Chapter 27
Mary Anne was still half asleep when the shouting started.
The sound tore through the night like a crack of thunder, waking her before her mind caught up.
She sat upright on the cot, heart pounding.
Outside, boots slammed against the dirt, and a voice yelled for Freddie.
She was already pulling on her shirt when Hale’s voice cut through the dark.
“Scouts coming in, and they’re not alone.”
Mary Anne grabbed her boots and shoved her feet into them, the laces forgotten. By the time she stepped outside, the square was chaos. Lanterns flared, men shouted orders, and rifles clattered. The moon hung low behind a thin veil of clouds, just enough light to turn every shape into a shadow.
Freddie ran past her, rifle in hand. “They’re at the ravine.”
The ground shook beneath their feet as others joined, a loose line of bodies moving fast toward the eastern edge of town.
The wind carried a mix of voices. The ravine cut deep through the earth, a narrow path that twisted toward the dry riverbed.
The scouts had taken that route earlier in the day, searching for any sign of the raiders who’d stolen the food.
Mary Anne could see movement at the far end, flashes of light where metal caught the moon. Someone fired a shot.
“Hold the line,” Hale shouted.
The sounds of boots and shouts filled the air.
Mary Anne crouched behind a fallen beam, the pistol Freddie had given her trembling in her hand.
Shapes moved at the edge of the ravine, climbing over the rocks, dark against darker.
The scouts stumbled into view, breathless and bleeding.
Behind them came others, lean and fast, silent until they were close enough to yell.
The first impact hit like thunder. Men collided, fists and weapons swinging. The sharp sound of metal striking bone filled the night.
Mary Anne ran forward before she could think. She dropped beside one of the scouts, pressing her hands against a wound spilling blood down his arm. “Stay still,” she said.
“I can’t see,” he gasped.
“Stay still.”
Freddie was ten feet away, swinging the butt of his rifle.
The motion was fast. He ducked as a stranger lunged at him with a knife, caught the man’s wrist, and drove his shoulder forward.
Someone shouted behind her. She turned just in time to see another attacker rushing toward them, a heavy club raised high.
Before she could move, Freddie slammed into the man from the side. The club hit the ground. The two went down together, rolling in the dirt. There was a sharp, dry crack, and then silence. The man lay still. Freddie pushed himself up, chest heaving. His face was streaked with dirt and blood.
Hale’s voice rang out. “Pull back.”
The raiders scattered as quickly as they’d come.
A few bodies stayed behind. The others vanished into the dark.
The echoes of their retreat faded into the wind.
Mary Anne stayed crouched beside the injured scout until the last shout disappeared.
The air smelled of sweat and gunpowder. When she finally stood, her legs shook.
The square below glowed faintly with lanterns as people rushed to meet them.
Hale was already counting heads. “Three injured,” he said. “Two dead.”
Mary Anne’s stomach clenched. “Ours?”
“Theirs.”
Freddie stood a few feet away, staring at the ground. His hands were covered in blood that wasn’t his. The body beside him couldn’t have been older than sixteen. Mary Anne walked to him slowly. The boy’s face was half hidden by dirt, eyes open, empty. A makeshift knife lay beside his hand.
Freddie didn’t move. “He was just a kid,” he said.
“He made an adult decision. You didn’t have a choice,” she replied.
“Doesn’t feel like that matters.”
Hale approached. “We need to move the bodies before daylight.”
Mary Anne nodded. “I’ll help.”
The air was cooling fast—the kind of cold that followed desert heat.
The horizon had begun to pale, but the stars were still sharp overhead.
Two bodies. One older man, the other the teen.
They carried them to the edge of town; the desert stretched wide and colorless ahead.
The ground was dry and impossible to dig.
They covered the bodies with stones instead, hands blistering on the rough edges.
When they finished, the sun was breaking over the ridge.
Freddie sat on the ground beside the small mound, breathing hard. “We’re no better than they are,” he said.
“You defended your home,” Mary Anne said.
“I killed a teenager.”
“He came here to take lives. He knew what he was doing.”
Freddie looked up at her. “You believe that?”
Hale stood a few yards away. “They’ll come again, and next time they won’t run.”
Mary Anne brushed dirt from her hands. “Then we prepare.”
“For what?”
“For a war.”
He turned to her, eyes dark. “You think we can win one?”
“We don’t have a choice,” she said.
They walked back to town in silence. By the time they reached the square, the sun was high enough to cast long shadows across the buildings. People were already gathering, drawn by rumor. The news spread faster than truth ever could.
Emily met them at the clinic door, her face pale. “Are you hurt?”
“No,” Mary Anne said.
“What happened?”
“They followed the scouts back. We stopped them.”
Emily swallowed. “How many?”
“Enough.”
Hale barked orders nearby, sending men to patrol the outskirts and reinforce the barricades along the main road.
The sound of hammering filled the air. Inside the clinic, Mary Anne washed her hands.
The water in the basin turned pink, then brown.
She watched the color fade before pouring it out.
Freddie sat in the corner, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor.
She took a clean rag and tossed it to him. “Get that off before it sets.”
He wiped his hands slowly. “He couldn’t have been more than sixteen.”
“I know,” she said.
“Should’ve scared him off instead.”
“He would’ve come back. Next time with others.”
Freddie looked up. “So, we kill them all?”
“We survive,” she said. “That’s what we do.”
He nodded but didn’t speak again. The day stretched, and the town moved with a strange quiet, not fear exactly, but something heavier.
Mary Anne spent the afternoon stitching cuts and setting a dislocated shoulder.
The work kept her hands busy, but her thoughts wouldn’t stay still.
Every time she blinked, she saw the boy’s face, eyes open to the sun.
By evening, the heat had faded. The desert air cooled until her breath fogged faintly when she exhaled. She stood outside the clinic, watching the last light disappear behind the mountains. The ridge glowed faintly in the dusk.
“Everyone’s talking,” Emily said.
“Let them,” Mary Anne said.
“They’re scared.”
“They should be.”
Emily looked at her. “You sound like Hale.”
“Maybe he’s finally rubbing off on me.”
“Is it true? About the raiders?”
Mary Anne nodded. “Two dead. No survivors.”
“A child?”
“Teenager, yes.”
“There are no lines anymore, are there?”
Mary Anne shook her head. “Not when the world ends.”
“I used to think there was good and bad. Right and wrong.”
“There still is. It just costs more now.”
They stood together until the last color drained from the sky.
Hale came by as darkness settled. “Patrol’s doubled. No sign of movement, but I don’t like it.”
“Neither do I,” Mary Anne said.
When he left, she walked to the edge of the square. The well glimmered in the starlight. The sand still showed dark patches where blood had soaked in hours earlier. She crouched and touched the ground. The dirt was already dry.
Freddie joined her shortly afterward. “You think they’ll come back?”
“Yes.”
He nodded. “Then I’ll be ready.”
“Don’t lose yourself before they do,” she said.
“Is that advice or a warning?”
“Both.”
They returned to the clinic together. The town was quieter. The only sounds were the creak of wood and the low hum of the wind. Inside, the lantern light threw soft shadows on the walls. Mary Anne sat on her cot, her boots still on, a knife beside her bed.
Freddie stopped at the door. “You ever think about before?” he asked.
“Before what?”
“Before all this.”
“Not much,” she said. “It doesn’t help.”
“Sometimes I forget what engines sounded like.”
“Maybe that’s for the best.”
He nodded and left her alone. The candle flickered in the draft.
She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, eyes heavy but open.
She listened to it for a long time, waiting for sleep that refused to come.
When dawn touched the ridge, she was still awake.
Mary Anne stepped outside, the air cool against her skin.
The horizon shimmered. She turned back toward the clinic, the sky behind her brightening.
For the first time since the pulse, she understood that what had happened in the night couldn’t be undone.