Light from the mid-morning sun dapples through the flame-colored leaves of the overhanging branches above me, with the pollen and dust dancing in the sunbeams. The forest is quiet and still, save for the gentle breeze blowing in, lifting the leaves from their perch, and making the branches of the evergreens dance, the fragrance of fresh pine overpowering my sense of smell. I watch my target, a young female deer, graze just ahead of me, ignorant to my presence. 

It's young, maybe only a few months old, but she's plump enough to feed my family and me back at our makeshift camp. It would be a much more welcome meal than the trio of squirrels in my pack, anyway. 

The doe's pelt is thick and looks soft, the only imperfection marring its hide being that of an old scar on its hindquarters.

The scar looks like it was made by someone - or something - who failed to snag their catch. If it was one of the infected freaks, though...

Is that a risk I'm willing to take? Surviving off the few berries, mushrooms, and rodants I've managed to scavenge has gotten us through the days so far, but with winter upon us, it's been getting harder and harder to find anything substantial. 

My stomach growls at the thought of a fulfilling breakfast, and the doe's head snaps up, her ears perked and eyes wide. I freeze where I'm crouched, not daring to move. The bushes that surround the clearing are tall and lush, sufficiently hiding me, and the wind hasn't changed direction; I'm still undetected, save for my loud-ass empty stomach. The doe flicks her tail anxiously as she stares in my direction. 

One wrong move on my part, and it's squirrel for breakfast again. I'm not sure how much longer my family and I can go on like this, but I know that the best way to fix irritated-sibling syndrome is a full stomach. 

It's a start, anyway.

The wind rustles the leaves around us, and the doe's head swivels on a pivot, her eyes wide in search of danger. Ever-so-carefully, I draw my bow, inch by inch, and the doe's gaze is back on the bushes I'm hidden in.

I freeze. 

She's aware of the danger lurking around her now, but her gaze is turned to my left, where a faint rustle of leaves sound with the passing breeze. I tilt my head in the direction of the sound, my body buzzing and stomach tightening.

Is someone else out here? Is something out here? 

My arrow is already nocked, my bow drawn, and my arms are steady, though fighting hunger. Whatever is out here with us is just as good at hiding as I am, but I'm not about to let it get my breakfast. My fingers gradually slacken as I perfect my aim, but before I can let the arrow loose, a shadowy figure drops from a tree and lands on the doe. 

The doe gives out a startled shriek that quickly dies out as the figure plunges a knife in it's throat. Less than a second later, something cold and sharp is pressed against the side of my neck. 

"Drop the bow," a woman's voice hisses in my ear, and her tone freezes my blood.

The figure that dropped from the tree stands as I survey my odds, and in the light, I can see that it's a young man, maybe around my age, with a bloody knife in his hand. He's staring at me with a curious look, a sharp eyebrow cocked upward. The doe lies dead at his feet, and the only feeling now is that of intense disappointment.

"Drop the bow, or I'm dropping you," the woman growls, pressing the knife further against my neck, and I can feel a trickle of blood oozing down to my collarbone. She feels close behind me, her body nearly pressed against mine, her breath tickling the hairs on the back of my neck, and with her face as close as she sounds, I can pinpoint just about where she's crouching. 

The young man starts to walk over with a concerned look on his face, steping over my stolen breakfast, and I have only a second to react. I release the arrow, allowing my arm to sharply follow through, and I can feel a dull thwack as my elbow connects painfully with what I hope is the woman's face. A pained and surprised "Fuck!" tells me I was right.

I can't see if the arrow hits the young man, but the knife the woman holds cuts into my neck as she falls back. Taking advantage of the surprise attack, I whirl to my feet, sling my bow over my back, and sprint off without a second glance backward. 

The rush of footsteps crunching through the leaves behind me tells me I'm fucked, but I can't let them get me. I can't risk them being a part of one of those rogue groups of survivors looking to hurt my family. 

Thinking fast, I grab my sack of squirrels and, bitterly departing with the last of breakfast, throw it back in my pursuer's face in an attempt to slow them down. In doing so, however, I slow myself down too much, and they lurch forward, tackling my legs out from under me, and I fall face first in the leaves. Whoever it is attempts to still my legs, but I refuse to be caught this easily. Fighting like a wild cornered animal, I kick at their hands with my boots and snag a few fingers, earning another not-so-happy "Fuck!" from the woman. 

I rip myself free of her grip and snatch the knife out of my boot, making a stab at her hands, but she rolls away from me and springs to her feet in an unfair show of agility. I barely have time to groan at just how frustrating this fight is as she lunges at me again, her own knife in hand. I roll on my back, kicking up my legs, catching her in the chest, using her momentum to propel her into a tree behind me, and deftly flip back to my feet. 

This time, I'm met with the young man barreling his way towards me like a runaway freight train, and I barely have time to move out of the way, my boot catching his feet as he flies by me, tumbling ass-over-teakettle. 

"Ha!" I breathe. 

I'm almost amazed at how easy it is to knock them off their feet, but my temporary win is quickly shot down as the young man rolls back onto his feet and lunges at me in a blur, almost too fast for me to register. 

"Shit." I lunge towards him, my knife readied, and slash at his chest, but he spins around my attack, grabs my wrist, and gives it a painful twist, knocking the knife from my hands, and it falls somewhere in the leaves. I twist against him, throw his arm over my shoulder, and flip him into the bushes, hammering my fist into his sternum. He wheezes out a groan, stunned. 

Remembering the woman I tossed into a tree, I spin back around, a second too late. She shoulders into me with all of her weight, knocking me aside while I flail about, trying desperately to catch myself on something. My face connects with a tree, and I yelp in pain as my vision goes dark and my body limp. 

The throbbing pain in my head brings me back to wakefulness, and I'm vaguely aware that my hands are tied behind my back, and I'm on the ground, leaning against a tree. The side of my face feels wet, and I can taste blood in my mouth. The feeling of dizziness and nausea are almost overwhelming, but I power through it, raising my head to look at my attackers. 

"If you want the damn deer, you can have it," I grumble, my vision blurry, and I notice, rather painfully, that I've split my lip as well. 

That's not going to heal pretty...

"She's one Hell of a fighter, that's for sure," the young man wheezes, and I can see his blurry image sitting down not far in front of me. A smug smile reaches my lips.

"You haven't seen nothing yet," I grumble, blinking the blur from my eyes. 

The woman comes up behind me and shoves me forward, roughly pushing up my sleeves and turning my arms over. 

"If you're looking for a bite," I groan, "I'm sorry to disappoint." I try to blow the leaves out of my mouth, but they stick to the bloody side of my face as the woman drags me back to a sitting position. She rips open my bomber, and blind panic overtakes me. "The fuck are you doing?!" I try pushing myself away from her as she examines my neck, forcing my head this way and that, before she finally stops, stands, and sighs. 

"She's clean," she states to her companion, who carefully stands up, rubbing his chest and coughing slightly.

"Well, if she's not one of them, then who the Hell is she?"

I assume that, by 'them,' they mean the Widow's, the notorious group of raiders in the area known for killing survivors for their supplies. They both look down at me, the woman glaring daggers and the young man warily curious. Judging by how they talk about the Widow's, I can safely assume that these two aren't with them. But then, who are they?

The woman glaring down at me is tall and fit. Well, they both are by my standards, but she stands taller than her friend, built like a brick wall, with fluffy, dirty blonde hair that looks as though she cut it herself - with a knife and no mirror. There are twigs and leaves poking out of her hair she hasn't bothered to shake out from our scuffle, and an angry, red cut marks her face, just below her eye, probably from where I jabbed her with my elbow. Her eyes are what startles me the most; cold as polished steel and the color just the same. They look like two angry storm clouds, capable of holding a squall that could level cities and burst with lightning, and they're directed entirely on me. 

If I weren't so hungry, I'd probably be frightened. 

The young man behind her looks like a much kinder, flag-poled version of her, his puffy sandy hair pulled back into a very short ponytail. His face is much more pointed, like an impish pixie, and it's clear that, between the two of them, he's the one who cares much more about his physical appearance, whereas the woman seems to go more for functionality over fashion. There are two long scars down the side of his face, tracing up from his jaw to the point of his eyebrow. Both of them have tanned skin that almost glows in the morning sun.

Judging from their skill and the lack of gear they carry, I can tell that they aren't traveling around and likely camped out somewhere nearby, probably expected back soon. 

That doesn't bode well for me.

The woman grabs her knife from before, crouches down in front of me, and levels the blade at my throat, a very unhappy look on her face. 

"Who are you?" She demands. 

"Bozo the clown?" 

The young man tries his best not to laugh, and the woman's frown only deepens. She jabs the knife at my throat, the point digging in my skin. 

"I'm not in a particularly good mood if you can't tell, so it would be in your best interest to answer my questions honestly," she twists the knife to emphasize her point - no pun intended. "Who. Are. You?" 

"Jesus, lady, I'm just a hunter! You know, out for breakfast!" I grumble, trying to squirm away from the knife. "Put that thing away before you poke someone's eye out!" 

Her eyes harden, but she stops twisting the knife at my throat. "Do you know who we are?" 

I look at them, confused. "I don't know, should I?"

They glance at one another, and the woman stands, sheathing her knife and crossing her arms. 

"What are you doing out here?" She demands. 

If my face doesn't convey 'what part of 'hunter' did you not understand, dipshit?' then I'm sure she won't appreciate my verbal response to such a stupid question. Regardless, she raises an eyebrow, prompting me to answer. "What, did you knock your head into a tree too, or did you forget the part where I already told you that I'm out here hunting?" 

The woman snarls down at me, obviously pissed off, and the young man pats her shoulder. "Let me," he says, crouching down in front of me. "The two by the creek west of here, are they with you?" 

I freeze, my face neutral, but that seems to give him the answer he was looking for. 

"Listen," he sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. "We can resolve this peacefully, but we need you to cooperate with us. This wasn't supposed to get as messy as it did." 

"Maybe it would have gone a little differently if your powerhouse friend over there didn't threaten me with a knife to my throat," I return. 

He opens his mouth to object, thinks better of it, and shrugs with a 'yeah, you have a point' look. 

"Those friends of yours by the river," he says. "You know them?" 

"What's it to you?" I demand defensively, trying to wiggle my hands out of the bindings while they're distracted.

"We can never be too certain with strangers nowadays. Never know if they're the good ones, or the ones who want you dead." 

"So, which does that make you?" 

The woman smirks. "You're not dead, are you?" 

"Not yet," I spit back. 

The woman leers over me, obviously trying to be intimidating, but I'm too hungry to care much for it. "If we wanted you dead, you'd be dead by now." 

I spit blood up at her, hitting her square in the eye, and she rears back in disgust. "Oh, you nasty little shit!" She wipes my blood from her eye and raises her boot to kick me in the face, but I roll to the side and scramble to my feet, darting through the trees. 

I can hear the woman start after me, but the young man calls out to her, "Just let her go!" The woman breaks pursuit, but I don't look back as I weave through the trees, wiggling out of the bindings and tossing them aside. 

I take a long way back, in case they're tracking me, and sigh in relief when I see the camouflaged tarp covering our small camp. I wade through the creek, and two heads pop up, startled. 

My sister's eyes go wide when she sees the blood on my face and neck. "Hell, Cassy, did you fall out of a tree?" Octavia asks with worry as I hurry to the tarp, undoing the knots. 

"Pushed into one, more like. Come on, we have to go," I tell them, my hands shaking from adrenalin and hunger. 

"Are you okay?" Felix asks, looking me over with worry. "What happened out there?" 

"I'll be fine once we're far away from here, but for now, we have to go," I urge them, and Octavia quickly starts to pack up the sleeping bags, securing them back onto our travel bags. 

Felix helps me fold up the tarp and stuff it in his bag as Octavia puts out the cooking fire. 

A twig snaps to my right, and I whip around, my bow drawn and an arrow knocked, aimed directly at the chest of the young man from earlier.

"Heya," he greets, one hand up in a friendly manner, the other on his hip.