“What is this?”

“Thought you’d recognize it.”

“But…” I shook my head, fingering the partially-detached sole of the boot. “You found this for me?”

“Wasn’t hard. Now put it on, and let’s go for a ride. Time to blow up some Infected.”

So not only did Recluse still have batteries, but he also still had gasoline. With a wry smirk, I plunked the boot onto the ground, shoved my foot in, and eased myself off of the chair. My wound pulsed out a protest, and I clenched my fists and bit my lip. When I swung a foot forward, my wounded leg flared, cramping my muscles. But I remained standing. 

See that, Father? Still think I’m pathetic now?

“Why are you smiling?”

I wiped my face blank. “I’m not smiling.”

“Hmm. Can’t you go any faster?”

Before I could answer, Recluse closed the distance between us and snagged my arm, pulling it up over his shoulder. He hooked an arm around my waist and tugged me forward. 

I limp-hopped across the floor, gasping both in breathlessness and pain as I struggled to match Recluse’s pace. When my balance wavered, I sagged into his solid warmth. I felt his muscles shift under his coat as his arm around me tightened to pick up the slack. Though I knew Recluse was more likely to hurt me than protect me, something inside of me relaxed, eager to rely on someone else for just a minute.

My father’s face infiltrated my mind, nose crinkled with derisive laughter. What were you saying about not being pathetic?

Stay dead, fucker, I told the face.

Recluse dragged me through a quaint kitchen and into a large, dingy room. The arm around my waist dropped away, and I stumbled back two steps to lean against the wall. Blinking against a wave of dizziness, I processed the sight in front of me.

And blinked again. 

In the middle of the room, light flickered over a black leather seat, polished silver engine, and thick-tread tires. Two tires.

“Uh… that’s a motorcycle.”

“Agreed.” Recluse strode to the far wall and pushed a door open, and a flurry of moonlit snowflakes sifted through the opening. Then he pivoted toward me and nodded at the bike.

I shook my head. “You can’t be serious. We’re riding a motorcycle? Together? Through the snow?”

Recluse folded his arms over his chest, and his leather coat crackled as the sleeves strained over his biceps. “Unless you’d rather walk.”

I dragged a hand over my face and blew out a breath. Then I swayed forward a few unsteady steps and grasped the seat in both hands. I threw a leg over, but my wounded calf refused to support me, and I began to tip to the other side. 

Just in time, Recluse appeared at my side and grabbed my shoulder. With the brusque disregard of one completing a daily chore, he gripped both of my thighs and shoved me to the back of the bike seat. Then he swung onto the seat in front of me.

His broad shoulders blocked my view of everything ahead, and an alarmingly narrow strip of leather seat separated my thighs from his. My eyes flicked to the rifle strapped over his shoulder. While he focused on driving, maybe I could steal the gun from him and…

And what? I didn’t even know how to shoot. At best, I would waste another bullet.

“Hang on to me,” Recluse said.

I hesitated, eyeing his shoulders and then his waist. “You know, guys usually offer me payment before asking —”

The engine revved, the motorbike lurched forward, and I snaked my arms around his waist. Then we blasted out into the snow.

Recluse stomped down both feet to unlatch the gate. The engine growled again, and the tires spit snow, enveloping us in a cloud of white as the bike zipped forward. Trees flashed by on both sides. The space between them broadened, and jagged chunks of asphalt protruded from the snow. 

The wind pierced my sweatshirt, sucking all warmth from my body, and snowflakes pelted the exposed skin of my face and hands. A tantalizing flicker of heat emanated from Recluse’s coat so close to me. I dug my thighs into the sides of the seat, eyeing the meager space between us. This man would offer me up to be eaten alive very soon.

But sweet Ether, I still craved that warmth.

The bike hit a bump, and Recluse and I both hovered above the seat in a moment of weightlessness. When we thumped the seat again, my chest smacked his back. My chin collided with his shoulder blade hard enough my teeth knocked together. 

“Ow,” I murmured, but my shoulder blades curved forward so my shuddering chest pressed against his back. I glanced down at my inner thighs, now locked tightly over the hard muscle of his outer thigh on one side and his bionic leg on the other. While the rest of the world wasted away, this fucker had maintained the physique of one of the models I used to jerk off to in magazines before the Infection began.

With my front pressed to his back, this was definitely the wrong time to think about that.

Fortunately — or not so fortunately — a piercing howl interrupted my thoughts. Two Infected loped toward us. Overcooked. The moonlight illuminated wide eyes, slack jaws, and twitchy, off-kilter movements. With all other cognitive functions burned to a crisp, only one thing remained. 

Hunger.

“Recluse, look right! Overcooked on the right!”

“I know. Stop screaming.”

Recluse released the handlebars and yanked out his rifle to aim at the Infected. The motorbike skid left and then swerved to the right.

My heart leaped into my throat, strangling my shout. “What are you —”

Bang. Bang.

Both Infected dropped to their knees, grasping at gushing holes in their chests. Then their heads exploded, a gurgling echo of the gunshots, and steaming brains splattered the white snow. As the bike careened to one side, edging along a snowbank, Recluse slung the rifle over his shoulder and grabbed the handlebars again. The back tire oscillated, and the engine puffed smoke. 

I dug my forehead into Recluse’s back. “Shit, I’m fucked. Shit, I’m —”

“Hey.” I felt more than heard Recluse’s voice, vibrating against my chest. “You’re fine. You’ll be fine.”

I breathed a shaky sigh and relaxed a little. Even knowing it was a lie, his words somehow calmed me.

It had been so long since anyone told me I would be fine.

The bike realigned and sped forward once more. As soon as the fear of imminent death faded, I noticed the cold burning my hands. I felt around for a less exposed resting place, and my fingertips popped into the fur-lined pockets of Recluse’s coat. For one wary moment, I awaited a vile reaction. When none came, I dug my hands all the way into his pockets. Soft warmth enveloped my fingers, and a moan of relief collapsed my chest further into his back. 

The bike cut off the road, and trees materialized on each side. The tires slipped and weaved through the snow, and Recluse kicked the ground to redirect and keep us upright. 

When the bike slid to a stop, stillness trapped the space. Before us, rusted skull warning signs breached the snow in an oblong ditch. At the center, a metal pole jutted up from the ground, gleaming under the light of the bright stars overhead.

Recluse dismounted, and cold swept over me, both from his absence and from foreboding. I slipped off the side of the bike, grabbing the seat for balance.

“So, you’re going to string me to that pole?”

His eyes tracked over the snowy swamp. “Yep.”

“And how do you know we won’t explode on the way there?”

“Because I helped plant the mines, and I remember the way in.”

My dream from the night before played out before my eyes in full detail. I swallowed to wet my throat.

“You created this minefield to kill Southies, didn’t you?”

His eyes flitted to me, and a hint of a frown played at the corners of his lips. “Yeah, but when your mad scientist Looney Lazora created the virus, your army left to fight the Infected.”

I folded my arms over my shivering chest and hunched my shoulders, weighing my response. The righteous part of me ached to defend ‘Looney Lazora.’ The survivalist part told me to drop to my knees and beg him to reconsider. Unfortunately, a third option prevailed.

Sheer idiotic sass.

“How disappointing for you to never watch a Southie die here. Lucky you have another chance now.”

He drew in a quick breath and huffed it out with an eye roll. Then he grabbed my biceps, slung me over his shoulder, and picked his way across the minefield. As the crooked warning signs swayed upside-down past his back, I wondered if it was too late to drop to my knees.

Recluse slid me off his shoulder and set me down in front of the pole in a surprisingly gentle movement, though one hand still gripped my bicep. “Don’t move, Southie. We’re surrounded by mines.”

“Don’t worry. I wouldn’t want you to lose your bait.”

He huffed another breath through his nose, but one side of his lips quirked. “Yeah, I bet.” 

One little lopsided smile, and my heart missed a beat. Ether, why did my murderer have to be so fucking attractive? Maybe I had gone about this wrong from the start. Maybe I should have offered a deal like the one I gave Greaseball. 

Recluse nabbed both of my wrists, transferred them to one hand, and loosened the rope hooked to his belt. As he looped the rope around my wrists, I racked my brain for a way out.

Shit, I’m fucked. Shit, I’m —

“Shut up, brain.”

Recluse paused in the middle of knotting the rope to raise his eyebrows at me. “What?”

I licked my lips and squeezed my eyes shut. “Look, I know you hate me, but don’t you at least want to know my name before I die?”

“No.” The rope knotted over my wrists, firm but not painful. One gentle tug later, the coarse fibers of the rope squeaked over the pole.

“My name is Zafaru.”

“Not going to remember that.”

“Then I guess no one will.”

Silence. When I finally dared to peel my eyes open, Recluse stared out into the trees beyond the landmine, pinching the bridge of his nose. With a weary exhale, he dropped his hand and met my eyes.

“I don’t hate you, Southie.”

“Thank you.”

“I just needed bait, and you stole from me...”

“No, I get it.” The words spilled from numb lips, conjured by an equally-numb brain. “It’s fine. Glad to be of service.”

One side of his lips quirked once more before he schooled his expression and shook his head. Then he turned on his heel and started back the way we had come. 

I watched his retreating footsteps, trying to memorize the route to safety. As if it mattered. Even if the mines eliminated all of the Overcooked, would Recluse actually stick around to cut me loose? He didn’t even care about fellow Northerners. Why take any risk for me?

And yet, hope weedled through me like the relentless gnaw of hunger.

I don’t hate you, Southie. 

At the edge of the ditch, Recluse turned and cocked his gun at the ground ten feet from me. A second later, twin explosions rattled my eardrums and filled my eyes with tears.

Bang, BOOM.

A cloud of snow billowed over the ground near me, a blinding flutter of white. When the snow settled, the treeline rustled, and a chorus of dissonant moans echoed from all sides. 

Seconds later, the first Overcooked appeared.