Page 13 of Dustwalker

She’d been surprised to see someone at her door. Her eyes had fallen on his face first, and she’d been unable to ignore how attractive he was. His strong jaw, those defined, sculpted lips, those intense green eyes… But when the lantern light had reflected on the metal of his hand, cold fear had flooded her veins.

How could she forget that night, not long ago, when she’d learned what bots were truly capable of?

Lara shook her head, thrusting the thoughts away. She tossed the canteen onto the blankets and pulled her boots out from beneath the crate, pausing to examine them. To call them worn would’ve been an understatement. The threading was unraveling, and the thin leather showed signs of tearing.

She should’ve traded with the local leatherworker while she’d had items to spare. He knew how to piece footwear back together.

After tugging the boots on, she knelt beside the pallet and reached under it to retrieve her sheathed knife. She stood and strapped it to her thigh. It wouldn’t help against bots, but bots weren’t the only threat around here. Desperation could make humans do horrible things.

After braiding her hair, Lara wrapped her head with a swath of cloth, leaving a portion loose to cover her face. She tucked the canteen into the fabric tied around her waist, picked up her bag, and stepped outside, sliding the makeshift door back into place behind her.

Not that it mattered. If someone wanted to steal from her home, there was nothing stopping them. She always kept her few truly valuable belongings with her.

The morning sky was yellowish gray, and the air was already warm. The sun blazed through the haze on the eastern horizon. It would be another hot day.

Other people were stirring as she followed the cracked dirt path southward. Some of them were covered up, like Lara, ready to head out of town to scavenge. The seamstress had opened the panel on the front of her shack, already working with precise, delicate hands on someone’s clothing. Hal, the cook, had his fire pit going, with thin strips of meat sizzling on the grill over it.

The food smelled delicious, but Lara didn’t have anything to barter with. She wouldn’t give up the canteen for a few mouthfuls of food. It was worth more than that.

She hurried along, ignoring the twisting pain in her stomach. Outside their shacks, people sat quietly, staring at passersby.

Lara didn’t meet their gazes. She was too close to becoming like them—folks who didn’t want to deal with the bots and had chosen to give up instead. Many of them were missing fingers or hands, result of Warlord’sjustice, and their eyes were dead. Too much like those mechanical monsters for Lara’s comfort.

If you didn’t want to trade scrap or something more…personal to the bots for food, seeds, and goods, you had to work even harder to survive. Why bother, when death was so likely?

“Lara!”

She cast a sidelong glance at the man approaching her and somehow kept herself from walking faster. She’d hoped to be gone before he woke up so she wouldn’t have to deal with him.

“What do you want, Devon?” she asked, continuing toward the water pump near the center of the settlement.

Devon fell into step beside her. “A ‘good morning’ wouldn’t hurt.”

“Good morning, and goodbye. I have work to do.”

“You wouldn’t have to if you let me help you.”

“I don’t want yourhelp.”

He caught her elbow, forcing her to stop. She glanced at his hand, eyes narrowing, and then glared at him.

Devon smiled. “It’d be better than digging through shit every day, hoping to find something to trade for some food.” He leaned closer, gaze dipping. “I have plenty to share, Lara. Your body will fill out in no time.”

It wasn’t unusual for women to latch onto men who could provide. Devon grew some of his own food, owned a chicken, and had connections in the market. He wasn’t bad looking, either. Long, wavy blond hair that fell thickly down to his shoulders, rich brown eyes, and strong features. Likely the cleanest man in the district. Many women had cozied up to him and had benefitted from it.

“I’d be a gentle lover, Lara,” Devon whispered, brushing a finger along her jaw.

Lara would not be one of those women.

She yanked her arm from his grasp and stepped back. “I’d rather starve.”

“Oh, come on! What are you trying to prove? Why not take what I have to offer?”

“Why not be your whore, you mean?”

“Better than being a bot-banger like your sister.”

Lara flinched, gritting her teeth. Fists clenched, she turned away from him and walked to the water pump.