Chapter 31: No! You can't leave me here.
Nate's focus was absolute, a hunter on a new scent. He led them back to the hardware store they'd bypassed, slipping through the busted doors into the dim, dusty interior. It was a chaos of spilled nails, overturned tool racks, and the faint, greasy smell of machine oil. But Nate's eyes went straight to a locked glass cabinet behind the main counter, its contents miraculously untouched.
With a sharp crack of his rifle butt, he shattered the glass. Inside weren't just simple walkie-talkies. There were professional-grade field radios, signal boosters, and even a few compact, military-surplus GPS units, their screens dark but promising.
For the first time since Skylar had known him, she saw something other than grim determination or cold calculation on his face. It was pure, unadulterated excitement. His eyes lit up, his movements becoming quick and eager as he carefully inspected the equipment, testing the weight of a heavy-duty radio in his hand. He was like a child who had just found the one, perfect toy in a mountain of junk.
Watching him, something shifted inside her. The fear of the nest, the adrenaline of the kill in the clinic, the constant, grinding tension—it all fell away for a single, crystalline moment. All that was left was the sight of this fierce, capable, complicated man being genuinely happy over a box of electronics. A warm, undeniable certainty bloomed in her chest, so powerful it stole her breath.
'I think I'm in…' The thought formed, half in her mind, half on her lips, a smile touching her own face as she watched him.
But the words were never spoken.
A low, wet growl cut through the dusty air.
Nate's head snapped up. In the doorway of the store stood two Rippers, their milky eyes fixed on the movement inside. Nate's reaction was a blur of instinct. His hand went not to his M4, which was slung on his shoulder, but to the combat knife on his belt. In one fluid motion, he threw it. The blade spun through the air and sank deep into the first creature's neck with a sickening thud, silencing its growl.
He grabbed a heavy, rusted wrench from a nearby bin and charged the second as it lurched towards him. He swung, putting all his weight into it, smashing the wrench against the Ripper's temple. The creature's head snapped to the side, but it barely staggered. It was like hitting a bag of wet sand. With a guttural snarl, its arms shot up, broken-nailed fingers grasping for his throat.
Nate's eyes widened in shock. He was off-balance, over-committed. He tried to step back, but his boot caught on a scattered box of screws.
There was a sharp thwip.
An arrow slammed into the Ripper's eye socket with such force that the arrowhead punched clean through the back of its skull. The creature dropped like a puppet with its strings cut, collapsing at Nate's feet.
He stood frozen for a heartbeat, staring at the arrow shaft now vibrating in the corpse's skull. He slowly turned to look at Skylar. She was still in her shooting form, bow held firm, her expression a mask of fierce concentration that slowly melted into wide-eyed shock at what she had just done.
He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. The moment was shattered by a chorus of answering snarls from further down the street. The noise had drawn attention.
"Grab the bag!" he barked, the commander instantly back in control. He snatched the heavy pack of electronics and shoved it into her arms. "We have to move! Now!"
They burst out of the hardware store and into the alley, abandoning stealth for speed. They ran, their footsteps echoing off the narrow walls, ducking behind dumpsters and peeling around corners as more shambling figures began to converge on the main street. It was a frantic, desperate dash, a blur of close calls and near-misses, all leading towards the distant, promised sanctuary of the supermarket.
The supermarket was a cathedral of decay. The automatic doors were permanently wedged open, the interior a landscape of overturned displays, shattered glass, and the sickly-sweet stench of long-spoiled food. But the structural shelves in the center aisles stood firm, and that was their target.
"Forget the cans," Nate ordered, his voice tight as he scanned the vast, shadowy space. "Too heavy. We need calories that last. Grains. Basics."
He moved with a new, ruthless economy, the near-miss in the hardware store having sanded away any remaining patience. He shoved a large, empty duffel bag into Skylar's hands and pointed. "Aisle 7. Baking supplies. I'll cover you."
She didn't need to be told twice. She ran, her boots crunching on spilled cereal, and found the promised land: unopened, heavy bags of rice, flour, and sugar, ignored by looters who'd gone for easier, ready-to-eat prizes. She started heaving them into the duffel bag, the weight making the canvas strain.
From the front of the store, a series of wet, guttural snarls echoed. Then, the sharp, concussive blast of the M4. BAP. BAP-BAP. It wasn't the controlled, single shots of a hunter. It was the frantic, sustained fire of a man holding a line.
"Skylar, now!" he roared over the gunfire.
She grabbed one last prize from a nearby shelf—a sealed brick of dark roast coffee and a tin of English Breakfast tea—and shoved them into the top of the bulging bag. She dragged it, the weight monstrous, towards the sound of his rifle.
She found him at the end of the cereal aisle, brass casings glittering around his feet. Six Rippers lay in a twisted, bloody heap before him, their advance brutally halted. The air was thick with the smell of cordite and death. Nate's face was splattered with black fluid, his chest heaving. He didn't look at her, his eyes still scanning for more threats.
"Got it?" he grunted.
"Yeah," she panted, hoisting the bag.
"Then we're gone."
He didn't lead them back the way they came. Instead, he blasted a path through the stockroom in the back, kicking open a delivery door that opened into another alley. They stumbled out, the sudden daylight blinding, the sounds of more Rippers converging on the supermarket's front entrance fading behind them. It was a brutal, messy escape, but they were out.
Their sanctuary was the foul-smelling bookstore. They collapsed just inside the shattered window, their backs against a bookshelf, the two heavy packs between them. Skylar's entire body trembled with exhaustion. The adrenaline crash was a physical blow. She looked at the mountain of supplies and then at the long, dangerous trek back to the cabin. The thought was impossible.
"I can't," she whispered, her voice ragged. "Nate, I can't walk all that way. Not with this."
Nate was breathing hard, wiping his knife clean on his pants. He looked from her exhausted face to the packs, his mind making calculations she couldn't fathom.
"I need you to stay here and wait for me," he said, his voice low but firm.
"What? No! You can't leave me here!"
"There's something else I came here for," he added, his gaze intense.
She opened her mouth to argue, to scream, to refuse—but he moved faster than thought. He closed the distance between them, his hands framing her face, and kissed her. It wasn't gentle or questioning. It was deep, passionate, and desperate, a raw transfer of feeling that silenced all her protests. It was a promise, an apology, and a fuel, all in one.
When he pulled away, his forehead rested against hers for a brief second. "I will be right back," he vowed, his eyes locking with hers, leaving no room for doubt.
Then he was gone. He snatched up his M4, checked the magazine with a sharp slap, and slipped out the window, melting into the shadows of the alley with a ghost's silence.
Skylar sat there, her lips still tingling, her heart hammering against her ribs. The fear was still there, a cold knot in her stomach, but it was now entwined with the warm, terrifying certainty that had bloomed in the hardware store. It was no longer a thought. It was a truth.
'I am in love with him.'
The silence of the bookstore, which had felt almost safe moments before, now felt heavy and threatening. She pulled her bow into her lap, an arrow nocked, her ears straining for any sound of his return.
Instead, a voice she had prayed to never hear again slithered through the broken window, smooth as oil and cold as a grave.
"Well, look what we have here."
Her blood froze.
Another voice, gruff and familiar, chimed in. "Well, well, well. Hello, Skylar."
She turned slowly, her heart seizing in her chest. Standing in the shattered bookstore entrance, blocking the light, were Kaelan and his goons.