Chapter 37
The nights had turned sharp enough to fracture their breath.
Winter pushed harder each time darkness settled, laying claim to the farm with long shadows and aching cold.
Barb slept in short shifts, curled near the wood stove with one ear tuned to the animals.
Every grunt, every restless shuffle, and every sudden silence pulled her awake before thought even formed.
Cathy slept in the loft above the cows, wrapped in blankets, her rifle within reach, and the puppies pressed against her for heat.
Barb stepped outside before dawn with her coat drawn tight around her ribs. Frost clung to the grass in wavering crystals. The air felt deadened, as if the world were holding still beneath the cold. She scanned the fields, letting her eyes adapt to the dimness. Nothing moved at first.
Then she saw a figure crouched near the far fence, barely a silhouette against the pale morning. He moved with slow purpose. He cataloged distance with small, measured steps. He paused at each fence post, studying the angles between the barn and the house, the sightlines.
Barb felt her breath settle into something cold and steady.
She stepped off the porch, moving through the frost-muted grass in low silence.
She didn’t move straight toward him. She angled wide, circling him until the trees stood behind her and the open pasture in front.
The fog from her breath faded as she slowed her pace and matched her steps to his pauses.
When he reached the third post, he crouched again and traced his finger along the wood.
He wasn’t examining the structure; he was measuring it.
Marking a point for someone else. He reached into his coat and pulled out a blade.
Not large, but sharp enough to carve with.
His posture tightened as he pressed the tip to the post.
She crossed the final stretch with long, quiet strides.
Her boots made almost no sound on the hard ground.
The scout didn’t hear her until she was nearly on him.
He turned, eyes widening, but Barb struck before he could rise.
Her shoulder hit his center of gravity and drove him backward.
The air left his lungs in a choked grunt, and his blade skidded from his hand and spun across the frost.
He scrambled for it, but Barb planted her knee on his chest and caught his wrist before he could push her off.
She twisted just enough to immobilize without breaking anything.
Pain flashed across his face, and she watched him process it.
He understood at once how quickly she could kill him if she chose.
“Don’t shout,” she said. “No one’s coming. You’re alone.”
He swallowed hard. “Please, I was only passing through.”
“Lying wastes time.”
He shook his head quickly. “I’m not lying. I’m only looking for food.”
Barb pressed harder on his wrist. The wince that crossed his face confirmed everything. His lies were thin. He wasn’t built like a starving man. His coat was worn but serviceable. His boots were in good repair. His hands were unshaking and strong.
“You’re not scavenging,” Barb said. “You’re scouting.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
Barb leaned closer. “You marked the last three properties you passed. I saw the slashes. You were carving another into my post.”
His eyes widened with real fear then. Not the fear of pain, but of recognition. She had seen and tracked him. She had pieced together his purpose.
“That symbol means this land has been chosen.”
He shook his head rapidly. “I’m only trying to survive.”
“Which camp?” Barb asked. “How many? How far?”
He pressed his lips together and looked away. Barb shifted her grip and tightened her hold until he gasped.
“Your camp,” she repeated quietly. “Where is it?”
“North,” he said. “Five miles. In the old orchard.”
“How many?”
“I don’t know the exact number. Twenty. Maybe more. They come and go.”
“What do they want?” she asked.
“Livestock,” he said. “Water, women…anything. They’re sweeping before the freeze sets in. They plan to finish the sweep in the next few days. We hit the ridge first. Then the farms to the west.”
Barb’s jaw tightened at the word we. He caught the shift in her expression and corrected himself quickly.
“They,” he said. “Not me. I was forced to go with them. I didn’t have a choice.”
“Yes, you did,” Barb said. “You always do.”
“They will come. They always come. If I don’t mark the land, someone else will.”
“What’s your purpose? Mapping?”
He nodded. “Marking buildings. Studying weak points. Counting animals. Counting people. They said houses with livestock will be hit first.”
She held his gaze, letting silence press between them until he began to shake. She knew when he had given everything useful. The last pieces spilled out of him in a rambling stream.
“They have a leader,” he said. “A man who used to be military. A woman who scouts ahead. A group of men who do the taking. They want to gather everything before the cold locks things down. They said this place looks better than most.”
Barb felt something cold settle beneath her ribs.
A confirmation of everything she had feared since the first slashes had appeared on the trees.
She rose slowly but kept the rifle pointed at him.
His body sagged with relief under the shift in pressure.
She motioned him up with the barrel. “Move,” she said. “Away from the property.”
He stood unsteadily, rubbing his wrist where she had pinned him. He backed away a few steps, his eyes locked on hers. “Please don’t kill me.”
“Run north,” Barb said. “Don’t come back. Don’t circle the fields. Don’t stop moving until you reach the next valley.”
“If I don’t return, they’ll know something happened.”
“If you do return, they will know exactly where to find us.”
He swallowed hard and turned, stumbling at first before finding his pace.
He ran through the dead grass, boots carving shallow tracks in the frost. Barb watched him until he reached the tree line, a dark shape swallowed by the winter branches.
She lowered the rifle only when she could no longer see him.
There was no satisfaction in letting him go, only strategy. A dead scout brought reconnaissance.
A terrified one carried uncertainty like a disease. She turned and walked back toward the house. Each step felt heavy with the weight of what she now knew. The cold crept deeper into her fingers. The sky brightened without any warmth.
Cathy met her halfway across the yard. Her coat hung open, hair wind-stirred, eyes sharp. “Barb, what happened?”
Barb lifted her gaze to meet hers. “A scout.”
“Did you kill him?”
“No.”
Cathy frowned. “Why not?”
Barb’s voice stayed calm. “A dead one brings retaliation, but a frightened one creates doubt.”
“What did he tell you?”
“Everything we needed,” Barb said. “There is a camp five miles north. Organized and experienced. They’ve swept the ridge. They are moving from property to property, looking for livestock and water.”
Cathy’s jaw clenched. “How soon?”
“Within days.”
Cathy closed her eyes for a moment, steadying herself. When she opened them again, they held something Barb had been watching grow for weeks. “What do you need from me?”
“Strength,” Barb said. “Focus and no hesitation.”
“You have it all.”
“Then listen carefully. The attack is no longer hypothetical. We have a timetable. Everything we do from now forward has to be done with that in mind.”
“I understand,” Cathy said.
Barb looked toward the tree line where the scout had disappeared.
The carved slashes on the trees glowed faintly in the morning light, marks that now carried meaning.
Marks that told a story. She turned back toward the house.
Cathy followed her, steps steady, breath sharp in the cold.
The war for their land had moved from the shadows to a schedule, and winter had arrived with it.