James breathed out into the cold air, his breath fogging in front of him. Snow flakes fell on his had as he trudged through the forest, a wooden sled being dragged behind him. It had been two days since his conversation with Joel.

  Joel had apologized—awkwardly—the next morning for how he’d gone off on him. But James could tell the man’s view of him had shifted, even if just a little.

  He’d started treating James more like an adult and less like a kid. He still taught him the same lessons as Ellie, but now Joel didn’t hover over him the way he did her.

  James understood it. Joel had always been more protective of Ellie—it made sense. He’d lost a daughter, not a son, and Ellie reminded him of her. And beyond that, Ellie was immune. She mattered more to the world than either of them.

  Still, James had noticed the change. Joel had grown protective of him too, just in his own quiet way. But now he’d started to back off.

  Case in point—James was currently on a solo scavenge run.

  A couple days ago, if he’d even suggested doing this alone, Joel would’ve shut it down immediately. Now, he’d just given him a serious nod and let him go—under Ellie’s furrowed gaze.

  James had his compound bow slung over his shoulder, his gloved hand resting on the grip as he moved through the frozen forest with quiet purpose. He’d been tracking what he hoped was a buck for over an hour now—faint prints in the snow, the occasional disturbed branch, and that instinctual feeling in his gut that he was getting close.

  The trees grew denser as he moved, their bare branches laced with snow that drifted down in lazy flakes. He stepped carefully between them, boots crunching lightly on the frozen earth, eyes scanning the forest ahead with a quiet smile. Despite the chill biting at his nose and ears, it was a beautiful day, although every day was beautiful in his eyes. The snowfall gave the woods a kind of surreal calm, like the whole world was holding its breath. Even without the sun, the soft gray light made the snow glow.

  Tracking wasn’t easy in this kind of weather—fresh snow had already started to fill in the tracks—but James managed. He was getting better at it. Joel’s lessons were starting to stick.

  Eventually, he crested a small hill, crouching as he peered over the edge—and froze.

  There, just beyond a thin line of trees, stood a deer. Not a buck, but a doe. That small surge of disappointment faded fast, replaced by adrenaline and a quiet sense of triumph. Meat was meat.

  James didn’t hesitate, letting go of the rope attached to his sled. He dropped low and slipped into a thick cluster of bushes, positioning himself in a natural nook where he was nearly invisible. The doe had its head down, pawing lightly at the snow, unaware of the boy watching from the treeline.

  He knelt slowly, silently, drawing his bowstring back with steady hands. His breath misted in front of him, and he felt his heartbeat settle into a calm rhythm. Joel’s voice echoed in his head—Aim behind the front leg. Let the breath guide the release. Don’t rush.

  James inhaled deeply… then exhaled. And with that breath, he loosed the arrow.

  The string snapped forward with a sharp thrum, and the arrow sliced through the air with a whisper. It struck true, burying deep into the doe’s side with a meaty smack.

  The animal let out a startled cry and staggered, trying to limp away—but James could already see it wouldn’t make it far.

  James grinned as he jogged down the small hill, snow crunching under his boots. The deer lay collapsed just ahead, still and silent beneath the gently falling snow. He crouched beside it, reaching for the arrow and sliding it free with a quick pull, wiping the blood off in the snow.

  He patted the doe’s chest with a smile, “Sorry man. Gotta eat. You know how it is.”

  Slipping the bow over his back, he bent low and, with a grunt of effort, hoisted the doe onto his shoulders. The damn thing was heavy—heavier than it looked—but manageable. He only carried it a few yards before stopping and strapping it onto the small sled. Much easier.

  As he trudged through the snow, the forest quiet except for the crunch beneath his feet, he felt a smug satisfaction settle in his chest. He couldn’t wait to rub it in Ellie’s face. She was still grumbling about missing her first shot the other day, and now he had a full deer to show for his effort.

  He sighed, the trek already feeling long.

  James whished he had something to help pass the time.

  He briefly considered buying a music player from the store, but they were too expensive, and he was still saving up for his next upgrade.

  So instead, he started to sing.

  “We are the people that rule the world

  A force running in every boy and girl

  All rejoicing in the world”

  He didn’t know how long he walked like that—just him, the snow, the rhythm of his boots and the low tune he mumbled under his breath—but before long, the trees began to thin, and he saw the edge of the clearing where their camp was set up.

  Then he stopped cold.

  Something was wrong.

  Very wrong.

  Four men were in the clearing—armed. Two of them had rifles trained on Joel and Ellie, who were on their knees, hands on their heads. The other two were digging through their packs, carelessly tossing supplies aside.

  James’s breath caught. His heart slammed against his ribs as adrenaline kicked in like a drug, flooding his system.

  He dropped to a crouch, low and silent, forcing the surge of anger and excitement he felt down.

  He pulled the bow from his back and drew it slowly, carefully, his fingers tightening around the string. His eyes scanned the situation, mind racing.

  Who should he shoot first?

  If he killed one of the men holding his friends at gunpoint, would the other pull the trigger out of panic?

  Could he take advantage of the confusion fast enough?

  Could he signal Joel somehow?

  Did he have anything else?

  He had some firecrackers on him, but he didn’t see them being useful now.

  A knife? Not until he was close.

  He paused and quickly checked his inventory.

  Mostly survival gear—some food, a bit of water—but two things caught his attention.

  A molotov cocktail and the pistol he left in there after getting captured by the Lanterns.

  Could he use either?

  The clearing was wide, and the snow would make the molotov unreliable. It might not even break right unless he hit someone dead on—plus the cold air would smother the flame fast.

  The pistol? Not from this distance. He’d never hit his target cleanly, not without getting closer.

  So that left him with just the bow.

  He let out a breath and steadied himself, deciding to wait.

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  Wait for a clean shot. Wait for a chance to act.

  Sweat built on his brow despite the cold, the tension crawling across his skin as he silently prayed the raiders wouldn't just pull the trigger.

  And then—his chance.

  One of the men walked away, heading toward the tents. The others turned their backs, distracted. James shifted his aim, breath slowing, focus narrowing.

  Just as he was about to release—

  Click.

  He froze.

  The sound had come from his right.

  He turned his head, slowly, and there he was—the man from the gas station.

  The one who’d been watching. The one James had hoped hadn’t followed them.

  He looked tired. Hollow. Like a man who’d been walking through hell for years and stopped pretending to care.

  The barrel of his rifle was pointed square at James.

  “I wouldn’t do that, son,” the man said, voice gravel and ash.

  James didn’t move.

  The old man sighed, his voice low and tired. “If you don’t put that bow down right now, I’ll put one through your eye.”

  James clenched his jaw, rage bubbling in his chest—but he obeyed. Slowly, he eased off the tension in the bowstring and lowered it to the snow-covered ground.

  “Now get up,” the man ordered, nodding toward the clearing.

  James rose carefully. The man kept the rifle trained on him as they stepped into the open. The moment they crossed into view, the entire clearing shifted.

  Joel tensed immediately, his body wound like a coiled spring. Ellie’s face twisted in horror, like she’d just been punched in the gut.

  The men turned to look—most with mild curiosity. Except for one.

  A younger Asian man snorted a loud laugh. “Oh man,” he said, grinning at the old man, “you totally called it, Sam. He came back quicker than we thought.”

  Sam didn’t respond. He turned to the man rummaging through their supplies—white guy, maybe mid-forties, sun-damaged face and a shaved head.

  “Anything good so far?” Sam asked flatly.

  The guy nodded. “Yeah. Good stash. Winter clothes, canned food, little bit of meds. These tents’ll make nice additions too.”

  The Asian man licked his teeth and smirked. “Yeah, all real nice stuff. But what I’m really lookin’ forward to is that girl.” He grinned at Ellie, eyes crawling over her.

  James’s whole body tensed like a spring. It took everything he had not to leap at the bastard. But he made his decision already.

  He was going to kill all of them.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Joel’s jaw tighten as his gaze locked on the grinning man.

  Ellie just looked sick.

  Even Sam, the old man beside James, visibly stiffened—but he just let out another weary sigh, like he’d seen this sort of thing too many times to care anymore.

  A couple of the other men smirked but James tuned them out.

  All he needed was a moment. Just a sliver of time. His eyes flicked to Joel, and they locked for half a second. James tried to communicate what was coming.

  Joel gave no signal in return—but James knew the man would understand. He had to.

  Sam broke the silence again. “How much ammo?”

  The older man rummaging through the gear replied without looking up, “Box of .38s, couple mags of 9mm, maybe twelve shells for the shotgun.”

  “Pretty good,” Sam muttered, scratching his beard with his trigger hand—just enough to let the barrel of his rifle dip low.

  That was it.

  James didn’t hesitate.

  In a flash, he pulled the pistol from his inventory—his fingers already wrapped around the grip as it materialized in his hand.

  Before Sam could blink, James raised the gun and squeezed the trigger.

  BANG

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  Sam’s head exploded in a red mist, the hollow point tearing through his skull and sending chunks of bone and brain matter spraying into the snow.

  The other men froze, stunned—but James didn’t.

  He pivoted, a wide grin on his face and his gun already aimed at the man holding Ellie hostage.

  BANG BANG

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  Two clean shots. One in the gut, the other in the chest. The man staggered and collapsed, blood soaking through his jacket.

  James snapped his sights to the next target.

  Time slowed.

  The two men rifling through the supplies reached for their weapons, panic in their eyes.

  The one who’d had his gun on Joel whipped around, rifle rising to take aim at James instead of Joel.

  A mistake.

  Joel lunged.

  He was a blur of movement, tackling the man before he could fire. One hand clamped down on the rifle while the other smashed into the guy’s face with a brutal punch.

  James blinked—the world snapped back to normal speed.

  Joel was on top of the man now, beating the hell out of him.

  James scanned the rest of the clearing—spotted the older scavenger raising his gun toward Joel.

  Shit.

  James fired.

  BANG BANG BANG

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  He missed twice, snow exploding behind the target. The third bullet struck home, slamming into the man’s forehead and dropping him instantly.

  But not fast enough.

  BANG

  A shot rang out—James heard Joel grunt in pain, collapsing sideways onto the snow while clutching his shoulder.

  No time to react.

  James turned with a bloodthirsty grin, gun still raised—searching for the last man.

  But the Asian guy—the smug bastard—was gone.

  James scanned wildly, heart pounding.

  Then he saw it: a blur of movement slipping between the trees, the last bit of a coat vanishing into the forest. Running. Disappearing.

  Coward.

  He felt the primal urge to chase the bastard into the woods, to hunt him down like an animal. But before he could move, a scream cut through the trees and grounded him.

  Ellie was kneeling beside Joel, frantically talking to him, trying to keep him conscious.

  James snapped back into action. He sprinted over and yanked open one of their packs, pulling out a sterilized bandage. Dropping to his knees beside Joel, he quickly took in the situation.

  A bullet—clean through the shoulder. Blood poured from the wound, soaking Joel’s shirt and the snow beneath him. Ellie had a rag pressed to it, but it wasn’t helping. Joel was losing too much blood too fast.

  James wasn’t a medic—but he had to do something.

  He grabbed his knife and ran to the still-burning campfire, shoving the blade deep into the coals.

  “Keep pressure on the wound!” he shouted to Ellie. “And don’t let him fall asleep!”

  Ellie nodded sharply and leaned in closer to Joel, her voice steady but urgent as she tried to keep him engaged, asking questions, telling stupid stories—anything to keep him awake.

  While the knife heated, James dug into the pack again, grabbing the small tin of Vaseline they used for dry skin and frostbite. He lathered it onto the bandage, working fast but careful, coating the gauze in a thick layer.

  When he turned back to the fire, the blade had just started glowing a dull red.

  He pulled it from the coals, the metal hissing in the cold air, and carried it over to Joel.

  Ellie stopped talking and gave the blade a wary glance before silently pulling her own knife and cutting away Joel’s shirt around the wound.

  James crouched, locking eyes with the older man. “Joel,” he said firmly. “This is going to hurt like hell, but it might stop the bleeding. You understand?”

  Joel met his gaze for a long second, then closed his eyes. “Damn it… just do it alre—”

  James didn’t let him finish. He pressed the glowing hot blade to the wound.

  Joel screamed.

  The sound was raw, deep, almost inhuman—like something tearing from the core of him. James grit his teeth, forcing the blade to sear across the entry wound and then, carefully, into the deeper part of the injury, trying to cauterize the torn vessels inside.

  Joel’s body writhed under him, and then finally went still.

  Passed out cold.

  James yanked the blade free, the smell of burning flesh curling into his nostrils. Gagging, he tossed the knife into the snow, where it hissed and steamed.

  He quickly grabbed the Vaseline-soaked bandage and began wrapping the wound, tight but not too tight, working with shaky but determined hands.

  When he finally tied it off, he looked up—and found Ellie staring at him.

  She wasn’t panicking. Just... watching. Wide-eyed.

  “What?” he asked, breath still ragged.

  “James…” she said slowly, her voice small. “Why are you smiling?”

  His brow furrowed. He reached up, and sure enough—his face was stretched into a wide grin.

  A cold chill ran through him.

  He looked around the clearing. At the bodies. The blood. The aftermath of what he’d just done.

  Three dead men. No guilt. No shame.

  Just a rush similar to when he’d killed that deer earlier today.

  “I-I don’t know,” he whispered, the grin fading as reality started to sink in. The adrenaline bled away, leaving him cold and sweaty.

  He shook his head and forced himself to focus. “We have to move. We can’t stay here.”

  Ellie hesitated, still watching him. Then she nodded. “Right.”

  James stood and took off into the woods, retracing his steps to where he’d left the sled. The doe still lay there, heavy and forgotten. He dumped it onto the snow with a muttered, “Sorry,” then grabbed the sled and ran back.

  Together, they lifted Joel’s unconscious body onto it, grabbed what supplies they could carry, and took off into the woods, boots crunching through the snow.

  They didn’t look back.

  Not at the camp.

  Not at the blood.

  Not at the bodies.

  Only forward.