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ELEVEN

FARRON

HIS CHOSEN

Day 36

I jolt awake, my heart hammering against my ribs, my breath coming in short, uneven bursts. Sweat clings to my skin, cooling too quickly in the shade, dampening my forehead, my neck, and the hollow of my spine. Beside me, Magnum stirs. His wiry body shifts, muscles tensing as he lifts his head, ears perked, nose twitching. He’s always alert, always watching, even when I’m too weak to be. I reach for him, my fingers trembling, skimming over his rough fur, coarse and warm beneath my palm. Alive. He leans into my touch, pressing his small frame against me as if he knows. As if he understands.

Slowly, I exhale and drop my head back, shifting onto my back. My hands find my stomach, fingers curling against the fabric of my shirt that’s stiff with dried blood. I force my gaze up to the canopy of trees above, where the late summer sun filters through the leaves, casting shifting shadows across my body and the forest floor. The dappled light dances, moving with the breeze. Birds chatter somewhere in the distance, their songs echoing through the forest.

It should be peaceful. It should calm me.

It doesn’t.

The sun’s position tells me it’s early afternoon. Too late. I’ve lost more daylight, just like I’ve lost too many already, rooted to this spot while my mind eats itself alive. I should be moving. I should have been moving yesterday or the day before. Instead, I stayed. Paralyzed with guilt as I battle my own mind.

The blood on my clothes and in my hair has long since dried, flaking away in places. Yet, it still feels fresh. It lingers like an accusation, like a ghost whose only purpose is to haunt me. I told myself today would be the day I finally continued my journey home, but I couldn’t sleep last night. Just like the night before, and the night before that one. My mind won’t let me—every time I close my eyes, they’re there.

Their bodies still lie only a few hundred yards away, hidden among the trees.

You either die a hero, or you live long enough to see yourself become the villain. That’s how the saying goes, right? Is that what I am now? A villain? A monster shaped in a matter of moments? I didn’t want it. I didn’t want those men to touch me that way, to push me up against that tree and try to force themselves onto me. I didn’t want it. I didn’t want to have to fight anyone. It’s bad enough to have to worry about the infected and having to fight and kill creatures that were once living people just like me. I didn’t want to have to kill those men, not in protection, and not at all.

I didn’t want it, I didn’t want it, I didn’t want it.

I suppose it doesn’t matter what I wanted. It only matters what I’ve done. And what I’ve done is kill two men, violently and angrily.

Blood, blood, blood. My hands are covered in blood.

I only did what I had to do, right?

I know that’s the truth, so why does it feel like my chest is going to cave in from the weight of what I’ve done? Why does my throat tighten like I can’t get enough air?

A sob hiccups out of me, and I bring a hand up to cover my mouth, only to wince at the twinge of pain that I feel. I look down, seeing that I’ve scratched part of my hand raw as my thoughts run rampant. Skin torn by restless, frantic fingers. He nudges my hand, licking the torn skin, his tail thumping against me in a steady rhythm. I let out a quiet laugh that borders on hysterical. Because what the fuck else is there to do? Reality is a nightmare, and the only thing keeping me from unraveling completely is this tiny, scrappy rat of a dog in a makeshift cast.

And maybe that’s the funniest, saddest thing of all.

The laugh dies in my throat at the sound of something in the distance. My hands tighten around Magnum as I hold my breath, straining to hear and figure out what kind of threat is nearby. At first, there’s only silence, the kind that stretches thin and brittle. Then—voices. What sounds like men arguing. I let out a shaky breath and curse my fucking luck. More people.

I pack up my things as quickly and quietly as I can, grabbing Magnum before taking off in what I hope is the opposite direction of the voices. It’s hard to tell when every sound seems to echo throughout the forest, and my heart rate spikes as I try to push past the fear that I’ll run directly into these men in my attempt to avoid them. I don’t even know how many there are. Shit. I could maybe take on one. Two, if I got lucky. But any more than that, and I’d be done for.

I move on the balls of my feet carefully and slowly, avoiding dry leaves and loose twigs. The voices seem to be getting closer and a snap sounds somewhere behind me, causing me to dive in front of a tree for cover. Magnum must sense my fear because he remains still in my arms, looking up at me with what I swear is concern in his little eyes. I crouch down to make myself smaller and easier to miss. I don’t think I can get away, but I just need to not be seen.

My breath quickens, coming in shallow gasps that I try to silence, but the fear is a living thing, wrapping around my ribs like a vice. I’m scared that I don’t have it in me to try and fight for my life again so soon after the last time, scared of what will become of me this time. Not for the first time; I wonder if there’s any point in trying to stay alive anymore, if it would just be better off to be dead.

“It’s not my fucking fault,” an angry, petulant voice rings out, followed by what sounds like a scoff. I close my eyes, take a slow breath, and carefully peek around the tree. My eyes land on two men in the distance. One is tall and lanky, barely more than a boy, maybe early twenties. There’s an arrogance to the way he carries himself, the kind that comes from never having truly been tested. If it came down to it, I think I could take him. The other is shorter but broader, with a beard that adds years to his face and a demeanor that tells me he’s seen more. Fought more. Survived more. He’d be the problem.

They’re dressed almost identically—plain trousers and longline linen tops, untucked and loose-fitting, giving them an odd, uniformed look. My brow furrows as unease prickles up my spine. The men I killed the other day…I think they wore the same thing. Ice settles in my stomach. Are these two with them? Are they looking for retribution?

I hold my breath as I wait for more men to make their appearance, but no more come.

“We were supposed to scout in this direction, but you convinced Smith to switch rotations,” the stocky one says, and my brain stutters.

Smith, look what I found! Smith, look what I found! Rough hands grabbing at me. A wet tongue dragging up my neck. Fingers digging into my chest. The bark of a tree biting into my back as my zipper ? —

“How the hell was I supposed to know that the two of them would end up dead, Elihu?” the lanky one snaps, drawing me out of the memories. I latch onto the name, Elihu, rolling it over in my mind. It’s strange, uncommon. I commit it to memory, just in case.

They aren’t close, but their voices carry in the hush of the forest. Neither of them bother to keep their tone low. Arrogant. Careless. “You’d think you’d be grateful,” the lanky one continues, his words laced with irritation. “Thanking God and counting your blessings. If we hadn’t switched, that could’ve been us.”

“Yeah, yeah,” the stocky one, Elihu, mutters. “Glory to the Almighty and to His Chosen. You’d just better hope Prophet Malachi chooses to see this as God proving which weaker members are unworthy. I don’t want to face his wrath if he finds himself angry instead.”

“You really think he’ll be mad?”

Elihu exhales heavily, reaching out to clasp the other man’s shoulder. “I don’t know, Samuel. But I don’t see how he could be pleased to lose two men. Our numbers are low enough as it is. It’s difficult to spread the message and purify this new world if we don’t have hands to do the work.”

My mind begins to race, struggling to process the information, racing to absorb every piece of information they’ve let slip. Names—Elihu, Samuel, Malachi, Smith. A Prophet. A cause. I murmur the words under my breath, barely parting my lips as I etch them into my memory. Glory to the Almighty, and to His Chosen. I mouth it once. Then again.

Samuel’s laugh is sudden, cutting through my concentration. “Did you notice Smith had his zipper down, pants hanging just a little low? Think he got taken out while he was taking a piss?”

It’s almost funny, actually, how it happens. It would be funny, were it not absolutely fucking terrifying. I shift just slightly, trying to ease the cramp in my leg. But the forest betrays me. My boot catches on a thick root, and before I can catch myself, I pitch forward. My body crashes into the ground with a loud thud and a gasp as the air is knocked out of my lungs. Magnum yelps, stumbling from my grasp with a startled scrabble of paws against dirt.

The noise immediately draws the attention of the two men, both of their heads snapping in my direction.

Elihu’s fingers seem to tighten around Samuel’s shoulder as his lips curl into a slow, predatory grin. His voice is almost delighted when he speaks. “Or maybe, Smith and Caleb found a pretty little bird and decided to have some fun with her before bringing her back to Prophet Malachi. Such a shame that the little bird had claws.”

They start towards me, and my heart lurches. I don’t think I just move. In a frantic move, I lunge for Magnum, clutch him to my chest and bolt into the trees. The forest blurs around me, shadows twisting, the underbrush clawing at my legs. I can barely feel it. Adrenaline drowns out the ache in my limbs, the hunger gnawing at my stomach. I’m exhausted, drained from the endless journey and weeks of too little food, but I don’t stop.

I was far enough away from them that I already have a bit of a head start, though it doesn’t necessarily guarantee that I’ll get away. I risk a glance back. Elihu is lagging behind, but Samuel—Samuel is gaining. Fuck .

Panic coils tight in my chest. I push myself harder, legs burning as I weave through the trees. The uneven terrain is treacherous, but I can’t afford to slow down. Then, like something out of a bad horror movie, my right foot catches on a hidden root. I barely have time to brace myself before I’m pitching forward, hitting the dirt hard. Pain jolts through my knees and my ankle, but I shove it down, scrambling upright in an instant. I take off again, lungs heaving, but I only make it a few more steps before a hand snatches a fistful of my hair.

A cry falls from my lips as my head is yanked back. His arms wrap around me, and I can feel how bony he is as he pulls me into his chest. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I’m aware that I could escape from his grasp if I struggled enough. But for some reason, my limbs feel stiff, my movements sluggish.

Magnum is growling in my hands, and once again, he becomes my savior. He snaps his little head forward, teeth sinking into one of Samuel’s hands, one of which has a strange symbol branded into it. The symbol is like a cross with an extra horizontal line through it at the top, but I don’t get too long to inspect it. He drops his hold on me, and it’s just enough for my fingers to fly to the knife at my belt, unsheathing it in one swift motion. I twist quickly, striking blindly. The knife finds flesh, landing right in his forearm. Before he has a chance to do anything, I rip the blade free.

He screams and staggers back, clutching his forearm where my knife was buried deep. Blood seeps between his fingers as he looks at me with a dumbstruck expression. I don’t wait to see more. I turn and run.

“You bitch!” The words pierce through the forest. “You’re going to fucking pay for that! Prophet Malachi doesn’t need you unsoiled or pretty before we bring you to him.” The threat lands as intended, spurring me to keep going. Suddenly, a shot rings out, and I feel the bullet slice past my head, embedding itself in a tree just ahead. I don’t turn back this time to see which one of those fuckers is shooting at me. It doesn’t matter.

I throw myself into a zigzag pattern, trying to make it as difficult as I can for them to get me. My chest is heaving as I struggle to catch my breath as I run, but I don’t stop. My legs burn as I weave between the trees, branches clawing at my arms and face, but I don’t stop. More shots ring out, but none come close enough to touch me. They’ve lost their aim, or perhaps they’ve lost sight of me entirely.

I remind myself that I grew up on the ranch, that I spent my entire childhood outdoors. I don’t know how much outdoor experience these two have, but I have to put mine to use. I need to disappear.

My eyes dart around, searching for anything—anywhere—I can hide. Then, I see it: a tangle of thick underbrush near the base of a fallen tree, its roots ripped from the earth, leaving behind a hollowed-out space beneath. It’s tight, but I can fit.

I dive toward it, shoving inside just as Magnum wriggles in after me. The earth is damp and smells like rot, and the air in the small space is thick with decay. I press myself down, belly flat against the ground, pulling stray branches and dead leaves over us. My breath is loud in my own ears, but I force it to slow, swallowing back the panic threatening to break me.

Footsteps crash closer. I squeeze my eyes shut, pressing a hand gently over Magnum’s tiny body to keep him still.

“That bitch couldn’t have gone far,” Samuel growls.

Leaves rustle. A branch snaps. I bite the inside of my cheek so hard I taste blood.

“We’ll find her,” Elihu says, voice dripping with disdain. “She’s around here somewhere. I doubt she’s smart enough to hide from us.”

“Can’t believe she fucking stabbed me,” Samuel whines, that petulant tone back in his voice.

“Prophet Malachi won’t be happy about that. Especially if we return without her as a prize,” Elihu responds. “Let’s keep moving.”

Their voices fade as they move past, but I don’t dare move. Not yet. I wait.

Minutes stretch into an hour. Then two. The sun sinks lower, and the forest shifts around me, cooling with the onset of night. Magnum shifts every few minutes, but he even seems to realize that we’re in danger, because he doesn’t whine or bark at all. Mosquitoes bite at my skin, and my muscles ache from holding still, but I don’t move. Not until I’m sure they’re gone. Not until I know it’s safe.

But as I stay hidden, my limbs stiff and my body screaming in discomfort, a thought hits me, not for the first time. I’m not sure I’ll ever be safe again.