


    His gaze follows mine. ¡°Don¡¯t get any smart ideas.¡±


    Like a gator snapping from the water, his hand clamps around my jaw and he shoves me backward, slamming my body against the headboard. A yelp of surprise and pain escapes my throat. I claw at his arm as the sheet slips little by little, but his grip tightens in response. The pressure feels like a constrictor, and I wonder if my jawbone might actually snap. Cramming my eyes shut, I try to think.


    He wants more women? Fine. I¡¯ll give him more women.


    I grit my teeth and look up to meet his eyes, my anger joining his own. ¡°I will never tell you where they are. I don¡¯t care what you do to me. You can break every bone in my body. You will never find them. Unless¡­¡±


    The grip loosens. ¡°Unless?¡±


    ¡°...you must let me go east to look for my family.¡±


    He releases and I pull away, snatching the bedsheet back up to my collarbone. I touch the tender skin on my throat with shaky fingers. Silence stands between us before he breaks it with a question.


    ¡°How many girls?¡±


    I hesitate before looking down and saying quietly. ¡°Four.¡±


    Enough to get him excited, but not so many I raise suspicions, I hope.


    ¡°You will tell me where they are. After I have them and have returned, I will send some men with you to go search for your family.¡±


    ¡°What about after I¡¯ve found my family?¡±


    ¡°If you find them, they are welcome to come and live here with you.¡±


    ¡°So, what you¡¯re saying is¡­ there is no scenario in which I can actually leave.¡±


    He grins and leans in close. ¡°Don¡¯t worry. I¡¯ll make you comfortable here. After a little while, you''ll learn to love it.¡±


    Yeah, right. What a despicable man.


    ¡°Fine. But on one condition. I have to come with you to get the others. They¡¯ll never trust you otherwise and I don¡¯t want anyone getting hurt.¡±


    I can¡¯t stay here. My best bet is to travel with them. At least then I¡¯ll be out those giant doors.


    He brushes a finger along my jaw where he grabbed me and I hate that it makes me flinch. He chuckles and trails down my neck towards my chest. I slap him away, but his hand clamps onto mine, slowly turning it around to lift my fingertips to his lips. I want to hurl. He grins and lets go, getting up to leave before pausing in the doorway.


    ¡°Get some rest.¡± He smiles thinly. ¡°The sooner you recover from that injury the better. We have quite the trip ahead of us in the morning.¡±


    As he leaves, a big, burly looking man steps up, standing watch by the open door. I sink deeper into the bed, fury, fear, and sickness swirling like a cyclone in my gut. I must escape. For Ivan, but also for myself. The chief is a monster and I just made a deal with that monster¡ªa mistake to be sure, but also my only shot at freedom. I have to get away before he discovers I¡¯ve lied to him. My stomach twists at the thought and I feel nauseous. I¡¯ll find a way to escape; this is not where my journey ends. I swear it.

 Chapter 6: A Rock and a Hard Place

    When I wake, Glasses sits in a chair at the back of the room, nodding off. A pile of clothes appeared on the foot of the bed overnight and I hurriedly dress while he¡¯s still asleep. When he wakes, he follows me around the room.


    Disappointment stings the back of my mind as I discover that even Glasses¡ªthe smallest man around¡ªstill stands taller than me by several inches. It¡¯s not even that he¡¯s small, it¡¯s that everyone else is large. As the morning goes on, he keeps his distance¡ªout of respect for me or fear of the chief, I am not sure which¡ªbut out of everyone here, he appears the most civilized. Which isn¡¯t saying much.


    ¡°How are you feeling?¡± he asks.


    ¡°For a prisoner? Fantastic.¡±


    He sighs with a frown. He does that a lot, seemingly annoyed with everything I say or do. To be fair, I could be more congenial, but ever since last night¡¯s nerve-racking experience with the chief, I find myself angry. At the chief. At Glasses. At the world. But mostly at myself. For being so stupid as to fall into that cursed hole.


    I stand in front of the full-length mirror and stare at the obnoxiously bright yellow jacket wrapped around my shoulders. The thin, synthetic fabric swallows me, falling halfway down my thighs. I can¡¯t decide if I feel more like a child or a highlighter. The color may seem like an odd choice, but I know the reason. The same reason orange is the standard dress code in prisons. When I make a run for it, I¡¯ll have to ditch it even if it means freezing for a couple of nights.


    ¡°Can I at least have my pants back?¡± I say as I slip on what they gave me.


    At least those weren¡¯t cut in half by a knife-wielding maniac. This pair hangs loosely around my hips, held up by a rope tied off at my waist.


    He ignores my question. ¡°There¡¯s something else the chief wants you to wear.¡±


    I follow his gaze to a heavy chain connected to a collar made of metal and thick leather. The sight stills my heart. It is eerily similar to what the masked man wore down in the Raider pit.


    ¡°You have got to be kidding me. What are you all? Raiders?¡±


    "We''re not raiders," he snaps back.


    "Then what are you? Because from where I''m standing, you look the same."


    "We''re survivors. Nothing more. Nothing less." But even as he says it, he refuses to meet my gaze. Shame pinches his face. And rightly so.


    ¡°A collar?¡± I sneer. ¡°Really? Do you think I am a dog?¡±


    ¡°It would be better if you didn¡¯t make this difficult.¡±


    ¡°Better for who? For you?¡±


    I don¡¯t know why I¡¯m surprised. Honestly, I expected worse, but something about actually facing the inhumanity of the moment is infuriating. Whatever fear I have gets shoved aside by this blinding anger. I don¡¯t think, I just act. Stomping over to it, the collar feels heavy in my hand, the chain even more so. The weight of it fills my arms and I chuck the ugly thing into the air and through the open window. It hits the earth with a clunk in a bush a decent ways away.


    The look of utter shock on Glasses¡¯ face satisfies the anger buzzing in the back of my brain and I return to the dresser. But as I turn to leave, I clash into an enormous body and my heart makes a dive to my feet in recognition.


    The chief towers overhead, takes one look at me, and frowns. ¡°Where is the collar?¡±


    Glasses pales. ¡°She threw it out the window.¡±


    ¡°Cuff her. And bring the collar.¡±


    One of the bouncer types outside the doorway grabs my wrists and it feels like wrestling a gorilla. When I can finally rip my hands away, the cuffs jangle loudly.


    I hold them up to the chief. ¡°This is completely unnecessary. You really think I¡¯ll escape?¡±


    ¡°No, I don¡¯t think you can escape.¡± He leans down, speaking slowly. ¡°But this is not for me, it is for you.¡±


    He picks up a baseball cap sitting there on the nightstand and places it on my head, gathering my hair into it. His fingers graze my shoulders and neck, sending my skin crawling with every touch. I refuse to flinch. Refuse to give him the satisfaction. But when a man runs up, the collar in hand, a nervous swallow escapes me and the chief catches it, smiling. He snaps the absurd thing around my neck as I cut him a death glare.


    He leans down to meet my height. ¡°This is to teach you a very important lesson. Can you guess what that is?¡±


    I bite my tongue, knowing full well the anger lurking beneath the surface of this man. The bruises on my neck and jaw still ache from last night. So instead, I fuel as much hatred into my unblinking scowl as humanly possible.


    He smiles in amusement and straightens to his full height. ¡°There is no use in trying to run. Your home is here now. With me.¡±


    I steel myself against his words but something inside me still breaks right then and there. The chances of getting free are looking worse by the minute.


    No.


    I shake it off. It will be all right. All I need are some raiders¡ªor anyone, really¡ªdaft enough to go up against the chief and his men. I can lead them right into the raider gang from before. My only chance is to escape in the chaos of that moment. I can figure out how to get the monstrosities on my wrists and neck off afterward.


    The chief walks me out of the room, chain in hand, and I follow a few steps behind. The humiliation burns hot, and I want to rip the chain away and smack him up across the face with it. Instead, I settle for glaring at anything that moves.


    As we reach the outdoors, an assortment of catcalls, stares and jeers sends my nervous heart into overdrive. My eyes stay glued on the chief¡¯s back as I struggle against rising terror and the images it creates. At the edge of the camp, more than a dozen men on horses greet us. The giant beasts snort and pound the earth with their hooves, and I feel their anxiety as my own. We are both creatures at the mercy of these men. We share that misery, but it may prove worse for me than for them.


    An arm wraps around my middle and lifts me into a saddle with the chief. His chest presses into my spine and I resist the urge to knife his ribs with my elbows. He hooks the end of my collar¡¯s chain to a segment on his belt and I make note of exactly where.


    The gates open and he leans over my shoulder, his beard brushing across my neck. ¡°Lead the way, darling.¡±


    I twist away and glower at him over my shoulder. ¡°West. Follow the I-40 interstate.¡±


    We travel for hours at a bone-grinding pace with the shortest of breaks. When the sun hangs low in the sky, the chief calls it and the men stop to make camp. By now, my bum is completely numb and the injury on the back of my thigh throbs dully.


    I glance around at the men. They act busy, but I feel their stares crowding me. Curiosity and longing mix with something else making my stomach twist into a knot. The chief lifts me from the horse and leads me to a place in the middle of the camp near the fire where the men have taken a long rod and driven it deep into the earth. He fastens my chain to the rod with an oversized padlock.


    He grins. ¡°Better than being tied to a tree.¡±


    Sure. So much better. What a gentleman.


    ¡°Don¡¯t give me that look. You can always sleep with me if you prefer.¡±


    He reaches out to touch the tender skin around my neck. I try to smack him but my hands are cuffed and he catches the chain, yanking me close.


    ¡°That reminds me. Doc said those bandages need to be cleaned every day.¡±


    I jump as a hand suddenly grabs me from behind. He laughs like it¡¯s a game, but my skin burns hot and I resist the urge to slap him again. He turns to go as Glasses walks up with a first aid kit and takes a seat on a nearby log.


    ¡°Stand here, please,¡± Glasses says.


    Unease twists my middle as I step over to him. The men are watching. Most have stopped to stare.


    ¡°I need to clean your bandages.¡±


    I grind my teeth, remembering the pain in the back of my thigh. Why did I have to get shot there? I can¡¯t just roll up the pant leg; the wound is too high.


    ¡°Please don¡¯t make me call someone over,¡± he says.


    I swallow a frown and fumble with the rope around my middle for a second before letting the pants fall to my ankles. Thankfully, the oversized jacket they put me in reaches halfway down my thighs, but it hardly prevents the cacophony of catcalls and hollers which follow. A few men saunter over, their eyes sparking with glee. I look for the chief, but come up empty. Where is the ogre when you need him?


    ¡°Hey sweetheart, what¡¯s your name?¡± the one with a shaggy-looking beard asks. He bends over and places his hands on his knees, cocking his head to grin at me. ¡°Got some fine legs there.¡±


    The bigger one snickers and reaches over, snatching my cap. ¡°I like the yellow hair.¡±


    I stumble backward, bumping into Glasses as my hair falls around my shoulders and back.


    Glasses jumps up, fuming at the other two men. ¡°Do you mind? I am working here.¡±


    Shaggy decides my shoulder makes for an excellent armrest and I go as stiff as a board, wrinkling my nose at the distinctive armpit odor.


    ¡°Maybe we can help ya, doc. It can¡¯t be that hard. I¡¯m sure she doesn¡¯t mind, do ya cutie? We could help inspect things.¡± He wiggles an eyebrow at his buddy, who chuckles darkly, and my stomach twists.


    ¡°No, you can¡¯t.¡± He adjusts his glasses and shoos them with his hands. ¡°And would you get off her? She¡¯s still recovering, so any added stress could kill her. Go. Go.¡±


    To my surprise, the two goons listen, but then I see the reason for their speedy departure. The chief is back. The bigger of the two guys toss my baseball cap at my feet as they turn to leave.


    ¡°You better put that on. The chief wants you to hide your hair when we¡¯re on the road,¡± Glasses mutters, sitting back down.


    I use shaky hands to pull the hood of my jacket up instead. Glasses¡¯ fingers are cold, and I notice he is careful to touch me as little as possible as he unwraps my leg. It settles my racing heart but I''m not foolish enough to think the man is on my side. Not yet, anyways.


    ¡°Is that a semi-auto?¡± I ask, nodding at the gun on his hip.


    ¡°What?¡± He scowls at first then follows my gaze. ¡°Oh, I don¡¯t know. It¡¯s the chief¡¯s orders when you leave camp. Everyone must have a gun.¡±


    ¡°So you don¡¯t shoot?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m a pacifist. There¡¯s a reason they all call me Doc around here.¡±


    ¡°Are you really a doctor then? Officially?¡±


    He gives my leg a sour look as he wraps a clean cloth around it. ¡°I was in my last year of residency, but none of that matters anymore. It¡¯s not like I¡¯ll be able to finish it now.¡±


    ¡°How long have you been awake from the stone?¡±


    He sighs, seeming annoyed as always. ¡°Almost two years now.¡±


    ¡°Then I¡¯d say you already finished it, wouldn¡¯t you?¡±


    He pauses, thinking over my words, and looks up. The wheels turn behind those eyes and he opens his mouth but stops, shaking his head instead and returning to his work.


    I feel so close. I need these men to view me as more than simply an object. I need them to remember their humanity. Their lives. Their families.


    ¡°Do you have a daughter or a sister?¡± I ask.


    ¡°No.¡± His sour face fades. ¡°But I had a fiance.¡±


    ¡°Is she stone?¡±


    He gives a single nod, avoiding looking in my direction.


    ¡°Then maybe you¡¯ll see her again.¡±


    Slowly, his eyes raise to meet mine. He knows what I¡¯m saying. If I¡¯m here, then who is to say his fiance isn¡¯t also awake? After all, I am taking them to more women who woke up.


    Except I¡¯m not. Because there is none. None that I know of anyways. Still, if I can pull Glasses to my side then the other men might follow. I have to try.


    ¡°What¡¯s her name?¡±


    His eyes flare. ¡°Stop it. I don¡¯t know what you¡¯re getting at but if this is some trick or game you¡¯re playing, you better quit it.¡±


    I blink. His eyes hold such hostility. At me? My gaze finds the ground and stays there. I must have missed the signs. Was I too obvious? He¡¯s sharper than he looks.


    He finishes up and stands to leave but takes hold of my arm, speaking quietly. ¡°If this trip is a trick, I recommend you ¡¯fess up to the chief. The longer this goes on, the more danger you¡¯ll be in.¡±


    Then he¡¯s gone. I glare at his back, fear bubbling up inside me. I can¡¯t do that, Glasses. I won¡¯t give up on Ivan and resign myself to a life with these animals. Not so long as I have breath in my lungs and blood in my veins.


    A hunting party returns before dark and the group sits around the fire, eating. I opt for a spot as far as my leash allows and eat my dinner in blessed seclusion. With the chief around, no one dares touch me. But when he gets up and disappears into the woods, I hear a man whisper.


    ¡°Do you really think they¡¯re finally waking up? The women, that is?¡±


    ¡°They gotta be. Why would just one wake up?¡±


    I freeze mid-chew.


    A deep voice scoffs. ¡°Why does anyone wake up? No one knows anything, and anyone who says otherwise is a liar.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, but there¡¯s got to be a reason, right? A reason we all turned to stone in the first place. Maybe the government did it.¡±


    I hear a smack, and then, ¡°You idiot. All the government officials got turned to stone too. It happened to everyone.¡±


    Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    ¡°It could have been an experiment gone wrong. Wouldn¡¯t be the first time, would it? What about that time when¡ª¡±


    ¡°Tch, here he goes again with the conspiracy theories. Next thing you know, it¡¯s aliens.¡±


    Chuckles echo all around.


    An older voice speaks. ¡°It¡¯s judgment.¡±


    Everyone quiets. The fire crackles and pops. The ruffle of pine needles and scraping of boots across dirt follows a few awkward coughs. Eventually, someone breaks the silence.


    ¡°Chief said there¡¯s four girls right? So how we gonna split them up?¡±


    ¡°Who says you get one at all?¡±


    ¡°I call dibs on a redhead.¡±


    ¡°Why are we waiting again? We have a girl alread¡ª¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, are you a doctor? No? Then shut it.¡± Glasses snaps. I forgot he was there.


    ¡°Yeah, well, she sure is taking a long time to heal, Doc. When I got shot in the shoulder that one time, it healed up enough for me to use it again in just three days. But we¡¯re supposed to believe she¡¯s still too injured to take a good¡ª¡±


    ¡°I expect you to believe what I tell you as a medical professional. She¡¯s a woman. She¡¯s more¡­delicate.¡± Delicate? ¡°They don¡¯t heal as fast as we do. So unless you¡¯d like to explain to the chief how you killed the only woman we have then go ahead, have your fun. But you will kill her.¡±


    Somewhere, I register the approaching crunch of pine needles under foot, but my eyes are glued to a stump sitting a little ways away. My mind feels distant. Small. As if my soul left it and now wanders around from the skies, lost and far away.


    A hand grips my shoulder and I feel myself ripped back into my mind. I jump with a gasp, yanking myself free and scramble away. My leftover rabbit is lost somewhere between fallen pine cones.


    It¡¯s the chief. Surprise flashes on his face as we stare at each other for several long moments. Then slowly, a knowing look trickles in and he smiles.


    ¡°They won¡¯t touch you. Not without my permission.¡±


    I feel tears prickle.


    His hand wraps around the chain leading to the collar but doesn¡¯t pull. Instead, he offers me his hand. ¡°I told you I would protect you.¡±


    Protect me? I begin to tremble. It starts in my fingers and travels up my arms until my body quakes down into to my very core. But it¡¯s not from fear. I¡¯m angry. I bite my lip to keep from lashing out like some kind of maniac. A burst of copper fill my mouth and I have to stop to keep from biting my whole lip off. I¡¯ve never stared down a monster as it offered protection while wrapping a fist around my throat. I stand, refusing his offered hand with my chin up and eyes level.


    His grip tightens around my chain and he walks me back to the group. They call it a night and the chief has them tie my legs. So on top of being cuffed and chained like a dog, my legs are tied. I notice the chief smiling out of the corner of my eye. He¡¯s loving this, the bastard.


    The next morning, we travel for a good eight hours before reaching the ravine where I lost the masked man.


    ¡°I crossed there,¡± I say, shifting uncomfortably on the horse to point at the remains of the rope bridge.


    ¡°We camp tonight and then head south until we reach the next crossing.¡± The chief shouts to the men and they turn to go.


    But I continue to stare at the torn rope bridge, watching the ghost of a memory that feels years old instead of mere days. I see the masked man standing there after nearly falling to his death. Both of us, dripping wet and exhausted as the clouds parted, rays of light filling the chasm after the storm.


    If I had reached the bridge a few minutes later that day¡ªif he had made it to the other side before I could cut the rope, would I still be trapped here with these monsters? Or would he have pulled me out of that pit before anyone showed up? Or maybe I would be in a different kind of trouble entirely, finding myself in the hands of a terrifyingly new kind of monster.


    An unwelcome hand snakes its way around my stomach and cold fingers inch up under my shirt like leeches. I shove him away but he just laughs and pulls me closer.


    ¡°You look pretty interested in the bridge there, sweetheart. Something you want to share?¡±


    His beard scratches the side of my face and I imagine ramming the back of my head into his nose. I would, except testing whatever semblance of self-control this man has is like playing five-finger fillet.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what you¡¯re talking about.¡±


    He raises a brow. ¡°Do you know what I do to liars?¡±


    ¡°Let me guess. Cut out their tongue?¡±


    ¡°I kill them. But now, if you¡¯re lying to me¡­¡±¡ªhe tucks a strand of hair behind my ear¡ª¡°I will make you beg for such mercy.¡±


    I feel something hot and slick on my earlobe, and jerk away like it was a wasp there a second ago and not his mouth. I turn in disgust and wipe the wetness from my ear. He laughs and kicks the horse forward, but my heart hammers my ribs. I always knew entering into a deal with this man was a terrible mistake, but the clearer the consequences become, the more dread climbs into my chest leaving less and less room for hope.


    ~~~


    The next morning, the camp is quiet and still as a light fog drifts through the space. Most men are asleep except for the few who keep watch. I stare at the campfire¡¯s dull, glowing embers as the chilly morning air prickles my exposed skin. The faintest ray of sunlight peeks into the night sky and my stomach twists as I think of the coming day. The raider base is still several days out, and the men¡¯s stares no longer flick away when the chief walks by and I feel their restlessness. But the chief worries me the most. Every passing hour on the horses, I sense his self-control crumbling as dark desire rises like a wraith, impatient and desperate, turning to focus on me.


    I roll over and feel a soft lump of something at my feet. Feathers? I nudge it with my hand. A bird? Rubbing the familiar rusty brown feathers with black speckles between my fingers, I realize what it is: a dead pheasant.


    The sudden deja vu of this moment sends electricity shooting through my body, from the tips of my toes to the roots of my hair.


    Could it be?


    Could it be the masked man? Is he out there right now? I scan the surrounding area, looking in the tree above, and come up empty, but I never could find him before either. This is him. It must be. The bird¡¯s neck is broken just like before and I see no other reason for a dead bird to show up right beside me. My body warms as hope wiggles its way into my heart. Can he help me? Will he even try?


    I spend the rest of the morning attempting to squash the hope sprouting up left and right inside my chest. I say nothing when the men notice the dead bird and add it to breakfast. I don¡¯t flinch at Glasses¡¯ cold fingers when he replaces my bandages or glare when the chief grabs me from behind for the hundredth time.


    As we travel south to find another crossing, I have to fend off his groping hands repeatedly. But I do little more than shove or twist away, my mind caught in the distraction of the masked man. If he¡¯s out there, what¡¯s he waiting for? Perhaps he just wants me to know he knows I¡¯m in trouble. Is this revenge for the bridge?


    Or maybe he has a plan.


    As the sun rises in the sky, clouds pile in, and the fog builds, leaving the world cloaked in a haze of gray. Even still, I scan the surroundings, hoping to glimpse the masked man. We approach a large cement bridge at least four lanes wide. Crumbling sides make for a precarious drop should one venture too close. Fog fills the ravine, spilling upward onto the bridge. The horses whine, dancing in circles as the men shift uncomfortably. The chief sends two men ahead and we wait in silence for several minutes until a shout comes from the other side.


    ¡°Clear!¡±


    The group moves forward. As hoofs touch the base of the bridge, I notice something laying by the deflated tire of a rust bucket of a car.


    A dead pheasant.


    I hold my breath, heart hammering. He is here. Somewhere beyond sight, the masked man watches. The world of gray clings like a warm, wet coat as we pass statues left and right. Men, women, and children frozen in time emerge, only to fade away like ghosts. I see missing limbs and heads. The horses¡¯ hooves crunch stone underfoot.


    ¡°You seem tense,¡± the chief says behind me, nuzzling my neck painfully. ¡°Want a distraction?¡±


    A distraction? I need to distract him.


    ¡°Maybe,¡± I say quietly back.


    He straightens and the horse stops suddenly. Was that too much? Does he suspect me?


    I glance over and the gleam in his eyes sends every hair across my body standing on end. He yanks me closer, his hand groping my breasts as his hot tongue travels down my neck. Then something sharp there makes me yelp.


    The hell? Did he bite me?


    A laughing rumble emanates from his chest, as he bites again. I jump and stifle another cry of pain that rattles up from my throat. That hurt. My heart beats so fast I think I might really have a heart attack but I cram my eyes shut, struggling to block it all out. I use the lack of space between us to reach behind and unhook the end of my chain from his belt. I need to be ready when¡ª


    A horse whinnies and races past us, a limp body caught by the foot dragged along. I glimpse a scraggly beard and an arrow sticking out of an eye.


    The chief¡¯s head jerks up. ¡°Behind!¡± he yells, letting me go and reaching for his rifle as he turns the horse around.


    With my leash unhooked and my body free from his arms, I roll forward as the horse turns and the momentum easily carries me over its shoulder. I hit the ground on my side with a thud and scramble to my feet, gathering the chain in my arms and booking it as fast as I can.


    Behind me, gunshots sound off like fireworks. Horses squeal and men shout as chaos ensues. I race past a horse standing without a rider. Past unmoving bodies on the ground.


    At the edge of the bridge, my foot catches on something soft, and the ground rises up to meet me. Sticky redness wets my fingers. Blood. A hand snaps around my wrist from the side. It¡¯s Glasses, but his glasses are cracked, laying askew. Blood pours out of his opened chest like a river. So much blood. His eyes hold fear and I watch in horror as they drift off, his grip loosening. Then the light leaves his eyes and he¡¯s gone. I stare, motionless. Barely breathing.


    The pounding of a horse¡¯s hooves approaches, and I duck as it leaps overhead. The rider dismounts and the fog shifts to reveal the chief standing before me, eyes ablaze. His silence says more than any words could.


    I¡¯m dead. So dead.


    I lunge away, but the collar jerks me back. The chief holds my leash in his hands. When I tripped over Glasses the chain scattered from my arms. The chief takes heavy steps to the edge of the bridge. Standing there, legs apart, he reels me in like a fish on a line.


    I scream, pulling against the chain, but I cannot win this game of tug and war. Once in reach, he seizes my arm and slaps me so hard that stars fill my vision. His hand snaps around my jaw and I can¡¯t stem the whimper which escapes my throat. My feet lift from the ground, and when I glance down, nothing but endless chasm greets me. I cling desperately to his arm as he dangles me over the edge of the ravine.


    ¡°You want her?¡± he bellows into the fog.


    Only then do I realize the silence. The fighting has stopped. No more shouting or gunshots. The masked man emerges from the haze of gray. He stands alone, his bow drawn back, an arrow aimed at the chief. My heart leaps.


    ¡°Drop your weapons or I drop her.¡±


    I kick the empty air as tears sprout from the increased pressure around my neck and jaw. I can hardly hear him over the raging in my ears, and my vision fades around the edges before I hear the clatter of weapons on concrete. The chief whips out a pistol with his free hand and aims it at the masked man.


    No!


    I want to scream, but nothing except a teeth-clenched, strangled cry gets out. The chief will win. I would rather fall to my death than suffer forever at the hands of this monster. Clawing in desperation, eyes crammed shut, I raise my foot and manage to kick him in the side. It is weak but a solid attempt, to be sure, and the moment I do so, a gunshot goes off. Smoke curls from the barrel of the chief¡¯s gun and the masked man lies motionless on the ground.


    Dead?


    Shock breaks my brain. I feel solid ground beneath my feet and slump to the concrete as the chief releases me back onto the bridge. My eyes are stuck on the masked man. Surely he¡¯s not dead.


    The chief takes a few cautious steps toward the body, finger tight on the trigger. The masked man¡¯s crumpled form is turned away.


    I must do something. It¡¯s now or never.


    My bloodied hands clench to fists. The blood is dried and crusty now. Glasses¡¯ blood. That¡¯s right! He had a gun. I need his gun.


    Sprinting to where his body lay, my hands graze his skin. The still, lifeless feel of it makes me stop, but then his gun catches my eye. I lunge for the hilt when a bullet explodes the concrete there, inches from my fingertips.


    The chief now aims his gun at me. I swallow and return his stare, like a deer before a hunter. Will he shoot me? If I go for the gun? Probably. But if I run? Probably not. He steps toward me and I step back as if there is a pole between us. I gather my leash into my hands and ready myself.


    His head tilts. ¡°Come here, girl.¡±


    I turn tail and run and he lets out a curse. The chase is on but I am lighter and faster. A horse on my left brings me shuddering to a halt. I would take it except the last time I mounted a horse I was six and it was a pony on my birthday. I may have ridden on a horse all this way but never have I mounted one or driven one. With a hard slap, it bolts off into the gray. There. Now neither of us can use it.


    I back away, glancing around as silence meets me on all sides. Where is he? If I can reach the end of the bridge, I might be able to hide in the woods. But the world is white. I can hardly tell left from right, let alone which way leads to safety. As I turn, I collide with something big. A familiar painful grip on my arm confirms the dread in my heart.


    ¡°I told you, didn¡¯t I?¡± The chief smacks me so hard my whole body slams into the pavement and my world spins. ¡°What happens when you lie to me.¡± He drops to his knees, fumbling with his belt and by the time I realize his intent, I am already crushed by his weight.


    ¡°No! Get off!¡±


    I scream, but there is no one to help. My only chance at freedom lies dead somewhere in the fog. He pins my hands over my head and I scream again. This earns another slap across the face and tears betray me as I struggle with everything I can. But like a mountain climbing atop me, the weight alone is paralyzing.


    ¡°Help!¡± I scream with all my might as he claws at the waist of my pants. My screams are cut off by a backhand. This one brings a trickle of blood down my nose. The taste of copper floods my mouth.


    What happens next sucks the breath from my lungs. He jerks back as his chest gives birth to a giant curved blade. With eyes round as full moons, his fingers creep up to touch the metal, blood dribbling out over us both. Then, like a match snuffing out, as quick as it appeared, the sword rips back sending blood erupting from the chief¡¯s mouth. A booted foot shoves his body off me.


    The masked man stands with sword in hand, dripping with blood¡ªthe chief¡¯s blood. He glances at me before turning his attention to the man he just drove his blade through. Anger burns in the chief¡¯s eyes and he reaches for his pistol, but the masked man kicks it away. Then, without an ounce of hesitation, the masked man swings his sword, freeing the chief of his head. It rolls away as his body slumps.


    A sound, something between a choke and gasp, escapes my lips. I clamber away until my back hits a rusty car door, shock and fear morphing into one creature and trapping me in place. I can¡¯t breathe. Can¡¯t move. Can¡¯t think. The chief¡¯s blood creeps across the concrete toward me. Stretching. Grasping. I feel hot and clammy all over. I want to throw up. I think I might.


    The masked man searches the headless body, taking something in his hand before approaching me. My spine flattens against the rusty metal and I struggle to breathe. The connection between my mind and body¡ªbroken. I can only stare, open-mouthed, my cry dying somewhere in the vapors of my mind as he kneels, reaching for me.


    I cram my eyes shut. Whatever he wants, please let it be quick.


    The collar around my neck falls away. Then the clunk of metal follows as my wrists are freed from their prison.


    I hold my breath. Waiting. Moments pass and when I open my eyes, he is gone. With shaky hands, my fingers explore the bruises around my wrists. The sensation of moving my arms separately is now bizarre.


    I take another look around. The masked man must be somewhere in the fog.


    I am alone.


    Did he really leave? Five, ten, fifteen minutes pass, and still nothing.


    Get up. I need to get up. Just one step at a time.


    A shaky breath joins my trembling hands and I grasp at the car behind me, struggling to my feet. My whole body shivers, except I¡¯m not cold. Not that cold, anyways. The familiar clip-clop of horse hooves approaches from ahead. Did some of the chief¡¯s men survive? I glance at the chief, his head lost somewhere in the fog. My knees feel weak. What will they do to me when they see their leader dead?


    But instead, it¡¯s the masked man who emerges from the fog. He rides atop a horse and holds the reins of another which follows. He keeps the extra horse still in front of me and I stare for a good two minutes in silence before realization hits me.


    It¡¯s for me. The extra horse is for me. He wants me to ride it. I glance around with a hard swallow.


    If I choose to go with him, what will happen? Or if I run, will he chase me? He has a horse, after all. I doubt I could get far with this man on my heels. He sits with his head turned away, staring down the bridge as if I wasn¡¯t even there. As if I wasn¡¯t the reason he just killed over a dozen men.


    It¡¯s not the first time, either. He killed all those raiders in that field, too. And followed me after the pit. Why did he do that? There¡¯s got to be a reason. Something he wants. Something he wants from me.


    My stomach knots and I stumble backward, lurching away from the masked man and his horse. But after a couple of steps, the tremor in my bones amplifies, turning into an earthquake. A sob builds in my chest and my knees give out. Silent cries rack through my soul, stuttering out from clenched teeth until I am left a fraction of who I was. A mere sliver in this world of giants. Of monsters. What a fool I was to think I could do this on my own. I should have known better after everything Uncle warned about in his journal.


    I have nothing. No weapons. No food. Not even a map, and in a day I will be starving again. To reach Ivan, the journey will last at least five months, maybe more. Will I make it that long? Can I? Behind me, a man offers a horse. He may very well be a monster, perhaps worse than the man who chained and leashed me. That man died with a single sweep of this man¡¯s sword.


    But Ivan needs me. I can¡¯t give up. I won¡¯t. No matter what, I must find my little brother. The thought of him all alone in this horrific world is enough to set my jaw straight. I clench my hands to fists and level my gaze. For Ivan.


    I return to the masked man and the offered horse. He hasn¡¯t moved an inch. Those soulless goggles follow me as he remains as silent as the dead bodies surround us. Reaching up, I place my foot in the stirrup and copy what I saw the other men do countless times. But halfway up, my exhausted muscles fail me and I slide down the saddle until my foot rests back on the ground.


    I glance at the masked man and he simply sits patiently, looking away.


    It takes three attempts, but I finally make it. I situate myself on the horse and it shifts under me and then the reins are pushed into my hands. The masked man¡¯s horse walks a little ways ahead and my brain scrambles to remember how to get a horse to go forward. I nudge it with my feet and it just stands there. I kick it lightly. Nothing. My hands start to shake again.


    I look up. The masked man waits with his back to me. Saying nothing, doing nothing¡ªwaiting. His patience renews my own and I take a deep breath.


    ¡°Come on. You can do this.¡± I speak, mostly for my benefit, but also the horse¡¯s.


    I dig my heels in and the horse¡¯s ears perk forward and it finally moves. Relief washes over me as my horse reaches the masked man and we move forward together.

 Chapter 7: Unmasking Your Hero

    The stick of smoked pheasant sags in my hand as I sit in front of the fire the masked man made for us. Somewhere in the back of my distant mind, I know I should eat. He is staring at me. Or at least, I think he is. It feels like he is. But my stomach will retch if I do. It already did once and every so often it flips like an Olympic-level gymnast.


    I rub my bruised neck where the collar had been. My fingers inch up to my hairline and I feel a knot in my hair. I pull away to find red crusties all over my fingernails. When did I hit my head?


    Probably when the chief hit me. My hands clench to fists as the struggle replays in my mind. The weight of his body trapping mine, the panic coursing through every cell in my body. Then I remember the sword in his chest. The blood.


    But sitting here now, I hardly register the memory. I can see his body clear as day in my mind, but everything is numb, as if far away. It was the same for the others. When we stopped for the masked man to scavenge the dead, I felt nothing. Well, nothing until my stomach twisted, and I wretched its contents all over the edge of the bridge.


    I hear a sound beside me and blink, dragging my mind back to the present. Something soft and heavy gets draped across my shoulders. A fur blanket? The weight of it draws back the frazzled strands of my mind and I pull it closer. The masked man reaches down to gently remove the uneaten stick of meat from my hands and I let him. I guess he figured out what I hadn¡¯t yet: I won¡¯t be eating anything tonight. His movements are slow and careful¡ªlike a handler approaching an abused shelter dog.


    Maybe he hates me. I tried to apologize earlier for what happened back with the rope bridge but he said nothing in return. What did I say again? Maybe the words never actually left my mouth. Maybe I imagined it.


    ¡°Do you want me to leave?¡±


    His words startle me. I forgot he could speak. This is the first time he spoke since that night with the raiders.


    Do I want him to leave? The question bounces around my mind and I can¡¯t seem to concentrate on it long enough to answer.


    ¡°I want¡­¡±


    I look at him. Every inch of his skin is covered¡ªhood drawn down, black scarf pulled up, and dark, red-rimmed goggles over his eyes. I hardly remember what his face looks like. I remember the bruises and the swollen eye but that''s it.


    ¡°I want to see your face.¡±


    The words slip out faster than I can think to stop them. Why do I care? I don¡¯t, I think. But I welcome the distraction, otherwise my mind will cycle through the events from earlier today for the hundredth time.


    Moments pass, and when I start to wonder if he heard me, he takes a seat an arm¡¯s length away, cross-legged, arms relaxed, hands resting in his lap as he faces me. Waiting. For what? I stare for a long moment.


    Oh.


    He¡¯s waiting for me. He wants me to unmask him.


    My stomach does another twist, or maybe it¡¯s less of a twist and more of a flip. Why me? That dark, soulless, goggled stare takes me back to hours earlier and I remember the blood. The death. But then I see something else. Something deadly, something dangerous. A panther who, instead of sinking its teeth deep, closes its eyes, rolls over, and exposes its belly at my feet, offering itself willingly.


    Suddenly, I want to. And slowly, an odd feeling stretches across my chest as I reach out, pausing midway. My fingers tremble. Am I scared? In the shadow of this morning¡¯s terror, nothing can scare me. Or maybe it¡¯s this aching emptiness settled deep in my gut emboldening me. I glance between my fingers and those empty goggles. He says nothing, so I don¡¯t either.


    I pull away the scarf hiding his lower face, revealing a strong jaw sporting several days¡¯ worth of stubble. He has a good nose, probably the type movie stars paid too much money for once upon a time. I reach for the hood next and reveal a head of thick, wavy black hair that reaches just over his ears. Finally, I remove those awful aviator goggles, so darkly tinted I wonder how he can see at all.


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    His eyes are round and handsome and peculiar. One is blue, the other brown. A thin white scar trails down one eyebrow, ending at the corner of his jaw and giving him a hard edge. I would guess he¡¯s maybe six years older than me as I stare at his face. A face you don¡¯t easily forget, the kind that pulls your gaze and doesn¡¯t let go.


    But now he¡¯s staring back at me, and this time I know for certain. It sends a prickle racing across my skin. Last time, his face was barely recognizable. Black eyes, busted lips, and black and blue all over. The raiders had beaten him to a pulp, and after a week and a half, you would never know.


    ¡°Why do you hide your face?¡± I ask.


    ¡°Do you want me to leave?¡±


    He repeats his question from earlier and I feel torn. Part of me screams yes. Screams to be left alone. Why should I trust anyone, especially a man, in a world like this? But the other part of me stares at the person who saved my life not once, but twice. Both times¡ªundeserved.


    ¡°If I say yes, would you actually leave?¡±


    I see it then, but only because he sits so close. Pain in his eyes.


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    And I feel it. The brokenness in that one word. He means it. With his face bare, his feelings flash like a bright neon sign.


    ¡°Really?¡± I press. ¡°What changed? You were pretty determined back on that rope bridge.¡±


    ¡°I was wrong before. I¡­¡± He hesitates, gaze falling away with a frown. ¡°I was so caught up in what I wanted and what I feared. I wasn¡¯t listening.¡±


    My heart tightens in my chest. A cold breeze rustles the leaves on the ground and the fire flickers to embers beside me. The last vestiges of sunlight slip below the horizon as night settles in.


    ¡°What you wanted?¡± I repeat his words thoughtfully. ¡°So then, what is it you want?¡±


    He looks up to meet my eyes. ¡°I may not know you, but I know this world. There is an evil here that consumes people¡ªit changes them. It changed me. I do not want to see another person fall to it.¡±


    ¡°You think I¡¯ll change?¡±


    As the words leave my mouth, I remember him falling on that rope bridge. Disappearing through the fog. I feel a familiar numbness crouching there. An emptiness. I wrap my arms around my middle.


    ¡°Why should I believe that is all you want?¡± I ask.


    He looks away, thoughtful for a moment, before standing and taking something out of the saddle on his mount. It is a silver handgun with a silencer extending from the barrel. He must have scavenged it from the bodies earlier. He holds it out, offering me the handle.


    I give him a wary glance.


    ¡°If I give you any reason at all to doubt me, use this,¡± he says.


    I take it carefully, checking it as my uncle taught me a lifetime ago. Clicking the safety off, I hold it up, pointing at a tree across our campsite, and pull the trigger.


    Pfft!


    The handle of the gun punches my palms and the nose jerks up. I almost forgot what the kickback of a nine-millimeter feels like. A small scatter of bark reveals I hit my target.


    The man watches me, maybe trying to decide if I will shoot him. I push the safety back on and place the gun on the ground beside me.


    ¡°You know, giving a gun to a stranger is a pretty dangerous move. If I was crazy I could shoot you for fun,¡± I say.


    For the first time, he cracks a smile and my brain short circuits. It looks good on him, too good. Dangerously good.


    ¡°I guess you could.¡±


    I clear my throat, tearing my eyes away and back to the fire. ¡°Hey, that wasn¡¯t a joke. You don¡¯t know me, what if I am a crazy person?¡±


    The smile fades as seriousness takes over but his eyes still twinkle. ¡°What you did back at that raider¡¯s base was pretty crazy.¡±


    It was. But saving him turned out to be the best decision of my life¡ªso far, anyways. It¡¯s still up for debate what happens next.


    ¡°I guess that makes us both crazy then. Because one against over a dozen men on that bridge back there? Pretty crazy if you ask me.¡±


    His eyes sparkle in reply and he stands, going over to the other side of the campsite and disappearing up into a tree. Probably to keep watch.


    With the sun having set long ago, the coldness of night creeps in. I inch toward the remaining embers, pulling the fur blanket around my shoulders closer, and fiddle with pieces of his mask sitting beside me. The scarf has two frayed edges, as though torn from something else. The goggles are worn, and the leather ties are soft and well-used. I put the goggles on and they sit loosely on my head. Surprisingly, I can still see through them despite the dark tint. I keep them on as I hug my knees and stare into the fire. For the first time that day, my mind is free of that endless loop of horror. Instead, I close my eyes and think about the man up in the trees. About when I saw him by the pool. How quick he was to flee, and again of seeing him down in that pit. All beat up and broken.


    And the bridge. The snap of the rope as it fell, his form disappearing below the fog only to reappear again on the other side. The relief I felt even then to see he survived.


    I relax and let exhaustion ease through my mind. The fur blanket is soft and the coals are warm and for the first time in a long time I feel some semblance of safety. I might regret it in the morning but for now I¡¯m going to let myself sleep.

 Chapter 8: Plus One

    I wake to the sound of leaves rushing in the trees overhead, their branches swaying and tugging in the breeze. A sudden chill invades the space between my shoulder blades and I sink deeper into the warmth of the fur blanket. It¡¯s heavier than it was last night. I open my eyes.


    Oh. It¡¯s not one blanket, but several. A pile magically appeared overnight, or maybe not so magically. I glance at the masked man.


    He crouches across from a crackling fire, slowly turning a spit with a few plucked birds on it. More pheasant? The smell of roasting meat sends my mouth watering. He sports his goggles, scarf, and hood pulled over his head.


    I ease myself up, flinching at the deep ache in my bones. The gunshot wound on my leg throbs dully.


    He silently offers me a bird on a stick and I snatch it, chowing down like a starvation survivor. My appetite returned with the new day I guess. With a full stomach, I wipe the grease from my chin and watch him. He finishes drying the last of the meat and stores it in a leather bag on my mount.


    ¡°Why do you cover your face?¡± I ask.


    He pauses. ¡°I¡¯ve made mistakes in my past.¡±


    I wait for more but nothing comes. He just walks across the campsite and puts out the fire.


    ¡°Are you hiding from someone?¡±


    He crouches, tidying up the area. ¡°It is so that I do not become the person I was.¡±


    And who was that? What has he done to need a mask? I find it hard to imagine the man who can take down a dozen raiders all alone needs to hide from anyone.


    I helped clean camp and notice he placed the most valuable supplies of food, ammo, and weapons on my horse. Which seems odd. Either he turned himself into the pack mule of this trip or he is ensuring I get everything useful in the event we part ways.


    He busies himself with one thing after another, his attention everywhere but on me. The horses, the campsite, and the weapons all get checked and rechecked, I feel dizzy just watching. Then his question from last night drifts to the forefront of my mind and it occurs to me that while things ended on a good note I never really gave him an answer.


    ¡°Hey,¡± I say. ¡°Stop for a moment.¡±


    He pauses beside his horse and I walk over, stopping before him. Our height difference suddenly becomes apparent as he towers overhead and I have to resist my body¡¯s instinctual step back. It¡¯s been so long since I willingly stood so close to another human who wasn¡¯t threatening my life. Or my freedom. I stare into those dark goggles and slowly reach up, pausing as my fingers hover over the sides of his headwear, waiting to see if my unspoken request will be denied. But he stands motionless like last night. So I carefully lift the goggles and lower his scarf revealing pinched brows and lips pressed into a thin line.


    ¡°If I tell you to leave, will you?¡± I ask.


    The corners of his brows tug upward, but he answers without hesitation. ¡°Yes.¡±


    I give a single nod, expecting the response. ¡°I want you to come with me, for now, at least.¡±


    His shoulders ease back and the strain between his brows fades. He starts to say something when I interrupt. ¡°But if you¡¯re traveling with me I want to see your face.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not worried?¡±


    ¡°About what?¡±


    He hesitates, ¡°about me.¡±


    I touch the pistol he gave me, now sitting in a holster on my good thigh.


    ¡°Not unless you¡¯re bulletproof.¡±


    He cracks a smile.


    ¡°Natasha,¡± I say, tucking my hair away in a baseball cap and lifting my hood. ¡°Or Nat or Tasha, if you prefer.¡±


    ¡°Eli.¡±


    Such an old-fashioned name but somehow it suits him. A smile breaks the space between us and I feel all tenseness melt away.


    ¡°Where are we going, Natasha?¡±


    ¡°East.¡±


    Eli mounts his horse in one fluid motion and turns it in a half circle as he scans the area.


    I smile. Showoff.


    ~~~


    We reach a sign labeled Cape Tallow and Eli dismounts, walking into an abandoned gun shop. I follow, tying my horse off beside his on some old rusty bike racks. Inside, I ogle at untouched shelves with guns lining the walls. Normally these kinds of stashes are long gone, raided years ago, but it seems this one got overlooked. I grab some pieces from behind the counter and line them up to decide what I should take.


    ¡°The bow is best,¡± Eli says from behind, making me jump.


    When did he get so close? His eyes are on a compound bow at the end of my lineup. I may have pulled it out and set it there but I never seriously considered it.


    I place a hand on a beautiful sniper. ¡°I¡¯m a better shot with a rifle.¡±


    ¡°The bow is silent and you can reuse ammo.¡±


    He has a point. I could get a suppressor for the rifle but it still can¡¯t compare to an arrow. Plus, once I run out of bullets there is no guarantee I will find more. Then a gun becomes dead weight. I pick up the bow and draw the string back taut. It feels so effortless as the gears rotate to leverage the force in my favor.


    I glance over my shoulder, ¡°You use a bow?¡±


    He nods, reaching behind to produce an enormous, traditional-looking bow, holding it out for me. Despite the size, it is light, looking to be made of a composite aimed for strength and agility. I run my fingers across the smooth surface, touching the string. It¡¯s tight. Tight enough to slice through steel. Or an arm. The length of it goes from the floor to my shoulder.


    ¡°I can show you how to shoot it.¡± He adds, ¡°if you want.¡±


    It wouldn¡¯t hurt to try. If it doesn¡¯t work out, I can toss it. I take the compound bow but sling the leather strap of a sniper rifle over my shoulder for good measure.


    As we push through the rest of the town I make a few stops at an ancient run-down mall and find new clothes. The natural fabrics are long gone but a few synthetic ones are still good. I decide to match Eli¡¯s theme of all black and snatch a surprisingly well-preserved leather coat. I also pilfer some canned food from a small, mom and pop grocery store.


    Eli never comes in with me, opting instead to keep watch from his horse and I notice his scarf pulled up to hide his face again but I leave him be. He technically never agreed to my request to see his face. It¡¯s just hard to build trust when only one of us has the advantage of reading expressions.


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    I stuff my bags with canned beans and soup, hauling myself onto my horse to go. But Eli remains silent and still, staring intently at the treeline across the street. I follow his gaze, nervous adrenaline ticking into my system with every passing second, and reach for my gun.


    A deer bursts forward, leaping over a low cinder block wall and surprising a few doves who roosted nearby. It darts down the street before crossing over and disappearing around a corner.


    I calm my beating heart. ¡°It¡¯s just a¨C¡±


    Thwip!


    Eli shoots an arrow into the brush about sixty paces beyond where the deer appeared. A shout of pain. Then a thunderous gunshot.


    I duck and hurry the horse to the side, heading for cover. But Eli does the opposite, kicking his horse forward, toward the gunfire. Straight-backed, bow drawn, he lets another arrow loose.


    I hear a rustling in the distance, then, nothing. Digging my heels in, I follow Eli as he rides off into the woods but there in the brush, something catches my eye. A bald man lies slumped over a fallen tree with an arrow protruding from his chest. A little ways from his limp arm lays a pistol. I grip the reins tighter and kick the horse forward.


    A human whimper floats through the air as I come upon Eli¡¯s horse. Then another. I dismount and peer around it. Eli stands with his sword drawn. A redhead laying at the base of a tree quivers at the end of his sword. An arrow buried deep into his knee and another in his shoulder.


    ¡°I know that guy,¡± I say.


    All eyes turn to me. The redhead teen from the camp swallows nervously¡ªMikey, I think. The same one who shot me after I climbed out of the pit and tried to run. Anger buds to life inside me.


    Mikey glances between me and Eli and seems to make a connection. ¡°So you weren¡¯t alone?¡±


    ¡°You are.¡± Eli says, touching the tip of his sword to Mikey¡¯s throat.


    My anger dissolves as I realize what''s happening. Will Eli really kill him? Right now? Right in front of me? He''s just a kid.


    ¡°Wait! Wait! Anything you want. I¡¯ll do anything you want. Just don¡¯t!-¡±


    ¡°Why are you here?¡± Eli interrupts.


    ¡°Me and¡­¡± his adam¡¯s apple bobs with a swallow and another quiver courses through him. For a moment he looks like he might cry. ¡°Me and Tarron wanted to see how the chief was doing on finding those girls. Thought we could catch the group on the way back.¡±


    Eli¡¯s head rises slowly as he turns his masked face to look at me as if to say, girls?


    I shrug at him. ¡°I told them what they wanted to hear.¡±


    ¡°Your leader and the men with him are dead.¡± Eli lifts his sword, readying to strike. ¡°You can join them.¡±


    ¡°No, no, please!¡± Mikey ducks, covering his head with his hands.


    ¡°Wait.¡±


    The word escapes my lips before I can think. Eli pauses to look at me.


    My brain fumbles for a reason. Eli is right, of course. The kid is a liability if we let him go. The camp he comes from holds many more armed and dangerous men who would not hesitate to hunt me down. Even more so when they learn what¡¯s become of their chief. But how can I stand here and watch this boy die? It feels wrong. It is one thing to defend yourself in the heat of battle, but this feels different. This is different.


    ¡°My bag,¡± I say, glancing between them. ¡°My bag is back at their camp.¡±


    ¡°I can get it.¡± Mikey volunteers in a heartbeat. ¡°I know where it is. I can get in and out in no time flat. No one will know a thing.¡±


    Eli gives me a long look before turning his attention back to Mikey bleeding on the ground.


    ¡°He cannot walk.¡± He says, waving his sword at the arrow protruding from Mikey¡¯s knee.


    ¡°N-n-no, I can walk.¡± Mikey struggles to his feet, using the tree at his back to claw his way up. ¡°I-if anyone asks I¡¯ll say I tripped at night and twisted it. I¡¯ll say that¡¯s why I¡¯m back early without Terron.¡±


    I shrug a shoulder at Eli. ¡°He says he¡¯s fine.¡±


    I can only imagine the questions lying behind that mask right now. If I could see Eli¡¯s eyes I bet they would be asking me why? Why save this man?


    Because, Eli, it¡¯s too easy for you to kill him. And too hard for me to watch you do it.


    Eli seems to weigh the situation. I watch him consider the possible consequences of going against my wishes. After some time he sheaths his sword and I breathe a silent sigh of relief. Then he unceremoniously yanks the arrows out from Mikey¡¯s shoulder and knee before walking back to his horse.


    Mikey is crying now, probably from relief as much as from pain and he clutches his knee, sliding back down to the forest floor. In another life, I would pity him but now I watch in silence, the numbness from earlier returning full force. Eli returns with some rope and proceeds to tie his hands securely behind him. He takes the rest and wraps it around Mikey¡¯s shoulders in a harness of sorts and ties the end to his saddle.


    We take it slow, I suspect for our prisoner¡¯s sake, as we follow the trail Mikey says leads back to their camp. We stop for lunch after an hour. Eli disappears into the woods and I pull out the leftovers from breakfast and chow down when I catch Mikey staring at me. Streaks of dried tears paint his dusty, freckled cheeks.


    ¡°What¡¯s in the bag you want so badly?¡± he asks.


    I remember Uncle¡¯s journal and the pictures of my family. Sure, I want them back, but not at the expense of my life.


    ¡°Not too much. At least nothing I couldn¡¯t live without.¡± I stop eating for a moment to give him a pointed look. ¡°But I can¡¯t say the same for you.¡±


    He seems distracted and misses my veiled threat as he asks, ¡°So¡­ why did you stop your friend?¡±


    I sigh. ¡°Don¡¯t look too much into it. What were you doing watching us back there?¡±


    ¡°Terron¡­¡± Grief flashes across his face and he looks down. ¡°He thought we¡¯d stop by the town on the way there when we noticed you two. We didn¡¯t want any trouble.¡±


    ¡°Neither did I.¡± I try to keep the spite from my words, knowing this ¡®Tarron¡¯ person must be the bald man Eli shot and killed back there. ¡°Yet I still became a prisoner when you found me.¡±


    ¡°Would it really have been so bad?¡± Mikey looks up at me with sad eyes, ¡°to stay with us?¡±


    I bite my tongue, remembering his words of encouragement to me after they caught me. The camp probably saved his life. Provided food, safety, and camaraderie. But the boy is naive. He knows nothing of the darkness in those same men he considers friends and leaders.


    ¡°I have a brother. I¡¯m looking for him.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡± He perks up, amazement filling his tone. ¡°Real family? Like from before everything ended? He woke up at the same time as you and everything?¡±


    I don¡¯t answer. I know the chances are slim, my hope¡ªincredibly unfounded. But so are the chances of me surviving long enough to find him or the chances of me waking up at all. Providence worked one miracle waking me so why not another?


    After finishing my meal I grab a bottle of sealed alcohol I found in town and rip an extra shirt up into strips. Mikey watches as I plop down beside him in the pine needles. I tear open the hole in his pants where the arrow went in to get a better look. Blood oozes down the side of his leg and I grimace at a bit of bone between all the fiery red flesh. I pour alcohol over his wound and clean it, gently dabbing the blood away. Mikey handles it well, not crying or whimpering but his leg still shakes. Maybe I should have looked harder for some liquor or pills in the city. I finish wrapping it with cloth strips and lean back to get a better look. Not an amazing job but not too bad either. Someone more skilled than me can fix it up when he gets back to his camp.


    ¡°Thanks,¡± Mikey says, pulling me from my thoughts. ¡°And I¡¯m sorry for shooting you before. I didn¡¯t know you were a girl.¡±


    ¡°Hey.¡± I flick him in the forehead, ¡°don¡¯t get any ideas. We¡¯re not friends, alright? Just get that bag tonight. It better have all my stuff in it.¡±


    His eyes shoot wide before dropping to the forest floor. I frown, noticing strips of angry, red skin marring the back of his neck, peeking over his shoulder. Curious, I yank the collar of his shirt down to get a better look and he winces. Five long, red hot twisting lines cut deep gashes across his back. They are a couple of days old and somewhat scabbed over except for the parts where Eli¡¯s rope harness tore them open again.


    ¡°What happened here?¡±


    His gaze wanders up but not enough to reach my eyes. ¡°When you turned out to be a girl, and then because I was the one who shot you¡­¡±


    They whipped him¡ªa teenager¡ªjust doing what he was told. I squeeze the water canteen in my hand.


    ¡°If you need us to slow down or take a break¡ª¡±


    Alarm flashes across his face. ¡°I won¡¯t slow you down, I promise. It¡¯s not as bad as it looks, really.¡±


    ¡°Hey, stop. Look at me.¡±


    His chest jumps up and down in quick, shallow breaths but his skittering eyes finally meet mine.


    ¡°I¡¯m not trying to hurt you. So if you need to take a break, or if we¡¯re going too fast, I¡¯ll make sure we stop for a bit. Okay?¡±


    His panic settles like a deep, slow exhale. He nods, holding my gaze. As I stand to go, Eli emerges from the woods. If he notices our prisoner¡¯s bandaged knee, he says nothing and between the goggles and scarf whatever he might be thinking is a mystery to the world.


    Mikey examines my handiwork, head tilting this way and that. He seems so young. It¡¯s easy to forget until you see his face. The youthful stare and boyish roundness of his cheeks make me wonder if he isn¡¯t younger than I initially thought. Maybe fifteen instead of seventeen. He¡¯s just so tall. Would have made a decent basketball player. Maybe he had. But not anymore. Now the only thing that matters is strength and smarts and only so long as you can beat the next man down the street. Eli is proof of that. He killed the chief so effortlessly despite the evil man¡¯s confident words to me that night in the bedroom.


    Wasteful.


    Ha. As if I were a resource to be used up. But then again, to him, I was. I glance at Eli as we continue our slow gate toward the camp. The man¡¯s body flows in perfect unity with his horse¡¯s steps. I keep waiting for him to change his mind. To realize that letting me call the shots makes no sense. Not in this world.


    But instead, he follows. He lets me lead. Surrendering control to someone so much weaker than him and I still can¡¯t understand why. But I¡¯ll take it. I need it.

 Chapter 9: A Lack of Communication

    I perch on a branch near the top of an old oak tree, watching through the scope of my sniper rifle at the scene several hundred meters away.


    Eli unwinds the rope from around Mikey¡¯s shoulders, then his wrists. With his arms free, Mikey rubs his bruises and cowers in response to something Eli says. But he nods his head and Eli tosses a clean shirt at his chest. Mikey struggles to put it on and then limps off toward the camp entrance.


    Eli insisted I stay back. And by ¡®insist¡¯ I mean he said less than three words and I didn¡¯t argue. This could easily turn into a trap. I know that. He does too. Mikey could betray us or simply be found out and then we have a camp full of angry men descending upon us. All because I felt sentimental. I shift in my spot, getting comfortable for the long wait ahead. With the sunset, I ready myself for the night chill. If things go haywire I¡¯ll jump on my horse I left tied off at the base of the tree and race away. Eli can fend for himself, besides I won¡¯t be much help in a fight. If I shoot from this distance I¡¯ll probably miss and only accomplish giving away my position.


    With every passing hour, my eyelids grow heavier. My mind wanders to the mysterious man standing still as a statue below. Eli leans against a tree, arms crossed in a relaxed fashion as he waits. The mask has remained on the entire time Mikey traveled with us. Part of me wonders if I will ever see his face again. Surely he knows my excuse to keep Mikey alive is just that: an excuse. He barely said five words since that afternoon when I spoke up.


    Is he mad at me for interfering? Maybe he will walk away if things go haywire. Or decide I¡¯m more trouble than I¡¯m worth and stop this good guy charade. Tie me up and do whatever he wants like the chief.


    No.


    He wouldn¡¯t do that. Eli never once gave me a reason to think such a thing. The way he kills is monstrous but he remains the only monster in this world who held my freedom in his hand and offered it back to me.


    The threads of my mind begin to fray and stretch and I feel myself drift when a sudden sharp, high-pitched whistle pierces the air, almost like an eagle¡¯s shriek. My eyes shoot open and I look through the rifle¡¯s scope. Eli is gone. The space is empty. But a second whistle draws my attention downward.


    At the base of my tree stands Eli, my bag in hand. Did I fall asleep? The morning sun begins to peak over the horizon. Eli waits patiently, handing my bag over once I get on my horse. Inside I find my uncle¡¯s journal and a few other things from my past life. Mikey did well.


    We travel in silence for most of the day. When we stop to make camp Eli lowers the scarf and lifts his goggles. I let myself stare. There is no anger, at least none that I can see. But he avoids my gaze.


    ¡°Are you upset with me?¡± I ask.


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°I interfered earlier. With the boy, Mikey. I stopped you from killing him.¡±


    He frowns but continues to stare into the fire. ¡°I¡¯m not upset with you.¡±


    ¡°But there is something.¡±


    His lips press together as he fidgets with the stick of roasting meat. ¡°Is he someone important to you?¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    He turns to me, brows knit. ¡°Then¡­ why?¡±


    ¡°You kill too easily, Eli,¡± I say quietly. ¡°Sometimes it is necessary, I understand that. You saved my life twice and for that I am grateful. But watching a man die is not an easy thing for me.¡±


    Silence stretches between us as he returns his gaze to the fire. It crackles and pops as fat drips from the roasting meat above. A strange calm passes over the forest as the sun dips below the horizon and crickets pick up their chorus. Eli seems lost in thought during dinner and I let him think. He is a part of this world but I am from the one that came before. In this one, I am lost but I think he becomes lost in mine too.


    The next morning I catch him before he heads out to hunt. ¡°Want some company?¡± I ask, holding up the compound bow he talked me into.


    He stops, eyes jumping between me and the weapon, then gives a nod.


    I never realized how much noise I make running through the woods until now, following behind Eli. His every movement is measured. Controlled. And yet, his steps are quick, he could race a deer and probably win. That is if the thing even knew he was there.


    Maybe a mile in he pauses, crouching. He holds out his arm and I stop, joining him near the earth. His gaze leads to a young buck over one hundred feet off in a clearing. He pulls out his bow, gesturing for me to draw back on mine.


    As I pull the string tight, Eli¡¯s eyes sweep across my form. He touches my elbow, raising it, and the contact traps my mind in place. Moving behind me, the softest pressure appears on the small of my back and I straighten, my breath catching. He stands over my shoulder now, sending warm breath ghosting across my collarbone.


    ¡°Now, when you¡¯re ready, relax your hand.¡±


    Moments pass with him there behind me, waiting. I spare a glance back. Big mistake. He is close. Freckles dust the bridge of his nose and flecks of gold and white spark in his eyes. But his eyes aren¡¯t on my bow or my form. They¡¯re on me. For a moment time stops as my mind, my breath, my soul, gets snared in his steady gaze.


    I suck in a shallow breath and tear my eyes free, turning my focus back to the deer. It hasn¡¯t moved. It¡¯s all or nothing. I look through the bow¡¯s scope, lining the shot with the buck. I need to get a kill shot otherwise I risk wounding it only for it to escape and die slowly from its injuries.


    The arrow flies free, whistling through the air and landing solidly in the bucks middle.


    Yes!


    Wait, no. It leaps forward, getting away. I reach for another arrow but as I do Eli shoots and the buck falls.


    ¡°You¡¯re a natural.¡± He says.


    I bite away frustration at myself. ¡°It almost got away.¡±


    ¡°It won¡¯t so long as I¡¯m here. You did very well.¡±


    Such a simple thing. A compliment. But a wave of warmth floods my body. We start toward the kill. His arrow went through its left eye, killing it instantly.


    Wow. ¡°You¡¯re a really good shot.¡±


    Now that is not a compliment, it¡¯s a simple and scientific observation of reality. The precision needed for such a shot and the fact he took no time to line it up leaves me dumbfounded.


    I sit a little ways away as Eli cleans and skins the kill. The man is nothing if not efficient, but also, beautiful. He manages to turn it into an art. Every stroke is confident and purposeful. My arrow ruined what would have been a wonderful piece of leather but with all the extra meat we will have food for a long time.


    Together we place the meat to dry and I steal glances his way. He seems hyper-focused on the task at hand just like that first morning. What kind of thoughts race behind those keen eyes?


    ¡°You know, back at that bridge, when I cut the rope and you fell¡­¡± I rub my hands together, soothing the anxiety taking up sudden residence in my chest. ¡°I never meant to hurt you. I¡¯m sorry¡ª¡±


    His gaze shoots up. ¡°Don¡¯t apologize. It helped me remember.¡±


    ¡°Remember?¡±


    ¡°To listen. I had started to become something I walked away from years ago.¡±


    Cryptic as per usual. I steal a glance up as I reach for another strip of meat. ¡°And what is that?¡±


    ¡°A man lost to his own fears.¡± He stirs glowing coals, sending embers swirling upward like fireflies in the night. ¡°Some run towards their fears, and others run away. At that moment on the bridge, you showed me which direction I had been running.¡±


    ¡°Away?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡± He crouches with his hands gripping the stick and lets his head rest against the wood. ¡°I was afraid that if I did not follow, something horrible would happen to you. But in the process I imposed myself, unwelcome into your life.¡± His gaze turns distant, ¡°I discovered long ago that running from your fears is the root of all kinds of misery. For yourself and for others.¡±


    His eyes ache with regret in the firelight. I can only wonder what kind of history lies beneath that gaze. Even if he is older than me, he seems too young for such words. For such a look.


    ¡°How did you know to stay there and wait for me? Did you know I would come back?¡±


    ¡°I thought if you changed your mind, you might return to the last place you saw me.¡±


    ¡°So you just waited?¡±


    He nods.


    ¡°How long before you would have turned back?¡±


    He shrugs and the corners of his lips quirk up at the edges. ¡°My schedule is usually pretty open.¡±


    ~~~


    We follow a stream and I close my eyes against the sound of rushing water. Hot sun beats down through fluttering maple leaves overhead and sweat trickles along the back of my neck, tickling as it goes. I pass a swimming hole with a steep rock face rising up one side and a sandy shore along the other. Cool, crystal water beckons me but I press on.


    When Eli¡¯s horse drops back I glance behind. He stands beside his horse and I glimpse toned, solid muscle as he whips his shirt away and strips down to his boxers. I snap my head back around, stopping my horse, face like fire.


    A splash from behind eases my nerves. I guess it¡¯s bath time. I lead my horse back around, stealing glances at the man. He seems completely oblivious, moving freely in the water, disappearing occasionally under its surface only to reappear moments later.


    Twenty minutes in and I slump in the saddle. This is no quick dip in the pool so I busy myself with the horses, brushing them down and giving them a few treats as I wait. Eli¡¯s horse seems especially fond of the dried venison and I wonder how often the man sneaks it a bite or two of his dinner. I lean back on a tree, snacking on some leftovers when I hear him leave the pool. But instead of getting dressed, he climbs up the side of the rock face. The muscles in his back flex and bend with effort and water streams off his skin in rivulets.


    At the top, he plops down in the sun. From this angle, all I see is a portion of one leg but it doesn¡¯t move. Ten more minutes pass and I heave a sigh. Did he fall asleep up there?


    His pile of clothes lay beside the beautiful crystal water. It would be nice to not smell like grime, sweat, and horse. But how stupid would I have to be to bathe with a man twenty feet away?


    But it¡¯s Eli.


    And I guess it wouldn''t even be the first time.


    I glance at the rocks. He still hasn¡¯t moved.


    Quiet as a mouse I strip down to my underwear and slip into the water. Gooseflesh crawls up my arms as I wade in, stopping when the water reaches my waist. Tiny minnows dart around my ankles and crawdads lumber across smooth stones a few feet away. I scrub every last inch of my body with some ancient, peach-scented bars of soap from the last town while making regular glances up at Eli. Still unmoving. Maybe he did fall asleep.


    After removing every last speck of filth from my skin and untangling my mess of hair, I turn my attention to my clothes. It would be a shame to have to put the same stinky, sweat-soaked things back on. I climb out of the water and toss on an oversized coat, gathering up all the clothes to scrub them down. When I pick up Eli¡¯s pants something hard and shiny falls out, landing in the sandy dirt. A pocket watch.


    I slowly turn it around in my hand. The simple gold finish is smooth beneath my fingertips. I pop it open, the clock has long since stopped but there in the wing sits a picture of a man and woman. Between them grins a little girl in a yellow dress with a missing front tooth. The man resembles Eli if you add ten years and the woman is at least seven months pregnant. I close it and glance up. How long has the man been out here by himself? When did he wake from the stone? I check the rest of his pockets to avoid accidentally dunking something valuable. When I finish hanging everything up to dry, I stare up at where Eli lays and fiddle with the gold watch in my pocket, my curiosity growing.


    After some extensive exploring, I find a way up to Eli that does not involve any vertical rock climbing, only some bouldering. I pull myself over the last rock and see him still laying there in the sun.


    It takes a lot of willpower to not stare. He''s lean and well-muscled with a beautiful olive skin tone to boot. But scars mar every inch of his chest. Most are old and faded into white slivers but the sheer number is sobering. The shine of a chain around his neck catches my eye. It holds a simple gold ring fashioned with a diamond in the middle. I crouch down beside him, peering at the curious thing¡ªa woman¡¯s ring. Perhaps from a fiance? Or wife?


    I glance at his face to see if he truly sleeps. He lies motionless, breathing silently. I wave a hand in front of his eyes. No response, his lids don¡¯t flicker and his breathing remains steady. With a few more moments of intense staring, I feel satisfied and silently take a seat nearby.


    My feet dangle over the rocky edge as he sleeps behind me. The wind rushes past, sending the sea of green treetops rippling. A few locks of my drying hair catch the breeze and tumble about my shoulders and back. My muscles ease, my mind, unwinding and for a moment I forget where I am. I forget this is the end of the world. The fears and constant anxiety settles into the cracks of my mind out of sight. I turn Eli¡¯s watch over and over in my hand.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know how long you¡¯ve been out here but I¡¯ve never met anyone as terrifying as you,¡± I whisper to the sleeping man behind me, my words swept away by the breeze. ¡°You kill men as easily as you breathe air.¡±


    It feels good to speak to someone, anyone, after all this time. Even if that person is unconscious. Like the flood of relief that comes when you finally stretch a muscle kept clenched tight so long you forgot it could move. So I continue.


    ¡°And yet¡­¡± I hug my leg, resting my chin on my knee. ¡°Somehow I still think you are a good person.¡±


    I hold out the watch and rub my thumb across the shiny gold, ¡°the people here forget their old lives. They forget their families. Their humanity. But somehow you didn¡¯t.¡±


    My gaze wanders back to the sleeping, shirtless man behind me. I gasp, my body jerking and nearly sending me tumbling over the edge of the cliff. He lays there on his side, head propped up in his hand, watching me.


    ¡°When did you¡­I thought you were asleep.¡±


    How much did he hear? I cover my burning face with a hand and shift to rub my neck anxiously. I hold out my hand, his pocket watch hanging by its chain at the end.


    ¡°I found this in your pants.¡±


    In his pants.


    My face burns hotter than the surface of the sun and I want to crawl into a hole and die.


    ¡°I mean, it fell out when I was cleaning the clothes.¡±


    He takes the watch from me and sits up, cross-legged, seemingly oblivious to my plight of humiliation. The watch turns over in his hand before he pops it open and stares at the picture.


    ¡°I woke up from the stone sleep when I was twelve. Almost died that first day.¡±


    He speaks quietly but I feel the forest around us hush. The breeze settles and the birds soften their voices. I inch around to face him.


    ¡°A bunch of raiders found me and wanted to see how tough a little kid could be. I should have died a thousand times.¡±


    I imagine a mere twelve-year-old in that pit and my stomach churns. Then I remember the marks. Those countless white lines marring his skin, curving and twisting.


    ¡°No one should have to go through that,¡± I say quietly.


    He looks up at me.


    ¡°I was not always the man I am now.¡± He glances down at the watch. ¡°There was a time I forgot my humanity. My family.¡±


    I remember the way he kills. The fluid movement of his blades through the air and the absolute lack of hesitation or remorse.


    ¡°What made you remember again?¡±


    His finger traces the picture. ¡°My sister.¡±


    ¡°Is she ¡­?¡±


    He shakes his head. ¡°She passed away one year before everyone turned to stone. But before she died she left me letters.¡± He smiles. ¡°Somehow they managed to survive a couple of hundred years.¡±


    The sun disappears behind some clouds and a shadow envelops us. A line of ants march valiantly along the edge of a rock and cicadas sing their symphony in the trees all around.


    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    ¡°I have a little brother,¡± I say.


    He looks up.


    ¡°He¡¯s just thirteen. I need to know what¡¯s happened to him. That¡¯s why I¡¯m heading East. I have to hope Vanny is still out there.¡±


    ¡°Vanny? Is that his name?¡± His words come out quickly, strangely alert. His gaze¡ªintense.


    ¡°A nickname. He was obsessed with magic so I called him Vanny the Great. He loved it.¡± I smile at the memory. ¡°But his name is Ivan.¡±


    Eli¡¯s face pales and his eyes fall away. The watch disappears into his fist and when he looks back up at me, there is pain but he covers it with a small smile.


    ¡°I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll find him.¡±


    My brows crease. What was that? I open my mouth to ask but quick as a gunshot he shoots up and starts down the cliff to where I left our clothes hanging on some branches by the horses.


    He knows something.


    I chase after him but by the time I reach the horses he is already fully dressed. He pulls his hood down, scarf up, goggles on, and grabs his bow and quiver, already turning for the woods.


    ¡°Do you know my brother?¡± I ask but he disappears behind the brush without so much as a glance back.


    What the hell was that?


    And what about that look earlier? Does he know my brother? Or maybe he used to?


    My heart stops as another thought manifests, burying itself deep.


    Did he kill my brother?


    No. I shove it away with a shake of my head. I might not know Eli very well but I won''t jump to such horrible conclusions. His behavior just now might be odd but this world is foreign to me. What is odd for me could be perfectly normal for everyone else.


    The sun sinks low on the horizon and shadows stretch along the ground with long spidery fingers. He''s never gone this long when he hunts. With each passing hour, suspicion rears its ugly head but I stomp it down every time.


    Just as I begin doubting Eli will show up before dark, he walks in from the woods with two skinned rabbits in hand. The last glimpses of sunlight fade as he approaches the fire I made and sets his catches above it to cook.


    He takes a seat far away, barely within the fires¡¯ light, still wearing his goggles and scarf. Nothing but a crackling pop of pine sap fills the campsite, sending tiny sparks of light swirling upward into the deep blue night.


    About an hour passes before the rabbits finish cooking and Eli hands me one on a spit.


    ¡°Thank you¡ªand not just for dinner,¡± I say before he has a chance to escape to his spot across the fire. ¡°But for everything. For stopping those raiders and saving me from the men on the bridge. And listening about Mikey.¡±


    He just stands there, staring. Then, slowly, he reaches down and lowers the scarf. As he pushes the goggles away our eyes meet and I sense unease. So I offer a small smile.


    The unease fades and he takes a seat closer.


    We eat in silence.


    Part of me itches to ask him about Ivan. But something about the moment warns me not to. So I stare at the flames, stuffing my face with roasted rabbit instead.


    The next day things return to normal between us, at least, from the outside. We clean camp and set off down the old road. Eli is quiet. He''s always quiet but for some reason this time feels different. I keep looking for the right moment to bring up Ivan but I can''t. It''s like something took up residence between us overnight.


    We reach an old city. It''s larger than the ones I saw further west, with skyscrapers towering on the left and right. The horses'' hooves clip clop against old asphalt and a million finches sing a chirping greeting as we pass beneath the body of one skyscraper leaning against its neighbor. The glass and metal structure is now a skeleton of the past, covered in vines.


    I keep my gaze skyward, staring hundreds of feet above to the bright, blue morning expanse beyond. A flock of birds flutter overhead, ebbing and swaying like a dancer across the sky. A chilly breeze kicks up and bites at my cheeks, sending my eyes watering.


    When the road meets a four way stop, Eli''s horse veers off to the right. I watch for a moment, curious, and nudge my horse to follow.


    We take a few more turns through the streets before I notice them. Faded signs from the old world directing us toward the Denver Public Library.


    A library. He''s taking us to a library.


    The large structure has a unique, modern architectural design made of glass, steel and stone. The building walls are a mishmash of shapes and angles. Flat edges meet rounded walls and pyramid roofs lined with windows.


    He dismounts, stepping through broken glass doors. I hesitate to follow as his form disappears into darkness. A quick glance around confirms we''re alone. I could wait here for him to come back out but the last detour he took by the swimming hole ended up lasting hours.


    I step into the building.


    ¡°Eli?¡±


    I blink at the darkness, letting my eyes adjust.


    ¡°Over here.¡±


    I shuffle a bit toward the sound of his voice, disturbing small piles of leaf litter, dirt and gravel.


    Soft beams of morning sunlight stream in from the broken windows all around the large, open space. The center holds a mine shaft-looking wooden structure with a geometric design, rising up at least three stories to the circular rooftop. Rows and rows of bookshelves encircle the area.


    Eli rummages through a nearby shelf. I join him and pull out a dusty book. The old paperback falls apart in my hand and ruined binding sends the crispy, yellow pages spilling everywhere.


    ¡°What are you looking for?¡± I ask, shoving the remains of the book back onto the shelf.


    Eli thumbs through the ancient collection pulling out one or two, examining them, and then sliding them back in again.


    ¡°The useful ones.¡± He mumbles as his eyes scan the old texts.


    I wait for more but as usual, I am met with nothing except the soft flipping of pages.


    Whatever this is, it¡¯s going to take a while.


    So I abandon Eli to his decrepit books and step down the aisle.


    It feels like another world. A poor, faded, fragile imitation of my own. Yet still so similar. It''s eerie. Except for the small piles of leaves and debris and thick coating of dust, you would never know the world ended, at least not at first glance. It''s so different from everywhere else where nature invades and walls crumble. Outside this place, the old world exists as skeletons. But here, it''s a fully preserved dead body.


    I wander for quite some time, getting distracted with a book or two before heading toward the front desk in curiosity. A statue sits behind it. An older woman maybe in her forties with books piled high on either side. Her left hand is frozen, rubbing the bridge of her nose with a thumb and forefinger. Beneath her other hand rests a picture book. The sight of it sends an electric shock through my bones and catches my breath.


    Little Mouse and Wolf.


    I know this book. It was Ivan''s favorite and instinctually, I reach out to touch the faded blue letters of the title. My fingers quiver and images flood my mind like a tornado.


    ¡°Ivan, I have your ice cream¡ª¡± I pause in the doorway, a waffle cone in each hand.


    His room is a mess. Papers scattered everywhere and stuffed animals littered among piles of clothes. He kneels beside the bookshelf, frantically tossing what few books remain upright onto the floor.


    ¡°What''s going on in here?¡±


    Concern colors my tone as I walk over to him. As I do he bolts upright, grabbing at the sides of his head, fists full of hair.


    ¡°I can''t find it!¡± he bursts, eyes skittering across the room before landing on something across the way. He runs over to it, digging through toys and clothes.


    I blink in surprise.


    ¡°Find what?¡±


    ¡°It! I can''t find it!¡± Impatience and panic force his words out all at once. Then he stops and adds, ¡°The book! I need to find the book.¡±


    I frown and follow before crouching beside him, holding out the ice cream cone.


    ¡°Can it wait until after ice¡ª¡±


    As I say the word ¡®cream¡¯ he whips around¡ªarms flailing¡ªand knocks the sugary treat from my hand, sending it flying. It smashes into the floor leaving a wet, creamy, sticky blob in its wake.


    He stops in shock, blinks, and then tears swell in his eyes.


    I sigh and hold out my remaining cone.


    ¡°It''s fine. Here, you can have mine.¡±


    ¡°I don''t want your stupid ice cream!¡± he shouts before running and crashing onto his bed, burying his face into his pillow and crying.


    Now it''s my turn to stop and stare in shock. Who is this kid? Ivan never shouts and rarely cries. And he certainly never destroys his room in pursuit of something as simple as a book.


    Coldness invades the edges of my hand. A long spidery, pale, green finger of ice cream creeps down from the cone. I lick it away and enjoy a momentary burst of mint chip.


    That''s the other thing. Ivan loves mint chip. He always has. I can''t remember the last time he asked for anything that wasn''t mint chip. But the melting blob on the floor is rocky road. A flavor always in the house but only because of mom and dad. They used to eat it together.


    Mom and dad.


    Then it hits me. This isn''t about ice cream or a book.


    I take a seat on the bed beside him. He cries into the pillow and I reach out to gently rub his back. After a moment, the crying subsides and he lifts red puffy eyes accompanied by a tear stained face in my direction.


    ¡°I''m sorry.¡± he mumbles miserably.


    ¡°It''s okay. I miss them too.¡±


    Just saying the words, they get caught in my throat and my eyes mist. Which is all Ivan needs to burst into tears all over again. Only instead of the pillow this time, he rams his face into my side and starts to bawl.


    I hold him the best I can with one hand, petting his head and back. The funeral was a week ago. I guess I should expect this kind of thing. He''s only ten. There''s probably a lot more acting out in the coming months. Fights at school maybe. Calls from the principal.


    But he''ll make it. We both will. We have Uncle. Still, nothing will ever be the same. I swallow a knot in my throat and resist a tear slipping down my cheek. When Ivan looks up I give him a smile and quickly wipe the escapee away.


    His gaze wanders to my remaining ice cream cone and a sudden coldness registers on my fingers. Minty, dessert crawls all over my hand, threatening to send sticky, green drips everywhere.


    ¡°I made a mess.¡± He looks upset at the melting blob of rocky road.


    I shrug, ¡°It''s fine. I don''t really feel like eating ice cream either. In fact¡­¡±


    I chuck the dripping mess of mint chip at the floor and it lands right next to the rocky road. The cone sticks upright as the gooey pile slowly spreads out.


    Ivan gasps in shock and then bursts out laughing. I grin back at him, wiping my sticky fingers on my pants.


    ¡°But what about the floor?¡±


    I shrug. ¡°It''s just carpet. You¡ª¡± I bop his nose with a still-sticky finger. ¡°¨Care far more important than any carpet.¡±


    He giggles, rubbing his nose where I left a pale green sticky spot.


    After a while I ask, ¡°You wanna tell me what''s going on?¡±


    His smile slowly fades into nothing. When he speaks, it''s in a small voice.


    ¡°I''m scared.¡±


    I wrap my arms around his shoulders and give him a squeeze.


    ¡°It''s okay, Uncle will take care of¨C¡±


    ¡°No¡ª¡± his lips form a thin, tight line. ¡°I''m scared of forgetting mom and dad. What if I forget what they look like?¡± His voice quivers as a hiccup cry escapes his chest. ¡°Or sound like?¡±


    That first night after the funeral I had a dream or maybe it was a nightmare. I still don''t know. But it was a warm, summer day. Mom pushed me on the old swing tied up to the giant oak in the backyard as Dad chased Ivan with the hose. I can still hear Ivan''s squeals of panicked, playful delight through the morning air. There was a small, yellow flower tucked neatly behind moms ear. Her soft, gentle smile. Everything was perfect.


    Then I woke up. And they were gone.


    I''ll never forget the way the world shattered all over again. The way I shattered all over again.


    When I was little, I used to have nightmares where mom and dad died. The all-consuming terror made me burst into tears and run crying to their room. But as awful as that was, at the end of the day they were still alive and well. It was just a nightmare.


    Only now, the nightmare is real. There is no waking up.


    ¡°You won''t forget mom and dad.¡± I brush Ivans bangs to the side. ¡°Because I''m here. I''ll help you remember.¡±


    Fresh tears well up and his voice chokes. ¡°You promise?¡±


    I pull him into a hug and kiss the top of his head. ¡°I promise, Vanny. I''m not going anywhere.¡±


    He squeezes me tighter when I spy a familiar yellow book jacket peeking out from the space between the bed and nightstand. I reach over and pull it out.


    Little Mouse and Wolf.


    Ivan snatches it with an excited shout, ¡°You found it!¡± He looks up at me with amazement then back down at the book. ¡°Mom promised to read it before¡­¡±


    His voice fades as his face falls. I gently pull the book from his hands and cozy up on the bed, folding my legs and patting the spot beside me. He squishes up under my arm.


    ¡°Little mouse and wolf.¡± I read, turning the cover. Inside is a beautiful watercolor painting of a forest with a stream running through. I read the words, ¡°One day deep inside the forest there lived a wolf¡­¡±


    The memory fades as my fingers brush across the ancient yellow cover. Somewhere in my chest it hurts. Ivan.


    I slide the book out from beneath the stone woman''s hand and hug it close. The hurt in my chest churns around and around like a sinkhole growing larger with every passing second. I feel myself emptying into it and somewhere in that void, anger rises up. It starts as a spark but quickly grows into a flame.


    I step down rows and rows of books. With every step I feel my body grow tense, my fingers wrap tighter and tighter around the book at my chest. My gaze flicks past the aisles.


    Late afternoon sun shows through the skylights overhead. The morning chill in the air is gone, replaced with a warm, humid undertone. A thin sheen of sweat clings to my neck. Somewhere in the rafters, sits a nest of crying baby birds.


    When I see a pile of books on a table, I stop. Their covers are cleaned of dust. They seem in excellent condition. Eli stands down the aisle, reading. I walk up to him.


    ¡°Did you find what you were looking for?¡±


    His eyes continue to scan the pages. ¡°Yes, some.¡±


    ¡°I found another for your collection.¡± I hold out Ivan''s book.


    He looks at it and stops. It has some water damage and the binding is held on by a hair. It''s a far cry from the specimens sitting on the table back there.


    ¡°Sometimes it''s not the condition but the quality that matters.¡± I hold the book out closer, prompting him to take it. ¡°It was Ivan''s favorite.¡±


    He hesitates, frozen for just a moment. When he takes the book, it''s slow and careful. But his mind is somewhere else. Glazed over with thoughts all his own.


    ¡°Our parents used to read it to us but after they died, I started reading it to him.¡±


    He turns to go, returning to the pile of books. I follow. Overhead, the baby birds are screaming their lungs out.


    ¡°There was this time after school when¡­¡± I start but my thought dies as I notice Eli collecting up his books into a leather satchel. Then he heads for the exit, leaving Ivans book on the table. My jaw tenses.


    I snatch it up and follow.


    ¡°Do you have something against me talking about Ivan?¡± I ask with a bite to my words, following him back outside.


    He places the satchel into the pack on one of his horses and mounts it. As he kicks the horse forward I ask, ¡°Do you know something about Ivan?¡±


    And nothing. He doesn''t so much as glance back. Shock, fear and fury coil inside me. I stand and watch him ride back down the way we came, heart pumping wildly in my chest.


    Could he have killed Ivan? Would Eli kill a child? Then again, what if Ivan wasn¡¯t a child at the time? He could have woken up years ago and grown into an adult. And I know how easily Eli ends a life.


    My chest hurts and the air feels thin. I stumble to my horse and lean against it, trying to catch my breath.


    Please no. Don¡¯t let it be true.


    But I need to know. If my brother is dead because Eli killed him then I can''t forgive him. Ivan is my reason for living and right now, I need him as much as he needs me.


    Tears wet my cheeks and angry fingers follow them, wiping the stains from existence. I must know the truth.


    I mount my ride and follow Eli. But every time I try to lead my horse up beside him, he pushes on ahead. After several attempts I give up and spend the next several hours staring at his back¡ªor rather, glaring at it.


    When the sun grows low on the horizon he stops to make camp. The moment his foot touches earth I''m jumping off mine to meet him.


    ¡°Hey, I have some questions for¨C¡±


    But he''s already running off into the woods to hunt. This time I chase him, pushing past long, scratchy brush.


    ¡°Are you really going to ignore me?¡±


    No response.


    ¡°Hey!¡± I have to run to keep up with his long strides. ¡°Tell me what you know about Ivan. I deserve to know.¡±


    He stops, ¡°What makes you think I know anything?¡±


    ¡°Because you do. I know you do.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Then why are you acting this way?¡±


    He masks up and disappears into the thick brush leaving me standing there trembling, with rage or fear, I''m not sure which. I should come out and ask him the question that sits at the tip of my tongue.


    Did you kill a man named Ivan?


    Did you kill my little brother?


    But I can¡¯t voice the words. It¡¯s bad enough to just think them. If I say them out loud it feels as if they could be real. As if maybe Eli did do such a thing. And maybe Ivan is already long gone.


    It never takes Eli this long to catch something.


    He is avoiding me. He knows I have questions.


    I start a fire as the sun sets with Eli missing. After finishing the leftover meat I have to open two cans of beans before finding one that isn¡¯t moldy. It tastes disgusting. After dinner, I warm my fingers and stare dully at their silhouette against the flames. Maybe he got into trouble. Or maybe he ditched me.


    The next morning instead of Eli I find a freshly caught bird roasting over a dying fire. So we¡¯re back to this again.


    I eat the food he left but every bite fuels my anger. I would tell him to get lost and never come back except I need answers only he can give. Mostly, I feel betrayed. If he knows something about my brother he should tell me. After all, it is my brother.


    I have the campsite clean and canteens filled before he shows up, walking out of the woods toward his horse. He still wears that infuriating scarf and goggles.


    When I approach him he heads the other way. Anything I say is met by silence or disappearance. Eventually it takes everything I have to not scream the question burning in the forefront of my mind.


    Is Ivan already dead?


    Something twists painfully in my chest and I bite down on my lip to keep tears from popping up. On top of losing everything else, I can¡¯t lose this too. I always knew Ivan might have never made it. Or he woke up hundreds of years ago and is long gone like Uncle but I never let those thoughts blossom in my mind. Now, they grow like weeds and I can¡¯t stomp them out.


    No.


    I won¡¯t go there. Let me have this one thing. My brother is alive. Or he is a statue and I¡¯ll protect him as Uncle did with me. I¡¯ll write to him every day and when he wakes, he will know how to survive this horrible world.


    With every passing day, the weed between Eli and me grows, and my frustration with it. Neither of us bends, between my insistence and his avoidance soon a wicked, thorny wall stands between us. It is a cold war. I cannot bear to be in his presence and it seems the same goes for him. It drives me insane.


    In our brief encounters between setting up or cleaning camp, I find myself glaring at the back of his masked head. My thoughts wind toward the pistol on my hip. No, I won¡¯t actually use it. Even as a threat. Besides, even under threat of death, I doubt the stubborn man would bend. So instead, my anger festers.


    One morning, I try hunting on my own. Eli still catches us food but taking anything from that man is like dragging my hand through a bowl of glass shards. I don¡¯t want anything from him except one thing which he refuses to give.


    I whap at the tall grasses with my arrow, marching across the open field maybe half a mile from camp. The grass''s fuzzy tops sway back and forth, tickling my elbows as I go. The ruckus will scare away any game but I don¡¯t care. Movement catches the corner of my eye and I stop. A fox sweeps across the field maybe ten yards ahead. Did I scare it out of hiding? The bushy white-tipped tail stops for a moment at the edge of the clearing.


    I ready my arrow and repeat the stance Eli showed me. One foot forward, elbow up and back straight. I let the arrow fly.


    A soft, barking yelp fills the meadow. I got it? The white-tipped tail jumps away. Cursing, I chase after the small creature, following a trail of red. Climbing over rocks and around fallen logs I stop at a cliff¡¯s edge. A deep gorge lay ahead, the roaring of rushing waters reaching my ears. I explore the precarious edge with caution. Where is that fox?


    When I see it I am perched on a boulder jutting from the edge. A fallen tree bridges the narrow gorge. The fox stares at me in the middle, an arrow protruding from its hindquarters. I¡¯m sorry little guy. I prepare my stance and pull back on my bowstring.


    But the arrow never flies. A crack from below sends the world rising up around me. I leap for the cliff¡¯s edge but it crumbles away. Grasping for anything, at everything, my fingers find the loop of a tree root. I cling to it as my feet scramble to get a foothold. But with every furious kick, the earth falls away like softened clay.


    Sharp black rocks jut out of frothing white water below. It must be at least a three-story drop. I feel my grip loosening and panic sets in.


    ¡°Help!¡± I scream. ¡°Eli!¡±


    But he¡¯s not there. And then my root snaps free.

 Chapter 10: Want Some Tea?

    Windchimes.


    A mess of strings, glass, and shiny metallic objects dance in the breeze above my head.


    The window to my right opens wide to a world of blue skies, tree tops, and singing birds. An assortment of plants decorates the small ledge and vines crawl up from below to frame it. Jasmine mingles with other floral scents. I try to sit up but wince as pain stabs through my head. My fingers discover a lump the size of a baseball behind my ear.


    I remember the open field. A trail of red. The gorge as it crumbled under my feet and the fox sitting on a log, watching as I fell. It was injured. I injured it. But now it will likely die slowly¡ªpainfully¡ªfrom its wound. All because of me.


    Someone hums off to the left. Eli? No, Eli never hums. He is silent as the dead, and especially lately, to the point I can¡¯t get a word out of him.


    I force past the throbbing in my head and sit up to touch bare feet to the wooden plank floor, pausing as the world spins. I grip the edge of the bed and cram my eyes shut. When I open them, I see a pair of boots sitting neatly at the end. My boots.


    Over half a dozen open windows all around the room invite the breeze to flow freely through the space. An enormous trunk of a tree rises through the center of the space, its branches stretching up through the arcing roof where a vast collection of homemade wind chimes flutter and wave. Shelves cover the walls, displaying an array of miscellaneous trash: rusty watches, wooden statues, silverware, and faded porcelain dolls with missing eyes. An old wood stove sits on the far end of the room, tucked between a pile of firewood and an old lazy boy recliner with holes and springs popping out in places. Steam curls from the spout of a black teapot sitting on the stove.


    A wiry old man walks up to it, lifting the lid and peeking inside. His scraggly gray and white striped beard brings a skunk to mind. From behind he looks like a pile of rags with two skinny legs poking out. He hums as he pours tea into a chipped, porcelain teacup.


    Keeping my eyes on the old man, I stand but the world blinks to black. I grit my teeth, reaching out to steady myself on the bed. Everything returns like a prickling powerpoint slide and I stumble over to my boots.


    ¡°Did you want your stuff before you leave?¡±


    His deep voice turns up at the edges as if he has a dog¡¯s squeaker toy stuck in his throat.


    ¡°It¡¯s just over there by the perennial specimens.¡±


    He juts a finger at the table behind him across the room. Jars holding dried flowers of every color and shape are piled high on top of each other. In the middle sits my knife, jacket, and empty quiver; my bow is missing.


    Leave, now.


    It could be a trap. Under any other circumstances that''s exactly where my kind would go. But the man already had me unconscious. Why bother with a trap?


    ¡°Who are you?¡± I ask.


    He finally turns around giving me a yellow-toothed grin as he sips his tea. His eyebrows remind me of white caterpillars, the type my brother and I would find on my Uncle¡¯s farm out on the potato plants.


    ¡°Jolmus Pottimer, but you can call me Jol. Pleased to make your acquaintance¡­¡±


    I cut him a wary look. ¡°What am I doing here?¡±


    ¡°I found you all washed up by the river. Got a nasty bump to the head so I thought I¡¯d help you out.¡±


    I glance between him and my knife. He throws back his drink and turns around to pour another.


    ¡°Tea?¡± he asks with his back turned.


    I take the opportunity to swipe my things, keeping the knife on hand, and head for the door just five steps away. But as I step outside, my heart leaps into my throat. I see grass, but it is far, far below. The small ledge I stand on stops short, holding no railing, nothing between me and a fifty-foot drop to the forest floor. I shuffle back into the room.


    ¡°This is a¡ª¡±


    ¡°Treehouse?¡± Jol finishes. ¡°Why, yes. Lovely isn¡¯t it?¡±


    I¡¯m at a loss for words. I look again at the space. The tree trunk in the center should have been a dead giveaway. But the space is large and far too elaborate for one man to build. How many more people are hiding around here?


    ¡°There¡¯s a ladder over there.¡± He nods to the far side of the room behind the trunk. ¡°Did you need directions getting back to wherever it is you¡¯re headed? It¡¯s easy to get turned around in these parts.¡±


    I point my knife at him, stealing over to the ladder. He just sips his tea.


    Sure enough, the floor opens up to a rope ladder that goes straight down to the forest floor.


    ¡°Where are the others?¡± I ask.


    ¡°Hm?¡± He gives me a puzzled look. ¡°There¡¯s no one else. Just me.¡±


    I jab the knife in his direction. ¡°Don¡¯t give me that. You couldn¡¯t have built this on your own.¡±


    Those bushy white caterpillars jump up. ¡°Oh, I didn¡¯t build this. Just tidied it up a bit after I found it.¡± He speaks around his hand like it¡¯s some big secret. ¡°It was a wreck before I added the plants. Gives it a nice touch, don¡¯t you think?¡±


    ¡°Then who built it?¡±


    He shrugs.


    The ladder sits waiting. Eli is probably looking for me. Judging by the afternoon sun, at least a couple hours have passed, which means he caught breakfast and realized I¡¯m nowhere in sight to eat it. I scowl at the ground. Maybe he can wait a little longer. After all, this Jol guy seems rather harmless. Weird, maybe. But harmless. And if he wanted to hurt me he could have easily done so earlier.


    ¡°Tea?¡± he asks again.


    I frown. ¡°No.¡±


    That¡¯s the other thing. How is this man drinking tea? Uncle said the plants turned toxic. It¡¯s why I was starving before Eli came along. It¡¯s why everyone either eats whatever they can scavenge from the old cities or they hunt like Eli.


    If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    ¡°My name¡¯s Natasha.¡±


    He nearly chokes on his tea. ¡°Really?¡± He gives me a curious look. ¡°Would that happen to be short for something? Anastasia, perhaps?¡±


    I lower my knife a bit more. No one alive knows that except my brother, Ivan. It¡¯s been years since I¡¯ve heard the name on my birth certificate spoken aloud.


    ¡°...It is.¡±


    Anastasia was the name my parents reserved for those special times when I¡¯d come home bloody and bruised. My knuckles, that is. It didn¡¯t happen often, but whenever some idiot kids decided to pick on Ivan, I made sure they got a taste of my fists. Or the concrete. Or a wall. Bullies never lasted long.


    The old man mumbles to himself as he hobbles over to the desk and opens a book, flipping through pages until he plucks something and steps over to me. With a flip of his wrist, a spot of color suddenly appears between his thumb and forefinger. He holds it up to me.


    ¡°This is your flower.¡±


    A dried daffodil. He probably chose it because of my hair. The soft yellow of the petals matches my blonde locks quite well.


    ¡°It represents rebirth and new beginnings. Similar to your name,¡± he explains.


    Rebirth? New beginnings? How ironic. I would take my old life back in an instant if I could. I take the delicate flower from his hand and twirl it between my fingers, nostalgia wafting over my senses. My mom pressed flowers. It takes me back to cozy evenings in front of the fireplace flipping through books filled with these little dried treasures. A deep ache throbs inside my chest at the memory. After all these years and I still miss those days. Mom reading on the rocker as dad smokes his pipe and Ivan playing with blocks. Chirping crickets chasing in a cool night breeze that swirls with the rich, earthy undertones of the pipe¡¯s puffs.


    ¡°I have a garden.¡± He smiles between bright eyes. ¡°I never get visitors but maybe you¡¯d like to see?¡±


    Maybe it¡¯s the bitterness in my heart when I think of returning to Eli. Or maybe it¡¯s Jol¡¯s disarmingly friendly personality, but some part of me wants to go see Jol¡¯s garden. Probably the lonely part. I want to talk to someone again. Someone who isn¡¯t the ever-avoidant, Eli. At least for a little while. I crave conversation, even if it¡¯s with Jol, as odd as he is. It helps that I can actually take the old man in a fight if I need to.


    Eli can wait.


    ¡°Sure.¡±


    Jol grins like a kid on Christmas, jumping a little with excitement. I resist a smile. How long has this old guy been alone? After a week-long cold war with Eli, Jol is refreshing.


    The climb down the ladder is nerve wracking, even more so with the lump on my head sending spikes of pain through my skull with every rough jostling. But when my feet reach the grassy earth, I swallow a sense of satisfaction. As Jol leads me down a little stone path through the woods I ask, ¡°How long have you been out here by yourself?¡±


    ¡°Hmm¡­I think, forty years now.¡±


    I stumble to a halt. I know there are loners¡ªheck, I was one until Eli came along. But only because I never had a choice as a woman in a world like this. If I were a man, I would have joined a group long ago if for no other reason than for the safety and stability they present.


    ¡°Isn¡¯t it hard? Surviving on your own?¡± Why choose that life?


    Jol gives me a grin over his shoulder. ¡°Not as hard as surviving with other people. You know what I mean, don¡¯t you?¡±


    I guess he has a point. Even Eli, as helpful as he is, still leaves me trapped in a tunnel of frustration and anger. Every morning, I wake up with this hardness in my heart, and no matter how much I pound on it, it only grows harder.


    ¡°So you¡¯ve been alone this whole time?¡± I ask.


    ¡°Well no, not exactly. There was a group of us at the beginning.¡±


    ¡°What happened?¡±


    ¡°Things didn¡¯t work out.¡± His voice clips sharply. ¡°So we parted ways.¡±


    I¡¯d be lying if I said I wasn¡¯t curious, but the tone is clear. So I steer clear of alienating yet another halfway-decent man.


    ¡°What was your life like before all this?¡±


    He turns to face me, grinning as he flares his fingers, flowers appearing between the digits. Another wave and they¡¯re gone. ¡°I was a magician.¡±


    That explains a lot. And it fits, oddly enough. Although this hobo of a man may seem more like the type you find huddled in the corner of a subway, you could clean him up, dress him in a suit and tie, put him on a stage, and I can see it. Jol comes across as quite charismatic¡ªif not more than a little eccentric¡ªwhich suits an entertainer well.


    ¡°My wife taught high school and my little girl was going into first grade. She liked helping me with my magic tricks.¡±


    His chipper smile softens and his tone turns quiet. I get it now. Why I feel comfortable around Jol. Unlike most, he remembers, and remembers fondly at that. There is no hint of bitterness as he speaks of his family.


    ¡°My little brother loved magic.¡± Warmth spreads through my middle as I let myself reminisce. ¡°He wanted to grow up to be a magician, so I called him Vanny the Great.¡±


    Ivan was creative and smart but it was his heart that made him so special. A heart of gold. It¡¯s that kind of goodness that people notice, even the bad ones. Bullies always regretted picking on my brother, I made sure of it. As an older sister that was my job, to protect him.


    ¡°He would put on these shows for me and my uncle. The tricks weren¡¯t good, but they didn¡¯t have to be because he was fantastic.¡± I smile at the memory. ¡°He had this thing he liked to do¡ª¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re almost there!¡± Jol interrupts and flashes me a smile. ¡°You¡¯ll love it. It has your flower.¡±


    I hear the roar of the waterfall before I see it. The water plummets at least twenty feet from the boulders above into a deep pool, creating a cool mist. All around, vines creep up the rocks and tree trunks and small white flowers give off a sweet scent.


    Jol walks right around the base of the waterfall and waves me over to a wall of thick vines. He pushes them aside, revealing an enormous cavern. Light filters in from above, revealing dozens of raised flowerbeds, an array of colorful plants overflowing from each. On the far side, a crystal pool shines, and the ceiling rises at least two stories upward.


    I pluck a beautiful deep purple flower, lifting it to my nose. Lilac. Nostalgia hits me from all sides. Mom loved this scent. On Saturday mornings in the summer, she would open the house and bake apple pie. The house smelled of lilacs, apples, and cinnamon.


    From here the waterfall outside is muted and a soft melody reaches my ears.


    Music?


    I follow the sound to a little rock tunnel in the back of the garden. Beethoven¡¯s 5th. I recognize it from the last homework assignment my music teacher gave before the world ended. I wrote that entire five-page essay, single-spaced, and never even got to turn it in.


    ¡°Do you like it?¡± Jol asks from behind. He holds out a small bouquet of flowers.


    I take them but peer into the tunnel. ¡°Is that music?¡±


    He nods.


    ¡°But how? It sounds like a recording. Don¡¯t you need electricity for that? And speakers.¡±


    ¡°Oh yes, there is all that too.¡± His eyes brighten, ¡°I have more songs. Do you want to see?¡±


    Yes. But¡­


    I glance behind. This is becoming much more than an afternoon stroll in the woods. Eli is probably searching for me now. Worried. Or maybe not. Maybe he¡¯s happy to be free of me. Jol waits expectantly for my answer and I rotate the small bouquet of color in my hand. The music rises and falls before reaching a crescendo, baiting me.


    ¡°Just a quick look,¡± I say.


    Jol beams and leads the way. The narrow walls, carved from the rock, twist and wind until we reach a thick metal door.


    A bunker.


    Jol found a bunker. First a treehouse, now a bunker. What else does the old magician have hiding up his sleeve? He disappears inside without a second thought but I pause outside the entrance. I can hear the music clearly now. Every instrument in beautiful harmony as the symphony plays out.


    Just a quick look.


    I step inside. The bunker is cozy, but in classic Jol fashion plants cover absolutely everything. I recognize a few with their striped heart-shaped leaves as houseplants. Garden supplies and equipment clutter the space to my left: shovels, a rake, wooden planter boxes, and even a sledgehammer. The living room area holds a rounded sectional sofa that opens into the kitchen and a small dining room table tucked away off to the side. A narrow hallway behind catches my eye.


    ¡°Jol?¡±


    The music grows louder down the hall, which opens into a large room containing a small desk and reading chair along one side. The wall across from me holds three small, clear spaces, maybe six by four feet, like a small walk-in closet. Two are closed off, thick vines having completely taken over, but the middle space is open. Music comes from within, and intrigued, I step inside.

 Chapter 11: No Tea for Me

    The walls on either side of the tiny space are made of thick transparent material. Acrylic maybe? Vines grow like weeds over every inch of it. Potted daffodils like the dried one Jol gave me fill the small space. I squint at the thick acrylic wall. There is something on the other side. Age and moisture have clouded the plexiglass-type material an opaque white and I brush the overgrowth away, rubbing it with my hand. I glimpse something rough and hard and gray on the other side.


    Stone.


    The distinct curvature of a human nose gives me pause. I see lips and hidden beneath more vines, eyes. A woman. A stone woman. Alarms go off somewhere in the back of my mind. The other wall holds another, smaller statue of a girl.


    A sudden ''whoosh'' comes from behind. I whirl around to see what it was. Plexiglass with long metal bars now stands where I had entered the tiny space. In the center is a large window nearly the size of the wall and made of vertical bars. Behind it, Jol holds a small, silver remote, his thumb pressed over a red button in the middle.


    For several moments I do nothing. My mind plunges down an abyss where it twists and spins like a cat falling through the air, seeking only one thing. Solid ground. Something believable.


    "Jol, this isn''t funny." My voice comes out strangled.


    "I knew you were special."


    My fingers clasp the bars and I shake them, but the frame is solid, lined with metal. The acrylic around it must be five inches thick at least.


    "Anastasia," he speaks my name with a mixture of awe and reverence, throwing his hands into the air before they come to rest on his balding head. "Together, we will save them."


    "Let me out!"


    "Shh, shh. Don''t be upset; all this is necessary."


    He''s insane. Not weird, not eccentric, but absolutely mad. I feel dizzy and my legs start to buckle, but I catch myself using the bars. Then I realize he''s been talking to me. Asking something.


    "¡ªvery good stuff. Will you try it?"


    "No, Jol," I snap. "I won''t try anything until you let me out of here."


    He clicks his tongue. "Too bad, too bad. It would speed up the process. Make it easier. Help you to see."


    "You can''t keep me down here."


    "You''re not listening." He speaks as if talking to a child. "Once the process is complete, the rebirth will happen. This is something to be celebrated."


    "Process? Rebirth?"


    "Yes." His hands turn outward, palms up. "You will bring them back."


    He glances at the spaces to my left and right. The stone statues? Then I realized, this is his garden. Not the flowers and vines but those statues on either side of the acrylic. They are people. It is a garden of stone.


    But I am not a statue. I am flesh and blood.


    "Those are statues, Jol. You can''t keep me down here. I''m not a statue, I''m a living person."


    His face fills with such pity. "Indeed, you are."


    Something about it registers wrong and my hands start to shake.


    "Help!" I scream, searching the dull fluorescent lights above with my eyes. "I''m down here! Help!"


    "It''s no use. The bunker is underground; no one will hear you."


    He is right. I know he is. But I still want to scream. Scream at myself for being so stupid. Something between a snarl and a shriek escapes my clenched teeth and I kick the wall, beginning to pace.


    "Why?" I yell. "You already had me, why trick me down here?"


    "Your name"¡ªhis eyes sparkle with delight¡ª"it revealed your destiny to me."


    I scoff. My name? Is this really all because of a name? How can I be so unlucky as to tell this mentally unstable man the exact thing he believes justifies kidnapping and murder?


    "Well, if that''s true then you''ll be disappointed to hear I lied." I keep my face straight and serious. "It''s something I made up. An alias. I don''t tell strangers my real name."


    He tilts his head with narrowed eyes before a lopsided smile eases his features. "No, I think you''re lying now, Anastasia."


    I swallow, keeping my voice level, and meet his gaze. "But what if I''m not? You''ll be killing a person for nothing."


    He goes quiet at this, eyes losing focus. He fingers the small silver remote in his hands absently.


    "You came willingly." He nods to himself. "It is your destiny. You are just scared, but it''s okay. You had to be willing and you came willingly to this place."


    "Jol!" I pound a fist onto the wall pulling his eyes back to me. "I am not willing. I want you to let me out."


    With furrowed brows, he wipes sweaty palms over his raggedy shirt, shaking his head. "You need time to accept your destiny. Eventually, you will see." He backs away, turning to leave through the exit.


    "Jol!" I pound the wall and shout his name but the man shuts the door behind him.


    I am left alone with nothing but stone ears to hear my cries. I spend the next several hours scouring every inch of that small space, looking for some kind of weakness or gap between the edges, taking satisfaction in ripping up every last strand of his precious vines and smashing all the pots on the floor. But by the end, I have nothing but a mess at my feet and confirmation that Jol holds my only key to freedom.


    It is getting late, or at least I think it is. There is no time in this place, no sun or sky, no change in temperature or sounds of birds. Just flickering lights overhead and soft music from the speakers over the doorway. My stomach growls and I hug myself in misery. Eli must be going out of his mind right now. I wonder if he tracked me to the river; maybe he found the place where I fell in.


    Will he be able to find me?


    He has to. Or else I must find a way to make Jol let me out. How do you deal with a crazy person? Can you reason with them? Should you even try? Is it better to work within their fantasy or shatter it completely?


    The door opens and Jol walks in.


    Speak of the devil.


    "I''ve been thinking," he begins. "You must be terribly confused."


    Oh yes, I''m the confused one here.


    "Your passing will bring about the rebirth of women everywhere. You don''t have to be scared, just think of all the good you will do."


    He plans to kill me. The air thins and I feel my lungs strain but I have to keep it together. The man thinks I can actually wake people from the stone? Alright. Fine then.


    "You know what, Jol? I think you''re right."


    I have his attention so I continue. "Everywhere I go I find more and more women waking from the stone. I thought it was normal."


    I wear my poker face perfectly and for a moment, a shadow of doubt slips over his features. But then it disappears.


    "Lying is a bad habit, Anastasia."


    "Why do you think I''m lying?"


    He gives me a toothy grin. "Because you are scared. But it''s okay, I''m here to help you. The process is not something to fear."


    I grip the bars. "Don''t you see how crazy this is? Jol, I''m a person just like you; if you do this then you''ll be a murderer."


    "No, no, no, death is a natural thing. But being trapped in stone is not. Your sacrifice will save so many more."


    "Please, don''t do this. I can''t do anything like what you say," I plead. "I have a little brother; I need to find him. Please¡ª"


    "Enough!" He snaps, face twisting into something dark.


    I flinch and step back. A tightness in the back of my throat makes it hard to swallow. Hard to speak. Maybe I can''t get out of this on my own.


    "Now." Jol holds up a small vial with clear liquid. "You must drink this."


    He crouches and pushes the vial through a small metal-hinged flap at the bottom of my door. His movements are slow and I know he is being careful to not get too close to the bars separating us.


    I look at it on the ground between all the wilting vines. "Is it poison?"


    He clasps his bony hands together, like a grandmother pleading to a small child. "I promise, it will be quick and painless."


    I stomp down on the vial and it shatters into a thousand pieces beneath my boot.


    He sighs, then smiles sadly. "I am not surprised. Nevertheless, it will be nice to have the company for a while I suppose."


    Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.


    Hours pass and I soon learn that any talk of Ivan or my family is strictly forbidden. If I try to share, his mild demeanor disappears and he bites my head off. Still, I try. What''s he going to do? Kill me? But when I persist, it results in an empty room with nothing but a stone to speak to.


    After a while, my hunger fades, but my thirst comes and goes in waves. I try to loosen the metal frame off the bars, but just end up destroying my knife. No amount of kicking or ramming the walls helps do anything except release some of my pent-up anger. It soon becomes clear Jol simply plans to starve me.


    Will Eli find me? He must. I''m all out of ideas for how to handle Jol. The madman shows up every night. I say night because he reads to me out of some ragged book and then bids me goodnight and turns the music and lights off. Although, I think he intends the reading more for the plants than for me. After Jol left the first night I honestly thought I might go mad. Something about being stuck in utter darkness and dead silence with nothing but your own breath, heartbeat, and thoughts echoing in your mind is unnerving. I''ve always had the sounds of birds or bugs, and even on the darkest of nights, there are always stars glowing behind the clouds. Maybe this is how Jol went insane. Maybe I''ll turn into Jol.


    I sit with my back against the wall, staring at the clouded forms of the statues trapped here with me, and sing. I always found something therapeutic in music. In singing. I let my voice carry away all the fear and pain of this moment and every moment since I woke up from the stone. They used to say I had a siren''s voice. I even garnered quite the following with a few of my social accounts and a month before everything ended a record company reached out to me. But now, all that means nothing. Now it doesn''t even exist.


    Three days in and the simple act of standing sends the world spinning. My mouth is dry as cotton and when Jol comes in to water his plants, I have to close my eyes to keep from losing it. I know the man intends to kill me, but this is truly torture. Even still, I sing. I sing until my throat is dry and hoarse. Until my voice cracks and fails me. Until I literally cannot sing anymore.


    Something bumps up against my leg as I sit with my face buried in my arms. A bottle? The plastic is yellowed with age, but inside is a clear liquid. I reach out to take it, surprised by how heavy it feels. Jol is crouching there by the little flap at the bottom of the door.


    He nods at it. "It''s just water, I promise."


    Do I trust him? I don''t know how much longer I have, but I will wait for Eli until the very end. The man is still looking for me, I know it. He doesn''t give up so easily. That time back on the bridge proved it.


    I struggle to unscrew the lid and give it a sniff. It smells like nothing. Like water.


    "Why?" my voice cracks.


    Jol rubs the back of his neck. "It''s been so long since I''ve heard a voice like yours."


    "I thought you wanted me dead."


    He sighs in exasperation, "I don''t want you dead, but yes, it is necessary. And it''s just some water. It doesn''t change anything, not really."


    I take a small sip and wait. It is difficult. Every cell in my body screams at me to gulp it all down but I need to know if this is a trick.


    I count to one hundred and drink more. Then more and more. Before I know it, the entire bottle is empty. I feel alive again. The strange fog which clouded my mind lifts and I notice Jol watching me in silence, waiting expectantly.


    I sing now, more aware of my audience than ever before. I feel like a canary in a cage the way he watches me. Every day or so he gives me water¡ªjust enough to keep me alive. Just enough to keep me singing. He often sits on the reading chair and listens with closed eyes.


    "Jol?"


    His eyes open.


    "Are these statues your wife and daughter?"


    His gaze ticks toward the smaller statue on my right and then the other, his look softening. "My wife loves to sing. Sounds like an angel."


    "And your daughter?"


    "She loves bedtime stories."


    I nod my head. Explains why he reads aloud every night. I should probably leave it at that, but I can''t. "So you''re doing this for them?"


    "Of course, they are my whole life."


    I see it. It scares me how much he means those words. The man trying to murder me shouldn''t be allowed to look so fondly at anyone.


    "Would your wife want you to do this? Would your daughter?"


    His face scrunches up and he tugs at the ragged clothing near his chest. "You''re just scared. I told you there is nothing to fear. I can make it so you feel no pain¡ª"


    "How do you know you''re right? What if I die and then I''m just dead? Nothing happens. No one wakes up from the stone."


    He steps a little closer. "Do you really want to know? I can show you."


    I swallow in uncertainty. "Show me what?"


    His eyes light up and he hurries from the room, returning later with a pitcher holding green-tinted liquid. He pours a small cup and carefully pushes it through the door.


    "I''m not drinking your poison, Jol," I snap.


    "Not poison. Tea. It will help you see what I''ve seen. Look." He pours himself a cup and takes a big swallow, grinning with long yellow teeth afterward.


    Tea? I suppose it makes sense. He tried probably half a dozen times to get me to drink some. But Eli always warned against consuming plants of any kind left in this world and my uncle echoed the sentiment in his journal.


    "Plants are toxic, so how are you drinking them?"


    "All good things have deterrents for those who are not meant to enjoy them."


    Of course. I pick up his cup and swish the contents around. Tea is just leaf water, right? How bad can it be, so why not? At least I have Jol''s attention. Maybe I can convince him not to kill me by giving it a try.


    I take a small sip. The moment the liquid reaches my taste buds my body spits it out before I can stop myself. The bitterness burns my tongue and claws up the back of my throat, searing my nose.


    Jol nods in expectation. "It takes some time."


    I hold in a gag. This cannot be good to consume. But if I can get a little bit of it down maybe Jol will listen to me. Crunching my eyes shut, I take a big swallow, bypassing my taste buds and forcing it down. Horrible bitterness overwhelms my senses and I pant through the disgust as Jol stands there, watching intently.


    Then it hits me. My stomach contorts, folding in on itself and I race to the corner of the tiny space, vomiting back up the vile drink. Afterward, I am left weak and light-headed.


    "Tsk, tsk, too bad." Jol clicks his tongue. "I really hoped things would be different for you."


    I hold my stomach, looking up at him. "That stuff doesn''t bother you at all?"


    "Oh no, no, it took me six months before I could keep it down long enough to have my eyes opened. I just thought maybe things would be different with you because you are meant to save them."


    So he built up a tolerance. But I don''t have six months. I try several more times to keep the ''tea'' down, but my stomach simply refuses. Shaking like a leaf, I wipe stringy saliva and stomach acid from my mouth and slide to the floor in defeat. With my eyes crammed shut, cold wet streaks down the sides of my face tell of the tears which escaped of their own accord. My muscles twitch sporadically across my body and I squeeze my knees with the frustration of it all.


    Jol crouches on the other side of the acrylic. "Your tenacity is admirable."


    I give him a hopeful look. "If I had a little more time..."


    He understands what I mean. I will puke out tea every day for a little bit of food.


    He looks at me sadly. "We must accept things as they are. I know it is hard, but I will be here with you through it."


    I want to cry. I thought raiders were cruel, but this man...he would weep right alongside you as he slid a dagger across your throat. But I can''t give up. For Ivan. For my little brother. I must keep trying to get through to this madman.


    "The tea, how does it work?"


    He scratches that skunk of a beard before jumping up and disappearing through the door. He returns and sprawls an armful of roots, leaves, and stems across the floor in front of my prison door. I drag myself over to watch him organize the mess into piles.


    "You make tea out of all this?"


    "Everyone thinks plants are toxic, but they are just much more potent now and our bodies are less tolerant than before. Take this"¡ªhe holds up a leaf with five points¡ª"it was a numbing agent before but now just one leaf causes paralysis for at least 10 hours."


    Jols eyes sparkle as he talks and I try to keep my face neutral. He explains how one flower causes seizures while another blindness. I push away a little voice in the back of my head that wonders how he discovered these things.


    "What about that one?" I point at a red twisting-looking root.


    He stops, straightening. "Valerian root? That one is for you when you are ready for it."


    I frown. When I''m ready?


    He explains. "I told you it does not have to hurt."


    My fingertips go ice cold. I glance at the remains of the shattered vial Jol tried to get me to drink that first day. The tiny glass shards shine between the dried remains of twisted vines.


    "That''s the poison you gave me?"


    He holds it up. "Have you changed your mind? I hate to watch anything suffer, especially you."


    Suffer? Suffer? Anger blossoms in my chest. For a moment the world turns to red and I smack my fist against the wall of my cage. The violent sound rips through the calm space making him jump.


    "I welcome the pain, Jol. Want to know why? Because, despite your best efforts, it means I am still alive."


    I bite the last words out and glare at the man before me. He soaks in my fury like a sponge, unaffected and unlinking. But I know his buttons. I know how to hurt him.


    "Despite your best efforts to destroy a family. To take a sister from her little brother." I spit the words.


    Jol is already on his feet. His lips spread into a thin line as he hurries to collect his things and leave.


    "My brother isn''t much older than your daughter, Jol. I just want to save him. Jol, Jol!"


    He escapes, latching the door shut behind him. He''ll be gone for several days, but I''m too angry to care. I know he hates hearing about Ivan because it reminds him how selfish he''s being. It breaks this mad fantasy of his.


    One week turns into two, which stretches into a month. I feel my muscles grow weaker and they often twitch and spasm at night. Jol gives me water every other day, enough to keep me alive, but nothing more. I hardly sleep through the night anymore because right as I manage to drift off, knifing hunger pain jolts me awake again. Yet, when I am awake, I have no hunger at all.


    After a while, I stop singing. I get too out of breath and have a hard time remembering the lyrics. For some reason, Jol still gives me water bottles. But eventually, even my thirst leaves me and soon several unopened water bottles lay scattered among the empty ones at my feet.


    Then I saw him.


    Eli.


    At first, it was a sound, or maybe the thought of a sound. His footsteps out of the corner of my eye, or his voice from behind. The first time I really saw Eli as he stood before me, sword dripping in blood, face covered. Those awful, empty, bottomless, red-rimmed goggles staring into my soul. Other times I saw Ivan, standing off to the side or huddled in the corner, crying. I even saw Uncle once. But mostly, it''s Eli. Sometimes I blink and realize it''s not Eli but in fact Jol standing on the other side of the bars.


    But the worst occurrence happened at night sometime between waking and sleeping. Eli seemed so real, like I could reach out and grab him. He touched my cheek and I felt hope spread like a virus through my body. But then I blinked and he was gone. It felt as if he''d taken my soul with him.


    I know what they are. Hallucinations. Probably from going so long without food or sleep. At the very least, I''m losing my mind.


    "Who is he?"


    I didn''t notice Jol walk in. He sits in his reading chair, book in hand. Was he reading?


    "What?" I ask.


    "The man named Eli. You say his name a lot. Who is he?"


    I do? When did I say his name? I can''t remember. Everything feels so distant. Like I am watching the world through a telescope, catching glimpses here or there but never seeing the big picture of what''s right in front of me.


    Jol is looking at me. What does he want? Oh, that''s right. He asked me something.


    "Eli is the man who always saves me." The words come out on their own.


    "Then why do you cry when you say his name?"


    I don''t cry. Or maybe I do. I don''t really know, and I struggle to remember. But why is Jol asking me these questions? He never showed the slightest interest in me or my life before. He avoided it. Whenever I mentioned Ivan, he would snap at me.


    "Why do you care?"


    I see it then. The same pity in his eyes that appeared that day he trapped me in here. When he told me I have to die.


    I''m already dead. He can see it. There is no danger in showing some interest in a dead person. The realization leaves me empty. Hollow. I''ve been waiting for Eli to show up, but I didn''t stop to wonder how long it''s been. One month? Or is it two now?


    No one is coming. Eli will not find me in time, if he hasn''t already given up. And I cannot blame him. If I was in his shoes, I would have moved on after a week¡ªtwo tops. And already it''s been much longer than that. How well did we know each other anyways? He probably thinks I''m already dead.


    And soon that will be true. My life is no different from all those women who turned to stone and never woke up. A waste. Inconsequential. I''m sorry, Ivan. I tried. I did. But I slipped up and sometimes all it takes is one bad day, one step too far, and Providence steals away your future until only hope remains. And then, eventually, that goes too.


    The very act of standing leaves me breathless and dizzy. I curl up in the corner, hugging my legs, and just stare. Stare at the wall. Stare at the statues covered in vines. Stare at the occasional roach crawling across the floor. Stare at Jol when he visits every night to read, as he is now.


    He licks his finger and turns the page.


    "Our doubts are traitors and make us lose the good we oft might win by fearing to¡ª"


    A crash from somewhere in the bunker cuts him short. He pulls out a small monitor from his pocket and jumps to his feet. The book hits the ground with a shallow thud. He runs a hand through thinning hair and rushes for the door, leaving it open in his haste.


    I stare at it dully.

 Chapter 12: Lessons Learned

    When I see Eli again, it feels like a dream. Like something my mind would fabricate, only for it to poof away in a blink of an eye. So I don¡¯t blink because I want to pretend a little longer.


    I watch with strange apathy as this dream version of Eli shouts my name. He pulls down his scarf and lifts his goggles. The sheer, unbridled desperation in his eyes sends a chill down my spine. He looks around the prison bars and gives them a hardy shake. Then attacks the rest of the room, tossing anything not nailed down, searching for something. He races out of the room and I hold my breath. One moment passes and then another, and I blink. He¡¯s still gone. My vision blurs. Why must my mind be so cruel? It could have kept him around a little longer this time.


    I blink again. Eli steps back through the door with a giant sledgehammer in hand. He¡¯s back? My body starts to tremble. I¡¯m scared to say his name, to acknowledge him in that way because if I let myself hope just one more time, I think it will be the death of me. Whatever fight I have left will disappear and I¡¯ll give in to the darkness, close my eyes, and surrender to the cold claws that are ever trying to surround me.


    The sledgehammer hits the bars of my prison window.


    Bam! Bam! Bam!


    The bars bend a little more with every powerful whack and the frame around it shivers. When he has sufficiently punished the metal the frame loosens and Eli rips it away. He climbs through, rushing over to me. His hot hands flutter from my shoulders to my neck, and now they cup my face. He¡¯s saying something but I just stare. Never have my hallucinations felt like this¡ªfelt so real.


    I blink once. Then twice. He is still here. I feel wetness streaming down my cheeks before I realize my body is reaching for him. My hands quiver but when my fingers touch his skin, something inside me breaks.


    He is real. This is real.


    ¡°Eli?¡±


    He pulls me into him and I cling like a leaf amid a hurricane. A few sobs escape my throat as I melt into his chest. His body is hard but warm and real.


    I¡¯m not sure how long we stay that way, but then his arms shift and I feel the whoosh of air as I float over the floor in his arms. Past the bent bars and down the long hallway. Exhaustion pulls at my eyelids, but I resist, clenching the collar of his shirt. If I fall asleep now, who¡¯s to say I won¡¯t wake up trapped back in that cell? This all feels too good to be real.


    I listen to Eli¡¯s heartbeat. It is deep and strong and constant, lulling me into a quiet place. Time jumps forward, or maybe I pass out, but the next thing I know, he is setting me down beside a campfire. I am glad for its warmth because I feel so cold. Cold in my bones. But then he stands to go and a sudden fear takes hold of my mind. He cannot go. I grip his shirt tighter.


    ¡°No,¡± is all I can manage. My voice is barely above a whisper.


    ¡°I know, I¡¯m sorry. I¡¯ll be right here, okay?¡± He carefully pries my fingers away.


    I see the panic in his eyes. Hear it in his voice. He rips through the packs on the horses holding all our stuff, tossing things everywhere until he finds a black kettle. He stokes the fire and adds more wood, setting the kettle with water over it. He takes a bird, a duck by the looks of it, and cleans it. Then the whole thing goes into the boiling water.


    Strangely, I am not hungry. I know I should be. I should be starving. Maybe I am. But I think my body gave up. I stopped waking up in the middle of the night, but I don¡¯t sleep either. My mind exists somewhere in between. I close my eyes, but when I do, Eli is there beside me, shaking me awake.


    He is scared. Maybe he thinks I¡¯ll fall asleep and not wake up. Maybe I should be scared too, but I¡¯m not. Not anymore, because he¡¯s here. He kneels beside me and I feel an arm prop me up from behind. Warm liquid invades my mouth and I cough, spluttering it everywhere.


    ¡°Drink, please, Natasha.¡±


    I do. The warm broth goes down smoothly. But I only get a few small mouthfuls before he pulls away. It¡¯s been so long since I¡¯ve tasted food. Or tasted anything for that matter besides my dusty tongue against the roof of my mouth. I reach for more but Eli puts the bowl out of reach.


    ¡°Not too much. We need to take it slow.¡±


    His eyes hold fear. What is he scared of? I don¡¯t know, but I can hardly fight him, so I close my eyes instead. My insides grow warmer like they are waking up from a long slumber. I can still taste the broth on my tongue and it tastes like a dream.


    Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    I find Eli¡¯s hand and hold it tight as he sits beside where I lie. He is here. The exhaustion from long-awaited peace catches up with me and my mind drifts into sweet oblivion.


    When I wake, Eli is still beside me. His hand around mine. I want to cry. It¡¯s not my imagination playing tricks. He is here and I am with him. He gives me more broth, but again just enough to whet my appetite. My mind is clearer now; the continual fog is lifting. I have energy, even if sitting up leaves me breathless.


    After a few days, I graduate from broth to soup with actual pieces of meat in it. The fatty duck is delicious and I want more. My hunger returned full force and nothing will satiate it, but Eli still limits me to the smallest of portions.


    Days pass and I begin to feel the grime covering me. It¡¯s been so long since I¡¯ve bathed and I want to get clean. I need to. I pretend to sleep, waiting until Eli disappears to go hunt. He is never gone long so I must be quick.


    It shocks me how difficult it is to simply stand. I have to use the tree at my back to pull myself up and even then I feel like I ran a marathon. The stream is twenty feet away. I should be able to handle that. But as I reach it I collapse to the forest floor and sit there for a bit catching my breath. This might be harder than I thought.


    I lean over the water, reaching out to splash my face but stop to stare in horror at the alien in the reflection. This isn¡¯t me. It can¡¯t be. It is thin and gaunt. Sunken eyes, skinny neck, and a chest where I can count every one of my ribs. My shirt hangs loosely like skin off a rotting carcass. For the first time, I see my hands. Really see them. They look like skeletons and my elbows jut out like daggers. There is no substance, no muscle, nothing but bone and skin.


    So this is why Eli was so scared. I would be too. I am now. Drops of liquid fall, rippling the reflection. Tears. They escape on their own. I think they are more from shock than sadness. And maybe disgust. This can¡¯t be me.


    The sound of thumping feet makes me turn. Eli bursts through the brush. When his eyes settle on me, I see relief. He comes over and we sit together in silence.


    ¡°I almost died, didn¡¯t I?¡±


    Something about speaking the words out loud breaks me. A sob escapes and then another. Eli is here. Close. His arms wrap around my frame and his shirt grows damp beneath my cheek. He says nothing and for once, I¡¯m grateful for his silence.


    After exhausting what energy I have left Eli carries me back to camp, setting me down on the pile of pelts that have become my home these last several days.


    He moves to leave but I grab the tail of his shirt. ¡°Don¡¯t go.¡±


    His brows shoot up in surprise but he promptly settles down beside me without a word. I lean against him, letting my head rest on his chest, and close my eyes to the sound of his heartbeat. His warm breath feathers down my neck as he places a gentle arm around my shoulders, running his thumb lightly up and down.


    ¡°I need to ask you something,¡± I say.


    His heartbeat speeds up beneath my ear. The steady rise and fall of his chest grows shallow. He is scared of something. So am I. But I want to stop running. The fear that once felt all-consuming is muted. Distant. And now I want to face it.


    ¡°I need to know. Did you kill a man named Ivan? Did you¡ª¡±


    My voice wavers, betraying me. A ball of emotion wedged into my throat, cutting off my ability to swallow. He pulls away, hands on my shoulders as his round eyes meet mine in disbelief.


    ¡°You thought¡­all this time, that¡¯s what you¡¯ve been thinking?¡±


    I just look at him in a silent reply.


    ¡°No.¡± His brows arch up, pinching together in the middle. ¡°No, it is nothing like that. I knew a man named Ivan once, but last I saw of him, he was alive and well.¡± His thumbs wipe the wetness away from my cheeks. ¡°Things went very badly and it is a time in my life I try hard to forget.¡±


    Alive. Ivan is alive. Or at least, he still could be. He is as alive as he was before all this started. Relief floods me like the sight of land to a castaway. I could laugh if I had the strength.


    But Eli¡¯s eyes never leave me. His face is pale. His hands¡ªclammy and cold.


    ¡°Are you going to ask me about him?¡± he asks.


    His fear remains, not budging an inch. I can see it clear as day. And somewhere, regret.


    ¡°No.¡±


    Keep your secrets Eli. I¡¯ll wait until you¡¯re ready. The man you knew could very well have been my brother or he could be someone else entirely. Ivan is not too obscure a name after all. The chances of them being the same person is actually quite slim. I can see that now. And even if the man you knew was my brother, it changes nothing. I will still find Ivan, my Ivan.


    I rest my head back on his chest and close my eyes. ¡°But I would like to hear about your sister. That is, if you want to share.¡±


    ¡°My sister?¡± He glances down at me, brows raised in surprise before looking back up. ¡°Of course.¡±


    She sounds like a wonder the way Eli describes her. Kind, smart, funny and eternally patient. With their parents often gone and over a ten year gap between them, she often acted as a second mother. I can tell he looked up to her and still does in many ways. Memories of those we love only dim if we let them. I can tell his sister still shines brightly in his mind.


    Eli¡¯s hands move as he talks, his voice rising and falling then speeding up at times as he reminisces of the past. He always seemed so quiet. So solemn. But right now all I hear is a little kid excited to share something precious.


    ¡°I wish I could thank her,¡± I whisper between sleepy breaths. ¡°I would tell her she did a wonderful job as your sister.¡±


    Exhaustion unwinds the edges of my mind and I feel myself begin to drift off just as something soft presses against the top of my head. Soft like a kiss.

 Chapter 13: Friendship

    The next few weeks I do little more than eat, sleep and discover everything I can¡¯t do. I can¡¯t mount a horse. Can¡¯t climb. Can¡¯t run. Can¡¯t walk for any length of time. Can¡¯t hunt¡ªwhich isn¡¯t new, but still.


    Eli is here. Always. Things are easier between us. He smiles more, and eventually lets me eat as much as I want. My appetite is insatiable; I could eat an entire cow. My strength returns, albeit slowly, and over the next weeks, I watch the substance return to my arms, legs, and face.


    I finish eating dinner and look over at Eli. He sits, head propped up on a hand, but his eyelids bob like a buoy at sea. His other hand holds a stick with some half-eaten food that slowly dips into the flames as his eyes lock shut and his body relaxes.


    Has he kept watch every night since he saved me from Jol? How many nights is that? Guilt twinges with the realization of how little attention I paid him this last month as I recovered. He never said anything either. Probably never would.


    I touch his shoulder and he springs up, eyes wide, a knife appearing in his hand. But when he sees me, he blinks, confused.


    ¡°Is something wrong?¡± he asks.


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    I sit beside him and reach over to touch both his shoulders, gently pulling him toward me and directing his head into my lap. I take the stick holding the charred remains of dinner from his hand and set it aside.


    ¡°You need to sleep. I¡¯ll keep watch for a while; I¡¯ll be right here so you don¡¯t need to worry.¡±


    It¡¯s a bold move, but no one can very well snatch me away with him asleep in my lap. He freezes, and I wait to see if he pulls away. Instead, he lies there, silent and still, as if I cast a spell on him. With his face turned away, I imagine his brain sparking into overdrive, so I take it a step further and hum quietly, sliding my fingers through the soft waves of his hair. Only then do his eyes drift shut. After some time, his body relaxes and his breathing deepens.


    The man saved my life three times already. In this world where people take what they want, he takes nothing. Nothing from me, anyways. But there is this fear in him, a fear of something in his past. I feel it like a crevasse, deep and wide, cutting between us. And as much as I want to press him to tell me, to force him across that bridge, I cannot. I must wait until he comes willingly.


    Fire fades and embers dim until both light and heat are snatched away by the passing of time leaving only the moon and stars as company.


    Sometimes, when I close my eyes I''m back in that place with Jol. Trapped behind plexiglass and stone and dull, fluorescent lights. Back then, I dreamed of freedom. Now, freedom isn''t a dream, it''s real. Instead of cold, stone walls, I have vast, open skies. And instead of a madman looming over me, I have this infinitely dangerous man, asleep in my lap, completely at my mercy. I brush aside a lock of his bangs.


    Eli shifts in his sleep and I glimpse a look of innocence, a softness, in his features that I never noticed before. Without the mask, his face always holds a special kind of severity. A hardness molded through survival and trauma, I suspect. His intelligent eyes always analyze the world as if he might unravel its mysteries at any moment. But not when he looks at me. For me, his severity melts, making way for warmth. It¡¯s enough to forget how dangerous the man sleeping in my lap truly is, and looking at him now you would never guess.


    Hours pass and my humming turns to singing. It is the first time I sang since Jol. It feels strange. Like reaching into a pit of refuse to grasp a priceless gem. Uncomfortable and distasteful at first but give it enough time and the shine and beauty of this thing I have loved my whole life starts to come through.


    The sky lights the horizon, hinting at sunrise on the way, and birds add their chorus to my own. As I sing, I glance down at Eli and my voice cuts off abruptly.


    He lies face upward, watching me with those startling eyes. One blue and the other copper. They shine like stars with a light that¡¯s all their own.


    ¡°You¡¯re awake.¡±


    When did he wake up? How can a man be stealthy even when he sleeps? And in my own lap, no less. Utterly ridiculous.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± he says, unabashed and unblinking.


    Maybe it¡¯s because of our closeness or from that intense gaze of his, but I feel my cheeks flush.


    ¡°I should be the one saying that.¡±


    His gaze wavers and then falls. He looks away, dark brows scrunching as his shoulder¡¯s tense.


    ¡°What is it?¡±


    He hesitates. ¡°It was too close. I was almost too¡­¡±


    He doesn¡¯t finish, but he doesn¡¯t have to. He was almost too late. I almost died. I know it. He does too, but he blames himself. The realization hurts my heart.


    When I asked Eli how he found me, he said he just kept looking. Scoured every inch of the forest. He found Jols'' treehouse but it wasn''t until over a month later that he discovered the cavern and the tunnel.


    I reach down and touch his cheek, turning him to look at me. ¡°Whatever happens to me, it isn¡¯t your fault. Life is unpredictable, death even more so. Don¡¯t be angry about things beyond your control. You just have to accept them as they are, let go, and learn to move forward.¡±


    I repeat the words Uncle told me a lifetime ago with a smile. Uncle was always there for me¡ªfor Ivan too. After we lost our parents, he kept my head above the waters. Now, it''s my turn to do the same for Ivan, because this world is nothing but darkness and I won¡¯t leave him to drown.


    A mischievous smile tugs at the corner of Eli¡¯s lip. ¡°I didn¡¯t know you were so wise.¡±


    I shrug. ¡°Guess you don¡¯t know me that well, yet.¡±


    Yet.


    He grins, catching my meaning.


    ¡°I found something down by the creek. Want to see?¡± he asks.


    The question catches me off guard. So out of character. When did he last invite me somewhere? Has he ever? My heart skips at the thought. What could it be?


    ¡°I would, but I can¡¯t feel anything below my waist,¡± I say and his smile vanishes. Confusion takes its place, making me chuckle. ¡°My legs went to sleep a couple of hours ago.¡±


    He jumps up as if my lap burst into flames, concern coloring his face. ¡°You could have woken me up.¡±


    ¡°I know, but I wanted you to sleep. I don¡¯t mind.¡±


    His lips press together, brows burying downward as a short sigh escapes through his nose. I can tell he minds.


    I laugh and throw an arm his way. ¡°Help me up?¡±


    As I make it to my feet, my legs turn to rubber and wobble, threatening to give out. I start to collapse, but Eli catches me. Again, I find myself in his arms.


    Embarrassment forces my gaze down, and I let out a nervous chuckle. ¡°Sorry, I should have waited before trying to stand.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t mind.¡±


    With those three little words, my face flushes lightning hot. This man. Every place our skin touches burns with fire. I feel his closeness. The rise and fall of his chest and his breath across my shoulder blade. I swallow, waiting for the thousands of needle pricks down my legs to dissipate. When the feeling returns I pull away and test my legs with careful steps.


    He says nothing and leads the way through the woods. We follow a nearby stream until it reaches a pool and he cuts off into the forest. When we reach a steep cliffside he disappears around a boulder. I follow suit, but turning the corner, I collide into Eli¡¯s back and it feels like ramming a concrete wall. He turns on his heel to face me.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I didn¡¯t know,¡± he says quietly, blocking something just out of sight with his body.


    I peer around his chest and catch red streaks across the pine-laden earth. Blood? Lots of blood. Something died here. Piles of fur, flesh, and bone are strewn all about. Not just something. Many somethings.


    The giant body of a wolf lies unmoving a little ways away. Flies surround it like vultures, the buzzing of their wings filling the area in a gruesome hive of death. Streaks of blood lead inside a small cave where the sight worsens.


    At least five small pups are torn to shreds and the body of another adult, the mother, lies shoved up against the side of the den with its throat ripped out. Blood black as ink stains the soft dirt earth and paints the scattered young bodies. The deaths look to be a few days old.


    Eli crouches near the earth and brushes the pine away with his fingers. ¡°A bear. Perhaps a mother with cubs in the area.¡±


    They always said mother bears are overly protective of their cubs. Nothing stands a chance against such an enormous beast, not even a pair of wolves desperately trying to protect their own.


    Nature is a cruel thing. Despite its beauty, it holds such pain. Such suffering. But it seems, such is life. Perhaps the two are inseparable.


    Uncle was right. He always is. I cross the clearing toward the den and Eli follows.


    A soft whine catches my attention from inside the den. There, buried between the cold, stiff paws of the dead mother wolf, a small furry body moves. I never noticed it before, the fur is matted in dried blood, blending in.


    A pup survived?


    I crouch and offer my hand, clicking my tongue to get its attention. A tiny, wet nose turns my way followed by two shiny, discolored eyes.


    ¡°Hey, little guy,¡± I coo, glancing at Eli as he joins me. ¡°Look at his eyes.¡±


    The pup stares with wide, unblinking orbs, one blue and the other a light copper color. What are the chances? Surely this genetic anomaly is a rare thing and yet here I sit between two of them.


    Eli reaches inside his pocket to reveal a handful of soft venison jerky. The pup¡¯s ears perk up as its nose sniffs the air. He places the venison in the palm of my hand and like a magnet, the pup slinks out from hiding, toward me.


    The small creature doesn¡¯t even chew, just swallows the venison whole, choking some here and there. Its black fur is covered in blood, but I find no injuries. Eli heaps on more jerky to the pile, keeping the pup distracted as I poke and prod. He brought a lot of venison, enough for a whole litter.


    ¡°It¡¯s a boy,¡± I note aloud. ¡°Maybe a month or two old.¡±


    Uncle found an abandoned wolf cub on the edge of the farm property once. The wildlife rescue said it was six weeks old. This one looks about the same age.


    Eli stares, but his eyes aren¡¯t on the pup. I bite my lip. Without a family, this pup is as good as dead and Eli knows it. He¡¯s waiting for my inevitable decision.


    ¡°Little Wolf,¡± I say.


    Eli¡¯s brows jump up in a questioning look.


    ¡°His name.¡± I pet the matted fur on the top of the pup¡¯s head. ¡°Little Wolf. It was one of my nicknames for Ivan.¡±


    Eli reaches over to pet Little Wolf, but stops when the move elicits a low growl from the tiny creature.


    I resist a laugh and scratch the pup¡¯s chin. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, Little Wolf. I know he seems scary, but he¡¯s really a big softy.¡±


    A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    I catch Eli¡¯s eyes with a smile but something there makes me stop. I am used to his gaze on me. Curious. Contemplative. Serious. Joking at times. But this look is different; it sprouts a flutter in my stomach.


    ¡°He likes you,¡± Eli says.


    I tear my gaze away, cheeks burning as I try desperately to set my head back on straight. He¡¯s talking about the wolf, Natasha.


    ¡°It would seem so. Strange, since he¡¯s wild.¡±


    Eli hums softly. ¡°You¡¯re saving him. Even a wild thing like him can see that.¡±


    I bite the side of my cheek and beg my heart to slow. I give Little Wolf a closer look. ¡°In that case, I expect the favor to be returned. Do you hear that, Little Wolf? I¡¯ve got your back today so you get mine tomorrow.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s got your back.¡±


    His words are soft, barely above a whisper, but they grab my heart and hold it tight. I don¡¯t dare look up. I know where his gaze will be and for some reason, the thought leaves me frozen even as it sends my heart into spasms like a fish caught on the end of a line.


    ~~~


    I pick up a stick and wave it around and Little Wolf¡¯s ears perk forward as he makes a beeline for me, abandoning the bone Eli gave him this morning during breakfast, now picked clean. He¡¯s grown so much these last few weeks.


    ¡°Do you want the stick?¡±


    Little Wolf lets out a soft whine at my teasing, eyes locked onto the prize as he stumbles after it this way and that. I laugh and throw it. Little Wolf bolts in a small reddish-brown streak.


    Eli stands and steps to his horse, taking his dual swords in hand. I shift in my seat on the log as discreetly as possible to get a better view of the show about to go down. Ever since the morning we decided to keep Little Wolf, Eli began doing this.


    His body moves like a dancer¡¯s. Every shift of weight and lift of the sword¡ªfluid and controlled expertly. The deadly metal exists as extensions of his arms, one following the other in a perfect kind of rhythm. Similar to what I witnessed on the baseball field that first day and down in the raider pit only this time I can watch up close, seeing only the beauty without any blood or death. And it is absolutely beautiful. I watch entranced at the display of skill and artistry both jealous and reverent at once.


    ¡°Eli?¡±


    He stops, lowering his swords to face me.


    ¡°Will you teach me?¡±


    He thinks for a moment and puts the swords away. Then picks up two straight sticks from the firewood pile, weighing them in his hand before tossing one my way. I catch it with a grin.


    ¡°Every movement must be intentional. Deliberate. Read your opponent well and you can see their intention before it is executed.¡±


    I copy his form, balancing my weight so it is spread evenly, and turn my body to face him. Little Wolf runs circles through my legs, the prized stick in his mouth and I resist a smile.


    Eli glances at Little Wolf. ¡°Wolf, go sit.¡± He points at a spot off to the side.


    Little Wolf stops in his tracks as the tiny creature¡¯s mind picks up speed and he turns to Eli. The two have a staredown until Little Wolf¡¯s ears twitch back and then flatten as he reluctantly makes his way to where Eli points and plops down, his tiny tail beating the earth. Ever since the destruction of one of Eli¡¯s boots, the man has taken to training our furry friend. I never knew you could train a pup as young as Little Wolf, but I suppose if anyone can do it, it¡¯s Eli. He has a talent for almost everything.


    Eli continues, ¡°There are several sword fighting techniques, but most men you will come across fight the same.¡±


    ¡°But not you.¡±


    I¡¯ve seen enough to know his style is unique. He moves like a demon. Like an apparition in the moments before it steals your soul. It is something new. Something ethereal.


    ¡°I learned from a master and developed it for different styles afterward.¡± He levels his stick at me and a chill runs down my spine. Something about the way he holds himself takes me back to that day out on the baseball field.


    ¡°And you¡¯ll teach me to fight like you?¡± I ask.


    ¡°If that is what you want, yes.¡±


    I fail to resist the smile bubbling up from sudden, giddy excitement. I have no delusions in thinking I can get anywhere near Eli¡¯s level of skill, but if I can glean even a fraction of his ability, I might be able to hold my own. And after Jol, I want to know how to fight.


    We never did find Jol. Eli says the bunker was empty when he found me. It bothered him for weeks to think Jol was loose, and I would be lying if I said it didn¡¯t keep me up at night for a while there too. But after a month with no signs of the madman, I figured he must have moved on. Or he was too scared of Eli to try anything.


    ¡°First, you must recognize a mistake,¡± Eli says.


    I nod my head, determination setting as concrete in my mind. He shows me how to defend against duel and single swords, a knife, and two-handed and one-handed weapons. He explains the advantages of some weapons over others and why. By the end of the lesson, I am a soaked sponge, dripping wet in sweat and unable to absorb another drop of instruction. But I can tell we only skimmed the surface of the bottomless pit of knowledge that is Eli¡¯s mind.


    I collapse on the earth, thoroughly exhausted both mentally and physically, but Eli hasn¡¯t broken a sweat. He continues the movements as if we hadn¡¯t spent the last three hours doing exactly that. Little Wolf takes the opportunity to invade my space, climbing onto my chest and I chuckle, shifting so he sits on my lap instead.


    ¡°You said most men use guns. So what made you pick swords to fight with?¡± I may be tired, but I¡¯m never too tired to pry into the enigma standing before me.


    ¡°When I learned to fight, I did not have access to guns.¡±


    I go still at his words, remembering how he got caught by raiders the first day he woke up. Just thirteen years old.


    ¡°How long were you trapped with those raiders who found you?¡± I ask softly.


    He stops, lowering his training stick. ¡°Two years.¡±


    A glimmer of hope. ¡°Did you escape them then?¡±


    ¡°A rival gang came through one night and massacred everyone. They saw me in the pit and decided it would be a shame to kill the entertainment, so they let me live.¡±


    No bitterness exists in his tone. No shame either. Disconnected is the best way I can put it. Factual. Like a historian reciting from a textbook. But I feel it, even if he doesn¡¯t.


    ¡°Guns have their disadvantages, but they are easy to use and good from certain distances.¡±


    I¡¯m grateful for the change of subject. I squirm to imagine the horrors this man has lived through. Still, some macabre part of me wants to know more but I can kick curiosity aside for Eli¡¯s sake.


    ¡°What are their disadvantages?¡± I ask.


    ¡°Proximity. If you can get in close enough, a knife or sword is better. Ammunition is hard to find. And they can jam.¡±


    The last one I am all too familiar with. It feels like an eternity from that day when I cut that rope bridge.


    ¡°If you manage to find someone who can fight with a sword, don¡¯t let them get within reach. Because the moment they do, the fight is over.¡±


    ¡°Unless you¡¯re Eli, because then they¡¯re the dead one.¡± I toss him a half smile. ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter what they¡¯ve got.¡±


    His eyes light with amusement. ¡°I¡¯ve had plenty of time to practice.¡±


    It¡¯s more than that. Even if other men had one hundred years to practice, most would never even approach his level of skill. The man is a prodigy, even if it goes unappreciated in this world.


    I place a fist against the open palm of my hand and give a small bow from my seat on the ground. ¡°If you say so, Sensei.¡±


    Ha! His eyes widen a hair and his face tints red. My heart leaps at the sight and satisfaction swells in my chest. He clears his throat, turning his attention back to the movements from earlier, but I cannot resist a grin. I got a taste of a blushing Eli and I¡¯ll be on the lookout for more.


    ~~~


    Days turn into weeks and weeks into months as we make our way across the states, getting closer to New Haven. Closer to Ivan¡ªI hope, anyways.


    The flat landscape morphs into rolling hills cut by long, winding rivers. Summer slinks a little further away, the mornings grow crisper and evenings, darker. Blue skies contrast against a sea of vibrant red, orange, and yellows as the trees prepare for winter.


    We train every morning and I practice daily with my bow until every knot in every tree has at least one arrow hole in it. I start to get the hang of sword fighting, or at least the basics which Eli says is more than most men know.


    ¡°I¡¯ve been thinking.¡± he says, swinging the stick down along one side of his body before crossing over the other in a fluid, skillful fashion. His muscles bulge beneath the thin fabric of his shirt. Maybe this is why my progress has slowed so much.


    I ready my stance. ¡°You, thinking? How dangerous¡­for everyone else.¡±


    He shoots me a grin and the stick comes to a halt at his side. Ever since that blush months ago, I have enjoyed tossing random, bold flatterings his way just to watch the surprised or amused expressions that cross that normally preoccupied face.


    ¡°Until now, I¡¯ve taught you how I fight. But your build is much smaller. I want you to try some new variations and tell me what you think.¡±


    By now I am more than familiar with ¡®the basics¡¯, as Eli calls them, although I suspect much of what he considers basic goes far beyond a beginner¡¯s level of knowledge. I know standard moves most men will try when using a sword or a knife or both. They¡¯ve become second nature and give me even more appreciation for Eli¡¯s unique technique.


    His movements are minimal, but when he does move he is a surgeon¡ªevery centimeter precise and purposeful¡ªand potentially deadly. I imagine I am a sloppy, poor imitation but still, I try. Eli insists I am getting better, but I wonder if he simply wants to encourage me. I¡¯ve enjoyed watching the changes in my body. Muscles I never knew I had, the definition in my arms, back, legs, and yes, even abs. They are faint, hardly sculpted marble like Eli¡¯s. Mine resemble a four-pack more than a six, but I feel proud of the achievement nonetheless.


    He explains how my biggest disadvantage can also be my greatest strength. My arms are not as long as most men¡¯s which means my reach is lacking, a huge disadvantage when the ends of your opponents¡¯ arms are trying to impale you. But my lower center of gravity allows for greater speed and agility. I simply need to control the space between myself and my opponent better, striking at the right time like Eli did down in that Raider pit. In one moment he closed the distance, and in the next, the fight was over.


    My smaller stature also allows for easier dodges and less energy expenditure when ducking and rolling. These new moves he shows me feel like fishing. Baiting the opponent and then yanking the line tight and slashing before they have a chance to recover.


    Once I get the hang of it, Eli goes on the offensive. The sudden shift used to leave me floundering, but now it brings a grin to my lips. My attacks may be atrocious, but I can dodge with the best of them. I like to pretend I resemble the beautiful, water-around-stone dance Eli displayed when he took down Mohawk all those months ago in the raider pit. And maybe it¡¯s my imagination, but I swear I can see a spark of pride in Eli¡¯s eyes in those moments I successfully implement his flawless evasion technique.


    A step left and then right, and back, drawing him in. A roll forward and come up, my weapon pressed against his hip. Got him.


    ¡°Where did you learn these moves?¡± I ask with a breathless smile, straightening as we separate for a break.


    ¡°It¡¯s just something I think about at night sometimes.¡±


    I marvel at the man before me for several long moments.


    When he notices my stare, he stops, ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°You!¡± I wave my stick at him. ¡°Over there, just inventing new fighting moves like it¡¯s nothing.¡±


    He shrugs. ¡°I can¡¯t sleep. And there¡¯s not much else to do at night besides think.¡±


    I suppose it comes with the territory. In this world, the only ones free from nightmares are those who never wake. I used to sleep like the dead, but the chief cured me of that. I can only imagine what kind of monsters haunt a man who grew up surrounded by them.


    ¡°What keeps you up?¡± I ask.


    He sets the stick aside, taking a seat on a fallen log by the fire. I join him and our shoulders brush momentarily. The accidental touch sends every thought in my mind flashing from existence. I look over to see if he noticed and his eyes meet mine.


    ¡°Bad dreams.¡± He breaks eye contact and I let out a slow, silent exhale. ¡°Of the past, usually. But sometimes¡±¡ªhe heaves a wearied sigh, rubbing his face¡ª¡°It¡¯s you. You¡¯re gone. Missing, again.¡±


    I knew what happened to me always bothered him. I remember the alarm in his eyes when he found me. The fear. But for him to have nightmares about it? I frown at the earth.


    ¡°His name was Jol. And he never hurt me. Well, except for starvation but he never touched me.¡±


    Eli watches me. Locked in.


    ¡°I could have left at the beginning, before he took me to the bunker. He would have let me go, I think. But I was angry at you.¡± I rub my hands. ¡°And because of that, I walked right into his trap.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry¡ª¡±


    ¡°No, don¡¯t apologize.¡± I stop him. ¡°It¡¯s not your fault. The reason I ended up back there was not because of you.¡± I catch his eyes with my own. ¡°But the reason I¡¯m here right now is because of you.¡±


    I slip my hand over his and squeeze it. ¡°Thank you for never giving up.¡±


    His expression softens and he takes my hand into both of his. They envelop mine, the calloused pads rough against my skin but his touch is gentle. His fingers graze the soft inside of my wrist, feathery light as it caresses up and down, tracing circles. Prickles race along my arm and raise every hair across my body.


    I look up. He watches me with that look I see more and more often. A sudden heat fills my face and then my chest, settling deep in my center and spreading outward. My breath loses any sense of depth and my mind fumbles lost somewhere far away. But my eyes are glued to Eli¡¯s.


    I stand on the edge of a cliff I don¡¯t remember approaching. As I stare into this unfamiliar place, a sudden fear of the unknown grips my mind and I rip my gaze away.


    His touch disappears from my hand.


    ¡°I should check the horses.¡±


    He leaves and I find myself leaning into the empty space. The heat radiating from his body is gone and the cold night invades instead. Eli busies himself with the horses and a mix of emotion swirls inside me. I don''t know what to think. Or what to feel. He''s done so much for me and never once asked for anything in return. But there''s always been this distance between us, one I''ve grown comfortable with. Only now, it''s been closing. He''s been closing it. He¡¯s been stepping closer and with every step he takes, I realize I¡¯m unprepared for what it could mean.


    Little Wolf sits at my feet, giving me his own version of Eli¡¯s look of longing. I pick up the overgrown pup and place him in my lap.


    ¡°You¡¯re getting too big for this, Little Wolf,¡± I huff.


    His tail wags as he buries his snout into my armpit. The creature is such a cuddle bug, but only with me. Little Wolf enjoys Eli¡¯s company but from a distance, he never pulls these moves with him. Although I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve ever seen Little Wolf miss a morning hunting trip; he has a sixth sense of it.


    My mind winds backward to just minutes ago. To Eli''s touch. That touch was intentional. A question. A request? So subtle, yet so obvious. I can still feel it on my skin. And I cannot pretend it never happened. Part of me doesn¡¯t want to. Part of me wants to go over there and pull him close, to touch him and be touched by him. But another part holds me back. Anchors me to the ground where I sit. Reminds me I have responsibilities. I set out to find my little brother.


    I don¡¯t know why Eli chooses to keep part of his past a secret from me. I know that part hurts him. It scares him. But it¡¯s the very part that could be tied to my brother. And if I do this. If I start something with Eli, I might lose myself to it. No, I definitely will. I will fall hard and fast and¡ªI suspect¡ªfar, far from my brother.

 Chapter 14: Just Ask

    I throw my head skyward and stare, letting my body sway in the lazy back and forth of my horse. Wispy, pale clouds streak through the sky as if someone took a paintbrush to it. A cold breeze whips past, biting my nose and sending the peach and cherry colored leaves overhead fluttering. A few break free and swirl, twisting and spinning as they go. My mind feels like those leaves. Twisting and spinning.


    As we ride down the lonely highway, I regard Eli¡¯s back with a frown. A few days ago, he left me with the horses to travel on foot to a camp similar to the one Mikey came from, except larger. When I asked about it, he told me he needed to send a message to a friend in New Haven. Most old-world cities are ghost towns¡ªif they exist at all¡ªbut a few live on, changed and transformed. The city where Ivan would be goes by the name New Haven now. I guess it¡¯s large enough that smaller camps like the one Eli visited often have messenger birds going out to it. I remember our conversation after he returned. Maybe conversation is the wrong word. He said a lot¡ªfor Eli¡ªall of it unprompted, and I think I said two words in return.


    His name is Thomas. You won¡¯t have to worry about him.


    He owns an inn called Pheasants Roost.


    New Haven is safe. You¡¯ll be safe.


    The last one disturbs me the most. Why tell me I¡¯ll be safe unless I have reason to think otherwise? I know I plan to enter a city, probably filled with dangerous men, but having Eli here alleviates my fears. One thing I know more than anything else is this: Eli is a good man and he will always protect me. So why should I be especially concerned about safety? Unless¡ªand my heart sinks at the thought¡ªhe plans to leave me.


    Whenever we stumble across a raider gang, he grows exceptionally tense, avoiding them at every turn. It seems strange, considering the men on this side of the country seem no more dangerous than the ones he took on easily enough before, but I suppose avoiding raiders is a generally good idea. So I say nothing. But every day, Eli grows more on edge, wearing his mask constantly unless eating or training with me. Something feels off. He seems distracted, more quiet than usual, as if battling an invisible enemy.


    With a few days to go until we reach New Haven, we stop to make camp. The next morning after breakfast, Eli turns to me and hesitates, opening his mouth but nothing comes out, his breath caught up in his chest before his lips can form any words.


    I frown, curious and alarmed at once.


    ¡°I need to go somewhere.¡± He finally blurts. ¡°To visit someone.¡±


    ¡°Okay,¡± I say, still confused. ¡°So to a camp, like before?¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    Alarm overtakes my confusion now. His evident discomfort sends my mind struggling to find its source. The man is rarely anxious and never scared so whatever can worry him this much must be serious. Dangerous. Deadly.


    ¡°How long will you be gone?¡± I ask, my breathing hitching up a notch.


    ¡°I¡­¡± He stops to think for a moment.


    Is he leaving me? Will he not be coming back? Questions scatter all semblance of order to my thoughts. What happened? Did I do something? Say something?


    ¡°A couple of hours? I am not sure exactly.¡±


    ¡°Can I come with you?¡± My strangled voice turns the question into a plea.


    Relief washes over his features and he smiles as a shaky breath escapes his chest disguised as a laugh. ¡°Of course.¡±


    Wait, what? He wants me to come with? To visit someone? Who? As we clean camp, the question drives me insane and I manage to make it an entire two minutes on the horses before asking, ¡°Who are we going to go see?¡±


    Again, I notice hesitation, but nothing like before.


    His words are soft. ¡°My sister.¡±


    I blink. Oh. Oh.


    I let out a long, silent breath, cursing my hyperactive, anxious mind. Maybe Eli¡¯s strange behavior is finally getting to me. I should know better than to think he would leave me. Why travel all this way only to abandon me when we are so close to our destination?


    We pass a meadow and I pause to collect a bouquet from the bright yellow and white flowers speckling the mountainside. I may not personally know Eli¡¯s sister, but I know Eli, and flowers on graves are never for the dead, anyway.


    We ride until I hear the sound of ocean waves in the distance and Eli cuts onto an overgrown path winding up a mountainside. At the top sits what must be the largest tree in all of New Jersey. I¡¯m pretty sure a car could drive through the trunk without touching either side, but the top is mostly missing, bare, spindly branches stretching into the sky. Charred, black wood reveals the devastation from a lightning strike many years back. Now it is hollow. Dead. But even in death, it stands out from all the rest.


    Eli reaches into a pocket and pulls out a pouch holding a small horse figurine made of stone, adding it to the collection of trinkets there at the base of the tree.


    ¡°These are all the things she loved.¡±


    A teacup. Cowgirl boots. A writing quill. A snow globe and about a dozen other miscellaneous things. Some are very old and others, less so. But my eyes stick to the newest addition.


    ¡°She liked horses?¡±


    ¡°She competed in western style. Every Saturday she¡¯d take me riding; it was the best part of the weekend.¡±


    Explains why he¡¯s such a natural on a horse, it¡¯s in his blood. His sister prepared him for this world without even knowing it. And in more ways than one I suspect.


    I set the bouquet alongside the collection of memorabilia, taking a step back beside Eli. We stay like that long enough for the clouds to part and rays of sunlight to sprinkle through parted leaves from the trees around. A family of woodpeckers peers at us curiously from a hole up above. The silence between us wraps around and around like a warm blanket on a cold winter night.


    ¡°This is where we spread her ashes,¡± he says quietly, staring at the base of the tree. ¡°You¡¯re the first to see it, ever since¡­¡±


    Since he woke from the stone. I turn to stare at him. The significance here is more than I know; I can see it in his face. In his voice. In the slight catch of his breath. This place is sacred. These memories¡ªholy.


    ¡°Eli tells me you were the best big sister in the world,¡± I say to the memorial, giving it an easy smile. ¡°Being a big sister myself, I think I understand. It¡¯s a special kind of relationship between siblings. You love them more than the world and if anyone hurts them you make sure they regret it.¡± I pause as I realize my own words a moment too late. ¡°I¡¯m sorry you couldn¡¯t protect Eli, but even still¡­¡± My gaze finds Eli, who watches me in turn. ¡°He saved me not once, not twice, but three times. I owe him my life. You must have been a pretty spectacular person to have helped make him who he is today.¡±


    Eli¡¯s eyes never leave mine and that look from before appears again. The one which sets my heart skipping a beat and my thoughts scattering like loose pages on a windy day. Desire swells up in me, expanding like a balloon, filling the space in my chest until I can hardly breathe.


    Something plops at my feet and the space in my chest comes rushing back. I suck in a breath, glancing down. Little Wolf lays on my feet, looking perfectly comfortable, as if my boots were some luxury recliner. Every week, he grows bigger and I catch myself wondering if he¡¯ll ever stop. Already the pup reaches past my waist and can take down a deer almost as easily as Eli. But right now all I see is a needy pile of fur. I take a seat among the leaf litter and Little Wolf climbs into my lap, despite being much too large. Shaking my head, I wrap my arms around the giant baby as he rests his chin on my shoulder.


    Eli reaches inside the curling opening of a hollow, pulling out a silver container about the size of a lunchbox. He sits down, fingers resting lightly on it.


    ¡°What¡¯s that?¡± I ask, trying to situate Little Wolf into a position letting me see better.


    ¡°When we discovered the cancer, they gave her six months. So she prepared. Told us when the time came, she wanted us to bury this time capsule at the base of this tree.¡±


    He cracks it open, slowly, as if it were his most cherished possession. It probably is. The thought sobers my movements and Little Wolf goes still as if sensing the shift in mood. Inside are many letters. Letters with dates, descriptions, things like eighteenth birthday and graduation, and a dozen others. Eli swallows hard as he lifts a new letter from among the opened ones, its seal yet unbroken. He stares at it for a long moment before looking up at me in an unspoken request.


    Oh. My eyes widen. ¡°I¡¯ll be over there if you need me.¡±


    Little Wolf follows on my heels as I make my way to the sound of ocean waves, leaving Eli to his sister¡¯s letters. The cliffside dips into deep blue waters and waves crash against the rocks below, spraying saltwater into the air before raining down in a mist. A cove a little ways off draws my attention, the warm, pale sandy shore enticing me. I glance behind. Eli will probably be a while.


    I make my way to the cove and Little Wolf paves the way, much to the dismay of chipmunks living within vines along the cliffside. I swerve around a spray of sand as he tries digging one up. At the base of the cliff, a small shoreline enveloped by sheer rock face creates a crescent shape. To my left, at the base of the crescent, yawns the mouth of an enormous cave. I take a handful of sand and let it sift through my fingers as the ocean breeze snatches it, sending the grains scattering. With a deep breath, I close my eyes, turning my face to the blue skies overhead.


    Salty air fills my lungs.


    Waves crash.


    Sun warms my skin.


    Paradise. Perhaps this is it. Even if it only exists as a moment in time. I rip my boots off and dive my toes into the warm beach, heading for the shoreline. Cold water contrasts the heated sand and foamy waves tickle my ankles. I walk for a while when Little Wolf races past, splashing water up my side, and a grin catches my mouth.


    ¡°Little Wolf!¡± I say in exasperation, partly soaked.


    He stops biting the waves to lock eyes with me. A devious twinkle crosses those discolored eyes and dread fills my heart.


    ¡°No,¡± I say with as much severity as I can muster but the wicked creature is already racing back to me.


    I stagger back, turning as he whips past, sending water soaking the clothes at my back. An incredibly undignified shriek escapes my lips at the sudden, invasive cold.


    ¡°You little devil.¡±


    Little Wolf¡¯s tail wags like I¡¯d given him high praise but something catches his eye and he stares before letting out a howl. Eli stands at the top of the cliffside, watching the two of us. I give him a big wave and he starts down toward the cove. We meet halfway and he raises a curious eyebrow, reaching out to touch a few sopping wet locks of hair that escaped my baseball cap.


    Heat flushes my face and I clear my throat, rolling my eyes. ¡°I should have named him Little Devil, not Little Wolf. He certainly earns the name often enough.¡±


    ¡°Are you cold?¡±


    I shake my head. ¡°Actually¡±¡ªI tilt my chin with a nod at the ocean¡ª¡°I was thinking it¡¯s perfect weather for a swim.¡±


    The surprise on his face brings a smile to mine and I take his arm, marching us back to the beach, but before I can shed any clothes he touches my shoulder.


    ¡°Wait.¡± He checks the surroundings, gaze skimming along the top of the rock face and over the cliffs before meeting mine. ¡°Come with me, I want to show you something.¡±


    He steps toward the cave and as we enter its mouth, I gawk at the endless ceiling above. Cracks and twisting holes stream beams of light down, lighting our path ahead with nature¡¯s skylights. Little Wolf chases crabs as they scurry along porous walls and over pale barnacles, seeking refuge in several small tidepools scattered about. Eli stops before a pool at least half the size of a football field. The ceiling opens wide to shine warm sunlight from the center, revealing sparkling waters going deep. Connecting shallow pools house all kinds of creatures. Starfish, squishy anemones, and little scuttling hermit crabs the size of my thumb.


    Eli drops his jacket on a rock and reaches behind, grabbing a fistful of his shirt and sliding it up over his head in one smooth motion, revealing more skin than I¡¯ve seen in months. He glances my way and I yank my eyes up to meet his, offering what I hope looks like an innocent smile.


    ¡°Do you still want to swim?¡± he asks.


    ¡°Mhm.¡±


    He watches me oddly for a moment before continuing to remove his pants, leaving only boxers. Truly, I never thought this plan through. I can feel the heat radiating from my cheeks as if my blood turned to lava and every drop relocated to my face. I might very well turn this pool into a hot spring.


    ¡°There¡¯s a tunnel on the far end of the pool. I think you¡¯ll like it; it¡¯s not a long swim.¡±


    I nod and pivot in place to save whatever semblance of dignity remains and slowly shed my outer garments, tossing my baseball cap, jacket, long sleeves, and pants aside. With only an undershirt and my underwear, I follow him to the side of the pool where he leaps in without a second thought. Little Wolf whines as Eli stays under for several moments and the crystal water gives me a rippling vision of the man swimming beneath the water¡¯s surface to the far side.


    I steel myself against the impending cold and jump in. The temperature difference feels like an electric shock through my body and my muscles contract, but the next moment they come to life and I break the surface with a gasp. Kicking frantically for a moment as my lungs learn to breathe again, I make my way over to Eli.


    ¡°The entrance is under the water, are you ready?¡± he asks.


    The cold makes me nod a little too enthusiastically. ¡°Ready.¡±


    He takes a deep breath and sinks below. I fill my lungs and follow suit. Eight feet down and he disappears into an opening in the rock wall leading down a dark tunnel. I hesitate. If I get lost and die in some underwater rock cavern, I¡¯m going to kill Eli.


    I push forward into dim waters, chasing after Eli¡¯s fading form. The water grows darker and the edges of the tunnel dissolve into shadow. My lungs begin to ache and panic reaches for my brain as I realize I¡¯ve gone too far to turn back. But then Eli¡¯s form works its way up and I kick hard, fighting invisible arms squeezing my empty lungs tight.


    We breach the surface and I let out an undignified gasp. Despite the darkness, I can still make out Eli¡¯s form and fury bristles inside me. I give him a hardy shove. ¡°Not a long swim?¡±


    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    I catch a flash of white teeth¡ªa grin¡ªand resist shoving him a second time. What a devious brat. The man is no better than the wolf. As if on cue I hear a howl come from somewhere behind.


    Blinking salt water from my eyes I notice tiny spots of color dance across the space. It¡¯s small, about the size of a walk-in closet. And the air¡ªit¡¯s strangely warm. I swivel my head to see several beams of light coming from high above focused into points. Cut crystals hang from the ceiling in the middle of the beams, their prisms catching the light and splashing pecks of rainbow color across the wall, ceiling, and floor.


    ¡°How¡­¡±


    ¡°Parabolic mirrors.¡± Eli answers. ¡°They use natural light outside and condense it into a focused point. Someone set them up years ago.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s beautiful.¡±


    I stare for a while as my sight adjusts. Eli climbs out of the small pool and offers me a hand. The warm air feels nice after such frigid water, but suddenly, I¡¯m not thinking about the water or the air. I¡¯m thinking about how close Eli is. With his back to the wall and my heels at the pool¡¯s edge, the space between us is paper thin. All I can see are the portions of his face cast in streaks of rainbow light and for a while, no one moves.


    We are alone.


    We are always alone, but here, now, in this place we are close.


    ¡°Is this what you wanted to show me?¡± I ask.


    After a moment he clears his throat. ¡°There¡¯s more.¡±


    He touches my shoulder to keep me steady as he inches around, feeling along the wall until he finds something. His touch trails down to my hand and he leads me through a narrow, winding opening in the dark, entering a very well-lit cavern. This one is larger, about the size of a bedroom.


    Above, rather than crystals, are several mirrors. Beams of condensed light shine down, bouncing from one mirror to another flooding the room with light. On the far end, I find myself drawn to a place where a few beams shine down in a soft spotlight of sorts.


    There, the jagged rocky ocean wall softens, and forms emerge. Three faces look to be carved from the rock wall. Like statues. I frown.


    ¡°Are they carved? They¡¯re not¡­people?¡±


    ¡°No, not people. Someone made them.¡±


    I reach out and touch the stone. They are expertly done; you would never know they weren¡¯t actually people, except the ocean rock is made of something different from a statue¡¯s stone and they are only partially completed, ending around the shoulders. My fingers trace the nose of an older-looking woman, maybe in her late forties. Beside her is a young woman, maybe a couple of years younger than me, and finally, a little boy.


    So odd. After what happened to everyone, someone still felt compelled to carve humans from stone.


    ¡°I wonder why.¡±


    ¡°To remember, I think. It was abandoned by the time I found it.¡±


    How did he find it? Does he go cave diving for fun? The entrance to this place is not one you simply stumble upon. Obviously, the person who made these did not plan to share them with the world.


    ¡°How did you find it?¡±


    Eli takes a seat close by. ¡°I knew the person who made them.¡±


    I join him, intrigued.


    ¡°I don¡¯t even know his name. But I know their names.¡± He stares at the faces in the rock. ¡°He told me about his family. A wife, daughter, and son.¡±


    ¡°So the carvings are of his family.¡±


    He nods. ¡°I found him dying in the woods. Back then, I would just put a man like that out of his misery. But I didn¡¯t.¡± His words turn soft, thoughtful. ¡°I wanted to see if I could save someone.¡±


    ¡°Did you?¡±


    He shakes his head. ¡°He died after a week from his wounds, but not before he told me about his life and his family.¡±


    ¡°And this place,¡± I finished for him.


    ¡°In the end, it led me back to my sister. Being in this place helped give me the courage I needed to read her letters.¡±


    It¡¯s strange how the past seems to be all anyone has anymore. There is no future for the living, only a past. Maybe that¡¯s what makes this world so dangerous. People with nothing to lose. No family and no legacy.


    Men are not supposed to be alone, Natasha. It¡¯s never been more evident than it is now.


    I blink at the intrusive memory. My uncle¡¯s journal hasn¡¯t come to mind in months. I look over at Eli. He said the world changed him, but something else did too. His past changed him. His sister¡¯s letters changed him.


    ¡°What did he tell you about them?¡± I glance back at the stone carvings.


    ¡°He and his wife were both missionary doctors. Apparently, his daughter, Hannah was studying to go to space. She just got accepted into NASA when the world ended. And his son was a piano prodigy.¡±


    ¡°Quite the family.¡±


    Eli frowns, looking thoughtful. ¡°He came from across the Atlantic.¡±


    ¡°On a ship?¡±


    He nods slowly. ¡°He and those he traveled with were desperate. They were running from someone.¡±


    ¡°Who?¡±


    ¡°A monster,¡± Eli murmurs the word as if lost somewhere far away. ¡°He called him the Emperor Dragon.¡±


    I can only imagine traveling the entire Atlantic just to escape a single man. He must be powerful.


    ¡°You know¡­¡± I toss Eli a grin. ¡°Most guys would take a girl somewhere romantic. Not some murky underwater cave, telling her stories of a dead man.¡±


    He grins at the ground and I love the look of it. But then his eyes lift to mine and they stick, piercing deep. ¡°Would you like that? To be taken somewhere romantic?¡±


    Yes.


    But I stay quiet. If the man took it to heart to be romantic I wouldn¡¯t stand a chance. Already I struggle to keep my head on straight and remember the reason I¡¯m here. Ivan.


    I raise a mocking brow. ¡°Why, my dearest Sensei, aren¡¯t you being quite bold for a man who wears another woman¡¯s ring around his neck?¡±


    His cheeks turn scarlet and he ducks his head, glancing away. I resist a chuckle. I reserve the title for special moments such as these and then savor his reaction. After a while, he reaches up and the ring disappears inside his fist. It¡¯s the same one I saw months ago by the swimming hole before we got into that ridiculous fight. He never takes it off as far as I can tell.


    ¡°This ring was my sister¡¯s. And my mother¡¯s and then my grandmother¡¯s before her.¡±


    He holds it up and the diamond in the middle sparkles. ¡°My sister put it in with the letters before she died. If she had lived, she would have gotten married and had kids, and it would have gone to her daughter if she had one. Instead, she left it to me.¡±


    Every genealogy in this world¡ªall of humanity¡ªcut short in a single generation. But over hundreds of years. It cannot be a quick death; no, that would be too merciful. Instead, it is slow.


    ¡°Are kids something you want?¡± I ask, suddenly curious.


    Eli¡¯s fingers pause and then he drops the ring. ¡°I never thought about it. Never needed to.¡±


    I suppose it makes sense. Why waste time contemplating the impossible?


    ¡°What about you?¡± he asks.


    The question catches me off guard. I don¡¯t know why. After all, I did ask him the very same thing just two seconds ago. And as for me, well, the choice is actually there.


    ¡°I remember having friends tell me they couldn¡¯t imagine raising kids in such a cruel world.¡± I laugh at the ridiculousness of it. ¡°We didn¡¯t know cruelty.¡±


    Eli¡¯s eyes are on me. Silent and watchful.


    ¡°Then again, maybe life was a different kind of cruel. They say suicide hit an all-time high right before the end.¡±


    ¡°People are happiest when they overcome fear, and most miserable when they don¡¯t even try,¡± Eli comments quietly.


    ¡°You think they were scared?¡± The thought seems bizarre as I think back to civilized society. Back to times of cozy couches, endless entertainment, and restaurants around every corner. ¡°Scared of what?¡±


    ¡°The same thing every person fears: pain. Safety doesn¡¯t remove pain. It doesn¡¯t erase fear, if anything, it enables it.¡±


    Eli¡¯s mind ties the most curious things together but maybe he¡¯s onto something. Complacency is a disease few catch nowadays with death lurking around every corner. The claws of fear which once bore into humanity¡¯s head, whispering into its ear, now dangle to its leg. In this world you either die or learn to trudge through life, shaking fear off when necessary.


    But never have I been more terrified than the time I thought Ivan might be dead. That fear pushed Eli away and persuaded me to do stupid things. Things I regret. But I realized something today. The past can ruin you or save you. Some men forget their past and in the process, lose their humanity. Other¡¯s, like Jol, can¡¯t accept the present and live in faded memory. But then, there¡¯s Eli. He remembers his past and rather than push it away, or lose himself in it, he sits with it. Sits patiently with the pain, and in doing so, it makes him a better man.


    That¡¯s why the thought of losing Ivan doesn¡¯t scare me anymore. Don¡¯t get me wrong, it would destroy me, but it wouldn¡¯t be the end. I have Eli now and with him by my side I could sit with that pain. I could sit, remember, and move on.


    ¡°Family has always meant the world to me.¡± I look back over the stone figures. ¡°Maybe it¡¯s because I¡¯ve lost so much of it that I¡¯m scared to lose any more. But I think I¡¯m beginning to see how family doesn¡¯t just shrink. It can grow, too.¡±


    The ring in Eli¡¯s hand catches the light and sparkles. For a moment, my mind drifts and everything feels distant. ¡°I want kids. I want a family of my own.¡±


    The words come out soft and I blink, realizing what I just said. Or rather, I realize who I just said it to and my cheeks burn. His eyes are on me again and I clear my throat, standing up and walking back to examine the carved faces, putting space between us. When I glance over, the ring has disappeared inside a fist and Eli stares intently at the cave floor.


    ~~~


    After a while, we return to the beach, much to Little Wolf¡¯s relief. The furry creature whines, circling us, tail wagging until his entire body sways with excitement. I almost feel bad for leaving him. Almost. Five minutes later, and he¡¯s forgotten the whole ordeal.


    I get dressed and nap on the beach, relaxing in the sun as Eli scouts the area with Little Wolf hot on his heels. He returns with lunch¡ªgrilled boar¡ªand a blanket for us to lay on. A regular picnic. I want to laugh. If you told me six months ago I would be having a picnic on the beach with a man who took me for a mostly naked swim, I would have tried to shoot you with my pistol.


    ¡°You know¡­¡± I wipe my fingers on my pants after our meal and snatch his goggles, putting them on. ¡°I think I look pretty good in these.¡±


    He looks over at my antics and I grin. I reach for the scarf next.


    ¡°Think I could pull it off? The Masked Man. Deadly. Dangerous. And dripping in intrigue.¡± I give a dramatic pose. ¡°No one would ever suspect that he is actually¡±¡ªI clap my hands on either side of my face in mock surprise¡ª ¡°a she!¡±


    He raises a dubious brow. ¡°Dripping in intrigue?¡± He reaches over and tightens the straps of the goggles so they stay up without slipping.


    His closeness catches my breath and it takes me a moment to register his words. I bite my lip, grateful for the scarf over my cheeks.


    ¡°Yes, dripping. Questions surround him everywhere he goes.¡± I lean forward. ¡°Where did he come from? Why the mask? And why does he only communicate via dead pheasant?¡±


    He cracks a smile. ¡°Would you prefer I use boar?¡±


    ¡°Oh most definitely. Much tastier.¡±


    He chuckles and leans back in the sand, cradling his head in his hands. I slip the goggles and scarf off, setting them between us before falling back on the blanket, staring at the blue sky.


    ¡°You know, I nearly had a heart attack earlier,¡± I say.


    His brows scrunch and his eyes find mine in a question.


    ¡°You seemed so nervous when you told me about coming here.¡± I laugh a little. ¡°Some ridiculous part of me thought maybe you were leaving me. Crazy, right?¡±


    My half-hearted chuckle dies in my chest as his eyes dart away and he says nothing. I feel the life drain out of me like someone slit my throat right then and there. I sit up, the blue sky suddenly feels gray and suffocating.


    I¡¯m right. He plans to leave.


    But why? Is it because of me? When did he plan on telling me?


    The last question perches on the tip of my tongue and I barely catch it in time, sucking it back behind pressed lips and grinding it to dust. He obviously doesn¡¯t want to share. But anger bubbles up like boiling oil, snapping at everything within reach and I cannot keep its spray inside.


    ¡°Did I do something to upset you?¡± I struggle to keep the edge from my words.


    ¡°No.¡± His lips flatten into a thin line, brows drooping and I see it then. Misery. ¡°It¡¯s not you.¡±


    Then what? Why is he leaving? My mind races back to this thing between us. His fear. I feel it again. Here. Now. In this place. It¡¯s been there since the moment he learned my brother¡¯s name but I hoped it would just disappear with time. Or better yet, he would come to trust me enough to share but instead he chooses to leave. I rub the heel of my hand against my chest to ease the sudden ache of pain as my traitorous tear ducts prickle to life.


    Why do I care so much? People come and go in life. Classmates. Coworkers. Even family. So why does the thought of him leaving feel like someone sinking a knife into my gut and twisting it around and around. As if a hole suddenly appeared in my heart where none existed before and now I am left alone to fill it back in. Only the hole is not a hole at all, but a canyon, and it stretches far and wide.


    ¡°Are we¡ª¡± I stop as I feel my voice begin to crack and take a soft, slow breath. ¡°Are we friends, Eli?¡±


    I turn to him and my resolve to stay strong crumbles as a choking ball of emotion closes off my airway. My despicable tear ducts flood the world in blurry swirls and between the coils, Eli¡¯s expression falls as if I stabbed him in the chest.


    ¡°Of course.¡± He reaches over and pulls me close, arms wrapping around tight. ¡°Of course we¡¯re friends.¡±


    I want to shove him away, but my body doesn¡¯t work. Instead, all I can do is sit trembling in his arms, fighting the awful torment stretching parts of my soul thin like taffy. Every passing moment, it steals a little more until I feel empty. Desolate.


    ¡°In the beginning, why did you let me come along with you?¡± he asks quietly.


    I think back to all those months ago. ¡°I was desperate. And you were a creep.¡± I bite the words out and he chuckles lightly. ¡°But I believed you. That you would leave if I asked you to. Plus¡­¡± I pull away, giving him a grim look. ¡°It helped that you gave me a loaded gun.¡±


    A lopsided grin graces his stupid face. ¡°For a while there it felt like you might actually use it.¡±


    ¡°For a while there, I was tempted.¡±


    His grin fades into a mere smile and he takes my hand in his like he did before all those nights ago on the log when I told him not to apologize about Jol.


    ¡°Do you know why I came with you?¡± he asks.


    I frown, searching for the memory. Something about the darkness of this world changing you? I shake my head.


    ¡°If this world doesn¡¯t break you completely, it molds you into something like itself. Either way, you will never be the same. I came with you because I wanted to be your shield, something to stand between you and this world so you have a choice of who you want to be.¡±


    A shield. A choice. Something he desperately needed as a child and never had. Something I hope to be for Ivan.


    ¡°That¡¯s why I came but that¡¯s not why I stayed. I stayed because of you. You are spectacular. Brave. Fearless. A force to be reckoned with. Playful. Smart. Compassionate.¡± His eyes catch mine and hold them. ¡°Beautiful.¡±


    His eyes slip past my anger, grabbing hold of something deeper. Warmth and life surge forward, but pain gets dredged up alongside it.


    ¡°I cannot come with you all the way, but I can get you where you need to go,¡± he says quietly.


    I rip my hands away from his. How can he say those wonderful things and then just leave? Tears slip down my cheeks and I turn away, pulling my legs up to my chest, hugging them as if that might hold together the remaining strands of my thinning soul.


    He tries to touch my shoulder, but I yank my body away, turning to glare. ¡°You once told me that running from your fears is the root of all kinds of misery. For yourself and for others.¡± My glare turns pointed. ¡°So, what¡¯s your excuse for running now?¡±


    You would think I tore a hole in the very fabric of the universe with the deathly silence following Eli¡¯s frozen gaze. It stretches through time and space. Unblinking. His chest barely moves until he finally speaks.


    ¡°I¡¯ve done things which cannot be forgiven. Things that shouldn¡¯t be forgiven. Because of this, there are places I cannot go. Believe me when I say, if I could, I would stay by your side.¡±


    It hits me like a backhand. He¡¯s not leaving me. I¡¯m leaving him. The strange behavior finally makes sense. How he wears his mask constantly, the overly cautious behavior around raiders, and those statements about New Haven being safe. Whatever his terrible history is, it¡¯s here. He says he can get me where I need to go, but cannot come with me. He¡¯s not coming to New Haven.


    ¡°So¡­¡± I grip my knees too tightly. ¡°You would stay with me if I remained here.¡±


    He stiffens. ¡°You won¡¯t. You have your brother.¡±


    You¡¯re right, Eli.


    Ivan comes first. My anger trickles away like drops of water down glass. I remember the time on the log, his feathery light touch across my skin. His words to me when we found Little Wolf. A gaze filled with yearning, stretching into my chest and snagging my heart on its line. He tested the waters several times and every time my answer was clear. Ivan first. My priorities haven¡¯t changed.


    ¡°And afterward? After I find Ivan, what then?¡±


    He is quiet, staring out over the ocean.


    I press on. ¡°Where will you be then?¡±


    ¡°Where do you want me to be?¡±


    With me.


    ¡°I want you to meet Ivan,¡± I say quietly.


    He says nothing. The oceans roar fills the space between us. Seagulls caw overhead as the sun lowers closer to the horizon casting shades of orange and pink across the sky. I move closer, leaning into his side.


    ¡°I¡¯m cold,¡± I say softly.


    His arm wraps around my shoulders and I find his free hand and hold it tight. After a minute, his hand returns the squeeze.

 Chapter 15: The Search Begins

    The sun hangs low in the sky by the time signs for New Haven appear along the road. Overhead, shades of deep purple and blue backdrop a splatter of foamy sherbet clouds. Eli¡¯s horse falls back and I turn to see him dismounting.


    ¡°What are you¡­?¡± I begin but part of me already knows. ¡°You¡¯re not coming any further, are you?¡±


    He avoids my gaze. ¡°I¡¯m not.¡±


    An unbearable pain swells in my chest. I grip the reins tighter. ¡°Can I ask why?¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t need me anymore. Not in there.¡±


    ¡°But that¡¯s not why, is it?¡±


    He stays quiet. Part of me is angry but I know it¡¯s only because if I¡¯m not angry, I¡¯ll cry.


    I get off the horse and step up to him. ¡°I want you to come with me.¡±


    No response. Is it guilt? Fear? I secretly hoped he might change his mind between yesterday and now but it seems I cannot change him. Not in this.


    ¡°Eli?¡±


    He finally looks at me and I say, ¡°Thank you. For everything.¡±


    A ghost of a smile flickers and he lightly touches my cheek. I hold his hand there and then wrap my arms around him, pressing close. Maybe it is selfish, but I want him to stay. I want him with me. His hands slowly return the embrace and I squeeze tighter. We stay that way long enough for my cheeks to grow wet and my heart to ache. This cannot be goodbye. Not after everything.


    ¡°I have to see you again,¡± I say, proud my voice does not waver. ¡°One month. In one month let¡¯s meet right here.¡±


    I¡¯m not sure how long it will take to find Ivan. But hopefully by then I''ll at least have some leads as to where he is. If I don¡¯t then I can re-group with Eli to catch my breath before heading back in to try again.


    He gives me a nod. ¡°I¡¯ll be here.¡±


    I wipe the wetness from my cheeks, ¡°don¡¯t get into too much trouble.¡±


    He smiles, ¡°I should be telling you that.¡±


    Little Wolf whines at my feet. He¡¯s grown so much these last few months. He¡¯s already the size of an Irish Wolfhound, but I know he will get bigger still. I crouch and hug the furry beast, threading my fingers through his soft black fur and scratching behind his ears. His tail thumps the earth.


    ¡°You need to stay with Eli, Little Wolf. It¡¯ll be safer for you with him.¡±


    I¡¯m sure this city would not welcome a wolf, no matter how well Eli has him trained. Besides, Little Wolf would be sure to draw unwanted attention, and I need to be invisible if I can. I turn to go.


    ¡°Wait.¡±


    Eli stops me, placing a horn just large enough to fit across the palms of both my hands. ¡°If you¡¯re ever in trouble, blow this and no matter where you are, I will come find you. Just keep it hidden.¡±


    The horn is a curious-looking thing. Intricately carved designs curl across the milky white surface. Metal is embedded with leather to make straps for carrying. I smile at him and nod, tucking it away in a bag.


    I know he watches as I ride down the dirt road. Little Wolf lets out a yip and then a long howl. His pack is shrinking by one, but only temporarily. Soon, it will grow bigger. My heart settles at the thought of Ivan meeting Eli. The two will get along great, I know it. Ivan loves everyone, and Eli can teach him how to hunt and track and even fight.


    A sign with the name New Haven painted in black and white stands beside the road. I pull up the scarf covering the lower half of my face up a little higher. A few blocks later, I am greeted with an enormous brick wall like one of those castle walls in the middle ages. A gate two stories high stands between me and the city beyond. Two guards dressed in leather armor approach with rifles. Overhead are more posts with guards.


    ¡°State your business.¡±


    I get off my horse, ¡°I¡¯m looking for my brother. I think he might be in your city.¡±


    They eye me over carefully. ¡°Name?¡±


    ¡°Nat.¡±


    ¡°Is this your first time at New Haven, Nat?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Lower your scarf, please.¡±


    I hesitate. ¡°Do I¡­have to?¡±


    He frowns. Irritated. ¡°Yes. It¡¯s the protocol to ensure outlaws don¡¯t get in.¡±


    I do as instructed, my stomach twisting as he leans forward with narrowed eyes. His frown deepens. Four heart-stopping breaths pass between us before he speaks.


    ¡°As a visitor, you are banned from any and all weapons. If you wish to purchase one from a vendor you must apply for citizenship.¡±


    The other guard searches my horse, taking my rifle, bow, and pistol. I pull my scarf back in place.


    ¡°Put all weapons on your person, here.¡± He gestures to a rickety old table.


    I hesitate.


    You¡¯ll be safe in New Haven.


    I set aside my pistol and the dagger at my hip. You better be right, Eli.


    ¡°You are free to trade with anyone within the city walls. But if you cause trouble with any residents, get into any fights, steal anything¡­¡± He leans in with a scowl. ¡°You will be banned from re-entry. Got it?¡±


    I nod.


    ¡°When you leave you can pick up your weapons here. If you have a grievance you can take it to the Captain.¡±


    ¡°The Captain?¡±


    ¡°Yes. Captain Jaxon is the Commander¡¯s second. He handles local disputes.¡±


    The guard hauls off my weapons and I hold my breath as the gates open wide. Men of all sizes and ages travel the cobblestone streets. Some walk while a few ride horseback. Little boys chase one another with wooden swords, ducking around corners and shouting with excitement and delight.


    Red brick buildings range from a couple of years old to twenty or thirty. I notice a few buildings from the old world mixed in but most are patchworked, renovated, and fixed up. I walk my horse down the cobblestone road until I reach a wide open square with booths selling all kinds of wares and food. A few seem to be closing up shop for the day, but I catch sight of tools, weapons, furs, leather, and even furniture. I pass chicken, pork, beef, fish, and an assortment of other meats. My mouth waters at a lineup of giant juicy cuts of ribeye.


    Eli stuffed bag after bag with dried meat and piled it high on my horse, ensuring I have more than enough. Maybe I can trade something for a few cuts of beef. I miss steak.


    Focus. I need to find The Pheasant¡¯s Roost. I need to find Thomas.


    As I wander, I get a sense of the sheer size of the city. Everywhere I look, there are people. But what strikes me is the peace. People go about their day as if the apocalypse outside these walls never happened. If not for the absence of even a single woman, I might think I traveled back in time to the nineteenth century. Civilized feels like an understatement.


    A bell rings out declaring the time. Six o¡¯clock. A giant stone tower in the middle of the town reaches far into the sky. The top holds a copper-colored bell the size of a horse. A church sits at its base with stained glass windows and a cross sitting overhead its double doors. They open and men pour out. I pull my cap down and turn to the side, making way for the sudden crowd to pass.


    Something slams into my legs from behind nearly toppling me. A boy no older than ten lies sprawled on the ground at my feet.


    ¡°Jamie, where¡ª¡± A man says several feet away. When he sees us he stops, winding through the crowd to meet up.


    ¡°Sorry, mister,¡± the boy says, climbing to his feet.


    We make eye contact and the boy¡¯s eyes go wide. I realized then my scarf has loosened and a long lock of my hair freed itself from my cap. I step back, re-adjusting my scarf and pulling my hood over my baseball cap.


    ¡°Sorry about that.¡± The man puts a hand on the boy¡¯s head and gives his hair a ruffle. ¡°Jamie¡¯s still pretty new here and can get carried away after service.¡±


    The kid is still staring.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it,¡± I deepen my voice and turn to leave. ¡°I should get going.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve seen you around here before,¡± the man says. ¡°Need any help getting around? The city is a lot to take in.¡±


    I¡¯m about to refuse, but stop. I have no idea where I¡¯m going, and the longer I spend out in the open the greater my risk of being discovered. The man seems friendly enough between keen, honey-colored eyes and curly locks. But then again, Jol seemed friendly enough too. My gut twists and I squeeze the shoulder strap of my bag.


    ¡°I¡¯m looking for The Pheasant¡¯s Roost.¡±


    ¡°Oh, you walked right past it. It¡¯s by the entrance, but instead of going straight, swing right. If you want, I can walk you there.¡±


    I shake my head and wave him off, ¡°no, I got it. Thanks for the help.¡±


    As I go, I hear the boy say, ¡°That boy looked like a girl.¡±


    My pace picks up as I hurry down the cobblestone, back where I came. The interaction, while anxiety-inducing, was also incredibly¡­normal. Just a stranger being helpful and friendly. No guns or rope or threat upon my life. It¡¯s been so long since such a thing was even fathomable I can hardly process it. I glance behind. And no one is following me either. I shake my head. This place is something else.


    Sure enough, The Pheasant¡¯s Roost is right where the man said it was. An expertly carved wooden sign painted a deep shade of rusty red with blue highlights hangs overhead double doors. Voices buzz from inside and warm, yellow-lit windows fight off the chill of night air at my back. I swallow and push through the entrance.


    Inside, men of various sizes and types sit or stand, eating and drinking. Shouts from across the room pull my attention. Men crowd around a table with scattered cards and coin. For a moment, I feel frozen at the sheer number of them.


    Eli, where are you?


    I never realized how much I¡¯ve come to rely on him. Not just for food and security, but as a friend, too. And now, with him gone, I have to face the world and all its dangers¡ªalone. It¡¯s like I¡¯m back in that old, run down liquor store, hiding in the shadows, hoping the raider¡¯s don¡¯t see me. It¡¯s been so long I almost forgot what it felt like.


    The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    I take a deep breath. No one sees you. No one cares. It¡¯s alright. With stiff legs, I pass tables of boisterous men until I reach the bar in the back. Pulling my scarf up higher I shrink back as a giant behind the bar turns my way, cleaning a glass with a rag. He eyes me with a frown.


    ¡°I..I need a room,¡± I say quietly.


    To say he holds a few extra pounds is a brazen understatement. He is huge, like a grizzly. And with a full, brown beard and fierce, narrowed eyes, he might as well be one. He sets his glass aside and crosses his arms over a wide chest, peering down at me. I feel like a bug cowering under the looming shadow of this man¡¯s boot.


    ¡°How many nights?¡± he asks.


    ¡°One month.¡± My voice cracks and I squeeze the strap of my bag over my shoulder.


    He bends down behind the counter and tosses a key, my way. It lands an arm¡¯s length away.


    ¡°Up the stairs at the end of the hall.¡±


    I bend over, reaching for the key, but his hand slaps over mine, trapping it.


    ¡°Payment for the first three nights upfront.¡±


    My heart picks up pace. That¡¯s right. I forgot to ask for Thomas first.


    ¡°Thomas,¡± I splutter. ¡°Is Thomas here?¡±


    ¡°Who¡¯s asking?¡±


    I tug at my hand, but it is thoroughly trapped.


    ¡°I have a delivery from a mutual friend. He is expecting me.¡±


    The big guy gives me a second look, tilting his head.


    ¡°I was expecting someone a little more¡­¡± he struggles for the word. ¡°Well, more. You¡¯re E¡¯s partner?¡±


    E?


    Is that a nickname? Or maybe an alias. I nod and he releases my hand.


    I rub it, shooting him a skeptical eye. ¡°So you¡¯re Thomas?¡±


    His once steely gaze evaporates, leaving a mirthful look. From grizzly to teddy bear, he eases back and grins an ivory white smile. ¡°The one and only. Pleased to meet you, Nat, was it?¡±


    I nod.


    I reach into my bag for the books Eli gave me, but hesitate to place them on the table.


    ¡°He said you might be able to help me find someone. I¡¯m looking for a boy, at least thirteen.¡± Then I add, ¡°But he could be much older.¡±


    He shrugs, ¡°we got a lot of kids around these parts. The Commander takes the top soldiers and saves the kids from raider camps a couple of times each year.¡±


    ¡°All the kids around here are from raider bases?¡±


    He nods. ¡°Sad thing what those savages do. Most of them are good kids too.¡±


    I swallow a lump in my throat. Eli was one of those kids. I hope for all that is holy, Ivan is not.


    Thomas watches me with sad eyes, ¡°there¡¯s a directory of everyone living in the city. You should check with Captain Jaxon, he could tell you if your person is here.¡±


    ¡°Captain Jaxon,¡± I repeat the same name from the guard at the front gate. He seems popular.


    The big guy hunches over the counter to eye me curiously.


    ¡°So how¡¯d you meet him? E, I mean. He¡¯s a mysterious one, ain¡¯t he?¡±


    ¡°Mysterious?¡± I smirk, ¡°that¡¯s an understatement.¡±


    ¡°So you¡¯ve never seen the face behind the whole getup either, huh?¡±


    Thomas hasn¡¯t seen Eli¡¯s face? Come to think of it, Eli only ever removed his scarf and goggles upon my request, and even then, only when we were alone in the woods. I wonder how many people know what the enigma of a man really looks like.


    ¡°Has he ever gone inside the city?¡± I ask.


    Thomas shakes his head. ¡°Usually we have a meeting spot in the next town over. Don¡¯t know what he¡¯s got against New Haven, but it doesn¡¯t take much to get banned here and a man like that¡­¡± he chuckles. ¡°Trouble follows people like him. You better watch yourself.¡±


    How ironic. If anything, trouble follows me, not Eli. Of course, Eli was the one following me for a while there. Does that make him the trouble? I smirk to myself.


    ¡°Can I expect to see you for the next one?¡± Thomas asks.


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Are you making his deliveries from now on? If you are, I¡¯ll be happy to put you up for free whenever you need. It saves me the trouble of traveling outside the city.¡±


    Am I?


    This isn¡¯t a delivery. At least, I don¡¯t think it is. But then again, I am giving Thomas something from Eli. But it is in exchange for room and board until I find Ivan.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think so. I think this is just a favor.¡±


    ¡°A favor?¡± He raises a bushy brown brow. ¡°I¡¯ve never known E to give out favors. Then again, I¡¯ve never known him to involve himself with another person before either. You must be something special.¡±


    I feel my cheeks grow hot and I pull my scarf up higher.


    I hand over the books. He lays them neatly on the table, fingers tracing over the well-preserved engraved covers. Four in total. One on engineering, another an anatomy book for medical purposes, and two works of fiction.


    Out by my horse, the sun has mostly set. The sky grows ever-darkening shades of purple and blue as I show Thomas the pelts and cases of ammo Eli packed away for the trade.


    ¡°This is more than we agreed. You sure he doesn¡¯t want payment?¡± Thomas asks.


    Is it? I¡¯m sure Eli meant all this for Thomas. Did he include extra?


    ¡°Just the room and board. And any leads you might have.¡±


    ¡°Well, you¡¯re welcome to stay as long as you like. And I¡¯ll see about getting a hold of Captain Jaxon for you.¡± He scratches his beard, ¡°Why are you looking for this boy, if I may ask?¡± Thomas hauls the pelts over one shoulder while tucking the case of ammo beneath the other.


    ¡°He¡¯s my brother,¡± I say quietly, following him back inside.


    ¡°Brother, huh? I had a brother, but that was in the last life. I hope you find yours.¡±


    He drops the ammo and pelts on the back counter and leads me upstairs down the hall to a room at the end. It is simple but clean with a small patio overlooking the town.


    ¡°The bath¡¯s downstairs to your right. If you need anything, I¡¯m usually downstairs.¡± He whistles at a boy about twelve years old sweeping down the hall. The kid drops the broom and comes running up to us.


    ¡°This is Fin. If I¡¯m out, then Fin can help. He knows about everything there is to know around here.¡±


    Fin dips his head, touching a red baseball cap as he does. ¡°Welcome to The Pheasant¡¯s Roost, mister. Let me know if you need anything at all.¡±


    I smile under my scarf. Maybe it¡¯s the blond hair or the extra spring in his step, but I see Ivan in him.


    ¡°Go take his horse to the stables,¡± Thomas tells Fin.


    Fin bounds down the stairs to the front of the shop like a pony prancing through a forest trail.


    ¡°Kids have it lucky in many ways. It¡¯s so much easier for them to adjust to this world than older folks like us. Course, that means many of ¡®em grow up faster than they should.¡±


    ¡°Is Fin one of those boys taken from the Raiders?¡±


    Thomas nods.


    Out the window I see Fin lead my horse around the corner to some stables. How would Eli have turned out if he was rescued instead of left to fight to survive in that Raider pit? Maybe he would be standing here beside me. Or maybe we would never have met. The thought twists my heart.


    Thomas leaves and as the door shuts, I topple backward onto the bed. My fingers stretch across the soft fur cover as I inhale the distinct pine scent. The small room is decorated with antlers, a bear rug, and a fireplace nestled in the corner with a hefty pile of firewood stacked neatly beside it. It might remind me of the chief¡¯s room except this is warm and cozy rather than grand and intimidating. Exhaustion tugs at the strings of my consciousness, but my eyes wander to the window. The sun seems to have taken everyone with it as oil lamps light the mostly empty streets outside. The city is winding down for the night. A realization perks my mind and draws me forward in the bed.


    The streets are empty.


    Empty of men. Of prying eyes and curious kids. It makes sense. Eli and I wouldn¡¯t stay up much past sundown. We ran a fire, ate dinner, and then called it a night. Without electricity, a person¡¯s schedule becomes tied to the sun. So with everyone in the city turning in for the night, I can explore the city easier. In blessed solitude. From the safety of darkness.


    The decision is made before I even reach the stairs. I brush past the bustling room and through the exit. Cold night wind slaps me in the face and I gasp, cramming my eyes shut against watery tears. I hug my jacket closer and stalk through the winding streets, passing the bell tower and church on one side and closed shops on the other.


    The far side of the city leads into an inky black ocean. Murky waters lap against boat hulls and tumble along a rocky shoreline below wooden docks. Stars sparkle overhead and moonlight soaks into every nook and cranny like a hot spring easing warmth through old bones. Leaves crunch beneath my boots as I walk down the street.


    I wonder how Little Wolf and Eli are faring. My arms squeeze tighter around my middle. Eli should be here beside me. I would hold his hand in mine. His warmth would scare away this chill. I wonder if he regrets his decision to stay behind. Or regrets keeping the reason why to himself.


    A melancholy sigh escapes my chest. It hardly matters. The world does not wait when it takes what it wants, and so I cannot either. But Eli will wait. I know it. He¡¯ll be waiting for me to return. And I will, with Ivan. Then I can take his hand in mine and never let go.


    A sound, the dragging of something against wood, draws my attention. Three men approach and one staggers with a baseball bat in tow. Another takes a long swig from a bottle as the third whips his arm up, shattering glass against the wooden railing. Laughter follows drunken banter between them. Spinning on my heel, I head back the way I came. No matter how safe this city may be, best not to test my luck.


    They say to never turn your back on a predatory cat because once you do, it will pounce. Well, no one told me the same goes for drunken men after dark. Not more than ten steps into my retreat, I hear the pounding of feet behind me.


    I don¡¯t even bother looking back and break into a sprint. The Pheasant¡¯s Roost is close and I can outrun a group of drunk men. Besides, they¡¯ll lose interest once I am out of sight. I turn a corner and slip into an alleyway, waiting in silence. The group runs past, huffing and puffing like a pack of rabid dogs. When the coast is clear, I make my way back. The sight of the stables where Fin put my horse soothes the unease in my chest. The Pheasant¡¯s Roost lies just beyond.


    Along the back of the stables, mumbling voices give me pause by the door. Inside the lantern-lit space stand two men, and my heart hits the floor in instant recognition. The drunk men from earlier have cornered some poor soul in the back of a stall. I step to leave and bump into something. A black-bearded man with bloodshot eyes towers overhead. He chuckles and clamps a hand onto my shoulder sending my heart rocketing into my throat.


    ¡°Hello again.¡±


    I can barely breathe, but even still, the putrid alcohol on his breath curls my nose.


    ¡°Hey check it out. I caught the little rabbit from earlier.¡±


    He shoves me hard into the stables and I hit the ground. I grind my teeth and slowly rise to my feet, looking for another exit but Blackbeard blocks the only one. I glimpse Fin caught in the back of a stall, trapped behind the other two. Between his disheveled mess of hair and a chin sporting a bruise that wasn¡¯t there when we met, I know the poor kid needs an escape as much as I do right now.


    The man with the baseball bat cocks his head at me with a grin. ¡°Wanna play a game, little rabbit?¡±


    My eyes narrow. ¡°Sure, I like games.¡±


    My words elicit smiles all around and the three turn their attention to me like buzzards spotting a carcass. I take a few steps back, drawing them forward. The one with the baseball bat swings and I easily sidestep the attack. He tries several more times, but he might as well be screaming his moves into a megaphone. The movements are sloppy as he shifts his weight between one foot and the other. And he is slow. So much slower than Eli.


    ¡°He¡¯s a quick one,¡± Blackbeard comments as the one with the bat huffs in frustration. ¡°How about I hold him still for you?¡±


    Three against one is bad. But I¡¯m not trying to win¡ªjust escape. Blackbeard approaches and I can see the glistening of dribbled alcohol down his beard in the lamplight. He stands tallest of the three and towers at least two heads over me. If he gets a hold of me, it¡¯s game over.


    Strength is not everything in a fight, but it needs to be respected. If you don¡¯t, then you¡¯ll find yourself in a bad place, quick.


    Eli¡¯s words flash through my mind. The sound of his voice settles my nerves and calms my heart. I see him standing before me in the woods, pointing a sword my way.


    And remember, there is no such thing as a dirty move. Just one that keeps you alive.


    Blackbeard lunges and I duck, stepping to the side and throwing a hard kick right at his crown jewels. He crumbles with a cry of pain and I race for the exit, leaving the other two eating my dust. But as I reach the door, something explodes into the back of my head and the world goes black.


    In the next moment, the smell of horse, dirt, and hay fills my nostrils. Hot liquid trickles through my hair, caressing my neck and creeping down the front of my chest with long red fingers. I¡¯m being dragged to my feet before I realized I was on the ground. Shattered glass and a broken bottleneck at my feet. They threw a bottle at my head.


    And they got me. I was so close. I catch sight of Fin slipping away in the background. At least one of us escaped.


    ¡°Let¡¯s see if rabbits can squeal.¡±


    Blackbeard yanks my arms behind my back as a baseball bat swings for my stomach. We all hear an audible snap as it makes contact with my ribs. They howl in delight and I choke out a strangled cry as molten fire pours into my chest. My legs give out and I sag to the ground, my body trembling with pain as I struggle for breath.


    ¡°Get his knee next. I wanna see the rabbit try to run again after this.¡±


    No. I can¡¯t find Ivan if I¡¯m lame.


    ¡°Help!¡± I scream, panic flooding my mind. ¡°Hel¡ª¡±


    My cries are cut off by a giant hand over my mouth.


    ¡°He even screams like a little girl.¡± One of them chuckles. ¡°Maybe we should treat him like one, eh?¡±


    Every breath brings stabbing pain and my vision fades at the edges. After everything I went through to get here, must I survive this too? Or maybe I won¡¯t survive. In the past, Eli showed up, but there is no Eli this time. I am alone. Eli should have come with me. Or maybe I should have stayed with him.


    No. I could never forgive myself for giving up on Ivan. If this is the end and I die searching for him, then I don¡¯t regret a thing.


    The world twists and darkens around me when I hear shouting in the background. It sounds familiar. Fin? The kid should know better than to go up against three grown men. A shotgun cocks in the background and I glimpse Thomas. His eyes blaze with rage like some kind of demon from the underworld. My body hits the ground, but I feel my consciousness stretch thin until it snaps free and darkness yawns, swallowing me whole.

 Chapter 16: Mission Accomplished

    The throbbing in my head feels like my heart took up permanent residence there. I start to sit up but a sharp pain at my side thwarts the effort. A choked breath escapes my chapped lips and I touch my ribs, fingertips meeting soft cloth bandaging. That¡¯s new. I stare in confusion and it¡¯s only after several long moments that I suck in a knifing breath I didn¡¯t realize I had been holding.


    My hat is gone.


    My hair is splayed over my wrapped chest for all the world to see.


    ¡°No one knows.¡±


    Thomas¡¯ voice says from somewhere on my right.


    His forest-green eyes meet my own and silence deafens the small room. It is empty, save for us. Save for him. The door is shut. He sits on a chair beside the bed, leaning forward, elbows on his knees as he nurses folded hands. His furrowed charcoal brows fence a serious gaze.


    ¡°No one except the boy, Fin.¡±


    It comes rushing back to me then. The blow to my head and the crack of my ribs. The world twists, and somewhere Fin shouts. Thomas stands in the background, shotgun in hand.


    ¡°What will you do?¡± I whisper, still seeing the frantic shuffle of feet. Still hearing the cocking of a shotgun. It slowly fades but the racing rabbit thumping in my chest doesn¡¯t falter.


    He gives me a long look and I feel the space between us stretch thin.


    ¡°I should report you. I should take you to Captain Jaxon.¡±


    My chest tightens and my eyes flit to the door. I can make it if I¡¯m quick. My broken ribs would make it difficult to get far before the whole city is in an uproar, but at least I can try.


    ¡°But¡ª¡± Thomas¡¯ intense gaze softens. ¡°The way I see it, you¡¯ve done nothing wrong.¡±


    I blink, my mind shuddering to a stop. ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Besides, E would probably hunt me down and put an arrow in my eye if I revealed your secret. I happen to like having both my eyes.¡±


    Thomas has that easy smile you would give a friend you¡¯ve known since third grade. But I just sit and stare in disbelief. In distrust. Will he really keep my secret?


    ¡°Why?¡±


    The single word slips out before I can think to stop it. Why is this man¡ªthis stranger¡ªhelping me?


    He frowns, crossing his arms over a giant chest. ¡°Why not? Whether you¡¯re a man or woman, you¡¯re still here looking for your brother, aren¡¯t you? Unless that was a lie, too.¡±


    ¡°It wasn¡¯t. Isn¡¯t.¡± I frown and push myself into a sitting position, wincing as the effort steals my breath away. ¡°And I didn¡¯t lie about anything. No one asked if I¡¯m a woman.¡±


    He raises a dubious brow, ¡°and if someone did?¡±


    ¡°A girl has to have her secrets.¡±


    He grins and shakes his head. ¡°Now I see why E is giving out favors.¡±


    I feel my cheeks grow hot even as I swallow a lump of bitterness. ¡°What would happen if I got turned in?¡±


    Thomas¡¯ grin fades and he combs his fingers through his beard, thinking. ¡°Truthfully, I couldn¡¯t tell you. I¡¯m sure the Commander would have some questions but after that¡­¡± He shrugs. ¡°You would be free to go. Nobody¡¯s going to force you to stay here against your will if that¡¯s what you¡¯re getting at.¡±


    Is that true? It would explain why Eli believed me safe here. Of course, I still got my ribs broken. Safe is such a relative term. It seems beasts exist everywhere.


    ¡°Is Nat really your name?¡±


    ¡°Nickname. I generally go by Natasha or Tasha.¡±


    ¡°Well, it¡¯s nice having you, Natasha.¡± He winks at me.


    The door bursts open and Fin comes running in, panting with his hands on his knees.


    ¡°There¡¯s a fight¡± ¡ªhe sucks in a labored breath and jabs a thumb behind him¡ª ¡°downstairs. They¡¯re breaking¡ªthe good¡ªbooze.¡±


    I watch the hulking man before me transform back into that grizzly from yesterday. With a grim look, he grabs the shotgun resting between the nightstand and the wall, heading for the door. He sweeps past Fin, who follows like a golden retriever puppy.


    When the door clicks shut, I ease back on the pillows, letting out a pent-up breath. I stare at the empty space where Thomas was. It¡¯s quiet. Nothing but the crackling fire in the corner breaks the silence. Thomas could be lying about keeping my secret but somehow I don¡¯t think he is. Emotion prickles my tearducks and I bite my tongue to keep them inside. Eli has good taste in friends. Or trading partners. Or whatever the two of them are. I pull the sheets up over my head and close my eyes.


    The next several days go by in a blur as I pass in and out of consciousness. Thomas comes in regularly with food, fresh water, and bandages. Everything hurts but especially breathing. Anything beyond a shallow breath is like sliding a red hot poker between my ribs. Thomas leaves me books to pass the time and I soon discover the man¡¯s extensive collection of fiction. Quite extensive. From Hemingway to Jane Austen to C.S. Lewis, I think he likes most everything. Either that, or Eli does.


    As the days pass, my ribs improve, and after a week and a half, I can get up and move again. Thomas wants me to stay in bed, but I need to do what I came here for before my time runs out. I feel antsy to get back into the city, even if the same thought brings an anxious twisting in my gut. I will certainly never go out after dark again.


    The door creaks open and I roll over to see Fin walk in, his arms full of wood. I watch the boy slowly nudge the door shut before making his way to the fireplace. He crouches and neatly stacks the chopped logs one by one then stands, clapping his hands on his overalls, and turns around when our eyes meet. He freezes like a baby deer, big blue eyes glued to me.


    ¡°It¡¯s Fin, right?¡± I ask, pushing myself up, looping my legs over the edge of the bed as I do.


    Fin steals a nervous glance at the door.


    ¡°You made sure Thomas stopped those men who attacked me, didn¡¯t you?¡±


    It¡¯s like I waved a magic wand because the scared boy before me disappears, replaced with one whose chest puffs in pride.


    ¡°I am. I told him it wasn¡¯t your fault, too. They were the ones picking a fight.¡±


    ¡°I appreciate that. What you did was pretty brave.¡±


    I hold in a laugh at how cherry-red his face turns. He examines the ground with avid fascination, hands disappearing deep into his pockets, and again I¡¯m struck by how similar he is to Ivan.


    ¡°Do you have some time to talk?¡±


    I pat the spot beside me on the bed and his eyes go round. He looks behind as if I might be speaking to someone else in the room before he comes to perch on the edge of the bed. His eyes dart around the floor as he chews on his lip.


    I tilt my head. ¡°You look like you have a thousand different questions in your brain fighting for the spotlight.¡±


    He turns anxious eyes my way. ¡°They told me all girls stay trapped in the stone. But you¡¯re not stone, so how¡­¡±


    I shrug a shoulder. ¡°Your guess is as good as mine.¡±


    ¡°Have you seen any other girls?¡±


    The desperate hope in his eyes feels like a dagger through my heart. This little boy undoubtedly lost his entire family the moment he woke up in this new world. How long has he been alone? What horrors has he suffered without a mother or sister to support or comfort him?


    I hesitate. ¡°I haven¡¯t. But that doesn¡¯t mean there aren¡¯t others. Or that there won¡¯t be more women who show up.¡±


    He swallows and I see his lip tremble. His shoulders move in quick, shallow breaths and his small hands twist the material of his overalls. The poor thing is trying so hard to not cry. A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    I reach over and pull him into a gentle embrace but his arms snap around me like a drowning man might snatch at a life preserver amid a storm. Choking sobs escape his small frame and he grips fistfuls of my shirt.


    I rub his back and attempt to swallow a lump that suddenly appeared in the back of my throat. How different am I from this boy? We both hope for something very unlikely. Yet still, we hope. And sometimes it¡¯s that hope that hurts more than anything else.


    It makes my heart ache for Ivan and for a moment it¡¯s as if the tears wetting my shirt belong to my little brother, not a boy I just met yesterday. It catches my breath and I give him a kiss on the top of the head. Maybe it¡¯s because he reminds me so much of Ivan but I want to protect him, no matter the cost.


    I sing¡ªsoftly¡ªso as to not raise suspicion from passersbys on the other side of the door. A sad song, but Ivan¡¯s favorite. My voice quiets Fin¡¯s weeping and then stills him completely. After a while, he pulls away to look up at me, wiping tear stains from his cheeks.


    ¡°My mom used to sing to me like that.¡±


    ¡°Mine too.¡± I brush aside his bangs. ¡°You remind me of my little brother, Ivan.¡±


    ¡°Ivan? Like the Commander?¡±


    I blink. What? ¡°Your commander¡¯s name is Ivan?¡±


    The words come out forced. My mind begins to race and I stand without thinking. The pain in my ribs now a distant memory.


    ¡°Yeah. Ivan is our Commander. You didn¡¯t know?¡±


    ¡°Where is he? I have to see him.¡±


    Before I finish my sentence, a pair of booming trumpets fill the air. The sound resonates across the entire valley and Fin races to the window. My gaze follows his own.


    ¡°They¡¯re back!¡± he exclaims, pointing at the front gate which opens to reveal a dozen men on horseback riding into the city. ¡°The Commander is there in the front.¡±


    I strain to see the man leading the procession. Broad shoulders covered in leather armor and a build not unlike Eli¡¯s, only bulkier. But my heart stops when I catch a glimpse of shoulder-length, curly blond hair. Could it be?


    ¡°Ivan.¡±


    The whisper escapes my lips as I race for my boots, not bothering with socks as I shove them over my bare feet. Tossing my coat over my shoulders, I tuck my hair away in the hood and dash from the room and down the stairs.


    Thomas shouts something, but I am already out the door. The throbbing in my head and the spasms of pain at my side sucking my breath from my lungs can¡¯t stop me. Nothing and no one can. Not when Ivan could be less than a block away.


    As I approach the crowd of men, I have to shove my way through to reach the procession. When I catch sight of the back of that blond head, I shout as loud as my aching lungs will let me.


    ¡°Vanny!¡±


    He stops. They all do. Confused faces turn to me, but there is only one face I want to see. The man at the front slowly turns his horse.


    A pair of blue eyes meet my own and a chill strikes me from the roots of my hair down to the tips of my toes. I know those eyes. Everything else might be changed but those sky-blue eyes are exactly the same.


    I shove my hood down and the breeze whips my hair around like some kind of living creature freed from its prison. Startled exclamations swirl with confused whispers, but the sea of men parts as I approach. My breaths grow shallow as my heart pounds in my chest. Recognition slowly settles into those blue eyes.


    He drops from his horse and we stand before each other like two strangers from different worlds. Different times. A stillness comes over the men and silence steals the voice of every soul there.


    I give a shaky smile. ¡°Hey, little wolf. It¡¯s been a while.¡±


    I hear him gasp and his eyes go round. He reaches out to touch my cheek as though I might be a vapor in the wind or a ghost. I hold it there, pressing my face into his gloved hand.


    ¡°Natasha?¡±


    The world blurs and I let out a hiccupy laugh. I fall into his arms and squeeze. He returns the embrace, but it doesn¡¯t take long before the questions come.


    ¡°How is this possible? You¡¯re awake? You¡¯re here?¡±


    I pull away, wiping my eyes. ¡°It¡¯s a long story.¡±


    I stare at his face and laugh. Everything is so different. And yet, still the same. The boy I once knew has turned into a man with a beard. A beard. I reach out and touch the thick blond hair in disbelief.


    His eyes twinkle. ¡°Come, you must tell me everything.¡± He snaps his fingers and some men bring over a horse.


    We ride through the city as the crowd behind us grows larger with every passing moment. I feel like some kind of circus attraction but Ivan looks ahead, unaffected by the stares. The crowd may be staring at me but I find myself staring at him.


    He sits as though he was born in a saddle. As if the two were one creature. His straight back holds a new kind of confidence I¡¯ve never seen before. Gone is the summer smile and the air of boyhood innocence I remember, replaced with an intensity and a ferocity that could make a man cower with only a look. He is no longer my little wolf; instead, I stare at a lion. A king.


    We stop at what I can only describe as a castle, if not a small one. But the masonry is spectacular and truly a feat in and of itself. The enormous double doors swing wide as we approach and the inside matches the outside in splendor. Brick walls kiss high ceilings and a red carpet leads to a wide-open throne room. Natural light floods the space from numerous windows high up on either side.


    Ivan removes his dust-laden leather armor, tossing it and his fur coat aside on a table where someone carries it away. Then he takes a seat on the throne with a smile, leaning forward, hands folded beneath his chin.


    ¡°What do you think?¡± he asks with a mischievous twinkle in his eye.


    ¡°Of what? Of this¡ª¡± I wave at the castle walls. ¡°or this¡ª¡± I gesture at all of him.


    He laughs and the sound warms my heart. Despite the many years between us it feels good to know he is still my brother. Still the person who can light up a room with his smile.


    ¡°Both. But first, are you hungry? I¡¯m starving.¡±


    Fifteen minutes later, I find myself wide eyeing a spread I¡¯ve not seen since before waking up from the stone. Every cut of meat you can imagine carefully prepared alongside dishes with lamb and pork slathered in all kinds of glistening sauces and cheeses. The smell sends my mouth watering.


    ¡°I can¡¯t believe you have cheese,¡± I say between mouthfuls, trying to keep from groaning at the delicious creamy texture. Eli¡¯s fresh catches every day brought variety, but it seems like nothing compares to cheese.


    He chuckles. ¡°We have the best of everything. It¡¯s a testament to what a civilized life can provide.¡±


    I consider his words and swallow a bite of ribeye. This is a far cry from what I had with Eli but somehow it never mattered. I would give it all up in a heartbeat if it meant Eli would sit here beside me¡ªeven the cheese.


    ¡°It must be a relief, making it here,¡± Ivan says, his steady eyes watching me. I realize he finished eating a while ago.


    I slow my gusto, dropping a cube of the cheese. ¡°It¡¯s a relief seeing you again.¡±


    He swirls the contents of his goblet before setting it down to look at me. ¡°Not quite what you were expecting though, is it?¡±


    ¡°No, but not bad either.¡±


    In truth, everything happened so fast. I can hardly register what any of this means. For Ivan. Or for me.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry I wasn¡¯t there for you.¡± I say quietly.


    A softness appears in his eyes. ¡°Of course you would say that. As if you had any say in the matter. You were stone, Tasha.¡±


    ¡°Still. You had to grow up in this world alone; I wanted to prevent that. That¡¯s why I¡¯m here.¡±


    ¡°To save me from this harsh world?¡± He smirks as he takes a sip.


    The smile is contagious. ¡°Exactly. Never expected it to fit you like a glove.¡±


    He grins back. ¡°If only Uncle could see us now.¡±


    The lightness in my chest grows heavy and I wipe my fingers on my pants out of habit, despite the napkins by my plate. ¡°Uncle woke up maybe a hundred years ago¡ªI¡¯m not sure when exactly¡ªbut he left me a journal. Helped save my life several times.¡±


    Silence fills the room like cold fills a winter cave. Uncle was as much a father to me as he was to Ivan when our parents died, maybe more. His loss still leaves a hole in my heart but out of necessity, I boarded it up. Focused on survival.


    ¡°Then I have him to thank for my sister being returned to me.¡±


    Ivan swallows and raises his goblet in a silent toast and I follow suit. Maybe I can pry some boards free. After all, I¡¯m safe here and if anyone can appreciate the loss, Ivan can.


    ¡°It¡¯s like he knew I might wake up.¡±


    Ivan is silent.


    ¡°He wrote about you too. Said he was going to head East in a couple of months.¡± I say quietly.


    ¡°Do you know how he died?¡±


    After my initial shock, I went back to give Uncle a proper burial. Waking up to a changed world with everything and everyone I once knew gone and then looking over to see the bare bones of Uncle, the man who raised me, was almost too much to bear. Like a living nightmare, every morning brought no relief from the darkness I felt inside. But tragedy has a way of revealing strength you never knew you had. Grief and loss: they¡¯re scary until you face it and walk away afterward.


    ¡°It looked like a bullet to the chest.¡±


    Rib bones shattered. I can only imagine what went down. Or who shot him. But somehow he still managed to make it back to me before he died.


    Ivan¡¯s grip on the goblet tightens. I see a storm behind those blue eyes. Perhaps he always held out hope for Uncle¡¯s return. Hoping he might wake from the stone and walk through those city gates one day. But now that hope is shattered. He is gone forever, the person responsible¡ªlong dead. Vengeance and justice¡ªboth stolen in one breath.


    I step over to Ivan and bend down, pulling him into a hug, squeezing as tight as my ribs allow. I cram my eyes shut and suddenly I¡¯m not hugging the man who must be eight years my elder, but my little brother. He lets out an exhausted breath and we stay like that long enough for that hole in my heart to get filled in, just a little bit.


    The evening passes quickly. We reminisce over Uncle and the old days before all this insanity. It feels good to share memories from that life with him but I avoid all mentions of Eli and my travel here. Something doesn¡¯t sit right in my gut. I¡¯m not sure what. Maybe it¡¯s from all those times Eli hinted at his own dark past. Or maybe there¡¯s something about Ivan that unsettles me. He¡¯s my brother but nothing about this moment is what I expected. He¡¯s not what I expected. Thankfully Ivan doesn¡¯t press the issue of how I got here.


    We walk down long halls side by side when he stops in the doorway of a large bedroom.


    I raise an eyebrow. ¡°Oh? Are you calling it a night already?¡±


    He shrugs a shoulder. ¡°I have some business to take care of.¡± He nods to the room. ¡°This is for you, if you want it.¡±


    ¡°Trying to get rid of me so soon? It¡¯s only half past midnight.¡± I tease, shaking my head as I step inside. It matches the rest of the castle with a large queen sized bed, a mahogany style desk, and a fireplace in the corner. I approach a window on the far end and stare out over a wide open field, four stories below. A blue, moonlit hue paints the green grass and fall colored trees.


    When I look back, Ivan is watching me from the doorway with a tender look. ¡°We can keep talking if you want.¡±


    I sigh and walk over, giving him a few playful shoves out the doorway. ¡°Go. We can talk more tomorrow. It¡¯s not like I¡¯m going anywhere.¡±


    He turns with a grin, ¡°I¡¯m glad you¡¯re here, Tasha.¡±


    I smile back. ¡°Me too.¡±

 Chapter 17: Under the Surface

    I sleep beneath an enormous down-stuffed comforter. Although¡ªsleep¡ªis an overstatement. Over and over I see Eli standing before me, an arrowhead protruding from his chest, blood pouring forth like a bubbling spring. I wake up in a panic and find myself staring at the ceiling, my mind on everything but sleep.


    Ivan is all grown up. What¡¯s more, he is the Commander of thousands. King of a city.


    I knew a man named Ivan once.


    Eli¡¯s words add fuel to the fire of my fears. I always knew the man Eli mentioned might be my brother, but I let go of the thought after everything that happened with Jol. Decided to let Eli keep his secrets and instead find out on my own. But now, it pounds on me like a hammer.


    I toss the sheets away and step for the door, taking the candle with me. Passing long hallways as I explore the castle corridors in the quiet of night.


    Halls stretch upward, kissing ivory ceilings lined with marble crown molding. Deep red curtains run from floor to ceiling along one side with a pair of double doors on the other. They open into an enormous library. Never have I seen so many well-kept books in one place since waking up from the stone.


    I never read much growing up, preferring sports and late karaoke nights with high school friends. But standing here, having lived without electricity for over a year, I find myself brushing my fingers along the dusty spines with a newfound reverence. In a world without the internet, this is the Internet. The world¡¯s knowledge¡ªno longer held within screens and blinking lights but hidden behind paper and ink.


    I¡¯m reminded of Eli digging through those libraries. He would spend hours combing the tombs for ¡®the useful ones¡¯. Sometimes I catch myself wondering what Eli would have been. He¡¯s smart. Smarter than me. When he reads a book he remembers everything as if the pages eternally exist under his nose.


    Would he have been a scientist? Engineer? Maybe a top athlete. Or all three. Instead, this world turned him into something very different. It¡¯s a shame. Even still, it seems the brilliant things in life find a way to shine even if lost in the mud of the world.


    I slip a few books from the shelf and walk to a stuffed leather chair, curling up on the seat. I light a lamp and pull the book close. For the next several minutes¡ªor hours, I¡¯m not sure which¡ªI lose myself in a world behind these paper pages. A fantasy world of elves and hobbits and dwarves leaves me entranced. Thomas would love this, it would make an excellent addition to his collection; I¡¯ll have to bring him here. When the black sky outside lights with the faintest shades of deep blue, I decide to put the book down.


    Abandoning the library, I continue my exploration into the castle garden, following a narrow stone path around the side to the front entrance. But on my way, I notice a path cutting off from the main road leading to an underground entrance into the side of the castle. Ivan took me on a tour last night after dinner but he never showed me what¡¯s down that way. I ditch my well-kept path for the depressing dirt one and stop before a thick, solid-looking door, heavy and studded with pitted iron. The sort used to keep people out.


    Or in.


    Pushing it open proves to be a difficult feat. It must be made of equal parts metal and wood but inside the dimly lit space, I am met by a pair of guards standing on either side of locked gated doors. Beyond them, I can make out a hallway lined with several cells. It takes two seconds to put the pieces together.


    A prison?


    The guards look as startled as I feel. They shift in unison as I approach with wary steps. Of course, a city as big as this would have a prison but for some reason, the realization that Ivan has a prison shakes me to my very core. My little brother has a prison. Suddenly I must know more. I must get inside. See the prisoners.


    ¡°Hello.¡± I greet the guard on the right.


    He exchanges an apprehensive look with his fellow and responds in silence as if I were some wild raccoon who wandered in to disturb their peace.


    ¡°I would like to go inside.¡±


    They give me darting glances but keep their mouths shut and faces pointed ahead. I suppose avoidance is always the safest option. Except not here. Not with me. I dig my foot in and set my jaw.


    ¡°Do you know who I am?¡± I ask the question sincerely though they seem to take it as some kind of threat. The discomfort between them rockets skyward as if I held a knife to each of their throats.


    ¡°You¡¯re the Commander¡¯s sister,¡± the one on the left says.


    ¡°I am.¡± My attention turns to him. ¡°So will you let me in?¡±


    Some unseen battle rages between them. They are young, younger than me by a few years.


    ¡°No one is allowed in without expressed permission from Captain Jaxon.¡± the one on the right says.


    ¡°What about the Commander?¡±


    ¡°Well, that¡¯s¡­ Of course, the Commander can come and go as he pleases.¡±


    ¡°And the Commander¡¯s sister?¡±


    Again they exchanged uneasy glances. My guess says there is no protocol for anyone¡¯s sister, let alone the sister of this city¡¯s equivalent of a king.


    The one on the left says, ¡°If you go in¡­you can¡¯t speak with any of the prisoners.¡±


    I nod, holding my breath as he turns to unlock the first of two gated doors. The other guard frowns something fierce but just watches as I am led through the checkpoint. Once inside, he leads me down a long hallway lined with cells. On the left, I see three familiar faces. Or rather, semi-familiar faces. Each one is beaten to a pulp with eyes swollen shut and broken noses between them. Missing teeth too. But Blackbeard is a face I will never forget. The other man who once swung a baseball bat now slumps unconscious in the corner and the third crouches with his back to the world. Blackbeard slams his body into the door of his cell, eyes wild and desperate. This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    ¡°You! You¡¯re his sister. Tell him I¡¯m sorry. I didn¡¯t know, okay? I¡¯m¡ª¡±


    The guard whacks the bars of the cell with a baton, cutting him off. ¡°Quiet! You do not speak to her.¡±


    I turn away. The hallway suddenly seems much smaller than moments before.


    ¡°Who did this to them?¡± I ask the guard,


    He frowns but doesn¡¯t answer.


    ¡°Were they like that when they arrived?¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    Ivan. My brother did this. Or at least he is responsible.


    I feel no surprise. Just disappointment. Not that they don¡¯t deserve it, but my little brother should not be the one to have done that. Not Vanny. Now it makes sense why the guards are so apprehensive around me. They aren¡¯t scared of me. They¡¯re scared of Ivan. Of what he would do to them because of me. And maybe they should be; it would seem I know far less about my brother than I once did. The thought chills me.


    Something a couple of cells down catches my eye and I approach with caution. Who else does Ivan have locked up down here?


    My jaw drops when I see who it is.


    ¡°Thomas?¡±


    He sits up and turns to face me. It¡¯s dark but even in the dim light, I make out his disbelief.


    ¡°Natasha?¡±


    I rush over but a hand grabs my arm, holding me back. Something about that moment sends me back. Maybe it¡¯s the tightness of the grip or the sudden fear twisting inside as I realize not all is right with my brother but my mind travels back in time to that moment with the chief. He¡¯s gripping my arm and slapping me until the world spins. Then I feel his body on top of mine. Suffocating. Then the blood. My heart staggers and the breath is swept from my lungs. I tear my arm free but stumble and hit the ground.


    I focus on breathing. It takes an embarrassingly long time before I can speak again. The guard watches with round eyes, white as a sheet. Terrified.


    ¡°I-I¡¯m sorry¡± he stutters.


    ¡°I¡¯m fine.¡± I swallow hard and stare the guard down. My past is hardly his fault. ¡°But this is my friend. He¡¯s not supposed to be down here and I¡¯m not leaving until I speak with him.¡±


    He seems torn for a moment but then he surrenders, turning his back to wait nervously.


    I look at Thomas. ¡°What are you doing down here? What happened?¡±


    ¡°Are you okay?¡± His brows scrunch up in concern.


    I attempt a smile. ¡°I¡¯m fine. We all have our ghosts. Now tell me what happened.¡±


    As he edges over to me I look him over. No signs of abuse at least but the bags under his eyes and unkempt, ruffled clothes tells me he spent the night down here.


    ¡°Did my brother put you down here?¡± I ask.


    He doesn¡¯t reply but he doesn¡¯t have to.


    ¡°Why? The others, I understand,¡± to an extent. ¡°But you have been nothing but good to me. He should be thanking you, not throwing you in prison.¡±


    ¡°You forget I never reported what happened.¡±


    I glance behind me at the bruised and beaten men. Ivan must have hunted them down yesterday after dinner. But how did he even know about what happened in the first place? I never said a word.


    ¡°I¡¯ll fix this. There must be a mistake.¡±


    Thomas gives me a sad look. ¡°It¡¯s okay, Natasha. I knew what I was getting myself into.¡±


    ¡°No, it¡¯s not. You¡¯re only here because of me. This is wrong and I¡¯m going to fix it.¡±


    The guards seem relieved as I step past them and by the time I make it out of the prison the sun peeks over the horizon, filling the sky with light. Billowing clouds stretch high into the sky. Back in the castle, I stop before Ivan¡¯s room where more guards block the door.


    ¡°I need to speak with my brother.¡±


    They glance at each other before turning unblinking eyes my way, refusing to budge. I feel like I¡¯m talking to robots and my frustration mounts.


    ¡°At least tell him I¡¯m out here.¡±


    ¡°Miss Volkov.¡± A voice says from behind.


    I startle at the sound of my surname and turn to see a dusty-brown-haired man about my age walking up beside me. I recognize him instantly as the man from my first day. He helped me find The Pheasant¡¯s Roost. Now, up close I get a better look at him. He stands just shy of Eli¡¯s height and his copper eyes easily hold my own with austerity. His build matches my brother¡¯s: tall, fit, and carved of bold edges, but he has softer eyes. If he recognizes me, he doesn¡¯t let it show.


    He glances at the guards and they part as one, letting the doors swing wide. My brother stands in front of a giant window, buttoning up his shirt. He turns and his brows raise when his eyes settle on me.


    ¡°Natasha. I didn¡¯t expect you to be up so early.¡±


    ¡°I couldn¡¯t sleep so I went for a walk.¡± I nod at his bruised, swollen knuckles, ¡°You were busy last night.¡±


    Surprise gives way to indifference and he turns his back to me, shrugging on a coat. ¡°They broke our laws.¡±


    ¡°I thought banishment was the punishment for causing a fight, not getting your face bashed in like a rotten tomato.¡±


    ¡°So you do recognize them.¡±


    I bite my tongue with a scowl. His mind is quick like a whip and stings about just as bad.


    ¡°They¡¯re hardly recognizable.¡± I close my eyes. ¡°How did you even know what happened in the first place?¡±


    ¡°I know what it feels like to have your ribs broken. The way you move, the way your breath catches, it gave you away.¡± He fixes his collar and then his sleeves. ¡°So I looked into it and it wasn¡¯t hard to find what happened.¡± A fire burns behind those eyes with his next words. ¡°And who was responsible.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t need you to avenge me, Vanny. I don¡¯t want you to.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not about vengeance.¡±


    ¡°Then what is it about? Because for the life of me, I cannot fathom why Thomas is down there.¡±


    He waves me off, ¡°Thomas will be let out in three days,¡± he says, brushing past as though the conversation had already ended.


    ¡°Three days? He shouldn¡¯t be down there at all. He saved my life and this is how you repay him?¡±


    He pauses at the doorway, addressing the man beside me, ¡°Jaxon. Keep her out of trouble.¡±


    The gall of this man who calls himself my brother. Treating me like a child who needs a babysitter. My hands tighten to fists by my sides. I glance at Jaxon¡ªthe dusty brown-haired man who the guards parted for. So this is the ¡®Captain Jaxon¡¯ everyone keeps mentioning. His eyes flicker down to me before returning to Ivan who¡¯s already walking down the hall.


    ¡°Wait.¡± I chase after Ivan, touching his arm. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± I bite the words out and take a breath. ¡°It¡¯s just, Thomas has been nothing but kind to me since the moment I arrived. I hate to see him down there.¡±


    The tenseness in Ivan¡¯s jaw eases but he keeps his gaze ahead. ¡°I¡¯ll see what I can do about Thomas.¡±


    He pulls away and I watch him leave, swallowing bitter disappointment. Eli would have heard me out. My own brother on the other hand¡­


    ¡°What would you like to do, Miss Volkov?¡±


    The man, Jaxon, asks from my left.


    I glance up to meet copper eyes, ¡°it¡¯s Captain Jaxon, right? You work for my brother?¡±


    He nods.


    ¡°I want you to tell me about him.¡±

 Chapter 18: Trust is Earned

    "How well do you know my brother?" I do little to suppress my clipped tone.


    "I would say, very well. I owe the man my life and he trusts me with his own."


    "Great, so tell me, is this kind of thing normal for Ivan?"


    Jaxon raises a questioning brow so I clarify, "Normal for him to spend nights pummeling people''s faces with his fists and locking up friends."


    "I''m sure he''s doing what he feels is necessary."


    A bootlicker. Great.


    I throw my hand in the air with a scoff, "Necessary for what? To make enemies of friends?"


    "To keep you safe."


    I stop, chewing on his words. I glance back to where Ivan disappeared and let out an irritated breath through my nose as I grit my teeth. It would be nice if he consulted me before deciding my best interests, especially when they involve my friends.


    Jaxon continues. "Like most of us, he lost his entire family long ago. You have given him a second chance. You can bet a man like your brother will not let what is left of his family get stolen a second time."


    I give Jaxon a pointed look. "There is more than one way to lose your family."


    Those twin copper orbs simply return my gaze. I cannot read a thing. Unlike Eli, Jaxon is far from an open book. Every expression is guarded, and every look¡ªmeasured.


    "Do you plan on leaving?" Jaxon poses the question so easily, as though he just inquired as to what I wanted for breakfast. As if we were discussing the change of weather. Like it hardly mattered one way or another.


    That''s when I realize this man is dangerous. Because I know it matters. I know it because as much as I may not know Ivan anymore, this man does, and he just finished explaining how much my presence here matters to Ivan.


    "Leave and go where? This is clearly the only safe place for me, right?" I probably shouldn''t bait this man, but the words come out quick and I find myself biting back sarcasm. I know he catches it despite his lack of reaction, but he stays silent.


    I''m safe with Eli. Free, too.


    The thought sours in my mind and I turn, walking down the hall. Jaxon follows.


    "I suppose there''s no point in telling you to stop following me."


    "Your brother entrusted you into my care."


    That''s a no. Too bad there aren''t any ravines with rope bridges around here. I suppose I''ll need to be a little more creative this time around.


    I decide to pay someone a visit and collect my things from The Pheasant''s Roost. No matter how tempting the thought of slighting Ivan by choosing to stay there instead of his little castle is, I know it would only drive a wedge further between us. And right now I need to salvage what I can of that space.


    Before I even knock on the door of the empty inn, it flies open and Fin gives me a grin wider than the ocean itself.


    "Natasha!" He tackles me with a hug.


    I stumble back. "Hey, kiddo. How are you holding up?"


    "I miss Thomas." His eyes catch on something behind me and brighten. "Jaxon!"


    To my surprise, he runs over and gives Jaxon a similar tackle to the one I received. Jaxon kneels and ruffles Fin''s hair, then does a quick show of hands before pulling a coin from the boy''s ear. He tosses it into the air and it lands in Fin''s open hands. I take note of Jaxon''s smile. It suits him, even if it is the first one I''ve seen all morning.


    "Are you two related?" I ask, perplexed at how easily they get along.


    "No, but we could be!" Fin exclaimed. "When you two get married, you can adopt me."


    I manage to inhale enough spit to leave me choking for a nearly comical amount of time. With my hands planted on my knees, I struggle to clear my lungs, my face growing hot.


    Fin looks hurt. "What? Everyone is talking about it. Jaxon is the Commander''s right-hand man and you''re the Commander''s sister. It only makes sense."


    His right-hand man? I remember Jaxon''s words from earlier about Ivan trusting him with his life and the pieces fall into place. Instead of a babysitting assignment what if Ivan is playing matchmaker?


    When did he get so conniving?


    I turn to Fin, "I can''t imagine something more lovely than having you as a son, but something people don''t understand is that a woman can''t marry someone she doesn''t love. And a prerequisite for love is to first be friends."


    I turn my eyes to Jaxon, who is giving me that maddeningly expressionless look again.


    "You two aren''t friends?" Fin asks.


    "Definitely not." I stand and head to the stables to find my horse.


    Collecting my things proves an easy task since I don''t have much besides clothes, food, and the ammo Eli left me.


    After everything is packed away on my horse I turn to Fin. "Want to have a sleepover? Just until Thomas gets back."


    His eyes grow wide. "At the castle?" He leaps into the air. "Wahoo!"


    I smile, but catch Jaxon''s gaze locked on my saddle. He takes one step and then another, and I see what has him so entranced. One of my bags got tossed open and the small horn Eli gave me sits on display. I walk briskly past him and flip the flap over, buckling it closed, then make a show of checking the others. When I look back, Jaxon frowns at the ground. Unease twists in my middle, but I shove it aside. It is just a horn, isn''t it? I haven''t seen any around but then again, I haven''t looked. Surely it''s not too odd a thing. Besides, it''s not like Eli signed his name on it.


    As we reach the town''s square a huge crowd clogs up the path. While men still stare at me, more seem distracted by something in the center of the square. Curiosity leads me closer, through the crowd, but what I see stops me in my tracks. I watch in horror as a large man wearing a black bag over his head heaves an ax high into the air. It comes crashing down right on the neck of a man with his hands tied behind his back.


    As his head rolls free I reach for Fin, shoving my hand over his eyes. Blood flies everywhere, soaking the wooden deck and dribbling over the edges, seeping into the stone path below. Two more headless bodies beside the fresh one now add to the ghastly scene. I know these men. They are the same from this morning in the prison.


    The men who attacked me. The same ones Ivan beat up. Now they''re dead.


    The shock I feel is not new. I recognize it easily enough from before when Eli killed the chief on the bridge. Only this time, it is not followed by emptiness, but anger. My words mean nothing to Ivan. All it took was one word to stop Eli from taking an unnecessary life but here Ivan takes three at once.


    As I leave, I find Jaxon who, to his credit, looks surprised. I suppose Ivan decided to do this without consulting his right-hand man first. When we make it back to the castle, my horse is taken to the stables and Fin explores the kitchen, stuffing his face with cheese.


    Jaxon sets the last of my bags at the foot of my bed. "Your response is not one I would have expected."


    "Response to what? The beheading? It''s not the first I''ve seen."


    There. Like a lightning strike. If you blinked, you would miss it, but a sliver of surprise crosses his face before it''s buried. At least my life is as much a mystery to him as his life is to me. I raise my chin at the satisfying thought.


    "Of course, I never thought I would see it coming from Ivan."


    Jaxon is silent. I guess he figures defending my brother is a lost cause at this point. Or maybe he thinks I''m the lost cause.


    "If you ever want to talk about what happened before you reached the city..." He takes a step forward but stops when I cut him a frown.


    Sorry Jaxon, I''m not so desperate and broken as to cry on the shoulder of a stranger. Not this time around anyway.


    "I need to speak with my brother."


    He straightens and gives me a slight nod before retreating to find Ivan.


    I sit on the bed, holding the horn Eli gave me in my hands, tracing the shallow, twisting lines carved from the milky-white smooth material. Soft leather straps are embedded along the edge and I rub them between a thumb and forefinger, closing my eyes.


    I see Eli''s smile. Feel the warmth of his embrace. I smell the earth in his clothes and the woods in his hair and feel the strength behind those arms. I never should have left. Two weeks. Just two weeks and I will see him again.The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    A sound by the doorway interrupts my reminiscing. Jaxon clears his throat, hands at his back as he waits. I shove the horn under a pillow and follow as he leads me down the halls to where Ivan stands on a balcony, overlooking the city.


    I walk up beside him, following his gaze to the town square where men are mopping up blood and I kick away the anger that bubbles to the surface of my mind. I cannot afford to let my emotions rule the conversation. Not this time. And so, silence creeps between us, each waiting for the other to break it.


    "Apparently, the city is abuzz with talk of marriage." I sweep my hands along the balcony wall, leaning over it as I toss Ivan a smile. "Never took you for such a yenta."


    His expression lightens. "Is it working?"


    I glance back at Jaxon who stands by the doorway. "Six months ago, it might have."


    The old me would have melted the moment Jaxon looked my way. With those beautiful copper eyes and strong build, despite being a stranger he seems kind enough¡ªnot to mention that Fin adores him.


    "You never said what happened on your journey here," Ivan notes quietly.


    "I didn''t."


    He finally looks at me, but now I avoid his gaze, staring instead at the city before us. I cannot tell him about Eli. Not now. Not after today and especially not when Ivan might be the reason Eli refuses to show his face around here.


    "I want to be here for you, Tasha, if you''ll let me."


    "Trust goes both ways, brother, and after today."¡ªI hug my chest¡ª"it''s in pretty short supply."


    He lets out a harsh exhale and I join his frustration. This is all wrong. I never imagined this is how our reunion would go.


    "Did you know most men who wake from the stone die? The numbers are gruesome. Some say only twenty percent survive past the first month."


    No, but it makes sense. This world is so different from the one we were all born into. The weak would never survive, and the society I came from was not known for its resilience to difficulties, struggle, or pain.


    "Those who remain are survivors. Men who can adapt quickly and do whatever it takes to see the next sunrise. They are strong, smart, and ruthless. This world is not one of family. There are no brothers, sons, or fathers. Only men. Men with nothing left to lose."


    Men with nothing left to lose.


    That''s not true. They do still have one thing left to lose. One thing that matters. Uncle wrote about it. Eli has it.


    Their humanity.


    "Your arrival signaled a significant change, one that if not handled correctly would easily give way to chaos. Today was necessary in order to set boundaries; anything less, and men will make their own. It is as much for your sake as for the city."


    I see it then; past the hard shell sits a genuine heart. There is a softness there even if it is overshadowed by this fearless and calculating lion standing before me.


    Maybe he is right; I may be intimately familiar with surviving out in the woods but what Ivan does is different. I don''t know the first thing about running a city of thousands. Let alone one full of the sort of men who survive where others do not. What looks like overkill to me might be a leash just tight enough to keep the monster from ripping your throat out. But if my being here means more men lose their lives then maybe I don''t belong.


    I could never walk away from Ivan. At least, not forever. He''s my blood¡ªmy family. He''s my humanity. But I need to get away for a little while. I need to know what happened between Eli and Ivan. I would ask Ivan myself if it wasn''t for my guts twisting themselves into knots at the very thought. But I could ask Eli. And maybe together we can figure something out and resolve whatever it is that stands between the two of them.


    "What if I told you that you don''t have to worry about me?" I say quietly.


    "I will always worry for you, Tasha. You''re my sister."


    "No, what I mean is"¡ªI turn my back to the city, leaning against the balcony wall¡ª"I might not always be here, behind these city walls. Do you trust me enough to believe I know what I''m doing?"


    He raises a skeptical brow, "you can''t possibly plan on leaving. I have been all over the eastern side of this continent; there is no settlement as large or safe as this one."


    "I don''t doubt that. But my question¡ª"


    "It''s too dangerous."


    His interruption stops me short. I note his tense jaw and the fierceness in his eyes.


    "If you want to travel somewhere, Jaxon will accompany you with some of my men. Wherever you want to go. However long you want to be gone."


    And there it is. The leash. One born of fear and mistrust. And pain. I simply stare at the man before me, speechless. Even if I expected as much, I hoped for more. If he can''t trust me now, how much less so will he trust Eli who is at best a stranger and at worst an old enemy? Eli must remain a secret.


    I turn my gaze back to the city. What can I say to that? Arguing would only harden him further and feed mistrust.


    "Jaxon knows you well," I say softly.


    Ivan bends against the balcony wall, squeezing his fists, the muscles in his arms flexing with effort as he struggles with something. His face¡ªpainted in pain.


    "I know this is not what you wanted." He turns mournful eyes my way, "but would you really leave me again?"


    Four years before the world turned to stone, I left to go to college across the country. I remember Ivan''s crocodile tears, his pleading for me to stay. The way he clung to me like the whole world was crumbling beneath him. I had never seen him so desperate and it ripped my heart out. But what could I do? Life moves forward whether you''re ready for it or not.


    He looks at me with those same eyes now. I feel a lump in my throat and try to swallow, but it only grows larger.


    "I''ll always be your sister, Vanny." I reach for him and he welcomes the embrace. "I don''t care how much older you are now, you''ll always be my little brother."


    His arms wrap around me and I sense a desperation I never noticed before. Or maybe it wasn''t there before. The most dangerous animals are vulnerable and desperate. I don''t think Ivan has any vulnerabilities. No, that''s wrong. He didn''t have any, but then I walked through his city gates.


    I need a way out of the city without Ivan knowing. I cannot risk him learning about Eli, not until I have answers. And if I can get to Eli I''m sure we can figure something out. A way to keep these two opposing worlds from clashing while allowing me to exist in both.


    ~~~


    Later that day I decided to visit Thomas. With Fin on one hand, a basket in the other, and my eternal, copper-eyed shadow following behind, the prison guards have no qualms with me this time around.


    As we reach Thomas''s cell in the back my mouth drops open. His cell now holds several furnishings including a bed, nightstand, oversized leather chair, and a small table beside it. Thomas looks up from beneath a pair of reading glasses, setting aside a book titled The Problem of Pain.


    "What''s all this?" I laugh as the guard opens the cell and Fin runs inside to greet Thomas.


    I step inside, shaking my head at a small painting hanging over the head of the bed.


    "I didn''t know you could get all this stuff in jail," Fin says, flipping the cover of the book open and closed as he walks around.


    "You can if you have the right connections," Thomas says with a sly look my way.


    I smile back. Ivan surprised me. In a good way this time.


    "I brought gifts to cheer you up," I declare, lifting the basket up. "But it looks like you don''t need them."


    "Oh?" He takes the basket and lifts the lid, peeking inside and pulling out a wheel of cheese and then a book.


    "I raided the royal kitchens. And then the library."


    He laughs with timber so deep it fills the small space with warmth. "Remind me to break the rules for you more often."


    His gaze shifts to my left. "Hey, Jaxon. How''s training the new recruits going?"


    Jaxon leans against the bars of the doorway, arms crossed over his chest in a relaxed fashion.


    He smiles at Thomas, "beginning to learn the meaning of the phrase Hell on Earth."


    As the two talk, the ever-elusive ''Jaxon smile'' makes more appearances. I feel less surprised this time around; it seems to come out for everyone but me. Not that I care. But I should find a way to make the man trust me. Or at the very least, like me. It could be the key to sneaking out of the city.


    "I would like to talk to Thomas alone," I say, directing my gaze at Jaxon.


    He gives me a veiled look of indifference, but it drags out long enough that I begin to wonder if rather than indifference, it is suspicion with which he regards me. I open my mouth to repeat my request, but he straightens, calling Fin over with promises of magic tricks.


    As they walk around the corner, I sit on the bed with Thomas and heave a wearied sigh.


    "Boy problems?"


    I groan. "Not you too."


    The corner of his lip tugs up in a knowing smile. "You could do a lot worse than Jaxon. That is unless your heart is already hooked on someone else''s line."


    My mouth falls open and I snap it shut, but the heat rushing to my cheeks betray me. I cover my face with a hand and turn away, clearing my suddenly dry throat as discreetly as possible.


    Thomas'' almost impish grin fades into something somber and his voice lowers to a hushed whisper. "If it is who I think, you need to be careful."


    My hand trails to my neck and I turn to see pity etched across his face.


    "You mean Eli? But you know him, you even trade with him."


    "I knew E, a man who wore a mask for reasons of his own. I traded with a man who I thought, like countless others, was simply banned from this city for causing trouble. But when you kept repeating the name Eli in your sleep after that night by the stables, I pieced it together." He stands and scans the hall, eyes wavering momentarily before whispering. "There are stories of Eli¡ªhistory between him and your brother."


    I knew it.


    "What kind of stories?"


    His expression twists in reluctance. "How well do you know Eli?"


    "I trust him completely."


    Three breaths pass between us as he studies me, testing my conviction. I meet his gaze evenly and he lets out a heavy sigh.


    "If I had known E was the same man as Eli the Red King, I would never have involved myself with him."


    "The Red King?" I echo the unsettling name.


    "If there were history books for this dead world, his story would be one for the centuries. It''s not the story of a man, but a monster."


    I feel my insides twist, not from Thomas'' words about Eli, but from what they mean. How can I hope to reconcile Ivan and Eli if what Thomas says is true? I always knew Eli''s past was dark, ever since the very beginning, I knew. But he''s changed. And I must find a way to make Ivan look past that history to see the man Eli is now.


    Fin''s voice reverberates down the stone hallway announcing Jaxon''s return. "Thomas," I whisper harshly, "I need a way out of the city. Discreetly. Within two weeks."


    He gives me a rather long, miserable look but it slowly morphs into a sad smile of defeat. Then a single nod.


    "What I wouldn''t give to be young and in love. I may have a way."


    What I did to deserve a friend like Thomas, I will never know. Jaxon seems oblivious to our scheming, but of course, the man is so unreadable that if he did suspect something I doubt I would detect it.


    On our way back to the castle, I notice Jaxon''s steady gaze upon me.


    "You''re feeding the rumors, you know that, right?"


    "I was just thinking. Ivan used to spend hours talking about you."


    "So you''re finding out the real thing doesn''t hold up to a memory?"


    "Quite the opposite, actually."


    I hate this man. I hate how such simple words make my cheeks flush against my will. Hate how he can say them without batting an eye. And hate that he says them.


    "He loved to tell this story of you two as kids. A bully at school threw his backpack into the river and he lost everything. The next day you hunted the bully down and threw him into the river."


    I smile, recalling the event from years ago.


    Jaxon continues. "He said that the backpack had the last gift from your parents before they died."


    A glass marble. Not just any glass marble either. Custom-made and smaller than a baseball, the splendid glasswork was such that when you looked at it, an optical illusion made it appear as though you peered into a depth far beyond that of a simple marble. Ivan always loved that sort of thing. Magic tricks and illusions would fascinate him for hours.


    We reach my room and I stand inside the doorway. "He came home in tears and when I found out what happened I figured it was only fair the kid responsible go for a swim to find it."


    Jaxon snickers. "In the middle of a New Hampshire winter?"


    I shrug, "I was a spitfire back in the day."


    "Back in the day?"


    I roll my eyes, "I''m hardly throwing people into rivers or handing out black eyes nowadays."


    Jaxon hums in agreement. "No, of course not. Now you''re much more dangerous."


    I cut him a withering glare which elicits a smile from the man. My first.


    "Goodnight, Jaxon."


    "Goodnight, Miss Volkov."


    I shut the door and slowly drag my hand up the wooden frame, my fingers curling into a fist as my forehead rests against them.


    My brother''s right-hand man, his most trusted friend, sees me as dangerous. I need to change it up and lower his guard somehow. Because I still need a way to lose him before I can make it out of the city and meet up with Eli.

 Chapter 19: Stone Hearts

    I lean against the solid oak beam, arms crossed as I stare out over a sea of statues. Jaxon stands off to the side, talking to yet another of his many friends. Whenever we walk around town he¡¯s greeted left and right. Hello, Jaxon! Good morning, Jaxon. You coming by later, Jaxon? Everyone knows him. And everyone loves him, irritatingly so.


    I return my gaze to the statues before me. They are mothers, sons, daughters, fiancee¡¯s, and everything in between. Kept safe in hopes they might wake up one day. Flowers and trinkets lay on or around some, reminding me of Eli¡¯s sister¡¯s memorial. A simple pavilion structure stretches out for half a football field, keeping the elements off the statues but the space is crowded. The courtyard overflows into the open grass all around, statues clustered under large oak trees with leaves awash in orange and red.


    Many belong to men who died years ago. Jaxon says anyone can pay a small yearly fee to keep their statue safe here in New Haven. Even lawbreakers banned from the city can pay to store a statue here but payments usually stop after a year or two. Probably because they either die or just stop caring. But rather than remove the statues to make room, Ivan insists on keeping them safe, and so the pavilion grows with every passing year.


    ¡°Quite a sight, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    I grin at the voice coming from behind, turning to see Thomas.


    ¡°You¡¯re quite the sight for sore eyes.¡± My grin fades, ¡°I¡¯m sorry I couldn¡¯t get you out any sooner.¡±


    Thomas shrugs, ¡°don¡¯t be. I needed the vacation. Besides,¡± he pats a bag at his waist, ¡°I got to borrow a few treasures for my trouble.¡±


    Thomas and his books. I shake my head, glad for the ease between us and turn back to the statues, ¡°I¡¯ve never seen so many in one place before. Are any yours?¡±


    ¡°No, my wife and little boy¡¯s statues were destroyed by the time I woke up. I looked, but never found my brother¡¯s statue so I¡¯m guessing he woke up a while back. Hoping, anyways.¡±


    My jaw goes slack in shock.


    His wife and child. He lost a wife and child.


    And you¡¯d never know. He goes on as if it never happened. I would be devastated. Losing Uncle was bad enough; if I had started a family of my own and woken up to find them dead¡­


    ¡°I¡¯m so sorry.¡±


    ¡°It was a long time ago. My story isn¡¯t anything special.¡± He offers me a smile, ¡°Besides, Fin and I get along just fine.¡±


    ¡°Fin¡¯s lucky to have you,¡± I say quietly.


    ¡°Your brother¡¯s lucky to have you.¡±


    I hug my middle and silence settles in. Some part of me feels guilty for secretly planning to leave Ivan. I¡¯m not sure why, it¡¯s not like I¡¯m leaving forever. I just need a chance to figure things out with Eli without Ivan getting in the way.


    ¡°He¡¯s a good man, you know¡ªyour brother.¡±


    I say nothing.


    ¡°Not many could do what he¡¯s done. He made New Haven what it is today. The men here respect him, they trust him.¡±


    ¡°Too bad he can¡¯t trust me.¡±


    ¡°Give it time. You two will get there, eventually.¡±


    I heave a tired sigh and give Thomas a critical look before glancing around and lowering my voice. ¡°What was that history you mentioned before? Between my brother and Eli?¡±


    Thomas averts his eyes, frowning as he hooks his thumbs into his pockets and shifts his weight. ¡°Not sure I¡¯m the one who should be telling you that. It¡¯d be best if you heard it from Ivan. Besides, it was before my time; your brother on the other hand¡ªhe lived through it.¡±


    ¡°Please, Thomas. I can¡¯t ask Ivan. If he learns I traveled here with Eli, I don¡¯t know what he¡¯ll do. I¡¯m scared I¡¯ll never see Eli again.¡±


    He glances over and I catch his gaze with my own. Just when I feel his resistance crumbling the clip-clop of horse hooves and the creaking of a cart comes from behind.


    Ivan approaches on horseback, leading a cart with a stone statue cushioned between thick blankets in the back. Jaxon walks over to help two guards unload it. As I step aside, I catch Thomas sneaking away out of the corner of my eye. Frustration makes me sigh. I¡¯ll need to bother him later and hope he caves.


    I walk up to Ivan and gesture to the stone sea. ¡°Quite a collection you have going on here. Borderline hoarding.¡±


    Ivan raises a brow. ¡°Is that right?¡±


    ¡°Afraid so. I spoke with Jaxon and he agreed. This is an intervention.¡±


    Jaxon looks over at the mention of his name and a grin breaks Ivan¡¯s serious face. I knew he would enjoy me dragging Jaxon into our conversation.


    ¡°You two been talking behind my back then? Should I be worried?¡±


    ¡°Oh definitely. You would never believe the things he says about you. It¡¯s embarrassing.¡±


    Jaxon looks unamused, but Ivan laughs.


    ¡°Is she right, Jaxon? Have you turned into an insufferable gossip?¡±


    Jaxon rolls his eyes as he steps past us. ¡°Things were challenging enough with just one Volkov. I¡¯m not sure this city can survive two of you.¡±


    ¡°This city? Or yourself?¡± I toss back.


    ¡°I¡¯m pretty sure I¡¯m already dead and this is purgatory,¡± His tone is flat but he flashes me playful eyes as he mounts the horse Ivan rode in with. Then he turns the cart and starts back in the direction Ivan came from.


    I scoff, shaking my head at his retreating form. When I look back, Ivan is smiling at me.


    I narrow my eyes at him, ¡°I don¡¯t like that look.¡±


    ¡°What look?¡±


    ¡°That one. It¡¯s hopeful. I¡¯m telling you, it¡¯s never going to happen.¡±


    Jaxon and I will never be a thing. I wish I could tell Ivan why that is, but I can¡¯t. At least not yet.


    ¡°Hm.¡± He crosses his arms over his chest and looks out over the statues. ¡°You¡¯ll have to forgive a brother for dreaming.¡±


    I suppress an annoyed sigh. He¡¯s like a dog with a bone. So I let him have it and instead, follow his gaze.


    ¡°Reminds me of a magic trick. An enormous, gruesome magic trick.¡±


    He grunts agreement. ¡°Makes you wonder who the magician is.¡±


    ¡°You really think someone did this? Turned us all to stone?¡±


    He shrugs. ¡°Maybe. I don¡¯t see how it could be a natural thing. Whoever it is, they must hate humanity.¡±


    ¡°But what if it is a natural thing? Isn¡¯t petrification the process of turning to stone? It happens in nature under special condtions; this time it just happened much faster.¡±


    He¡¯s quiet. I always tried not to focus too much on theories. It hardly does any good and back when I struggled to just fill my belly I didn¡¯t have the luxury of speculation. No one knows what happened and it seems it will stay that way.


    I nod at the new addition Ivan brought in. ¡°Who¡¯s this one belong to?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t know. It showed up overnight.¡±


    ¡°Outside the gates?¡±


    He nods.


    I walk over to the statue and peer at it. A woman in her thirties standing as she looks downward, reaching out to touch something no longer there. I wonder what it was.


    ¡°Does that happen often? A statue just showing up out of the blue?¡± I ask.


    ¡°A couple times a month.¡±


    ¡°And you still take them in?¡±


    ¡°If I don¡¯t then they¡¯ll not last out there unprotected. At least here they have a shot at making it.¡±


    I look out over the sea of stone, ¡°you protect them. Even though they might never wake up.¡±


    Ivan follows alongside me as we walk the perimeter. ¡°It¡¯s worth it. Besides, it doesn¡¯t cost me anything.¡±


    Nothing but space they take up. Which is a lot. But he knows that. I stop and stare at Ivan and something warms inside my chest. He¡¯s a good man. That caring heart of the kid I knew still beats strongly.


    ¡°You don¡¯t know what kind of a person they were before the stone,¡± I say.


    Ivan stops and looks over.


    ¡°They could have been a criminal. A murderer even.¡±


    Ivan frowns, ¡°I suppose.¡±


    ¡°So in a way you¡¯re giving them a second chance.¡±


    Ivan is silent.


    ¡°What about people who are already awake? Do you believe they deserve a second chance too?¡±This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    Ivan¡¯s face hardens and he looks away. ¡°If this is about the people I¡¯ve banished from the city, they¡¯ve already had their second chance. You said it yourself: the stone gives you a chance at living life differently. They wasted theirs.¡±


    ¡°But people can change. I¡¯ve changed. You¡¯ve changed.¡±


    ¡°They made choices and now suffer the consequences. There are always consequences for the choices we make, regardless of how we may change down the line.¡±


    ¡°But if they¡¯re¡ª¡±


    ¡°Why the sudden interest?¡±


    His tone is cold and impatient. For a moment, our eyes meet and the world seems to pause. I open my mouth. I want to tell him. But I stop, something holds me back, and I can¡¯t get the words out. Maybe it¡¯s fear. Maybe intuition.


    So instead, I step down a row of statues. ¡°What if...hypothetically, I broke the rules and got kicked out of New Haven.¡±


    ¡°Hypothetically¡­¡± he repeats impassively as he follows, ¡°you¡¯re still my sister. So no matter what you do, I¡¯m not going to ¡®kick you out¡¯ of my city.¡±


    ¡°What if I hurt someone?¡±


    ¡°Then I¡¯m sure he had it coming.¡±


    I cross my arms ¡°What if I killed someone?¡±


    He belts out a laugh then turns annoyed eyes my way. ¡°Who are you going to kill, Tasha? Hm? Tell me. Hypothetically.¡±


    I sigh in exasperation. ¡°That¡¯s not the point.¡±


    ¡°Then what is the point?¡±


    ¡°The point is, you would show me favor even if I don¡¯t deserve it, right? Can¡¯t you show favor to people who do deserve it. People who would be a benefit to this city if you gave them clemency?¡±


    Silence stretches on and the passing moments cultivates unease inside my chest. Ivan doesn¡¯t say a word. He doesn¡¯t even blink, just frowns into the distance. A weak breeze prickles gooseflesh across my skin.


    ¡°You speak as if you have someone in mind,¡± he finally says.


    I want to deny it, but I can¡¯t, which only confirms his suspicions. But I won¡¯t go so far as to mention Eli by name. As it stands, Ivan banished a plethora of people; for all he knows, it could be anyone.


    ¡°There are two types of people out there, Tasha. Men who are capable of living in a civilized manner and those who aren¡¯t. Our laws weed out the ones who can¡¯t. If we let them back in, then all chaos will break loose.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to let everyone in. All I¡¯m suggesting is you give the ones who deserve it a chance to prove themselves.¡±


    Ivan turns to me, eyes drilling deep, and suddenly I find myself regretting this entire conversation. My heart pounds in my chest. It feels as if he might reach into my mind and pluck out whatever he wants.


    ¡°Tell me who it is. Who do you want me to grant clemency to?¡±


    I open my mouth but hesitate. My heart clamps tight around this secret; refusing to loosen just an inch.


    ¡°How many people have you banished?¡± I ask, turning my back to him and letting out a pent up breath as I wind through stone people towards a willow tree.


    He follows. ¡°Many.¡±


    ¡°Do you know them all by name?¡±


    ¡°I have their names and faces recorded.¡±


    ¡°Can I see?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s public record. Ask Jaxon and he¡¯ll take you.¡±


    Discomfort twists deep in my gut. I don¡¯t want to see a list of all Ivan¡¯s enemies. Men who probably want him dead. But mostly I don¡¯t want to see the one face I know is there. Eli doesn¡¯t want Ivan dead, although I cannot say the reverse isn¡¯t true. Still, I should at least act as if I need confirmation that the secret man I¡¯m hiding from Ivan is there.


    I reach the tree and lean back. A stone man to my left and a stone child to my right. The rough bark presses into my spine, but a bright blue sky backdrops rustling leaves overhead. A chilly breeze offsets warm sun.


    ¡°How often do people from this courtyard wake up?¡±


    ¡°Not often. Only one man in all the time I¡¯ve been here.¡± His tone is calm. Easy. If Ivan is impatient with me, he hides it well.


    ¡°And how long is that?¡±


    ¡°Since I woke from the stone, over fifteen years ago. Although the¡­¡± He pauses and shoots me an amused look. ¡°Collection was far smaller back then.¡±


    ¡°Tell you what.¡± I smirk. ¡°When the next person wakes from here, I¡¯ll tell you who it is.¡±


    He sets his hands on his hips and looks around, intently. Surveying the area for something in particular. After a few long moments, I push away from the tree to join him.


    ¡°What are you looking for?¡±


    ¡°I''m trying to decide on the best place for an expansion. I¡¯m thinking the East side would give the most space. I know a few old cities packed with statues and I bet I can get the space filled in a month.¡±


    My lips part with incredulity, but I can¡¯t keep the corners of my lips from tugging up in a smile. ¡°Really, Ivan? You¡¯re so desperate for a name?¡±


    He shrugs. ¡°Don¡¯t ask me, I¡¯m more surprised than you. I thought this was an intervention but it seems to be the opposite.¡±


    I shake my head as Jaxon approaches in the distance.


    ¡°I¡¯m pretty sure you could fill this whole city and still not get what you want.¡±


    Ivan grins. ¡°I¡¯ll take that bet.¡±


    ~~~


    I stand on the far end of the training grounds where the shooting range lies. They make their own bullets here in the city and Ivan funds and stockpiles rooms full of them.


    The rifle punches the crook of my shoulder as bullets enter a target ten yards away, one after another. No matter what I say Ivan is resolute in his stance to keep me here. Bang! Thomas got released almost two weeks ago. Bang! I spoke with him repeatedly about sneaking out of the city. Bang! He has a way¡ªthree more days and I can see Eli. Bang!


    Even from this distance, I can tell the bullets spray everywhere on the target. Thomas tells me I need to talk to Ivan or Eli for details of the history between the two of them. Says he would rather not spread rumors. I think he just doesn¡¯t want to be the one to break the bad news. I don¡¯t keep pressing him because part of me would rather hear it from Eli¡ªif he will tell me, that is. I could ask Ivan but the moment never feels right. Or maybe I¡¯m scared of what he¡¯ll do.


    I raise my earmuffs and hear the boom of a gun nearby. Ivan stands down the firing line, shooting at a target over three times the distance of mine. I sling my practice rifle over my shoulder and mosey on over. He empties his round and lowers the weapon.


    ¡°Fancy meeting you here. Don¡¯t you have kingly duties to attend to or something?¡± I lean on the table before us.


    ¡°Can¡¯t a king play hooky every now and then?¡±


    ¡°Oh, the perks of being a monarch.¡±


    He chuckles, eye catching on my target. ¡°How did you do?¡± He starts toward it before I can stop him.


    I cringe internally, but shake off my pride and follow. Once there, we stop and stare for a moment. Honestly, I would have done better with a blindfold. Or at least blindfolded with my bow.


    ¡°Well, I guess you didn¡¯t use a gun to get you here.¡±


    Shock drops my mouth and I smack his chest, a smile curling at the corners of my lips. ¡°For your information, I discovered other, more reliable ways of defending myself.¡±


    He raises his brows with a side-dip of his head. ¡°Well, that¡¯s a relief. Because with shooting like that, I think you¡¯d be better off throwing the gun at the attacker instead.¡±


    Something between a gasp and a scoff escapes my lips. He grins like a little imp, eyes alight with mischief. The nerve of this man. I attack, reaching for his ear, about to give it a good yank but he ducks away. So I try for the other ear but he is far too quick, too tall, and too wise to my ways. I narrow my eyes.


    ¡°I miss the days when you barely reached my chin,¡± I say in defeat.


    He only laughs in reply and like a salve, it soothes away the rough edges between us.


    I cross my arms. ¡°Care to examine your handiwork?¡±


    With a dramatic bow, he motions for me to go ahead. I use the opportunity to snag his ear and give it a generous yank, then high tail it out of there before vengeance could be wrought. The walk to his target feels short despite being three times the distance out from mine. Like before, we stop to scrutinize it.


    I bend down to see the backstop through the perfect hole in the center. The shots hug each as if he used one very large, shapely bullet.


    ¡°Careful you don¡¯t swallow a fly.¡±


    I snap my mouth shut and roll my eyes. ¡°Vanny, this is good. Really good.¡±


    He shrugs.


    ¡°I mean it. Where¡¯d you learn to shoot like this? When Uncle took us shooting you couldn¡¯t even bear to hold a gun, let alone shoot it.¡±


    ¡°From a man named Henry Miles.¡±


    I turn to Ivan and like a sheet of ice-cold rain all lightheartedness vanishes, washed away by that one name. Whoever this man was, he meant a lot. Ivan¡¯s sober eyes brim with the remains of emotion long dead, their bones dry and brittle. Cold and indifferent. But behind them, somewhere deep down, settled in the cracks, I glimpse flame.


    Ivan continues, quieter. ¡°Henry taught me to shoot. And fight too. He found me when I woke from the stone and took me in. He¡¯s the reason I am who I am.¡±


    ¡°He sounds like a good man.¡±


    Ivan nods, his throat bobbing in a swallow. ¡°He was family.¡±


    I touch his forearm tentatively. ¡°Where is he now?¡±


    His eyes harden¡ªa glimpse of fire¡ªbut his voice is gentle, ¡°come with me.¡±


    We walk out of the training grounds and down a side street outside the castle grounds into an open space where the cobblestone path turns to brick circling around and around. In the center stands two enormous walls of black granite. As we approach I see rows of neatly carved names in the dark, flat stone. Hundreds¡ªno, thousands of names.


    We both stare in silence. It is a memorial and the very first name on the list is Henry Miles.


    Dead. That¡¯s where he is now. He¡¯s dead.


    ¡°This city used to be called Haven Day. Henry and a handful of other men turned the small town into a thriving city. A shelter. A sanctuary. A haven from the world¡¯s evils.¡±


    The way Ivan says evils prickles the hairs on the back of my neck.


    ¡°He died fighting alongside so many others, defending this city.¡±


    My heart falters with dread as suspicions rise. I want to clamp my hands over my ears and run far away but my feet are rooted to the ground, forcing my attention. It feels like reaching into a deep, dark hole with no idea what crouches on the other side.


    ¡°What happened?¡±


    ¡°A snake happened. The Red King killed Henry and all the others. That day, these streets ran red with the blood of hundreds of good men.¡±


    Teeth sink in deep and no amount of yanking will free my hand from this hole now. Did Eli do this? Did he really kill so many? But somehow, what disturbs me more is the man standing beside me. I can now see clearly what hid behind those eyes of cold indifference. Fury. A dragon breathing fire, gnashing jaws of death, thirsting for blood. An animosity so terrifying my body takes a step back before I realize I moved at all.


    Is all this really just a thirst for vengeance? This fire raging so hot, I feel it burning¡ªconsuming everything in its path. Is this truly the pain of someone long lost? Taken wrongfully but taken years ago. Or is it something else? Something more?


    Ivan turns to me and I resist the urge to step back again.


    ¡°What happened on your way here, Tasha?¡±


    My heart races against my anxious mind but I meet him with a level gaze. ¡°I¡¯m not ready to say.¡±


    His eyes harden. ¡°At least tell me who you traveled with.¡±


    Now more than ever I know Eli must remain a secret. Ivan would kill him without a second thought. The bloodlust is there. More than there. It flourishes, watered over the years.


    ¡°No.¡±


    Ivan stiffens as an eerie kind of stillness comes over him. His unflinching gaze pierces through every defense, leaving me cornered. For a moment it seems he knows and I cannot breathe. Will that dragon he harbors inside rear its dreadful head my way? But his eyes waver. Then fall away. My arms wrap around my middle in an attempt to persuade my soul to return to earth.


    After some time I speak, softly, delicately, as a sister to her lost little brother in deep pain. ¡°I know it is hard. But you cannot force a person to share a part of themselves with you; you must wait until they are ready.¡±


    Just trust me, Ivan. I will find a way to show you Eli is not a threat. Eli is not the same man who put these names on this wall. Ivan just needs to see that.


    ¡°I¡¯m worried for you,¡± Ivan murmurs.


    ¡°You don¡¯t need to be. I made it here, didn¡¯t I?¡±


    A lost, little boy stands where the raging dragon paced moments ago. But my words do nothing to comfort him. I see that sea of darkness. He is drowning. Has been for years now. I reach down into the dark waters and slip my arm around his back in a side hug. We stare at the names before us in reverent silence, and slowly, his arm reaches around my shoulders too.

 Chapter 20: Mistakes Were Made

    ¡°Your enemy will not hesitate, so you must not either. Anticipate their moves and you cannot lose.¡±


    Jaxon marches around, hands clasped behind his back, as a dozen teenagers, pair off in sets of two, practice with blunted blades. Their movements are clumsy and ragged. Exhausted. The training grounds are adjacent to the castle and I get a clear view from my window. So this morning when I noticed Jaxon commanding a troop of sixteen-year-olds, I came down from my room to investigate.


    I watch in mild interest as he barks out corrections to form or effort while I nurse my small mug of coffee. I found the hidden stash this morning and nearly giggled with glee. My caffeine addiction was second to none before this world forced me to go cold turkey. Something about it calms me. And after last night, I need it.


    My racing mind stole my sleep. I¡¯m running out of time to meet up with Eli. What if things go wrong and Thomas can¡¯t get me out in time? Will Eli leave, thinking I chose to live in the city with my brother rather than return to him?


    I jump as a hand appears on my shoulder but a familiar blond beard calms my tense nerves.


    ¡°He usually gets them started before sunrise,¡± Ivan says.


    ¡°Explains why they look like half-dead, abused puppies.¡±


    That earns a laugh. I smile in turn.


    ¡°Well then, let¡¯s give them a break.¡±


    Ivan picks a sword from the lineup of blunted steel, weighing it in his hand for a moment before approaching the group. The kids stop, the tips of their blades dipping into the grassy earth as they stare at my brother.


    Jaxon¡¯s lip quirks in a smile as he meets Ivan in the middle of the group. The boys form a ring around the two older men like ants around a drop of sugar water.


    Ivan drives his sword into the ground and removes his shirt. Several moments pass as Ivan says something and Jaxon¡¯s gaze flickers to me and then back to Ivan. I narrow my eyes at my brother¡¯s back and whatever that devious imp is saying. Eventually, Jaxon rips off his shirt and I duck my gaze away, shaking my head slightly and suppressing a smirk as I sip my bitter coffee. My brother is anything but subtle.


    The two men are something else. If it weren¡¯t for Eli¡¯s lessons, I would be entirely impressed¡ªand lost¡ªas they move this way and that, ducking and swinging. They work up a sweat going at each other, fighting similar to how Eli showed me most men fight, at least the ones who know what they¡¯re doing. I can see why Eli created the technique he did. It takes advantage of common moves and interrupts the rhythm, taking control of the fight in a way that would leave your opponent dazed and confused. And then dead.


    I set my coffee aside and walk up as they finish.


    ¡°Impressive. I only counted two mistakes for you Vanny, and one for Jaxon.¡±


    Ivan¡¯s brows leap up as he pants, arms stretched out as he leans on his sword, ¡°What¡¯s this? When did my sister become an expert in swordsmanship?¡±


    ¡°Guess there¡¯s still a lot you don¡¯t know about me,¡± I tease behind a smirk.


    ¡°She is right, you know.¡± Jaxon nods at Ivan. ¡°You could have gotten me at the start had you been a little quicker.¡±


    ¡°Is it all talk? Or can you swing a sword, sister?¡± Ivan¡¯s eyes spark mischievously. ¡°Here, spar with Jaxon.¡±


    I open my mouth to refuse, but his sword is already flying through the air at me. I catch it easily enough and marvel at the feel of a blade in my hands again. It¡¯s bigger than I¡¯m used to but still, the muscles in my arm, shoulder, and back flex in a familiar grip.


    It dips in my hand. ¡°I really can¡¯t. I just picked up a few things; I¡¯m nothing near your level.¡±


    ¡°Nonsense. No one expects you to beat Jaxon.¡±


    ¡°How about a handicap? I¡¯ll keep one hand behind me and cannot move from this spot,¡± Jaxon offers and I cut him a sour look, surprised he¡¯s going along with this. Surely he sees what Ivan is up to.


    I glance around, looking for something¡ªsomeone to rescue me. But all I find are curious, eager eyes from the boys surrounding us and Ivan¡¯s irksome dare of a smile.


    I curse my big mouth and finally relent. ¡°Give me your dagger and you can keep your handicap.¡±


    A delighted laugh escapes Ivan¡¯s lips. ¡°That¡¯s the sister I know.¡±


    Jaxon¡¯s eyes widen a hair and he offers me the dagger on his waist. I take it, getting a feel of the two weapons in my hands. Wow. This dagger is nice.


    ¡°Look out Jaxon, I think my sister¡¯s considering stealing your blade.¡±


    I roll my eyes. ¡°I¡¯m sure I don¡¯t need to. I can just steal yours, brother.¡± I eye the matching blade at his hip.


    ¡°Might be easier that way considering Jaxon never takes his off.¡±


    My eyes go round in mock surprise, ¡°Not even to bed? Jaxon, isn¡¯t that a bit¡­uncomfortable?¡±


    Jaxon heaves a sigh, suppressing an eye roll powerful enough to alter the Earth¡¯s rotation. ¡°I am quite used to uncomfortable things, Miss Volkov.¡±


    ¡°Hm.¡± I turn suspicious eyes toward Ivan. Kind of like this sparring match. ¡°I wonder why.¡±


    Ivan¡¯s Cheshire grin holds more excitement than I think is normal for any human. This man really needs more drama in his life if scheming to marry me off brings him this much delight.


    I stop before Jaxon and take in my opponent. His stance. The way he holds his sword. The easy look with which he regards me. I have the advantage of knowing how he moves which is half the battle according to Eli.


    You must know what they will do before they know themselves.


    Eli¡¯s words ring in my mind and I take a calming breath, turn my body, and level the sword. Jaxon¡¯s chest rises and falls after his little showoff with Ivan and I plan to take full advantage of the man¡¯s exhaustion.


    We circle for a while, each testing the waters. His movements are quick and I sense him measuring my skill level. His size, strength, and experience put me at a disadvantage but I have a secret. Eli. My teacher is better. He¡¯s the best. And he taught me how to win when I am outmatched. A fencer¡¯s strength is their ability to control distance¡ªa samurai¡¯s is movement. Eli¡¯s technique uses both and a dozen others, all while evading the opponent¡¯s strike, slash, and stab with beauty and grace.


    Notice the feet. The shift of weight will tell you their intent.


    My attacks can¡¯t compare with Jaxon¡¯s powerful swings but they don¡¯t need to. He¡¯s tired and if there¡¯s one thing I can do, it¡¯s evade. I graduated top of my class in the dodge, duck, sidestep, and roll¡ªnevermind it was a class of one. I often wondered how much Eli held back in our training and here, with Jaxon, my excitement steadily grows alongside my heart rate.


    Jaxon stops after an embarrassing number of failed attempts to at least touch swords with me. A huff of frustration as sweat trickles down his forehead. I bite my lip to keep a grin inside.


    ¡°Maybe I should stand back here and catch my breath. Unless you want to try for the offensive?¡± Jaxon baits.


    Until now I¡¯ve played off my strengths and his exhaustion¡ªhis willingness to attack¡ªmaking myself look better than I am. In a fairer fight, he would mop the floor with me. But even still, the silence around us gratifies something deep in my soul. I can only imagine my brother¡¯s look of astonishment somewhere at my back. Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.


    I implement the technique Eli showed me a million times, attacking with my sword and lunging with the dagger with the intent to draw Jaxon¡¯s defenses out. And it works. I get in close enough to worry him and nearly get clipped in the process. But when I step back, he follows. He strikes. I block the blow with my sword then duck and roll, sliding up beside him. Before he can blink my dagger is pressed against his side.


    I won.


    I wheeze a victorious laugh and straighten, taking a wobbly step back. With satisfaction swelling in my chest, I drink in Jaxon¡¯s look of utter shock. This feeling of pleasure must be the kind of thing addicts destroy their lives over. It¡¯s marvelous.


    I turn to Ivan and my pride fizzles out like a candle¡¯s flame at the end of its wick. He stands, pale-faced and fragile, like the slightest breeze might topple him. As if he¡¯s staring at a ghost.


    ¡°Vanny?¡±


    I blink and it¡¯s gone. But his chest rises and falls too quickly. The tenseness in his jaw draws me forward, but his words hold me back.


    ¡°Who taught you to fight that way?¡±


    I made a horrible mistake. I see it now. Now¡ªwhen it¡¯s too late. The question is not a question, but a realization spoken aloud. He knows.


    Sudden regret swings for my stomach like a bat. My fingertips turn to ice as my breaths turn faint. I never should have agreed to this. Or at the very least I should have kept Eli¡¯s lessons to myself. Instead, I put it all on display. Flaunted it. Might as well have shouted his name from the rooftops.


    My silence must speak volumes because Ivan spins on his heels leaving me dumbstruck and stunned. Cracks of unease shine through Jaxon¡¯s usual shroud of indifference but he turns to his audience and whips them back into task, paying me no mind.


    ¡°Vanny.¡± I drop the sword and dagger, jogging after him but he doesn¡¯t slow. ¡°Ivan!¡±


    He storms through the training gates and I run to catch up with his long strides.


    I reach out, grabbing his arm. ¡°What¡¯s wrong with you?¡± I nearly shout.


    The anger flaring in his eyes hits me hard. I stagger back a step, withdrawing my hand as though I just touched a hot stove rather than my brother.


    ¡°Who was it that taught you to fight like that?¡±


    The question is now a warning. A test. To see how I respond. Perhaps to see if I lie.


    I level my gaze to meet his. ¡°Why does it matter?¡±


    His brows shoot up. ¡°If it didn¡¯t matter, then you would tell me.¡±


    ¡°Would I? How do you expect me to trust you when you act like this.¡±


    We standoff, like a frothy ocean wave crashing against a cliffside. Nothing but unblinking and unbroken stares between us. I may love my brother, but I don¡¯t trust the hatred inside him.


    Ivan gives up. On me or the argument, I cannot tell which but one moment he is before me, and the next I am staring at his back as it shrinks in the distance.


    A thought strikes me like a punch to the gut, taking my breath with it. You¡¯re going to fail. Ivan will never accept Eli. His hatred runs too deep and even I cannot pull him from it.


    The tempest in my chest rips me open so unexpectedly that I find myself crumbled on the ground. Short tufts of grass press against my palms as my fingers slowly sink into the earth. The scent of soil fills my mind, mixing with the sweat from my skin. I hear small, sickly-sounding gasps rasping into the cold morning air and realize they are coming from my own throat. The sky crowds against me, squeezing the blood from my heart until it turns to dust. I close my eyes and try to focus on taking slow, deep breaths. At that moment something lightly rests against my back. I ignore it, but a voice joins it.


    ¡°Miss Volkov, are you okay?¡±


    Not him. I can¡¯t do this right now. My walls are shattered, leaving me defenseless against that sharp gaze always drilling for answers or those keen questions waiting to trap me. I pull away, lurching to my feet, and begin to run.


    ¡°Miss Volkov!¡±


    I keep running. Something about the pumping of my legs, the smack of my feet against the cobblestone, and the air filling my lungs shoves the sky back into its place. It yanks me from that suffocating world behind me and sets me free.


    I stop with the city gates in sight, chest heaving and muscles twitching. Past the gates and wide open fields of green, thick forest beacons. I imagine Eli standing behind a tree somewhere right out of sight. A line of men trails back several yards as the guards stop people one by one before they leave. A checkpoint before people enter the city I understand but this hardens my jaw.


    Ignoring the unwanted stares and slowed steps, I duck behind a building and pull my hood up, tucking my hair away. Out of sight, out of mind, I suppose, because soon my presence is forgotten and I take a deep breath, stepping in line. The moment the guards see my face I will undoubtedly be barred from leaving. But I need to try. Need to see it for myself how far Ivan has gone to keep me here.


    ¡°Rumor has it they¡¯re checking for the last man responsible for nearly killing the commander¡¯s sister.¡±


    My ear perks up at the conversation ahead.


    ¡°I heard they raped her and that¡¯s the reason for all the extra security,¡± a bald man with a long red beard pipes up. ¡°They say the Commander beat them senseless before the execution.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s true, I saw their faces beforehand. Barely even faces,¡± a third, younger man confirms. ¡°But I heard it¡¯s the girl they¡¯re trying to keep in the city. She¡¯s trying to escape.¡±


    ¡°Escape?¡± The bald one laughs, ¡°doesn¡¯t she know what it¡¯s like out there? If she wants out I¡¯ll be more than happy to show her a good time on the other side of the city walls.¡±


    A few in the group chuckle, but get cut short by a much older man. ¡°Watch it. That¡¯s the commander¡¯s sister you¡¯re talking about. The man deserves more respect than that. Besides, we¡¯re not animals, we¡¯re men. New Haven men. I know you¡¯re still new to the city, but around here, that means something.¡±


    A few grunts of agreement and the bald man keeps his mouth shut after that. The conversation turns to muted subjects and I tune them out, keeping my gaze down as I hide behind my hood. In all my trips around the city with Jaxon, whenever the topic of the Commander came up, I rarely found dissenters. That¡¯s not to say a critical eye is never turned in Ivan¡¯s direction but respect and admiration runs deep in the hearts of the men who live here.


    The line inches forward and I¡¯ve nearly reached the front when the men ahead give startled glances my way. But they aren¡¯t looking at me. Something looms behind me.


    ¡°Captain! What can we do for you?¡±


    My heart drops to the pit of my stomach and I freeze, staring at my dusty shoes.


    ¡°Nothing, gentlemen. I am here for the commander¡¯s sister.¡±


    Multiple pairs of eyes, round in alarm and confusion now fall upon me. I lift my face and turn to go, seeking escape from the weight of this sudden attention.


    ¡°What is the matter, Miss Volkov? I thought you were in line to leave?¡±


    The uncharacteristic snip in Jaxon¡¯s tone gives me pause. He¡¯s mad at me? I resist a scoff as his attitude roots out some of my own.


    I turn to him as stubbornness swells my chest and fuels my words. ¡°You¡¯re right, I was. But why should the King¡¯s sister wait in line, hm? Let¡¯s cut to the chase and see how this goes.¡±


    I lower the hood from my head and step past stunned faces until I stand before the guard. He looks dazed but then his spine straightens as a shadow crawls over me from behind. His nervous eyes flitter between me and the space over my shoulder.


    ¡°I-I¡¯m sorry Miss. Our orders say you are not to leave the city without expressed permission from the Commander.¡±


    I cut Jaxon a narrow look, ¡°shocking.¡±


    Swift steps powered by irritation carry me away, but it seems Jaxon is not satisfied with my defeat and follows closely behind.


    ¡°Did you ever consider what would happen the moment you step beyond these city walls?¡± His voice comes out sharp. Rebuking. ¡°Your secret is no longer a secret. Men here know what you are. Here, they must respect our laws, but out there? There is no law out there.¡±


    His brows raise, daring me to disagree, and I stop. Anger and frustration bleed through so plainly in those copper eyes that all I can do is stare in astonishment. The man who guards every emotion stands before me, so plain, so open. Maybe this is some elaborate trap in which to trick me but if this is him acting, then the man deserves an Oscar. Too bad those aren¡¯t a thing anymore.


    ¡°You may be willing to make bets with your life, but don¡¯t ask those who care for you to do the same,¡± he says.


    I narrow my eyes at him, ¡°you say it¡¯s my life, but is it really? Someone I trust told me that if I was discovered as a woman in this city, I would not be held hostage.¡±


    ¡°I think you know this has far more to do with who you are rather than what you are.¡±


    I grind my teeth and glower at the man, but only because he is right. Mostly. Even if I were a man, my brother would still insist I stay within the safety of his walls. As much as I hate to admit it, Jaxon is right, at least in part. Ivan lost everyone he loved and now a piece of his dead family comes back to him. Add to that the fact my little brother is now nearly ten years my elder and knows it.


    ¡°He should trust me enough to let me go.¡±


    ¡°It is clear neither of you are the people each remembers. Trust must be rebuilt over time.¡±


    But Eli cannot wait that long. Or maybe I can¡¯t wait that long. I bite my tongue but as I do, suspicion flashes in Jaxon¡¯s face before he yanks it behind doors of neutrality.


    ¡°Tell Ivan I¡¯m going on a trip outside the city.¡± I give a sarcastic smile, ¡°with my escort, of course.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll pass the request along.¡±


    I cut him a bitter look, ¡°I want my weapons back.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll have them sent over.¡±


    ¡°Today.¡±


    ¡°Within the hour.¡±


    I spin on my heel and clench my jaw as I stalk back to the castle.

 Chapter 21: Surprise

    I exchange my rifle for my bow as Jaxon walks up. The target in the distance has a cluster of bullet holes in the middle two circles. Decent. Especially considering my minimal practice but the bow should prove better.


    ¡°Not now, Jaxon. I¡¯m not in the mood.¡±


    Jaxon ignores me and steps closer.


    ¡°You need to speak with your brother. Tell him why you want to leave the city.¡±


    You would think the existence of a deadly weapon in my hands would be cause for more caution but instead, Jaxon grows bolder.


    ¡°Why would I do that?¡±


    I ready an arrow and line up my shot. On a steady exhale, I ease my hand until the arrow cuts through the air, landing solidly in the center of the target. Satisfaction floods my chest and tugs the corners of my lips up. I ready another.


    ¡°Because he needs to know you are not his enemy.¡±


    The tone gives me pause. I lower my arrow and turn to my unwelcome company. The cutting look on his face puffs away the pride I felt moments ago like a cold ocean wind swallowing a candle¡¯s flame. But something else takes its place inside me. Something much hotter.


    ¡°I came all this way¡ªtraveled across the country¡ªall so I could find him. Protect him!¡± I snap at Jaxon, heat flaring. ¡°And now you tell me I must prove I am not his enemy?¡±


    ¡°Are you? Because these secrets you insist on keeping seem to suggest otherwise.¡±


    The heat bursts into a flame and I take a step closer, venom pumping through my veins. ¡°If you knew what I have endured getting here¡ª¡±


    ¡°What? What have you endured?¡± Jaxon taunts, eyes narrowing. ¡°Will you say? Can you?¡±


    I feel a pressure build inside me, threatening to explode. Tempting me to give him exactly what he wants: a real piece of my mind. Instead, I bite my tongue hard enough for the taste of copper to fill my mouth.


    ¡°What I will say is that this paranoia is completely idiotic. The only enemies Ivan has are those of his own imagination.¡±


    ¡°Then why not tell him that? Tell him what happened on your way here. Clear up this misunderstanding.¡±


    I meet Jaxon¡¯s gaze in silence. Do I dare place Eli¡¯s life in Ivan¡¯s hands? I know Eli poses no threat to my brother, but I doubt the reverse is true. And with Ivan, a threat easily morphs into a death sentence. My anger slows into a simmer as I answer Jaxon¡¯s question with silence.


    Jaxon lets out a forceful, frustrated breath. ¡°You Volkovs are the most stubborn people I¡¯ve ever known. You¡¯ll destroy each other if someone doesn¡¯t bend.¡±


    I watch him leave with more than a small mouthful of bitterness. There is a wall between my brother and I and all this insistence only serves to strengthen it. All I ask is for an ounce of trust but it seems Ivan refuses even that.


    The next morning, I return to the uncharacteristically empty training grounds to continue my bow and arrow practice. It seems the focus stemming from shooting an arrow is my only escape from tortured thoughts haunting my sleepless nights. Over and over, I see Eli dying in front of me, one gruesome death after another. I spend most of the day in the training grounds, stopping only to eat. The solidarity is like a breath of fresh air and before I know it the entire day has escaped me, the sun growing low on the horizon.


    Arrows hug each other in the center of my target over twenty yards away. I walk over and yank them out one by one when Jaxon shows his face with two guards at his heel.


    ¡°The commander has approved your request to travel outside the city on one condition,¡± he says.


    I pause. He did?


    After my pathetic, failed escape attempt yesterday all I wanted was to hurt Ivan. My ¡®request¡¯ to leave the city was brash and born of frustration and powerlessness. I assumed that if Ivan agreed to let me leave it would be weeks or months away. I never imagined it would be so soon. I know he knows about Eli but I must hold out for two more days. Then Thomas can get me out, for real.


    ¡°And the condition?¡± I ask.


    ¡°He wants to see you first.¡±


    I wait for more but Jaxon just stands there like a robot. Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.


    ¡°Great.¡± I walk back to the shooting line and chuck my pile of arrows onto the table then wave at Jaxon to move. ¡°Let¡¯s get this over with.¡±


    Jaxon leads the way toward the stables and I frown. ¡°I thought we were seeing Ivan first?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re meeting him just outside the city walls.¡±


    Suspicion narrows my eyes. Something doesn¡¯t sit right in my gut, Jaxon seems exceptionally emotionless this morning.


    Maybe it¡¯s my paranoia but I could swear the city holds fewer guards as we ride our horses through the city. But the thought grows distant as we pass through city gates and the forest once filled with a striking array of colors is now bare. Empty, spindly branches go on for miles. A weight I never knew existed lifts from my chest and I can finally breathe. How is it possible to crave a forest, or a space, so much? Maybe I just miss Eli. After all those months he and the forest feel synonymous. The desperate need to run off and lose myself is unbearable.


    But instead, I follow behind Jaxon. He leads down a well-worn path to a lookout tower at the top of a hill, his two guards taking up the rear. It¡¯s a secondary post in which to defend New Haven. Ivan wants to meet here?


    We pass another pair of smaller gates, unguarded. The lonely place looks to be unused. I raise a brow as unsettling red flags wave before my nose but continue to follow as we approach a building tucked behind the watchtower.


    ¡°Why did we come here?¡± I ask.


    ¡°I already told you. Com¡ª¡±


    ¡°¡ªCommander wants to see me first, I know. What¡¯s wrong with you, Jaxon? Why are you acting this way?¡±


    Jaxon¡¯s usual mask of indifference lifts long enough to cut me a chilling look before he gets off the horse.


    He¡¯s angry.


    At me? My mind races to try to connect the dots as I follow him toward the building. The simple stone structure rises two stories with no windows. Is he mad about our disagreement yesterday? No. The man has thicker skin than that.


    He waits for me at the entrance, letting me enter first, but as I pass I hear, ¡°You should have listened to me.¡±


    I pause, alarmed and startled at once. My eyes take a moment to adjust to the darkness in the room. Nothing but a single lamp in the back illuminates the space. In the center, my brother stands with his back to me. I approach slowly.


    ¡°Last chance, sister.¡±


    My gut twists at his tone. Foreboding. A warning. Danger lurks here, I just don¡¯t see it yet.


    ¡°Tell me the name of the man you traveled with to get here.¡±


    A glance around reveals at least a dozen men lining the second story above us, shrouded in darkness, armed with rifles. I step back, right into Jaxon¡¯s chest, and jump at the unexpected contact. He places a gentle hand on my shoulder. I want to brush it away but I feel frozen¡ªmy mind stuck on something just out of sight. Something in Ivan¡¯s hands.


    ¡°What do you have there?¡± I ask.


    It¡¯s a mistake. My voice comes out soft and weak as if it died before leaving my lips.


    ¡°I asked you a question.¡± His voice is hard. Unyielding. Calm.


    Terrifying.


    I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. My heart climbs up my throat, snatching the breath from my lungs. Something is wrong. Very wrong. What is happening here? And what is he hiding?


    He finally turns to face me. The horn Eli gave me rests in his hands. The bastard. He went through my things. Of course, he did. What are boundaries to a king? Unless¡­My mind goes back to the moment Jaxon saw the horn that very first day. Fury builds like a damn and I clamp my lips shut to keep from cursing the man and his entire ancestry.


    Ivan¡¯s grip on the horn tightens and he holds it up. ¡°I¡¯ve seen a horn like this before, many years ago. Back in the days when these city streets ran red with blood.¡±


    Ivan¡¯s piercing gaze pins me to the floor like a spear through the chest. As if I were a traitor he caught red-handed.


    ¡°Whatever you think this is, it isn¡¯t,¡± I say.


    ¡°Oh? So I do not hold evidence of you conspiring with my enemy?¡±


    I swipe Jaxon¡¯s hand away and take a step toward Ivan. ¡°You don¡¯t have any enemies. No one is conspiring anything.¡±


    The flat, emotionless look in his eyes sends the hairs on the back of my neck on end. Pure rage. Yes, this is what I imagine pure rage looks like.


    ¡°Let¡¯s test that theory.¡±


    To my horror, he raises the horn to his lips.


    ¡°Wait!¡±


    I leap forward, but hands catch me from behind, holding me in place. And then it¡¯s too late. A long, loud trumpet call reverberates in the small room. Then another. And another.


    A wave of clicking sounds off as my brother¡¯s men ready their guns, aiming at the door.


    ¡°No.¡± It comes out in a whisper, then a shout. ¡°No!¡±


    ¡°Keep her quiet.¡±


    I struggle against Jaxon¡¯s grip, stomping down on his boot with my heel. A satisfying grunt of pain follows before more men come over. A rope ties my hands behind. Rough fabric invades my mouth. I swing my head backward, hoping to hit a nose but get nothing except a calloused hand gripping the back of my neck, shoving me to my knees.


    I let out a frustrated, muffled scream as Jaxon hands me off to a few goons. But I catch his gaze and hold it, pouring all the desperation coursing through me into that one look. Help me. If ever you had just a speck of fondness for me, help me!


    He sees me. Perhaps I imagine it, but something flickers there. Pity. Sadness. Maybe bitterness. I don¡¯t know. He turns his back and pain squeezes my chest. I expected as much but it is the last thread of hope at this moment, snapped free. Tears sting my eyes.


    They smother the single lamp illuminating the space, leaving me kneeling in darkness at the center of the room. Ivan¡¯s soldiers hide above us. When Eli comes through that door and the light from outside reaches me, I will be the first thing he sees.


    And the last.

 Chapter 22: Confessions

    <h2>Chapter 22: Confessions</h2>


    Time crawls like a dying man through the room. I feel my heartbeat trip with every creak or howl of wind beyond these walls.


    The door at the end of the room eases open and light from behind stretches along the hardwood floor toward my knees. I strain to see Eli but there is no one. Nothing but space. Then I hear a cry of pain from behind and crank my head around. The tuft of an arrow pokes out of the shoulder of the man holding me from behind. His grip on me loosens and I jump to my feet, leaping forward. But strong fingers wrap around my arm, yanking me back.


    ¡°Mmphhh!¡±


    I try to scream for Eli to run. To leave. But to my dismay, the silhouette of a man enters the room. Bow¡ªdrawn tight. The further I am dragged back, the closer he comes. I am Ivans¡¯s lure and Eli is biting down hard. A match swipes to life beside me and lights a lamp on the wall. Beside it stands Ivan, holding my arm tight. Eli¡¯s bow aims at my brother¡¯s head and my heart stills. But he holds the arrow back. Waiting.


    ¡°Drop your weapons and remove your mask or die where you stand,¡± Ivan demands.


    Half a dozen torches light up the room, revealing dozens of men and their guns waiting above. For two miserable minutes, the two standoff. One twitch of Eli¡¯s fingers and Ivan will die but in that moment Ivan¡¯s men would fire. So I wait, tied and gagged. Wait to see if, at the end of this day, there will be anyone left alive who I love.


    Then slowly, carefully, Eli lowers the bow. He drops it and raises his hands in surrender.


    ¡°Now your swords.¡±


    Eli drops his swords. I watch in dismay as a guard walks up from behind with a pair of cuffs. But what happens next catches everyone by surprise. One moment the guard is pulling Eli¡¯s hands behind him, and the next, Eli holds him at knifepoint, using his body to block the impending doom of dozens of bullets. Eli backs away, heading for the exit. Hope soars in my chest. Get out of here and run. Run Eli, far, far away.


    But something is wrong. Ivan stands calmly beside me; his grip even loosens on my arm. His unconcern leaves my brain clambering. Jaxon. Where is Jaxon? A new silhouette appears by the door, standing between Eli and freedom.


    ¡°Take another step and I will shoot you in the back of the head.¡± Jaxon¡¯s voice rings out into the room.


    Eli freezes.


    Then the gun clicks as Jaxon readies his pistol.


    ¡°Release the hostage and drop the knife.¡±


    Three tense seconds pass before Eli removes his knife and the man scrambles away. Then a shallow thud follows as his blade falls to the ground. A steady rising terror swirls inside me as cuffs slap Eli¡¯s wrists from behind and Jaxon forces him forward. Ivan hands me off and I am shoved to my knees once again.


    ¡°Tell me your name!¡± Ivan orders.


    Not a man in the room moves. Our audience above watches with bated breath.


    ¡°No?¡± Ivan nods to Jaxon and Eli¡¯s knees hit the floor. ¡°That¡¯s alright. I doubt introductions will be in order.¡±


    I watch as Eli, kneeling, holds his shoulders back and head high as my brother rips away his mask. He does not flinch when the goggles are torn free, the scarf yanked down, or his hood shoved aside. He stares my brother down. Fearless. Proud.


    But Ivan meets the look with one of his own and I see the muscles in his jaw go tight. If ever I thought I had witnessed fury in my brother¡¯s eyes before, it was a mere taste of what exists now. The bloodlust there shakes me to the bone.


    ¡°You.¡± Ivan speaks the word as one might spit on a grave. ¡°Turning my own sister against me. Is there nothing you won¡¯t do?¡±


    Ivan¡¯s fist rams into Eli¡¯s face with all the power of a lightning bolt. Eli¡¯s whole body snaps to the side with the impact, but the pain flashing across his face is not from Ivan¡¯s punch.


    Pride vanishes in an instant and he raises apologetic eyes to me. ¡°Seeing you two here, side by side, it is obvious now. I am sorry.¡±


    I see it then. A surrender in his eyes, the kind coming only from defeat. Eli is giving up. No, no, no. I try to stop the tears from coming, but it is like holding your hands up to the sky to stop the rain. A sob escapes my chest and my body sags toward the ground.


    Ivan¡¯s eyes flicker between us and the muscles in his arms wind tighter, his fist squeezing until it explodes into Eli¡¯s face again. Then again. And again. I let out scream after muffled scream for Ivan to stop, but he shows no signs of stopping. If anything, he hits harder. With every desperate, muffled plea, Ivan¡¯s anger spikes like pouring fuel on a fire.


    He¡¯s not stopping. He¡¯s going to kill him.


    The realization dries up my tears in an instant. There comes a certain kind of clarity when raw desperation meets understanding and the two become one. I lower my chin, looking over my shoulder at the man standing behind me. His hand grips the back of my neck tightly but his eyes are glued to Ivan. I shift into a crouch and kick a leg back, throwing all my weight into it, aiming for his knee. It makes contact and then gives way as I hear a crack. He howls and the grip on my neck falls away.


    One. Two. Three leaps forward before I reach them. I throw my body in front of Eli, cramming my eyes shut and readying for Ivan¡¯s fist. Two heartbeats pass before I dare crack my eyes open.


    Ivan stands before me panting, his knuckles red and swollen. I meet those furious blue eyes with every last ounce of strength I have even if my whole body shakes like a leaf. Tears stream down my cheeks, past the gag, and my arms ache from the rope binding my hands behind me.


    The moments drag on as Ivan¡¯s breathing evens out. Then his eyes narrow and he lowers himself to a knee to meet my eyes. He tugs the gag down. Fear and caution steal my voice.


    ¡°You know this man,¡± he says.


    It¡¯s not a question¡ªhe wants me to confirm the statement.


    ¡°Yes.¡± I rasp between chapped lips.


    ¡°No. You don¡¯t know him.¡± He lifts his chin, face twisting in disgust at Eli behind me. ¡°You think you do, but you don¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°He saved my life three times over. The only reason I reached this city was because he protected me. I would be dead if it wasn¡¯t for Eli.¡±


    Ivan grows visibly agitated at my words, his eye twitches at the sound of Eli¡¯s name.


    ¡°He is using you.¡±


    ¡°No.¡± I start to cry again and this time, I concede to the tears. ¡°That is what everyone else has done to me. He has never taken anything from me. Never demanded anything.¡±


    Ivan is silent¡ªhis face¡ªexpressionless.


    ¡°He¡¯s not here to hurt you,¡± I beg Ivan. ¡°He¡¯s only here to protect me. The horn was supposed to be my call for help. Why else do you think he came so quickly?¡±


    ¡°Perhaps to repeat the past,¡± Ivan says in a cold tone. ¡°This is not the first time he has used a horn like that to betray his friends.¡± This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    ¡°Whatever he¡¯s done in the past, he is not that man anymore.¡±


    ¡°Oh really?¡±


    Ivan turns his attention to Eli and a chill crawls down my spine. He pulls out a knife and reaches behind me, shoving me aside as he yanks Eli up and presses the knife to his throat. Tiny beads of blood form along the silver edge.


    ¡°Is she right? Have you changed, Red King?¡± He bites the name off, venom dripping from every word.


    At first, Eli returns the look, glaring daggers at Ivan. Like an immovable rock against an unstoppable force, neither budge. Neither blink. Then it fades, and the fight in Eli¡¯s eyes dissolves, eventually falling away entirely.


    But Ivan continues to dig the knife deeper until blood crawls down Eli¡¯s throat, his arms tightening as though it takes every last ounce of strength to keep the razor edge from plunging deep.


    ¡°Ivan!¡± I push myself up. ¡°I didn¡¯t tell you about Eli because I was afraid. I was never going to leave you. I only wanted to see him again without you hurting him.¡±


    My words snap Ivan from his fixation and he lowers the knife, shoving Eli away as one might toss aside a dirty rag.


    His eyes meet mine; an inhuman glint sends my skin crawling. ¡°I won¡¯t hurt him. When his head rolls tomorrow morning, there will be no pain. Which is far better than he deserves.¡±


    My heart stops. I don¡¯t breathe. Don¡¯t move. I can¡¯t. His words ring in my mind, wrapping around and around like chains, squeezing tighter and tighter. My worst fear stands before my eyes. The very thing I struggled so hard to prevent is now a reality. And yet, disbelief hits me like a backhand.


    ¡°What?¡± I finally croak the word.


    Ivan stands, turning his back. ¡°Take him away.¡±


    ¡°No. Stop! No!¡±


    But Jaxon yanks Eli to his feet. No one hears me. No one cares. I am invisible. Inconsequential. Completely and utterly powerless.


    ¡°I love him.¡±


    The words, while spoken softly, stop the entire room. Jaxon freezes and Ivan slowly turns around.


    ¡°I love him,¡± I say again, louder. ¡°If you kill him, I will never forgive you. Whatever you think you gain by killing Eli, you will lose me. I will not be your sister, and you will never again be my brother.¡±


    Ivan¡¯s brows come together, torment wrenching his expression. Sorrow twists at the edges and then, to my dismay, morphs into bitterness.


    He turns to Jaxon, ¡°When you¡¯re done, escort Natasha to her room.¡±


    The world keeps spinning but I am not on it. Left behind, floating in space. Powerless. Helpless. Hopeless. All those months of practice with the sword and bow and it means nothing. I cannot even prevent the man I love from dying at the hands of my brother.


    I turn as Eli gets pushed through the exit. He catches my eyes and I see agony there. It wretches my heart and I watch everyone file out of the room in a daze until I am left alone on the cold floor. Drops of Eli¡¯s blood splatter the wooden boards before me and my tears join them in a grim kind of watercolor.


    I¡¯m not sure how much time passes before the pressure holding my wrists behind me suddenly disappears. The muscles in my arms twitch and spasm in their newfound freedom, but the bruises on my wrists still show the indentation of the rope on my skin.


    Jaxon crouches beside me. I know it¡¯s him¡ªnot because I look; I make it a point not to¡ªbut because of the silence. I have never been so grateful for Jaxon¡¯s avid, indifferent silence as I am right now. I despise hollow apologies and polite lies, and to the man¡¯s credit, he has never been the type to hand those out.


    He walks me out of the building, not so unlike how he walked me in. Only now it is dark¡ªthe sun is long gone and the coldness of night warns winter is near. On our way to the castle, we pass the prison and I find myself staring. Eli is in there.


    Jaxon asks, ¡°Do you want to see him?¡± One last time.


    He doesn¡¯t say the second part, but I know that¡¯s what he means. It is why he offers. He knows this is my last chance to see Eli alive. Fresh tears spring up, and my vision swims over to Jaxon.


    Never have I seen so much sympathy on a human face before. It¡¯s different from when Jol looked at me behind those bars. Jol¡¯s pity made me feel small. But with Jaxon it feels like he¡¯s bending down and sitting beside me in my misery. I feel bad for all the times I called him a cyborg under my breath.


    I don¡¯t trust my voice so I nod instead. He leads me over to the prison and takes me through the entrance and down the long hall lined with bars. One of the guards unlocks a cell.


    On the back wall, shackles hold Eli¡¯s wrists over his head and clamp around his ankles. The door to his cell swings wide, but he resigns his eyes to the floor.


    ¡°Eli.¡±


    His head snaps up at the sound of my voice. Bruises and black eyes remind me of that first night under the moonlight outside the raider pit. And like before, I can still make out his shock through all the damage.


    I wipe my cheeks and put on a brave smile but my bottom lip quivers. I sink my teeth into it, holding it still as a metallic taste blooms in my mouth. Eli sees it and offers me a smile of his own, only his is much more convincing. Always the strong one.


    I step close and raise a hand to his bleeding face. He leans into my touch, sending the chains clanging as he strains against them. I hold his face with both hands and stare into those beautiful almond-shaped eyes. They hold mine easily, as if the rest of the world turned to dust and there remained only him and me. I wrap my arms around him, tight. He buries his face into my shoulder and I struggle to keep my traitorous breath from catching. He smells like the woods¡ªlike freedom¡ªand like everything I took from him.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± I whisper.


    ¡°Don¡¯t apologize. None of this is because of you.¡± His chest rumbles with the words and I feel them deep in my heart.


    But it is, isn¡¯t it? I am Ivan¡¯s sister. If I were anyone else, none of this would be happening.


    ¡°Some part of me knew from the moment I first saw you who you were. Whose sister you were,¡± he says quietly. ¡°But I convinced myself otherwise. I knew if it were true, I would have to let you go. But in the end, I couldn¡¯t.¡±


    Let me go? I pull away. ¡°And what about me? Don¡¯t I get a say in any of this?¡±


    He looks startled. ¡°Of course.¡± He hesitates, uncertain eyes searching my own. ¡°Did you mean what you said back there?¡±


    I raise my chin. ¡°What do you think?¡±


    He considers me for a moment before his eyes flick down to my lips. Then slowly, carefully, he eases his mouth toward mine before pausing. Waiting.


    I close the distance, snatching his offering without a second thought. His kiss is soft and sweet¡ªbut sad. Like a goodbye. My heart breaks at the realization. A wave of grief slams into my chest and I choke out a sob. He pulls away, anguish filling his eyes.


    ¡°Don¡¯t cry. You¡¯re strong. You¡¯ll get through this. Remember what you said to me? Whatever happens to me, it isn¡¯t your fault. Accept the things that are beyond your control, let go, and move forward.¡±


    No.


    I can¡¯t. I won¡¯t. He¡¯s not dead. He¡¯s here, in my arms, isn¡¯t he? Breathing. Living. I cannot give up. I refuse. Not while there is still breath for both of us in this world.


    ¡°No.¡±


    He looks at me, brows furrowed.


    ¡°I will not give up.¡± I lean forward, whispering for his ears only. ¡°I will get you out of this. I swear, I will find a way to save you.¡±


    Worry blossoms across his face and he opens his mouth to speak, but Jaxon clears his throat.


    ¡°Time to go.¡±


    I reach up for another kiss. This one is stronger, harder. Filled with conviction.


    ¡°Miss Volkov.¡±


    Jaxon¡¯s firm grip appears on my shoulder. Despite my confident words to Eli, panic claws at the edges of my mind. I give Eli a desperate squeeze as Jaxon pries me away.


    Eli¡¯s gaze holds mine as we leave until we turn the corner out of sight. Outside, Jaxon releases my arm and we walk in silence.


    How will I get Eli out of this? It¡¯s not like before in the raider pit, when everything was laid out so perfectly. Keys. A rope. A clear escape to freedom. If I fail this time, it¡¯s not my life on the line, but Eli¡¯s.


    As we reach my room in the castle I stop in the doorway. ¡°How long until¡­until they¡­¡± The question gets stuck in my throat and thankfully, Jaxon doesn¡¯t make me finish.


    ¡°Sunrise. They¡¯ll wait just before the bell tower marks six o¡¯clock. After that, it¡¯s done.¡±


    It¡¯s done. As if killing a man were some kind of task to be completed. An item on a list to be checked off. Something simple and quick. Thoughtless. A swipe of the pen or nod of the head. For all the civility and structure behind these walls, the end result isn¡¯t too different from a raider pit.


    ¡°I¡¯ve told the guards to get you anything you need.¡±


    ¡°You aren¡¯t staying?¡±


    Jaxon pauses as if the question caught him off guard. ¡°Your brother needs me.¡± He hesitates, ¡°but if you want, when I am done, I can come back here to you.¡±


    I don¡¯t know my plan yet, but something tells me I need Jaxon. Something about the way he watches me when he thinks I don¡¯t notice. Not that he can be convinced to betray Ivan for my sake, but there is something there. An attraction. Maybe fondness. I don¡¯t know, but whatever it is, I can use it.


    ¡°I would like that.¡±


    His brows raise a hair before he bows his head in a nod and leaves, shutting the door on his way.


    I count the passing minutes with increasing dread. My pacing wears the wooden floor thin and my frazzled mind loses its train of thought every time I hear the bell tower sound off. The large room now feels small and confining. Not too far off from the tiny cell Jol kept me in despite the large bed and polished mahogany furnishings. The vase of yellow flowers by the door mocks me.


    When I knock on the door, the lock clicks open and two guards with rifles greet me. To my dismay, they are good soldiers. Competent. Polite. Like Jaxon clones. They keep their distance and repeat their orders: keep me here, keep me safe, no visitors.


    By the time the bell tower strikes five o¡¯clock in the morning, a plan has formed in my mind but Jaxon is still gone. And I need him. I only have an hour. Placing a hand on the back of the desk chair, I try to calm my hummingbird heart. I cannot wait any longer. It¡¯s now or never.