So be it

Blood

It was cold. It was fucking cold! Even the constant motion of chopping wood did not make me immune to the cold. I was getting more and more worried about our supplies. Winter had come fast, hard and unforgiving.

We were not yet to the bottom of the pile but it was becoming startlingly clear that what we had hoarded, fuel and food both, was nowhere near enough. Thus the chopping of wood. Most of the others had gone hunting.

It made no sense to waste a clear day. It had been snowing or sleeting for what seemed like weeks, making chores outside a dreadful experience and hunting an exercise in futility.

I was not alone. Carmen and Anita were with me, both of them chopping away. A part of me knew that I should be out there with the others, trying to find game, any game. Gloria had put her foot down though and sent me for wood.

It was her way of repaying me. She knew I disliked hunting, mostly because I could not run. Years of smoking and poor aerobic exercise would do that to you. I was getting better, I had to admit. A few months without tar had done wonders for my lungs, not to mention all the weight I had lost.

When sniffles and colds had hit, I had been surprisingly unaffected. I did not expect it. Usually any bug or cold in the vicinity found its way to me. This time though I had escaped or at least whatever I had caught did not affect me as much as the others.

I was sure I ran a fever some days but it had not done me any damage beyond being even grumpier than usual. Either I had really managed to escape or too many illnesses in the past had made me somewhat immure to the discomfort.

It had made for long days in the rain or slushing snow as I had been one of the few able to go out every day. Fishing had been great and thankfully brought enough of extra in our diet that some days at least we didn't have to go into the smoked meat hoard.

Not having to run and track for a day, staying near the camp instead, had been Gloria's unspoken thanks. Chopping wood was a chore I did gladly. I had always been strong, even as a kid, and I could put it to good use there.

The screams, from the direction of the camp, halted me in mid-swing. I did not even look at the others as I reacted without thought. Axe in my hand, the knife as always securely at my waist, I started running.

It was easy for Carmen to pass me as she ran full tilt but I did not care as the screams continued, shouts and cursing interspersed with them. My heart was in my mouth as I ran as fast as I could.

We burst into the camp quickly but it took me a moment to realise what was going on. The faces I could not recognise and the fighting clued me in. I felt fear clutch at me when I realised we were outnumbered.

Maybe it was a cultural thing or even genetics. Greeks had something for last stands and doomed fights since Thermopylae at least. Maybe it was just instinct, some primal thing that had been buried by technology, law and civilisation.

My swing was brutal as I buried my axe in a stranger's back. The scream that came out of my victim made me laugh in abandon. I had to use both hands to get my axe out of its fleshy prison.

Some sound made me turn and I faced some unknown woman brandishing a stick at me. Months of manual labour told the story. The stick barely touched me even as the woman's head exploded in blood and brains, my axe almost cleaving it in half.

The kick at my side sent me sprawling, my hand losing its grip on the axe. I fumbled to get the knife out but I never had the time as someone jumped on me, fists flying. I gave as good as I got, finally managing a good one on the woman's chin. She fell away from me, eyes glazed.

I was slow getting up, my mind fuzzy. She had gotten in some good ones. Finally I was at my feet and running as soon as I saw some idiot hitting Katharina. The sane part of me could even understand the attack. After all I had been expecting something like that from day one.

But someone hitting on an obviously pregnant woman? That was an entirely different ballgame. My knife bit deep, instinctively following a dance I had only seen once. Just like Jinx had done months before I stabbed and then slashed, then took the blade out, moved, stabbed and slashed the other side. As had happened then, the woman collapsed on her knees. My hands were steady in what felt more like a charade than an attack as the knife bit deep into the stranger's neck, bright red blood spurting away.

I took a moment to look at Katharina. She nodded at me, clearly shocked but still relatively hale. I nodded back before I turned to spy my next victim.

I was shocked to see that any strangers left in our camp were either running away, some of them clearly injured, or were sprawled on the ground, unconscious or dead.

I stood there, blood dripping from the knife in my hand. My eyes met the eyes of the others, those still standing. There was shock in the gazes I met and fear too. As I met Carmen's eyes I could see the same horrified detachment I felt. The axe in her hand dripped red too.

I shook my head trying to clear it, chase the shock away. I could see some of us wounded, Amanda was keening cradling her arm in pain. My eyes surveyed the invaders, some dead, some still alive. Something would have to be done about them too. The solution was easy but I could not stomach cold-blooded murder. Not yet at least.

A part of me, the greatest part, wished Gloria was there, or Jinx, even Linda in a pinch. They were not though, so I had to tell the greater part of me to stow it and get moving. There were wounds to treat, supplies to check and, my mouth twitched in distaste, strangers to restrain. So be it.

Even as I moved to Katharina's side, my mind could not stop but skip ahead. A wall was necessary and, in the back of my brain, a part of me was already laying plans. 

Chapter end 

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