A man with a chiseled jaw, crooked aquiline nose, and messy dark blonde hair ambled toward me. His skin was darker than most Northerners I had seen, only a few shades lighter than mine, and he appeared younger than expected, maybe in his early thirties. A thick winter coat padded his broad chest and muscular arms. His left pant leg narrowed, loose fabric rippling in the breeze to outline something far thinner than the muscular thigh on the right side. A bionic leg.

A rifle strapped over his shoulder, but he reached toward a sheath at his hip and pulled out a…

Was that a fucking machete?

Horror washed over me as I stared at the sharp edge of the blade. The Infected at least did not play around. They devised no plots for vengeance and took no pleasure in pain. They just wanted a fast meal. 

The Cutthroat Crew, on the other hand, was known for mutilating enemies.

Could this man do even worse?

When he swung the machete, I flinched away, causing the net to sway. Then the rope snapped, and I tumbled to the ground. I struggled to free myself from the knotted web, but I stopped at the metallic click. 

Recluse had sheathed the machete and now leveled the rifle at my chest. 

I lifted my hands to either side of my head, panting breaths spilling steam into the air. “Wait, don’t shoot! I’m not Infected!”

“I know you’re not Infected.” His voice rattled with rust. “The Infected never steal.”

My stomach somersaulted. “Steal? I wasn’t…” 

I cut off with a gulp as my eyes flitted down to the rice sack sliding halfway from my sweatshirt and the can bulging in my tattered pocket. Dragging in a breath, I changed course.

“Look, I’m sorry. Just lower the gun, and I’ll give everything back.” Then I forced my gaze from the gun to his face and flashed a winsome smile. 

He looked unimpressed. Actually, he looked like fucking stone. Hard brown eyes returned my gaze, as cold as the frigid air around us. 

“Hmm,” he said. “You will give back everything you’ve stolen from me all winter?”

I stiffened. “All… all winter?” I cursed the squeak in my voice. “I don’t know what you mean.”

His lips hooked in a sneer. “We could possibly work something out for the food and blankets you stole, but stealing all of my ammunition? That could have cost me my life, and it will cost you yours.”

I knitted my brow and shifted my arms down to wrap my shivering chest. “I never stole any ammunition. I swear, I don’t even own a gun.”

“Then you admit to the rest?”

I licked my cracked lips, but the wind immediately sucked away the moisture. “You say we can work something out?” I chanced a longing glance at the fortress beside me. “I can… I don’t know, I can work for you or something?”

He snorted derision. “I don’t want a thief working for me. But I do have a use for you. A group of Overcooked has been rattling my fence each night. I need to lead them to a swamp full of landmines.”

I tucked my hands under my armpits, grimacing as the sweatshirt chafed destroyed skin. “And how am I supposed to help? I’m not exactly skilled at… anything.”

“That’s fine. I just need human bait.”

The blood drained from my face. 

“Human bait?” I choked. “Sorry, don’t think I can fit that in my schedule.”

A dark chuckle. “Then you shouldn’t have stolen from me.”

“Well, you shouldn’t have revealed you have no ammunition.”

I sprang to my feet, nearly tripping over the rope before managing to kick free. Then I bounded through the snow toward the fence. Though I may have become scrawny and weak, I was still fast, and I flung myself onto the fence before he even moved.

Wait… before he moved? Why was he not moving?

Then a blast rattled my eardrums, and a jolt of pain flamed through my calf. 

I dropped into the snow, both hands grasping the wound. Blood coursed between my fingers, spilling crimson over the bright white snow. I rocked back and forth and chomped on my lip, an inhuman moan vibrating through my chest. Wave after wave of pain crashed over me, singeing my nerve endings and sucking the breath from my lungs.

When I regained some modicum of control, I peeled back a few fingers to peek at the wound. My medical training said only the muscle tissue nearest the surface had been damaged, leaving arteries and bones intact. I had survived worse, but knowing another human deliberately inflicted this pain sank barbs deeper than the bullet. 

It reminded me of my father.

The pain subsided a bit after a minute, but then black spots danced across my vision. Blood loss? Shock? Infection? I blinked to clear my vision and glared up at Recluse. He had crossed half of the distance between us and watched me with weary exasperation like waiting out the tantrum of an unruly child. One hand still grasped the barrel of the rifle, but the muzzle now pointed at the ground between us.

A delirious laugh tore my throat ragged. “Sweet Ether, you — fuck!” I gripped my calf tighter as another burst of pain pulsed through my leg. “You told me someone stole your ammunition.”

He shrugged. “I lied.”

Then colors spun out of focus, and darkness devoured the world.

* * *

Everything hurt.

Though shivers still racked my chest, my frostbitten skin burned in a slow thaw. My stomach contorted and clenched, and the bulletwound throbbed. Fortunately, this quantity of pain cleared any worry that I was Infected. Unfortunately, that meant Recluse could still use me as bait.

I tried to stand, but ropes dug into my wrists, securing me to the chair beneath me. Instead, I scanned my surroundings. Dim light seeped through a high window, revealing a furry rug at my feet and an empty fireplace across the room. Shadows shifted below the array of animal heads lining the walls.

Footsteps thumped outside the door, and I stiffened and held my breath. Moments later, an electric lantern bathed the room in swaying light. Eight years into the apocalypse, and he seriously still had batteries?

Recluse hung the light on a hook beside the door. I bit my lip hard enough to taste blood, trying to control my ratcheting heartbeat. Was he about to use me as bait already? Or worse, did he plan to have some fun with me first?

Floorboards creaked as his heavy boots approached me. He stopped directly in front of the chair and eyed me. A shadow sliced diagonally across his face, obscuring his expression. A worn flannel shirt stretched tight over his broad shoulders, sleeves rolled up to his elbows to reveal muscular forearms. In one fist, he clenched a pail. 

Recluse sank into a crouch, and the pail clunked the floor beside him. Tension squeezed my chest, cutting off my supply of breath, and my hands strained against the knot. When he reached toward my injured calf, I tucked my foot behind the nearest chair leg.

“Hold still, Southie,” Recluse growled.

He gripped my foot and dragged it closer to him. Strong, nimble fingers unpinned a bandage I only now realized wrapped my lower leg. Recluse drew a cloth from the pail and splashed a sharp-smelling antiseptic onto the fabric. 

The cloth brushed my wound, and a sharp sting jolted up my leg. I jerked back, rocking the chair legs. Just as my stomach swooped with weightlessness, Recluse snatched one of the front chair legs and yanked it back down to the floor with a clack that echoed through the room. 

Stony eyes fixed on me. “I said hold still.”

“It hurts.” My bitten lip protested the change in position, and I followed it up with a whimper that I hoped he didn’t notice.

His gaze swept toward the ceiling as though to petition aid from the Ether above. “Fuck, how did someone this pathetic survive eight years of apocalypse?”

I blinked back a prick of tears and swallowed the lump in my throat. What the fuck, Zafaru? This man shot me in the leg and planned to use me as bait. Did it really matter what he said about me? 

In a bitter rasp, I said, “You would get along well with my father.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Your father is still alive?”

I shoved back the memory that attempted to surface. “Well, no. He has been dead for a while, actually.”

“Ah. Then I’m sure we’d get along great.”

The next swipe wrenched a gasp from my lips. Recluse sank back to his heels and dropped the rag to his side, and his next words came out unexpectedly quiet and stilted.

“I wouldn’t have shot you if you hadn’t run.”

I scoffed. “But you still plan to use me as bait?”

He shrugged one shoulder. “I’ll give you a day to recover first.” 

“How generous.”

“Well, if you didn’t steal from me —”

“Then I’d have frozen or starved to death by now.”

He frowned, eyes passing over my skinny frame and shivering chest, and his eyebrows ticked together. “Look, you can’t have come to the North expecting hospitality. The last time I saw a Southern scum in these parts, the Noble Forces supplied my ammunition. A Southie blew off my leg, but I probably filled half a graveyard with your people.”

I released a shaky laugh while my brain short circuited. Shit, I’m fucked. Shit, I’m… I shook my head to clear my thoughts and spoke with bold confidence undermined by a wobble. 

“It’s not like I want to be here, but the war ended eight years ago, and the South is uninhabitable now.”

“Because your idiot leaders attempted to launch biological warfare using a virus that prefers heat.”

Indignation sharpened my voice. “Fucking conspiracy theory.”

“And you would know?”

“Yes, I would, because my mother —” I clamped my mouth shut to stem the flow of words. No sense in picking open that scab, especially when the information would likely hurt my case with Recluse. 

He cocked his head, a flicker of interest passing over his eyes. “Your mother?”

I blew out a breath and evened my tone. “Look, it’s not North versus South anymore. Now it’s us versus them.”

He hummed bemusement. “Not North versus South. Not us versus them. It’s me versus everyone else.”

“No one can survive alone against the world.”

In the dim light, a hint of a sardonic smile flickered over his lips. 

“Watch me.”