4. Chapter Four
Chapter Four
Charon
He's too thin.
The torn shirt hangs from his frame, revealing bony shoulders and a prominent collarbone.
His eyes—a vibrant emerald, like the forest foliage after a clear rain—are sunken in, with dark bruises surrounding the sockets and hollowed-out cheeks.
He looks no different than most of the people in the surrounding outposts, and yet…
this is the first time I actually feel guilty for it.
He clearly knows more about starving than I do.
When he tries to stand, using the wall for leverage, his arms tremble as he cries out in pain. I immediately stand to help, reaching for him, but he quickly slaps my hand away with a snarl.
“Don't touch me.” Those gorgeous eyes blaze with fire, a juxtaposition to his fragile appearance. Just like they did when the soldiers shoved him onto my boat yesterday. My heart thumps wildly with the urge to claim that fire for myself.
“So what's the plan?” he asks, chest heaving from exertion as he steadies himself on one leg. “Am I just supposed to… hop right into Zone T and ask for some rations or some shit?”
I shake my head quickly, beckoning for him to follow before turning on my heel. The ceilings are low in the cabin, and I duck into the narrow hallway, almost making it to the galley before I realize he isn't behind me. Harsh breathing reaches my ears.
When I turn back around, I spot him through the doorway, struggling to move. His leg trembles beneath him, body shaking with the effort to stay upright. The doorframe creaks under the grip he’s using to keep himself from collapsing.
He won't make it far like that.
Moving into the galley, Nyx flutters off my shoulder as I grab a folding chair next to the counter. It's made of cheap, weathered plastic, beaten all to hell, but the steel legs are solid.
When I return, the man is still gripping the wall, muttering curses under his breath. Those golden curls stick to his neck, enticing me to run my fingers through them and tug.
Instead, I set the chair in front of him, not offering to help or touch, just...giving him something he can choose.
A crutch without shame.
He blinks at it, breathing hard. “…Seriously? A chair?”
I meet his gaze with a shrug. Better than nothing .
Huffing in annoyance, he wraps both hands around the back, using it for balance. It screeches a bit as he leans into it, his good foot dragging when he starts to move painfully slow.
But forward.
I follow behind when he passes by, not too close to scare him.
“This is ridiculous…” he grumbles, scooting down the hall. “Might as well just eat me, there's no way I can run from a biter like this.”
Nyx chitters somewhere above, like she’s laughing at him, and he stops suddenly to take in my small galley.
It’s cramped, barely more than a closet with a sink. The walls are stained with salt and old grease, patched over by mismatched sheet metal or scrap I bartered. A single porthole filters in pale light, casting everything in a grayish glow.
Cabinets hang open, their hinges long since rusted out, filled with cans stripped of labels and whatever dried goods haven’t molded yet. A fold-down table sits bolted to the opposite wall, stained with oil.
“This is where you live ?” he asks incredulously.
I just shrug and start toward the narrow staircase that leads up to the deck.
The boat isn't pretty, but it's home. It's all I have left, besides Nyx.
Behind me, the man mutters, “He's definitely going to fucking eat me.”
I pretend not to hear that, my stomach revolting at the thought of consuming human flesh .
The stairs groan under my weight as Nyx flutters ahead, slipping through when I open the hatch. I reach the top and step aside, holding the heavy wooden door open.
He drags the chair forward, one stubborn scoot at a time, jaw clenched. Every step looks like it costs him a tremendous amount of energy, but still, he doesn’t ask for help. And I don't offer.
Hauling himself up the stairs with the chair in one hand, he finally spills out onto the deck, blinking against the lights shining from Zone T’s walls. “Well. That sucked.”
I point straight ahead, across the cracked and weedy expanse of shoreline to the rations bag beyond my reach.
Bright red letters, obnoxiously obvious. Just sitting there like bait, abandoned near the gate of the prison’s outer wall.
He follows my finger, groaning loudly when he sees it. “Oh, come on.”
His gaze bounces from the bag to the gates, then back at me, like maybe this is a joke. Like maybe I’ll laugh and tell him I’m just kidding.
I'm not.
“You want me to go out there?” he whispers fiercely, green eyes wide. “With one foot and a fucking chair?”
I dip my chin once in confirmation.
His nostrils flare. “Why the hell can’t you get it?”
Tapping my chest, I point to the towers beyond the gates, and then at the floor, shaking my head. I can't leave the damned boat.
He lets out a frustrated growl. “I don't understand what the fuck you're saying, but I think I get it. I'm expendable and you're not, right? I'm just pathetic and slow and obviously dying, so why not send me as bait? ”
I shake my head adamantly, pointing once again at the towers, desperately trying to get my point across.
“You know what’s gonna happen if they see me, right? They won’t warn me. They’ll shoot on sight or feed me to the fucking pit. I can't fight off a biter with one foot!”
His chest heaves as he hyperventilates, but I let him burn it out because he’s right to be mad. I wouldn't risk him if I had any other choice. I’d rather die than him.
When he falls quiet again, I crouch down, tapping the railing gently to get those pretty eyes back on me. His gaze meets mine, pupils blown wide in fear as I show him the crossbow leaning against the side of the boat, mouthing, “I’ve got you.”
He stares at me, jaw clenched tight. “And what if I don’t make it?”
Thumping my chest before shaking my head, I hold his gaze steady, begging him to trust me. I won’t let him die. Not if I can help it.
He doesn’t say anything for a long moment, just squints at the gates in the distance, scanning the towers.
“Do they know you’re out here?” When I nod, he swears under his breath, his fingers tightening around the chair.
“I don't know how I'm supposed to do this. Just…hobble over there, snatch the bag, and hobble back?”
Lifting the crossbow to my shoulder, I jerk my chin toward the gangplank for him to proceed, earning me a grimace and a hard swallow. I dip my gaze to his pink lips before looking away, keeping my eyes on the prize .
Finally, after a moment's hesitation, he starts toward the ramp. “You better keep your fucking promise, monster. I'm not dying for you.”
I don't react, just watch him slowly move toward the dock like a wounded animal. Little does he know that I always keep my promises. Always.
There are far too many ghosts haunting me to let one more person die.