Chapter 2

The guard’s trigger rhythm sped up.

He kept cursing under his breath, his attention locked on the zombie pack ahead.

I slowed my breathing. My fingertips found the belt at my waist—the buckle was old metal, its edges polished bright from wear.

Nolan’s body was thin. The belt was loose to the point of being ridiculous, and it came free with almost no resistance.

The next second I shot to my feet, pressed myself against the cage bars, and snapped the belt out through the gap. Like a lasso, it looped around the guard’s neck. I yanked hard.

His throat cinched tight immediately. The muzzle jerked aside and his shots chewed into the sand. He clawed at the belt on instinct, but the truck hit a bump and he pitched backward, slamming into the cage with a dull thud.

I wrapped the belt around my wrist and pulled with everything I had, my shoulders bracing, the muscles along my back locking tight.

And then I felt it—clear as day.

This body was too weak. Not enough strength. Not enough stamina.

In my old condition, his neck would have snapped. Now he only turned purple, choking and thrashing.

Inside the cage, the others froze, like their brains couldn’t process what they were seeing.

The man who’d offered me water stared wide-eyed, his hand still hanging in midair.

I clenched my teeth and forced the words out, cold and sharp like an order. “What are you waiting for? Take the keys!”

That snapped them loose.

One man lunged for the key ring at the guard’s belt. Another grabbed the guard’s flailing arm. In the end, the water man got his fingers around the keys.

The guard fought harder, kicking wildly.

“Open it!” I barked.

His hands shook so badly he missed the lock twice before the key finally slid home.

The moment the latch clicked, I didn’t wait for the door to swing wide. I threw the guard outward.

The belt slipped free. He staggered, trying to regain his footing, and I used the opening to grab the cage frame and slip out onto the truck’s rear step.

He sucked in a ragged breath and tried to raise his gun. I got there first, driving my elbow into his jaw and knocking his head sideways.

The rifle dropped from his hands. I pinned the stock with my boot and yanked the knife from his belt.

It had to be fast. He couldn’t get a second chance.

I drew the blade across his throat.

His eyes flared wide. He clapped a hand over the cut and dropped to one knee on the step, his body jerking twice. I seized his collar and shoved him off the truck.

The dust kicked up by the wheels swallowed him. The dark shapes behind us pounced. I didn’t even hear a full scream.

I didn’t look back. I took the rifle, checked the magazine, the safety, the chamber.

The familiar weight steadied me—my hands still remembered.

On the two trucks behind us, the guards finally reacted. Their muzzles lifted, aiming at the back of my truck.

Rounds scraped the cage bars and sparked. Inside, the prisoners curled up with their heads covered, their screams shredded by wind.

I dropped into a half crouch at the edge of the truck bed and fired controlled bursts.

My first shot punched into the left-rear guard’s chest.

My second hit the right-rear guard where shoulder met neck. He started to lower his muzzle—then his body locked, went limp, and slid down against the bars.

Two dull impacts in the wind and sand, like a message to the convoy: the guards were gone.

The guards were dead, but the drivers were still alive. The convoy was still moving, and the zombies were still running alongside.

The speed didn’t drop. It climbed. The driver was trying to shake me.

From behind came the roar of an engine. The left-rear truck accelerated, closing the distance like it meant to clip my truck and flip it.

The first bump was light, but it tilted the bed hard enough that I almost went over the side.

I hooked one hand around the metal rail. With the other, I clenched the knife between my teeth and forced my body back into balance.

The second impact was heavier. The cage prisoners slammed into each other in a pile, crying and shouting.

The water man looked at me through the bars, face drained white, like he wanted to help but had no idea how.

I didn’t explain.

When the two trucks drew close enough to run nearly side by side, I shoved the rifle into my waistband, pulled the knife from my mouth, and stepped onto the edge.

Then I jumped.

I hit the hood of the pursuing truck and sprawled flat, gripping metal as it vibrated under me. The driver was right there behind the window, both hands locked on the wheel. The moment he saw me, his first move was to reach for his gun.

I was half a beat faster.

I drove the knife into the corner of the window and pried. Glass cracked. My other hand shot inside, seized his wrist, forced the muzzle away, and my boot slammed into his neck.

His body twisted. The wheel jerked. The truck lurched sideways.

I shoved my arm further in, caught his collar, and dragged. Wind and sand poured into the cab. He fought, half his body hanging out of the window.

I brought the rifle butt up and smashed it into the side of his head. He went slack instantly.

I yanked him free and tossed him onto the sand.

The truck still rolled forward, driverless for a heartbeat, swaying in a dangerous weave.

I slid through the window into the driver’s seat, grabbed the wheel with my left hand, and stepped hard on the gas with my right, forcing the truck back into line.

It wasn’t over.

The driver of the right-rear truck was still alive. His guard was gone, but he still had a gun.

An arm thrust out from his cab and he fired at me. Bullets hit my door with heavy thumps.

I didn’t return fire immediately. I let the terrain work for me, steering into a shallow curve that forced him to keep adjusting his aim.

When he finally lined up for another shot, I raised my rifle and fired.

The first round clipped the edge of his windshield, glass exploding inward, making him flinch back.

The second tore through his shoulder.

Then I fired again, placing it into his chest, slightly left.

The truck lost control at once. It veered toward a slope of broken rock, bounced on the stones, and slid down into a shallow ditch.

I didn’t stop. I punched the gas and caught up to the lead truck.

Inside that truck’s cage were five or six more prisoners. They weren’t waiting to die. They’d started climbing the cage roof, trying to reach the cab from above.

The driver panicked. The truck swerved left and right, like a madman trying to shake them off.

That kind of driving only ends one way.

Sure enough, he didn’t see the ruined concrete block at the roadside. The front end slammed into it. The hood buckled up and the truck twisted sideways, stopping at an angle.

The prisoners inside smashed into each other from the impact, their shouts turning sharp and frantic.

I pulled my truck alongside, didn’t kill the engine, and jumped down with my rifle already leveled at the cab.

The driver tried to crawl out. I didn’t give him the chance. One clean shot ended it.

I gathered everyone from the three cages. Fifteen people in total.

Some fell to the ground. Some knelt and vomited. One grabbed my pant leg and begged me not to leave him behind.

I didn’t comfort them. I didn’t waste words. I checked the vehicles fast. Only the truck I controlled could still run.

I consolidated the supplies from all three trucks and ordered everyone into the bed.

They hesitated for a beat, then obeyed.

I drove us off the main road, following a rough dirt track carved by old wrecks instead of staying on the open highway.

The sky darkened little by little. The wind turned colder. Distant howls rose and fell, like the dead were moving with us.

Then I spotted the outline of an abandoned gas station: a collapsed sign, half a service bay, two low storage rooms, and a ring of broken wall—enough to cut the wind, enough to barricade a door.

I parked inside the wall, killed the headlights, and left only the dim glow of the dashboard.

I called the people down from the bed.

Inside the storage room were rusted shelves and empty drums. I had them shove whatever they could to the doorway as a barrier.

“This place is safe for now.” I set down the water and dried food I’d found in the cab. “Split it evenly. No fighting. Wrap your wounds. Don’t let the smell of blood carry.”

Someone blurted, “Then what do we do? Go back to the base! Dawnlight has walls, guns, people!”

Another added quickly, “Yeah! We can report it, force them to rescue us!”

I looked at them once, my voice steady, leaving no room for debate. “If you go back, you’ll die faster.”

They went quiet.

I kept it simple, so they would understand. “Selling people is a quiet business. Most of the base doesn’t know. Marcus and his people don’t want anyone to know. If you go back, you won’t even make it through the gate before they slap a charge on you and shoot you. You stay here. I go back alone.”

One man snapped, “Don’t go! They’ll kill you too!”

I lifted my eyes. My voice stayed low. “I have to.”

I didn’t explain further. I only repeated it in my head: I had to find Raymond. I had to take back the right to speak in my own base.

If Dawnlight dragged on like this, it would be sold until even the name was gone.

“After dark, no fires. Don’t leave the wall. Two people per watch at the door. If you hear an engine, hide first and don’t show yourselves. What we have here will keep you alive for a while.”

“We can’t stay here forever.”

“You won’t,” I said. “I’ll come back for you. I promise.”

Silence settled, and in it they started moving—stacking drums, tearing cloth, binding cuts.

The water man held the canteen out to me again. His lips moved like he wanted to say thank you, but what came out was only, “Who are you?”

I watched the night swallow the gas station. Far off, the wind carried scattered howls.

“Kael Vaughn.”

Everyone in the room stiffened at once, like the words struck them.

One man’s mouth fell open. The old man swallowed hard, his expression twisting like he’d seen a ghost.

I didn’t explain. I didn’t need them to believe me yet.

I slung the rifle, left the storage room, climbed back into the truck, and drove into the dark.

I had to get back behind that wall before they finished selling Dawnlight away.