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  Their hair was in tangled, clumped, or oily messes, their eyes bloodshot and tired. Two dozen men and women coughed and gagged, going about menial tasks like equipment repair and sewing. They would do whatever tasks Ryland assigned them, when he was inclined to remind them of the control he had. Most of the women went about their duties with empty, distant eyes. Shadows of their former selves. Sonya’s mind hadn’t shattered at the job she was forced to preform for the Stray Dogs. Others weren’t so lucky.

  I tried to keep myself anonymous as I dropped off the crate of spoiling meat. The slight thunk of wood on hard earth got their attention. The Runts stopped what they were doing, eyes going wide as they saw me standing there. My heart sank. After three years, I thought they would realize that I wasn’t their enemy. I would never hurt any of them. But all they could see was the rabid animal inked to my arm. They knew that if Ryland ordered me to discipline them, I would be very hard to resist. Being the famous and feared champion in the Crater didn’t help matters.

  I turned and walked away before their stares could deject me further. I entered the tunnel that connected the Runt den to the Alpha den. It resembled and old miners cave, dead and dying string light bulbs tacked to rotting wooden beams. I trudged through them to my room, hoping that I wouldn’t run into trouble.

  I should have known better.

  They seemed to come out of nowhere, so I was grateful that I heard them moving at all. I looked up and stopped in place.

  Dylan and Stanner were healed, save for some minor bruises, and ready for revenge. I saw the malicious intent in their eyes as they stormed closer. They hated losing to a kid half their age who just fought to see the next day.

  The Runts scattered to the shadows. My fingers curled slightly, ready to form into fists the second they stormed closer.

  The two men stood in front of me and glared.

  “Something wrong?” I asked, flicking my gaze between both of them.

  “Ryland wanted you in his den an hour ago,” Stanner grated out. The vein in his left temple bulged. His temper must have been on a hair trigger.

  “No one told me about it,” I said. “Thought I was supposed to help the Runts.”

  Dylan looked at the men and women cowering against the wall and scowled with disgust. I bit back my comment that he didn’t look– or smell– any better than they did. We all lived in the dirt here.

  But nothing I said would get through to him. It wasn’t just that he was bigger and stronger than the rest of us, or that the snarling dog tattooed on his right forearm marked him as a Stray Dog and not a Runt. No, if I said anything, violence would ensue because I said it. They’d spent nearly a month nursing their wounds and thinking up revenge schemes as they regained strength. A better way to fight me and turn me into a bloody pulp.

  “You’re not one of them,” Stanner pointed out. Steam was all but coming from his ears. He pointed to my right forearm. “You’re one of us.”

  I glanced at the tattoo, a duplicate of theirs, given to me when Ryland thought I was worthy to fight for him. He saw something in me when I first survived the Crater at thirteen years old. The rabid hound growled at me as I stared at it, furious and savage. It was a mark of what I was supposed to be. What I became every time Ryland forced me into the Crater.

  “Not by choice,” I said plainly.

  For someone I beat to pulp only weeks ago, Dylan moved with alarming quickness. His hands fisted my shirt and shoved me against the earthy wall. Cold, hard soil lined into my back, but I just stared blandly. I wouldn’t let him think he intimidated me.

  “You’re an ungrateful bastard, you know that?” he snarled. “You don’t know how good you have it. You don’t deserve to be in the Crater.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “You want to go into another hole in the ground? Keep pushing me, and you’ll get your wish.”

  Dylan hissed and pulled back his fist, but I was ready. I knocked my head against his, crushing his nose. When he was dazed, I hammered my fists against his forearms. Released, I shoved him hard into the middle of the hall.

  Stanner was quick to replace Dylan, swinging his fist wide. I blocked the strike to my head, though I couldn’t do anything about the one to my stomach. Still gripping his first hand, I twisted it until it was pinned behind his back. Stanner roared angrily, fighting a cry of pain that had to be rushing up his arm.

  Dylan rushed to my open left. I snapped my head in his direction, then swung Stanner into him. The two men collided and hit the wall. I stepped back and raised my fists to defend myself again.

  “Nash!”

  I frowned. I hated when people shouted my name.

  Moving to the right so I could keep Dylan and Stanner in my sights, I looked at the new voice. My scowl became a grimace when I saw Ryland’s new favourite lapdog– Benson– staring at me from the tunnel junction at my back.

  Benson was the filthiest of the Stray Dogs. Given that we lived in a cave, it certainly said something, though I think he enjoyed being rotten. His clothes were constantly covered in grime, his pasty skin covered in streaks of soot. The oil from his thinning hair was slick against his head. His eyes rheumy eyes were fixed on me, but at least he wasn’t smiling. Seeing his black and yellow teeth almost always made me gag.

  “Ryland wants to see you.”

  Benson turned and started walking toward the Alpha den. He wouldn’t care if I were late or not, but Ryland wasn’t renowned for his patience.

  I glanced at Dylan and Stanner. The look in their eyes promised me that our rivalry wasn’t over, but they wouldn’t draw Ryland’s ire for petty revenge. At least not yet.

  Sighing heavily, I followed Benson to the next cavern. This cave was double the size of the one the Runts occupied, filled with makeshift mattresses and cots for thirty men. Tables and chairs were piled high with tools and equipment in random order at the centre of the room. Crate upon crate was stacked along the Alpha den walls, each one filled with supplies that were almost embarrassing to use. Rusted or broken tools. Clothing that was little more than tattered fabric. Food growing with nightmarish mold.

  And our marauder Clan was considered to be one of the wealthiest remaining in Westraven and in Aon itself. Not that we had other Clans to boast to, since most were killed by the Hellions in The Storm eight years ago.

  Scrounging through the crates were a dozen thickly built men. Five more sat on the ground grumbling and cursing each other in a game of Liar’s Dice. Scars lined the skin of their arms and exposed chests. Cold eyes and hard frowns were the collective expressions. Every man had a rabid dog inked on his right arm.

  I walked past the Stray Dogs, avoiding their gazes even when I felt aggressive eyes on me. To these men, my supposed crew, I was nothing more than an inexperienced boy who was lucky in the Crater. They had never accepted me, would never try. For reasons I gave up trying to understand, I was no better than a Runt to them. A slave with a touch more respect than the actual Runts, but a slave nonetheless.

  Benson led me past the offended eyes to the wood and iron bolted door at the back of the cave. Two men with barrel chests and pistols on either side of their hips– Carter and Jensen– lounged outside it, sitting on a pair of crates that amazingly held their weight. They went rigid as we approached. They paid Benson no mind, but scowled at me.

  “Boss still wants to see him,” Benson replied.

  “Don’t know why,” the man on the right– Jensen– grumbled. “Kid ain’t worth shit outside the Crater. Barely worth it in there.”

  I didn’t bother to be offended. If three solid years of fighting and becoming an undefeated champion couldn’t make them respect me, nothing would.

  “Just following orders,” Benson quipped before rapping his knuckles on the door.

  A muffled grunt came from inside, signalling Benson to enter. He strode in with his chin held high. I let my shoulders slump.

  Ryland sat on a leather trunk behind a wooden desk. Both were stolen from a wealthy house in the artsy drafter district, but damned if they didn’t make him look like a powerful leader. He polished a flintlock, adorned with a silver skull and black gems for eyes. It had been one of the most popular firearm models among marauders in the years before The Storm, when piracy was at its peak. Now there were only handfuls left. They were rare, powerful treasures, and their owners would kill to keep them.

  “Get out, Benson,” Ryland muttered without looking up.

  The marauder sputtered behind me. He had come far and wanted to continue moving up the ranks until he was Ryland’s equal. A dream that would never be fulfilled. Ryland saw himself as a king under the ground. He would never allow anyone to become his equal, content with killing off the competition.

  A cold, steel stare confirmed this. Benson bowed his bead and quickly scurried out of the room. He closed the door behind him, leaving me alone with the marauder captain, his unknown intentions, and his gun.

  Ryland rested the pistol on the desk and stared up at me. I didn’t feel any safer.

  “Have you heard the news?”

  I shook my head. I didn’t have any friends willing to gossip with me.

  “The Hellions are moving in the daylight now.”

  Of all the things he could have said, that was the last one I wanted to hear.

  The bloodthirsty monsters that came from the tear in the sky known in as the Breach were nocturnal butchers. Flying down without warning in their grotesque raiding skiffs, they hunted and captured any human they set their blood-red eyes on. Knifelike fangs sank into exposed flesh, tearing it from bone. They didn’t have a preference about who they killed. Man, woman, child... Younger sister, baby brother. If it was human and it breathed, it was prey to them.

  I dropped my eyes to my feet before the memories could resurface and bring old pain with them.

  “How do you know?”

  “Our last scavenging party came back in ribbons. Literally. Russ’ arm was hanging by threads of skin. Stab wounds all over his body. All the bastard could say was that they had needles on their face, whatever the hell that means.” Ryland shook his head. “Amazing he got as far as he did. Can’t say I was pleased about his fate.”

  I grimaced. Russ wasn’t a friend, but he never actively sought to hurt me. That earned him one up from the rest of the Dogs in my eyes.

  “His fate?”

  The captain gave me an impatient sigh. “What use is a crazy marauder with one arm?”

  Understanding dawned into horror. “You killed him?”

  Ryland nodded without a trace of remorse. “One of the snipers on the wall told me the moron was tying to get in. Screaming like a damned grieving widow. So I told him to put a bullet in Russ. Keep the Hellions away from the Barren before they heard him.”

  Maybe it had been a mercy. Maybe Ryland was looking out for the rest of us in the dens. I still thought it was heartless and barbaric, and the brutality of it shocked me.

  “Do you think he was telling the truth?” I hedged, getting control over my horror.

  “Don’t know. But I’m sure you’ll find out.”

  I squinted. “Sir?”

  Ryland stood up slowly. The leather trunk groaned with relief as his immense bulk was lifted from it. “We’re going into lockdown, Nash. If Hellions are going to take over the day as well as the night, then we can’t risk as many scavenges. We need to take as much as we can, and make it last as long as we can before other Clans get their hands on it. Which means you need to start pulling your weight.”

  That was another reason the Dogs hated me so much. As far as they were concerned, I was getting an easy ride. All I had to do was heavy lifting, go on small scavenging missions, and stay alive in the Crater. I wasn’t a “true crew mate” to them. Not that I could do anything to get them off my back, since they all tried to kill me when they cornered me alone.

  “What do you want me to do, sir?”

  Ryland started making his way around the desk. “We’ve been trying to push a farmer into our employ. Stubborn old coot named Davy. Doesn’t want our protection for a share of food from his farm. I want you to persuade him.”

  A cold knot formed in my stomach.

  “All due respect sir, I think this is the kind of job better suited to your regular scavengers.”

  Ryland stopped in front of me and folded his arms over his chest. “They gave me their opinion on you, too. They think you’re weak. A coward too afraid of doing what you have to do for your family.”

  Rage bubbled under my chest. I couldn’t control myself this time.

  “You’re not my family.”

  Ryland didn’t wince at the dangerous growl in my voice. He showed no emotion at all.

  “We’re the only family that matters. Your other family is dead. Because they were weaker than you.”

  “Don’t–”

  Ryland shoved hard against my shoulders. I stumbled back. “I made you stronger.” Another push, another stumble. “I made you better.” Harder this time, almost toppling me over. “I made you a man.”

  He pushed me again. When I stumbled, my back hit the wall.

  “And all you do is whine and cry like your bratty siblings did.”

  My temper snapped before I could realize what I was doing. I surged forward and drew back my fist, ready to knock out Ryland’s teeth. Which was exactly what he wanted me to do.

  He knocked my hand away and slugged me in the jaw. Nearly dislocated the damn thing. My head was sill spinning when another punch collided with my right cheek and snapped my head to the side. Two hits smashed into my ribs and stomach, winding me.

  Ryland’s enormous hand curled around my throat and yanked my head back to the wall. He bashed my head against it, squeezing my throat closed.

  “You need to stop assuming you’re special,” he growled. “I brought you in because I saw something in you. A strength to survive. You could be someone great if you quit thinking you’re the only one who has it rough. You want those boys to respect you? Do something to earn their respect. Show that old farmer where his place is.”

  Show him his place. Beat him to a pulp. They were the same thing in Ryland’s mind. I’d heard about Davy and his stubbornness when it came to his farm. He was tough to be sure, but he was fair. He didn’t form allegiances to one marauder Clan, because he knew everyone was equally desperate. He gave some to us, some to other Clans, and some of the underground colonies when they came up for Scavenging Day. Secluding him to us alone would make dozens of survivors suffer.

  More than that, I didn’t have it in me to hurt an innocent old man doing his best in a broken world. Ryland had toughened me up, but I kept my morals in place. I would never break them, no matter what he did to me.

  “No,” I rasped out.

  Ryland scowled harshly, then jabbed me in the face. My sight flashed black for a split second. I had to blink white spots out of my vision when I did manage to open my eyes again. Ryland plowed his knee into my stomach and hurled me onto the ground. He walked toward his desk, making sure to step on my back and dig in his heel. I gritted my teeth and pushed myself up.

  “Benson!” Ryland bellowed.

  The door burst open a second later. Feet shuffled and someone whimpered. I turned my head and froze when I saw Benson enter the room with Stanner and Dylan. Both men were holding Sonya tight in their arms. Her blonde hair was a twisted mess around her head, though it did little to obscure the red mark on left cheek, the split of her lip, and the tears on her eyes. I pushed to my feet and started to go to her. The slow click of a flintlock wheel stopped me. I looked over my shoulder. With his thick shoulders, cold steel eyes, and a loaded gun with a ready finger on the trigger, Ryland looked exactly like the killer he was.

  “I wasn’t making a request, Nash,” the Stray Dog captain told me. “You will do this. I won’t kill you since you’re in your prime, but her?”

  Ryland pointed the gun at Sonya. She tried to twist away from the men holding her, and failed. She started to cry.

  “Whores are replaceable. And this slut’s been passed around so many times her novelty’s worn out.”

  “Nash, please!”

  Sonya’s begging crushed my heart. The last time I’d seen someone so terrified, my little sister had been dying.

  I couldn’t let that happen to Sonya. She taught me how to stay humane instead of rabid. She was kind to me. She showed me what love could feel like, even if she wasn’t the one for me. More than that, she was my only friend. I couldn’t lose her so brutally. I would never recover if I did.

  “You have three seconds to decide. One.”

  He really was giving me no choice. Sonya’s cries reminded me of my first beating in the Crater. I’d begged Ryland to let me go, and gotten a smack in the jaw for my troubles. I spent that night crying out every tear I had alone in the corner of the den with no one to comfort me. I hadn’t cried again after that.

  Seeing Sonya weep so openly, knowing how close to death she was, rekindled those memories of hopelessness and fear. We both knew Ryland would kill her without hesitation. He never made idle threats.

  “Two–”

  “All right!” I burst. “All right. I’ll do it.”

  Ryland lowered the pistol. My chin dropped to my chest. The captain’s hand clamped on my shoulder and squeezed painfully.

  “Good answer, Nash. And don’t worry. You might enjoy this job. After all, you could use a vacation from the Crater.”

  Chapter 4

  It had been almost three months since I saw the surface of Westraven. I couldn’t say I missed it.

  Nothing stood upright. The proud metal towers and glorious white stone buildings were now quickly fading memories. The collapsed ruin was much more familiar.

  Heaps of rock lay strewn across the roads and sidewalks, covering the ground in what looked like clumpy snow. Shops with burned siding and shattered windows gaped like horrified faces. A few spots of road were splattered with dried, dust-covered blood.