The night had gone still.
Lily hadn't realized she'd fallen asleep until the crunch of gravel snapped her awake.
Her eyes flew open. A flashlight beam cut through the trees. Voices—low, laughing. Boots crushing the undergrowth.
"Shit," she whispered.
Eli stirred beside her, curled under the thin blanket. "What's wrong?"
Lily clamped a hand over his mouth. "Quiet."
The woods off the highway had been their resting spot for the night—an old tarp stretched between branches, a half-dead fire for warmth. But the faint orange glow must've drawn attention. Or maybe it was her face. Someone recognized her.
A voice called out from the dark. "Well, I'll be damned. You're that bitch from Dalton's mill."
Lily's pulse jumped.
Figures stepped into view—three men, rifles slung loose, faces hard under the glow of their flashlights. One wore a ragged leather jacket, another a red bandana, the last with a patchy beard and a scar splitting his lip.
"Months ago," the bandana said, grinning. "You remember us? You and those couple guys attacked our convoy, slit Mason's throat. Left him for the crows."
Lily's hand drifted toward her knife."That wasn't a convoy," she said quietly. "That was a trap. You were running women in cages."
Who said that? I whispered inside my head.
Lily.
Again, she'd forsaken me.
Nothing.
Bitch.
"Call it what you want." The scarred one laughed. "We call it profit."
He tilted his head toward Eli. "What about the kid?"
Another shrugged. "Kill him. Less mouths to feed."
"RUN!" Lily screamed, her voice shattering the night. "RUN, ELI! NOW!"
Gunfire ripped through the trees as Eli bolted, stumbling barefoot over roots and leaves. A bullet tore through the tarp where he'd been lying seconds ago.
Lily lunged for the nearest man as he swung his rifle toward the fleeing boy. She hit him low, blade flashing upward. Blood splashed warm across her cheek as the knife sliced deep through his throat. He collapsed in a gargled scream, flashlight rolling from his hand, beam spinning madly across the clearing.
The second man kicked her hard in the ribs. She hit the dirt, air crushed from her lungs.
"You're dead, bitch!" he snarled, yanking her up by the hair. "Should've finished you the first time."
He slammed her against a tree, knife glinting in his other hand. "We're gonna take turns this time."
Lily spat blood in his face. "Try it."
He grinned and pressed closer, the stink of whiskey thick on his breath—right before she drove her forehead into his nose with a crack. He howled and staggered back. She didn't hesitate. The knife plunged into his gut, twisting, ripping sideways until he folded around it.
The third one shouted somewhere in the dark. "Troy? You good?"
Lily turned just as the bandana man charged from the left, catching her shoulder with a wild swing of a crowbar. The impact sent fire up her arm. She hit the ground, rolled, lost her grip on the knife.
He loomed over her, panting. "That's for Mason," he growled.
He swung again—
—but a blur moved out of the trees.
Eli.
He came screaming, wild and terrified, wielding a broken branch like a bat. The first swing cracked against the man's knee. The second smashed into his ribs. The third caught him across the jaw with a sound that made Lily's stomach twist.
"Eli!" she shouted, but he didn't stop.
The man stumbled, dazed, blood pouring from his mouth. He dropped the crowbar, eyes glassy. Then rage replaced shock.
He lunged, snatched Eli by the throat, lifting him off the ground.
The boy's feet kicked helplessly. His fingers clawed at the man's wrist.
Lily froze for half a second, watching the color drain from Eli's face—his lips going blue, his eyes bulging. The sound that came out of her wasn't human.
She moved faster than she thought possible.
Her hand closed around the fallen crowbar. She swung low, hard, the metal connecting with the back of the man's skull. He dropped to one knee but didn't let go of Eli.
Again.
The crowbar cracked bone this time. Blood sprayed. Eli fell limp to the dirt.
The man turned, teeth bared, blood pouring down his neck. "You're gonna—"
Lily's knife found her hand again. One motion. One clean thrust through his throat. She pushed until he stopped shaking.
For a long moment, the woods went silent. Only the sound of the fire's last hiss and her ragged breath.
Then she saw Eli—still, purple, eyes half open.
"God, no…" She dropped beside him, heart pounding so loud it drowned everything. "Eli, breathe! Breathe for me!"
She tilted his head back and sealed her mouth over his, forcing air into his lungs. Then compressions—fast, desperate.
"Come on, kid. Come on."
Her hands were slick with blood—his, theirs, hers. She didn't even know anymore. She breathed again, pushed, cursed, screamed his name.
Then he convulsed. Coughed. Spat blood and dirt.
"Eli!"
She hauled him up, clutching him to her chest. He was shaking, sobbing, gasping for air like someone drowning on land.
"I've got you," she whispered, voice breaking. "I've got you, baby. It's over."
They staggered to the roadside, half-blind and reeling. One of the trucks sat abandoned in the ditch, keys still dangling. Lily climbed behind the wheel, hands trembling, knuckles split.
Eli climbed in beside her, silent except for the hitch in his breathing. His small fingers still clutched the branch, knuckles white, as if letting go might make everything real.
The engine coughed to life. She drove without headlights, eyes fixed ahead. The rearview mirror showed only shadows and blood.
After a while, she spoke. "You did good."
Eli didn't look at her. "I killed him." voice scratchy.
Lily's throat tightened. "You saved me."
He nodded once, slow, eyes empty. The tears came quietly after that—just a small sound, barely human.
Lily reached over, brushing his hair back. Her voice trembled.
"Thank you," she whispered.
The truck rattled over the cracked highway, smoke rising behind them where the campfire still burned.
The road ahead was long, black, and hungry.
Neither of them looked back.