“Wait, please don’t shoot.” The woman raised her hand a little higher and stepped in front of the child. “I’m Nikkla, and this is my daughter, Fennikk.”

Rekkan kept the gun raised. “If you’re not Infected, then get the fuck out of here.”

Nikkla visibly swallowed, but her feet remained planted. “Please, do you have any food to spare? Not for me — just for my daughter. She hasn’t eaten in days.”

Rekkan gripped the rifle hard enough his knuckles whitened, but the barrel sank to aim at Nikkla’s feet. “We don’t have enough food to —”

“They can have my portion,” I said.

Rekkan shot me a glare. “No, they can’t fucking —”

“Mommy?” The small child peeked out from behind her mother. A blanket wrapped her frail frame, her head of knotted brown hair tipped to the side, and curious brown eyes studied us. “Are these good guys or bad guys?”

Nikkla shot out an arm and shifted to block the child from view once more. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I won’t let them hurt you.”

Rekkan scrubbed a hand over his face. “Ah, fuck.” He holstered the rifle and crouched to grab the pack. “Stay there. I’ll throw some food to you, and then you need to leave.”

The woman bit her lip and jerked her head in a nod. “Honestly, you have no idea how much this means to me. Thank —”

“Stop,” said Rekkan. “Don’t say it.”

He dug out a couple packets of crackers and a bag of dried meat. The moment he tossed it to Nikkla, Fennikk stepped forward and slipped a grubby hand out of the blanket to reach for the food. Nikkla ripped open a packet of crackers and passed several to Fennikk, who stuffed them all in her mouth. Her dirty cheeks bulged as she chewed.

Nikkla laid a hand on the little girl’s shoulder. “Come, Fennikk. We won’t bother these men any longer.”

Fennikk swallowed and brushed crumbs from her lips. “Can’t we stay here a little longer? I feel safer with them here.”

Nikkla offered her a tight-lipped smile. “They don’t want us here, sweetheart. And we need to keep moving to reach Etherland soon.”

I took one step forward. “Wait, you are headed to Etherland? Why?”

Nikkla tightened her grip on Fennikk’s shoulder and eyed me warily. “Everyone says it’s the last stronghold. Besides, we are hoping it’s where the rest of our group was taken. They were attacked by some Infected on a supply run, and the helicopters saved them.”

A chill passed over me as I remembered the last words of the Freshly-Baked man by the farmhouse: I told you not to fire the flare gun. Were the helicopters really bringing survivors to Etherland? And was Etherland really safe?

Then another person’s last words echoed in my mind — words that never faded over eight years.

Even Ether will fall in the third phase.

Could Ether mean… Etherland?

Hesitantly, I asked, “Have you met anyone who has been to Etherland recently?”

Nikkla snorted a laugh. “Of course not — why would anyone in Etherland leave?”

“You should come with us,” said the little girl, dark eyes alight. “Everyone says it’s beautiful there. Have you been there before?”

“Once,” said Rekkan. “For my leg.”

She chewed on a fingernail, inspecting Rekkan’s jean-clad bionic leg. “What happened? Did an Infected bite you?”

“Nope.”

“Well, an Infected bit me.” She drew her second arm out of the blanket, revealing a stump cut off at the elbow. “Mommy had to cut off my arm to stop the spread. Do you think the Noble Forces could make me a new arm?”

Horror clenched my gut. I glanced at Rekkan, who blinked at Fennikk, his lips pressed in a bloodless line. When he met my eyes, he scowled, and then his eyes flicked skyward. I watched his resolve crumble, shoulders inching down and facial muscles twitching. Then he blew out a sigh and turned to Nikkla.

“We’re going to Etherland too. You can travel with us until you find a safe place to sleep.”

Fennikk sucked in a breath and grinned at her mother. Nikkla chewed on her lip for a minute, gaze passing between me and Rekkan. Finally, her head dipped in a nod.

Nikkla and Fennikk sat a ways away from us, while we ate, but Fennikk’s gaze flicked our way numerous times, drawn to Rekkan’s leg. Rekkan’s shoulders tightened and frown deepened. This surely wasn’t the first time his leg had drawn attention, but this interest was different, filled with a hesitant fascination and… hope.

Do you think the Noble Forces could make me a new arm?

When we resumed walking, Fennikk and Nikkla followed twenty paces behind. Gradually, the trees sparsened, revealing the orange sun hanging over the horizon. When the sun dipped low enough to brush the distant snow, Rekkan said, “We better find somewhere to stop.”

“How much longer until we reach Etherland?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Two days? If we stick with the kid, maybe three.”

“She’s doing well, though.”

His brow furrowed, and he sighed. “Yeah, she is.”

I cast a glance back at Fennikk to ensure she was still keeping up. Her eyes caught mine and brightened. Ignoring a muted protest from her mother, she skipped up to my side. 

I glanced down at her with raised eyebrows. She peered up at me and tapped fingers over her lips like some ancient, wizened philosopher.

“Why are your eyes green?”

“Because I’m a Southie,” I said.

Her mouth formed an ‘o,’ and her hand flopped against the blanket still covering her. “Really? My mommy says Southies are evil, but you don’t seem evil.”

I shrugged. “Some Southies say Northerners are evil.”

Her cheeks puffed with an explosive laugh. “Well, that’s just silly.” I nodded. “It is.”

She examined the road ahead of us, gnawing on a fingernail. When her eyes flicked toward me again, she flashed a smile spotted with missing teeth. “You know, green is actually my favorite color.”

My own lips twitched in response. “Really?”

“Uh-huh. Well, also purple, and yellow, and blue.” She splayed her arms in an exaggerated shrug. “I like a lot of things.” Then her eyes flicked past me to Rekkan, and her shoulders slumped. “Why doesn’t he like me?”

I furrowed my brow and side-glanced Rekkan. Though he was close enough to easily hear the conversation, his eyes remained fixed on the road ahead. I turned back to Fennikk with a sigh. “He doesn’t dislike you. He’s just not used to people.”

She pinched her lower lip between two fingers, stretching it until it slipped free. Then she said, “So… do you think it’s ok if I talk to him?”

I unsuccessfully fought a smile. “Yeah, you should definitely go talk to him.”

Fennikk skipped in front of Rekkan and spun around to walk backward several feet ahead of him. “Your friend says you’re not used to talking to people. To be perfectly honest, I’m not that used to it either. So maybe we can practice together!”

Rekkan blinked at her for a moment. Then he said, “Ok.”

She drew in a breath. “Alright, hi. My name is Fennikk, and I’m eight years old.”

“That’s nice,” said Rekkan.

She continued walking backward, eyes fixed on his leg again. “So, can your leg do any cool tricks?”

“Nope.”

“Does it ever fall off?”

“Nope.”

“Well, what happens if it gets wet?”

“Nothing.”

Her mouth opened to form another question, but then she stumbled, tripping backward over her own feet. Rekkan lurched forward and grabbed her arm, steadying her. 

Fennikk flashed me a giddy grin and a thumbs-up. I stifled a laugh behind a fisted hand. She fell into place beside Rekkan. 

“So, what’s your name?”

He hitched his thumbs in his pockets, eyes on the road ahead. “Rekkan.”

She adjusted the blanket to hitch her one thumb in her pocket, eyes on Rekkan. “And how old are you, Mister Rekkan?”

“Old.”

“Like... twenty?”

“Older.”

Her eyes widened, and her head dipped in a somber nod. “Wow, that is old. I hope I’ll be that old someday.”

My heart squeezed, siphoning the air from my lungs. Hours ago, saving the world had been some abstract passion, like painting a perfect portrait or climbing the highest mountain. 

At eight years old, Fennikk had lived her entire life running from Infected. For Fennikk, saving the world meant the opportunity to grow up.

And to maybe, for once, live without fear.

I will never stop until I have secured the future you deserve.

Beside me, Rekkan’s hands fisted and throat worked. 

Fennikk failed to notice either of our reactions, focused on the sunset ahead. “What’s what?”

I squinted at the horizon, where a dark spot formed in front of the setting sun. “I… don’t know.”

Rekkan jerked to a stop, staring ahead, and Nikkla jogged forward to grab Fennikk’s shoulders. 

The sound started like a distant roll of thunder, a barely perceptible tremble through the ground. Within seconds, it crescendoed to a vibrating drumroll. As more black blotted the orange sun and spilled out over the white field ahead, I distinguished movement and shape. 

My beating railed against its confines, matching the drumroll.

Bodies.

Hundreds and hundreds of bodies.

Rekkan seized my shoulders before I even saw him move. “Zaf, get out of here!”

I swung a glance at the field of white surrounding us. “To where? Where do we go?”

“We? There’s no we. Run back where we came from, back toward the trees.” He yanked his rifle from its holster. “I’ll hold them off as long as I can.”

Beside us, Nikkla screamed a string of curses, and Fennikk melted into tears.

I shook my head. “I can’t leave Fennikk. I can’t —” My voice choked. “I can’t leave you. And you were right — being Lazora’s son doesn’t make me special.”

“Zafaru, what I meant is...”  His voice cut through the growing noise with shocking clarity, and the fury and passion in his eyes momentarily superseded the onslaught of mind-dead warriors and panicked thumping of my heart. “Being her son is not what makes you special.”

My raging heart missed a beat, melting in spite of the panic. This moment called for only desperation and fear, but the admiration and certainty in his voice hooked deep enough to circumpass even the fear of death. 

Then Nikkla ripped up her pant leg and snatched the flare gun.

“No!” I screamed at her. “Don’t —”

Blinding light burst through the darkening sky, a beacon of hope transformed into a dreadful omen.

“Go!” Rekkan yanked me around and shoved my shoulders. “Run!”

I broke into a sprint. Snow and broken gravel flew by beneath my feet, and the cold air burned my lungs. Beneath my pounding heart and rasping breaths, the herd of approaching Infected grew more distant. Ahead, I glimpsed the treeline.

Then another instrument joined the cacophony — humming helicopters. 

When I glanced over my shoulder, snow clouded the sputtering blades of two helicopters as they touched the ground. Then a dozen figures streamed out, clad in black full-body suits and gas masks. Two rushed toward Nikkla and Fennikk.

“Stay calm and come with us,” one called.

“No!” The yell scraped blades over my throat. “No, don’t go!”

Nikkla and Fennikk jogged toward the helicopters, and two figures helped them aboard. The moment they disappeared from view, the five remaining figures started toward me.

Rekkan’s yell ripped through the night, shredded by raw panic. “Stop, or I’ll shoot!” 

“Stand down,” one of them said to Rekkan. “We are not after you.”

They picked up speed, darting my way.

Rekkan fired the gun once — twice — thrice. Each bullet found a target, ripping through flesh and jerking the masked figures back for a millisecond. While blood still spattered the snow behind them like impressionistic art, their bodies catapulted forward with inhuman speed. 

Abandoning hope of outrunning them, I yanked the switchblade from my pocket and flicked it open. Then I flailed, swiping at the figures until the black bodies and white snow drowned in red. My eardrums throbbed with my scream, Rekkan’s yell, the approaching stampede, and the humming helicopters. Then one of the suited figures snatched up a needle, and three things occurred in quick succession.

A blur of disorienting motion and sound. 

A tiny prick of pain.

And black.