HIS EVE: The Aftermath Chronicles (Book Two)

8 † Deer Hunter

† "Your sons have fainted, They lie helpless at the head of every street, Like an antelope in a net, Full of the wrath of the LORD, The rebuke of your God." - Isaiah 51:20 †

When the rain began to fall, they'd checked four snares with nothing to take.

The sour mood never lost on Hannah, she knows Fisher is treading lightly around her with each empty snare they find. He's keeping his peace, as she's lost to the turmoil in her mind.

Like everyone else, she's lost everything, she understands that. Surrounded by others, true, yet there's not one among them she can trust. She'd tried, she'd let them in on the surface, just to find herself a pawn in all their games.

Ethan, her best friend, left her for the cult in the mansion.

Dalton and Nick used her to gain information on Russell, to get closer to helping their own group in.

Her brother, murdered.

They all might have their friends, their surviving family even if they're lucky enough, but Hannah knew she had nothing. Her rage, she knew, readied to snap at any given moment. She rebuked it, yet welcomed it all the same. The anger kept her warm, kept her from feeling nothing at all.

In one word, one sound, she felt what's left of her sanity might slip. She feared for what she could do, what she'd be capable of. She thought she hit rock bottom before, but scraping the bottom of the barrel still left something to crave. When the barrel ceased to exist, she no longer knew herself.

She's the first to speak as they kneel over the last empty trap.

Hannah says, "It would be hard enough to feed anyone if all of 'em were full. We wasted bullets today, risked our lives, and for what?" She tosses a rock and adds, "Nothin'."

Fisher scans his eyes around the trap, noting a set of footprints that are not their own leading to it. Nick's traps weren't unsuccessful, but someone else was dipping into what's theirs. They were courteous enough, at least, to reset it.

Keeping the news to himself, Fisher offers up instead, "Could always track somethin' down. Might do us some good to look around. Saw some deer tracks a half a mile back."

Hannah looks to him, making eye contact for the first time in a long time.

She replies, "Yeah. Might not be back until after dark though. I'm not returning to the colony empty-handed."

"So we're in agreement then?" Fisher asks.

Giving a few nods, Hannah didn't think it could be so easy. That she could be heard, agreed with, relieved her.

With each step back, the cold sets into her bones. The rain, the dying days of autumn, meant winter would soon greet them. All Doyle was doing out in the crops, would mean nothing when the frost came. They could only hope that the greenhouse could give them something worth eating in a couple months time—if they all survived that long.

Her own weakness kept her slow. Fisher, too, showed it in his stride. They're both rendered half of the use they once were. While some were quick to blame Doyle, Hannah saw the fault in everything Russell planned to set up for them. Doyle's efforts would take months to find fruition. Where Russell relied on the aid of District 4 and in his excessive show of force, their new leader did things differently. Doyle tried to put the responsibility back where it belonged—in themselves.

Moving through these woods, Hannah felt useful again. She faced the fears that others avoided. The infected made these woods, this world, their playground and each step she took, she knew she was buying borrowed time.