Page 8 of Hero

I hear a voice calling out in outrage. The third guy must have heard the gunshots.

The passenger window is open, so I duck down as far as I can while still being able to see through it. When he’s in sight, waving a shotgun clumsily with his jeans halfway down his legs, I shoot him too.

All three were kill shots. None of their bodies are moving.

They’re all dead.

Finally taking a full breath, I check the ignition. There aren’t any keys. The guys must have been hot-wiring it. I manipulate the exposed wires to get the engine to turn over and am pleased to see half a tank of gas left on the gauge.

Keeping my gun in my hand, I leave the engine running and get out to collect the men’s weapons, the few remaining bottles of beer, and the supply of jerky they’ve been eating.

When I hear a whimper, I glance over and see the dog peeking out from behind an abandoned SUV.

I rip up a length of jerky and throw the pieces toward him.

He runs over and wolfs down the food.

Scanning the camp one more time, I make sure there’re no other useful supplies or provisions. Seeing nothing, I climb behind the wheel of the truck.

I’m about to close the door when the dog, having finished his bites, comes creeping toward me, eyeing me with the most pitiful kind of hope.

His tail gives one barely perceptible wag.

I freeze for a few seconds, trapped by indecision. There are so many reasons not to do this. We’re barely surviving ourselves. One more mouth to feed is asking for trouble. Zed isn’t going to like it. At all.

It’s true I’ve changed in the past five years. I’ve toughened up. Hardened. I can kill without hesitation now when I need to. But I’m still not nearly as tough as I like to believe. With a soft groan, I make a gesture with my head and a clicking sound.

The dog knows exactly what this means. He gives a little yap and leaps up into the truck, climbing over me to reach the passenger seat.

He sits up straight like a good boy and pants at me.

“I’m going to have a lot of explaining to do when we get home,” I tell him, putting the truck into drive and making a U-turn so we’re heading in the opposite direction. “So you sure as hell better have some useful skills to earn your keep.”

His tongue lolls to the side of his mouth as he pants some more.

“And don’t count on gourmet meals. You’ll have to do a lot of foraging on your own. It’s not going to be the easy life for you.”

Undeterred by my words of warning, he scoots his hips and cocks his head to the side.

“All right. I believe you. Whatever life we can give you is better than the one you had before. So let’s go home.”

* * *

The three-hour hike takes about thirty minutes in the truck. If the roads were better, it would be even quicker, but the pavement has been torn up by time and disrepair, and the trail up to the cabin used to be gravel but is now mostly dirt and mud.

It’s been almost two years since I’ve driven, so taking the tight curves and steep hills of the route is embarrassingly difficult for me.

But I manage. The truck runs pretty well, so someone has clearly been taking care of it. It’s small—not one of those huge, obnoxious, ego-feeding monstrosities I always hated as a girl—and I’m pleased and excited as I park beside the cabin.

My stepdad used to use it as a hunting cabin. Rustic. One bedroom. Relatively sound construction. It’s held up well in the years since Impact.

This cabin has been our only safe space.

For a while, there were ten of us packed into the small structure—some of us sleeping in tents outside or in the shed. My mother, stepfather, sister, and me. My maternal grandparents. Zed and Marie, his girlfriend. And my stepfather’s father and grandfather. But with limited food, no medication, and no hospitals for emergencies, our numbers dwindled quickly.

Now there’s only three. Me. Zed. And his daughter, Katrina. She’s almost five and prefers to go by Rina.

I call out when I get out of the truck, but no one answers, so I assume Zed and Rina are still fishing down by the river.

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