Chapter 4

It had been almost three months since I saw the surface of Westraven. I couldn’t say I missed it. 

Nothing stood upright. The proud metal towers and glorious white stone buildings were now quickly fading memories. The collapsed ruin was much more familiar. 

Heaps of rock lay strewn across the roads and sidewalks, covering the ground in what looked like clumpy snow. Shops with burned siding and shattered windows gaped like horrified faces. A few spots of road were splattered with dried, dust-covered blood. 

But it was the silence that put the shiver in my spine and the tension in my gut. 

No wind, no distant voices, no scrabbling rats moving over stones. I felt like the last man alive in a dead world.

I pulled up the collar of my ragged greatcoat and looked at the monstrosity hanging in the sky. 

The mother ship of the Hellions, the formidable Behemoth, hung in the thick grey clouds. Swirls of black smoke churned from the exhaust pipes at the stern like a toxic cloud. The main ship was a man-o’-war built from corrugated metal and heavy gears. Spikes jutted from its sides along with four rows of cannon guns. Lashed under the main ship with heavy chains was a docking bay where the Hellion skiffs sat until they decided the beasts decided they were hungry. 

From so far down, I couldn’t tell if the raiding ships were docked or not. Ivan, one of the snipers on the Barren’s wall, said he hadn’t seen anything. I didn’t trust him, but for now I would take his word and tell myself that Russ had been lying about the Hellion’s new daylight tactic. Best to get this over as soon as possible.

Refusing to look at the splintered concrete and fractured rebar wall at my back, or the tarnished cannons still mounting the structure that used to be seventy feet tall before it was shot to pieces in The Storm, I started crossing the empty space of the Barren into the western part of the city.

Before The Storm, the Barren had been called Dovercourt. Circled by ten miles of stone and cement, topped with watchtowers, cannons, and flags, it had been the perfect area for Westraven’s military elite to live with their families. I was the son of merchants, but I remembered seeing the air shows and military parades. The Sky Guard would race their sloops through cloudless blue skies, perform training and combat drills, tell stories of epic battles against marauders, and celebrate with feasts fit for kings. Dovercourt had once been a small city in its own right. My family didn’t live in it, but even we were proud to have such a respected garrison. 

After all, not even the marauders had been able to defeat the Sky Guard. We thought nothing could.

Not until The Storm. 

Dovercourt had been one of the first Districts to be hit. The Hellions seemed to know that retaliation would be possible, and they wanted to eliminate any threats as fast as they could. No matter how grim the thought was, I couldn’t deny that the monsters had been brutally efficient. 

The seventy-foot wall surrounding the district was covered with holes like pock-marks, the scars of cannon fire from the Behemoth. Any major gaps were re-filled with serrated rebar and broken flagpoles that jutted out like misplaced daggers. Two remaining watchtowers remained, though their cannons had never been used. 

As I walked toward the wall, I cast a quick glance at the space where the Sky Guard troops had lived with their families. The lovingly built houses were now heaps of broken wood, shattered glass, and crushed brick. Most of those materials were taken by the Stray Dogs and other small marauder Clans hiding in the Barren. I didn’t know what they did with the bodies of the dead, because there was no trace of them, or any blood for that matter. It was like a force of nature had swept in, shattered the houses, and erased any trace of life that had once been in this wide, open space. 

I got chills just thinking about the fate of the tens of thousands of people that had lived here. 

When I reached the closest wall of crumbled debris, I was able to push the memories from my mind. Climbing over it was easy, though I was careful to avoid the sharp pieces of metal and rebar that would slice me open if I fell the wrong way. At least Ryland hadn’t laid any kind of explosives down. There were a few places that the Hellions no longer bothered to raid, and the Barren was one of them. There was no need for traps to be set. 

I hoped that wouldn’t change any time soon. 

The walk to the farm would take all day. All major traveling vessels were had been shot down during The Storm, and any kind of small ship would either be stolen or seen as a target for Hellions. So I left the Barren behind and trudged through the broken city, trying to think about my destination, and not the memories threatening to surface.

But every step I took reminded me of a life long gone. The mechanics shop where my father did some of his best trading. The bakery where my mother would buy sweet rolls once a week. The market square where I won Marley a stuffed bear during the carnival for the Drafter Showcase. 

The fountain statue that collapsed on Colby and crushed his legs, leaving him defenseless when the Hellions reached him.

I shook my head and walked faster, pushing the memory as far back as I could. I had to pay attention. A quick glance to the sky told me the skiffs hadn’t left the Behemoth, but that didn’t mean I was safe. 

After the devastation of The Storm settled, most of the survivors did whatever was necessary to reclaim their lives. Others sought pure and simple power. Electricians took control of the substations to reroute energy to their underground empires. Even Ryland was forced to negotiate with them as he worked to regain his foothold in the Barren.

In a way, the marauders had it the worst. They were never ones to give control easily, and they couldn’t take revenge against Robertson Kendric and his famous Wanderer Clan. Rumour was that he and his sadistic son Davin followed the explorers to find the Breach, and something had happened that spurred the Hellions into rage. When they followed the marauders and explorers back through the Breach, the Kendric Clan was among the first to fall. The marauders were grounded and forced to disperse, unable to give the Wanderers the punishment they deserved. 

After The Storm, the rest of us became desperate. Food, tools, gadgets, clothing, and weapons were snatched up and hidden. As stores got lower and lower, survivors were forced to find alternatives. Offering service and slavery to those who had abundant resources. Killing others for what they had. Some people were even said to have resorted to cannibalism. 

Those who died in the early years found the easy way out. The rest of us did our best with the scraps left behind. 

I sighed and scrubbed a hand over my face. Thinking of the Westraven and Aon’s sorry states and my own problems wouldn’t change anything. The best I could do was find Davy, and think of a way to persuade him without using my fists.

***

My feet and legs were aching by the time I reached the farm. 

After hours of straight walking, the buildings and rubble became less prominent. The cracked concrete under my feet stretched to an open patch of concrete, stopping at a single free- standing structure in the middle of it.

All the farms in Westraven were self-sustaining and capable of producing more than one product. In front of me was a fifty-foot wide structure made of foggy glass and dented metal. The top half of the farm was constructed of windows and topped with cracked, black solar panels. It was hard to see from the corner of the building I was hiding behind, but I could have sworn I saw green plants and wheat struggling to grow beyond the windows. With so little sunlight, I doubted that many of the plants were getting the light they needed. Most of them were probably shrivelled and drooping. The vegetables and barley growing inside the greenhouse would be small and meagre at best. 

The lower half of the farm was made of battered sheet metal. It had no windows, so I didn’t know what was hiding inside of it. I wondered if Davy managed to keep some livestock behind those walls. That would have been a miracle, but if there were cows or sheep in the farm, they had to be dangerously unhealthy. If humans were struggling to find food, the animals were starving.

Next to the farm was a large metal water tower. Its stilted legs were had probably been blasted away during The Storm, making rebuilding virtually impossible under the eye of the Hellions and the Behemoth. So rather than being rebuilt to stand, a series of thick metal pipes were fastened to both halves of the farm. The rainy season wouldn’t hit Westraven for another couple months, but when it did, the rain would fill the top of the water tower and slip through the pipes into the greenhouse and the lower half of the farm. Maybe it would be enough to save whatever Davy was trying to grow and produce in there. 

Maybe. But probably not. Whatever he did wasn’t going to be enough to save the people dying in the ruined city. 

And it wasn’t as though anyone could simply walk onto Davy’s property. He knew his resources were beyond valuable, so he took precautions. A twenty-foot wire fence surrounded his property, topped with coils of sharply pronged barbed wire. A series of black boxes lined the fence, thick wires tracing down the siding to the ground. They must have held some kind of electric charge, probably set in place by an Electrician’s colony, no doubt a trade-off for a portion of whatever food Davy managed to grow.   

I could only imagine the pressure the old man endured from every corner of the starving city. This was the largest, still working farm I’d ever seen, and I couldn’t help but pity Davy. My eyes found a small, two story wooden shack that must serve as Davy’s actual home. How he managed all of this alone was a mystery. 

Especially since he was only a hundred feet from the barricades. 

Set by the Hellions as soon as the Behemoth crippled the Sky Guard to keep their food from escaping, the iron wall cut off any view of the horizon and the country beyond. Angry spikes jutted out from the metal, which had unwashed blood smeared over parts of its surface. 

It was possible to climb the barricade, but the trick was crossing the open space before Hellions spotted you. Over the years, people stopped trying to get over. The Hellions would see anyone running there now as a welcome chase and an easy kill.

But as I looked at the cloudy sky over the metal wall, the temptation called to me.

I wanted to do it. Or try, at the very least. There was nothing for me here. No family, no friends, no girl, no purpose… But I couldn’t leave.

My thoughts trailed to Sonya. Her terrified face and heartbreaking cries. The way she would be tortured when I didn’t come back, just because Ryland and his brute squad would want someone to take their aggression out on. Even if I died out here, they would do worse to her. Not coming back from a mission meant failure and suffering. I couldn’t do that to her. I didn’t love Sonya anymore, but she was my friend. I would never forgive myself if she suffered because of me.

I snickered. Champion of the Crater, hulking warrior, crewman for the Stray Dogs, I thought, and a bleeding heart all the same.

Knowing time was against me and an innocent life was on the line, I steeled myself to cross the property line. I had no idea where Davy was, though I assumed his house was a safe place to start looking. 

Just as I was about to step out into open space, the front door on the lowest left corner of the barn opened and two men exited. I slunk back behind the crumpled building and narrowed my eyes to get a better look at them.

Davy was easy to recognize. Short and round with age-speckled skin and wispy white hair, he moved with agility and confidence. Even dressed in black rubber boots and blue coveralls stained with soil, grease, and other dark splotches I didn’t want to think about, Davy held his chin high. A man proud of his work, no doubt.

The man walking beside him with a bulky wooden crate couldn’t have been more opposite. A full foot taller and at least fifty years younger, he could only be described as a rogue. He wore a sooty leather jacket lined with fraying grey piping and spotted with tarnished buttons. It must have belonged to a military officer once, because the boy was too young to be a soldier of the Sky Guard. Under the jacket he wore a white tunic loosely tucked into black pants, the edges hidden by a brown belt that secured a flintlock pistol to his right hip and a curved cutlass to his left. Messy chestnut hair sat on top of his head. I couldn’t see his face, but something about him screamed trouble. 

I hung back in the shadows, for once grateful for the crushing silence. With no wind in the air, I was able to hear what the two men were saying.

“It’s true, I tell ya,” the old man said. “Hellion skiff was flyin’ low this morning.”

“Probably just the last of the raiding party,” countered the younger rogue. 

Davy stopped and crossed his arms. I imagined he would have stamped his foot if he were a little younger.

“I know what I seen, boy. Those damned beasts are coming out in the day.”

The rogue turned and looked at the farmer. He shifted the crate in his arms and took a deep breath. 

“Look, Davy, I was out all day taking care of those Rattail jackasses for you. I didn’t see a single skiff.”

I swore I saw Davy turning beet red, and imagined his lips quivering with rage. 

“You callin’ me a lair, boy? Pirate scum like you?”

Pirate? At least now I knew who I was dealing with.

“You wound me.” The rogue’s voice was thick with sarcasm. “Why don’t we go back to our deal? You give me a crate a month, I clean up the riffraff and keep you breathing. Sound good?”

His bluntness and arrogance surprised me. He acted like a captain when he was no older than a deckhand. I wondered what Clan he was from that would allow someone so young to command so much authority. I wasn’t afraid of him, but I didn’t want any witnesses when I confronted Davy. No telling how messy that scenario would be. 

“Come on, Davy,” the rogue said. “We both know that’s as good a deal as you’re going to get in Westraven, especially with Ryland and the Stray Dogs so close.”

Davy snorted. “I ain’t scared of those inbred curs. They’re a pain in the ass, but not a knife in the ribs.”

The rogue chuckled. “Just looking out for you, old man.” He glanced around, his gaze passing over me. I shrank back into the shadows behind a craggy, boulder-sized piece of stone that might have come from the caved in apartment on my left. I was certain he hadn’t seen me, but I wasn’t willing to take any chances. 

“You never know who might be out there,” he continued.

Davy scoffed, and I peeked out from behind my cover. “You worry too much, boy. That ain’t somethin’ marauders are known for.”

The young man shrugged and grinned. “I’m unconventional.” He shuffled the crate in his hands again, trying to get used to the weight of it. “Guess I should be off. This isn’t exactly a bundle of tissue, and if the Hellions are running around during the day now, I don’t want to be slowed down.”

He started walking away, heading through the open gate of the fence to the right side of the streets. He would be at least a couple blocks from me. This time, Davy actually did stamp his foot. “They are, I tell ya! One day you’ll see it, and you’ll be the fool, Sawyer!”

The rogue– Sawyer– stopped and turned to Davy with a mischievous grin. “I’ll make sure to count the hours.”

Sawyer continued walking with his loot, the grin still on his face as he left the old farmer behind. 

Davy stamped his foot again and shook his head, muttering something I couldn’t hear. He turned and marched back to his collapsing home. He didn’t bother to close the gate, maybe forgetting to do so in his temper tantrum, but I remained in the dark. I waited another ten minutes until I was sure that Sawyer would be out of sight. His deal obviously involved fighting off unwelcome marauders for Davy. I didn’t really see him as a threat– even from where I’d been sitting, I knew I was bigger than him– but I still didn’t want to risk another confrontation. Regardless, I had a knife tucked in my belt, but I had no intention of using it. Not unless I was pushed.

Assuring myself that no one was going to interference, I slipped out from my cover and crossed the open space to the farm. I moved quickly, glancing at the Behemoth. I told myself that I was alone, but with that ship lurking up there, no one was ever really alone. The Hellions watched, waited, and killed when they wanted. The feeling of eyes around me didn’t disappear as I slipped through the open gate and reached the porch of Davy’s house. I tiptoed up the steps that creaked every time I planted my foot. I was big for my age, so I was relieved when the steps didn’t cave in and take my foot with them. 

I stood in front of the door, wondering again if I could make it over the barricade and find somewhere else. A place to start over and live without hating myself every day. 

Sonya’s pleading voice echoed through my mind, and I sighed. 

I knocked on the battered wooden door three times, shook out my wrists, and waited. Davy’s grumbling and cursing could be heard from the other side. 

“Dammit, Sawyer, I told ya–”

He spoke while opening the door, coming to a halt when he saw me taking up the entire frame. His sharp brown eyes widened, flicked to my right arm, and widened again. 

“Ryland has a proposition for you,” I said.

Davy scowled. “That so? Well, you tell that dirty mongrel I ain’t gonna–”

I grabbed the straps of his coveralls and yanked him onto the porch. 

“I’m going to tell you nicely. Give up your supplies to us and no one else, and we’ll make sure you’re protected. Say yes, old man.”

He continued to glower. There was fear in his eyes, but most of what I saw was rage.

“Or what? You’ll beat on me?”

At least he knew what was on the way. “Just say yes.”

“I got a better answer for Ryland.”

He spat in my face. I blinked, but didn’t let him go. I shook my head, then turned sharply and hurled Davy off the porch.

The old man hit the ground hard, crying out in surprise. He cringed and clutched his elbow to his chest. I wiped my cheek and stomped down the steps.

When he looked at me again, the rage was being replaced by fear.

“I don’t want to do this,” I said as he started to crawl away. I grabbed his ankle and yanked him across the pavement. Davy’s hands scraped raw on the rough ground. “I really don’t.” I grabbed his coveralls straps again and jerked him closer. His breathing became ragged. “But you should have said yes.”

I cocked my fist and got ready to swing. I froze at the sound of a clicking hammer, and the feel of a cold gun barrel pressing against my temple.

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you to respect your elders?”

I grimaced, keeping hold of Davy as I slid my eyes to the right. Standing beside me with a steady hand, a cold expression, and fiery tawny eyes, was Davy’s supposed enforcer. Sawyer.

“You walked away once before,” I growled. “Better do so again if you still want to use your legs.”

The rogue grinned at my warning. “Guess I’ll have to take the risk. That’s my supplier you’re threatening.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Not anymore. Get lost.”

He nudged my head with the pistol. “Might be a good idea to remember that I’ve got a gun.” Sawyer’s grin vanished. “Now let him go.”

I stared the marauder down the same way I would an opponent in the Crater. He must have seen my tattoo. He obviously knew that I was taller and outweighed him. And it didn’t seem like he cared. I didn’t know whether to be offended, or impressed.

I dropped Davy and rose to my full height. Sawyer’s eyes never left mine, and his gun only moved so he could keep it trained on my head.

“Smart man,” he said. “Now, this is what’s gonna happen. You’re going to take your own advice, and walk away while I still let you. Tell Ryland to back off once and for all, or the hell I’ll rain down on him will make The Storm look like a spring shower.”

I continued staring at him, trying to figure out just what his damn deal was. He acted like he was a captain himself, not a servant. Which was impossible. Like me, he would have been no older than ten during The Storm. 

But as the seconds ticked by, he mentioned no master, no Clan. He pointed the gun at me with incredible arrogance and waited for me to comply. 

Something I hated to do. 

Nodding slowly, I held up my hands in defeat. Davy’s relieved sigh was louder than he probably intended. Sawyer didn’t move the gun, but his cocky smirk was back. 

“Good Dog,” he taunted. “Now run back to your master and tell him if he has a problem he’d like to take up with Davy, he can crawl out of his hole and handle it himself. Unless he’s the bitch of your litter.”

If he hadn’t insulted me first, I would have smiled with him. Instead, I took a step back, then another, hands still raised. 

Sawyer was so sure he’d been triumphant; he failed to see that I put myself in the most basic fighting stance. Worse for him, he underestimated just how long my reach was. 

Too bad for him.

Lightning quick, my right hand shot out and snared his wrist. Sawyer blinked in surprise. I tightened my grip until the pressure became too much and he was forced to drop the pistol. I kicked it away as he swung a punch at my face. I knocked his hand away and snapped my left elbow into his jaw. 

Sawyer’s head rocked to the side. It was amazing he didn’t lose a tooth. When I hit someone, I never did so lightly.

I pulled back my left fist again, ready for the knockout punch. But Sawyer proved to be an excellent actor. 

A sharp jab pounded into my ribs, jerking me out of control. His fist moved again, driving into my chin. The punch dazed me, but not enough that I missed his foot flying toward my face. 

Letting go of his bruised wrist, I stopped the kick. It got me another punch in the ribs, but Sawyer moved in too close. I punched him in the chest and forced him back. I swung a kick at his head, but he ducked down and skittered away. I rushed him, grabbing his around the middle and driving him into the ground. He was dazed, unable to stop me when I smashed my fist into his temple. 

I had to give him credit– he was trapped, but he didn’t give up.

And the son of a bitch was smart.

Sawyer stopped my next punch before it could break his nose. He jabbed me sharply in the throat. I choked and gagged, my body reacting through my mind told me to keep fighting. While I coughed and struggled to breathe, Sawyer was moving again. His fist slammed into my stomach, pushing more air out of my strained throat. He shoved me until I was the one pinned on the ground. A solid jab crashed into my head just as I regained my breath. I grabbed Sawyer’s fist as it fell again, using my other hand to punch him in the kidney. He shouted against the pain, defenseless when I struck him across the jaw. Still holding his wrist, I pitched up and hurled Sawyer onto the ground. He slammed his fist on my wrist, sending a painful shock through it and forcing me to let him go. 

Sawyer scrambled back and got to his feet. I did the same, raising my hands to keep the fight going. 

Intense anger burned in his gold eyes, but there was something else there. I could have sworn it was amusement, of all things.

They said people went crazy if they spent too much time on the surface.

Movement from the right of my vision captured my attention. Sawyer didn’t fall for the feint.

Except it wasn’t a feint at all. He never saw Stanner coming until the much larger, stronger man crashed into him. He started pummelling the young man who could no longer protect himself. For a moment, I considered grabbing Stanner’s arm and stopping him. A heavy hand clamped on my shoulder and held in me place. I looked for its owner, and found myself staring at Dylan.

“Quite the show, Nash,” he remarked. “Didn’t think such a scrawny kid could beat up a tough guy like you.”

I scowled and shoved him away. I turned and marched to Stanner. I grabbed his fist and pulled him off Sawyer. The Stray Dog yanked his arm free and glared at me.

“What the–”

“That’s enough,” I stated. My hands were still tightly clenched, ready to hit Stanner if he made a move for Sawyer or me. 

Judging by the hateful look on his face, he wanted to do exactly that.

“You’re defending some piece of shit that you were just fighting? What the hell is with you? Ryland sent us to make sure you were still loyal, you idiot, and now you want to look after some asshole you don’t even know?”

Stanner punctuated his anger by kicking Sawyer hard in the ribs. He grimaced and rolled to the side, groaning in pain.

“Wait a minute,” Dylan said, shouldering past me. He grabbed Sawyer’s hair and jerked his battered face into view. Sawyer gritted his teeth and glared murderously, but didn’t say anything.

“Where’d you get that coat?”

“Living men get cold,” remarked Sawyer, struggling to rise. “Dead men don’t.”

Dylan scrutinized Sawyer’s face. “Your eyes. I’ve only seen that shade once.” 

“Keep it in your pants, mutt. You’re not my type.”

Dylan buried his fist in Sawyer’s stomach. The young marauder gasped in pain when the air was driven from his lungs. Dylan dropped Sawyer’s head and whirled to face Stanner. “Do you know if Robertson Kendric had another son?”

The question seemed random to both of us. I had never seen Davin Kendric, and had no way of answering. Though if it was true, I was looking at a surviving member of the deadliest marauder Clan in the history of Aon.

“I don’t know,” Stanner looked at Sawyer. After a moment, his eyes widened. “But… Yeah, I’ve seen that coat before. Ryland and me, that one time we fought Robertson Kendric.”

“You were close to him for a few seconds, did you see his eyes? Were they gold?”

Stanner squinted at Sawyer, who attempted to regain his footing. Stanner’s eyes bulged and his jaw dropped. 

“Yeah, yeah, now I see it. The coat, the eyes, the untouchable attitude. He’s just like Robertson and that bastard Davin.”

Sawyer tried to stand up, but Stanner lashed out a violent punch that smashed into his temple. The young marauder dropped forward onto the hard ground. He didn’t get up again. Stanner marched over and started to strip Sawyer of weapons. He used his belt to tie the man’s wrists.

“How much you think Ryland will give us for him?” Dylan asked, walking forward to help Stanner.

“Don’t know,” grunted the other Dog, heaving an unconscious Sawyer to his feet. “Don’t really care, either. Long as I get a shot in at the bastard. I’ll get some rope and tie him up.”

Dylan grinned at that, and walked forward to carry Sawyer. It would be a long walk back to the Barren, and I had no doubt they were going to tell me to lug our captive around at some point. I bowed my head and started following them.

“Hold up there, kid,” Dylan said, sharply rapping his knuckles against my chest to halt me. He ignored my glare and pointed over my shoulder. “You came here for a reason, remember?”

I followed his arm, to where Davy as still sitting on the ground with a shocked look on his face. I wonder if he knew who Sawyer really was. Or, supposedly was. There would be no way to confirm Stanner’s over-eager suspicions until Ryland saw the hostage. He’d encountered Robertson and Davin Kendric during his high-days as a marauder, and escaped them by the skin of his teeth.

I glanced at Dylan. “Come on, it’ll be dark by the time we get back.”

The marauder gave me a disgusted glare. “You more afraid of some bloodsuckers, or an old man? Make the damn deal, and get us something to eat. Spring’s coming, remember?”

Yeah, spring. Also known as Westraven’s season of torrential downpour.  

Too tired to argue, I nodded and walked to Davy. The old farmer scrambled to his feet, holding up his fists, but there was resignation in his eyes. Even if he managed to get some hits in me, Stanner and Dylan would come back and trample him. 

I fisted his shirt and yanked him close. Then I lowered my voice to a menacing growl and said, “Go down when I punch you. It’ll hurt and I’m sorry for that, but we’ll never bother you again. I’ll see to that myself.”

Davy’s dark eyes searched mine, looking for a lie, an ulterior motive, anything that would prove my falseness. But there was nothing. I didn’t come here because I wanted to be a tough guy. I was trying to keep an innocent woman from getting hurt. 

“You’re a terrible marauder,” he said with a snarl.

“Wasn’t my life’s goal,” I muttered back. I used my other hand to grab his shirt and shook him roughly. “Now tell me where it is!” I shouted.

Davy jumped at that, throwing his hand out to the right, showing me a small shed tacked onto the side of his house. I flicked my eyes at it, then to him. 

“You better not be lying to me,” I warned, for both the Stray Dogs at my back and the helpless old man in front of me. 

Davy scowled, but didn’t do anything to make me doubt him. 

It made me feel even worse when I laid him out with a solid punch to his temple. I dropped the unconscious man and walked to the shed. The door was built of cheap wood, and easy to kick in. The crates and bags were neatly labeled, so I took a crate of dried meats and fruits, then heaved a sack of potatoes and another of grain onto my back. Assuming Dylan or Stanner found and picked up the crate Sawyer left behind, we could have enough for the next few months if we rationed. I didn’t want to think about the Runts, and how little they would have. 

Not with all the guilt already weighing on my soul.