For a minute there, I had been hoping the group coming through the trees had nothing to do with the kid we'd tied up.
Just travelers.
Scavengers.
People trying to slip by the same way everyone else did now.
But the second I saw the way the boy straightened when they stepped into view, I knew better.
No.
These were his people.
I tightened my grip on the rifle until my palm hurt. My posture stayed upright, shoulders square, but my body was tense enough that I could feel it in my jaw.
A man stood at the front of them.
Short cropped hair. Goatee. Mid-forties maybe. Hard to tell anymore. A handgun sat low in his hand like it belonged there. He didn't wave it around. Didn't need to.
The people behind him watched everything and said nothing.
That told me enough.
He was in charge.
His eyes moved over our camp in one sweep. The fire. The packs. The bedrolls. The routes in and out. Naomi's rifle. Lila's knife. The trees behind us.
Then they landed on the kid.
