Riley
I woke up before the sun.
Not because I wanted to. Because my body decided sleep was over and I didn't get a vote. The cave was dark. Cold. Someone was snoring. Someone else was crying in their sleep. Soft sounds. The sounds of people who didn't know how to be quiet.
I sat up. My back screamed. The bruises from the experiments were still there. Purple. Yellow. Green. A map of everything they'd done to me.
I ignored it. Pain was just information. I'd learned that on the table.
Sasha was asleep next to me. Her face was slack. Peaceful. Almost normal. Without the sharpness in her eyes, she looked younger. Just a girl. Just another kid who'd been taken from her life and dropped into this nightmare.
I looked at her for a moment. Then I stood up.
---
Outside, the world was gray.
The sun wasn't up yet, but the sky was lighter. The trees were black shapes against the gray. The air was cold. Wet. My breath came out in small clouds.
I moved away from the cave. Quiet. Slow. My knife was in my hand. I didn't remember picking it up. It was just there. Like it belonged there.
I didn't have a plan. That was strange. I always had a plan. But this morning, my brain was empty. Just the cold. Just the gray. Just the need to move.
I walked along the ridge. Looking. Watching. The forest was silent. Too silent. No birds. No bugs. Nothing.
That should have been a warning.
I didn't listen.
---
I found them at the bottom of the ridge.
Three bodies. Laid out in a row. Like someone had arranged them.
I stopped. My hand tightened on the knife.
They were fresh. I could tell by the way the blood hadn't dried. By the way their skin still looked like skin, not wax. By the way their eyes were still open, still wet, still looking at something I couldn't see.
Kids. My age. Maybe younger. Their throats were cut. Clean. Like someone knew what they were doing.
I stood there. Looking. Feeling nothing.
No. That's a lie. I felt something. A flicker. A whisper. Something that said that could be you.
I pushed it down. Locked it away. That was the old Riley. The one who cared about things like dying.
I didn't care about dying. I cared about surviving.
I crouched down. Checked their pockets. Nothing. Checked their hands. Nothing. They'd been stripped. Whatever they had was gone.
I stood up. Turned around.
And then I felt it.
---
Something hit my back.
Not something. An arrow. I knew it before I looked. The pain was sharp. Focused. A hot point between my shoulder blades.
I didn't scream. I didn't fall. I just... stopped. Stood there. Let the pain register. Let my brain process.
Arrow. Back. Not through. Tip embedded. Bleeding. Not fatal. Not yet.
I turned around.
Four of them. Standing at the edge of the trees. Kids. Boys and girls. Bows in their hands. Arrows nocked. Faces hard.
The one in front was a boy. Maybe seventeen. His bow was raised. His eyes were cold. He'd shot me. He was already reaching for another arrow.
"You should have stayed in your cave," he said.
I looked at his bow. His arrows. His friends. I looked at the bodies on the ground. The ones they'd killed. The ones they'd stripped.
I felt something. Not fear. Not anger. Something colder. Something that said these are the ones.
The boy drew his arrow back. His friends did the same.
"We're doing you a favor," he said. "The Stalkers won't come near us if we give them blood. You're just... payment."
Payment.
He was killing kids to pay off monsters.
I thought about that. About what kind of person does that. About what kind of world makes that seem like a good idea.
And then I moved.
---
My knife left my hand before I told it to.
I watched it spin. Watched the blade catch the gray light. Watched it fly straight.
It hit the boy in the face.
Right in the middle. Between the eyes. The blade sank in. Deep. The boy's hands went slack. His bow fell. His arrow dropped. He stood there for a second, like he didn't understand what had happened.
Then he fell.
His body hit the ground. Didn't move.
"SAM!"
A scream. One of the girls. She dropped her bow. Her hands went to her face. She was crying. Sobbing. "SAM! NO!"
The other two boys didn't drop their bows. They raised them. Aimed at me. Their hands were shaking. Their faces were white.
I saw the arrows coming.
That's the strange thing. Time didn't slow down. It just... expanded. Like my brain was working faster than everything else. I saw the arrows leave the bows. I saw the arcs they'd take. I saw where they'd hit me.
Chest. Neck. Leg.
I moved.
I dropped. Not forward. Not back. Down. My knees hit the ground. I slid. Like the kids in the old video games Helena's laptop. Like I was weightless. The grass was wet. Slick. I slid under the arrows.
I felt the wind from them. Heard them whistle past my head.
Then I was up. Moving. Running.
The boys were reaching for more arrows. Their hands were fumbling. They weren't soldiers. They were kids with bows. Kids who'd gotten lucky. Kids who'd killed people who didn't fight back.
I didn't have a weapon. My knife was in Sam's face.
So I grabbed an arrow.
It was on the ground. One of the ones they'd shot. I picked it up. The shaft was wood. The tip was metal. Sharp.
I didn't think. I just moved.
The first boy was reloading. His bow was half-drawn. His eyes were on the string, not on me.
I put the arrow in his eye.
He screamed. I didn't stop. I pushed. Hard. The arrow went through. I felt it crunch. Felt it go all the way to the back of his skull.
He fell. I pulled the arrow out. It came with things I didn't look at.
He was still moving. Twitching. His hands clawing at the ground.
I hit him again.
And again.
And again.
His face was a hole. A mess. Something that used to be a face but wasn't anymore. Like a honeycomb. Like something that had been eaten from the inside.
I stopped. My hand was wet. My arm was wet. My face was wet.
I didn't care.
---
The second boy was staring at me.
His bow was raised. His arrow was nocked. But he wasn't shooting. He was frozen. His face was white. His mouth was open. His hands were shaking so hard the arrow wobbled.
I walked toward him.
"Stay back," he said. His voice cracked. "Stay back or I'll—"
He didn't finish.
I grabbed his bow. Pulled it from his hands. He didn't fight. He just stood there, shaking, crying, begging.
"Please. Please don't. I didn't want to. Sam said—"
I hit him with the bow.
He fell. I hit him again. And again. The bow broke. I picked up an arrow. I hit him with that. The shaft snapped. I picked up the broken end. The sharp end.
I don't remember how many times I hit him.
I remember his face. The way it changed. The way it stopped being a face and started being something else. Something red. Something wet. Something that didn't look like anything at all.
When I stopped, he wasn't moving.
I stood up. My hands were covered. My clothes were covered. My face was covered.
I looked at the girl.
---
She was on the ground. Kneeling. Crying. Her hands were pressed together like she was praying. Her bow was on the ground. Her arrows were scattered. She wasn't fighting. She wasn't running.
She was just... there. Waiting.
I walked toward her.
"Please," she whispered. "Please don't."
I stopped in front of her. Looked down.
"What's your name?"
She looked up. Her face was wet. Her eyes were red. She was shaking so hard I could hear her teeth chattering.
"M-Mira."
"Mira." I said her name. Let it sit in my mouth. "How many have you killed?"
She didn't answer.
"How many?"
"F-Five." Her voice was tiny. "Sam said—"
"I don't care what Sam said."
I turned around. Reached behind me. The arrow was still there. Still in my back. I grabbed the shaft. Pulled.
The pain was white. Hot. My vision went gray for a second. But I didn't stop. I pulled until the shaft came out. The tip stayed in. I'd deal with that later.
I dropped the arrow. Turned back to Mira.
"Stand up."
She stood. Her legs were shaking. She almost fell. I grabbed her arm. Held her up.
"Walk."
I pushed her toward the cave.
---
The cave was awake when I got back.
Everyone was up. Standing. Staring. Sasha was at the entrance. Her face was sharp. Alert. She'd heard something. Or she'd sensed it. I didn't know. I didn't care.
I pushed Mira into the cave. She stumbled. Fell to her knees. Crying. Shaking.
The others stared. At her. At me. At the blood.
I was covered in it. I knew that. I could feel it drying on my skin. Sticky. Tight.
No one said anything.
Sasha moved. Fast. She was at my side before I knew it. Her hand touched my back. I flinched.
"Shit," she said.
"Arrow tip," I said. "Still in."
She looked at my face. At the blood. At my hands. Her eyes didn't change. She didn't look scared. She didn't look disgusted.
She just nodded.
"Sit down."
---
I started a fire.
The kids had supplies. Not much. A lighter. Some dry tinder. I found it in Mira's bag. I built the fire at the mouth of the cave. Everyone watched. No one helped.
I let the flames catch. Let them grow. Then I took my knife. The one from Sam's face. I'd pulled it out before I left. The blade was wet. I wiped it on the grass. Held it over the fire.
The metal turned red. Then orange. Then something else. Something that glowed.
Sasha was behind me. She'd found a stick. Clean. Straight. She put it in my hand.
"Bite down."
I put the stick in my mouth. Bit down.
She pulled my shirt back. I heard the others gasp. I didn't look. I knew what they were seeing. The bruises. The burns. The marks from the experiments. A map of everything they'd done.
"The tip is in deep," Sasha said. "This is going to hurt."
I bit down harder.
She pulled. The pain was... familiar. Like the table. Like the needles. Like everything they'd done to me. My body wanted to scream. My body wanted to move. I didn't let it.
I sat there. Let her work. Let her dig. Let her pull.
When she was done, she held something up. A piece of metal. Small. Sharp. Covered in blood.
"Got it."
I spat out the stick. My jaw ached.
"The knife," I said.
She handed it to me. The blade was still hot. Still glowing.
I didn't hesitate. I pressed it to my back.
The sound was disgusting. A hiss. A sizzle. The smell was worse. Burning flesh. My own.
I didn't scream. I didn't move. I just sat there. Let it burn. Let it seal.
When it was done, I handed the knife back to Sasha. She was staring at me. Something in her eyes. Not fear. Not disgust. Something else. Something I didn't have a name for.
"You're insane," she said.
"Maybe."
I ripped a strip of cloth from Mira's shirt. Handed it to Sasha. She wrapped it around my back. Tight. The pressure was good. Grounding.
I stood up. Turned to Mira.
She was still on her knees. Still crying. Still shaking.
"Now," I said. "Start talking."
---
I picked up the knife. The blade was still hot. Not glowing anymore. But hot enough.
I crouched in front of Mira. Pressed the flat of the blade against her cheek.
She screamed. I saw the skin turn red. Watched it blister.
"Start talking," I said again. "Or the next one goes in your eye."
"STOP!"
Marcus. He was standing. His face was red. His hands were fists. "What the hell are you doing?!"
I turned. Looked at him.
"Fuck off," I said. "Or you're next."
He opened his mouth. Closed it. Sat down.
I turned back to Mira.
She was crying harder now. Her cheek was red. A burn in the shape of the blade. She was shaking so hard I thought she might fall apart.
"Please," she whispered. "Please. Allen. A boy named Allen. He's eighteen. He has a group. Twenty of them. Maybe more."
"What does Allen want?"
"He says... he says if we give the Stalkers blood, they won't attack us. Living or dead. He says if we kill the others, the Stalkers will see us as... as friends. As something like them."
I looked at her. Let her words settle.
"So he sent you out to kill."
"He said it was protection. He said—"
"I don't care what he said."
I stood up. Looked at the others. They were staring. Some were crying. Some were pale. One girl was vomiting in the corner.
Marcus was looking at me like I was a monster.
Maybe I was.
"Anything else?" I asked Mira.
She shook her head. "No. No. That's everything. I swear."
I looked at her. Really looked. Her face was wet. Her cheek was burned. Her hands were pressed together. Praying. Begging.
She'd killed five people.
Five kids. Just like us. Just like her.
I thought about the bodies at the bottom of the ridge. Arranged in a row. Stripped. Waiting for the Stalkers.
I thought about the arrow in my back.
I thought about what she'd do if I let her go. Run back to Allen. Tell him about me. Tell him about the cave. Bring twenty kids with bows and arrows and whatever else they'd found.
I thought about Sasha. Asleep next to me. Trusting me to keep her safe.
I made my decision.
---
I grabbed Mira's hair. Pulled her head back. Her throat was exposed. Pale. Soft.
"Please," she whispered. "Please."
I slit her throat.
The knife was sharp. It went through like nothing. Her eyes went wide. Her mouth opened. Blood came out. Bubbles. She tried to scream. There was no sound. Just blood. Just bubbles.
I let her fall.
She hit the ground. Twitched. Stopped.
Behind me, someone screamed. Someone else was crying. Someone was vomiting.
I didn't look.
---
I dragged Mira's body out of the cave. Down the ridge. Away from the shelter.
The sun was up now. The light was gold. The forest was green. Everything looked normal. Peaceful.
I piled wood around her body. Dry wood. Dead wood. I used the lighter from her bag. The flames caught. Spread. Ate.
I stood there. Watched her burn.
The smoke rose. Black. Thick. It twisted into the sky like a signal. Like a warning.
Let Allen see it. Let him know someone was here. Let him know someone wasn't afraid.
I turned. Walked back to the cave.
---
They were all awake now.
All of them. Nineteen kids. Nineteen faces. Nineteen pairs of eyes staring at me.
Some were crying. Some were shaking. Some were looking at the ground like they couldn't bear to look at me.
Sasha wasn't crying. She was sitting by the fire. Her face was calm. Her eyes were on me.
Marcus was standing. His fists were clenched. His face was red.
"You're a monster," he said.
I walked past him. Sat down by the fire. Picked up my knife. Started cleaning it.
"Maybe," I said. "But I'm alive."
"She was unarmed. She was begging. She—"
"She killed five people. She was going to kill us. If I let her go, she'd bring back Allen. And Allen would bring twenty more." I looked at him. "I did what I had to do."
"You enjoyed it."
I thought about that. Did I enjoy it? The knife in Sam's face. The arrow in the boy's eye. The way I kept hitting. Kept hitting. Kept hitting until there was nothing left.
I didn't know if I enjoyed it. I didn't know what I felt.
"I don't enjoy anything," I said.
Marcus stared at me for a long moment. Then he walked away. Sat in the corner. Didn't look at me again.
The others went back to their spots. Quiet. Some still crying. Some still shaking.
Sasha moved next to me. Close. Not touching. Just there.
"Your back is bleeding," she said.
"It'll stop."
"You need to rest."
"Later."
She didn't push. She just sat there. Close. Quiet.
I looked at the fire. The flames. The smoke.
I thought about Allen. Twenty kids. Bows. Arrows. A belief that feeding the Stalkers would save them.
They were wrong. The Stalkers didn't make deals. The Stalkers didn't care about sacrifices. They just hunted. Killed. Ate.
But Allen didn't know that. Or maybe he did. Maybe he was just using the others. Keeping them scared. Keeping them in line.
I knew that game. I'd seen it before. Foster homes. Group homes. There was always someone who wanted to be in charge. Someone who used fear to keep everyone else small.
I wasn't small. I wasn't scared.
And I wasn't going to let Allen think this was his island.
---
"We need to move," I said.
Sasha looked at me. "You need to heal."
"We need to move. Allen knows we're here. He'll send more. We need to find better ground. Somewhere defensible."
"Where?"
I looked at the map I'd taken from Mira's bag. The Zone was marked. Green. But there were other colors. Yellow. Red. Black.
And there was a settlement marked near the river. A big one. Allen's, probably.
We'd go the other way.
I pointed to a spot on the map. High ground. Near the edge of the Green Zone.
"There," I said.
Sasha looked at the map. At the spot I'd pointed to. Then at me.
"That's close to the Yellow Zone."
"I know."
"The Stalkers—"
"I know."
She was quiet for a moment. Then she nodded.
"Okay," she said. "When do we leave?"
"Now."
I stood up. My back screamed. I ignored it.
I looked at the others. They were watching me. Waiting.
"Pack up," I said. "We're moving."
No one argued.