Lukas tossed a handful of dried fruit into his mouth, grinding them slowly, and sat on the top rung of the fence lining the outer circle of the business district. His fatigues were too long and the hemming to make them fit tilted at a slight angle with the wrong thread color. If there were more resources and money, it would have been a problem. However, not even the surplus caravans could get within ten miles of the border. No one wanted to talk about it, but the dread lurked behind unblinking eyes and stiff posture when anyone acknowledged what they didn’t have and couldn’t get. The ticking of the clock was growing louder, and, for Bethany, it was nearly midnight.

  Lukas jerked back, wincing at the loud crack as the goat snapped its stumped horn against the wall. The poor thing was from a farm up the road. And if he had to guess, the three cows, a handful of ducks, and almost thirty chickens had come from the same place. There was even a turtle. All but the one goat had killed itself trying to get through the wall. Lukas licked his fingers clean, sighed, and reached for the skinner knife he’d carried since his family started hunting five years back. It was the first knife he’d ever had, and it’d served him well. Hopefully, it would serve the goat, too. It didn’t deserve a painful death by blunt force trauma. If he’d shown up sooner, he would have helped the other animals, and they wouldn’t have suffered either.

  “Nice knife,” Milo interrupted as the goat continued to clobber itself against the stone. “My mom carries the same one around, but hers has this nice turquoise handle. Birthstone, I think. My dad had it made for her.”

  “No kidding,” Lukas breathed and grabbed the goat by its remaining horn. With the swift ease of experience, he cut its throat, deep and broad, and dumped the slain animal to the ground. He smeared the blood off on the side of his dark pants. Without looking up at his friend, he returned it to the sheath at his side. “You know, you should really tell your dad he’s the laughingstock carrying that double barrel around all the time.”

  “I’ve tried.” Milo heaved a sigh, setting his hands on his hips, exhausted from all the times he explained to his parents how useless their choices of weapons were against the Razen. The Resistance had dark blades made from a strange compound of crystals and metals, and they were the only thing that worked. Whisperers, though they were few, claimed the compound had a frequency about it, like the opposite notes of a song, and they could break the threads of the Razen, like tearing a cloth in half, and send them to their graves. Milo didn’t wholly believe it. He’d seen and met with so many survivors of the front line, and not one of them talked about music. It was always the torment of hearing the screams that kept them awake at night. Those guttural groans and wails of death followed them and they never knew peace again.

  “Where’s Kelsey?” Lukas looked around, his short, choppy hair catching the gusty breeze as he held a hand over his brow, shielding his eyes from the midday sun.

  “Babysitting before she has to be at her post.” Milo gnawed at the inside of his cheek.

  “So, what are you doing here?” Lukas chuckled. “Go help her babysit! Maybe even tell her you like her.”

  “What? No.” Milo turned away, his jaw set tight. “Besides, I’m on duty. Makler sent me to survey the livestock situation after the reports from Dalemont farms came in yesterday. Animals were rotting and dying.”

  “That’s what happens when they die and you don’t clean them up.”

  “No, they were rotting before they died, and faster after. They were all rancid or petrified within an hour.”

  “That’s not right…”

  “I know, and Makler wants full details about all the animals, stat. Strays included.”

  Lukas looked over his shoulder at the corpses lining the wall. “What animals?” He turned back around, his eyes weary and sagging. “This was all the rest of them. They came down from the farm in a hurry. My mom said she saw them and told me I should probably figure out where they were going. So I followed the goat here. He was pretty clumsy and old. I’m surprised he couldn’t keep up with the chickens.” He glanced back at the dead beast and frowned, shaking his head at the pitiful sight. “I’ll start working on clean up.”

  Milo bobbed his head and turned back toward the street. He didn’t wait for Lukas and didn’t bother saying goodbye. They’d see each other again soon at the northern wall. He was in charge of the ten units stationed on it, and it was his first day on the outside. It was an enormous responsibility, but after a month and a half of shadowing Makler from the interior, his mentor was sure he could handle the station on the other side. The Razen were close, but not close enough to worry. Yet.

  As he walked through town, he tried his best not to notice the dark storefronts and boarded-up homes. People were leaving, and too many were coming back, unable to escape and unwilling to explain why. In his gut, Milo knew Makler was wrong. There was less time than the story he was selling. Of course, he also understood why it was important to make people believe they were safe. Fear was dangerous and a fast-spreading disease. It made people do only one of two things. It made them brave, courageous, and willing to do what they needed to for the sake of others. Or it made them desperate. And desperation was the ruin of many great men. It was the lowest a person could sink and the death of the moral compass.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Milo couldn’t imagine what sort of nightmare hellscape could bring a man to his knees and strip him of his humanity, and make him do things he would have never done, to sacrifice himself to the flames of abhorrent self-preservation at all costs; and he was sure he would never allow himself to fall so low. He was a better man than that, and he knew himself well enough to be confident about who he’d become. Among many things, he would be a great leader. Maybe even better than Makler. And one day he’d bring both renewed hope and a future to the world. Though it was small, it wasn’t gone and he could save them.

  Stopping at the corner as Resistance horses trotted by, the calvary on its way to the western wall for rotation, Milo sucked in a long, slow breath. The swirling scent of metal danced in his nose and curled over his tongue. His skin prickled, hotter than ever. For two years, he’d hidden his ability from the militia, Resistance, and Makler. There was no sense in anyone knowing when he couldn’t control it, and it acted up on its own at random. Clenching his fists, he pushed down the tingling beneath the surface. It was like he was teeming with electric excitement, but it wasn’t him. It was the ability. And it was getting stronger and more frequent every day. Milo breathed out, his chest deflating and the ability cooling as it retreated back to wherever it had risen from.

  He crossed the street and hurried on his way. Though he wanted to stop at the house on the corner and visit Kelsey for even a moment, there wasn’t time to spare. Makler was expecting him back, and the faint scent of smoke in the air and rolling overcast was a warning of what was to come. And it was coming too soon. Milo trotted around the next bend and then up the steps of the office building where the Commander-in-Chief had spent most of the morning. The generals and colonels and people of importance were shuffling through and collecting their orders. Anyone with half a brain knew it wasn’t typical behavior. They were preparing for the Razen to descend, and the fight after.

  Makler shook General Donovan’s hand and clapped his shoulder as he bid him best wishes. Sergeant Hart stood at his side with a stack of folders looking worse for wear. The newly enlisted kept her so busy, Milo hadn’t seen her in days. He almost felt bad for her, but then he remembered running twelve miles because he hadn’t taken her seriously when they first met. She made him a better soldier, and lazy enlistees made her a better sergeant. They challenged her, and while most would succumb to the relentless apathy she had for their opinions and woes, and reduce their demands, it made Winnie all the more determined to break the weak like brittle autumn twigs. Her eyes darted to Milo, her usual scowl softening as she nudged Makler.

  “Milo!” He called, holding out his arms and strolling across the open hall. “You’re back. What did you find?” His hand thumped down on his shoulders.

  Tipping his chin in to look down at the Commander-in-Chief, his brow furrowed and he searched for the right words to say. “There’s not a lot to tell, sir. The animals are dead.”

  “All of them?” The cheery disposition melted away, and Makler stepped back as Milo nodded. He swallowed hard and hummed, checking over his shoulder for Winnie. He ran a hand over his face. “You’re sure?”

  “Corporal Kim confirmed the last animals were at the southern wall. All deceased.”

  “Send some to the new privates for clean-up detail, Winnie,” Makler said without much more than a glance of his eyes in her direction.

  “Yes, sir,” she confirmed, straightening and raising her chin.

  Milo lifted his gaze to meet Makler’s in silent question. The hallway wasn’t the place to ask what it meant for the animals to be dead, the birds to be gone, the townsfolk to leave and return in dismay, and all imports and exports stilled. He didn’t have to ask what the smoke behind the trees meant, and everything inside told him the reports he was feeding Makler day after day for the better part of the year weren’t busywork after all. The Commander-in-Chief dropped his head and rocked back on his heels. Winnie glanced between them and then turned on her toes with a snap. She shoved through the stairwell door and disappeared. Makler looked up at his apprentice, the finest protege he’d raised, and frowned.

  “Come with me, we need to talk,” he said, nodding down the hall towards the large office at the end.

  A shiver ran up Milo’s spine. The only other time he’d ever been to that office was when he was debriefed on the exact location of the Razen and the estimated time Bethany had left before the invasion would begin. Makler didn’t sugarcoat a single detail. The Resistance was strong, but they’d never saved an entire town. Bethany had better walls than most and he hoped this time would be different. And with the eagerness of the people who lived within the walls to enlist with the militia, there was hope. Still, the Razen were ruthless. They were unlike anything Milo would ever face again. If they breached the walls, the fight wouldn’t be for Bethany. It would be to escape, to survive, and take the knowledge gained to the Resistance and use it to prepare for the next fight. And they would keep fighting for humanity until they either won or died trying.

  Makler led Milo into the office and shut the door. His slow steps offered no comfort as he twisted the wedding band on his finger. He’d never spoken of a wife, and when he fiddled with the ring, his face filled with sadness he couldn’t bring himself to tell anyone about. Stopping in front of the window, he stared out at the people in the town like a king surveying his land. With a huff of laughter, he turned back around to Milo.

  “I’ll be frank with you, boy.” He started, coming around the long table in the middle and adjusting his cuffs, an anxious habit. “I never had any boys of my own, but in the past two years, you’ve been like a son. I had big dreams for you and hoped you’d take my place one day, but we’re at the end before we’ve even started. What’s coming over the hills…” He looked down, his forehead crinkling as he raised his brows. “Well, it’s the end of the line for us. So, if you have anyone you want to say goodbye to, you have two days at most. Do what you need to settle with it.”

  His hand fell on Milo’s shoulder as a thin apology. Milo pressed his lips into a hard line. Makler was not a man who accepted defeat. He never talked about anything with such hopelessness and resignation. “What’s coming?”

  Makler froze, his gaze too distant to read. “War.”