Page 1 of Dark Fey Captive

CHAPTER ONE

ARENA

The floating dock rocked underfoot as I stepped off the boat, maps clutched to my chest and gaze locked on the churning, murky waters of Lake Superior. Falling in wasn’t an option. Taking the boat out to the trade station hadn’t been either. Yet, there I was, fighting the wind for balance as it whipped my shoulder-length brown hair into my brown eyes.

“Don’t look at it, Arena,” Lettie said from behind me. “I should have brought Baxter. He would’ve helped distract you.”

Baxter, my roommate’s emotional support Chiweenie, wasn’t allowed to leave the island. He made too much noise. But Lettie was right about needing to distract myself. A panic attack out here was the last thing I wanted.

Deliver the maps and get back to land, I silently told myself.

Tearing my gaze from the water, I focused on finding Gwenora, The Breakwater’s lead trader. I spotted her on the central dock, standing with her back to the ramshackle wall of the floating trade center’s main structure. Protected from the lake’s wind, her ash blonde hair wasn’t trying to blind her like mine was as she spoke to two visitors I didn’t recognize. No surprise there, though. I rarely left the island, and visitors weren’t welcome there.

Gwen’s gaze caught mine as I approached, and she smiled.

“Here she is, gentlemen,” she said. “Arena has maps of Huron. You’re lucky she was still in the area.”

As if I ever left it. However, I didn’t say anything to contradict her.

Most people trading at The Breakwater, the floating trade station positioned a few hundred meters off Devils Island’s eastern craggy shoreline, didn’t know about the island’s settlement. Hidden among the trees at the center, the settlement remained invisible from both the water and the trade station. Smoke screens concealed cooking fires, allowing life to continue as normal.

Well, post-world-devastation normal.

What happened six months ago still kept me up some nights. The chaos. The terror of seeing people attacking other people for no reason.

Death was terrifying. But coming back from it with an insatiable need for human flesh was scarier. If I never saw another undead again, I’d die happy.

“How detailed are your maps?” the older of the two men asked, pulling me back to the moment…and the rocking underfoot. “We heard there might be a trade settlement somewhere around Manitoulin Island.”

I perked up at the name, remembering it, and started shuffling through the collection in my arms, my fear of the water and the undead momentarily forgotten.

“Manitoulin is a large island in northern Huron,” I said in case Gwen didn’t know. “It’s part of a cluster of islands. I’m curious if they’re as rocky as the Apostle Islands, or if they’d be a good place for setting up a farming settlement.”

Devils Island had kept us alive through the initial wave of infected attacks, but it wasn’t ideal for long-term settlement. We didn’t have enough land to keep livestock as an alternate food source, let alone enough to grow the vegetables we needed.

Finding the map, I handed it to Gwen, who opened it against the trade shack’s wall. I’d been obsessed with maps since arriving on the island, studying them for places where humanity might have survived beyond our little corner of the world. So I knew this one well.

“Here,” I said, pointing to the island. “I think these smaller ones are your best bet for finding a settlement. They’d be easier to defend. But I haven’t heard of anyone who’s been that far north yet to confirm it. I hope you’ll come back and tell us what you find.”

The older one nodded.

“Sharing information kept us alive so far. I guess if you don’t hear back from us, we didn’t survive. Speaking of surviving, avoid Silver Bay. All the infected are dead.”

Infected. That’s what most people called the undead, since whatever caused them to reanimate could spread with a single bite.

A shiver ran through me that had nothing to do with the cold, spring wind.

“Dead infected are a good thing, right?” Lettie asked nervously, her fingers plucking at my jacket sleeve. I knew it wasn’t to gain my attention, but for contact. Lettie scared easily and needed comfort often. Physical contact helped, which is why she had Baxter.

“Usually. But…” He shook his head. “Not the way these died. Their heads were torn clean off, not cut, and they were piled up. Bodies and heads.”

“You’ve heard the whispers on the radio ‘bout big grey men,” his companion said. “Hulks who aren’t human? Rumor is that tearing off heads and leaving body piles is their calling card.”

“Not saying we believe it, but best to stay clear. Just in case.”

We took all safety warnings seriously, even the ones about the supposed “big grey men” who sounded more like a Bigfoot urban legend than reality. A month ago, a trader had sworn to Gwen he’d seen one. She’d shared his account of a demon nearly seven feet tall, with grey skin, pointed ears, unholy eyes, and fangs with the community. Supposedly, it hadn’t wanted his supplies. It had only asked if he had any women and children.

Lettie hadn’t slept that night. She’d snuggled Baxter, whispering into his ear until morning. Hopefully, we wouldn’t have a repeat of that tonight. We shared a bed.