Page 2 of Protected

When the asteroid approaching our planet was first announced, I had parents, a little brother, friends, a boyfriend, and a community I was born into to worry about, to fight for.

Now I have nothing worth protecting. Except myself.

No matter how much I’ve lost, I still matter to me. My body. My heart. My selfhood. I care about what happens to me, and I’ve fought too hard for too long simply to stay alive. I need to get away from this man and this group of dangerous strangers, and I need to do it right now.

But there’s absolutely nothing I’m capable of doing to make that happen.

I let out a loud, infuriated sound as I keep flailing.

“Deck!” The voice comes from the older man in charge. “Is she alone?”

Bigfoot—maybe named Deck—sets me down on my feet, keeping one big hand on my right shoulder. I jerk out of his grip, but he scowls and grabs me again, this time by the back of my shirt, an oversized blue Henley that used to be Hal’s.

I could pull away again, but it would rip my shirt to shreds. And it’s one of the only three shirts I own that are still wearable.

“Who are you?” The leader again. He’s walked over to stand right in front of me and Bigfoot.

I stare at him without answering. There’s no telling how he expects me to answer that question.

He moves his eyes to the man holding me. “What did she take?”

Bigfoot grabs for my bag. I resist—it’s a silly, futile gesture but one I can’t help making—until he scowls again and yanks the strap of the bag from my grip. He rifles through it, showing the other guy the jerky and tuna I snatched from their Jeep.

The older man gives me a sharp look before he focuses on Bigfoot. “There’s nothing else in there?”

Bigfoot searches the bag once more and then shakes his head. He’s clearly not much of a talker.

“Are you hungry?” the first man asks me.

“What do you think?” Strategically, I know I should play nice, but I’ve long since lost that ability. This world hasn’t been kind to me. I’m not inclined to be kind back.

“Are you alone?”

“Of course not.” That’s a lie, but a woman alone is entirely vulnerable. If he thinks I have people lurking around somewhere, he might hesitate.

“What’s your name?”

I give him that stony glare again.

“Tell me.” He’s not loud. Or angry. He’s entirely in control of himself—just as he’s in control of this group. It’s some sort of innate authority rather than physical force. Half the men who have surrounded us are bigger than him.

There are too many of them. And Bigfoot has moved his grip to my hair. I wear it in a braided ponytail to keep it out of my way, and that makes it easy for him to wrap his fingers around.

I might be always angry now, but I’m not utterly without basic sense. Complying is my only option if I want to survive until tomorrow. “Lilah.”

“Lilah. You live around here?”

I nod. It’s true and it’s the only thing to say.

“And you’re not alone?”

“I’m not alone.”

The man scans our surroundings with those sharp, intelligent eyes. Then he asks Bigfoot, “Where did she come from?”

The man holding me gestures toward the ruins of the fast-food restaurant. There’s no way he could have known my hiding place unless he was watching me the whole time.

Somehow that makes it worse.

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