Chapter 1 #2
Families, friends, companions—the war had stripped so many of us of such things. People were often brought in alone. No one came for them as death hovered—so I remained, taking on many of the hopeless cases. Righting wrongs. Eventually, rumors began to spread.
People murmured throughout the sectors of the girl who could sit next to death and not die. They became fearful when I tried to care for them, afraid I might bring death to their door too.
Death’s Angel, they called me.
But now, Death’s Angel was no more. Six months ago, when reassignment petitions came out, I had been first in line, demanding to switch to Expansion.
If I had been smart, I would have put down the Kitchens, but those spots were coveted and nearly impossible to get.
Plus, all the children were housed, taught, and kept there.
I didn’t want to be responsible for any more kids.
Even if I had been able to get in, I would have walked alongside death again.
People would come to me for food, and I would be left to turn down starving people.
After years of near starvation, I couldn’t do it.
I was assigned to the Expansion Sector the following week. I grabbed my issued brown jacket and hard hat and reported to my new sector commander, who replaced my white band with a gray one and placed a pickax in my hands. I never looked back.
Every day since, I swung my ax against endless earth.
In the beginning, I would tire quickly—the ax too heavy, my arms too weak.
Life in the Ward involved physical labor, but it was different.
Six months of swinging the ax had left me stronger.
Striking dirt relentlessly, falling into a rhythm until the rest of the world quieted.
Each night I turned in my ax only to retrieve it again the next morning. A wonderful, monotonous existence.
My feet slipped in my boots as I turned down the most direct route to the Expansion sleeping quarters when voices caught my attention. Three men stood toward the end of the tunnel.
Great. Lockdowns always brought out the worst in people, not that they needed much motivation.
“Where you going, sweetheart?” the tallest of the three called to me, strolling into my path. His identification band was black. They were members of Sanitation.
“Bed,” I said dryly.
“Care for some company?”
“I’m all set, thanks,” I said. The shortest man circled around, boxing me in. The tallest stayed against the wall, his arms crossed.
“Come now, don’t you need someone to keep you warm through the storm?
” the one before me taunted, closing the space between us.
He was disheveled and pale, his greasy blond hair tied back.
I widened my stance, holding my ground. “With a face like that, you shouldn’t be going anywhere alone, babe.
” His stale breath, seeped in booze, hit me.
“Move,” I demanded.
“It’ll be easier on everyone if you just go along with it. Especially you,” he said. The man behind me chuckled. “If not, poor Terence over there is going to have to hold you down while I take my turn—”
“Hey, you went first last time, Tate,” said the man behind me. My stomach turned at the knowledge that they had done this before. That some other woman had been held down between them. Anger grew in my chest, but my heart remained steady.
Tate rolled his eyes. “Fine, I’ll go last. That way, every time she thinks of our time together”—he moved closer to me, reaching for my face—“I’ll be the last face she sees. Get her, Chuck.”
The guy behind me lunged.
My right hand flew to the pistol at my hip as my left grabbed the knife stashed in my waistband.
I spun, flinging the knife into his thigh.
The sickening sound of metal hitting flesh filled the tunnel, followed by screaming.
Good, others would hear. I grabbed my second knife from my boot, bringing it up to hover at Tate’s crotch.
My pistol pointed at Terence, who had frozen against the wall.
Tate smirked. “You don’t have the balls.”
I yanked the knife up until the fabric split.
“I’m bleeding,” the short one squealed. “The bitch got my fucking leg.” One glance at the knife buried in the man’s quad was enough reassurance to turn my attention entirely onto the other two.
Terence bolted, sprinting down the tunnel. Only one to worry about now.
“Fucking coward,” Tate called.
I laughed, my pistol steadily pointing at his head. “Apparently, your friend likes having balls,” I drawled, bringing the knife up a bit more until he squirmed. “If I hear even a whisper about this happening to another woman, I will find you, Tate, and I will be the last face you see.”
“Fuck, fine, you fucking bitch.”
“Take your pathetic friend and go.” I moved in the opposite direction Terence had run, though I doubted he was coming back. I knew a coward when I saw one. I kept my pistol pointed at the two remaining men. “I’d go to the Ward to remove that knife, or he might bleed out.”
Tate hoisted up his sobbing friend, blood soaking his pants.
Another unintentional lesson from the Ward: I knew where to aim to cause the most damage.
I had always been gifted with a knife and gun.
My father had thrust them into my hands at fifteen, and I hadn’t put them down since.
I looked at the knife buried in his right thigh.
I would miss that knife—it was impossible to replace. But I would figure it out. I always did. They took two steps before Tate glowered back at me.
“I love a moving target,” I told him. They took off, turning right at the end of the tunnel. If they went to the Ward, I could find their names; if they were dumb enough to pull it out themselves and the bastard bled out, I’d be able to read the death roll.
Usually, it took a couple of days for people to go nutty down here during lockdowns.
I sighed, attempting to place the larger knife in my sheath in my waistband.
It was difficult; the fit was snugger. Taking it out unnoticed would be more challenging.
I’d likely nick myself. I should have killed them and been done with it.
But I knew the toll it took on a person to end a life, even when there was no other option.
Even when it was in self-defense or in defense of someone you loved.
Quick footsteps approached. I shuddered and held my pistol steady, clicking off the safety. A tall, broad-shouldered man rounded the corner, his forest-green eyes shining like beacons in the dim light. I clicked my safety back on.
“Sasha, there you are.” Commander Tristian Hayes halted, noting my weapons, his fierce gaze scanning me head to toe. “What happened?”
“I lost my favorite knife,” I said plainly, returning my pistol to the holster.
Tristian strode past me, and I turned to see the puddle of blood from Chuck’s leg.
Now there was no chance of keeping this to myself.
Tristian rounded on me and planted his feet, crossing his arms. He stood a full head and a half taller than me, his broad shoulders blocking my way.
He was in his dark blue Force uniform, his chocolate-brown curls a tangled mess from being above, his cheeks flushed pink from sprinting back to Haven.
“How exactly did you lose your knife?”
I knew I wasn’t going anywhere until I told him what happened. He always demanded the truth, some foolish thing of his because he spoke it so freely.
“Some guys tried to get handsy,” I said. “I handled it at the expense of my favorite knife.”
“Guys, plural?”
“Yeah, three,” I told him, walking toward the Expansion living quarters.
“Did you get their names?” Tristian asked, falling in step beside me.
“I did.”
“Are you going to tell me?”
“I handled it.”
Digging into the pouch on his chest, he handed me a tube of nutrient paste, and I grimaced—a disgusting, sticky concoction with crucial nutrients, electrolytes, and other things that tasted like hell and stuck to my mouth.
The Force took it with them above. I detested the stuff, but I had eaten worse.
“Thanks,” I said begrudgingly. Our deal might have ended six months ago, but still, during lockdowns, Tristian would appear with paste and attempt a conversation.
I ignored the reoccurring relief that he had made it in every time he found me.
The paste was appreciated. It helped me survive.
The conversation, on the other hand, did not.
“You’re avoiding the question, Sasha,” Tristian told me as we turned down another tunnel, leading us away from the Force where he belonged.
“You missed your turn,” I said.
A group of people walked past us, giving us a wide berth. “I’m escorting you back.”
“That’s unnecessary.”
“I disagree. The Expansion Sector had two deaths just yesterday,” Tristian said, undeterred.
I snorted. It had been a horrible way to wake up. All the screaming. “That’s what happens when you steal from someone else’s cot. The guy had it coming for months. Fucking with Travis was stupid.”
“You shouldn’t—”
“Is anyone hurt?” I cut him off. I didn’t want a lecture.
“No, we’re all fine. We didn’t even make it to Outpost One before we got the emergency call to abort the mission.” Unit Seven was safe. My relief grew. “Which is probably best,” he continued. “Ingrid was at the new recruit’s throat. I can’t seem to find a suitable replacement for Lily.”
My insides turned to lead. This had gone on long enough. “If no one’s hurt and I’m not needed, then I think I can manage the last hundred feet, Commander Hayes. Night.”
“Sasha, wait.” A strong hand gripped my shoulder, the warmth foreign. I hadn’t realized I was cold. “You are needed. Join my unit as a medic. Please, reconsider it. You don’t understand what’s at stake—”
“I don’t care what’s at stake, Hayes.”
“You don’t mean that,” Tristian said. I met his emerald gaze, brimming with life.
“I do,” I snapped, shaking him off. “Good luck replacing Lily.”
Before Tristian could respond, I slipped into the bustle of the Expansion Sector.
I stopped myself from looking back, pushing past two men in an altercation. My hand brushed against my pistol, waiting.
I was right the first time. Their shouts escalated as fists went flying.
I fucking hated humans.