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Chapter One
They saythe only constant in life is change, but even “they” couldn’t have expected this kind of shift in our realities. It had been five months and six days since Death Day, when ninety percent of the human population had died. I ran my hand over the printed calendar, which had an added bonus January. Considering there were no more printed calendars, it had turned out to be a bigger bonus than anyone had expected.
A year ago, picking up a new calendar would’ve been a quick chore, an afterthought. A year ago, I’d still had a mother, albeit a sick one.
A year ago, the majority of the world was still churning along the way it had for hundreds of years, with a somewhat predictable future. Yes, there had been years of unrest, war, and sickness, but nothing like this. I wasn’t sure how long it would take to wake up and not feel the shock at our new reality.
I snuggled deeper under the covers for a few more minutes before accepting that it would only get colder if I didn’t drag myself out of bed. The stove needed more wood or my toes would freeze and break off.
Shoving my feet in boots, I grabbed the blanket and headed for the porch.
There were three logs left on the porch. Last night there had been a stack of wood piled five high, and it wasn’t because I’d turned the cottage into a sauna. I liked it chillier at night, and ever since Charlie had been changed, even though he was too young to shift, he was a little furnace. He barely noticed the cold, and I was forever chasing after him with a jacket that he’d shed as soon as he was out of sight. If I loaded up the wood stove too much, he’d accuse me of trying to bake him.
I scanned the street in the historic village where the pack lived. If I squinted hard enough, I could almost make out the center of town where everyone liked to gather for the nightly roast. Groza’s henchmen were around here somewhere, probably lying in wait to get their giggles when I came out to find the lack of firewood.
If they thought I was going to collapse onto one of the porch rockers and cry, they were amateurs. A couple of chilly nights weren’t going to take me down. Neither would the missing food, the clogged chimney that had smoked up the inside of the cottage, or any of the other little nasties that popped up in the last couple of months.
As fast as they caused me problems, someone else from the pack would offer up some tasty treats or notice the lack of wood and bring over some more. Not to mention there was a forest right beyond this wall with plenty of fallen logs. I didn’t even have to chop, just gather.
I did one last scan for the goons, the two she liked to use most often, and spotted some new faces. Duncan’s pack had been showing up every week in groups of anywhere from five to twenty. This community was going to start bursting at the seams, not that I cared. The more people here, the easier it was to blend in and ignore people.
Another few new faces passed in the distance, although these looked vaguely familiar. Had I seen them before, or was Ibeginning to imagine things? They moved out of sight before I could place them, only to reveal one of the faces I’d been trying to dodge.
Grabbing the last of the logs, I hurried inside before Duncan made his way down the road. These days, my mission in life was to avoid Duncan and Groza. It was up there on my list, right after keeping Charlie and myself alive.
Considering Charlie and I were both still breathing, I gave myself an A-plus in that category. As far as avoidance was concerned, I had been doing a job that was fair to middling.
For the most part I’d been able to avoid them without being obvious. I’d only had to turn and do a one-eighty a handful of times.
It got a little trickier when Duncan was coming down this way to visit the guys who lived next to me. Still, I’d spot him and make myself scarce before he got close enough that it would prompt a need for a nod or acknowledgement of some sort.
I longed for crowds so thick I didn’t have to see him at all, because it felt like someone gutted me when I did.
I was inside, kneeling in front of the stove, assuming it was safe, when the front door opened and shut. I looked over my shoulder to find Duncan walking into the cottage. I shot straight to my feet, trying to get on equal footing as he strode in.
“What are you doing here?” I backed farther into the kitchen, putting some more distance between us. I knocked into the broom but grabbed it before it fell.
His gaze fell to my grip on the broom. “Plan on attacking someone with that?”
I glanced down, realizing I was white-knuckling the handle.
“Obviously not.” I leaned it against the wood stove.
“That’s wood and straw.” He raised a brow.
I yanked it off the edge of the stove and leaned it against the wall, hating how utterly unhinged I appeared.
“Why are you here? You need to knock next time. You don’t live here anymore.”
He leaned a shoulder on the doorway of the kitchen. “If I knocked, you would’ve climbed out the window,” he said, looking too comfortable in here.
He didn’t have the right to lookat homewhen this wasn’t his home anymore.
“Knock anyway.” I didn’t deny the possibility I might do exactly as he’d said, and considering our past, I had every right to shimmy out a window or two. He’d toyed with my emotions and then moved on like I’d meant nothing. “Now, why are you here?”
“We need to talk.”
“About what?” There was nothing left to say between the two of us as far as I was concerned.
