Page 3 of Protected

“Show me.”

I’m not sure whether he’s speaking to me or to Bigfoot, but the large man strides toward the rubble, hauling me with him by my hair.

He finds my little den so quickly it’s obvious he saw me sneak out of it.

The main man leans over to look inside. There’s nothing much there. A couple of old blankets and towels. The threadbare remnants of my wardrobe. And the few cans of food I’ve been living off for a month.

He straightens up, looking between me and my hiding spot for a minute. Obviously thinking.

“You’re not alone?” he asks at last.

“No. I told you.”

He mulls it over for another minute. Then he gives Bigfoot a nod.

I have no idea what it means, but the guy holding me obviously does. He pulls a gun out of the holster on his hip, clicks off the safety, and aims it at my head.

The wave of fear that hits me is so powerful I almost vomit. I sway slightly on my feet.

Bigfoot notices and grabs me by the waist with his free arm, holding me up.

“If anyone is out there,” the man in charge calls out, his voice loud and echoing in the gray, barren landscape, “come out now or she dies.”

In different circumstances, I would like the sound of his voice. It’s clear and resonant. He sounds educated—with a slight accent that reminds me of my college roommate who came from rural Missouri.

When nothing happens, he calls out again. “One more minute, and she dies.”

Ironic that this is how it ends for me, after scrabbling to survive for two years and watching all my friends and family die, one by one.

He waits the minute and then looks back at me. “Okay.”

I don’t know what that means, but the man holding the gun to my head clearly does. He holsters it again without a word.

The one in charge continues, “You are either alone or you’re with people who don’t give a damn about you. Either way, you’ll be better off with us.”

“What?” I almost choke on the word, so surprised am I.

“You can stay here. On your own or with people who will let you die. Or you can come with us.”

“Come with you how?”

“Like everyone else who joins up with us. If you’ve stayed alive this long, you’re obviously capable. You’ll contribute in any way you can.”

“I’m not going to fuck you. Or any of the rest of them.”

“You won’t be asked or expected to. Not with my people.”

For some reason, I believe him, although in the hellscape this world has become, it’s implausible that a woman joining a group of so many men wouldn’t be expected or forced to offer herself sexually.

I’m not particularly beautiful or sexy, but I had a decent amount of male attention in high school and college. I have long, straight, dark hair, tan skin, and hazel eyes. I’ve always been smaller than average, but I used to have noticeable curves at the hips and breasts. But those were the first things to go when food got scarce, so now I’m pretty scrawny.

Hal didn’t care. We’re from the same hometown but only got together in college. We stayed together until he died a few months ago. He always said I’m beautiful and acted as though he believed it. But that was because he loved me.

A stranger isn’t likely to find much about me that’s appealing at the moment, but that doesn’t matter. A lot of men now will take a woman—no matter her age or appearance—simply because he can.

“You can ask Burgundy.” The main man nods toward a very pretty woman who appears around my age. She’s standing next to a man who looks enough like her that he’s got to be her brother. She meets my eyes and nods.

If it wasn’t for that one gesture, I’m not sure what I would do. It’s a risk. Such a huge risk. I’ve survived thislong on my own. I could probably manage to keep doing it.

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