Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“I wish I were a girl again, half-savage and hardy, and free…” – Emily Brontë, Wuthering Heights

“He’s going to kill you, you know,” Niko says in a droll tone, casually leaning up against the side of the truck, “if you don’t start talking.”

Haden has the man pinned against a tree, his left forearm pressed against the man’s chest and his right hand holding a curved knife to his throat. The man gulps, looking back and forth between Niko and Haden with wide, bloodshot eyes. They hadn’t even asked his name. When he speaks, he looks to Niko with the false hope that he might help him. 

“I already told you everything! I don’t know where she is.”

“You’re lying.” Haden’s voice is deep and menacing. He presses the blade harder against the man’s throat, a thin line of blood dripping from the cut. 

“ Shit ! I’m not! I swear I’m not.”

“You are. You’re protecting someone, someone who you’re more afraid of than me.” Haden leans in, forcing the man to look into his eyes. “That’s going to be your last mistake.”

“I–I–” the man sputters out. He’s shaking, beads of sweat rolling down his temples. His left eye is already swelling shut and he’s got his arms curled protectively around his stomach, not even trying to fight back. Truly pathetic, really. They hadn’t even hit him that much.

“Spit it out, dude,” Niko sighs, rolling his eyes. “Jesus, do you even want to live?”

“Yes! Yes, I want to live!” the man cries out.

Haden yanks him forward and then slams him back into the tree, the back of his head snapping against the bark, making him yelp. “ Then tell me where the fuck they were taking her. ”

The man’s lower lip wobbles and he breaks. “North. They went north three miles on this road, then were going to head west on 49, past the lake. That’s all I know. I swear that’s all I know.” 

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. They said they’d be back for me. And, uh, well…” The man glances back down at the blade nervously.

“What?” Haden snaps. He hasn’t slept for more than a handful of minutes in the last few days, his patience long worn out and desperation taking over. 

“She-she looked like she was in pretty bad shape,” the man says, his voice growing softer with each word, regretting his choice to speak as he watches fury dance in Haden’s eyes. “I don’t know what they were doing to her, but it wasn’t good. It might already be too late.”

Haden’s jaw tightens. Niko lets out a low whistle and turns around, opening the door of the truck and sliding into the passenger seat. 

“Hey, hey, I’m just telling the truth,” the man backtracks desperately. “I was honest. I told you everything. I told you–”

Niko slams the door behind him and the man’s voice cuts off. A few seconds later, the driver’s side door opens and Haden jumps in, dropping the curved knife onto his lap and twisting the keys in the ignition. As they peel out, Niko glances down at the bloodstained blade, then up into the rearview. The slumped over body of the man gets smaller and smaller behind them as they race north. 

“We’re gonna find her,” Niko says. “You hear me? You’re gonna get her back.”

Haden doesn’t answer, just grips the wheel tighter and presses down harder on the gas. 

Chapter Text

May. One Year and Two Months After. 

The things she misses surprise her. Her tea tree oil facial cleanser. Cinnamon flavored gum. The detachable shower head in her mother’s master bathroom. Running water is nothing but a fond memory now, and Penelope tries not to dwell too much on the past. In the beginning, that was all she did. Her mind was plagued by all the things she will never get back, everything she will never get to do. Always waiting for the day she would wake up and everything would be back to normal. That day never came. This is her life now.

They drive in silence. There hasn’t been anything but static on the radio in years, and old, scratched CDs collect dust in the glovebox. They prefer it this way. Windows down, nothing but the hum of the engine and the shriek of the wind. It’s Penelope’s favorite time of day, in the sweet spot where the sun is just starting to set, casting its last rays as far as it can reach, a desperate attempt to stay on the horizon. They drive into the light, and she is just short enough that it glares in her eyes even with the sunvisor pulled down, but she doesn’t mind. She just closes her eyes and enjoys the warmth on her face.

“Something up ahead,” Haden says, breaking the silence. “Feel like stopping?”

His gaze stays trained on the road even though there are no other cars. A square-rimmed pair of black sunglasses cover his sharp grey eyes. The lenses are marred with one too many scratches to be functional, but he refuses to throw them away. One thick arm rests out the window while the other is slung casually over the wheel. A scruffy beard hides the hard line of his jaw, and his jet black hair is longer than its been in a while, curling behind his ears and over his forehead. Penelope teases him about it, but she secretly likes it that way, likes that it feels like silk under her fingers and that it’s long enough for her to grip. She had come to the realization, a few months ago, sitting in the same seat, staring at Haden’s silhouette in the sunset, that he could have been a model. If life had been kinder to him, he could have been a lot of things. But if life had been kinder to either of them, they might never have even met.

Penelope squints into light, considering his question. It’s a ways off, but down the barren stretch of highway she can see a building in the distance. They had spent almost a week in what used to be Boston, picking through what was left of the city. Luck was on their side this time; the bed of their truck is full of supplies and neither of them are sporting any new injuries. They should play it smart and keep going, make it home before it gets too dangerous to be out on the roads. But Haden always plays it smart, and the fact that he’s even considering stopping piques Penelope’s curiosity. She wonders if he dreads the end of their time alone as much as she does. 

“Yeah,” she says as they get closer. They still have a little daylight left, and Penelope has always liked to push her luck. “Why not?”

It used to be a gas station. Istvan’s Gas & Go . Two pumps, a small convenience store, one of those huge vacuum hoses that you can use for a dollar a minute. The door has been ripped off its hinges and lays on the ground beside the entrance. As they slow to a stop, the dog that had been asleep in Penelope’s lap pops his head up. A hundred-and-something pounds of tri-colored fur gracelessly clamors over her when she opens the door, making her wince as his nails dig into her thighs. 

“Jesus, Killer,” she hisses, but he is oblivious, running around the truck with his nose to the ground. Penelope steps out and bends over, touching her toes, relishing in the stretch up the back of her legs. Her back cracks when she straightens up again and she rolls her shoulders, loosening her neck. 

Haden’s door closes. “I’ll go inside,” she offers as he rounds the front of the truck. His eyes are hidden but she knows that he’s studying the entrance, scanning the building, analyzing if he should let her go in alone. She resists the urge to roll her eyes, hates the fact that no matter how hard she tries, he still sees her as a kid sometimes, despite how desperately she doesn’t want him to. 

“Fine,” he decides. He reaches back in the truck, grabs their swords and tosses hers to her. They ran out of bullets after the second year. “We’ll do the perimeter. If I’m not back in half an hour–”

“Take the truck and go,” Penelope finishes for him, slinging her sheath over her shoulder, the weight of the blade settling comfortably against her back. He says the same thing every time they separate, and she wonders why he still bothers. There’s nothing left on this Earth that could make either of them leave the other behind. “I know.”

Haden nods, whistles sharply. “Killer, come.”

The dog trots over to him and they head off to scout the surrounding area. Penelope approaches the entrance of the store and pauses at the open doorway, kicking up some loose rocks and sending them inside. She waits for movement– nothing. Killer would have let them know immediately if he had smelled any danger, so she is fairly confident as she steps inside, but it never hurts to be cautious. She has learned the hard way the dangers of letting her guard down too quickly.

Her footsteps are silent as she moves about the store. It looks just like everything else nowadays: dirty, rummaged through, stripped for parts by whoever else was alive and got here before her. No signs of blood or a struggle, which is encouraging. There isn’t much left on the shelves, but a few things can be of use, like the dusty box of maxi pads and a variety pack of Bic lighters. There is a door at the back corner of the store. Penelope grips the handle and presses her ear against the wood, listening closely. She kicks the bottom of it and waits, and when she doesn’t hear any movement, she slowly pushes it open. It’s a bathroom, and by the looks of it, the world ending was probably the kindest thing that has ever happened to it. The toilet seat is cracked and profanity is scribbled across the walls. The soap dispenser has been ripped off and the toilet paper has been eaten away by mites, little white shreds decorating the floor. It smells of mildew and animal droppings. Penelope makes a face and closes the door.

The light is fading fast. She probably has less than an hour. Electricity was the first thing to go, and Penelope still isn’t quite used to the oppressive weight of total darkness. They’ll be back home tonight, which means she’ll be sleeping alone in the dark. When she was a little girl, she always needed a nightlight, and when her mother decided she was too old to have one, she slept with the door cracked and the hall light on. Penelope always thought that part of growing up was supposed to be not being afraid of what was in the dark, but that was back when the monsters lurking in her closet or under her bed only existed in her head. Now they’re real. Now the dark means danger, and the dark comes quick.

In the corner next to the checkout counter, there is a collapsed rack of souvenir clothing. Flannel pants, tees, sweatshirts that say Welcome to Hadley! Est. 1661 across the chest. Most of them have been eaten away by moths, but a few are salvageable. Penelope folds them onto neat piles on the counter and for a minute she pretends that she is working at some department store for $11.25/hour, counting down the minutes until she can take her fifteen-minute break. 

“Ma’am, I’m sorry, that coupon is expired,” she says to herself, adopting some sort of mangled southern accent. “No, we don’t have any others in the back–”

Something catches her eye as she lifts up a soft pink sweatshirt. It’s a blue and white cardboard box with a familiar logo, and her heart stops as she picks it up. 

“Oh my God,” she breathes, staring reverently at the box of Twinkies.

“You don’t want those–” Her mother’s voice rings in her head, a memory from years ago suddenly surfacing. Penelope, standing next to the shopping cart, staring up at the shelves, eyes roaming over rows and rows of snacks. Reaching for the same box, her mother slapping her hand away, “– unless you want to keep breaking out. They’re not even real food. Got so much chemicals and shit in them they’d probably survive the apocalypse.”

Well, Karen, you were right. 

They’re probably stale, but Penelope doesn’t care. The last time she had found such a delicacy was almost a year ago, down in New Paltz. A box of Oreos that had fallen behind a shelf in someone’s pantry. She had opened them to find nearly every cookie covered in mold, and despite wanting to scrape it off, Haden made her throw them away. She had cried herself to sleep that night.

Penelope opens the box and examines them. They are still in their individual plastic packaging and the golden sponge cake is free of any mold spots. Though she wants nothing more than to rip one open and eat it now, she knows she should bring them back to share with everyone else. Or better yet, Haden’s birthday is a few days away. He never likes to celebrate it, but she knows that they’ll make a great surprise. She tucks the box under her arm and grabs the pile of clothes, bringing them out to the truck. Climbing up into the bed, she is shoving everything into one of the already overstuffed boxes when she hears Killer’s bark in the distance. Half a second later, a ragged, wheezing breath makes the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

Penelope is still as she listens. The weight of her blade against her back is grounding, and her hand slowly moves up to grasp the hilt. Killer barks again, closer now. The breath grows louder, closer, and Penelope can feel the last rays of sun slowly slipping off her body, leaving her in shadows. 

“Fuck,” she says. 

They move at the same time. Penelope unsheathes her blade as she turns, slicing down against the Remnant’s neck on the downswing. It must be fairly new, because it’s still moving on two legs. That’s never a good sign; the new ones are the strongest. She jumps out of the truck bed as it stumbles away, screeching as its rotten flesh splatters on the ground. Penelope fights back the urge to gag, still not used to the putrid smell. The creature charges at her and she ducks, rolling under its outstretched arms and raising the blade again. When it lunges, she swipes its head off clean. It rolls under the truck as the body falls to the ground with a dull thump. 

Killer comes charging out from behind the store, teeth bared. Penelope turns to see two more Remnants emerge from the treeline. These ones are older; moving on all fours, their once-human bodies twisting unnaturally as they approach. The whites of their eyes have turned a sickly yellow, their irises a vibrant red. Pointed teeth have forced themselves up out of their gums. Even from a distance Penelope can see how weak their skin is, so thin it’s practically transparent. Stringy bits of hair cling to their scalps, saliva dripping out of their rotting mouths. 

Killer launches himself at the one on the left, sending it tumbling back. The other leaps at Penelope and she slices off its outstretched arm as she dodges to the side, narrowly avoiding its grip. As it struggles to balance itself, its brain so degenerated it has forgotten how to stand, Penelope plants a leg on either side of its body, spinning her sword in her hand before she drives her blade down through the back of its skull, pinning it to the ground. It stops moving and she turns to the other just in time to see it throw Killer off to the side and fix its gaze on her. Penelope reaches for the smaller, curved blade strapped to her side, but just as her hand curls around the wooden handle, something whizzes past her head. The hatchet lodges itself deep in the Remnant’s left eye and it collapses with a strangled whine. 

Killer barks at it for good measure. 

“I had it under control,” Penelope calls over her shoulder, walking over and yanking the hatchet out of its skull. She tosses it back to Haden, who comes around the side of the truck and catches it with ease. 

“I know.” 

She scratches Killer behind his ears. “Do you? Because you never seem to let me take them on my own.”

Haden doesn’t answer, just crouches down and peers at the severed head that had rolled under the truck. “Did you get a good look at them?”

Penelope shrugs. “Good enough to know they aren’t her.” She yanks her sword out of the one she had pinned to the ground and wipes it off on the grass. Her own shirt is covered in rotten guts and she makes a face. 

“Anything we could use inside?”

“A few things.” She remembers the box of Twinkies and smiles. “Maybe even a birthday surprise for someone.”

“Yeah?” Haden returns her grin. “Take what we need to the truck. I’ll burn the bodies and then we can get out of here.”

“Get up, we’re home.”

Penelope keeps her eyes scrunched shut, her face buried in the curve of her arm, slumped against the door. She had just managed to fall asleep, lulled by the dull rumble of the truck’s engine and Haden humming softly as they drove.

“If you don’t get up, you’re sleeping in the truck.”

She buries herself deeper into the pink souvenir sweatshirt, the fabric still surprisingly soft despite smelling a little musty, the hood pulled up over her head. So close to falling back to sleep, until she feels the weight of a warm hand stretching over her thigh, burning through her jeans, and suddenly she is wide awake.

His voice is softer now. “Penny. Come on.”

It takes all of her willpower, but still, she doesn’t move. Keeps her eyes closed, her breathing measured although her heartbeat has already started to quicken. Haden sighs. The hand leaves her thigh and she immediately misses the heat of it, how it spread through her and made her toes curl. She hears him get out, coming around to her side and slowly easing open the door she rests against. Her body slumps forward and his arms come around her immediately, catching her and lifting her up with ease. Penelope hums contentedly and curls into his broad chest, feels his heart beat its steady rhythm against her cheek. He is solid and warm, strong arms curled around her back and thighs. Her eyes stay shut as she savors the last few moments of their time alone together. 

The front door swings open and hurried footsteps approach them.

“Is she hurt?” Mina’s voice, sharp and worried.

“No, just asleep,” Haden says. “Long week.”

“Run into any trouble?”

“Just on our way back.” Haden adjusts his grip, his fingers tightening on the back of her thighs. Penelope doesn’t have to open her eyes to know how Mina must be staring at them, the way her gaze will flit between the two of them as her jaw tightens. She waits for the inevitable comment to come, judgement flimsily disguised as concern, but instead she just feels Mina’s slender fingers brush over the top of her head. 

“Any sign of Stacey?” There is hope in her voice, despite already knowing Haden’s answer.

“No.” 

The nearly imperceptible sag of Mina’s shoulders is her only reaction. Penelope shifts a little, impatient, and Haden picks up on her cue. 

“Let me put her to bed and I’ll get started on the truck.”

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll do it.”

“It’s late, you should–” 

“It’s not like I’d be getting any sleep anyway,” Mina sighs. “I’ve got it.” She lets them pass and goes to greet Killer, who is diligently sniffing around for anything that has changed since last week. “Hi, sweet boy. I’ve missed you, yes I have.”

Once inside, Haden moves smoothly up the stairs and into Penelope’s room, gently placing her on the bed. After he adjusts the pillow under her head, one hand slips her dirty sneakers off her feet while the other removes the blade strapped to her thigh. She stays limp  while he unzips her pants and peels them off her legs, hearing the soft whoosh of him throwing them into her hamper. Left in just her sweatshirt and underwear, Haden folds her legs under the blanket and tucks it over her shoulders, turning to leave when–

“Will you stay for a minute?” 

Haden pauses, looking down at Penelope. The moonlight shines through a crack in the blinds and illuminates her eyes, honey brown and now wide open, staring at him pleadingly.

“Knew you were faking it,” he says, ignoring her question.

“You carried me anyway.”

He doesn’t say anything, just crouches down so that their faces are level, runs his thumb over her cheekbone.

“Stay,” she whispers into the darkness.

“We’re home now, Penny,” he whispers back. “I can’t.”

“Please. Just until I fall asleep.”

Penelope holds his hand against her face and pouts, watches his resolve crumble. He will not deny her, and that’s what she’s counting on. If she pushes hard enough, he will eventually give her everything.

His shoulders sag and she scoots over so that he can sit on the side of her bed, in between the curve of her legs and stomach. She hides a grin into her pillow as his hand automatically goes to her hair, his nails scratching against her scalp, sending a shiver down her spine. Her blonde hair is greasy, escaping from her braid in knotted clumps, but he smooths through each snarl without protest.

“You did good today,” he tells her after a while, tucking a strand behind her ear, his fingers lingering on the curve of her throat. His words thrill her; Haden’s praise comes few and far between. Penelope smiles into her pillow and clenches her thighs together. There has been a throbbing between her legs ever since she felt his hand on her thigh back in the truck. She wants to roll onto her back and spread her legs, to take his hand and guide it between them. It’s risky to do at home, which is another reason why she loves their time on the road so much. There is a freedom in their solitude, plus– she can be as loud as she wants. But today has been a day of taking risks, and Penelope figures they should end it with one, too.

“How good?” she whispers, rolling onto her back. She blinks up at Haden and watches his jaw clench, the way his eyes darken. 

“Don’t push your luck,” he says, his voice low.

She pouts. “Please?” Her hand covers his, pressing it down onto her throat before guiding it lower, over her chest and down her stomach, until coming to rest atop her underwear. His thumb rests along her mound and his fingers curl automatically, cupping her cunt. She knows that he can feel the little wet patch slowly soaking the fabric. 

Haden bends down to that their foreheads are touching, his breath warm over her lips and his nose brushing against her cheek. “Don’t be greedy.”

Penelope arches up into him, her lips just barely ghosting over his, feeling the scratch of his beard against her cheek. “Please,” she whispers again, her voice high and whiny, one hand coming up to grip his neck. She glides her blunt nails over his skin and doesn’t miss the shiver that runs through him. His fingers flex against her, his thumb moving lower to press down on her clit, slowly rubbing back and forth over the fabric of her panties. Her toes curl and she arches up against his touch, just closing her eyes and feeling the tension in her shoulders start to release when he pulls his hand away and kisses her forehead. 

“Go to sleep,” he says, ignoring her indignant huff. He cups her face again, dragging his thumb over her lips. She can smell her arousal on his fingers and bites his thumb in protest. Haden huffs a surprised laugh and lightly smacks her cheek in retaliation. 

“Don’t be a brat,” he warns her, standing up and smoothing the blanket over her again. “I’ll see you in the morning.” 

As he walks to the door, Penelope quickly shimmies out of her underwear, balls it up, and tosses it at his head. He throws a warning look over his shoulder, one eyebrow raised. She blinks back innocently, letting her legs fall open underneath the blanket, her fingers replacing his over her clit and starting to work in slow, lazy circles. Haden pauses, one hand on the doorknob, and she thinks for a moment that he’s going to stay and watch, but he just takes a deep breath and walks out. The door softly clicks shut behind him, and then Penelope is alone. 

Chapter Text

July. Two Years and Eight Months Before.

There is nothing but the sound of her ragged breath and the rhythmic slap of her feet against the pavement. Penelope never listens to music when she runs– it messes up her breathing, throws off her concentration. Slows her down. She is moving at a markedly slower pace than when she started, but she presses on until her watch beeps, signifying the completed mile. Nine minutes and thirty-two seconds. Penelope slows to a walk, gulping in disappointed breaths. In order to make it past the first round of soccer tryouts, an eight-minute mile is required, and no one on the varsity team ever gets a second over seven. As an incoming sophomore, Penelope knows that making varsity is a long shot, as the team mostly made up of juniors and seniors. But all her friends are trying, so she is, too. She has a leg up on most of them, anyway. They only started playing in middle school, when athletics became a requirement. Penelope has been playing for nearly a decade. Her mother enrolled her in every program she could once she was old enough. Ballet, gymnastics, baton-twirling. Anything that would take Penelope off her hands for more than twenty minutes. Soccer was the only thing that stuck.

Penelope rounds the bend in the street and comes back out to the main road. It’s technically a highway, but not a single car has passed her since she left her grandparent’s house. Everything is different here, spaced out and unnervingly silent. It’s nothing like home, her gated neighborhood just a stone’s throw away from New York City on the north shore of Long Island. Gatsby country, her mom calls it, which Penelope only came to understand when her English class read The Great Gatsby earlier that year. Their own West Egg, where every lawn is perfectly manicured, there’s a Range Rover or a BMW in every driveway, and the lowest valued property is still worth at least half a million dollars. 

She shouldn’t even be here. Penelope was supposed to be training for tryouts at a two-week camp in New Haven, not running laps around her grandparents’ neighborhood in the Catskills. All of her friends were going. They had it planned out for months. But when her semi-estranged grandparents reached out and offered to take Penelope off her mother’s hands for the whole summer, Karen had shipped her off without hesitation. Two weeks for a few thousand dollars compared to two months for free? There was no competition. Plus, this gave her mother more uninterrupted time with George, her fiance, a stock broker who vapes. They planned an extended trip to Martha’s Vineyard the second Penelope’s plans were finalized. 

It’s not like Penelope would have wanted to spend the rest of summer with them, but if she was home, she could have at least hung out with her friends, gone to the beach. Now she’s stuck in a remote mountain town upstate with two old people who she barely knows and who only want her here out of guilt. They’ve basically ignored her for the last decade. What was so special about now? Her fifteenth birthday is next month, and she isn’t even going to be able to have a proper party with her friends until the week after, when she comes home.

The distant roar of a motor catches her attention. A muddy black pickup comes flying down a side street, kicking up dust in its wake. It comes to a screeching halt at the stop sign just as Penelope is about to pass, gravel crunching under the tires, engine grumbling as it idles. It’s a massive thing, and Penelope glares up over the grill as she passes, barely able to see through the windshield. She’s always been on the shorter side, but she feels like a little kid as the obnoxious hunk of metal dwarfs her. Behind the tinted glass she can just make out a man with closely cropped dark hair, a light bit of stubble on his jaw. She can tell that he’s handsome, even with his lips twisted in a frown, inconvenienced by the stop sign. And by her. He doesn’t look at her as she passes, just keeps his eyes forward, his thumb drumming a beat on the steering wheel. The windows are rolled up, but she can hear the steady bass of what sounds like some rock ballad booming inside the car. 

Penelope puts an extra sway in her step as she crosses in front of him. She wants him to look at her, silently dares him to. She is not blind to the changes of her body, the way her hips are widening, the sharp edges of her body growing soft, the budding curves that already garner the attention of other men his age. Her friends don’t like that kind of attention– it skeeves them, makes them feel like a cheap piece of meat. Penelope plays along, tells the man who leers at their asses in the mall that he’s a disgusting pervert, but when her friends aren’t looking, she throws a wink over her shoulder just for fun. She likes the attention; it makes her feel like she’s done something right, like she has learned to play a silent game that everyone pretends they aren’t playing. Penelope likes games. Likes having something to win. 

The truck peels out seconds after she passes it, blowing by her and speeding down the road. Penelope watches him drive away, hoping he’ll look back at her in the rearview, but she can’t tell if he does. The street he came from is an unmarked dirt road disappearing up a hill, a thick covering of trees hiding anything from view. Penelope figures there is probably another farm up there. That’s all there seems to be around here. It’s so boring. Thankfully, her grandparents only have a modest garden. If Penelope had to spend the summer shoveling manure on top of missing out on soccer camp, she would be extra fucking pissed. 

The house is another half a mile down the road, a red ranch with a white picket fence and flower boxes under each window. Her grandparents are playing gin rummy in the living room as Penelope grabs a glass of water, guzzling it before going back outside to stretch under the shade of the sycamore tree on the front lawn. Elaine, her grandmother, comes outside just as Penelope is finishing up, opening her mouth to speak right as the same black truck comes rolling down the road again. Penelope straightens up out of her hamstring stretch and watches him pass. He doesn’t look in their direction. Her grandmother watches him, too. 

“That’s Walt’s nephew,” Elaine huffs, crossing her arms and glaring as the truck passes. Penelope waits for further elaboration. Her grandparents keep doing that, talking about people in the neighborhood as if she has any idea who they are, as if she even cares. 

“Who?”

“Walt. Walter Dunne, God rest his soul.” Elaine makes the sign of the cross with her thumb. “He passed away right before Easter. Kidney failure.”

“Oh,” Penelope says, still unsure of the nature of the conversation. “I’m sorry?”

“He was a good man. Kind. Generous. Too generous, if you ask me.” Elaine sucks her teeth. “Left his farm to that boy when he passed, even though the kid’s fresh out of prison.”

This catches Penelope’s attention. She doesn’t even know anyone who has ever gotten a speeding ticket before, let alone gone to prison. “What did he do?”

Elaine shrugs. “He barely speaks to anyone and Walt never told a soul. Said it wasn’t his place, but you know. There are rumors. And if it wasn’t something real bad, he wouldn’t have tried to keep it a secret.” She thinks for a minute. “I don’t want you running around here alone. Not with him around.”

Penelope gapes. “But I have to keep training!”

“Fred will follow you in the car.”

The thought of her grandfather puttering behind her in his ancient Toyota Corolla makes her want to die. “No way. That’s insane.”

“That’s the only way I’ll feel comfortable. It’s quiet out here, but you can never be too careful. You don’t know what kinds of awful things can happen to young girls like you.”

Having the worst summer of their life is one of them. Penelope groans and flops back onto the grass.

Fourth of July. Penelope paces around the living room, feeling a modicum of excitement for the first time since she arrived last week. Fred is sitting in his worn leather recliner, flipping through the television channels in the way older people do that drives Penelope nuts. Instead of staying on one channel and using the selection arrows to scroll through the channels, he clicks through each one, a few seconds of each program barking at them at varying volumes before switching to the next. Penelope is shocked by how many channels are just news. A dog rescue in Oneonta is having an adoption event. An asteroid collision in space has resulted in some loose debris landing on a baseball field in Michigan. A senator from Louisiana is under fire for sending nude photos to one of his staffers. Fred stops when he sees a commercial for a Weber grill, watches it in its entirety, then continues on. 

“Alright, let’s get going,” Elaine says, finally emerging from the bathroom and fluffing her hair, fresh out of its rollers. They load up into the Corolla and set out. The fair is about an hour away, so Penelope immediately pops in her earbuds and settles back in her seat. The cell service is spotty at best in the mountains, but at least she has all her music downloaded. Not that it does her much good, because she can barely make it through a chorus without Elaine or Fred starting up a new conversation with her. They keep wanting to talk about her dad, to share a little anecdote about each place they pass. 

This was your father’s elementary school. See that ice cream shop? He worked there for a few summers when he was your age. This is the pool where he learned to swim.  

Penelope pretends to be interested, fakes a smile and an “Oh, really?” whenever appropriate, but she wonders why they think she would care. He divorced her mother when she was six and showed up sporadically over the next few years before overdosing in a Denny’s parking lot the day after her tenth birthday. He was nothing to her. Is nothing to her. He exists vaguely in her memory like a distant cousin or an elementary school teacher. A movie with exciting previews that ends up being ninety minutes of nothing. Promise and potential falling flat, resulting in disappointment and wasted time. 

The fairgrounds are bigger than she expected. Penelope has only been to one other fair, two summers before. Andrea, who had been her locker neighbor that year, invited her to the one that her family goes to down on the south shore. They had gone in the afternoon because Andrea’s little brothers were four and six and couldn’t be out too late without getting cranky. Now it’s well into the evening, and the neon lights flash against the dark sky as they pull into the parking lot, a massive stretch of gravel which seems to be a party of its own, a tailgate at nearly every other car. At the ticket booth, a plastic bracelet is slapped on Penelope’s wrist and tugs at the hairs on her arms. 

“Come on, I told Francine we’d stop and see her first,” Elaine says, leading them through the entrance. Penelope actually keeps up instead of slogging behind them, excited to take everything in. 

The fair is just like the ones Penelope had seen in movies. Endless rows of stalls, some selling food and homemade spirits, others advertising cheap games with even cheaper prizes. There is a red, white, and blue Ferris wheel, a free-fall ride, a tilt-a-whirl with a girl throwing up into the garbage pail at the exit. On the main stage, a Dave Matthews cover band has attracted an impressive crowd. Francine, Elaine’s friend from church, has a booth selling embroidered throw pillows, and the rest of Elaine’s church group is already there. Penelope makes her introductions and pleasant small talk, tries not to wince at the chorus of Oh, Elaine, she has his eyes . The conversation thankfully does not linger on her for long, but once the attention has shifted, Penelope is just left standing awkwardly to the side until Fred nudges her.

“Come back in an hour,” he says, slipping her a twenty. “There’s a bunch of kids your age here. Go have some fun. Make some friends”

Grateful for the escape, Penelope pockets the money and wanders off. She spends three dollars on a hot pretzel and a coke, and six on three rounds of the roll-a-ball horse racing game, winning each one. Holding her prize, a blue stuffed shark, she wanders over to a booth with a few people her age gathered around it. Two guys and two girls, obviously on some kind of double date, throwing darts at a wall of balloons.

“Hi,” Penelope says when she approaches, handing the vendor a dollar. One of the girls is wearing tie-dyed sneakers. “I like your shoes.”

“Thanks.” The girl raises her foot, twists it at the ankle. “I made them at camp last summer.”

The vendor hands Penelope her darts, and she is about to ask if any of them want to play against her, when one of the guys speaks up. “Let’s go ride the cyclone again.”

They do not extend an invitation for her to follow. Shoe girl waves at Penelope as they walk away, and she gives a half-hearted wave back. It’s not like she wanted to be the fifth wheel of their group, but as she throws the darts, Penelope realizes that she has no idea how to make friends on her own. Everyone she is friends with now she has known since kindergarten. They’ve risen through the ranks together, lumped together by circumstance, not knowing any different. The fathers play golf on Sundays and the mothers have a book club on Thursdays. Everyone goes trick-or-treating on the same four blocks every year and every birthday party is a competition. Penelope’s thoughts get ahead of her, and she suddenly finds herself wondering if anyone actually likes her, or if they’re just used to her being around. The idea makes her stomach twist and her throat feel tight.

After missing every balloon she aims for, Penelope ends up on line for cotton candy. Her mother isn’t here to tell her no, that it’s empty calories that will rot her teeth. She’s about ten people back, which, in cotton candy time, feels like an eternity. Her eyes wander as she waits. She spots a couple walking arm and arm, a yellow lab puppy wearing a red vest trotting next to them. Service Dog in Training . Penelope’s heart lurches as she watches its fluffy little tail wag furiously as it sniffs around. She’s always wanted a dog. Any pet, really, but specifically a dog. She’d have to wait a few more years. Her mother barely tolerates her making a mess of their house, and she had no patience for animals.

Penelope’s eyes are then drawn to the booth a few yards to her right, where a man approaches the counter and orders a beer from one of the dozens of kegs on display. She zeroes in on him, getting the strange sense that he is familiar somehow. Broad shoulders, a red and black plaid shirt that stretches over the bulge of his arms. When he turns to grab his beer, she recognizes the sharp line of his jaw. She gasps: it’s the man from the truck.

If it wasn’t something bad, he wouldn’t be trying to keep it a secret . 

Penelope watches him, entranced. He was nice to look at before, but now that she knows he’s a criminal, her intrigue is doubled. His bulk aside, he doesn’t seem too dangerous. Not overly friendly by any means, but he lacks the tense, vibrating aggression that radiates off of the type of people who are just looking for a fight, like the ones always getting in trouble at school. He sips his beer and checks his phone, looks up when a woman approaches him and lays her hand on his arm. 

“Line’s moving,” the man behind her says. Penelope startles and shuffles forward, not taking her eyes off of them. They obviously know each other; the man straightens up and catches the woman in a one-armed hug, keeping his hand on her elbow when he pulls back. Penelope can’t see his face, but she can watch the woman’s flirtatious smile, can see her step forward and tilt her head as she laughs, exposing the long, smooth line of her neck. The man puts down his beer and steps closer. Penelope can’t look away. This woman knows how to play the game, too.

“Miss, you’re up,” the vendor says to her. “Which color?”

“Uh, pink,” Penelope says, barely paying attention. She taps her foot impatiently as the fluffy sugar twirls around the paper cone. They’re walking away now. As soon as her cotton candy is done, she grabs it and follows the two of them as they wander through the rows of booths, towards the back corner of the fairgrounds. Penelope is careful to stay a good distance behind them without letting them out of her sight. They don’t hold hands, but they walk close enough that their shoulders brush. Penelope shovels handfuls of cotton candy in her mouth as she tracks them into the shadows, behind the empty trailers used to transport the rides. She tiptoes to the side of one trailer, keeping her body close to the cool metal as she peers around the edge, dropping her half-eaten cotton candy into the dirt when she sees what they’re doing.

The woman is certainly undisturbed by his criminal status. He has her pinned against the side of the trailer, hands on either side of her face as they kiss. Her hands have untucked his shirt and are roaming underneath it, grasping at his back. He kisses down her neck and she lets out a low moan. Penelope can hear her own heart pounding in her ears when he slips a hand under the woman’s jean skirt and between her legs. The woman drops her head back against the trailer, her lips moving, but her voice is too soft and the cacophony of the fairground behind them drowns out her pleas. 

Penelope clutches the shark to her chest as she watches the flex of his arm, the woman’s heaving breasts nearly spilling out of her top. Her whole body feels hot, her legs pressed tight together in an attempt to soothe the throbbing between them, the feeling she normally takes care of in the shower when she’s home alone. The man twists his arm and the woman lets out a sharp cry, one that he quickly swallows with another heated kiss. 

Fireworks explode above them, painting them in red and blue light. The woman clutches his arm and shudders, a high-pitched whine escaping her before she collapses back against the trailer wall, breathing heavily. Penelope is pressed as close as she can to the metal, the grooves of it sure to leave an imprint on her cheek, unblinking as she watches them. Her breaths come in quick, ragged pants, her mouth dry and her hands trembling. Another firework shatters across the sky. The man removes his hand from between the woman’s legs, and Penelope can see his fingers shine. 

“I’m not going,” Penelope groans into her pillow.

“You’ll feel better if you get up and move around,” Elaine says, rubbing her back. Penelope presses the heating pad tighter to her stomach. It’s the second day of her period, always the worst. 

“She’s old enough to stay home, Elaine,” Fred says from the doorway. “Let her rest. We won’t be gone long.”

Elaine sighs and stands up from Penelope’s bed. “Alright.”

“Maybe we’ll stop at the Dairy Queen on the way home,” Fred says, winking when Penelope pokes her head out from under the covers. “I hear Blizzards are real helpful in these kinds of situations.”

“Turtle Pecan Cluster,” Penelope says weakly before hiding under the sheets again. Fred laughs. It has been two weeks since the Fourth of July fair, and he has grown on her considerably ever since he slipped her the cash and let her go off on her own. Her grandparents set out for groceries, leaving Penelope in bed to listen to her music and attempt to contort her body into any position that will alleviate the cramps in her abdomen. After a brief sojourn to the kitchen for a stack of toaster waffles, she takes a nap on the couch, waking just after four o’clock. Her grandparents have yet to return.

“They always took their sweet time with everything,” her mother says when Penelope calls her a few hours later. Her and George are out to dinner, and she takes the call in the bathroom, her voice echoing. “Nothing was straightforward. They could add ten different stops to a trip to Starbucks.”

“I don’t know. They aren’t answering their phones. It just feels weird...it’s been like eight hours,” Penelope says. She is eating leftover pasta salad in front of the tv, tuned into a Stephen King movie marathon. Misery has just finished and The Green Mile is up next. 

“I’m sure they’ll walk in the door any minute.” There’s some mumbling behind her mother, a few other voices. “Look, Penelope, don’t worry yourself. I have to go. The food just came out.”

“But, Mom I–”

“I’ll call you in the morning, honey.”

Penelope dozes off, wakes up after midnight in the middle of The Shawshank Redemption . The house is still empty, and her nerves are instantly alight. She knows that something must have happened. Always having battled a nervous stomach, Penelope throws up the pasta salad before calling her mother again. 

“Hello, you have reached Karen Rhys’s phone,” her mother’s cool voicemail greets her. She still uses her married name even though it’s been over eight years since the divorce. “I’m unable to come to the phone right now. Please leave me a detailed message and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.” 

Penelope is six years old again, standing in the main office of her elementary school while the secretary tries the same number over and over again as the school closes up around them. Her father was supposed to pick her up and her mother is working late. The principal ends up having to call her mother’s office directly, a modeling agency in a skyrise in Midtown, to give her a stern reminder that pick-up times are mandatory, not suggestions. She never did find out why her father never came. All Penelope knows is that he left them a week later and her mother hired a driver to bring her back and forth to school after that.

“Mom, they’re still not back,” Penelope says to her mother’s voicemail, whimpering slightly as she sits on the floor next to the toilet. “I think something’s wrong. I don’t know what to do.”

Her phone lights up with a text from her mother a little while later, at 2:46 a.m. 

We leave for Martha’s Vineyard in the morning. We’ll come get you on the way up.

No overwhelming show of concern, but still. It’s better than nothing.

Ok , Penelope writes back, relieved. Thank you . 

Penelope double-knots her shoelaces and stares at the front door. It has been one week. One week by herself, one week of waiting for her grandparents, her mother, anyone to come for her. No one has. The duffel bag she had packed for the summer is over her shoulder and the signed baseball bat that Fred kept mounted on the living room wall is in her hand. Taking a deep breath to calm her racing heart and still her shaking hands, Penelope opens the door and sets out to find help. 

The news had run all kinds of coverage before stopping altogether. She had been glued to the television for days, her only source of information about the havoc being wreaked on the world outside her door. The first few days reported a lot of the same things: major cities all over the world experiencing unprecedented spikes in aggression, unexplained and unpredictable violence. All genders, all ages, in any location. Supermarkets, libraries, banks. A minister in Wilmington started screaming at his entire congregation and tried to strangle a young woman receiving communion. Soon the hospitals were overrun with the injuries, and the police and military forces unmatched for the sheer number of individuals who, seemingly overnight, became wired for destruction, their bodies later mutating into something grotesque and nearly unrecognizable. People scrambled for explanation. There was something in the water, something in the food. Mad cow disease, an unfortunate planetary alignment, biological warfare gone wrong. All speculation, no one truly knowing what is at the root of all the chaos. 

The only certainty that has come out is that, for some reason, it is worse at night.

Penelope is marginally soothed by that knowledge as she follows the main road into town. The sun is out, and things are never as scary in the daytime. For the first time since she arrived upstate, Penelope appreciates the stillness of the land. The news was always loud, jarring, blurry clips of people screaming and crying, news anchors arguing over what everyone should do. The president is in hiding. Or was, the last time she heard. She can only hope that whatever this is does them all a favor and takes him out, too. Other world leaders are reportedly at their wit’s end, considering the most drastic of measures to combat this enigmatic threat. 

But everything is alright here, on this quiet, lonely road. The birds still sing in the trees, a squirrel still darts in front of her path. As she walks, Penelope thinks that maybe it isn’t all so bad. Maybe it’s just the big cities with a lot of people, like how it is in disaster movies. Bad things don’t usually happen in places like this. Then she turns off the highway and onto main street, towards the heart of town. 

Empty cars are scattered across the street, shopping carts and strollers abandoned one the sidewalk. Trampled groceries and dried blood stain the pavement, and one solitary baby sandal sits along the dotted white line in the road. Penelope’s stomach sinks with each step she takes, the confidence of her daring escape wearing off. This was a mistake. No one can help her here. 

The bat drags along the ground behind her and a lump forms in the back of her throat. She stops in the middle of a crosswalk, just about ready to turn around, when a sound from the side street catches her attention. She looks up, lifting the bat. There is an old red sedan idling in the street. Nearly every technological device known to man shoved inside, the trunk barely closing. She approaches it hesitantly, notices shards of glass all over the sidewalk and the road. To the right of the car is a storefront– Eugene’s Electronic Emporium!– and the display window is shattered, the front door propped open with a wireless printer. Penelope peers inside, muffles a surprised yelp at the sight of a man in khakis and a green polo sprawled facedown on the floor next to the counter, blood pooled around his head. She’s never seen a dead body before. They didn’t have a wake for her father. 

There is movement between the shelves at the back of the store, someone with a tall, wiry build wearing a baseball cap, attempting to haul a television off of its wall mount. Penelope takes a step back. As desperate for help as she is, something about this doesn’t feel right. Taking another step back, her body stiffens when she feels hot breath on the back of her neck. Goosebumps raise across her flesh as the person speaks.

“Hi there, honey.” The voice carries the rasp of a smoker. “What are you doing out here?”

Penelope turns slowly. The man has a shiny bald head, a graying goatee. A single diamond stud sparkles in his left ear. He eyes the bat in Penelope’s white-knuckled grip and his lips curl into a lecherous smile. 

“I– I’m looking for someone,” Penelope says. It’s not technically a lie, she just doesn’t know who she is looking for. She tries to sidestep him, but he moves with her. 

“That’s smart,” he says, nodding like she made a good point. “These are dangerous times. It’s not safe to be out here all alone.” He glances over her head. “Don’t worry, Ed. Little Miss here is just looking for someone.”

The man with the baseball cap appears at Penelope’s shoulder and she flinches away. His beady eyes rake over her body. His tongue keeps darting out to lick his upper lip, shiny with sweat and barely hidden by the sparse whiskers of a pathetic attempt at a mustache. 

“There’s no one here but us, Mickey,” Ed says, his voice slow and thick, like he’s chewing on a wad of gum.

The bald man, Mickey, sucks on his teeth, eyes growing comically wide. “You know what, you’re right.”

Penelope raises the bat. She understands that feeling now, the one her friends described. The pit in her stomach, the cold running down her spine. The suffocating weight of their gaze. “Let me leave,” she spits, her voice shaking. 

Both men laugh. Mickey raises his hands, placating. “We ain’t keeping you here, honey.”

Penelope takes a step back. They don’t follow.

“But like I said,” Mickey continues, “these are dangerous times. If you ain’t careful, you could fall into the wrong type of company.”

“Why don’t you stick with us?” Ed says. “Pretty little thing like you needs someone to take care of her.”

“I need to go.” Penelope glances between them, taking another step back.

“Aw, come on. Stay with us,” Mickey goads her.

“No.”

“We ain’t that bad.”

“I said no .”

Mickey sighs, shaking his head and shooting her a sad smile. “Oh, honey,” he says. “You know we can’t let you go, right?”

“Caught us in the middle of a crime,” Ed drawls. They both step forward. “Got a look at our faces and everything. Can’t have that.”

“I won’t say anything,” Penelope says quickly, looking between the both of them. Her hands are sweating, slipping on the grip of the bat. Biceps trembling from keeping it in the air. “Honestly, I really don’t care about what you’re doing. I just need to go.”

“You’re a sweet thing,” Mickey says. “I wish I believed you.” 

He takes another step forward. With a panicked squeak, Penelope swings the bat, sloppy and wide. Mickey wraps his hand around it and easily yanks it out of her hands, tossing it behind him, where it clatters to the ground and rolls down the street. For a moment, they are all frozen, waiting.

Ed moves first, lunging for her, but Penelope ducks under his arm and takes off. She makes it past a few storefronts before he grabs the strap of her duffel bag and gives it a sharp tug. Penelope stumbles and his body collides with hers, both of them crashing to the ground. Her knees crack against the ground first, then her face, the rough sidewalk scraping her cheek. 

“Let go of me!” she shrieks as Ed tries to pin her down. She wrenches her right arm free of his grip and swings her elbow around. It meets his nose with a crunch and he slumps to the side, giving her enough leeway to drag herself out from under him. 

A car motor rumbles in the distance, passing down a nearby street. “Help!” Penelope shrieks, crawling away from Ed’s grip, hoping whoever it is can hear her. “Someone help me !”

Ed grabs at her left ankle and she twists onto her back, sending her right foot into his throat. Gagging and gasping for breath, he lets her go, but before she can get to her feet, Mickey is standing over her. Grabbing a fistful of her hair, he yanks her back. Searing pain radiates through her scalp, making her vision spotty. Penelope yelps and slaps at his hands, but he wraps an arm around her throat, her face immediately turning red as she struggles to breathe. Ed stumbles to his feet, wheezing, and grabs her ankles. They drag her back to the electronics store, over the dead body of the clerk, and shove her into the chair behind the register. 

Penelope twists and writhes against their hold until Mickey lands a stinging slap across her face and she is shocked into stillness. No one has ever hit her before. 

“Listen,” he snaps, crouching down in front of her and grabbing her chin so she looks up at him. “This can go one of two ways, honey.”

Ed yanks her wrists behind the chair, starts to bind them together with a smooth wire of some kind, maybe a charging cord. Penelope opens her mouth, screams as loud as she can, and Mickey slaps her again. Her face throbs, eyes start to water. His spit flies onto her face as he speaks. 

“You play nice, you sit here and keep your mouth shut while we finish up, you get to live and we take you with us. Have ourselves a real nice time.” He reaches into his pocket, slips out a curved knife with a worn brown handle. “You don’t play nice, and, well…” He drags the blunt edge across her stinging cheek, over her lips. Dips it down over her chin and digs it into her throat, just enough so that she can feel a thin trickle of blood drip over her collarbone. 

“You’re a cute little thing, and I’d hate for all of that to go to waste,” Mickey says, his breath hot on her face. “So I suggest you–”

A loud bang echoes through the air. Mickey stops mid sentence, his mouth open, eyes wide. Blood splatters onto the floor around them and his knife clatters to the ground. Penelope screams when he slumps forward on top of her.

“What the fuck?” Ed yells, abandoning the ties he was weaving around Penelope’s ankles. There is a man in the doorway, gun in hand, face stoic. He does not look at Penelope but behind her, unblinking as he tracks Ed’s movements. Penelope doesn’t recognize him at first, but as she gapes at him, she realizes that it’s the man from the truck, the one from the fair. Her head starts to spin, and she starts to wonder if she’s in a dream.

“You shot him!” Ed yells, ripping off his cap and tugging at his hair. “You shot Mickey!”

“Get away from her,” the man says, deep voice rough and gravelly, like it hasn’t been used in a while. His tone leaves no room for argument. “ Now .”

Ed raises his hands and steps away. The man from the truck moves forward, his arm steady as he keeps the pistol trained on Ed’s tense form, the agitation rolling off him in waves. 

“You killed him,” Ed growls. His hands are shaking in the air, his jaw clenched tight, eyes wild.

The man blinks once. “Don’t be stupid.”

Ed is, apparently, stupid. “You killed him!” He lets out a strangled cry and charges. The man doesn’t flinch, pulls the trigger without hesitation. Ed jerks as the shot rips through his shoulder, but he keeps going. He throws himself at the man and the gun clatters to the ground, sliding into the corner. Penelope finally rolls Mickey’s dead body off of her lap and onto the floor, where he lands face-up with a dull thud. The half-tied bindings around her ankles are broken with a strong kick out and she uses her feet to push the body even further away.

Ed and the man from the truck are locked in a struggle, wrestling on the linoleum, their bodies twisting and fists flying as the air is filled with the sound of low grunts and the sickening crack of broken cartilage. The man lands a punch that sends Ed sprawling back, and before Penelope can blink the man is on top of him, a hand on either side of Ed’s head. His arms flex. Ed’s head twists. 

Crack.

Ed goes limp. The man drops his body without ceremony and hauls himself to his feet. Penelope watches, mouth agape, as he goes over to the corner, picks up his gun and tucks it away. When he finally looks at Penelope, her blood runs cold. He just killed two men, one of them with his bare hands. He moves with a fluidity and confidence that tells Penelope that this was not the first time he’s done such a thing. Is that what he went to prison for? Is this the secret his uncle was trying to hide, that he’s some kind of cold-blooded killer? Part of her wants to scream, but another part is impressed. He just killed a man with his bare hands… to save her . 

His eyes are dark, a nasty bruise already forming across his right cheekbone. The man stalks toward her, stopping to pick up the knife from under Mickey’s body. Penelope cannot help but flinch away when he reaches for her, but he just slices through the cords around her wrists and slips the knife into his back pocket. Once free, Penelope jumps to her feet and shrinks away from him. Her face is throbbing from Mickey’s blows, and her throat feels raw when she swallows. She wipes her face, expecting there to be tearstains on her cheeks, but she isn’t crying. Why isn’t she crying?

The man does not move, just watches her with the cautious gaze of one approaching a wounded animal. “Are you alright?” he asks.

“Yeah,” she says airily. Her knees are shaking and she can’t feel her feet. “Yeah, I’m fine,” Penelope says, right before she passes out. 

Chapter Text

July. Two Years and Eight Months Before.

Grainy music filters through the air, the twang of a guitar and a soft voice, echoing like it’s miles away. Penelope blinks open her eyes and watches a fan whirl above her head, creaking slightly as it spins. She’s comfortable, snuggled into something soft with a warm weight over her torso. A blanket, thick woven fibers that smell like cedarwood. She pulls it tighter and closes her eyes again, listening to the music. 

Life is old there, older than the trees. Younger than the mountains, growing like a breeze.

Now she’s in soft footie pajamas, climbing up into a tall bed with fluffy pillows. Sitting on her father’s lap after her bath, softly singing those same words as he brushes through her wet hair, always gentle with the tangles. One of the few memories she has left of him, more of them fading each year. The song ends and is immediately followed by the screech of an electric guitar as a new song begins, a jarring transition. Penelope sits upright with a gasp. 

We won’t be gone long.

We’ll come get you on the way up.

You know we can’t let you go, right?

Stomach churning, Penelope staggers to her feet and spins around, the blanket tangled around her waist. Her arms flail, her elbow sending something clattering to the floor. She’s in a living room, an unfamiliar space with a massive stone fireplace to her right, kitchen to her left. Behind her is a hallway, and at the end of that hallway, a door. Penelope races toward it, stubbing her toe– where are her shoes?– on the side of the coffee table when she turns to run. Limping, she makes it to the front door and explodes onto the porch, stumbling down the steps and into the yard. The grass is dry and worn away, mostly dirt under her toes. Penelope turns in a slow circle, taking stock of her surroundings. A red painted barn looms in front of her, sprawling fields down the hill behind it. To the side of the house is a detached garage, and right in front of it, a truck. His truck. He took her. 

By the grace of who or whatever is watching over her, the door is unlocked. She climbs inside and looks around. Tossed onto the passenger seat is a black lanyard keychain, and Penelope frantically rifles through the dozens of keys weighing it down before she finds the right one, reaching for the ignition–

Click .

Cold metal against her temple. Shit. She never closed the door. Startled, Penelope drops the keys and they fall between her feet on the floor mat. 

“Get out of the car.”

She remains deathly still, eyes forward, staring determinedly at the rips on the steering wheel. The metal presses harder against the side of her head. Penelope doesn’t have to see it to know that it’s a gun.

“Get. Out.”

Her voice is weak. “Please don’t shoot me.”

“You were going to steal my truck.”

“I–” What does she even say to defend herself? She was absolutely going to steal his truck. “Please, don’t.”

“I’m not asking again.”

Penelope raises her hands, moving like molasses as she slides out onto the ground. The man moves with her, keeping the gun close until she has backed a few feet away from the vehicle. Her reflection stares back at her from the driver’s side mirror. Swollen face, bloodshot eyes, roadburn on her left cheek from where it scraped against the sidewalk, hair falling out of her ponytail. What really catches her attention, however, is her neck, wiped clean of blood, a bandage pressed against the cut from Mickey’s blade. The man still has the gun trained on her, but she feels the knot in her belly loosen slightly. Would he really save her from those men, bandage her wound and tuck her into a blanket, just to kill her in his driveway?

As if reading her thoughts, he speaks: “I don’t want to shoot you.” The pressure of the gun lifts off her head and she releases a shuddering breath. “Don’t give me a reason to.”

Penelope turns towards him. Working up the courage to look at his face, her gaze starts at his feet, following the line of his body all the way up. Dusty brown boots, blue jeans, faded and worn nearly to shreds at the knee, and a light green t-shirt stretched over what she realizes really are, now that she’s seeing them up close, the broadest pair of shoulders she’s ever seen. It’s a fresh shirt; the one he was wearing before was stained with Ed’s blood.

“Why did you take me?” she asks. His eyes are hidden behind a pair of dark, square-rimmed sunglasses, but she can still see the edge of the bruise on his right cheek. In the reflection of the lenses she looks impossibly small, like she’s seeing herself in one of those cameras above the register at a convenience store.

“Would you’ve rather been left there? With everything that’s going on?”

“I would have rather taken my chances out there than be killed by you right now,” Penelope challenges, surprising herself with how steady her voice sounds.

“I’m not going to kill you.” He makes a show of tucking the gun into the waistband of his jeans, waving his empty hands. “But you’re not going anywhere.”

Wanna bet?

A few hours ago she watched him kill two people, one of them with his bare hands. A few weeks before that, she saw him with a woman’s cum dripping down his fingers. The juxtaposition of those two images makes her uneasy, an unidentifiable feeling stirring inside her. This man is capable of anything, and her fear outweighs any curiosity that might be lingering beneath the surface. She does not want to stick around and find out what his plans are for her. 

Penelope turns on her heel and takes off, sprinting down the long, dusty driveway. The house is a long way from the road, but it’s on a downhill slant, so she picks up momentum fast. Doesn’t look behind her. This is what she should have done back in town, not stuck around and tried to play nice with the men who wanted to kidnap her. Stupid . If she has any luck left at all, this will be the last man she has to run from today.

The jagged edge of a stick pierces the arch of her bare foot and she yelps, but keeps running through the pain. Just as she reaches the road, rounding the miniature barn-shaped mailbox, a perfect replica of the one next to the house, a hand wraps around her right elbow and yanks her backwards. Penelope swings her left arm around without hesitation and smashes her fist into his bruised cheekbone. His sunglasses fly off, the grip on her arm loosening enough for her to tug herself free. She stumbles a bit, and in one quick movement he gathers her in his arms and lifts her off her feet. 

Penelope screams for help, kicking her legs and twisting around as he wrangles her back towards the house. The man adjusts his grip, one arm high on her chest, around her shoulders and trapping her arms, the other locked around her hips. She drags her feet, slaps at whatever part of him she can reach, rakes her nails over his exposed skin, bites at his arm until he hisses and shakes her roughly, dislodging her teeth. 

“You’re making this worse for yourself,” he grunts as he drags her up the front steps. She loops her foot into the side of the wooden railing, trying to gain some leverage. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Bullshit,” Penelope spits as he yanks her across through the threshold. To the right of the door is a set of stairs, and she curses at him as he hauls her up one step at a time. “What are you gonna do? Rape me, you fucking pervert? Lock me up and keep me as your fucking slave?” She kicks out again, feet banging against the wall. A framed picture clatters down onto the steps. Glass shatters. They reach the landing. “I know who you are. I know you’re a criminal. You’ll go back to prison for this! You’re gonna sit in there forever and rot!”

The man says nothing, just shoulders open a door to the right of the staircase and throws her inside. Penelope hits the ground hard, swings herself around and launches herself at the door just as he slams it in her face. Her fists pound furiously on the wood, and she viciously jiggles the handle even though she’s already heard the click of the lock. She pounds and screams until her voice is hoarse and her ears are ringing, then she crumples to the ground in an exhausted heap, gasping for breath. 

For a moment, there is nothing but silence, and then:

“We can talk once you’ve calmed down.”

Penelope swallows, clears her throat. “Get fucked,” she says.

The door stays locked for hours. A shadow is gradually cast over the room as the sun shrinks behind the trees. There are no shades on the windows, not a single shelf or picture frame on the walls. The only furniture is a twin bed pushed into the corner, a large oak dresser against the opposite wall, two neatly folded flannels and a bunch of loose socks inside. In the closet are a few bulky winter coats and a pair of tattered sneakers. The floor is hardwood, no carpet, decorated with a few scrapes and faded paint stains. The air is stale and sour, like the stagnant atmosphere of an airplane, as if the windows hadn’t been opened in years. 

Penelope rectifies that right away. She slides the window open with a grunt and presses her face to the screen, inhaling the crisp fresh air and surveying her possible escape. There is just the side of the house and a sharp drop to the ground, no low portion of roof for her to climb onto, no drain pipe to shimmy down. She could jump, but if she breaks her leg in the process, then what? Frustrated, Penelope folds her arms and sits on the ground beneath the window, back to the wall, refusing to take her eyes off the door. Doesn’t let herself think about all the bad that might happen when it finally opens. As she sits in the stillness of her new situation, her fear and panic fading away, all she can register is the ache in her body and the sharp, severe bite of hunger. The last meal she had eaten was the night before, the last frozen pizza in her grandparents’ freezer. 

The shadow grows until it nearly spans the whole room. The sun is almost set in its entirety when heavy footsteps clomp up the stairs and pause outside the door. Penelope jerks to her feet and grabs a wooden hanger from the closet, keeping it clenched in her fist as she approaches the door. A pathetic weapon, but she refuses to stand there empty-handed. There is a knock, but it’s not the dull thud of a fist, but something sharper, metallic: the gun. A reminder.

“If I open the door, are you doing to do something stupid?”

Penelope stays silent, grips the hanger together. If she aims right, the curved wire bit could go right into his eye.

There is a sigh, and then the lock clicks and the door swings open. The man stands in the doorway, the bulk of him filling the entire frame. His gun is held loosely in his right hand, pointed toward the ground, but what catches Penelope’s attention is the dog at his feet, mostly brown with some patches of black and white, staring at her stoically. Her grip on the hanger loosens a bit. Would a bad guy really have a dog? 

“If you’ve calmed down, you can come out,” the man says. “I’ll make something to eat and we can have a civil conversation.”

Penelope narrows her eyes. The dog watches her, unblinking. It doesn’t matter if he doesn’t want to use the gun– he will if he has to, and she’s no match against it. The hanger clatters to the floor, her need for food and a bathroom winning out over her desire for revenge.

“Fine.”

The man relaxes a bit, the tension leaving his shoulders, and he tucks the gun into his waistband again. As if on cue, the dog relaxes and trots over with its tongue hanging out. Penelope crouches down and lets it sniff and lick up her arms before scratching behind its ears. 

“What’s his name?” 

“Achilles,” The man answers gruffly. “Killer, for short.”

Killer flops onto his back so she can scratch his belly. His tail is wagging ferociously, thumping against the floor. Penelope shoots the man a look, unimpressed. “Fitting.”

“Yeah, well.” He scratches the back of his neck, looking awkward now that he’s not pointing a weapon in her face. He does not ask for her name, or offer her his. While in the room, she had started calling him Truck Guy in her head.

“You wanna get cleaned up?” Truck Guy jerks his head towards the end of the hall, where Penelope can see the open door to the bathroom across from the top of the stairs. She nods, follows him as he goes in and flicks on the light. 

“Towels are in the cabinet on the wall.”

“Okay.”

“It’s got a lock, so…you know.”

Penelope snorts. He just kept her in an empty bedroom against her will for hours, but now he’s concerned with her privacy? “Okay.”

“I’ll be downstairs.” 

Brushing past her, he nearly trips over Killer, the dog hot on his heels as he stomps back down the stairs. Once he’s out of her line of vision, Penelope turns and slams the bathroom door behind her. She flips the lock and tests the handle, making sure it sticks. Just to be sure, she grabs a towel from the cabinet– light blue, surprisingly fluffy– and bunches it up in the space under the door. It’s not a surefire stop, but it’ll give enough resistance to slow him down if he tries to come barging in. Or so she hopes. By the looks of him, she’s not too sure. 

After relieving her screaming bladder, Penelope looks around. It’s small, a quarter of the size of her bathroom at home. There is a long white countertop with one toothbrush and a half-empty tube of toothpaste next to the sink, the bottom half folded over on itself, pushing all the toothpaste to the top. A rectangular mirrored medicine cabinet sits above it, which she swings open to snoop around. There is nothing too scandalous inside: a spare razor, some acetaminophen, expired Benadryl, a couple of loose bandages of different sizes. Travel sized mouthwash. Penelope cracks it open and pours some into her mouth, swishing it around before rinsing her mouth out under the tap. 

The water pressure in the shower is surprisingly strong. As she lets the water pound on her back, Penelope marvels at the strangeness of her day. Oddly enough, she did not feel as vulnerable when she was tied to a chair by two strange men as she does now, standing naked in the shower of the man who kidnapped her, surrounded by the smell of his body wash– a blend of cinnamon and something else, maybe cloves? She hates that she likes it.

To his credit, Truck Guy impresses her by having both shampoo and conditioner, not a 2-in-1 bottle, and she scrubs a generous amount of each into her hair twice. It smells like cucumbers. His soap is a white Dove bar that she lathers onto her hands and rubs thoroughly over her entire body, wincing as it seeps into the cuts on her face and knees. It is only when she is rinsed free of all the suds and is wringing out her hair that Penelope realizes that she has no clean clothes. Her eyes fall to the dirty, blood-stained pile in front of the sink she had all but ripped off her body. Shit . The thought of stepping back into them makes her skin crawl. 

Wrapping the towel tight around her torso, Penelope pads over to the door and eases it open. There are at least the flannels and socks in the dresser back in the room, and she can manage with her dirty jeans. Peaking out, there are no signs of Truck Guy or Killer, so she figures she can make the mad dash across the hall without being caught practically naked. As Penelope steps out of the bathroom, ready to sprint and hold onto her towel for dear life, her foot lands on something soft. She looks down.

A white cotton shirt and grey sweatpants, neatly folded into a little square pile. A pair of navy blue crew socks on top. Penelope stares at them for a moment, shocked to find her throat tightening and her eyes welling with tears at the unexpected kindness. No . She will not be won over. Penelope blinks the tears away, grabs the bundle of clothes, and quickly closes herself back in the bathroom again. 

Wearing her kidnapper’s clothing is another bizarre happening that Penelope adds to the ever-growing list of the day. His shirt dwarfs her, the hem hitting a few inches above her knees. The scent of cinnamon and cloves is there, hidden beneath the chemical sweetness of laundry detergent. Even after tying the drawstring of the sweatpants as tight as possible, Penelope still has to fold the waistband over three times to get them to stay up on her hips. She rolls the cuffs of the pants until they sit above her ankles, but they keep falling down as she walks, tripping her as she descends the stairs.

As she walks through the living room, she notices the lamp she had knocked over in her haste to escape has been returned to its rightful place next to the couch, the orange shade slightly askew. There is no television, just the fireplace, the couch and coffee table, a worn grey armchair, and an imposing mahogany bookcase filled to the brim with hardcovers, paperbacks, and three-ring binders with words written on the spine in a language she doesn’t recognize. 

The kitchen is small and clean, sparsely furnished. Just enough space for a round wooden table and two chairs, one of which Penelope takes a seat in. On the table is a bottle of water and an unopened sleeve of Ritz crackers. A squat refrigerator is wedged next to an oven that was probably once white but is now a faded yellow with rusty gas burners, no dishwasher to be seen. Penelope chugs the water and scarfs down the dry, stale crackers, nearly choking on one when she notices the phone hanging on a jack next to the fridge, its long, tangled cord curling beneath it. She has it pressed against her ear before she knows what she’s doing, fingers flying over the buttons as she enters her mother’s number, breath caught in her throat as it rings. 

“We’re sorry, the voicemail box is full,” the robotic voice greets her. It is no doubt Penelope’s voice on every message, less frantic and more resigned with each call. She keeps the phone to hear ear anyway, and the call automatically disconnects, the dial tone a mocking buzz. While locked up in the room, Penelope had realized that she left her duffel bag in town during the attack, her phone zipped into the front pocket. She has no other phone numbers memorized except for Pete’s Auto Works, whose jingle plays incessantly over the radio back home. 

“You eat meat?”

Penelope startles, nearly dropping the phone, catching it by the cord just before it hits the ground. She whirls around to see Truck Guy standing in the entryway to the kitchen, a round plate in each hand, Killer at his feet.

“Do I what?”

“Do you eat meat?” He looks pointedly at the plates. “I made burgers.”

“Oh.” Penelope places the phone back on the jack. Her mom told her to cut out meat if she ever wanted her skin to look better, but every time they went to the mall, Penelope snuck off to the Wendy’s at the food court for a Baconator. “Yeah, I–um, yes. Burgers are fine.”

Truck Guy drops the plates on the table then turns to vigorously scrub his hands. While his back is turned, Penelope stares warily at the giant ball of meat spilling out from between the flimsy buns. They’re each about the size of a grapefruit. A man of his size might need to eat like a grizzly bear, but she has trouble finishing a second slice of pizza. 

They sit on opposite sides of the table, Killer diligently pacing between them, putting his head on each of their laps until Truck Guy relents and feeds him a bite of his burger. Penelope belatedly realizes, two massive bites in, that the food could be poisoned, dosed with something to keep her pliant and docile. But she’s so hungry and they taste better than anything that’s ever come out of the Michelin-rated steakhouses her mother has dragged her to, so she keeps eating, shoveling it in until every bite is gone. 

“Thank you,” she croaks out when she’s done, wiping ketchup from the side of her mouth with the back of her hand. Truck Guy looks at her, seemingly surprised by her gratitude. He takes both of their plates, washes them in the sink, wipes them dry and puts them back in the cupboard. Then he turns around, rests against the counter, and crosses his arms. 

 “Where were you gonna go?”

“What?” 

“In my truck. Where were you gonna go?”

Penelope takes another sip of water to buy her a second, contemplates if she should tell him the truth or not. She imagines making up a fake destination, him calling her bluff, the gun in her face again. The truth wins out. “Home.”

“Where’s that?”

“Long Island. Roslyn.”

“Long way from here.” He studies her. “You even know how to drive?”

Penelope feels her face heat up. “I know how to drive.” She doesn’t, still a year away from getting her learner’s permit, but how hard could it be? She has raced go-karts, played bumper cars. They can’t be much different.

“What’s your name?”

“Penelope. What’s yours?”

He arches an eyebrow. “You don’t know mine?”

“Why would I?”

“I distinctly remember you saying you knew who I was. Right after you accused me of being a rapist.”

Penelope flushes. “Oh.” 

“Haden,” he says after a beat, letting her sit in her discomfort. “And I’m not.”

Easy to say. Her next words spill out before she can stop them. “But you are a murderer.”

His jaw tightens. “Worked out pretty well for you, didn’t it?”

Penelope looks down, picking at a hangnail on her thumb. Her knees bounce under the table. “Look, I, uh, I appreciate you– doing what you did. I do. But you can’t keep me here. I need to go home.”

“You even know how bad it is out there?” Truck Guy– Haden , which is unexpected but surprisingly fitting– barely has to take a step for his long arm to reach the fridge and pull out a beer, a dark can with antlers on it that Penelope doesn’t recognize. “Guys like that’ll be the least of your worries.”

“I know how bad it is. That’s why I need to leave before it gets worse.”

Haden takes a long pull of the beer. “How’d you get here?”

“What?”

“You’re from Long Island. How’d you get all the way up here?”

“I was staying with my grandparents for the summer.”

“And where are they?”

“They left to get groceries last week and never came back.” She shouldn’t be telling him all this. He doesn’t need to know how completely at his mercy she truly is. Penelope cuts back to the point. “Please, let me take your truck.”

“No.”

“My mom will pay you once I get back to her. Whatever you want. You could buy a new one, something nicer.”

Haden looks more annoyed than tempted. “Money’s no good anymore. And I’m not giving up my truck.”

Penelope stares at him in disbelief. “What are you talking about? Money is always good.”

He sighs. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

“ You don’t get it.” Penelope paces the kitchen in frustration. “My mom was supposed to be coming for me. I have to find her.”

Haden takes another swig out of the can. “If she’s still alive, you won’t be doing her any favors by putting yourself at risk.”

If she’s still alive. The reality Penelope hadn’t allowed herself to consider. Her eyes prick with angry tears. “I’ll call the police. Tell them that you’re keeping me here against my will.”

“Go ahead. You’ll probably have as much luck reaching them as you did whoever you were trying to call before.” 

“You’re an asshole.”

“I’m the reason you’re still alive.”

“You kidnapped me.”

Haden steps forward, towering over her. Penelope shrinks back. “You think things are bad now? They’re only going to get worse. I’m not keeping you here. I’m trying to help you. You can walk out that door right now and get yourself ripped apart by whatever monsters people are turning into out there, if that’s what you want. But you’re not taking my truck.”

Penelope’s chin trembles as she stares him down. He is not affected by her watery eyes or pouting lip.

“It’ll be dark soon. You can stay the night, and in the morning, I’ll help you figure out a smarter way to get home. Don’t make a dumb decision now because you’re scared.”

Penelope bristles. “I’m not dumb.”

He rolls his eyes. “Walking the streets alone this morning says otherwise.”

Before she can stop herself, she pounds her tiny fists against his broad chest. “You’re such a dick.”

Haden pushes her back effortlessly, sending her stumbling back into the table. “And you have shockingly bad survival instincts.” 

Penelope crosses her arms, clenching her fists so she doesn’t hit him again and get herself locked back in the room. 

“Like it or not,” Haden continues, “I’m your best shot at staying alive.”

He brushes past her and stomps into the living room, Killer on his heels. Penelope sinks back down into the chair, presses her face to the table and covers her head with her arms to muffle her frustrated scream. In the other room, Haden grabs the radio and takes a seat on the couch, fiddling with it until the static cuts out and a woman’s voice filters into the room. Her sharp voice cuts the stillness of the house, her words spilling out rapidly, like she doesn’t know if she has enough time to get it all out. Her curiosity winning out over her anger, Penelope pokes her head up to listen.

“Los Angeles has just joined the ranks of cities like Manhattan and Hong Kong in a state of complete lockdown. Blockades have been erected at the city limits, guarded by tanks and heavily armed militia, with no one allowed in or out. The most concentrated areas of violence seem to be in the more populated areas, so by containing these areas officials are hoping to slow the spread of the destruction. But what will happen to these communities? Will creating self-contained warzones just add to the slaughter?

“We are receiving varying reports about the death toll in the United States but one constant is that the number is well into the thousands and steadily rising. There is no sign of these attacks slowing down. Those affected by this type of illness seem to have lost their grasp on reality, abandoning their sense of reason and spiraling into a frenzied rage. They cannot be calmed down, only stopped by force. It is unclear what the catalyst was for these horrible mutations, or if they are even curable. 

“There is word that a group of prominent world leaders have been meeting to discuss the possibility of nuclear warfare. Could this really be the only thing that eradicates this violence? Destroying the world? Killing your own–”

The broadcast cuts off abruptly, static taking its place. Killer lets out an indignant bark. Penelope is frozen on the chair, head in her hands, considering her options. Despite her bravado, she knows that she can’t drive the truck all the way back home. If by some miracle she convinces Haden to drive her, then what? They won’t be able to make it past a military blockade. Penelope would just be stuck, left without her mom but closer to the chaos. She takes a shaky breath.

Stupid. You were so stupid.

She never should have left her grandparents’ house. She should have rationed her food and not stress-eaten everything they had. She should have thrown a fit, insisted that her mom not wait until the morning to come for her. The drive was only four hours. They could have been together. She could have been home. Even if the world was turning to shit and people were turning into monsters, at least she’d be home.

Penelope’s stomach twists with the realization that Haden is right: if she wants to stay safe, he’s her best shot. He might be an asshole and a murder, but he did save her life. Gave her clean clothes, fed her a good meal. If she plays her cards right, she might be able to capitalize on his generosity until everything blows over and life goes back to normal. 

Her feet drag as she shuffles into the living room. Haden is reading a book, a paperback with yellowed pages and cracked, worn spine. He doesn’t look up when she enters.

“I’ll stay.”

He snorts. “Don’t do me any favors.”

“No, I just mean…” Penelope takes a deep breath, dragging her sock-clad foot in a small circle on the carpet, twisting the hem of his oversized shirt hanging off her petite frame. “You were right. It’s not safe out there.”

Haden turns the page. “We’ll figure out a way to get you home in the morning.”

“No.”

He looks up. “No?”

“No,” Penelope repeats. “Can I, um, would I be able to stay a bit longer?”

Haden blinks once. “What?”

“Not forever,” she says hurriedly. “Just, like, until everything calms down and is safe again. Or until I can get in touch with my mom. Could I stay here? Please?”

He stares at her for a long time. Killer looks back and forth between them, seemingly unsure why two people are in the room and neither one is petting him. Then, finally: “You’ll have to work.”

Penelope’s shoulder sag with relief. “I will. I promise.”

Haden nods once and looks back to his book. “Fine.” He finishes the page, then folds the corner down and slaps the book closed. “Come on. I’ll get some sheets for that bed.”

Chapter Text

May. One Year and Two Months After.

When Penelope wakes, she rolls onto her back and sighs. The first day back home is always hard. They have been making their scavenging trips once a month for two years now, from the first thaw to the first snow. The first time Had had brought her along had been exhilarating. She was sixteen, and by that time she had seen and done more than any normal sixteen year old should have to, but it still made her feel like an adult. Mina hadn’t wanted her to go, and even Niko, who was never serious about anything, had tried to talk her out of it. But as much as they cared for her, they knew that she was ultimately Haden’s responsibility, and so he had the final word. He had also said no at first, but after much pouting, crying, and yelling on her part– and a broken window that he made her fix without help– he let her go with him.

The trips are her escape. Her chance to see the world, or what’s left of it. But they are also her time to be alone with Haden, like they were at the beginning. He’s a different man when they’re alone– softer, more affectionate, quicker to tease her about something ridiculous. Despite being in more danger than normal, outside the carefully protected barriers of their home on the farm, his guard is marginally lowered. He smiles more freely, and sometimes Penelope manages to trick a laugh or two out of him, feeling like she has won something precious every time. The others all see Haden the same way: strong and silent, the one in charge, the one who does whatever needs to be done without hesitation, no questions asked. She sees those things too, but when they’re alone, she gets to see the man he is underneath. 

The house is empty by the time Penelope trudges downstairs. She always sleeps in the morning after they get back. As much as she loathes ending her time alone with Haden, nothing feels better than sleeping in her own bed. Breakfast is waiting for her, a plate on the kitchen table with some cold toast and a pile of blueberries. Penelope inhales the toast while she peers out of the window above the sink, scanning the vast farmland before her. Mina is sitting cross-legged in the shade of the barn, sorting through some boxes from their haul. Savannah is out in the fields, basket in hand, checking on the rows of asparagus plants. Since Killer is not begging for a piece of toast at her feet and the truck is not parked in its usual place along the side of the house, Penelope assumes that Haden has gone to do a loop of the surrounding property, making sure everything is how he left it.

Cradling the blueberries in her fist, Penelope pops a few in her mouth as she goes outside. She finds Niko on the back porch, sorting through the clothes and linens salvaged on the trip and piling them into a wheelbarrow. 

“Good morning, Pineapples,” he says with a bright smile, holding up a faded Team Jacob t-shirt with a rip in the left armpit. “Did you get this for me?”

Penelope’s answer is a yawn that threatens to split her jaw in half. The nickname is her own fault, the product of a long-winded story getting derailed and Penelope revealing that her childhood Club Penguin username was PenelopePinapples814. Niko hasn’t called her anything else since.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” He throws the shirt into the pile and straightens up. “I’m going to give these a wash if you want to come.”

Penelope chews on a few more blueberries. The river is southwest through the woods, about a half an hour’s walk from the farm. Considering that she spent the last week exploring miles of abandoned cities, the distance is nothing, but the last dregs of sleep still cling to her, making her feel a bit lazy. 

“Come on,” Niko coaxes her. He glances at her hair and makes a pointed grimace. “For the sake of the bird’s nest on your head, at least.”

She throws her last blueberry at him. “Don’t be rude.” 

But he does have a point. Most days, her long blonde tresses are plaited into one or two braids, tight and utilitarian, falling down her back. Simple, out of the way. Penelope bathes as frequently as she can when they’re on the road, but she tries to refrain from washing her hair unless it’s absolutely necessary. It is quick to tangle to begin with, but when wet, it’s a nightmare. She has always been jealous of Mina’s voluminous corkscrew curls that bounce when she walks, or of Niko’s dark and shiny mane, almost as long as hers and twice as thick, but never a hair out of place. He has it tied up today, a perfect messy bun that Penelope could attempt for hours but never be able to recreate. Savannah has the right idea: she keeps her head shaved clean, never letting more than the thinnest layer of brown fuzz adorn her scalp. 

Penelope runs a hand over her head, feeling the grease and grime, the frizzy tufts escaping from her braid. “Fine,” she sighs. “Let me go get my brush.”

The river is bordered by a steep embankment about fifteen feet tall. They scale it carefully, each with one hand a handle of the wheelbarrow and the other on low-hanging branches until they reach the large slate formations along the river’s edge. The water rushes through the grooves in some places, creating a miniature waterfall that cascades down the rocks and into the current below. Niko sets up next to one of the falls as Penelope shimmies out of her shoes and clothes, leaving her blade on the rocks and climbing down the flattest slope until she reaches the river.

There isn’t a cloud in the sky, and while the air might be unseasonably warm for early May, the water has not yet heard the news. It is a thousand icy daggers digging into Penelope’s skin, but she grits her teeth and wades forward, shivering in just in her underwear and a thin tank top. Once the water is up to her ribs, she takes a deep breath and plunges beneath the surface. Her feet dig into the silt at the bottom as she crouches down, thighs shaking with the effort of keeping her still against the current. She stays underwater until her lungs are screaming, and then she bursts to the surface with a gasp. 

“Holy shit, that’s cold,” Penelope exclaims, blinking droplets from her eyes. She’s wide awake now.

“Don’t worry about me,” Niko says, wringing out a t-shirt and spreading it over a rock to dry. “I’ll take care of washing all of this, it’s fine.”

Penelope rolls her eyes and splashes at him. “I’m the one who found most of it.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Niko grumbles without any heat. “You’re better off bathing anyway. I didn’t want to say anything on the walk, but Jesus. I’ve killed Remnants that smelled better than you.”

“Fuck off,” she laughs, crouching down again and dipping her head back into the water. Her fingers scrape against her scalp, dragging through clumps of dirt and God knows what else, catching on a dozen snarls as she tries to make it from the roots to the ends. 

“Such a foul mouth for such a pretty young lady,” Niko teases her.

Penelope splashes him again. “Patriarchal gender norms died out with the rest of humanity, in case you hadn’t heard.”

He grins. “At least something good came out of all of this.”

By the time she is done beating her hair into submission, Niko has finished the clothes. He joins her in the river, scrubbing off before letting her climb into his interlocked fingers and launching her out of the water, higher and higher each time. She makes the sacrifice of a few painful belly flops before she perfects a backflip into a cannonball, ignoring the lingering pang of sadness as she remembers doing the same thing last summer with Stacey by her side. After exhausting themselves, they crawl back up the falls and flop onto their backs on the rocks, sitting in silence amongst the drying clothes, listening to the birds as the sun drains the moisture from their skin.

Despite her tender complexion, Penelope has always loved the sun. She burns easily, a gene inherited from her Irish father and Swedish mother, the latter always frowning at the new freckles popping up over Penelope’s skin. But the sun has a new meaning now. It’s not just warm air and bright skies, but safety, stability. Life. The sun is responsible for the growth of their crops, the power in the truck’s engine. And best of all, Remnants cannot exist in sunlight. Their skin is too fine, too delicate to withstand UV light for even a few seconds. Penelope has seen their shriveled corpses–too many and still not enough– melted down and stuck to the ground, burned alive like an egg on hot pavement.

It makes Penelope wonder about other parts of the world– the desert, tropical countries. Places where the sun is always shining, rarely ever a cloud in the sky. Did the Remnants take over there, too? Or are there little safe havens scattered around the world, filled with people living their lives undisturbed, without fear? There have been a handful of travelers who have passed by their farm over the years, almost all of them driven by the desire to find such a place. Some of them seek it based on rumors, others on blind faith. All of them promising to come back once they have found such a place, to bring them all to safety with them. No one who has passed through has ever come back. 

A rustling from the trees behind them makes them jump, each of them reaching for their blades beside them before Mina emerges from the path and they relax. She has her hair tied up in a yellow bandana with matching pants, not a stain or rip to be found. She has a button-down white blouse tucked into her jeans, the right sleeve rolled up and the left cinched in a knot just over the stump of her left arm. Always put together like she stepped off a magazine cover. Penelope looks forlornly at her own jeans drying next to her, frayed at the hem and ripped at the knees, a bloodstain on the left ankle that will never come out. 

“I can’t believe you guys actually went in the water,” Mina says, coming over and tugging on the end of Penelope’s damp braid.

“First swim of the year, Means,” Niko says, laying back down, stretching out like a cat. “Give it a shot. It’s refreshing.”

“It’s barely even spring,” Mina snorts. “I’m not getting in there until at least the end of June.”

They had spent more time in the water than they had thought, and Mina has come to bring them back to the farm. It’s nearly time to start making dinner, and apparently Savannah bagged a deer while Penelope and Haden were gone and was waiting until they got back to cook it. Penelope’s stomach grumbles at the thought. They load the clothes, starched stiff by the sun, back into the wheelbarrow and head home. Niko convinces Mina to sit atop the pile, pushing her as they walk back. She tries to act annoyed as he and Penelope perform a tone-deaf rendition of “Bohemian Rhapsody”, but Penelope can spot the smile she’s trying to hide. It’s the first real one they’ve seen on her face in a long time.

Haden is on the back porch when they arrive, trimming Killer’s nails while Savannah stands in front of the gigantic brick grill set a few yards away from the house. The dog rolls away from Haden when he sees them approaching, galloping towards Penelope and licking her face before jumping up on Mina, who struggles to get out of the wheelbarrow with two big paws on her chest. 

Haden looks Penelope over when she reaches him, tilting her chin up with two fingers to examine the pink skin on her nose and cheeks with a frown. All she can think about is how close she came to having those same fingers inside her last night.

“Put some aloe on before bed,” he says. They have a plant potted on the front porch, mostly for her use. 

Penelope yanks her chin back. “It’s not that bad.”

Arching an eyebrow, Haden grabs her nose between his index and middle finger. Her skin stings and she jumps back with a hiss. He crosses his arms, smug.

“Aloe.”

“Fine,” Penelope grumbles, stomping past him, her face hot from the sunburn and her own embarrassment. It’s moments like these, where he treats her like a kid she once was instead of the woman she has worked hard to be, that drive her crazy. It’s these moments that she’s trying to escape from. 

They eat venison steaks with roasted potatoes for dinner. On his earlier drive, Haden had spotted fresh footprints along the north side of their property, disappearing into the mountains. Killer hadn’t even needed to scent them; they were too steady to be Remnants, too sure-footed and slow-moving. Haden still commands them all to be extra vigilant, even though Niko swears that nothing out of the ordinary happened while they were gone, and Mina figures it’s just someone passing through. 

“People are allowed to exist, you know,” Niko teases him, making eye contact with Penelope and mouthing the word paranoid . “Can’t someone just be out for a nice post-apocalyptic afternoon stroll?” Penelope hides her smile as she bites into a potato. 

She is on dishes this week, so after the meal she sits outside with a bucket of vinegar water, her nose shiny and sticky with aloe, and gets to work scrubbing them all clean. As the sun sets, Savannah comes outside to sit with her, nursing a glass of wine and looking out into the purple twilight. She is a new addition to their group. They found her on the outskirts of town a little over a year ago, drawn by the plumes of smoke billowing over the trees. She was standing in front of the old elementary school watching two Remnants burn, a crossbow over her back and dried blood on her neck. Penelope thinks she is the most terrifying person she has ever met, but she pulls her own weight around the farm without protest, and last month, when Haden found a dusty violin in a house in New Haven, Savannah had tuned it up and started playing Tchaikovsky from memory. 

“The meat was great,” Penelope tells her as she dunks a fork in the water. 

Savannah smiles. “Thank you.” She holds out her glass of wine, an offering, but Penelope shakes her head. The last time she had alcohol she had made a fool of herself, and although she knows that one sip isn’t going to do anything, Penelope still stays away.

“How many did you kill while you were gone?” Savannah asks.

Penelope moves onto a knife with bits of grizzle stuck in the grooves. “Two. Haden got the third.”

“How many is that for you now?”

“Twenty-six.”

Savannah hums and takes a sip of her wine. “You’re getting up there.”

She has the highest kill count of their group at seventy-three, but her and Penelope are the only ones who admit their numbers with pride. To the others, counting serves as a marker of the slow degradation of their soul that is the price paid for taking a life. Penelope doesn’t see it that way. The kills are something to be proud of, and the number is a badge of honor rather than a mark of their sacrifice. It’s kill or be killed now– or worse, kill or be turned. Her number is a point of pride. They are twenty-six individual battles that she has won, twenty-six times where she has been smarter, stronger. Sometimes, even just luckier. To Penelope, it seems simple. When the options are either to kill or survive another day, she’ll kill without question, because she wants to live. 

Soft sobs from across the hall wake Penelope from her dreamless sleep. She rolls out of bed and pads over to Mina’s room, cracks open the door and pokes her head inside, expecting to find what she usually does: Mina’s bed empty, the sheets mussed and the covers flipped up, the woman curled up on top of the bed across the room, crying into the pillow. The scene is as expected, but Penelope stops short of stepping inside and climbing into bed beside her friend when she sees that the space beside Mina is already taken by someone else.

“I hate sleeping,” Mina had choked out five months earlier, the first time Penelope found her in such a state. “I can’t do it anymore. Every morning I have to wake up and remember that she’s gone.”

The worst part about not getting to say goodbye to someone is that you are left with a last memory of them that is often nothing but a snapshot. A smile, a touch, the shine of the sun in their hair as they turn away. Penelope does not remember the last words she ever spoke to Stacey, but she will never forget the night that Mina found the note she left behind. She will never forget the way Mina’s shriek had echoed through the house, the way they had all run to find her clutching the paper that had been left on her pillow, the way she was curled in on herself, sobbing on the floor. 

It was Niko who pulled her against his chest, Niko who was able to pry the letter out of her fingers and scan the page, his face turning white as the words hit him. 

I’m sorry I didn’t say goodbye, but I knew that if I saw your face, I wouldn’t be able to go. I’m not like the rest of you– I can’t stay here. Please forgive me. Thank you for everything. You have been my best friend for my whole life. I love you. - S

Mina’s little sister, her only true family left, gone without a proper goodbye. Losing her was their first real loss since the beginning, the first one that they really felt. Her absence has left an ache in Penelope’s heart that has yet to go away. Stacey was the closest to her in age: three years, three weeks, and three hours older, right down to the minute. Penelope always wondered what it would be like to have siblings, and Stacey was her answer. They bonded quicker than Penelope had ever bonded with anyone before, a sisterhood borne of luck and circumstance. Stacey was the one who taught her to braid her hair and the right way to pluck her eyebrows, the one who showed her how to do the splits and could make her laugh with just a look. Her absence has left not only sorrow but a seed of resentment. Yes, Mina was Stacey’s real sister, but they were all a family. Was Stacey really that scared to face them that she couldn’t say goodbye? Did they all mean so little to her that Stacey couldn’t leave a note for anyone else?

Penelope had clutched Mina tighter and pushed her bitter feelings aside. Whatever she felt about Stacey must pale in comparison to Mina’s loss. To be with someone your whole life, to love them with your whole heart, and to have them taken away from you– it’s the worst torture imaginable. Whenever Penelope thinks about losing Haden– of him choosing to leave her– she finds it hard to breathe.

“Do you think she’s ever gonna come back?” Mina had asked, her voice soft.

January’s heavy snowfall quickly made any hope of tracking her down nearly impossible, but they still searched for weeks, tearing the mountains apart, never finding any trace of Stacey. No footprints, no clothing, no body– no sign of her anywhere. Penelope nuzzled into Mina’s hair. She smelled like the sun and the pina colada scented perfume they had found last month. They don’t know what possessed Stacey to leave them, but if it was enough for her to turn her back on safety and family, it must have been something pretty special.

“I hope so.” 

Mina took a deep breath and grabbed Penelope’s hand, knitting their fingers together. “Yeah,” she whispered into the dark. “Me too.”

Now it is Savannah who is curled around Mina’s shaking form, her head nestled into the crook between the woman’s neck and shoulder, her arms wound tightly around her torso. Penelope observes them for a moment. 

They had turned the basement space into a makeshift bedroom for Savannah when she joined them, and although Penelope is still hesitant to go down the steps unaccompanied, Savannah seems to love the dark, cave-like space, both for its privacy and its quietness. There is no way that Savannah would have been able to hear Mina crying from all the way down there, which means she had to have been upstairs when it started. Interesting . Penelope bites back a smile and tiptoes back into her room.

On the morning of Haden’s birthday, Penelope wakes as the soft light of dawn just starts to stretch across the sky, her room a hazy blue-grey and the air impossibly still. Her body protests the early hour, desperate to go back to sleep– but today is a special day, and she has been waiting too long to waste it. Haden is where she expects him to be, downstairs in the kitchen, already dressed for the day in faded blue jeans and a light gray tee. The back door is open and he lounges against the doorframe, sipping on his coffee as he looks out over the land. They had all made him swear the night before that he would sleep in and let them do the work for the day, but Penelope knew that it wouldn’t happen. Telling Haden to rest is like telling the sun to stop rising. 

“Close your eyes,” she says, creeping up behind him, the box of Twinkies she had found on their last day on the road hidden behind her back. 

“You’re up early,” he muses, not turning around.

“It’s an important day.” She rises up onto her tiptoes and rests her chin on his shoulder, peeking around at his face to make sure his eyes are truly closed. “Hold out your hands.”

She plucks the mug of coffee from his grip so that he can turn both palms, lined and calloused from a lifetime of taking care of everyone else, up toward the sky. She places the box in his hands and he tests the weight of it, a small smile teasing his lips.

“This what you found last week?”

“Mhm.” Penelope takes a sip of his coffee, nodding proudly even though he can’t see her. “Okay, open ‘em.”

His shoulders shake with a surprised laugh when he sees the box. Penelope feels a swell of pride rise in her chest. He keeps it hidden, and it’s a rare indulgence these days, but Haden has one hell of a sweet tooth. They once found a bag of bite-sized Almond Joys in someone’s house a few blocks away, back in the beginning. When Penelope had turned them down– she hated almonds– Haden had nearly half the bag gone before they even finished searching the first floor. 

“Of course these survived.” He opens the box and pulls one out, offering it to her. 

She shakes her head. “They’re yours.”

“Split it with me. There’s enough for everyone to have one.”

Penelope frowns. She doesn’t know how to get it through to him that it’s okay to take something for yourself, that it’s okay to want. But she accepts the half anyway, and they eat their pieces slowly, savoring each bite. They’re just as fake and delicious as she remembered. She pops the last piece into her mouth and licks a bit of sponge cake off her thumb, nodding back to the box.

“There’s more.”

Haden arches an eyebrow. “More?” He takes his coffee back and his mouth covers the spot where hers had been. 

“At the bottom. Look.”

He tips the box over and the rest of its contents spill out onto the countertop. A soft leather band falls out after the last Twinkie, its dark strands woven tightly together with a shiny yellow stone in the center. Penelope holds onto Haden’s arm, pressing her face against his bicep as she watches him study the bracelet.

“You make this?” he asks softly, twirling it reverently in his fingers. He lifts his arm and lets her tuck herself against his side. 

“Happy Birthday,” Penelope mumbles into his shirt, suddenly self-conscious. It had taken a few weeks to make under Niko’s patient tutelage. They had found the materials in an old craft store a few months back, and when flipping through a tattered, worn book she had found on gemstones, Penelope had gotten the idea. It wasn’t as neat as the ones Niko had made, the braiding a little lumpy in places, but Haden is looking at it like it’s a Van Gogh. 

“It’s citrine, the stone,” she explains. “Supposed to be good luck.” 

Haden is still studying the band, and although she knew that he would never make fun of anything she made for him, his silence makes her nervous. Everything he has ever given her has been thoughtful, from a place of love and consideration, from the clothes he gave her back when they first met to the jagged obsidian pendant hanging around her neck, a gift for her eighteenth birthday almost a year ago. The book on gemstones had a section on obsidian, too. It’s a  protection stone. Encourages growth and dissolves old trauma, supposed to bring clarity to the mind and warmth to the body. Penelope hasn’t taken it off since he tied it around her neck. 

“The material is pretty versatile,” she continues nervously as he slips it onto his wrist. “It can be a bracelet, obviously, but it’s strong enough to tie stuff up. You never know when you’ll need that. Or you can even use it for your hair, since it doesn’t look like you plan to cut it anytime soon–”

Haden crushes her into a full-body hug, one of his hands on the small of her back and the other cradling her head. “It’s perfect,” he murmurs into her hair. “Thank you.”

“You like it?”

“I love it.” He kisses the top of her head. An electric shock zips down Penelope’s spine, and when he pulls back she keeps her arms around his waist. He looks down at her curiously.

“What else do you love?” She rests her chin on his sternum and blinks up at him. His eyes flash with recognition and his jaw clenches, but he doesn’t try to pull away again.

“You know what I love.”

“ Who else do you love?”

Haden lowers his head, pressing their foreheads together. “You know who I love.”

She knows he loves her. There’s no question about it. He’s said it before– once, on that day that somehow feels like both yesterday and a lifetime ago. But to Penelope, it’s no longer a question of if he loves her, but how . 

“I want you to tell me.” Penelope tightens her arms and presses up onto her tiptoes, dangerously close. She can smell the coffee on his breath, feel the tickle of his beard on her chin and the warmth of his breath on her lips. It makes her head spin. 

“Penny…” His voice is a warning, but she doesn’t listen. She desperately wants to close the distance between them, but she can’t. Won’t. It has to be him. She wants him to kiss her, really kiss her, to choose her, love her in the way that she aches for every day. He’s close, she knows he is. He wouldn’t have allowed her to push him this much for this long if he didn’t want her, too. She just needs to keep wearing him down. 

“I want you to tell me,” she repeats, tilting her head and nosing down the length of this jaw. Lips against his neck. His pulse fluttering against her kiss. Big hands drop to her waist, thumbs slipping under the hem of her loose pajama shirt and digging into her hip bones. Tugging her closer. Long fingers curling over the swell of her ass. “I want you to show me.”

His voice is so low she feels the rumble of it when he speaks. “I show you.”

The basement door swings open with a whine and Penelope drops back down onto her heels, hanging her head as Haden steps away from her. Savannah shuffles up the steps and through the door, rubbing sleep from her eyes. 

“Morning, Dirty Thirty,” she says to Haden, offering him a sleepy nod and weak punch to the bicep when she walks into the kitchen. Physical affection is not in her wheelhouse. “Oh shit, are those really Twinkies?”

The broken moment hangs over Penelope’s head for the rest of the morning, souring her mood until she eats breakfast and levels off again. They go about their daily chores as usual– Haden isn’t one to celebrate himself or take a day off– but everyone else manages to sneak him a birthday gift that he begrudgingly accepts. Mina gives him a thick, yellowed short story anthology from 1994 that she had found in an abandoned vintage store in Albany, Niko gets down on one knee and presents him with a coffee mug that has “Big Dick Energy” printed in elegant calligraphy on the side, and Savannah surprises him with a batch of her homemade moonshine at dinner. 

“My father’s recipe,” she explains, pouring everyone a cup. She pours Haden’s into his new mug, that he accepts with a good-natured eyeroll. “He always said that if you made it right, you could pour it into your gas tank and make it twenty miles.”

Niko takes a bold gulp and shudders, his face pinching. “Nailed it,” he wheezes.

Penelope sniffs her cup and winces. She isn’t planning on drinking it, but out of curiosity she puts it to her lips and darts her tongue out just a bit to taste it. The harsh acidity burns her mouth and makes her sputter. She passes her cup to Haden and looks on in shock as he drains it without batting an eye, winking at her when he’s finished. She flushes and looks back down at her plate. 

Though the days are warming up, the nights still carry a chill, and so that evening finds the five of them settled in the living room around the heat of the fire. Soft music plays in the background, thanks to Niko finding a solar-powered charging station two years ago. Savannah and Mina are curled up like cats in front of the fireplace, painting their nails a pretty shade of robin’s egg blue, and Niko is in the armchair, Killer at his feet, begging for some of the stale chips he’s eating. Haden is settled into the corner of the couch, his feet up on the coffee table as he flips through the anthology Mina had given him. When Penelope comes down from changing into her pajamas, she curls up against his side and reads over his shoulder. She knows that he reads faster than she does, but he still waits a few extra moments for her to catch up before turning the page.

“Do you really like it?” Penelope murmurs, tugging on the strings of the bracelet on his wrist.

“’Course I do,” he says. He flips the page. “You made it.”

She wants to toss the book aside and crawl into his lap, make herself small and disappear into his strong, warm embrace. She wonders if he has been affected by the moonshine as much as Savannah and Mina, who are giggling as their nails dissolve into sloppy globs of blue. Wonders if he’d push her away or let his hands slip under her shirt and dance up her spine in the way that makes her shiver. Mina might even be too distracted to pay them any mind, to cluck her tongue and draw their attention away from each other.

Just as she is about to make her move, a feeling of apprehension makes her pause. She doesn’t want to risk another broken moment like the morning’s, doesn’t want to push him so hard that he pulls away completely. Sometimes, Penelope recognizes, it’s best to just enjoy the moments that you have instead of always reaching for more. So she just snuggles up closer to his side and lets her eyes drift along the page, nudging his arm with her chin when she’s finished reading, and basks in the warmth of the room until she drifts off to sleep.

The body is found a few weeks later on one of the roads outside of town, just a few miles east of the farm. Her eyes are still open, her throat slashed to ribbons. Dead, but not eaten, which was always a bad sign. Freshly turned Remnants hunt for sport. It takes about two weeks for their bodies to adapt to the changes of the mutation, but while their sense of hunger doesn’t set in until the end, their aggression levels spike immediately. The result is a creature with intense strength, the inability to feel pain, and a deep-rooted urge to destroy. There hasn’t been one in their neck of the woods for weeks, just enough to lull them into a fall sense of security. 

The hunters spot her one morning as they are heading into town. Jax and Cara are a pair that Savannah had traveled with for a bit during her time alone, and they make it a point to stop in and see her at the farm whenever they’re passing through the area. They hadn’t been around since the first week of April, when Haden and Penelope had been off scavenging near New Haven, and so Penelope had yet to meet the newest member they had added to their team.

“Liam was asking me about you,” Mina says, sitting cross-legged beside Penelope on the couch inside later that afternoon, a cup of tea in hand. Penelope is playing a game of Snood on Niko’s phone–the only one of theirs left that can hold a charge–and doesn’t look up.

“What did he want?” she asks.

“You should go find out.”

“He can come talk to me if he wants,” Penelope says indifferently.

“He seems nice,” Mina sighs, slouching back into her chair and blowing a loose curl away from her face. “What’s the harm in giving him a shot? He’s cute, he’s friendly, he’s…” He’s your age. He didn’t raise you . Her unspoken words are the loudest. He’s not Haden. 

Liam had made an enthusiastic introduction that morning, his eyes on her the whole time as she stood between Haden and Niko with crossed arms, listening to Jax explain what they had found. He looks like he should have been cast in a teen drama for The CW. Perfectly coiffed hair and too-white teeth, all bravado and a-ha-ha laughs as he tried to draw attention to himself with jokes that fell flat. Penelope would bet her sword on the fact that he played lacrosse in high school and wore a baby pink polo shirt to formal events. She tells Mina this, and the woman chokes on her tea. 

“I mean, you’re not wrong,” Mina coughs. “That’s actually…Wow. That’s probably scarily accurate.”

“I calls ‘em as I sees ‘em.” Penelope swears under her breath as she loses the game and quickly starts a new one.

“Still. He could be a nice friend to have, at the least.”

Penelope shrugs. She has all the friends she needs right here. “I guess so.”

Jax, Cara, and Liam return shortly after. The three of them had sat for breakfast before going back out to fetch the body, carrying her back to camp to see if anyone recognizes her. She was older, probably in her fifties, with a tattoo under her left eye: a small circle with a thin line zigzagging through the center. She isn’t familiar to anyone, has no personal effects with her besides the clothes on her back, not even a weapon to defend herself with. As her body burns in the bonfire that Savannah had coaxed into roaring while they were gone, Jax turns to Haden.

“Her body was still warm,” he says. “Must’ve got her just before dawn.” 

“Can’t have gotten far before sunrise.”

“Cara found some tracks heading up into the mountains while we were back there. If you don’t mind us staying the night, we’ll see if they lead anywhere interesting.”

Penelope perks up. “Can I come with you?” She’s never been on a proper hunt before, her only experiences with Remnants being more defensive than offensive, but Savannah has told her stories that make her heart race. Her and Haden were supposed to leave for another trip in the morning, but she doesn’t want to pass up an opportunity like this.

“No,” Haden snaps, at the same time Cara smiles at her and says, “Sure.”

Penelope ignores Haden and grins back at Cara. “Great. When do we leave?”

“You’re not going with them,” Haden insists. Penelope can feel him staring, his eyes shooting daggers at the side of her head, but she doesn’t look his way. 

“I hear you’re pretty nasty with a sword,” Liam says, addressing Penelope directly for the first time. She had caught him staring at her a few times already, sideways glances cut short whenever she’d turn her head towards him. While she normally wouldn’t pay him much mind, his attention makes her feel something she can’t quite put her finger on– a cautious excitement, like she’s getting away with something she’s not supposed to. 

“Might be good to have you on our side,” Liam continues. 

Haden glowers at him, and Penelope stands up a bit straighter. He could be useful.

“I’ll get my sword,” she says.

Chapter Text

August. Two Years and Seven Months Before.

“What if it happens to me? If I turn into one of those things?” Penelope follows Haden two steps behind, holding a wide wicker basket as he plucks tomatoes from a vine. “Or what if you do?”

“Were you bitten?” A new report from the lady on the radio had revealed that the infected have progressed from unbridled violence to something worse– hunting. It seems that in true zombie fashion, the mutation spreads through the saliva of the infected, and they’ve now taken to biting their victims. Those who are lucky enough to escape the creatures only find themselves turning into them. It’s all just really grand.

“No.” Penelope adjusts her hold on the basket. It’s not even half full and her biceps are already protesting. “But what if I get bitten? Would you kill me?”

Haden plucks another tomato. “ Have you been bitten?” he repeats.

Penelope rolls her eyes. “No, but–”

“Then you don’t have to worry about it.” He walks back toward her and puts it in the basket. “Come on. We have to finish this row.”

There is work to be done around the farm that, according to Haden, does not have the luxury of being put on hold because of the world ending. The chickens need to be fed and their eggs need to be collected, and the goats– sisters named Susan and Lucy– need to be fed and shown proper attention or else they will scream. The crops must be watered, some of them harvested and stored properly so that they’ll have something to eat in the coming months. Repairs have to be made: the door to the chicken coop is loose, the wood in one of the stables has started to rot, and the barn needs a fresh coat of paint. Haden’s list of projects is never-ending; Penelope’s tolerance for manual labor is not.

Their first week together is a surprise to both of them by not being a complete disaster. Haden wakes with the rise of the sun and knocks on her door, an insistent, unrelenting pounding that he doesn’t cease until Penelope groans and hauls herself out of bed, stumbling into the bathroom with her eyes still shut. He makes eggs and toast, which she eats like a zombie until the coffee kicks in. Affronted by his lack of flavored creamer, she reluctantly chokes it down black. Once her eyes can stay open, Penelope attempts to call her mother, and she pretends not to be disappointed each time the calls go unanswered while Haden pretends not to notice. 

Her duffel bag appears on the third morning. Penelope comes out of the bathroom, rubbing sleep from her eyes, and sees the overstuffed pink canvas sitting on the floor in her room. Her excited shriek startles Killer, who had claimed her bed for his first nap of the morning. She sprints down the stairs, sliding across the landing and into the kitchen, where Haden is scraping eggs, scrambled this time, off the pan and on to two plates.

“You got my bag,” Penelope says excitedly. Haden hands her a plate.

“Anything missing?”

In her excitement, she had not even thought to check. “I don’t know.”

“Go make sure.” 

It’s all there, all of her clothes, her toiletries, her phone. Penelope is thrown by the weight that has been lifted off her chest by the mere presence of her own belongings. Things that are familiar, things that make her feel safe. But despite having access to her own wardrobe again, Penelope makes no move to return Haden’s clothes. There is something about wearing his gigantic shirt and oversized sweatpants that excites her, an intimacy that she does not yet understand. She folds them up and tucks them into her bag so that she can look at them when she’s back home, after all of this madness has ended. A souvenir of this strange, dangerous man.

Despite her poorly hidden apathy for manual labor and her inability to swallow her complaints– normally a Can we take a break? or My hands hurt or Why does this smell so bad? – Penelope makes an effort to be helpful around the farm. She manages to get a splinter on nearly everything she touches and the chickens inexplicably terrify her, but she still holds the bucket of feed as Haden makes his morning rounds, rotates the hay for the goats, plucks the weeds in front of the house. She does this in part because she is grateful that he’s let her stay, and also because there is something thrilling about Haden’s approval. It comes almost exclusively in the form of a sharp nod, an acknowledgement that whatever she did was satisfactory. Perhaps it’s because he is so quick to point out whatever she is doing wrong– tracking mud in the house, not latching the gate the right way, holding her hammer wrong– that his accepting silence means so much. Maybe it’s because some part of her wants to prove to him that saving her wasn’t a mistake, that she can be valuable, that she can be worth his time and attention. 

The radio updates continue each night. Haden washes the dishes from dinner as Penelope tries calling her mom again. Now that she has her phone, she makes her way through nearly every number in her contacts. Most of the calls don’t even go through. Once she gives up for the evening, she dejectedly joins Haden in the living room where they listen to the broadcast together. Updates are bleak, the global situation worsening each day. Hastily thrown together relief efforts are having little to no effect, and certain cities are on track to be wiped out completely. Neither of them attempt to start a conversation about what this steady flow of bad news means for them and their arrangement. 

They don’t talk much at all, really. As the days pass, Penelope grows to hate the silence. It makes her antsy, gives her the slinking feeling that she’s done something wrong. It reminds her of dinners with her mother, the awkward clink of her fork against her plate while her mother sips a glass of wine and taps at her phone. Being reprimanded in class and her friends’ averted gazes. Sitting alone in her grandparents’ house, waiting for someone who never came. Penelope cannot sit in silence, and so she must fill it however she can. Most of the time she talks to Killer, who– to his credit– is likely to give an affirmative boof in response. 

Penelope doesn’t think the silence bothers Haden. She is inclined to believe that if she wasn’t around to pelt him with questions, he might never speak again. To him, the silence seems enjoyable, comfortable. His brow furrows whenever he talks, like communication is an annoyance, an aggravating task to be performed for the benefit of someone else. He uses as little words as possible, not in a way that suggests he does not know many, but in a way that is crafted by efficiency. Every word has a purpose. Penelope has never once heard him use the words “like” or “um”. He rarely initiates a conversation, which is why she is caught off guard one afternoon, while she’s throwing a stick to Killer and he’s cleaning the grime off the grates of the massive brick grill behind the house, he says, “I’m sorry.”

Penelope launches the stick with a grunt and Killer takes off. “What?”

“I’m sorry.” Haden doesn’t look at her, focuses on scrubbing the grill. “When you woke up and tried to run and I… you know. Should’ve handled that better. Shouldn’t have called you dumb.”

Penelope gapes at him. Killer trots back over to them, head held high, proudly showing off his captured stick. 

“Good boy,” Penelope coos, and then: “It’s okay.” Her face is flushed. Her heart is fluttering but she doesn’t know why. Haden turns to look back at her but she focuses on Killer, wrestling the stick from his mouth to throw it again.

“It’s not.”

“Yeah, it is,” she says with a shrug. If she looks at him, he’ll see how red her face is. She’s not used to people apologizing to her. “Who knows where I’d be if you hadn’t, you know? Probably dead. Or worse.”

Haden doesn’t respond. Killer comes back, drops the stick at Penelope’s feet, then rolls onto his back to itch himself on the grass. Penelope scratches his belly, then looks up at Haden. 

“Can we have those burgers again tonight?”

Their thirteenth day together is a bad day. Angry gray clouds cover the sky and the wind whips up a ferocious gale. The threat of a storm makes the air buzz with electricity. Penelope is in a foul mood from the moment she wakes, stomping around, every other word out of her mouth a complaint. None of the clothes she had packed for the summer protect her from the chilling wind, so Haden gives her one of his heavy Carhartt jackets that weighs down her petite frame. Her hands are getting chapped from the wind, so he finds her a pair of gardening gloves. The gloves are too big and they smell like shit, and why does everything here smell like shit? Penelope can see the tightness growing around his eyes, knows that she is pushing him, but she doesn’t care enough to stop. She’s cold, and tired, and she knows she should be grateful to be safe but she hates it here and she hates working and she just wants to be back home. 

“Can you stop acting like such a brat for five minutes?” Haden snaps while they’re out by the southeast fence, repairing a section of chicken wire that’s blown off the wood in the wind. He cuts her off while she is in the middle of whining about how her feet hurt, even though he found her a pair of old boots to wear in the fields so she didn’t ruin her sneakers, and she’s been wearing them every day without protest but is choosing now to complain because she’s in the mood to. “Quicker you quit whining, the quicker we’ll be done.”

Penelope shrinks back at his tone, but her eyes are alight with a glare. “Or you can finish it by yourself and I’ll go back inside now.”

Yell at me. Fight with me. Pay attention to me.

“Fine.” Haden turns back to the fence. “I’m tired of listening to you, anyway.”

His dismissal cuts her worse than a physical blow. She drops the bucket of nails she’s carrying and lets them spill all over the grass. “I’m tired of being around you.”

“So go.”

“I will.”

“Good.”

“ Good! ” She turns on her heel and stomps off, leaving Haden to finish by himself. Killer follows her back to the house, but she knows it’s more out of the hope that she’ll give him a treat rather than loyalty. Penelope storms inside and slams the sliding back door shut so hard it bounces off the frame and slides open again. She lets out a yell, ripping off the heavy jacket, stomping on it with her big, awkward boots. Killer circles her anxiously. 

“I wanna go home!” she yells petulantly into the empty kitchen. “ Ugh! ”

More silence greets her. She gulps in heavy, panting breaths, her heart racing with aggravation. Killer tentatively licks the back of her hand and Penelope softens, sinking to the floor to give him a hug.

“I don’t want to leave you, though,” she murmurs, kissing the side of his nose. “I’d take you with me. You’re a very nice boy.”

They curl up together on the couch, a blanket around Penelope’s shoulders and Killer’s bulk stretched across her lap. With nothing else to do, she starts a game of Tetris on her phone. There is no improvement in cell service on the farm; if anything, it’s a downgrade. At least her grandparents’ had WiFi. Now all she can do is charge her phone and use the few games she had downloaded. 

“How do you go online?” Penelope had asked Haden when she found out, incredulous. They were eating dinner– spaghetti and meatballs with homemade sauce– and she had asked for the WiFi password, and he had all but laughed in her face.

“Library.”

Then, just to tease him a bit: “How do you watch porn?”

As expected, he pulled a face. “Don’t ask me about stuff like that.”

“Why not?” she pushed, biting back a laugh. “It’s not like I don’t know what it is.”

“I don’t care.” He stood up from the table and took his empty plate to the think. “Shouldn’t be talking about that kind of stuff with you.”

Penelope rolled her eyes and took her plate over as well. She thought about telling him about the night at the fair, what she saw. It was only a few weeks ago but felt like a lifetime. He would be mad, that’s for sure. Embarrassed, maybe. Possibly creeped out. But as Penelope thinks about it now, losing a round of Tetris and starting a new round, she thinks that maybe she should tell him. Maybe if he was angry with her, then he’d pay her some kind of attention that isn’t an afterthought. 

She is just starting her twenty-third game in a row when Haden finally comes back. He stomps the mud off his boots on the back porch and then goes right to the kitchen sink to wash his face and hands. Killer abandons his spot on Penelope’s lap and jumps up to greet him. She stands as well, marching into the kitchen with determination, ready to give him a piece of her mind.

Then the phone rings. 

I found this phone on her body last night. I charged it up this morning and saw all the missed calls from this number.

I’m so sorry to be the one to tell you.

She was at a relief station in Georgia. Where are you? Are you nearby?

I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.  

The woman’s words slam around Penelope’s head, making her ears ring. Thunder rumbles above them as the sky breaks and the rain finally starts to fall, a slow pitter-patter on the windows that quickly crescendos into a roaring downpour. She can feel Haden’s gaze boring into the back of her head, but she doesn’t turn around. Instead, hands steady and face blank, Penelope puts the phone back on the jack and walks upstairs. Her door closes behind her with a soft click. It rains for three days straight. Penelope does not come out of her room.

The sun rises into a cloudless sky and shines through the window right onto Penelope’s face. She tugs the blankets over her head and rolls onto her stomach, retreating into the darkness. Her breath is stale, her smell ripe enough to make cowering under the blankets nearly unbearable, but she doesn’t move. The most she has been able to do in days has been to drag herself to the door and grab whatever food Haden has left on the floor for her. He usually leaves her breakfast first thing in the morning, before he goes out into the fields, but she hasn’t heard his footsteps yet. Maybe he’s given up on her, too.

She tosses and turns, trying to fall back into the sweet nothing of sleep, almost succeeding before the thud of footsteps start up the stairs. This time, they don’t pause outside her door. Instead, the door swings open and Penelope has one second to brace herself before Killer launches himself onto the bed. The mattress dips under his weight as he sniffs around, cold wet nose poking under the blankets, until she lifts them up and lets him under with her. The floorboards creak as Haden steps into the doorway.

“Get up,” he says. 

No response.

“Penelope, I mean it.”

Nothing.

“You need to get out of bed.”

She tucks her face into Killer’s fur. “You were right,” she says, her voice muffled. “My mom’s dead.”

Haden crosses the room, crouches next to her bed. “I’m sorry.” A heavy hand rests on her shoulder, over the blankets. “Come on. Wanna show you something.”

Penelope reluctantly rolls over and peeks out from the blankets. Haden has a cup of coffee in his hand, tilts it towards her. She grabs it, the first sip burning her tongue and sending warmth through her chest.

“Have you ever lost someone?” she asks, her voice cracking.

“I’ve lost a lot of people.”

“Does it ever stop hurting?”

Haden shakes his head. “No,” he says. “Just hurts differently after a while.”

Penelope has not left the property since she arrived, but Haden leads her out through the west gate and into the woods. Killer runs ahead of them and disappears into the trees, knowing the way. They follow a well-worn dirt path, two parallel lines carved into the earth by ATV wheels, before veering off onto a foot trail full of low-hanging branches and twisting roots. After almost an hour, they emerge into an overgrown clearing, the grass halfway up Penelope’s shins. In the middle of the clearing stands the dilapidated remains of a barn, and along the right side of the rotting wood there are three sloppily painted bullseyes. 

“Looks haunted,” Penelope grumbles, swatting a mosquito on her arm. 

Haden takes off the backpack he’s been carrying and dumps the contents onto the ground. A dozen thin black knives clatter onto the grass. Killer catches a scent and trots off, nose in the grass. 

“This supposed to make me feel better?” Penelope asks, dubiously eyeing the knives. “Throwing knives at an abandoned building?”

Haden picks one up, twirls it around his fingers, offers it to her. “Yes.”

“What if we anger the ghosts?”

His lips twitch, fighting back a smile. “It’s not haunted.”

“Says you,” Penelope grumbles. She takes the knife, tests the weight of it in her hand. It’s lighter than she thought it would be. There’s a hole in the center of the handle, just wide enough for her to stick two fingers through so she can spin it around. “They’re so tiny.”

“You’re one to talk.” Haden crosses his arms. “Learn to use ‘em and they can do some damage, though. Give it a try.”

Penelope has never been much of a thrower, her aim always off. Years of soccer have trained her to keep her hands down, rely on her feet. The softball unit in gym class was always a nightmare. But Haden is watching her expectantly, so she winds back, hesitates for a second, then lets it fly.

It lands in the grass a few feet in front of the barn.

Her face heats up, and she waits for Haden to scoff at her, roll his eyes and tell her to forget it, but he just steps forward and hands her another knife. “Again.”

This one she throws harder and it makes contact, the handle bouncing off the wood before it disappears into the grass.

“You’re holding on too long,” Haden says. “Let go right after your hand passes your head.”

Penelope keeps trying, blade after blade chipping at the wood. Her seventh one finally sticks, still way outside the bullseye, but it sticks nonetheless. Haden leaves her side and goes to collect the knives in the grass, bringing them back so that she can send them flying again. Her arm starts to ache but she keeps throwing, ignoring the protest of her muscles, ignoring the lump in her throat, the burning in her eyes. Penelope grabs the next knife from the ground and heaves it at the wood. The blade digs into the outer rim of the bullseye, just barely along the line of paint, and she lets out a triumphant cry before sinking to the ground.  

Haden grabs the rest of the knives as Penelope sits in the overgrown grass, knees to her chest, breathing heavily and furiously blinking back tears. Once they’re all zipped into the bag again, he sits down next to her. 

“I’m sorry about your mom.”

Penelope rests her chin on her knees, arms around her shins, staring straight ahead. She’s silent for a long time, and then: “It’s fine.”

Haden turns his head sharply. “What?”

“It’s fine,” she repeats, still not looking at him. 

“Why do you keep saying that?”

Penelope shrugs. “Because it is. It has to be.”

He turns his whole body to face her. “Penelope.” When she doesn’t look at him, he smacks her leg with the back of his hand. She looks up, her honeyed eyes glassy and distant. “It’s okay to be upset.”

“I know.”

“I’m not going to make fun of you or anything.”

“Okay.” She tries for an encouraging smile. “Throwing the knives helped. Really.”

Haden doesn’t look convinced. Penelope turns her gaze to the grass, ripping out the blades one by one. 

“I’ve been wondering what’s worse,” she says after a while, a sizeable circle of dirt plucked out in front of her right foot, “losing someone, or losing the idea of someone.”

Haden doesn’t say anything, waiting for her to continue.

“This whole time, I’ve been thinking about how stupid I was for leaving. I should have stayed put, waited for my mom to come for me. But she was never coming for me. She was found in Georgia. Georgia . She knew where I was. She knew I needed her. But she chose to save herself. It shouldn’t surprise me, but this whole time I was thinking: this time matters. This time she’ll come through.”

Haden frowns. “You’re not stupid.”

Penelope looks up at him. “Yeah, I am.”

“You’re not.” Haden links his fingers together, cracks his knuckles. “Reckless, yeah. But going off like that, trying to find help for yourself. Pretty brave.”

“Yeah, well.” Her cheeks heat up. Killer sniffs along the side of the barn now, occasionally sending a soft “ boof ” their way to let them know he’s found something good. “Look, I’ll find somewhere to go. Somewhere with other survivors. I know that I said–”

“Stay.” Haden’s voice is sharp, firm. He clears his throat. “I mean, you can stay. If you want.”

Thrown off guard, Penelope narrows her eyes, studying him warily. “Really?”

“What, you think I’m gonna send you packing now?” Haden ducks his head, runs a hand through his hair. It’s longer now, the cropped cut she first saw him with now grown out, the tips starting to curl. “But only if you want.”

Penelope bites back a smile, the tension in her shoulders releasing as she looks back down at the dirt. She brushes the loose grass back over it, trying to mask the damage. “I don’t want to be a burden.”

Haden shrugs. “You’re not half bad company for the end of the world.” At her affronted expression, he knocks her shoulder with his. “Come on.”

They get back on their feet and go find Killer, who has busied himself digging out a gopher hole by the treeline. Penelope throws a few more rounds of knives, this time with Haden’s guidance. She adjusts her grip, plants her feet, manages to land a few more in the last ring of the bullseye before he looks up and studies the sun.

“Let’s head back for lunch,” he says, packing the knives away again. 

“Wait,” Penelope says, holding her last one out to him. “I want to see you do it.”

There is a glint in his eyes when he takes the knife, carefully studying the circles before winding back. Her mouth drops open when the knife lands with a satisfying thunk right in the center. 

“Been doing this for a long time,” he says, placating her. “You’ll get there with practice.”

“Do it again,” she says, picking up another. “That was so cool.”

He rolls his eyes good-naturedly, but takes it, and with a flick of his wrist it whistles smoothly through the air. Bullseye. 

Penelope laughs.“I bet you can do it with your eyes closed.”

Haden shakes his head. “No way.”

“Are you kidding? You just got two bullseyes. Throw it the same way, just close your eyes.”

“That’s not how it works,” Haden grumbles, but he closes his eyes anyway, winds back. Throws. Penelope gasps.

Bullseye.

“Holy shit,” she breathes.

Haden stares. “That’s never happened before.”

Penelope turns to him with a cocky grin. “Guess I’m your lucky charm.”

Haden bites back a smile as he goes to retrieve the knives. “Yeah, a real penny from heaven you are.” 

“Can we do this again?” Penelope asks as they walk back, one knife still in her hand. She keeps trying to twirl it through her fingers like he did, stopping every few seconds to pick it up from the ground.

“That’s the only way you’ll get better.”

She smiles. “Can you show me how to like, actually fight with knives, too?”

Haden throws her a stern look over his shoulder. “What makes you think I know how to do that?”

  “I watched you snap a man’s neck with your bare hands. Don’t tell me you don’t know how to fight with knives.”

“You don’t need to know how to do that,” he says, turning back around. “I wish I didn’t.”

“Why do you?” she asks. It’s the wrong question, and he doesn’t answer. They continue on in silence. 

Halfway back, Penelope starts losing speed. The walk to the clearing had been mostly downhill, and so the walk back is an uphill hike, a brutal exercise for her first time out of bed in days. Her thighs shake and a steady stream of sweat trails down the length of her spine. 

“You’re falling behind,” Haden calls to her from up ahead. Penelope groans as she trudges forward.

“I’m tired,” she yells to his back.

“Still gotta keep moving.”

“Give me a minute .”

Haden sighs and turns around. Her hands are on her knees, head hanging between her shoulders. She hears him clomp back towards her. 

“See a penny, pick it up,” he murmurs, “and all day long you’ll have good luck.”

“What are you talking abo– Hey !” Penelope squeaks as Haden crouches down, grabbing her arms and swinging them over his shoulders as he stands. She scrambles to hold onto him, legs wrapping around his waist and hands grasping at his broad shoulders. 

“Don’t get used to this,” he grumbles as he starts walking again. Killer barks at them from up ahead, hurrying them along. 

Penelope lets out a surprised laugh and rests her chin on top of his head. “Already am.” He smells like sweat and sunshine and his cinnamon-scented body wash, and she is surprised by how comforting it is.

“What day is it?” she asks suddenly, just as the fenceline comes into view. 

“Saturday,” Haden answers, hitching her legs up a little higher on his waist. “The fifteenth.”

“Huh.” Penelope says. She clutches his shoulders a little tighter. Yesterday was her fifteenth birthday. She was supposed to be back home this weekend, celebrating at a beach house with her friends, but instead she spent it in bed mourning her dead mother while the world fell to ruin.

“Something special about today?” Haden asks.

“No,” she says softly. “Nothing important.”

Ever since Penelope got the news about her mother, she has felt the weight of Haden’s watchful gaze, waiting for her to break down. He takes her out into the woods again and she flings the knives at the barn until she can’t lift her arm anymore. Her aim still needs work, but they hit the wood every time now, and it leaves her mind blissfully empty. Penelope absorbs each piece of new, awful information from the news broadcasts and files it away, refusing to give it time to marinate. If she lets her feelings simmer, they will eventually boil over, and losing control will not help her now. 

They are walking back from another knife throwing session, her arm hanging heavy at her side, when a question pops into Penelope’s head. 

“Do you know my last name?”

Haden looks over at her, amused. “No.”

Penelope giggles at the absurdity of it all. Living with a man as the world crumbles around them, and they don’t even know each others’ full names.

“Guess.”

Haden rolls his eyes but humors her. “Smith.”

She makes a buzzer sound. “ Eeehh . Next.”

“Johnson.”

“You think my name is Penelope Johnson ?” She makes a face. “I’ll give you a hint. It’s Irish.”

“Callahan. O’Brien.”

“Nope and nope,” she laughs, swinging her hands.

“Alright, Rumpelstiltskin,” he says. “Tell me.”

“Rhys. R-h-y-s.”

“Penelope Rhys,” he says, and she likes the way her name rolls off his tongue, likes the way his deep voice rolls over each syllable. “Suits you.”

“I’d hope so.” She trips over a root but keeps herself upright. “What’s yours?”

“You don’t wanna guess?”

“I feel like you’d say no even if I got it right, just to mess with me.”

Haden grins and looks down at his feet. “Navarro.”

“Navarro,” she tries it out. “It suits you, too.”

Haden is still smiling. “Good to know.”

When the inevitable happens one week later, Penelope is in the shower, one leg shaved smooth and conditioner still settling in her hair. The lights go out with a soft hiss and the bathroom falls into a shade of blue-gray. There is a window next to the toilet and the last minutes of the muted twilight provide Penelope with enough light to finish up and hurry downstairs. Her towel is wrapped like a turban around her hair, soft pajamas clinging to her damp skin, bare feet leaving wet footprints on the wood floor. 

“Do you think it’s out for good?” she asks. Haden is digging through a drawer in the kitchen, pulling out matches and flashlights. Killer is sprawled out in the cool spot in front of the fridge, unperturbed. Penelope stands next to him and rubs his back with her foot. 

“Probably. Surprised it lasted this long.” Haden clicks on a flashlight, tests its brightness at the ceiling, then hands it to her. “We’ll get up early tomorrow, get the chores done before we leave.”

“Leave?” 

“Gotta get some supplies. You wanna stay behind?”

Penelope quickly shakes her head. Though the idea of going back out into the world makes her uneasy, the thought of Haden leaving her here alone, and possibly never coming back, is worse. “Where are we gonna go?”

“Grocery stores, hardware stores. Gotta salvage what we can.”

Penelope clicks on her flashlight and holds it under her chin, illuminating her face like she’s about to tell a ghost story. “So we’re going to steal?”

“We’re going to repurpose.” Haden tugs on the end of her toweled hair as he walks past her into the living room. “Enjoy your showers while you can. They’ll be the next to go.”

“Wait, what?” Penelope follows him. The fans have only been stopped for a few minutes, but the air in the room is already thick and uncomfortably warm. How long will the generator be able to combat the end of summer’s oppressive heat?

“The water’s gonna run out, too.”

“But water isn’t run by electricity.”

“The pumps that move the water are.” Haden chuckles at Penelope’s pained expression. “There’s a river not too far from here. We’ll be alright.”

“Oh my God .”

They find the first set of bodies in early September. They’re at a Lowe’s about an hour’s drive from the farm, peeling open the automatic doors when they see the blood streaked on the floor. The bodies are scattered, some in pieces, one man’s intestines spread out around him. A little boy, no older than five or six, is sprawled out next to his severed arm. 

“Fuck,” Haden breathes, scrubbing a hand over his face. The smell is rancid, and Penelope gags before she even fully takes in the scene around her. Haden drags her outside and she curls over and vomits, just barely missing his feet. He pats her back twice, waits for her to right herself and wipe her mouth. Her face burns with shame but he does not comment on her reaction, just moves her a few paces away and has her sit on the curb.

“Wait out here,” he says gently. “Killer, stay.”

The dog takes a dutiful seat next to her, and Penelope moves away from her pile of vomit and sits against the side of the building. It’s a scorching hot day, and the heat does nothing to help settle her stomach. Penelope is not totally ignorant; they’ve encountered a few bodies before, but never like this. Mutilated, rotting. She normally doesn’t even see the bodies at all. Haden spots them first, then steers her in the opposite direction so he can take care of them. 

He’s in the store for a while, and the longer Penelope sits outside, the more she worries that he’s never going to come out. He has his gun– four bullets left, after taking care of Ed and Mickey– and has taken to carrying around the hatchet that he uses to chop wood. Penelope’s knife is in her back pocket. They should try to find another gun, or at least more bullets. Her mind whirls with the possibilities, of the creatures lurking in the shadows, jumping out at him and taking him away, leaving her all alone. They have yet to make it onto the farm, and so she’s never seen one face-to-face. Part of her is curious to see what they look like once the mutations occur, and another part of her is petrified, now that she’s seen firsthand the carnage they can cause.

Finally Haden reappears, breathing a little heavy, the neck of his light blue t-shirt damp with sweat. 

“Come on,” he says. She holds her breath as she walks inside. The blood is still streaked on the floor, but the bodies are gone. She doesn’t ask what he did with them, just keeps her head down and grabs whatever he tells her to. They take cleaning supplies, paper towels, nails and screws, some weird looking tools that Penelope doesn’t know the name of. She finds two packages of water bottles stashed behind a row of boxes containing oscillating fans.

“Someone must have hidden them for a reason,” she says as Haden stacks up on top of each other and lifts them up with ease. “What if they come back?”

“Finders, keepers.”

“What if they really needed them?”

Haden sighs. “It doesn’t look like anyone’s been in here for a while. Whoever hid them is probably dead or worse.”

“What if someone else comes looking for water?”

“Then they can look somewhere else.”

Penelope crosses her arms and glares at him. Haden meets her gaze, unimpressed. She doesn’t budge.

“You’re going to regret being so selfless when we’re dying of thirst,” he tells her, finally relenting and putting one case back on the ground.

“There’s a river not too far away,” she says, parroting his own words back to him with a satisfied smirk. “We’ll be alright.”

Some stores look like war zones, shelves knocked over and rotting food scattered all over the floor. Others are untouched, fully stocked, ready to open for business. They spend weeks picking through every place they can get into, piling whatever supplies and non-perishables they can into the back of the truck. Penelope stocks up on enough pads and tampons to last her at least a year, and Haden is surprisingly concerned with getting enough dental hygiene supplies.

“Not gonna be a whole lot of dentists to choose from anymore,” he says as they leave a Dollar Tree one afternoon, frowning because there wasn’t any floss to be found. “Never had a cavity in my life and I’m not planning to start now.”

Penelope runs her tongue over her teeth. Her braces were taken off last summer, just in time for the first day of high school, and she shudders when she imagines how awful it would be to have them stuck on indefinitely. 

Ever since that day in Lowe’s, they follow an unspoken rule: they never take the last of anything, in case someone else comes along after them who might need it more than they do. They store their findings in Haden’s basement, a giant space that spans the entire floor plan and it’s the creepiest place Penelope has ever seen. She refuses to set foot down there alone. Dingy, uncovered lightbulbs, cement floors, a dusty pool table with a rip right down the middle. Lots of dark corners and unexplained noises. They dust most of the cobwebs away and haul their supplies down there for storage. 

They try to get as much fuel as they can, too, for the truck and the generator. The latter is stored in the garage, which Haden had previously been using as a home gym. There are dumbbells, a squat rack, a punching bag hanging from the ceiling, and a power tower that Penelope likes to swing on and even though Haden tells her not to. She can manage four pull-ups before her arms give out. The generator is used sparingly, normally for only a few hours at night, which is when they do their laundry and Penelope charges her phone. She’s given up on her phone calls, but she can still listen to her music and play the games she has downloaded. They try to conserve power for what they really need, like the refrigerator and the fans to combat the heat– the AC would use too much energy– and so they keep the lights off and have taken to lighting candles in the evening. 

Her room starts to come together, too. Penelope hangs her clothes in the closet, finds curtains for her window, a standing mirror to put in the corner. She finds a black and white silhouette painting of a nude woman in a boutique in town and hangs it above her bed. She still wakes up every morning and has to remember where she is and what has happened, but making her space feel a little more like hers makes things a bit easier. 

“Who’s a big baby?” Penelope coos to Killer one night after dinner. She had curled into the armchair to read one of the books she had pulled out of the massive bookcase, something called The Golden Compass . She had barely gotten through the first page before Killer had attempted to climb into her lap. “Who’s a big, fluffy baby?”

Haden comes in from outside, where he had been changing one of the truck’s tires, and looks at them disapprovingly. “What have you done to my dog?”

Killer grumbles and paws at Penelope’s arm, urging her to continue scratching his ears. She obliges, making a face at Haden. “You’re just jealous because he likes me more.”

“He does not.”

“Does to.”

“You just give him extra food.”

“He deserves it.”

“Killer,” Haden commands sharply. “Come.” The dog leaps off of Penelope’s lap immediately, trotting over to sit at Haden’s feet and look up at him expectantly. Haden arches an eyebrow at Penelope. She scoffs.

“That doesn’t mean he likes you more, he’s just a good listener.”

“Whatever you need to tell yourself,” Haden says, starting for the stairs.

Penelope follows him. “You know, I’ve been thinking–”

“Oh, no.”

“–I’ve been thinking ,” she continues, “where is your family? Do you know what happened to them?”

Haden moves into his room, and Penelope hesitates for a second before stepping into the doorway. She hasn’t been in his room before, and is surprised to see that it’s warmer than she would have expected. She envisioned it as sparse and utilitarian as her room had once been, but he has another stuffed bookcase shoved against the wall, some knick knacks spilling over his dresser and onto the desk fitted under the window. His comforter is a light blue and he has a thick woolen blanket folded neatly by his pillows.

“Been a long time since I’ve talked to my family,” he says, turning his back to her and pulling a fresh shirt from his dresser.

“Because you went to prison?”

He opens another drawer and takes out a pair of sweatpants. “That’s part of it.”

“What’s the other part?”

“None of your business,” Haden says, turning back around. His tone is not unkind, but it’s stern enough that Penelope can tell he doesn’t want her to push it. “I need to get changed.”

She steps back, just far enough so that he can close the door, but doesn’t leave. “Do you think they’re looking for you?” she calls through the door. “After everything that’s happened?”

Haden is silent for a beat, and all Penelope can hear is the soft whoosh of fabric. “I hope not,” he finally says. When he opens the door again, his jaw is tight and his eyes hold a sadness she hasn’t seen in them before. “If they’re even still alive, I hope not.”

Chapter Text

The truck skids to a stop in front of a pool of blood, sticky and drying in the sun. Killer bounds out of the truck and follows the trail, finding a man slumped in the patchy grass on the shoulder of the road. He has copper hair and a freckled face, his throat and stomach ripped open, his eyes wide and unseeing. Black veins are already starting to creep up his throat. Haden gives him a cursory glance, just enough to make sure he’s dead, before moving on towards the next figure sprawled out on the grass, closer to the treeline. 

“Wait.” Niko crouches down beside the body. “Look.” The left side of the man’s face had been pressed to the ground, and Niko tilts it upwards, exposing the marking on his cheek.

Haden’s jaw clicks. “They’ve been watching us.” His grip on the blade in his hand tightens. “They were watching her . For days.”

“Did anything happen on your last trip?” Niko asks.

“No. We never even saw anyone.”

“That doesn’t mean that someone couldn’t have seen you.”

The second man has a potbelly and a bald spot, and when Haden flips him over they can see that his throat has been cut, a bloodied knife still curled in his hand. His entrails are in a similar state to the other man’s, half eaten and strewn around him, but there are no black veins to be found. He must have killed himself just in time. The marking on his face is the same as the others.

“Do you think–” Niko cuts off when he hears Haden’s sharp inhale. He turns to see another figure slumped against the base of a tree a few yards into the woods. The body is petite, its back to them, with long blonde hair stained red. His stomach twists.

“Don’t,” he warns, holding out an arm to stop Haden from approaching her. His friend strains against his hold, bloodshot eyes wide and panicked. “Haden, don’t. Let me look.”

“I have to see–”

“If it’s her,” Niko says, the words choking him, “if it’s her, you don’t want to see.”

He knows it’s a futile resistance. If it really is her, Haden is going to see her anyway. But Niko can’t stomach the thought of watching Haden run over to her body, seeing the last bit of his hope drain away. 

“It’s not...it’s not her.” Haden’s voice is unsure, like he’s trying to convince himself. He swallows thickly and steps back, allowing Niko to walk forward. “Her hair’s longer. It can’t be her.”

Niko’s heart races as he creeps toward the girl. Rivers of blood stain her neck, the side of her skull crushed in against the tree. With a trembling hand, Niko grabs her shoulder and pulls her back. The first thing he registers is the black veins running up her throat and throughout her exposed chest. The second is her face. He sighs heavily and shakes his head, turning back to Haden.

“It’s not her.”

Haden sags in relief, sinking down and resting his back against a tree. He rests his elbows on his knees and scrubs a hand over his face. His solace is brief, the comfort brought by the knowledge that the body isn’t hers quickly replaced by the sickly feeling of despair. They had been following the wrong people, and now they were truly at a loss. Penelope is still out there, even further away before. They have no leads. He’s lost her all over again.

“I shouldn’t have left,” Haden croaks. “If I had been there–”

“I’m not even going to let you finish that sentence,” Niko snaps. “It’s not going to do you or her any good.”

Haden closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He thinks back to all the times they’ve been alone together. All the long drives, the cold nights, the moments where the sun shone so brightly in her eyes that it made her sneeze and the times she laughed so hard she came down with the hiccups. Every time she’s asked him about driving off, just the two of them, and living a life on the road. Making a home wherever they can and exploring what’s left of the world together. She wanted to see the beach again. He thinks about every time he’s told her no when all he wanted to do was say yes. 

They’re going to find her. He’s going to find her. There is no other option– their lives aren’t finished yet. There is still so much he has left to give her. 

Haden stands, cracking his neck and squaring his shoulders. Niko looks at him expectantly.

“What’s the plan?”

“We go back to the start of the trail,” He says, slipping his lighter out of his pocket. “There has to be something we missed somewhere.”

They group the bodies together on the pavement and let them burn. Niko drives this time, insisting that Haden at least try to rest, that he’s no good to Penelope if he’s delirious. Haden begrudgingly leans back against the headrest, intending to just close his eyes for a bit, but he finds himself gasping awake a while later when Niko shakes his arm.

“Look, up to the left,” Niko says. There, in the distance, is what looks like two women on horseback. They speed up and approach them. Each woman has a large backpack strapped to her back, their horses nearly identical, dapple-gray with jet black manes and additional bags strapped to their saddles. They stop when they see the truck approaching and Niko pulls over next to them.

Haden jumps out and crosses the front of the car. “We’re looking for someone,” he starts, wasting no time on pleasantries. “Have you seen–”

“Oh,” the taller woman says, unsurprised, like she was expecting them. She looks to be in her mid-forties, as is her companion. Her teeth gleam brightly against her skin, as rich as the midnight sky, and her hair is twisted in Bantu knots at the top of her head. She looks Haden up and down with a knowing smile. “You must be Haden.”

Chapter Text

October. Two Years and Five Months Before.

There are some moments when a person hears a sound that is unlike anything they have ever heard before, and even though they are unable to see what or where the sound is coming from, they still know, by some innate form of reasoning, exactly what it is. These types of sounds rarely preface a positive experience, and those moments are rarely forgotten. 

The screech is distorted and shrill, tunneling in through Penelope’s ears and yanking her up by her spine before her eyes are fully open. She stumbles out into the hallway just as Haden does, and he throws her a curt “Stay here,” before she can say anything. He takes the stairs two at a time, Killer right behind him. Penelope leans down over the railing as she shoves his feet into his boots.

“What are you gonna do?” she asks.

He checks the bullets in his gun. Four left now, after saving her. He points up at her, standing in her pajamas at the top of the stairs. “Don’t follow me.”

Penelope follows him.

She waits a bit, at first. Takes a seat on the top step and lets him slip out the door into the night. Killer paces in front of the threshold, ears pulled back and the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. Every few seconds he lets out a low growl. Penelope’s knees bounce with nervous energy. She hopes it’s a bear, or a wolf, or some other kind of predator that lurks in the mountains, but deep down she knows. Maybe it’s morbid curiosity, maybe it’s her discomfort with being left alone, maybe it’s a secret desire for a thrill, but she can’t sit around and wait, not seeing for herself what is out there. So she slips on her sneakers and follows him out the door.

“What did I say?” Haden snaps when he turns and sees her and Killer sneaking across the grass. He is pressed along the side of the barn, flashlight in one hand and his gun in the other. “Get back inside.”

“You can’t expect me to just sit there and wait.”

“Penelope.”

“I’m not going to le–”

The wall of the barn shudders as something crashes into it from the inside, and that awful screech echoes through the air again. Penelope has to clap her hands over her ears and Haden tucks her behind him, dragging them a few feet back. 

The barn has been empty for a while, since Haden’s uncle sold all of his livestock when he got sick. Haden’s plans to refurbish and repopulate the barn were put on hold by the world ending. Thankfully, Susan and Lucy are kept in a small pen by the chicken coop, so they are out of harm’s way. But the unfortunate part about the barn being empty is that they keep the doors open, so whatever is crashing around inside could turn around and come running out at them at any moment.

“I’m gonna take a look.” Haden glances at her over his shoulder. “If it sounds like it’s going bad, run.”

“What about you?”

“Don’t worry about me. Take Killer and lock yourselves inside.”

“But I–”

“Do as I say.”

He leaves her and strides forward, no hesitation in his steps, flashlight up by his ears and gun tight in his hand. Killer stays back, looking anxious as Haden turns into the barn, but parking himself firmly in front of Penelope, not letting her move forward. She bites her lip and threads her fingers into Killer’s thick fur. 

The fast-talking woman on the radio had been replaced by a man with a thick southern accent. The last broadcast had happened a few weeks ago, and Penelope didn’t think they’d be getting another one. 

“If you come into contact with one of the infected, you must remember that they are no longer people,” the man had said. “Do not make the mistake of thinking of them as your friends, your family. That person is gone. There is no hope for them anymore. Remnants, that’s all they are. Just remnants of the people they once were. Do not let your compassion fool you into becoming a victim.”

More scuffling noises come from inside the barn, then Haden’s sharp inhale. “Jesus Christ.”

He carefully backs out of the barn, not taking his eyes off the inside. The flashlight is trained forward but Haden flicks the gun in Penelope’s direction, motioning towards the barn door. It’s a gigantic sliding contraption, and she doubts that she can manage it by herself, but she heads toward it anyway. Killer stays at her side, a low growl rumbling in his chest as she throws all her weight against the door and attempts to push it closed. It slides slowly across the track, and she doesn’t know if she can make it all the way, but Haden’s encouraging nod helps her keep going. Once it’s nearly all the way closed, he leaps to her side and gives it a shove. The door slams closed and he swiftly latches the lock before grabbing her elbow and dragging her back. There is a crash against the door from the inside, followed by some hissing and snarling, and Killer barks in retaliation.

“Did you see it?” Penelope asks. He hasn’t let go of her elbow, his fingers tight enough to bruise.

“Yes.” Haden is still staring at the barn, brows furrowed, jaw tight. “There’s something wrong with it.”

“Well, yeah. That’s, like, the whole thing. It’s a zombie.”

“No, it doesn’t… Zombies still look human. This thing doesn’t. It’s eyes were…” He shakes his head, starts leading her back to the house. “We’ll leave it in there for the night, figure out what to do about it in the morning.”

They make it only a few paces before the side of the barn bursts open, the wood splintering into the grass as a figure lurches out at them. It hits the ground but rolls to its feet, moving quicker than Penelope has ever seen a human move before. Haden shoves her forward and swings the gun around, burying a bullet in its throat. But it barely stumbles with the impact and doesn’t stop, lunging at Haden and sending both of them to the ground, Haden pinned beneath it. He abandons the gun in favor of gripping the flashlight with both hands, shoving it into the creature’s mouth to ward off a bite. It’s hands claw wildy at the dirt around them as Haden struggles to overturn it. Killer is barking and snarling, biting on the ankle of the thing and trying to drag it off. Penelope is still sprawled on the ground from where Haden pushed her, and she quickly scrambles to her feet. 

“Get out of here!” Haden says, struggling, but she won’t leave him. Can’t leave him. She can’t be on her own. It’s too dark to see anything too clearly, and she struggles to find the gun by the light of the moon. “Penelope, go !”

 She’s taking too long. Then she spots a shovel, propped up against the house, where she left it that afternoon when they were done gardening.

“That’s not where it goes,” Haden had said, but she was too tired to bring it back to the shed, and they were just going to use it again in the morning. Penelope grabs it and races back to Haden, hopes she doesn’t miss, and swings. The metal cracks against the creature’s head, and that’s all that Haden needs to roll over and lodge an elbow in its throat, pinning it to the ground. His right arm reaches out, grabs the gun, and then there’s a bullet between its eyes. It stills immediately.

There’s blood on Haden’s shirt when he stands, and Penelope still has a white-knuckled grip on the shovel. He peels it out of her hands and tosses it to the side.

“You alright?”

“Yeah.” She can’t take her eyes off the creature. “I didn’t expect it to look like that .”

It was a woman– a girl. Maybe a few years older than her. Her hair was falling out in patches, skin so pale Penelope can trace the lines of her veins. Her teeth are pointed, gums shredded like the teeth ripped them open. A thick, black ooze is dripping from her tear ducts. Her irises are a bloody red, sclera yellow and bloodshot. Her eyes are the most disturbing. Even lifeless, they almost glow. 

“We’ve gotta burn it.” Haden shoves his gun into his waistband. “You take the ankles.”

She blanches. “Why can’t we do it here?”

“In the middle of the grass? You wanna burn down the whole farm?”

Penelope crosses her arms. “I don’t wanna touch it.” 

Haden shoots her a don’t make me ask again look, and she reluctantly drags her sleeves down over her hands and takes it by the ankles. Haden grabs its arms and they drag it over to the bonfire pit. Penelope makes a note to burn her pajamas in the morning, too. 

“We’ve been reckless,” Haden says as they watch the body burn. “Too comfortable. There could have been more than one. We don’t have enough protection.”

“Do you think more are gonna come?”

“Yes,” he says somberly. “This is only the beginning.”

 Haden looks down at her. From his pocket he pulls out a small knife with a wooden handle and a curved blade. Penelope recognizes it immediately. It was the one Mickey used on her, the one Haden took after he killed him. “I’ll figure out something better soon, but for now, keep this with you. Don’t ever let me catch you without it.”

It’s different from the throwing knives– heavier, unbalanced. She runs her thumb over the blunt edge of the curved blade, remembering how Mickey had dragged it across her face. The creature hadn’t even flinched at a bullet to the throat, what good was this going to do?

“How is this gonna help me?” she asks, her throat tight, suddenly feeling more vulnerable than she had when the creature was still alive. If she ever had to face one of those things alone, she’d have no chance.

Haden faces her, crouching a little bit so that they’re face-to-face. “Hey, look at me.” She still has her head down, staring at the knife. He puts his hand on the back of her neck, gripping the base of her skull. “Penny, look at me.”

Her eyes snap up. No one’s ever called her that before. No one’s ever called her any kind of nickname before, actually. If anyone else had said it, she would have snapped at them for making her sound like a little kid, but there’s something about the gentle way Haden says it that sends a shiver down her spine. He says it gently, the way someone would say honey or sweetheart , and it’s the softest she’s ever heard him speak. 

“I’m gonna keep you safe,” he says. “But you have to do as I say. You saved my ass tonight, but it was risky. If that hadn’t worked, we’d both be dead. So you gotta promise me that from here on out, you’ll listen to what I say.”

Haden is a dangerous man. Or at least, that’s what she thought of him at first. He probably still is, but the thought doesn’t bother her anymore. If anything, it makes her feel safer. He’s gruff and distant, doesn’t share anything about himself that Penelope doesn’t pry out of him first, but any uncertainty she might have initially felt about him has since faded over the last few months. He has made her food, given her clothes, shared his home. Carried her when she was tired, given her a nickname. Kept her safe at every turn. He might be a dangerous man, but he’s a good man, too. Penelope trusts him, and so she nods. 

“Okay,” Penelope says softly. “I promise.”

Haden gives her a gentle smile. “Okay.” His hand slips to cup her cheek for the quickest of seconds, just a bit of warmth and then it’s gone, shoved back into his pockets. “Go back to bed. I’ll take care of this.”

Penelope looks at the burning corpse. The smell is starting to get to her, so she nods and heads back inside. She tosses restlessly, listening to the crackling embers fade, the eventual thud of Haden’s footsteps when he comes back inside. Killer curls up at the foot of her bed, sensing her unease. Even though she is exhausted, she cannot fall back to sleep until the sun starts to rise again. 

Winter comes quick. The house keeps the heat pretty well, as long as the fireplace is always burning. They started rummaging through houses in the fall, going street by street, mainly with the goal of getting Penelope enough clothes to last through the winter, but checking for survivors, too. They spent a lot of time burning bodies instead. The running water stopped mid-October. They fill buckets with river water in order to flush the toilet, but showers are a thing of the past. It’s an exceptionally chilly morning in February when a scream echoes through the trees. The sun’s orange light is just starting to spill over a fresh coat of snow. Haden is chopping wood outside and Penelope is lugging in buckets of snow to melt in front of the fire so she can take a bath before bed. Killer is upstairs, asleep in her bed for his post-breakfast nap.

She darts outside, peering out towards the treeline when she sees a figure moving, running out of the woods and across the fields. They’re movements are jerky, clearly injured. Slow enough to still be human. 

“Wait here,” Haden tells her, rushing forward. She ignores him and runs out into the snow after him. She’s not wearing shoes, her socks quickly turning damp and toes immediately protesting the cold. 

“Please! Help me!” It’s a woman, favoring her right leg, her left arm clutched to her chest and dripping blood behind her. The first living person that they’ve seen in months. “ Please. ” Her lips are nearly blue, her face bruised and scraped up. She’s wearing just a t-shirt and jeans, clearly freezing. 

Haden immediately shoulders her weight and starts leading her back to the house. “What happened?”

“We thought it would be safe,” the woman says, voice shrill, eyes darting around. “We thought it was empty, but they found us. They were everywhere.” She makes a pained sound. “Everyone ran. I got separated from my sister. I need to go find her.”

Penelope hovers next to them. “We’ll help you,” she says, trying to keep her voice soothing. “What’s your name?”

“I–I need to find my sister.”

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Penelope says. “We’ll help you find your sister. What’s your name?”

The woman takes a shuddering breath. “Mina. Mina Sawicki.”

“Hi, Mina Sawicki.” Penelope smiles and Mina manages a weak smile back. “I’m Penelope. You’re gonna be okay.”

“Am I?” They stumble onto the back porch and Mina leans against the railing, catching her breath. She holds up her left arm, exposing the bite marks just above her wrist, the veins around the wound turning black. The skin is hanging loose, exposing the muscle underneath. Penelope’s eyes widen. 

“Oh, shit,” she murmurs. 

“I can feel it,” Mina whimpers. “I can feel it spreading. It–it burns.”

Penelope looks to Haden, who is staring at Mina’s wound with a grim expression. When he looks up and meets the woman’s eyes, his gaze flits over her shoulder and Mina cranes her head around to follow it. She grits her teeth and nods. 

Haden touches Penelope’s arm. “Go wait inside.”

“What? Why?” She looks between the two of them, then she follows their gaze to the woodpile. The tree stump where Haden had left the hatchet. “Oh...oh my God.”

“ Go , Penelope.”

“You can’t– that’s not– is that even gonna work?” Penelope says, her voice cracking a bit. Her heart starts thundering in her chest. 

“We’ll find out,” Mina says. She takes a deep breath and attempts a smile. “It’s okay, honey. Go inside.”

“No, no, you can’t–” Penelope stammers. Haden steers her back inside the house and she sinks numbly into the couch. She watches as he brings the hatchet inside and sticks it into the fireplace, burying the blade in the burning coals. 

“What if it doesn’t work?” she squeaks. Her throat is tight, her stomach churning. 

“Still got two bullets left.” 

Jesus Christ. Penelope is no longer a stranger to dead bodies, but she doesn’t want this woman to be added to the list of lifeless faces burned in her mind. Not someone she’s talked to, smiled at. Someone who seems so nice, someone who has family she is trying to get back to.

Haden lifts the hatchet from the fire. The edge of the blade is shining with a dull orange glow. He walks back outside and Penelope waits, her rapid heartbeat keeping tempo as the silence stretches, her nails digging into the fabric of the couch and then–

A dull thud.

Mina’s scream. 

Penelope stumbles into the kitchen and throws up into the sink. She retches as the scream echoes in her ears, then slowly slides to the ground. Resting her back against the cabinets, she shakily wipes her mouth. There’s another sound she can’t place, some sort of high-pitched wheezing. It takes her a second to realize that it’s her, and she clamps a hand over her mouth to stifle the noise. It doesn’t work, and soon her shoulders are shaking and her eyes are watering and she can’t seem to catch a breath. Everything crashes down on her at once, every awful thing that she had been pushing down since the beginning– the world ending, her mother’s death, every body they’ve had to burn over the last few months. Penelope lets it all wash over her as she curls into a ball on the kitchen floor, holding herself as she sobs. 

Mina spends two days on the couch, in and out of consciousness, her fever spiking intermittently. She tries talking between fits of delirium, but her words are slurred and nonsensical. Penelope and Haden keep her under constant watch, changing the bandages on her arm and checking to make sure no dark veins have spread. Her first look at the wound makes Penelope squeamish, the smell of singed skin still fresh. The cauterization saved them from having to deal with excessive bleeding, but the risk of infection is still high. She swallows her discomfort and listens to Haden as she shows her how to properly dress the wound.

On the third day, Mina wakes.  

Penelope has been watching her all morning, sitting on the floor with Killer and reading The Scarlet Letter . It had been her assigned summer reading for her English class, but it had remained at the bottom of her duffel back until she finally decided to crack it open the week before.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Penelope says as Mina tries to sit up and look around with bleary, red-rimmed eyes. “You’re okay.”

Mina flinches away when Penelope comes to her side, slowly looking over the whole room, trying to get her bearings. She reminds Penelope of the videos she had seen of people waking up from anesthesia after surgery, all doped up and unsure of who they are. 

“You’re okay,” Penelope repeats softly. She doesn’t try to move any closer, waiting for Mina to say something. They have been giving her ibuprofen whenever they changed her bandages, hoping it would help offset the pain. Penelope had managed to sneak two pills into Mina’s mouth that morning and get her to swallow a few mouthfuls of water, but whatever good the medicine would have done is probably wearing off by now. 

“You’re Penelope,” Mina eventually croaks out. “Right?”

“Right.” Penelope smiles encouragingly. “Do you remember what happened?”

Mina licks her lips. They’re dry and cracked, and her bottom lip is peeling. “If I look down, is my hand going to be there?”

Penelope shakes her head. “I’m so sorry.”

Mina takes a deep breath and looks down, the stump of her arm resting on her lap, severed just below her elbow. Her lower lip trembles as she runs her fingers over the bandages. Penelope is unsure of what to do. She wants to yell for Haden, who is somewhere outside, but she somehow doesn’t think it’s right to interrupt Mina’s silence. The woman eventually crumbles, curling in on herself and letting out a strangled sob. Penelope moves closer and puts a hand on Mina’s back. When she doesn’t flinch away, Penelope presses up against her side, wrapping an arm around Mina’s shoulders and holding her as she cries. 

When Mina finally looks up, she tries to wipe her eyes with both hands, only to devolve into a fresh set of tears once more. 

“How long have I been out?” she sniffles.

“Three days.”

“ Three days? ” Mina looks stricken. “I have to leave. I have to find Stacey.”

“You can’t do anything yet.” They both jump at Haden’s voice. He’s standing in the entryway to the kitchen, a fresh dusting of white powder on his shoulders “It’s snowing again, coming down fast.”

“I’m from Vermont, the snow doesn’t bother me.”

“And you gotta let that heal,” Haden continues, nodding at her arm. “It’ll be a few weeks until you can go without bandages.”

“I don’t have a few weeks.” Mina stands on shaky legs. “She’s out there now. She could be in danger.”

“How can you save her if you die of hypothermia first?”

“Why don’t you have something to eat,” Penelope says, trying to soften the blow of Haden’s bluntness. “You must be hungry.”

Mina pauses. Penelope can almost see the gears turning behind her eyes. They’ve only managed to get her to drink a little bit of water the past few days– she must be ravenous. 

“Fine.”

They eat– a fried egg over a sliced tomato on toast– and Penelope brings Mina some more ibuprofen, which she quickly swallows.

“Thank you,” she says, wiping a piece of egg yolk from the corner of her mouth. She seems a little calmer now, with a full stomach and a chance to wrap her head around things. “Seriously. Thank you. Both of you.” Mina looks down at her arm with watery eyes. “I can’t believe that worked.”

“Me either,” Haden concedes. “It was a good idea. Took a lot of guts.”

Penelope bristles at his statement. She agrees, but is thrown by how quickly he gives a compliment to this stranger. She studies Mina more closely. Even in dirty clothes and sporting a sickly pallor, she is probably the most beautiful woman Penelope has ever seen. Rich umber skin, a small gold hoop fitted in her septum, teeth sparkling white and perfectly straight. Long black hair twisted into intricate cornrows, a single dimple in her left cheek. Her bright amber eyes are curious and alert now, catching Penelope’s stare.

Penelope looks down at her food, a knot in her stomach, pushing the rest of her toast around her plate.

Haden nudges her knee with his foot. “Eat up.” 

She always clears her plate. They can’t afford to waste.

Haden leaves that afternoon and comes back an hour later with a bed– frame, boxspring, and all, taken from some empty house in the area. The snow is coming down in earnest now, a few inches already compacted on top of the existing layer on the ground. It helps solidify Mina’s decision to stay with them for a little while, to take the time to adjust to her new level of mobility. Penelope can tell that staying put is driving her crazy, but she can’t exactly traipse through the mountains and search for her sister when the snow is well on its way to piling up waist-high. And even if she wanted to stick to the main roads, it’s not like anyone is out plowing the streets anymore. 

“You can sleep in my room,” Penelope announces as Haden maneuvers the mattress inside and up the stairs.

“I don’t want to encroach on your space,” Mina says. “The couch is fine.”

“Absolutely not,” Penelope insists. “That couch sucks. You deserve to be comfortable.”

“What’s wrong with the couch?” Haden calls from upstairs. 

“It’ll be like a sleepover,” Penelope continues, ignoring him. Mina smiles.

It is. She loans Mina some clothes–  they’re a little small, since Penelope is at least five inches shorter than Mina, and the woman has curves that Penelope can only dream of, but they work. Penelope devotes herself to the task of helping Mina acclimate to life with one hand, and even though she fears she might be hovering, perhaps a little too eager to spend time with this new person, Mina never snaps or pushes her away. She asks Penelope questions about her life and, unlike Haden, doesn’t hesitate to share stories of her own. 

“I was supposed to study law at Cornell,” Mina tells her on their first night as roommates. “Stacey came up with me to help me look for an apartment. She just told our dads that she wasn’t going to go to Columbia like she had planned, she was going to try to make it as a singer instead. And she’s good. Really good. She probably could’ve made it. And it’s not like they weren’t supportive, they just worried about her sacrificing stability for a dream, you know?”

Over breakfast the next morning. “There were about fifteen of us at the hotel. We tried to ration everything as long as we could, but we ran out of food and knew we had to find somewhere else to go. We found this abandoned town– though everything is abandoned now, isn’t it? God. Anyway, this town had a church right down the road from a grocery store, so figured it was our best bet. Got all settled in, planned to go through the store in the morning and see what we could find, but in the middle of the night I woke up to this awful scream. They were everywhere. More than I had ever seen. More than us.”

Relearning how to tie her shoelaces. “Our dads were in Miami on vacation when the outbreak happened. Last I heard from them, they were trying to get back up north. I know I should assume the worst at this point, but I don’t know, I still have some hope.”

“I still think about my grandparents sometimes,” Penelope admits. “I was staying with them when everything happened. They left to go to the store and just...never came back.”

“That’s awful,” Mina says sympathetically. “I’m so sorry.”

Penelope shrugs. “I wasn’t close with them, but I wonder if they’re still alive. And if they are, I wonder if they’re thinking about me.”

“If they’re still out there, I’m sure they are.” She’s silent for a bit, and then. “What’s Haden to you? Your brother?”

Penelope snorts. “Yeah, there’s a real family resemblance there.”

“You don’t have to look alike to be family,” Mina says. “Stacey is Vietnamese. We’re both adopted.”

“Oh.” Penelope flushes and averts her gaze. “You’re right. I’m sorry, I didn’t think–”

“It’s fine,” Mina says breezily. “So, Haden’s not your brother. Who is he?”

Penelope contemplates it. “A friend,” she decides, though it doesn’t feel quite right. “He saved me. Let me stay here.”

“Huh.” Mina doesn’t say anything else. There’s something about her tone that piques Penelope’s curiosity, but she doesn’t know what it is. 

She doesn’t find out until nearly two weeks later, as they both lie awake in the dark. The snow has melted considerably and Mina had announced over dinner that she was leaving in the morning. Penelope was disappointed, not ready to say goodbye to her new friend. She had gone through the rest of the evening sullen and moody.

“Hey, Penelope?” Mina whispers.

“Yeah?”

“I need you to answer me honestly, okay?”

Penelope rolls onto her side, facing Mina’s bed, and fluffs the pillow under her head. “Okay.”

“Do you feel safe here?”

“Of course,” she answers automatically. “Why? Are you scared to leave? You can stay as long as you want.”

“I don’t mean safe from the– what did you call them?”

“Remnants.” They had seen the word sloppily painted over the boarded up windows of a farmhouse on the other side of town. KEEP OUT. REMNANTS HERE. Penelope figured that whoever had boarded up the windows had adopted the term after the last broadcast. She thinks it fits; something about the word “zombie” just didn’t feel right. These creatures weren’t slow, ambling, mindless things. They were fast and they were sneaky and they were worse than anything Penelope had seen in movies before.

“I don’t mean safe from the Remnants. I mean safe with Haden.”

Oh . Penelope sits up. Did Mina know something that she didn’t? Something about Haden’s mysterious past? What has he told this woman, this stranger, that he hasn’t told her ?

“Why wouldn’t I be safe?” she asks defensively.

Mina sits up, too.“You’re a fifteen-year-old girl living alone in the mountains with a grown man who’s not your father. Call me crazy for being a little suspicious.”

“It’s not like that. I told you, Haden saved me.”

Mina sighs. “It’s not that I don’t believe you, I just… want to make sure that everything is okay.”

Penelope bristles. “He’s not a bad man. You barely even know him.” 

Neither do you , a voice in her head counters, but she ignores it. The farm has grown on her. Haden, too. They have spent the last seven months together, and despite having the attitude of a finicky old cat, he’s done nothing but look after her. After Mina’s dramatic entrance into their lives, he found her on the kitchen floor, curled up into a ball, her eyes swollen and face wet. Haden didn’t say a word, just got down next to her and bundled her in his arms, held her until she stopped shaking. It was the first time he had ever hugged her, and Penelope never wanted him to let go. So what if he has some blood on his hands? As long as it’s not hers, she doesn’t care.

“This isn’t an attack on Haden or anything, you know that, right?” Mina says, attempting to placate her. “He seems like a decent guy. I can tell he cares about you. It’s just that appearances can be deceiving sometimes and… I want you to know that you can come with me if you want. If you didn’t feel safe here, if you were looking for an out, if there was anything… Just– I’d look out for you. Okay?”

Penelope softens a bit. In just a few weeks, this woman has shown her more concern that her own mother ever had. “Thank you, but I promise I don’t want to leave. This is my home now.”

In the morning, Mina gives Killer an abundance of belly rubs and wraps Penelope in a bone-crushing hug. She is wearing one of Haden’s heavy jackets and has a backpack chock full of supplies. Haden gifts her with a gun they had found under the register of a convenience store last month: a small pistol, fully loaded. 

“You can come back,” he offers. “Whatever happens.”

Mina nods, wiping a sneaky tear that has escaped and is rolling down Penelope’s cheek. 

“Don’t die,” Penelope tells her.

Mina manages a rueful smile. “I’ll try.”

Penelope’s dreams have always been strange. Not exceptionally good or bad, just vivid and bizarre. Some type of flying is usually involved. There was a brief stint, right after her parents’ divorce, where she suffered from night terrors. Penelope has no recollection of them except for her mother’s descriptions: bouts of frenzied panic, screaming until her throat was raw, eyes wide open but her mind still trapped inside whatever horror was playing inside her head. 

After dealing with the first Remnant in the barn, and the handful of others they have stumbled upon over the last few months, Penelope’s dreams have veered from neutral territory and landed in downright horrifying. She will be allowed a few nights of peaceful sleep, just long enough for her to think that the nightmares have stopped, only for her to gasp awake the following night, soaked with sweat and shaking like a leaf. They’re all different iterations of the same thing: the Remnant escapes from the barn and chases her down, its teeth sinking into a different part of her every time. Her arm, her stomach, her foot. The whole time she is screaming for Haden, but he’s nowhere to be found. Then her mother shows up, looming above her with an oversized axe in her hand, more like the Grim Reaper’s scythe than the tool Haden uses. Penelope begs her to just cut off whatever part of her has been bitten– her hand, her leg– but her mother just shakes her head and brings the blade down right on her neck. 

Penelope hesitates outside of Haden’s room. With Mina as her roommate, it had been easier to fall back asleep after the nightmare, soothed by her presence, her soft breaths and occasional snores. Now the empty room just leaves her feeling shaken and alone. She knocks on the door, and when there’s no response, Penelope pokes her head inside. Haden is laying on his left side, his back to her, shoulders rising and falling with his steady breaths. Killer is curled up in a ball at his feet, and he sleepily opens his eyes as Penelope tiptoes inside.

“Go back to sleep, buddy,” she whispers. He doesn’t need to be told twice.

The curtains are open, and moonlight shines in a thick line across Haden’s back. He’s not wearing a shirt. It’s the first time Penelope has ever seen him without one. Even in the blistering heat of the summer, he always wore a thin white tee or one of those distracting muscle tanks. The tops of his shoulders are dusted with freckles and there’s a jagged, puckered scar running over his left side, from his ribcage to the middle of his back.

Her hand is unconsciously reaching for it when Haden rolls over and she startles, yanking her arm away.

“Penny,” he murmurs, propping himself up onto his elbows. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m just…” There’s hair on his chest. Dark wispy curls that trail down to his stomach, disappearing under the sheet draped high over his waist. Penelope’s face feels hot and she stares pointedly at her feet. “I can’t sleep. Nightmares.”

Haden scrubs a hand over his face. “You get used–”

“CanIsleepwithyou?” she spits out in a rush. He stares at her, brow furrowed, unblinking. “I just don’t want to be alone.”

Haden sighs. “I don’t think that’s a good–”

But she’s already climbing under the covers, worming her way into his space, not giving him a chance to say no. “Just this once,” she promises as he shifts back with a surprised grunt. 

“Fine,” he grumbles, settling onto his back. “Just this once.”

It’s a large bed, big enough for her to roll over multiple times, but Haden fills up most of it. He drags the sheets up over his torso and crosses his arms over his chest. He’s given her as much space as the bed allows, but Penelope always runs cold, so she nestles into his side and leeches off his warmth. Her head rests against the bottom of the pillow, eyes level with his shoulder. Her toes barely reach his knees. 

“Can I ask you something?” she whispers.

“In the morning.”

Penelope studies his profile. The slope of his nose, the curve of his lips. His eyelashes are long and full, a delicate contrast to the hardness of the rest of him. Mina’s words ring in her mind. Do you feel safe with him?

She asks anyway. “Why did you save me?”

Haden glances down at her. “Is it morning?”

“Don’t answer my question with a question.”

“You’re awfully chatty for someone who should be asleep.”

“ Haden .”

He huffs and looks back up at the ceiling. “I got this weird feeling,” he says after a while. “I was driving through town, coming back home, and I just felt like something was off. Stopped the car, looked around, heard a scream. Then I found you.”

“But you could have just left me there after you killed them,” Penelope presses. “Why did you take me back here?”

Haden’s eyes cut back down to hers. “I knew how bad it was. Knew it was only going to get worse. And you...you’re about the same age my little sister was, last time I saw her. Figured that if it was her out there, I’d want someone to help her, too.”

Penelope sits up, curious. “I didn’t know you had a sister.”

“Now you do.”

“Do you have any other siblings?”

“A brother. They’re twins.”

“Do you miss them?”

“Penelope…” Haden sighs. “It’s late.”

“One more question.” She lays back down and tucks herself against his side. “Please? Then I promise I’ll go to sleep.”

“Why don’t I believe you?”

“I swear.” Penelope crosses her fingers behind her back and pouts. “Just one.”

“...Fine. Just one.”

“Why were you in prison?”

Haden closes his eyes. The answer doesn’t matter, not really. Not anymore. They’re not the same people that they were before. She’s imagined countless answers to this question, and none of them are going to change how she feels about him. But Penelope still wants to know, just so she could start to unravel the mystery that is Haden Navarro. 

“Aggravated assault.”

“Oh.” She was expecting something a bit more serious, like murder or an assassination attempt. “So, like a fight?”

“With a deadly weapon.”

“So like a bad fight.”

Haden huffs a laugh. “You could say that.”

Penelope bites her lip. She wonders how much more she can get out of him. “What was the deadly weapon?”

“Crowbar.”

“Did you like it?”

“No. ‘Course not.”

“So why’d you do it?”

Haden doesn’t say anything for a long time, and Penelope thinks she’s pushed too far, but then he says: “Got in a bad way with some worse people.” 

She waits for more. “That’s it? That’s all I’m gonna get?”

His lips twitch. “I’ve made a lot of bad choices.”

“Everyone makes bad choices.”

“Not as many as me,” Haden sighs. “That’s all you need to know, Penny. That’s all that matters.”

Penelope moves closer, her chin resting on his shoulder. “The good choices matter, too.”

“There haven’t been a whole lot of those.”

“What about me? Letting me stay here?”

Haden looks down at her, wrinkles his nose. “Jury’s still out on that one.”

“You’re a jerk.” Penelope jams a finger into his ribs and rolls onto her side, her back to him. She can feel his shoulders shaking and bites back her own smile. The silence stretches over them, easy and comfortable. She doesn’t remember falling asleep, but she wakes up to the sun shining into her eyes and Haden’s arm around her, her head pillowed on the spot where his shoulder meets his chest, feeling more rested than she has in months. 

Chapter Text

June. One Year and Three Months After.

Remnants don’t eat animals, nor does their bite seem to have any effect on the ones that escape their grasp. It’s a small blessing. Penelope can only imagine how much worse life would be if they had to deal with mutated wolves, too. Or birds. Or snakes. The thought makes a frequent appearance in her nightmares, which have thankfully declined over time, but really pack a punch when they appear. In the worst ones, it’s Killer who gets bitten and turns, and Penelope is forced to fight him off as he tries to devour her. She can’t bring herself to kill him, even though she knows she needs to, and she wakes up just as he lunges for her throat. He seems to sense those dreams, and most times when Penelope gasps awake, Killer is right there, licking the tears off her cheeks and snuggling up into her side.

Remnants don’t eat animals, but they don’t exactly leave them alone, either. Most animals can sense a Remnant’s presence and instinctively know to give them a wide berth. But there have still been a few occasions where Penelope has stumbled upon the mutilated remains of a bobcat or a coyote– or even a bear, that one time in Lowville– and the sight always turns her stomach. She hasn’t batted an eye at a dead body in years, but the animals never fail to make her cry.

They find the fox just a few minutes after starting out on the hunt. Jax and Cara lead the group up into the mountains, following the tracks northwest. Penelope is the first to see it, eyes drawn to the clump of reddish fur half-hidden behind a bush. Her body is moving to examine it before her mind tells her it’s a bad idea. Its tongue is hanging out of its mouth, stomach ripped open, intestines pooled around it on the grass. Penelope bites back a yelp and stumbles away.

Haden steadies her with a hand on the small of her back. Penelope leans into his touch for a moment, blinking away tears, before remembering herself and stepping away, squaring her shoulders and avoiding his gaze. He had tried to talk her out of going on the hunt, followed her into the house as she went to grab her sword, but she had paid him no attention then, either. Penelope can tell that it’s irritating him, even more so because she keeps talking to Liam instead. But his annoyance only strengthens her resolve. 

“Poor little guy,” Savannah murmurs as Cara crouches over the carcass. The only one who hadn’t wanted to join the hunt was Mina, who had gotten her period that morning and refused to leave the couch. Since they all have a standing agreement that no one is ever left home alone, Niko stayed behind with her. 

“There’s blood on the grass over here,” Jax says, scanning the ground a few yards ahead. “And some fur.”

Cara straightens up. “We’re headed the right way.”

Jax and Cara aren’t the first hunters that Penelope has met, but they’re the only ones who she has seen more than once. They radiate an intense energy, a solemn self-assuredness that is no doubt a product of their lifestyle. They each carry a double-edged spear, sharpened out of some dense metal, the tips stained a dark brown with dried blood. Cara has a haunted look about her, wide green eyes and a pale, angular face that doesn’t seem capable of a smile. She reminds Penelope of the ghost of a Victorian woman, beautiful in a melancholic way. She ties her hair in a knot at the nape of her neck without any elastic, just her own wispy strands wrapped around themselves, a few escaping to frame her face.

Jax is an older man with salt and pepper hair and a permanent five o’clock shadow. He has a scar that starts just under his right eye, three thin lines dragging down over his cheek, turning down the corner of his mouth, and stopping just after the curve of his jaw. Penelope had assumed, when she first met the pair, that he was Cara’s father, but after watching them for a while, she isn’t so sure that’s the case. There is a fluidity to their movements, a palpable familiarity, everything one does complemented by the other. There is no obvious affection between them, but every interaction carries an undercurrent of devotion. Penelope notices that they always stand angled towards each other, that their eyes cut to each other periodically, even when the other isn’t looking. When one of them shifts, the other repositions, like they are attached by an invisible string. A small part of Penelope hopes that they stumble onto a whole swarm of Remnants just for the chance to see the two of them fight together. She has a feeling it would be pretty hot. 

Penelope increases her pace to walk beside them as they continue on. “So, what exactly are we supposed to be looking for?”

“Well, right now we’re fortunate enough to have decent tracks to follow,” Jax explains. Despite his stern countenance, his voice is surprisingly warm. “A Remnant’s footsteps are very distinct, heavy because they’re moving fast, but you can tell their gait is unsteady. The older ones are even more obvious, because they’re on all fours. But the real trick to tracking them isn’t following their footsteps, it’s following their trail.”

Cara sticks her arm out and stops Penelope in her tracks. “Look,” she says, nodding at Penelope’s foot, still poised in midair. The grass beneath it is stained with blood, a small piece of intestine right where Penelope was about to step. 

“Remnants are messy,” Jax continues. “More often than not there’ll be some blood alongside whatever tracks they leave. Maybe some hair or rotting skin, or the pieces of whatever they came across before.”

Penelope grimaces and steps around the pile. “Yum.”

Jax looks amused. “If we’re lucky, the trail will lead us right to whatever den it’s hiding in.”

“And if we’re not lucky?”

“The tracks lead us nowhere and there’s still a Remnant on the loose,” Cara says. “But we’ll get it eventually. We always do.”

Once someone is bitten by a Remnant, the change happens fast. Whatever pathogen is carried in their saliva travels quickly, beginning the horrific transformation within twenty-four hours of its introduction to the bloodstream. Aggression levels spike first, as the person becomes increasingly violent and irrational. They develop an intolerance to pain as well as heightened physical abilities, such as increased strength and stamina. After a few days, their body starts to change, their skin growing pale and weak, their eyes changing to be better suited to the dark. Their nails start to grow thicker and sharper, turning into claws. By the end of the first week, their mental facilities have declined enough that they are no longer capable of speech or communication. Their teeth fall out and new ones force their way up and out of their gums, thin and spiked, perfect for cutting through skin and muscle. It takes another week for their hunger to kick in, and then their insatiable desire for human flesh makes them practically unstoppable. 

Penelope is no scientist, but she has a working theory that their hunger is a reflection of their desire to be human again. That especially as they grow older and shift from bipedal to all fours, their spines snapping and contorting to allow for their movements, there is some part of the creature that is trying to consume enough people to replace the body that has been stolen from them by a cruel twist of fate. Or maybe she’s wrong, and it’s like Mina thinks: this is just the next step in human evolution. Mother Nature’s punishment for war and famine and climate change. Reverting humanity back to a primitive stage, destroying everything they spent centuries working to achieve. 

“How long have you been hunting them?” Penelope asks Cara. “Since the beginning?”

Cara nods. “Seemed like the only logical choice, once we got the nasty fuckers figured out.” She glances at Jax, her lips twitching in a spasm of a smile. “Someone had to fight back, right?”

Penelope looks between the two of them, suddenly feeling like she is intruding on an unspoken conversation. “Was it always just the two of you?” 

“For the most part.” Cara glances over her shoulder at Liam, who is hanging close behind them, trying to pretend he isn’t listening. “Just works better that way.”

The trail goes cold when they reach a clearing, up so high in the mountains that Penelope’s ears pop as they ascend. The field is open and bare, no trees or shade, just rows of overgrown wildflowers leading to the edge of a steep cliff. They stop to regroup and Jax goes to peer over the edge, assessing the drop into the craggy ground below. Remnants move fast, but it’s unlikely that it got this far before sunrise. They must have missed something along the way.

“You know, it sucks that that lady’s dead and all,” Liam says, sidling up beside Penelope as she relaces her boots, “but now we’ve got the chance to get to know each other better.”

Penelope snorts and straightens up. “I’m sure that was her dying wish.”

“It’s improbable, but not impossible.” Liam flashes her a flirtatious smile that Penelope assumes is meant to be charming. It might have had more of an effect if she wasn’t hungry and tired and hot , a steady river of sweat rolling down her back. Her head is pounding and she’s disappointed that they’re seemingly at a dead end. She was expecting more excitement, something like Savannah’s stories: finding a dingy cave or abandoned house full of Remnants waiting out the sun, rushing in and taking them by surprise. 

“I’m kind of glad we didn’t find anything yet,” Liam continues. “More time for us to spend hanging out.”

Penelope can see Haden staring at them out of the corner of her eye, and so she plasters on a smile. “Better not waste it.”

Liam smirks. “I don’t plan on it.”

“We’ll head back the way we came,” Jax decides, walking back over to everyone. “See if we missed anything, and if there’s still no sign of it, we’ll try again tonight.”

Savannah had told her about the night hunts, too. Creeping through the dark, a target on their backs just for existing. Listening to all the noise stop, the insects falling silent, the nocturnal critters scurrying away as the Remnants grow nearer. The anticipation of the fight, the foreboding knowledge that these moments could be their last, but knowing that even if they die, they died fighting to make the world just a little bit safer for everyone else. 

It sounds thrilling to Penelope, but she isn’t so sure she wants to participate. Hunting during the day is one thing. Between their numbers and the sun, they have the upper hand. But the night no longer belongs to them. She’s always been excited by a little bit of danger, but the years have taught her to not be so cavalier with her safety. Not anymore. 

Liam stays by her side on the walk back, talking to her the whole way. Except he’s not really talking to her but at her, only stopping to ask her a few trivial questions– like what’s her favorite color and her favorite food and if she could pick any superpower, what would it be– and barely letting her get the answers out– pink, burgers, invisibility– before barreling onto the next topic. Penelope gets the feeling that it’s been a long time since he has had anyone listen to him. Jax and Cara have made it clear that he has yet to earn his place with them, that he’s still an interloper with a lot to learn, and Penelope doubts he is making any progress by hanging back with her. She has half a mind to point this out to him, but the longer she keeps him by her side, the more sour Haden’s expression grows. So Penelope just smiles and nods and lets Liam ramble on.

After Jax marks the spot of the last trail marking, they switch directions and start back to the farm. As they descend a steep hillside, they are met with the sound of rushing water, and Liam stops the story about his last high school lacrosse game to let out a whoop of surprise. 

“Anyone in the mood for a swim?” he asks the group. “Come one, we could use a break, right?”

“Because you’ve been working so hard,” Cara mutters under her breath, but even she looks tempted. The neckline of her green t-shirt is damp with sweat.

“A swim sounds nice,” Jax concedes, and they race out of the thick of trees.

Penelope is hit with a pang of nostalgia as she reaches the river bank. She has been to this spot before, many times, usually with Niko and Stacey. It’s a few miles south of the spot where they usually wash their clothes, and the water spills over a high outcropping of rocks in a rushing waterfall. Niko had been the one to find it, and had rushed home to beg them to come check it out. Stacey had been having one of her bad days, but Niko’s excitement had been infectious, and so the three of them spent the rest of the day climbing higher and higher on the rocks, eventually gathering the courage to dive in from the very top. Penelope remembered feeling queasy as she stood at the highest point, staring down at Niko in the water below, her legs frozen in place. Stacey had taken her hand, her eyes bright and clear for the first time in days, and together, they jumped. Stacey’s excited scream still rings in her ears.

Penelope pushes her thoughts away and starts stripping down. Liam is already splashing in the water, Cara and Savannah wading in behind him. She kicks off her boots and places her sword on the ground next to them. 

“I know what you’re doing,” Haden says, his voice low behind her, just loud enough for her to hear. 

Penelope doesn’t answer. She peels her shirt over her head, just a thin grey tank top underneath, the spaghetti straps worn and starting to fray. She wore bras for a little while, at the beginning, until she grew out of them and deemed them unnecessary altogether. Her breasts are nothing spectacular anyway, not like Savannah’s or Cara’s, both of whom are proudly topless and glistening in the sunlight. Penelope has to make an effort not to stare. 

“Any day now, Penelope!” Liam calls from the water. 

Penelope waves back. I’m coming.

Haden puts his sword down next to hers, starts unlacing his boots. “How long are you planning to keep this up?”

Penelope remains silent and shimmies out of her shorts. If she had known she was going to be showing them to strangers, she would have picked a different pair of underwear besides the faded boyshorts with blue and white polka dots. But she keeps her head high as she brushes past Haden and heads into the water, feeling a bit better when she catches Liam staring at her ass– unlike her breasts, that part of her grew, at least. 

The water is blissfully cold, and she feels her headache dissolve the second she sinks underwater. The six of them float around in the shallows for a while, and Liam lets Penelope climb onto his shoulders while Cara climbs onto Savannah’s, and they begin the first of many excessively competitive rounds of chicken fights. Liam’s hands creep higher and higher up her thighs each time she climbs back onto his shoulders, and each time she sneakily chances a glance at Haden, his frown grows deeper. 

Once their arms grow tired of wrestling, Liam suggests jumping from the top of the falls. Savannah goes first, letting out a battle cry before flinging herself off the rocks, tucking her legs under her in a perfect cannonball. Cara dives flawlessly, silent and perfectly poised as she stretches her arms above her and disappears under the water with barely a splash. Liam winks at Penelope before attempting what looks like a frontflip but ends in a painful belly flop, and then Penelope is left at the top alone. 

I thought it looked high from down there , she had said the first time she stood at the top. But it’s even worse from up here.

We can’t think about it , Stacey told her, taking her hand. We just have to close our eyes and jump. 

Penelope turns around, her heels hanging off the edge of the rocks. 

“What is she doing?” she hears Liam ask down below.

She raises her arms until they are perpendicular to her torso. It’s been a while since she’s done this, and the last time she had tried, Stacey had been there to cheer her on. 

“Maybe you should turn around!” Cara calls up to her. 

“She’s done this before,” Haden assures them.

She had nearly scared the life out of him the first time she tried it, but he has since grown to accept that she knows what she’s doing. Penelope takes a deep breath, closes her eyes, and lets herself fall. 

It feels like a year and a second all at once. The rush of water fills her ears, the mist of the falls dancing over her skin as she flies through the air. Penelope has made this jump many times before, knows exactly when to tuck her legs and turn her body, executing two perfect backflips before the icy water envelops her. But instead of resurfacing, she stays underwater, pressing forward and swimming underneath the pounding water and emerging in the small alcove behind the waterfall. Sunlight shimmers in through the veil of the water, light reflecting off the rock around her, her own breaths echoing against the damp walls. 

Outside, Savannah is calling her name, and Penelope knows that she should duck her head out, let them know that she didn’t break her neck and drown, but she wants to enjoy the white noise and the stillness for just a little bit longer. But seconds later the curtain of water parts and Haden ducks through, visibly relaxing when he sees her. 

“You trying to scare them?” he asks, arching an eyebrow. 

Penelope shakes her head. It’s not as deep in the alcove as in the rest of the river, but even standing on her tiptoes, the water still brushes her nose. She feels like an alligator, lurking with just her eyes above the surface.

“Then what, you hiding from Logan?” 

Penelope rolls her eyes, swimming over to him. “His name is Liam.”

“I don’t care what his name is,” Haden says. Penelope reaches for his shoulders and pulls herself up and out of the water. He doesn’t hesitate to grab her, a hand on each thigh, settling her high on his waist. Her ankles are crossed behind his back, and for once, he’s looking up at her.

“This mean you’re done ignoring me?” Haden murmurs, the tips of his fingers rubbing the insides of her thighs. Unlike Liam’s tentative touch, his grip is strong, familiar. Like his hands are meant to be there. His eyes stay on hers, but when she lifts a hand to push his damp curls away from his eyes, nails running along his scalp, his grip tightens. A bead of water drips down the slope of Penelope’s nose and lands on his lower lip. Before she can stop herself, she ducks down and licks it off with a smooth swipe of her tongue. Haden lets out a surprised grunt and presses her closer, surprise flashing in his eyes.

“Nope,” Penelope whispers. She pushes out of his arms and sinks back underwater, swimming out of the alcove with her heart pounding in her ears. 

In hindsight, tempting Haden was a stupid move. Penelope recognizes that fact as she trudges back to the farm with a flush on her face and a throbbing between her legs. Whenever she blinks, Haden’s face flashes behind her eyelids, looking up at her like he wants to eat her alive. She should have just continued to ignore him, kept flirting with Liam until he was forced to do something about it, because now Penelope is just back where she has been ever since they came back from their trip: turned on and left with nothing but Haden’s stoic silence. 

They’re a little less than a mile away from the farm when Cara stops and calls their attention to a dark mass slumped on the ground a few yards to the right. She approaches it slowly, uses the tip of her spear to poke it, and when nothing happens, the rest of them gather around it. The body is curled around the side of a moss-covered boulder. It’s a man– mid-thirties, maybe– with dried blood around his mouth and his left leg bent at an impossible angle beneath him. His shirt is ripped open around his midsection and a chunk of skin is missing from over his ribcage. Dark veins sprout from the wound and trail across his torso. Penelope flinches and looks away.

“I don’t like how close this is,” Jax murmurs to himself, eyes roving over the body. 

“Look.” Cara points to the tattoo under the man’s left eye. The same small circle with a zigzag line on the inside. “No way that’s a coincidence.”

“Maybe they were in the same family,” Savannah muses. “Or it’s some kind of group marking.”

“Has to be,” Jax says. “But it’s not one I recognize. Not from around here.” He leans down and picks up something from next to the body, some type of handgun with a long, narrow barrel. He fires one shot into the ground and a dart with a bright green flight buries itself in the dirt. 

“I’ve seen one of those before,” Liam says, and they all look to him in surprise. “I had one in my armory on Total Combat 7 . It’s a tranquilizer.”

Cara takes the gun from Jax and turns it over a few times, testing its weight in her hand. Then she turns and shoots Liam in the leg. Savannah barks out a laugh and then claps her hand over her mouth.

“ Ow! ” Liam cries, indignant. “What the fu–” and then he slumps to the ground. 

Cara shrugs, not appearing contrite. “What? He was right.”

Jax takes the gun back, shooting her a reproachful look. “Tranqs don’t work on Remnants,” he says, studying the man’s body with a frown. “So what was he going to use this on?”

“She would’ve thought twice about shooting him if she knew the dart was strong enough to take out a horse,” Mina mumbles as she checks Liam’s pulse for the third time. He’s sprawled across the couch in the living room, drooling slightly.

Savannah snorts. “I doubt that,” she says, folding herself into a Kapotasana pose on the floor in front of the fireplace. “Cara’s been itching to get rid of him.”

“Why?” Mina settles next to her and assumes the Lotus pose. “He doesn’t seem so bad. A little annoying but, he is a guy, so…”

“She doesn’t think he’s cut out for the hunt. Thinks he’ll either get picked off or grow bored and leave.” Savannah takes a deep breath, holds it, and then releases in a long exhale. “I think she’s just being territorial. Took her a bit to warm up to me when I traveled with them, too.”

“How’d they get stuck with him anyway?”

Savannah unfolds herself and rolls her neck from side to side. The loose neckline of her shirt falls over her shoulder and Mina’s eyes linger on her exposed skin. 

“They were tracking a group of Remnants up the coast in New Jersey,” Savannah says. “He was the lone survivor of a settlement that they tore through before Jax and Cara got there. He wanted to travel with them since they were heading north and he heard of another settlement somewhere in Pennsylvania, run by a preacher or something, but I guess somewhere along the way he changed his mind.”

“What, and they’ve been trying to ditch him ever since?”

Savannah shrugs. “Jax has more patience for him than Cara does. She’s tough with outsiders. Her and Jax have this, like...thing. I don’t know. Like it’s the two of them against the world. I kinda feel bad for the kid. It’s hard for anyone else to try and work their way into that, you know?”

Mina smiles mirthlessly. “Yeah. I know.”

Someone knocks on Penelope’s door. It’s not Haden’s knock, two solid bangs with the side of his fist, insistent and impatient. These are three polite rapts, like someone delivering a package. Penelope puts down the book she’s reading, face-down and split across her stomach.

“What?”

Liam pokes his head in with a sheepish smile. “Hey.”

“Well, good morning,” Penelope says, even though it’s nearly midnight.

Liam rubs the back of his neck as he steps inside. “Very funny.”

Penelope closes the book and puts it on her nightstand. Killer is asleep next to her, his head resting on her lap. “How are you feeling?”

Liam comes to stand at the foot of her bed. “I was a little groggy at first, but that passed quickly. I’m mostly just embarrassed now.”

“Don’t worry about it. It happens to the best of us.”

He quirks an eyebrow. “You’ve been tranquilized before?”

Penelope falters. “...No,” she admits. “I was just trying to make you feel better.”

“Oh.”

“Did it work?”

“I guess. Sure.”

Penelope shrugs. “Cara seems like she has a weird sense of humor anyway. I wouldn’t take it personally.”

“Still. It wasn’t exactly the coolest look.”

She tilts her head, confused. “Unless you’re immune to tranqs, I don’t see how you could have done anything to make it any cooler.”

“Fair point,” Liam says with a light laugh. 

Killer lets out a long snore and shifts in his sleep, throwing one massive paw onto Penelope’s thigh. 

“If you could please keep it down,” she says, “the baby is sleeping.”

“My bad,” Liam whispers back, grinning. He sits on the edge of her bed. “I guess I was mostly just concerned with not looking dumb in front of you.”

“I don’t care if you look dumb in front of me.” 

Liam ducks his head, hiding a shy smile. She realizes that he must think she’s actually flirting with him, and she feels a little bad. They sit in silence for a few moments, Penelope’s thumb smoothing over the crease in Killer’s forehead, staring at Liam curiously. Stacey would have liked him, she realizes. He’s exactly her type: cute, cocky, and a little dumb. If she were here, she’d have him wrapped around her finger in minutes. They’d make a good-looking pair, too. Prom King and Queen of the end of the world.

“I really like you, Penelope,” Liam finally says, looking up at her with wide, earnest eyes.

“Thanks.” Penelope smiles, in a more generous mood than she had been earlier. “You’re not half bad, yourself.” She’s being honest. He can be annoying, a little obtuse, and he seems too confident for someone still so green, but Mina’s first impression of him was right: he’s nice. Penelope is surprised at how much he’s grown on her in the last day. Like a pet goldfish. 

Liam shifts closer to her. “I feel like you’re the first person I’ve met in a long time who gets me.”

“Really?” she says, surprised. All she’s let him do is run his mouth, and it’s not like she’s really retained any information. But then again, she supposes Jax and Cara don’t exactly promote an environment of open conversation. 

He moves closer again. “I think we have a really good connection.”

Oh . She knows where this is going. There’s a voice in the back of her mind telling her to get up, to stop him now, but she ignores it, curious to see how this plays out.

“Uh, that’s sweet.”

And then he’s kissing her. It’s soft, chaste. Nothing more than the mashing of their lips together. Killer is still asleep between them, his head on Penelope’s lap, which seems wrong. She feels like she should cover his ears or something. Liam’s hands cup her face. They’re a little clammy, and she finds his nervousness endearing. She likes eliciting that feeling out of someone, the thrill of control it gives her, to know that her presence is having an effect. That’s why she hasn’t been able to get Haden’s face out of her mind all night.

A commotion from downstairs makes Killer jump up, breaking them apart.

“They’re back!” they hear Mina yell. 

Killer runs out the door and they follow, thundering down the stairs just as Jax and Cara stumble through the back door. Niko and Savannah are on either side of them, looking for injuries. Mina and Haden are waiting in the kitchen, and Penelope doesn’t miss the flash in Haden’s eyes when he sees her and Liam walk in together. 

“Are you hurt?” Mina asks them, already grabbing their makeshift first aid kit from under the sink. They don’t have any more bandages or disinfectant, but they do have old towels and moonshine. A few needles and some thread, for the nastier wounds, half a tube of burn cream, and a bottle of generic acetaminophen that expired two years ago. 

Jax and Cara are a little dirty, their faces shiny with sweat, but they’re in one piece. Their spears are dripping blood from both ends, staining the floor, and Cara’s face is pinched in pain. Jax grabs her elbows and helps her settle into a chair. It’s when she turns to rest against the table that Penelope sees that the back of her shirt has been shredded, claw marks ripping open the skin across her right shoulder blade. 

“Should’ve taken my fucking jacket,” she hisses under her breath. “But no, I didn’t want to get hot. So stupid.”

“Hey, you’re fine,” Jax says, rubbing her bouncing knee. Mina pours some moonshine onto a towel and hands it to him. “What’s another scar, hmm?”

“Now we match,” Cara says tightly.

Jax manages a sad smile. “Yeah. We match.” He starts to wipe the blood away from her wounds and she curses, her knuckles white as she grips the side of the table.

“So?” Liam asks. “Did you get it?”

“Of course we did.” Cara glares at him over her shoulder. “We got all of them.”

“Them?” Niko repeats. “How many were there?”

“Four,” Jax says. 

Savannah lets out a low whistle. “Damn. I’m sorry I missed it.”

“Probably could’ve used an extra pair of hands,” Liam mumbles. Penelope digs her elbow into his ribs.

“We found the first one in a hollowed out tree trunk, about a quarter mile away from where the trail went cold this morning.” Jax continues, shooting Liam a biting look. He pours some more moonshine onto the towel and presses it against Cara’s back again. She lets out a low moan and squeezes his free hand. “The other two must’ve been close by, because they joined the fight real quick. The fourth one caught us off guard on our way back. But Cara took care of it.”

“Not before it ruined my fucking shirt,” she spits. She looks up at Savannah. “How bad is it, honest? Stitches?”

Savannah makes an apologetic face and nods. Cara drops her head onto the table.

“Fuck. I hate needles.”

Niko pulls out the thread. “Don’t worry. I’ve got a real steady hand.”

Once her wounds are properly cleaned and the blood has been wiped from the floor, Cara stands on shaky legs. Jax wraps an arm around her waist and she sways into him.

“Take my bed for the night,” Haden says. They had spread their sleeping bags on the living room floor the night before. 

Jax opens his mouth, already shaking his head, but Cara smacks his chest.

“Yes, please,” she says through gritted teeth.

“Thank you,” Mina says sincerely as Jax leads Cara into Haden’s room. “You didn’t have to risk your lives for us like that.”

“’Course we did,” Jax says. “It’s what we do.”

Penelope gets up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom. It’s nearly morning, and instead of going back to bed she decides to just stay up through the start of dawn and get an early start to the day. She hasn’t taken a sunrise run in a while. She creeps down the stairs, spying Haden asleep on the couch. He’ll start to wake just as the sun starts to filter into the room.

As she slips on her sneakers, she hears low voices from Haden’s bedroom. He had repurposed the small sunroom located off the living room a while back, just enough space for his bed and dresser, The door is ajar, and she creeps closer, peering in between the crack.

Jax and Cara are seated upright on the side of Haden’s bed, their backs to the door. Cara’s shirt is off, Jax redressing her wounds with a slow and tender hand. She can’t hear what they’re whispering to each other, but Penelope stays rooted in place as Jax finishes wrapping Cara’s new bandages and holds a cup of water to her lips. After, she tilts her head up and he grants her a soft kiss. It makes something twist in Penelope’s stomach, and she backs away before they can see her.

“You’re so hot,” Liam says. Penelope is laying on her back on the couch in the living room. He crowds over her, his lips insistent as his hands dip under the bottom of her shirt. Penelope remembers reading once, in some magazine with a front cover whose colors were distractingly bright, an article called “Blow His Mind! 10 Tips To Help You Become A Better Kisser”. The first tip was “Use Tongue”. She wonders if Liam read the article, too, because that seems to be his go-to move. The kisses are wet and slippery, and she doesn’t really know what to do with her tongue, so she kind of just lets his push it around.

It has been three days since Jax and Cara killed the Remnants, three days of making out with Liam in whatever private spot they can find. Objectively, Penelope views kissing Liam as a neutral thing. Not really good but not glaringly bad, either. She always thought that a good kiss was supposed to melt your mind, to make the world fade away and make you forget your own name. When she kisses Liam, she still remembers her own name, and all of her old friends’ names, as well as the names of all the U.S. presidents. In order. She hopes that if they keep kissing, she’ll eventually enjoy it more. Right now it feels similar to putting a shoe on the wrong foot. It’s still got all the parts of a shoe, but it doesn’t fit the way it’s supposed to. 

He’s not who you want , the voice in her head tells her, but she ignores it again. 

She still hasn’t spoken to Haden since the day at the falls. They’re both locked in a battle of stubbornness, each trying to coax the other into breaking. Penelope flirts with Liam in front of him, kisses him in places where Haden is likely to stumble across them. The kitchen. The back porch. Inside the barn. Even now, they’re on the living room couch while everyone else is hanging outside after dinner, right in full view of anyone who walks out of the kitchen.

Haden knows what he’s doing, too. He makes sure to brush up against her whenever they pass each other. His hand ghosting over the small of her back, his arm against her shoulder, making her shiver. He does pull-ups in the garage when she’s tending to the goats, lifts massive dumbbells over his head directly in her view. Oils and cleans their swords on the back porch without a shirt on while she’s washing dishes, her eyes continuously straying to the rippling muscles of his back. Makes a stack of blueberry pancakes, her favorite, and leaves them waiting on the counter for when she wakes up.

Liam’s hands dip down to squeeze her ass and then smooth back up her sides. “So sexy,” he mumbles. The word doesn’t feel right to her, like he’s saying what he thinks she wants to hear and not what will actually turn her on. The palm of his right hand grazes her ribcage and Penelope startles, quickly grabs his wrists, moving his hands up to cup her breasts instead. He makes an appreciative noise and squeezes them.

“That feel good?” he asks. 

It doesn’t feel like much of anything besides being a human stress ball, so Penelope just cups his face. “We don’t have to talk,” she says, and brings his mouth down to hers again. 

He’s hard against her thigh. She figures that if she goes through enough of the motions, her mind will shut off and this will start to be enjoyable. Maybe she will eventually be able to relieve the tension that’s still wound up inside of her. She tries to tell herself that it’s good that Liam likes her, that she should be enjoying his attention, but instead she feels like she’s existing in a dream, watching this happen to another version of her. Both present and out of her body at the same time. 

Penelope can’t help the sigh of relief that escapes her when the back door opens and voices drift inside. Liam scrambles to climb off her as Haden and Niko appear, stopping short when they see them. 

No one says anything for a few seconds.

“Well, this is awkward,” Niko says cheerily, breaking the silence. “We all have to sit on that couch, you know.”

Penelope folds her arms across the back of the couch and rests her chin on top of them, waiting. Liam tries to subtly adjust his pants, and Haden is so tense he’s almost vibrating. He has a look on his face that Penelope has only seen a few times before, whenever someone threatens her, or gets close enough to make her uncomfortable. Usually, after that look, someone ends up dead. The throbbing between her legs returns.

“In case you aren’t able to read the room,” Niko tells Liam, “this is your cue to leave, buddy.”

Liam looks between the three of them, equal parts embarrassed and scared. Despite the pleasant smile on his face, Niko is staring him down with his arms crossed. Penelope is so used to his easy-going nature that she forgets how intimidating he can be when he tries. Liam opens his mouth like he’s going to say something back, but when he sees the look on Haden’s face, he quickly clams up. 

“I should probably go see if Jax needs me or something,” he mumbles, avoiding both of their gazes. He looks to Penelope for help. 

“Probably,” she agrees absently. Haden is looking at her now, his eyes burning. Liam awkwardly skirts around the two men and walks out of the room.

Penelope doesn’t know why she says it. Maybe it’s her need to fill the silence, maybe it’s because she’s desperate to get a rise out of Haden somehow, maybe it’s because she’s been worked up for days and is itching for a fight, something to relieve the tension that’s been steadily mounting inside of her.

“He asked me to go with them.”

Liam had mentioned it earlier that morning, in between the sloppy, unremarkable kisses they exchanged in the barn, and she had found the idea so ridiculous that she hadn’t even given it any thought since. 

You should come with us.

Like, hunt with you?

Yeah. We’d make a great team.

You’ve never even seen me fight. I could be shit.

I doubt that. I’m serious. Come with us.

Niko barks out a laugh. “Oh, that sweet, stupid boy.” He slaps Haden on the back and turns to leave, calling over his shoulder as he goes. “If you’re going to have a fight, please don’t break anything.” He doesn’t specify who he’s talking to.

Haden crosses his arms, his voice surprisingly measured when he speaks. “What did you tell him?”

Penelope rolls her eyes and shoves off the couch, marching past him to the stairs. “What do you think I told him?”

He follows her. “A few days ago I would’ve thought you’d tell him no, but now you two seem pretty close.”

She spins around, a few steps above him, their faces now level. “What, are you jealous?”

His smirk is condescending, like she’s foolish for even asking. “Why would I be jealous of someone who doesn’t even know how to touch you?”

Penelope inhales sharply and turns around, stomping up the rest of the steps. She tries to slam the door to her room behind her, but Haden catches it before it hits the doorframe and shoves his way inside. 

“Maybe I like how he touches me,” she says, taunting him. “Maybe I will go with him.”

His jaw ticks, eyes swirling with the emotions he doesn’t let himself feel. “You think that’s a good idea?”

Penelope shoves at his chest. “I think I want to be with someone who’s not afraid to want me.”

Haden steps forward, advancing on her until her back hits the wall next to her bed. Penelope’s face is burning, her chest heaving with her labored breaths. He puts a hand on either side of her head, caging her in, angling his head down so that his nose brushes her cheek. 

“Penny,” he murmurs, his breath hot on her lips. “Wanting you is not what I’m afraid of.”

She wraps a hand around each of his forearms, half to keep him close and half to hold herself upright. “Yeah?” Penelope challenges him, her voice surprisingly strong despite how breathless she feels. “Prove it.”

She can feel the rumble in his chest, the deep growl that makes her toes curl. One of Haden’s hands leaves the wall and grabs her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. His pupils are blown so wide that she can barely see the flecks of grey surrounding them. 

“You think this is easy for me?” he hisses, his thumb swiping over her lower lip. “To know that I can give you what you need, but I shouldn’t?”

Her thighs are clenched so tight together they’re starting to tremble.

“To know how you sound when you–” He cuts himself off and inhales sharply. Penelope knows that he’s thinking about the nights they’ve spent on the road, all the nights that they never talk about, the nights that should never have happened. The nights that she thinks about all the time, especially when she’s alone in the dark, a pillow pressed over her mouth and her hand between her legs, fingers working until they’re stiff and pruney. Everything that he’s given her, all that she still wants from him.

“Please,” she chokes out. She doesn’t even know what she’s asking for, she just knows that she needs. Knows that he’ll know what to do, know how to take care of her. He lets her tug his hand down and press it against the front of shorts. “Haden, please.”

“Shh,” he murmurs, moving his other hand to grip the back of her neck, keeping her head up, facing him. He shoves his hand under the waistband of her shorts and her breath hitches when his fingers settle heavy against her cunt, only the thin barrier of her underwear separating them. She should be embarrassed at how wet the fabric is already, soaked just from arguing, from having him so close. Haden presses a kiss to her temple. “I’ve got you.”

He works her up easy, two fingers rubbing tight little circles over her clit until she’s gasping, then he slows down, seeming to relish her tortured whines. Penelope keeps one hand fisted in the fabric of his shirt and the other wrapped around his wrist, feeling the muscles in his arm flex as he moves his fingers against her.

“More,” she chokes out, her mind racing at the feeling of feeling so much and so empty at the same time. She needs something to soothe the ache that she doesn’t know how to describe, needs him to make it go away, to make it hurt more. “Please, Haden, I need –”

She cries out when he shoves her underwear aside and drags one thick finger over her opening, getting slick with her before he presses it in, slow and easy. She’s barely adjusted to it before he adds another finger and Penelope keels forward with a moan when he curls them both, the stretch of it burning, the most divine ache she has ever felt. 

“There you go,” he murmurs into her hair. Her shorts have fallen around her ankles, her ruined underwear stretched tight between her thighs. The heel of his palm catches on her clit, a steady friction working in tandem with his fingers. It’s too much, her orgasm building to a rapid crescendo, quicker and stronger than any she’s ever had before.

“Oh my God,” Penelope whimpers, unable to manage anything more than choked whines, high-pitched cries that grow louder and louder.

Haden moves suddenly, grabbing her around the waist and tossing her onto her bed. He crowds over her, her legs spread over his thighs, and his mouth is on hers before she realizes what is happening. The kiss is deep and filthy, like he’s trying to lick the taste of Liam out of her mouth and only leave traces of himself. She kisses him back fervently, but he pulls away all too soon and grabs the back of her neck again, keeping her head propped up so they can both watch his fingers fuck her cunt. 

“You think anyone else is gonna take care of you the way I do?” he growls.

“No,” she gasps brokenly.

“You think anyone else can touch you the way you need?”

Penelope’s eyes are blurred by delirious tears, too far gone with pleasure to do anything more than shake her head. Haden whispers something else with his lips pressed against her temple, something about how sweet and needy she is for him, but she can’t really hear anything over the roaring in her ears and the filthy sloshing sounds of his fingers fucking into her.  When she comes, she curls into his chest and buries her scream in the side of his neck, soaking his hand and wrist as she squirts for the first time. 

“That’s it,” he murmurs tenderly. His fingers still inside of her but he keeps his hand cupped around her cunt, rocking it slowly against her, helping her through the aftershocks. “My sweet girl. There you go.”

When he finally slips his fingers out she shudders, a pang of emptiness poking through the cool wash of post-orgasm relief. Haden lifts her boneless body and adjusts her position on the bed, placing her pillow under her head. He tugs her shorts and underwear off the rest of the way, tossing them into the basket in the corner, and pulls a blanket up over her waist. He leans down to brush her sweaty hair off her forehead and Penelope turns her head with a lazy, sated hum, arching up for another kiss–

Haden turns away and stands up.

“Don’t let him touch you again.”

The hunters leave in the morning, heading out with the first light of dawn. Penelope sleeps through their departure, having said her goodbyes the night before. She avoided Liam’s attempt at a goodbye kiss, unperturbed by his disappointed frown. All she could think about was Haden’s hands on her, his breath rough in her ear, the stretch of his fingers inside her.

Don’t let him touch you again.

When she finally wakes, there is a delicious soreness between her legs. Mina and Savannah are still asleep, so she drinks coffee in the kitchen with Niko, who tells her that Haden had wanted to let her sleep in and had taken Killer for an early morning drive. 

“He said you were tired,” Niko says. “Did you two spar last night?”

Penelope feels a flush crawl up her neck and settle on her cheeks. She wonders if Niko can tell what happened, if he can sense the difference in her. She feels like the person she was yesterday cracked and splintered and a new one stepped out, better and brighter and buzzing with the confidence of winning, of being wanted. 

“Yeah,” she says, focused on the coffee grinds at the bottom of her mug. “He wore me out.”

Simmering with energy, Penelope grabs her sneakers and runs the perimeter of the farm. It’s a little over a mile, and she normally only does two or three laps, but today she pushes it to a fourth. Her legs start to burn and there’s a stitch in her side, but she keeps going. The grass is still damp with morning dew and there is a crisp breeze in the air. Heavy clouds loom in the sky, taunting an incoming storm, but the sun still shines through. She doesn’t necessarily consider herself a surly person, but she can’t remember the last time she had been in a mood this good.

Penelope slows to a walk on her fourth pass of the west gate, interlocking her fingers and placing them atop her head, taking deep, steady breaths as she walks in a small circle. A soft rustling comes from the treeline outside the gate and she looks over. Sometimes when she’s out running in the morning like this, she is kept company by a deer or some rabbits. One time, two chipmunks perched on one of the fence posts and watched her the whole time. Even after four years, the novelty of nature has yet to wear off. 

A high-pitched whistling noise rings in her ear and then something sharp immediately pinches her cheek. Penelope yelps as a numbness spreads over her face, and she reaches out to pluck whatever it is from her skin. A green dart rests in her hand, the same one that Cara had shot at Liam a few days ago. 

“Oh,” she says, taking a few staggered steps back, her vision swirling. “Fuck.” Her legs give out and she hits the ground hard, her shoulder landing on a jagged rock. The pain of the impact shoots through her, the last thing she feels before everything goes dark. 

Chapter Text

“You have to eat something,” Savannah says softly, knocking her ankle against Mina’s under the table. Mina continues pushing her rice and beans around her plate, staring over Savannah’s shoulder and out the window with a distracted hum. “I’m serious, Means. You haven’t eaten all day.”

“I’m not hungry,” Mina says. 

Savannah puts down her fork with a sigh and leans back in her chair. “We can talk about this, you know.”

“Thought you didn’t like talking,” Mina murmurs, still not looking directly at her.

“I don’t, but I’m willing to do it if that’s what you need.”

Mina’s lower lip wobbles and she looks down at her plate. “What I need is for them to get her back.”

“They will.” Savannah reaches forward and clasps her hand around Mina’s wrist, stilling the other woman’s distracted movements. “There’s no doubt in my mind.”

“But what if they don’t? It’s been days, Sav.” Mina finally looks directly at her now, her eyes glassy, her hand trembling under Savannah’s touch. “I can’t do this again.”

“Hey, don’t do that. This isn’t like Stacey.” Savannah gets up and rounds the table, sinking into the chair next to Mina and grasping her forearms, keeping her close. “Look, I know I haven’t been with you guys from the beginning, but I like to think that I know you all pretty well by now. I know that you are always in a bad mood when it rains because it gives you a headache, I know that Niko is probably allergic to apples but he eats them anyway, and I know that as long as there is still breath in Haden’s lungs that he will do everything in his power to bring Penelope back here. I know you don’t understand it, and that we all pretend that there isn’t something going on, but there is. He loves her too hard to let her go.”

Mina yanks her arms out of Savannah’s grip, eyes flashing angrily. “So what are you saying?” she spits. “You think that if I loved Stacey more that I would have found her?”

“No, that’s not what I–”

“You think that there’s anything I wouldn’t do to bring her back here?” Mina shoves away from the table and paces the kitchen in aggravation. “I let my own fucking hand get cut off in order to find her the first time. She’s my sister. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to bring her back.”

Savannah raises her hands in a placating gesture, waiting for Mina to calm down. Her first instinct is to snap back at her, to fuel the fight further, because for the longest time getting angry was all she knew. But she takes a deep breath and forces herself to stay relaxed, to wait for Mina to sit back down and rest her head in her hand, defeated.

“That’s not what I meant,” Savannah tries again, her voice soft. She rests her hand on Mina’s back, feeling the woman’s shaky inhales. 

“I know,” Mina sniffles after a moment’s silence. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry,” Savannah says, smoothing her hand in slow circles across her back. “I know this is bringing up a lot for you.”

“But you’re right. It’s not like when Stacey left– it’s worse.”

Savannah stays quiet and waits for her to continue.

“It’s worse because when Stacey left, she didn’t want to be found. I didn’t let myself think about it because it hurt too much, but deep down I knew it. I knew we weren’t going to find her, but that was because it was her choice. But now…” Mina’s voice cracks and tears start to spill over her cheeks. “I already lost one sister. I can’t lose another.”

Savannah opens her arms and Mina falls into them without hesitation. She holds Mina tightly as sobs wrack her body, her tears staining Savannah’s shirt and her pained cries echoing through the empty house. When she finally manages to catch her breath, her sobs subsiding, Savannah speaks again. 

“We don’t think about that until we have to,” she says resolutely. “There’s not one bit of me that doesn’t think Penelope isn’t out there putting up one hell of a fight. We’re gonna get her back. And if the time comes where we have to think otherwise, well… I’m going to be right here. No matter what happens.”

Mina pulls back, wiping her eyes, and looking at Savannah with an awed, curious expression. Savannah feels something twist in her chest, a brief spark of something that she hasn’t felt in a long time, and but before she can identify it Mina suddenly lurches forward. They kiss softly, unhurried, both of them lingering in the moment, neither one of them wanting to be the first to break away. It’s not the first kiss they have shared, but it’s the first one that has happened in the daylight. It’s the first one that wasn’t preceded by a nightmare and a desperate need for comfort. It’s the first one that leads to another, and then another, the first one to make them both feel a quick respite from the maddening uncertainty of their situation.

Their dinner grows cold as the women grow bolder, their hands wandering and their kisses growing deeper, more passionate. Soon the dishes are shoved to the side and Mina is lying on her back across the table and Savannah is settled on her knees between her thighs, and they’re both wondering why they aren’t feeling nervous, why the other’s body and touch feels so familiar and so right. And when Mina comes on her tongue Savannah finally has a name for that feeling that sparked in her chest, that swell of affection that has grown into an overwhelming wave of something much, much scarier. 

“Don’t worry about me,” Savannah says softly when Mina reaches for her, her tiny, deft fingers playing with the zipper of Savannah’s jeans. 

“But I want to,” Mina says, still a bit breathless, her forehead shining with a thin sheen of sweat and her eyes clearer than they were before. 

Savannah smiles, leaning down to kiss her again. “Later,” she whispers against her lips, and Mina hums in agreement.

They clean up the discarded dishes in silence, the tense energy that has plagued them for the last few days replaced by a simmering wave of excitement. Savannah knows that it is just a momentary cessation, that the high of their connection will soon give way to anxiety and dread once more. No amount of orgasms will be able to drown out the fear that is plaguing them. But damn it, they sure can try. 

The sun is just starting to set when they hear the unmistakable hum of the engine. Savannah is stoking the fire in the living room and Mina had just gone outside to bring in some more wood when all of a sudden she hears her excited yell.

“Savannah! They’re back!” 

She rushes out the front door just as Mina is rounding the side of the house, and they both stand together and watch in anxious anticipation as the truck rolls up the long driveway. 

But only one person is inside.

Chapter Text

April. One Year and Eleven Months Before. 

Penelope’s stomach rumbles. It’s nearly two in the afternoon, and she hasn’t eaten anything since their early breakfast at sunrise. Her head is starting to hurt, a steady throbbing behind her eyes that only happens when she’s gone longer without food than she should have. Her mood’s gone sour, too, and she’s sulking against the door of the truck, her head resting atop her arm and with wind rushing against her face 

“I’ve got some granola bars in my bag,” Haden says, his eyes cutting towards her. His voice is scratchy and he’s been coughing all day. Allergies , he had mumbled, rubbing at his bloodshot eyes. Spring was in its early stages. 

Penelope ignores him. His allergies must give him a headache, too, because he’s been especially grouchy all day. He’s been rubbing at his temples, even snapped at her at the last house– she hasn’t spoken to him since. There’s only room for one bad mood between the two of them, and it’s usually hers. 

“Fine,” he grumbles at her silence. “Stay hungry.”

They’ve been driving around town all morning, going up and down every street, looking for any signs of life. Any chance that someone has made it through the winter. They’ve only seen one person since Mina left a few weeks ago, a middle-aged man living alone a few blocks away from the farm. He had invited them inside, shared his lunch of dried jerky and fruit snacks, and they had made plans to come back the next day to trade supplies. Penelope had ventured into the chicken coop and collected the eggs herself, arranged them in an old cardboard box with some of the things they could spare, like hand sanitizers and canned soups. Haden had grinned when she presented it to him.

“Looks nice,” he had said, her face flushing with his praise. She had even drawn little smiley faces on the eggs. “Cute.”

When they returned to the man’s house, he was nowhere to be found. They waited for a few hours before deciding to look around, and Haden found him dead in his bathtub upstairs. There was no sign of a Remnant attack, and the man appeared to have expired on his own. Choked on his own vomit, by the looks of it. They disposed of his body, took what they could use, and haven’t been back. That was three days ago. 

Besides people, they’re also looking for bullets. Haden had found an old rifle of his uncle’s in the basement, and there were a few rounds stored with it, but they’ve used them all up taking care of the Remnants that have made it onto the property over the winter. Killer’s been a pretty good alert system, sensing them before they get too close, giving Haden enough time to line up a decent shot. But the bullets ran out and there are only two left in Haden’s revolver. He won’t use those unless it’s absolutely necessary. 

Penelope doesn’t like guns. She thinks they’re loud and ugly and dangerous. Great for killing Remnants, sure, but they make it too easy to kill anything else. She can tell Haden doesn’t like them either, but he won’t tell her why. He keeps the pistol on his nightstand now, and sometimes Penelope stares at it, watching as the cool metal shines in the moonlight. Wondering when the next time he’ll have to use it will be.

Most nights find her in Haden’s bed. She starts out on her own, only creeping into his room after she wakes up from a nightmare or is tired of tossing and turning. He grumbles about it, but he is almost always awake when she creaks open his door. He makes room for her with a huff and a comment about how she’s going to have to stop doing this, that it’s not appropriate, and every night she promises that she’ll stop soon. He wakes up before her, but on the few occasions where she has stirred awake in the middle of the night, he is always on his back with one arm around her, tucking her into his side. 

Haden stops the truck in the middle of the street. He coughs heavily into the side of his arm and drains the water bottle that is sitting in the cupholder. Penelope waits for him to start the truck up again, but he doesn’t, and when she looks over he’s got his eyes closed and is massaging his temples with his index fingers. 

“Fuck it,” he sighs, which catches her attention. He rarely ever curses in front of her. “Let’s just go home.”

“Really?” They had planned to check another two streets, which would keep them out until just before dinner. 

“Not like we’re gonna find anyone anyway,” Haden says grumpily. He suddenly looks exhausted, and Penelope wonders if they have any allergy medicine in their basement storage.

She frowns. “But what if–”

The sound of church bells rings through the air, so loud and unexpected that Penelope jumps and Killer is startled awake from where he is napping on her lap. Haden winces, rubbing his temples again. The bells chime three times, pause, and then start again.

“Do church bells ring on their own?” Penelope asks him, raising her voice over the ringing. 

Haden shakes his head and starts the truck again. They continue forward and turn down a dirt road, heading towards the sound of the bells. It starts to wind, the road growing tighter, the trees closing in on them from either side. They come around a wide bend and stop again. Penelope gasps. On the road ahead of them is a dilapidated old church, its white paint chipped and fading, one shutter hanging off the side. It looks like it hasn’t been touched in decades, but there is a steady stream of black smoke rising from just behind the building. Not thick enough to denote a raging fire, but more like there’s something cooking. 

The bells have stopped now, and Penelope looks over at Haden, who is staring at the building with a curious expression. Killer is standing up between them, tail wagging and smacking the side of Penelope’s head. He must smell whatever is cooking inside. 

“Are we gonna check it out?” Penelope asks, drumming her fingers on the side of the door. Her sour mood has been forgotten in lieu of hier curiosity.

Haden gnaws on the inside of his cheek, which he does when he’s thinking hard about something. “I guess we can look around for a minute,” he finally decides. As if waiting for his cue, the bells start to ring again, so loud and so suddenly that Penelope yelps in surprise. She rolls up her window as an attempt to deafen the chimes, stronger now that they’re so close. Haden’s hands twitch on the steering wheel, then he sighs and takes his foot off the brake, letting them roll forward along the dirt path until they’re parallel to the church steps. Only when Haden puts the truck in park and cuts the engine do the church doors swing open and a man appears at the top of the steps. 

“Hello, friends,” he calls down to them, his arms wide and inviting. “Have you heard my bells?”

“Hard not to,” Haden grumbles to himself. Penelope goes to open her door but he reaches across her lap and holds it shut. “Wait.”

“You said we could look around,” she frowns.

“Stay put for a second,” he says sternly, “and don’t say anything.”

Penelope crosses her arms and pouts as Haden gets out. The man jogs down the stairs and approaches the truck with a bright smile, as if they’re distant cousins showing up for Thanksgiving dinner. He’s bald and tanned, but not in a natural way like Haden, but more like he’s spent too much time in the sun. His skin is dry and leathered, but his teeth are a gleaming white and he is dressed in a freshly pressed gray three-piece suit. He even has a crisp white pocket square. It looks as if he’s ready for a wedding or an inauguration. 

“Welcome!” the man states loudly. He exudes the energy of an inspirational speaker, friendly enough to catch your attention and commanding enough to keep it. 

Penelope rolls down her window. “Hi!” she calls out.

Haden shoots a glare her way and moves to stand in front of her door, blocking her from view. He crosses his arms and stares the man down. 

“You been here long?” he asks. 

The man shakes his head, still smiling. “We arrived early this morning.”

“We?”

“Well, myself and the rest of my congregation,” he says, gesturing back towards the church, where through the doors they can just make out the shadows of people moving about. “We’re just about to sit down for a late lunch. Would you care to join us?”

Penelope’s stomach grumbles again. “Say yes,” she whispers, poking Haden in the back. He ignores her. 

“How many of you are there?”

“Thirteen, including myself,” the man says proudly. “But we expect our numbers to grow as more Imperishables find their way to us.”

“Imperishables?” Haden questions. 

“It is just as said by Peter, my friend. ‘For you have been born again, not of perishable seed, but of imperishable, through the living and enduring word of God.’ We have survived the Lord’s cleanse of this Earth, the ones who He has deemed worthy to carry on. We are naught but Imperishable.”

Oh, great , Penelope thinks. Out of everyone to run into, they find the religious weirdos. 

“Right,” Haden says drily. “How could I have forgotten.”

Unbothered by Haden’s sarcasm, or perhaps not even registering it, the man takes a step forward, extending his arm. “My name is David Osmond. Please, allow me to shake your hand.”

Haden hesitates for a moment before stepping forward. “Haden,” he says, grasping the man’s hand, his forearm flexing as he shakes. When he moves to pull away, David Osmond claps his other hand on Haden’s forearm and keeps him close. 

“Haden,” he repeats, still wearing the same bright smile. Now that he’s closer, Penelope can see that it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. She shifts back in her seat a little bit as Haden yanks his arm back. “Welcome to salvation.”

Penelope snorts, and David’s eyes flick over Haden’s shoulder to land on her.

“And who might you be?” he inquires, tilting his head like she’s some kind of curiosity. His eyes are almost snakelike in their focus, and she feels like she’s been slipped under a microscope.

“...Penelope,” she says softly, suddenly grateful that Haden is standing between them. She can see his shoulders stiffen as David regards her and he steps back a bit. 

“Well, it is just lovely to meet you, Penelope,” David says, bowing his head slightly, yet his eyes don’t stray from hers. 

She squirms uncomfortably. “Thanks.”

“Please, would you both come join us for lunch? I would love to introduce you to the rest of our family,” David asks again, clasping his hands together earnestly. 

“We have to keep moving,” Haden says quickly, and Penelope feels herself relax. As hungry as she is, this man is giving off seriously strange vibes, and she has no interest in being outnumbered if the rest of his congregation are the same. 

“What about you, Penelope?” David presses, taking a step closer to the truck. “Would you care to come inside? Perhaps Haden won’t mind letting you stay with us for a bit.”

“Not happening,” Haden growls, moving forward into David’s space. The man steps back with his hands in the air, still smiling, like he’s been told a joke that no one else is in on. 

“Now, now, I mean no harm,” he says lightly. “Simply offering to share my resources with my new friends. If we’re going to rebuild this world, we’re going to have to work together, you know.”

Penelope suddenly feels like a kid again, like this is one of the moments where an adult says something that really means something else, something that only other adults will understand. Like when her mom used to say that she needed her energy juice, and really meant wine. David’s words mean something else, and Penelope might not understand it, but Haden sure does. 

“We’re leaving,” Haden says sharply, leaving no room for argument. He storms back over to the driver’s side and jumps behind the wheel. The truck roars to life, but since Penelope’s window is still rolled down, she can hear David over the rumble of the engine. 

“Perhaps another time,” he says. He walks forward just as Haden throws the truck into first gear, his arm extending as if he was going to reach inside and touch Penelope’s arm. “You know where to find us.”

Haden ignores him, whipping the truck around in a tight turn as they peel away. 

“Goodbye, Haden!” David calls to them as they drive back the way they came, dust kicking up in their wake. Penelope stares up into the rearview, watching the strange man grow smaller behind them. “And goodbye, Miss Penelope.”

David stays planted in front of the church, watching them until they turn the corner and disappear from view. The car is silent for a bit, both of them trying to process the complete and total weirdness of their encounter. 

“So we agree that he was majorly creepy, right?” Penelope finally says, looking over at Haden, expecting his lips to quirk up into a smirk or for him to roll his eyes. But his lips stay turned down in a frown, his brow furrowed. 

“Still got that knife I gave you?” he asks. 

Penelope nods, slipping it out from her back pocket and looking at him curiously. “Yeah, why?”

“You ever see that man again, you use it.”

Haden’s headache doesn’t get any better after they get back home. His face stays twisted in a perpetual wince, his eyes drawn tight and frequently squeezing shut in pain throughout the night. He takes some Sudafed when they get back to the house but it doesn’t seem to help. He barely picks at his dinner, despite always bugging Penelope to finish her plate, and gives most of his food to Killer. After they eat, Penelope volunteers to do the evening chores: make sure the barn door is fully closed, check on Susan and Lucy, round the chickens back into their coop and lock the door. It’s normally Haden’s job– Penelope isn’t as scared of the chickens anymore, but she’s terrified of the door to their run closing behind her and locking her inside– but she puts him on dishwashing duty instead. When she comes back inside, she finds the dishes still dirty and Haden sprawled on the couch.

It’s then that Penelope starts to get a lurking feeling that something isn’t right. He had soaked a towel in boiling water and draped it over his neck. 

“What’s that for?” she asks as she approaches him.

“My neck is killing me,” he grumbles. “Can barely move it. Must’ve pulled something.”

It’s plausible. He’s one of those guys that coughs or sneezes so hard that she’s surprised the earth doesn’t crack beneath his feet, and his cough has been getting worse all day. But Haden is the type to push himself to work through anything, and the fact that he couldn’t even manage the dishes is not a good sign. Penelope lets him lay on the couch while she goes to clean up those too, then she goes upstairs to wash up and put on her pajamas, and when she comes back down she finds him fast asleep. 

But when she approaches him she notices that his face is shiny, his breathing shallow. Her stomach drops. She presses a hand to the side of his face, then to his forehead. He’s burning up.

“Haden.” Penelope shakes his arm, gently at first, then harder, trying to jostle him awake. He groans and blinks his eyes open. Even in the dark of the living room, lit by their candles, she can see how bloodshot they are. “Haden, wake up.”

He lets her sit him up with a pained hiss. “M’up,” he says.

“Are you okay?”

“M’fine.”

“You’re not fine.”

He blinks rapidly, looking delirious. “I’m fine. Just tired.”

“Let’s get you to bed, then.” Penelope tries to haul him to his feet. He stands unsteadily, leaning into her, and she fears they might topple over. It freaks her out, seeing him like this. It’s like he’s drunk but without any of the fun side effects. 

They make it up the stairs, Killer whining behind them, stopping halfway so he can steady himself on the bannister when a wave of dizziness washes over him. By the time Penelope finally gets him into his room, his shirt is soaked with sweat and he jerkily rips it off and tosses it into the corner of the room. He lays down on the bed and takes a deep breath, holding the sides of his head as if to stop the room from spinning. Penelope bites her lip and watches nervously. She doesn’t think this is just allergies anymore.

Just as she thinks he’s finally settled and comfortable, Haden suddenly lurches to his feet and surges past her, stumbling into the bathroom and collapsing in front of the toilet. She follows him and stands awkwardly in the doorway. 

“Are you okay?” she asks, feeling stupid and useless as he violently upheaves the contents of his stomach, which can’t be much given how little he ate all day. Of course he’s not okay. Haden throws an arm out behind him, swatting her away when she tries to creep inside.

“It’s just a bug,” he croaks, heaving away. “I’m fine. Don’t want you to catch it.”

“I’ll bring up a new bucket,” she says, unsure of what else she could be doing to help. Since the water doesn’t run anymore, they’ve had to adapt. The toilet will flush as long as they pour water into the tank, so they keep buckets full of river water by the back door to haul upstairs when necessary. It’s not the freshest scent, but they save the boiled water for drinking and bathing. Overall, Penelope is grateful. She has learned to deal with no showers, but if she had to start going to the bathroom in a hole outside she would just walk into the woods and let the Remnants get her. 

After lugging the bucket upstairs, and only spilling a little bit down her leg, she puts it at the door of the bathroom. Haden stands shakily and grabs it, pouring some into the tank. 

“What do you want me to do?” she asks. He gargles some mouthwash and splashes some cool water from the bucket onto his face.

“Nothing,” Haden says, shaking his head. He looks pale and unsteady. “Stay away from me. I don’t want you to get sick, too.”

“But I can help,” Penelope protests. “I’m probably going to catch it anyway, I don’t mind.”

“No, it’s fine.” He manages an unconvincing smile. “Just need to sleep it off. Go to bed.”

Not altogether convinced, Penelope climbs into her own bed anyway. But sleep doesn’t come for her, and she lays awake as the night goes on, listening to the pattern of Haden stumbling back and forth between his room and the bathroom, continuing to get sick. She manages to doze off in fits of a few minutes at a time, but always startling awake whenever she hears his heavy feet hit the floor. After hours of this, she throws off the covers and grabs the flashlight next to her bed and goes to check on him.

When she pushes open the bathroom door, she finds Haden on the ground next to the toilet, eyes closed and ghostly pale. Penelope runs to his side immediately. His hair is plastered to his sweaty forehead, his body trembling. She smacks his cheek to get him to look at her, but when he does his eyes are glassy and unfocused. It’s at that moment that she knows that something is very wrong. She’s never had a stomach bug like this before. When she tries to sit him up, he groans in pain.

“My neck,” he hisses. “It hurts.”

Something suddenly clicks in Penelope’s head.

When she was in the fourth grade, one of her classmates died suddenly. He was in class on Friday and had sat next to her for their end of the month pizza party. Her class had collectively read the most books in the whole fourth grade. His name was Baxter Moore and Penelope had given him her pizza crust and he had given her his Strawberry-Kiwi flavored Capri Sun because he changed his mind and wanted grape soda instead. Over the weekend, he had apparently come down with a bad fever and started complaining about an ache in his neck. His parents thought he had just caught a virus going around, and didn’t even know to be concerned until it was too late. He was dead by Sunday afternoon. The school was in shock, and they had a dedication to him at their moving up ceremony at the end of the year.

“That’s why I always keep penicillin in the house,” her mom had said, acting like she was mother of the year. It was a few months before they got the news about her father, and so Karen Rhys was still trying to be somewhat involved in her daughter's life. “You never know when you’re going to need it. It’s the neck pain you have to watch out for.”

Penelope gets Haden back into bed, where he curls into his sweat-soaked sheets, shivering. She runs down into the basement, going so fast that she missteps and rolls her ankle on the bottom step. Whatever pain she feels, however creeped out she is by being down there in the dark, it’s nothing compared to the fear that now practically paralyzes her. If she can’t get help for Haden soon, he’s going to die.

And she’ll be left alone again.

Penelope tears apart their first aid section, rifling through every pill and vitamin and bottle they have, looking for penicillin. There’s nothing. They might have something else that would do the trick, but she’s not a pharmacist. She doesn’t recognize half of the names of anything and has no clue what they do. The more she looks, the more desperate she becomes. Killer has followed her downstairs and is attached to her heel, whining as he picks up on her frantic energy.

What are they going to do if Haden dies? She can’t survive on her own. There’s still so much about the farm that she doesn’t know, and even if she manages to figure that part out, she’s no match for any Remnants that might make it onto the land. If he leaves her, she’ll be right back to where she was months ago. Scared. Alone. Useless. 

Swallowing her panic-induced nausea, Penelope goes back upstairs and paces in the living room. The sun is going to rise soon, the sky already turning a deep blue-gray. An idea suddenly sparks in her head, and she doesn’t think twice about it. She doesn’t have time to waste. He might only have hours left.

Penelope goes back upstairs with a damp washcloth and a cup of water. She coaxes Haden awake and makes him drink the water, then she places the cloth over his head. He’s still shaking and she grabs his hand.

“Don’t worry,” she says. “You’re going to be fine.”

He doesn’t say anything, but he squeezes her hand back. 

Penelope quickly gets dressed and grabs the gun off his nightstand, along with the keys to the truck. Killer tries to follow her outside, but she makes him stay.

“You have to watch over him for me,” she tells him, scratching behind his ears and pressing a quick kiss to the top of his head. “I’ll be back as fast as I can.”

Her feet can barely reach the pedals inside the truck. She moves the seat all the way forward and even then her legs are still stretching uncomfortably. Her hands are shaking as they grip the steering wheel, but Penelope takes a deep breath and tries to steady herself. 

You can do this. You have to do this. 

She turns the truck on and goes to reverse, but when she looks down at the gearshift she’s met with yet another troubling realization. It’s a stick shift.

“Fuck my life,” Penelope groans. How had she never noticed it before? She manages to throw it in reverse and coast slowly down the driveway, and once the back of the truck is in the road, she moves the gearshift to a bunch of different spots before she starts to drift forward. After executing both the slowest and widest turn known to man, partially veering off the road and onto the grass, Penelope manages to get the truck moving forward in a semi-straight line down the road. It’s a stop-and-go journey, creeping along and braking when she feels herself going too fast, trying to remember how and when Haden moves the gearshift and desperately hoping she doesn’t break anything. As fast as she wants to get into town, if the truck breaks down on her, she’s shit out of luck. 

The truck finally rolls into town what feels like hours later. The area looks pretty much the same as it did back when Haden found her, if not creepier. Still desolate and barren, the sidewalks covered with glass from the storefronts that shattered in the cold of winter. The sun is freshly risen and Penelope parks the truck crookedly in front of the old drugstore, the front right tire up on the curb. When she gets out, she tucks the gun into the waistband of her pants, under her shirt, just like Haden does. It’s super uncomfortable and she’s scared that if she moves wrong she’s going to blow her vagina off, but she wants to keep her hands free. Her knife, as usual, is in the back right pocket of her jeans. 

The door to the drugstore is wide open, the early morning sunlight streaming through the entryway. Penelope stays within the rays as she peers into the store, kicking some debris down the aisles. She keeps one hand on the gun at her waist like an old timey sheriff. When nothing jumps out from the shadows, she cautiously steps forward.The last Remnant that they had come into contact with had been on the outskirts of the farm, creeping closer as twilight grew. Haden had shot it from their fenceline, and had remarked that it seemed to avoid the sunlight like it burns. 

“So what, they’re vampire zombies?” she had remarked as she helped him drag the body to the fire. “Good thing you planted garlic.”

Haden had let out a surprised laugh. “Something tells me we’re not that lucky.” 

Penelope creeps through the bare, overturned aisles to the back with the pharmacy, still cautious of the shadows, and then screams when someone steps out of an aisle and directly in front of her path.

The girl screams too, and raises a wooden baseball bat just as Penelope sloppily draws the gun from her waistband. They stare at each other for a moment, then both shakily lower their weapons when they realize the other person is still alive.

“Oh my God,” the girl sighs, placing a hand on her chest and breathing heavily. “I think I just had a heart attack.”

“Same.” Penelope manages a shaky laugh. The girl looks to be about her age, maybe a year or two older. She has mousy brown hair and a tiny gap between her front teeth. She has a solid build and has a backpack stuffed to the brim hanging off her shoulders. 

“I’m Caitlin,” the girl says, reaching out a hand. Penelope shakes. The girl’s hands are rough and calloused, with nails bitten down to the nubs and ragged cuticles. 

“Penelope.”

“You passing through? Or are you staying around here?” Caitlin asks. 

“I live close by,” Penelope answers. She steps past Caitlin and hurries back towards the pharmacy. “Just looking for something.”

“Me too.” Caitlin follows her to the back. “What are you looking for?”

“Medicine.”

“Me too,” Caitlin says again. Penelope jumps over the counter and starts to rifle through the prescription bottles that are still left on the shelves. “Are you sick?”

“No, my–” Penelope pauses, fumbling for the right word, “–my friend is.” The word still feels wrong, like Haden is just some guy she hangs out with. 

Caitlin slips her backpack off her shoulders and rests her bat up against it, starting to rifle through the bottles on another shelf. “That sucks,” she says. “I’m in the same boat. My brother’s been feeling like shit for days. We’ve been giving him some of the medicine we had saved up at home but nothing’s really working. I volunteered to go look for something to help.”

“Yeah,” Penelope murmurs, distracted. She is looking faster now, getting impatient. She doesn’t mean to be short with this girl, and if they had met under any other circumstances, she’d love to chat, but Haden doesn’t have a lot of time. Her and Caitlin move on to the next shelf at the same time, starting on opposite ends. She knows she should be asking where Caitlin’s from, how many people she’s with, if they have any supplies they’re willing to trade, but she can’t focus on anything else besides–

There. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees the words printed on the side of a bottle.

Penicillin.

Penelope and Caitlin reach for it at the same time. Penelope jams her ring finger into Caitlin’s palm and the knuckle pops, making her hiss in pain. The bottle clatters to the ground as the girls stare at each other, eyes wide. They both look to the bottle, then to the shelf, then to each other. It’s the only one.

“That’s what I was looking for,” Penelope says, flexing her fingers to combat the throbbing pain.

Caitlin arches an eyebrow. Her earlier friendly disposition has vanished. “Me too.”

They stare at each other for a beat longer. Caitlin lunges down at the same time Penelope kicks her foot out, sending the bottle flying to the other end of the store. Caitlin’s momentum takes her to the ground and Penelope races forward, grabbing the bottle and scooping it into her left hand, straightening up just in time for Caitlin’s bat to whack her in the back. The wind is knocked out of her and she falls to her knees, gasping for air, but she doesn’t lose her grip on the bottle. She looks up as Caitlin lifts the bat to swing again and Penelope rolls away, the bat coming crashing down on a shelf where her head just was. 

Still wheezing, with a searing pain radiating down her back, Penelope yanks the gun out of her waistband and points it at her. Caitlin freezes, face turning white.

“You know,” Penelope gasps as she climbs to her feet. “If you hadn’t fucking hit me, I would have shared.”

She pulls the trigger.

But nothing happens. Penelope looks down at the gun in confusion. Shit . Is there a safety she has to turn off or something? She has no idea how it really works, thought all you had to do was pull the trigger. 

Capitalizing on her distraction, Caitlin charges forward, dropping her bat and instead choosing to tackle Penelope to the ground. Her head cracks against the floor and her vision goes black for a second, but despite dropping the gun, she still maintains a vice-like grip on the pills. Caitlin has one knee over Penelope’s thighs, the other digging into her chest, while both hands try to peel her fingers off of the bottle. With her free hand, Penelope reaches up and grabs a handful of Caitlin’s stringy hair and yanks with all her might.

“Motherfucker!” Caitlin yells as she falls back off of Penelope’s chest with a howl of pain. Penelope scoots back, landing a kick into her ribs for good measure. She stumbles to her feet and shoves the bottle down her shirt, tucked into her bra, and goes to run for the door– but Caitlin rolls over and grabs her ankle, tripping her and sending her back to the floor again. Penelope lands hard on her left shoulder and turns onto her back just in time for Caitlin to loom over her and punch her square in the face.

Penelope can hear more than feel the crunch of her nose, can taste the blood before the pain radiates through her face. Her eyes water and a pained groan catches in her throat. 

“You fucking bitch,” she hisses at Caitlin, grabbing her wrists and fending her off as the girl tries to fish the bottle out of her bra. Caitlin bends down and bites down and bites Penelope’s forearm, making her yelp and loosen her grip enough for the girl to free her hand and yank the bottle out of Penelope’s shirt. She stands, placing a heavy foot on Penelope’s neck to keep her still, and holds up the bottle triumphantly. 

“And if you hadn’t tried to shoot me,” she taunts, “I would have shared, too.”

Gasping for air against the weight on her throat, Penelope frantically tries to slip her fingers into her back pocket. She’s able to lift her hips enough to reach inside and grip the edge of the knife, pulls it out and gets her fist around it just as Caitlin’s eyes catch the movement. Penelope moves in a flash, digging the knife into the back of Caitlin’s thigh and yanking down– hard.

Caitlin screeches as blood splatters down onto Penelope’s torso. She drops the bottle– it bounces off Penelope’s chest and rolls to the side– and collapses to the ground, clutching her leg. Penelope stands up, wiping the pain-induced tears from her cheeks and spitting blood onto the ground. Her body is buzzing, the pain just a dull hum in the background, waiting its turn. She can’t focus on it now. All she can think about is getting the pills and getting back to Haden. 

They’ve rolled a few feet away, and as she steps toward them, she sees Caitlin move out of the corner of her eye. She turns her head just in time to see Caitlin inch forward and wrap her hand around the gun, and Penelope doesn’t hesitate.

She quickly steps over Caitlin, planting a food on either side of her body, and takes a fistful of her hair in her left hand. She yanks the girl’s head back and drags the knife across her throat in one fluid motion. Caitlin’s scream cuts off into a surprised gurgle and Penelope lets go of her hair, letting her body fall, her face hitting the ground with a smack. 

Then she calmly pockets the bottle of pills, grabs the gun, and walks back to the truck. 

Haden is awake when she walks upstairs, catching her off guard. If she had known he was going to be conscious, she would have at least washed the blood off her face before walking into his room. 

His eyes go wide as soon as he sees her. “W’happened?” he slurs, immediately trying to stand. Penelope rushes to his side and places her hands on his shoulders, pushing him back down. 

“I’m fine,” she says quickly, the dried blood caked over her lips cracking as she talks. “It’s okay, I’m fine.”

“You’re hurt, you–”

“I got you medicine.” Penelope uncaps the bottle and shakes two pills into her hand, holding them out to him. “Take them. It’ll help.”

I hope.

It’s a testament to how sick he truly is that he doesn’t question her, just takes the pills and pops them into his mouth, swallowing them dry without so much as a wince. Penelope hands him the glass of tepid water on his nightstand and waits until he drinks it all before speaking again.

“Go back to sleep,” she says softly. “I’ll give you some more in a few hours.”

She pushes his shoulders again until he’s laying flat against the pillows, blinking up at her curiously. He raises a slightly shaky hand and gently runs his finger down her cheek, over her swollen top lip. Penelope remains completely still, watching as Haden’s eyes scour every inch of her, his fever-stricken brain trying to make sense of the mess she surely she looks like.

“Penny,” he says softly, and he looks like he is about to say something else but then his eyes flutter closed and his body relaxes as sleep takes him again. 

Penelope lets out a heavy breath and hangs her head, her elbows planted on the mattress as the last bits of adrenaline finally leave her body. She can feel every ache now, and her face is throbbing. Leaving the bottle on the nightstand, she stands and heads to the bathroom to clean up. 

An angry purple bruise is already forming around her left eye, her cheek and nose swollen and turning an angry shade of red. She prods at her nose gently, wincing in pain but momentarily satisfied that it isn’t broken. Dried blood is caked around her nostrils, her mouth, even down her chin. Her shoulder is throbbing from where she landed on it, and when she turns to try to gingerly lift up her shirt, she can barely raise that arm all the way. When she manages to get the shirt up far enough, Penelope looks over her shoulder in the mirror and sees deep bruises beginning to bloom across her upper back. 

A low whine comes from the doorway and she finds Killer sitting there, looking at her with his ears back and his eyes wide. His tail thumps against the door.

“I guess I probably should’ve taken you, huh?” she says, grabbing a towel from the closet and dipping it into the bucket of water to dab the blood off her face. “I could have used some back up.”

Killer boofs and trots forward, rubbing his shaggy head against her legs. 

It doesn’t hit Penelope until a little while later, after she has put a freshly dampened cloth on Haden’s head, left a new glass of water and a plate of saltines on his nightstand. She goes back out to the truck to clean the bloodstains off the steering wheel– left behind by Caitlin’s blood on her right hand– and in the middle of scrubbing at the worn leather she suddenly finds herself gasping for air. 

Penelope drops the rag she’s using and stumbles out of the truck, falling to her hands and knees in the dirt. 

She killed someone.

She killed someone. 

“Oh my God,” she moans, hunching in on herself, the burning flames of shame licking up her spine and swallowing her whole. “Fuck. Oh my God .”

Someone is dead because of her. Not just someone– Caitlin. A girl with a name and a family and people who will miss her, people who she was trying to help. What’s going to happen to her brother now? Penelope moans again, feeling like she’s going to be sick. She murdered someone. She’s a murderer.

Just like Haden. 

The thought makes her sit upright. What is Haden going to say when he finds out? Will he be proud? Angry? Disgusted? What if the medicine doesn’t even work and she did it all for nothing? Penelope wraps her arms around her knees and curls up into a ball, trying to slow down the overwhelming slew of thoughts beating their way around her head.

You did what you had to do.

She attacked you first.

You had to help Haden. 

She was going to kill you, too.

You had no other choice.

Penelope gulps in deep breaths, trying to calm her racing heart. “I did what I had to do,” she repeats to herself, saying the words over and over again until she doesn’t feel like she’s going to be sick, until she can breathe normally again. “I did what I had to do.”

Haden sleeps on and off for the next two days. His fever breaks after the first day, and Penelope manages to coax him into eating a few saltines whenever she wakes him up to chug some more water and take another dose of medicine. She has no idea what the proper dosage is, but two pillows every six hours seems to be working, and so that’s what she stays with. He doesn’t throw up anymore, which she takes as a good sign, too. 

At first, she sits by his bedside as he sleeps, watching over him, putting her hand on his chest every few minutes to make sure his heart is still beating. But that gets to be too much, the down time leaving her simmering with too much nervous energy, her mind spiraling from one catastrophizing scenario to the next. 

What if he has an allergic reaction to the medicine?

What if it stops working?

What if it’s really not working at all and he’s going to die anyway?

Penelope knows she needs to keep busy, and so she sets about finding tasks for herself, thinking about what Haden would do if he was in her place. She dons her boots and her gardening gloves and heads out into the fields, determined to accomplish all the chores as usual. She feeds the chickens and collects their eggs, then feeds Susan and Lucy before letting them out to graze. Her and Haden had spent the previous week planting corn, which–if successful– would be instrumental in keeping them fed through the following winter. Penelope works on planting rows of sweet peas the first day, and then bell peppers the next. She ends the first night by weeding the front garden and the next by brushing out Susan and Lucy’s coat. Her body still aches from her fight, and the work doesn’t make her feel any better, but the pain helps keep her mind focused on the tasks at hand and not the what-ifs that haunt her.

The color has returned to Haden’s cheeks by the end of the second day. His forehead is warm but not the raging fever that it had been, and his face looks more relaxed as he sleeps. Penelope eats a bowl of pasta while sitting cross-legged at the foot of his head, eyes roaming around his room. She has grown to feel more comfortable in his than her own. She had spent the previous night snooping around, looking through his closet and his drawers, knowing that she would never have a chance like this again and her curiosity getting the best of her. 

There is a crisp black suit still protected in the dry cleaner’s bag hanging in the back of his closet, behind bulky sweatshirts and his heavy winter flannels. Penelope imagines it was the suit he must have worn to his uncle’s funeral, and wonders if she could ever convince him to wear it again. She’s never seen him all dressed up.

His wallet is tucked in the top drawer of his dresser, buried behind his neatly folded–everything of his is folded into perfect squares– socks and underwear. It’s made of worn brown leather, cracking at the seams. Inside is a faded blue debit card from Chase, thirty-six dollars, a Planet Fitness membership, and a punch card for a place called Milano’s Pizza. He was just two visits away from getting a free slice and a soft drink. What fascinates her the most, however, is his license. 

The thin piece of plastic holds so much information that she didn’t know about him. His middle name is Samuel. He’s from Philadelphia. He was born on May 5th, 1990. He’s an organ donor. The picture must have been taken when he was just a few years older than her, maybe seventeen or eighteen. His face is thinner, less bulk to his frame. Penelope almost doesn’t recognize him because his face is clean-shaven, a sight she hasn’t seen since they first met. As she stares at the picture, she wonders about what his life was like when it was taken. How his family was, if he had a girlfriend. What happened to make him end up here with her. 

Penelope finishes her pasta and puts the bowl on the ground for Killer, letting him lick the sauce off the inside. A low groan catches her attention and she whips around to see Haden stirring awake, propping himself up onto his elbows and wiping his eyes.

“Hey,” she says, moving closer to sit by his side. “How do you feel?”

He blinks up at her, and she can immediately tell that his eyes are clearer, more focused, and they widen in surprise when they land on her still-bruised face.

“Knew it wasn’t a dream,” he murmurs, grabbing her chin and tilting her head up to examine her. “Jesus, Penelope, what happened?”

Maybe it’s the firmness of his grip or the disapproving tone of his voice, the way he sounds more like himself than he has in days, that makes the tightness she has been holding in her chest start to crack and splinter. Her lower lip wobbles as she thinks of Caitlin, the way she fell to the ground, how easily the blade sliced through her throat.

“I got you medicine,” Penelope says quietly.

“You left?”

She nods, biting the inside of her cheek. Haden’s eyes flash angrily and his jaw ticks. 

“That was too dangerous. Look at you, you could’ve–”

“Don’t be mad,” she says, losing her battle with herself as her eyes fill with tears. “Please don’t be mad at me. You were so sick and I was so scared and I couldn’t let you die, I had to try something, I couldn’t–I couldn’t–”

“Hey, hey,” Haden says, his voice softening as he pulls her into his arms. His skin is sticky with dried sweat and he smells awfully ripe but she doesn’t care, curling into his chest and letting him squeeze her tight. “It’s okay. I’m not mad.”

“Yes you are,” she sniffles.
He huffs in amusement. “Okay, I’m a little mad,” he concedes. “But only because you put yourself in danger. I don’t ever want you to do that for me.”

“But I can’t let you die,” she protests weakly, pressing herself closer. “You’re all I have.”

Haden doesn’t say anything for a while. He runs a soothing hand up and down her back, waiting for to stop crying. “Whatever you got me is working,” he finally says, “You were reckless, but you were also brave. I’m proud of you.”

Her heart flutters. “You swear?” she asks, raising her fist and lifting her pinky finger. Laughing lightly, Haden loops it with his. 

“I swear, Penny.”

Satisfied, Penelope pulls back and wipes her eyes. She climbs out of his lap and lets him lean down and pet Killer, who is very excited to see him awake. Then she goes back downstairs to make him a bowl of pasta while he changes his sweat-soaked clothes and cleans up a bit. When she comes back upstairs, he’s looking refreshed, and after he takes the pasta from her he fixes her with a determined stare.

“Now tell me what the hell happened to your face.”

Chapter Text

The dormitory is quiet. It’s always quiet on Sundays, the only day when the murmurs and whispers that travel through the thin walls are silenced and the cramped halls remain vacant. Sundays are a day of reflection, a day to give thanks to their Lord and their Pastor for the sweet gift of salvation and day to strengthen their commitment to the restoration of this world. But Sundays are also a special day for the Chosen, for it is the day when the Pastor visits the dormitories and decides if any of them are worthy enough to be Honored and join him in the Main House. It is the only time that he ever visits the dormitory, and practically the only time outside of supper and prayer that the Chosen ever see him. It is to be expected– the Pastor’s time is too precious, and the Lord keeps him busy with His many tasks.

Every Sunday, Stacey rises early and rinses her face with the tepid water that drips from the sink in her room. She scrapes the crust of sleep from her eyes and pinches her cheeks until they are ripe with color, and then she runs a damp comb through her hair, taming the flyaways. It falls nearly down to her collarbones now. She parts her thick mane down the middle and then braids the two front sections framing her face, pinning both braids behind her head with her last weathered elastic, stretched nearly to the point of breaking. It’s her compromise. She likes keeping her hair up and out of her face, but the Pastor likes for them to wear it down. 

Folded in her cubicle are her everyday clothes, six pairs of identical gray linen jumpsuits, and one spare white nightgown. The only pop of color in her wardrobe is her Sunday dress, a soft blue A-line dress with puffy three-quarter length sleeves and the fabric ruched in the chest, fastened with a tiny bow. It was not her own– she had to relinquish all of her clothes when she arrived. The uniforms are meant to unify them, to take away the stress of choice and minimize the envy of others. Instead, this dress was picked out for her by one of the Honored, someone whom she has never met and will never have the chance to meet unless she finds herself within the Pastor’s good graces. 

Stacey stays in her nightgown– the fabric thin and falling to her knees– while she irons out the creases in the dress. Once it is starched to perfection, she drapes it over her bed so that it doesn’t wrinkle any further while she tidies up her room. It doesn’t take long, since she has no possession besides the Bible on her end table and the journal she has tucked beneath her mattress, her only piece of contraband, the one thing she refused to give up when she was accepted into the community. But the Pastor likes things neat and she does not want to risk earning his displeasure, so Stacey takes one of the frayed cloths she uses to wash with one the days she does not have access to the bathing facilities, runs it under some water, and starts to scrub every surface and corner until there is not a single speck of dust to be found. 

Finally, once the rumbling of her stomach tells her it’s nearly noon, she slips into the dress and waits. Sundays are also a day of fasting for the Chosen. Their sacrifice begins at supper the night before, where they are only allotted a small bowl of vegetable stew and a slice of bread, and continues until supper on Monday evening. It is meant to be a reminder of the suffering they endured Before and what may lay in store for them After, if they do not support the Pastor and he is unable to properly execute the Lord’s vision. 

The Pastor comes to the dormitory in the early afternoon, after his morning meditation with the Lord. Each week is a mystery. They never know which door he will knock on, or if he will choose any of them at all. Sometimes they go weeks without anyone being picked, and there have been a handful of occasions where they have emerged on Monday morning to find two empty rooms. Once you are Honored, you stay in the Main House for good, unless of course you are foolish enough to become Dishonored. There is only one who Stacey is aware of this happening to, a girl named Marguerite, who was Honored the week after Stacey arrived and Dishonored last month. Sitting at the Pastor’s table during supper one day and gone the next. The Pastor explained that she was not dedicated to the task at hand, and she had been cast out beyond the walls, left to fend for herself against the unforgiving nature and the Remnants that stalk the boundaries of their settlement.

Stacey wonders what Marguerite could have done to Dishonor herself, wonders how someone could be so foolish. To be hand-selected by the Pastor is the most prestigious veneration that could be bestowed upon any of the Chosen. No one with half a brain would squander an opportunity to be in his presence, to live in the luxury of the Main House. The Pastor has done so much for all of them and has great plans to do so much more. He has plucked them from the waste of this world and given them safety, security, a chance to start again. If Stacey is worthy enough to be picked by him, she will not do anything to waste it. She has been living in the dormitory for about four months now, waiting for her chance to ascend the ranks. Her neighbors on both sides have been visited, their rooms left empty and filled with more Chosen as time passes and more people join their community. Every week she prays for a chance to join the Honored and commit to a life of greater service, protected by the Pastor’s infinite grace.

Her musings are interrupted by a sharp knock at her door. Stacey jumps to attention and smooths out her dress, biting her lips until they are plump and red. Her heart thunders in her chest as she crosses the room and takes a hold of the doorknob. She squeezes it to ground herself, takes a deep breath and slowly swings it open, already prepared with a demure smile. 

The Pastor is waiting for her on the other side of the door. He is wearing a navy blue suit with a cream colored tie, his shoes shining with the reflection of the fluorescent hallway lights. His beard is neatly trimmed, flecked with gray and reaching down to his sternum, and his eyes rake over her appreciatively. Stacey bows her head and steps aside to let him in.

“Pastor, it is an honor,” she says, keeping her head down until he is inside.

“You have been with us for a while, my child,” the Pastor says as she closes the door. She clasps her hands behind her back and stares straight ahead, focusing on his beard, not daring to look him in the eyes just yet. “I have noticed your dedicated service.”

“Thank you, Pastor,” Stacey says, trying not to let her excitement show. She tends to her chores every day without complaint, and is the first to fall to her knees for their Wednesday afternoon prayer services. She has diligently followed every rule dictated to her since her arrival, not wanting to jeopardize her safety and dedicated to her pursuit of becoming Honored. 

The Pastor puts a cool hand on her shoulder and guides her into a slow spin. 

“You are...quite a lovely little thing,” he says after she has completed a full rotation. “This color suits you.”

“Thank you, Pastor.”

“Look at me, my child.” Stacey raises her gaze and feels herself blush under the weight of his scrutinizing stare. “I have come to ask you a question. Do you believe you deserve to be Honored?”

“I...I do, Pastor,” Stacey says slowly, carefully, “but I also believe that you know best. It is your choice, if our Lord wills it to be.”

“So it is.” The Pastor hums thoughtfully. “Tell me, my child, what can you give me?”

“Give you?”

“If I am to Honor you then I must be sure that this extension of my grace– of the Lord’s grace– is appropriately compensated. What do you have to offer me?”

Stacey feels her throat tighten in panic. “I offer you my service. My eternal dedication.”

The Pastor gives her a condescending smile. “I have that already.”

Stacey swallows thickly as she tries to think of what else he might want to hear. She has no possessions, nothing material to give. She can’t cook any better than any of the other Chosen, as her nights in the kitchen have proven. Her silence damns her, and the Pastor sighs and turns to leave. 

“No matter. There will always be a use for you here instead–”

Stacey doesn’t think, just opens her mouth and begins to sing. Her voice cracks a little at first, a bit rusty after months of disuse. Sound carries too easily in the dormitories, and so she hasn’t bothered doing anything louder than humming a tune out of fear of disturbing the others, being reprimanded for a distraction. The Pastor stops in his tracks as she makes it through the first few notes of The Seal Lullaby, a song she had performed with her high school choir over five years before. She doesn’t know why that is the song she chose, but she is glad for it, because the Pastor is now staring at her with curious fascination.

Oh hush thee, my baby, the night is behind us

And black are the waters that sparkled so green.

She finishes the first verse and falls silent, ducking her head again to hide her burning face as she waits for his response. The Pastor is silent for a few moments before he steps forward and tilts her chin up with his index finger.

“I seem to have been blessed with a songbird,” the Pastor says warmly. Hope starts to bloom in Stacey’s chest. “It appears you have something to offer me after all.”

“...Am I to be Honored then?” Stacey asks tentatively.

The Pastor reaches up and tugs the elastic out of her hair, combing his fingers through the braids so they frame her face. “You are.”

Relief floods her chest. Finally. The Pastor takes her by the hand and starts to lead her out the door, but Stacey hesitates.

“What about my things?” She is not concerned with her clothes– the Honored have access to a vast wardrobe full of all different colors and fabrics– but more so with the journal she has hiding beneath her mattress. The only tie she has left to the life she left behind.

“You have no use for them anymore,” the Pastor says. The anxiety Stacey has about leaving her only true possession behind is quickly negated by the excitement that bubbles up inside her as she recognizes the truth of his words. She’s going to the Main House. She’s going to be Honored. This was what she has been waiting for. 

“You’re right,” Stacey agrees. “I apologize for my lack of faith.”

“Of course I am, my sweet songbird.”

“Thank you, Pastor,” Stacey says, bowing her head again, dipping into curtsey for good measure, “for choosing me.”

“Please,” the Pastor says when she rises, “Call me Oz.”

Chapter Text

June. One Year and Three Months After.

Niko is sprawled on the couch in the living room, flipping through a faded Time magazine from 1987. He’s halfway through a feature on Gorbachev when he hears the crunch of gravel as the truck pulls up to the house. The front door opens a few moments later and the pitter-patter of paws on the wood floor sounds as Killer races in to greet him. Niko sits up and lets the dog lick his face, laughing as his back leg starts to twitch when he scratches the pup’s chest.

“Morning,” Haden says, nodding towards him as he comes into the living room.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Niko says, raising his arms above his head in a stretch that pops his spine. “There’s still some coffee left if you want.”

“I’m good,” Haden says. He turns and heads for the stairs, but Niko stops him.

“She’s up already. Running laps.”

Haden frowns. “I didn’t see her outside.”

Niko tilts his head curiously. “She was there a few minutes ago.” He stands up and heads into the kitchen, peering out the window above the sink, scanning the perimeter. “I figured she was almost done.”

Haden opens the back door and steps outside. Penelope is nowhere in their immediate eyeline. He calls her name, no response. Calls it again, louder this time. Nothing.

“Did she tell you she was going anywhere?” Haden asks sharply.

Niko shakes his head. “No, she was just running.” He follows Haden’s gaze towards the west gate, which is hanging open. An uneasy feeling starts to twist in his gut. They always close the gate behind them, never wanting anything– Remnants and wild animals alike– to wander onto the property. Penelope knows that rule better than anyone.

The back door opens behind them and Mina steps outside, rubbing her eyes. “What’s with the yelling?”

Haden is already running towards the gate, and so Niko answers her. “We can’t find Penelope.”

“What do you mean you can’t find her?”

“I mean she was out here running one minute and now she’s gone,” Niko says. He heads out into the yard, following Haden, who keeps shouting her name, his calls going unanswered.

“She wouldn’t just wander off without telling someone,” Mina says, keeping right behind him. 

“No, she wouldn’t,” Niko agrees. Not today, especially. She had been in a great mood when she woke up. Maybe she would have snuck away if she had been pissed about something, wanted to make them– or more specifically, Haden– worry for a minute. But not today. 

“Well, how far could she have gotten?” Mina asks anxiously.

Niko swallows the lump in his throat. He’s always had a pretty strong intuition, can easily pick up on other people’s moods and energy shifts in the air. His gut feelings are rarely ever wrong, which is why the growing sensation of dread in the pit of his stomach is so terrifying. Penelope wouldn’t wander off like this, and combined with the fact that the bodies of two strangers had just been found worryingly close to their property makes for too great of a coincidence. He can tell that Mina sees it in his face, and already knows that Haden has recognized it by the frantic, desperate way he keeps screaming Penelope’s name. Something is very, very wrong.

“I don’t know.” 

Penelope is moving. Or rather, she’s in something that’s moving. She is on her back, her body jostling from side to side. Her mouth is dry, her tongue heavy, her mind foggy like she’s coming out of a bad fever. She squeezes her eyes shut, feeling dizzy as she rocks from side to side. She’s in a car, or maybe a van. Something with enough space for her to lay down. For a second she thinks she might be in the truck, but that doesn’t make sense. There’s not enough space for her to lay down fully across the front seat, and the truck doesn’t have a back row. It smells different too, she realizes when she takes a deep breath. Unfamiliar, sterile, metallic. 

As her mind starts to clear, things come back to her in vivid flashes, all out of order. The smell of the wet grass on her run. Haden’s heated kiss. The dart hitting her cheek. Cara’s bloody back. Her body falling, eyes closing despite her desperate attempt to keep them open.

Penelope opens her eyes with a gasp and is met with a view of the shiny, semi-reflective metal ceiling. Just a millisecond later, she realizes that she’s tied down. Thick straps lay tight over her shoulders, her torso, her thighs. Her wrists and ankles are bound as well. Panic bubbles up inside her and her first instinct is to scream and thrash around, but she wills herself to keep calm. Taking deep, steadying breaths, Penelope ignores her racing heart and tries to take in her surroundings.

Metal ceiling, metal walls. Bits of sunlight streaming in and reflecting back into her eyes, making her squint. The space is large and open, and Penelope’s first thought is that she is in some kind of refurbished ambulance. But the more the looks around, the less that theory holds up. There are open spaces in the wall with loose, frayed wires hanging out, as if an appliance had been ripped away. To her left is a wide, sliding glass window, with some faded stickers half-ripped off of one side. Some type of music is playing, fading in and out, the notes warped and off-key. It reminds her of those musical birthday cards whose batteries have died and can now only play a haunting, distorted melody. As she listens, she slowly recognizes the tune that it is meant to be. 

She’s in a fucking ice cream truck.

The absurdity of her situation momentarily cuts into her panic and she has to bite back a laugh. If she wasn’t being kidnapped, this could actually be really funny. 

Muffled voices sound from behind her. Penelope can’t hear what they’re saying, can only hear the hum of someone talking. They must be in the front of the truck, behind the door. She is strapped too tightly to be able to turn her head all the way around to see, but she tries to crane her head back anyway. Her neck strains with the movement, and although she can’t manage to see the door, she sees that she’s not alone.

There’s another girl tied down just a few feet away. 

She’s young, maybe about twelve or thirteen. She has wispy blonde hair and a slightly crooked nose, pinkish red acne spots blooming across her cheeks. It seems as if they’re both strapped down on some makeshift gurneys. Penelope feels a wave of nausea wash over her. The fact that her kidnappers took someone else is worrying enough, but taking a kid… It’s another level of sinister.

Penelope wiggles a bit, trying to gain a sense of her mobility. She’s strapped down pretty tight, but if she curls her right hand inward she is just able to reach her fingers under the hem of her running shorts. Whoever took her must not have bothered to search her, or didn’t think she would be a threat, because her knife is still strapped to her thigh. If she can just reach it, she might be able to cut herself free. 

A low groan startles her. Penelope looks back over at the girl, who has her eyes pinched shut and is trying to roll around as she comes to. Penelope can tell the exact moment that she realizes she’s tied down, because the girl’s eyes fly open and her mouth stretches wide, ready to scream–

“Don’t say anything,” Penelope whispers quickly. The girl snaps her head in Penelope’s direction. “I know you’re scared, but you have to be quiet.”

The girl’s eyes well up immediately and she tries squirming around again, kicking out her feet and trying to pull her wrists free. 

“Stop moving,” Penelope hisses. “Hey, hey, look at me. It’s okay, look at me.”

“What’s going on?” the girl asked frantically, her voice starting to rise. “Where am I?”

“ Quiet ,” Penelope whispers again. Her fingers are just able to curl around the handle of her knife and tug it free. “I’m gonna get us out of here.”

The girl takes a shaky breath before she speaks again, this time her voice thankfully softer. “Who are you?”

“I’m Penelope,” she says, trying to angle the knife so that the blade can slide along the strap. It’s an awkward angle for her wrist, and she has to go slow so that she doesn’t accidentally slice her arm open, but she manages to get the motion down. “What’s your name?”

“Grace,” the girl whispers, sniffling. 

Penelope makes a bit of progress before losing her grip, cursing as the knife falls to her side and she has to reposition herself again. 

“Okay, Grace, I know you’re really freaked out right now,” she says, trying to keep her voice light. The distorted music is hopefully loud enough to drown out their whispers. “I am, too. But I need you to try and stay calm and tell me what you remember.”

Grace hiccups. “I-I was outside. My mom was making breakfast, and I had to go outside…”

“Why?” Penelope prompts. She mentally thanks herself for deciding to sharpen the knife recently as it slowly cuts its way through the strap. 

“She asked me to grab some tomatoes from the garden. I grabbed one and then there was this noise from behind me, and I thought it was my brother trying to scare me.” Grace sniffles again. “I d-don’t remember anything else.”

“Okay, that’s okay,” Penelope says soothingly. The blade finally cuts through the strap and she yanks her hand free, just managing to bite back a triumphant yell. “Look, Grace, I don’t know what’s happening. I don’t know why we’re here. But I’m gonna get us out.”

Penelope frees her other wrist in half the time, then makes quick work of the straps over her abdomen and shoulders. When she sits up to free her legs, her head spins a bit but she ignores it. She has to focus on getting free, can’t let her think about who might have kidnapped them or why. Her mind can run wild with options, each one worse than the next. There have been a fair amount of people passing through the farm over the years, and while most of them are looking for a place to settle, a few of them have been on the run. There is a whole new breed of villains out in the world now, from religious doomsday extremists to Remnant worshippers, people who capture others to be sacrificed to the creatures because they believe it will bring them safety. It seems as though evil can also evolve to meet any circumstance.

Her legs freed, Penelope climbs off the makeshift gurney and starts cutting Grace loose. Her eyes keep flitting to the door as she works. It is thankfully solid, with no window for anyone to look back at them, but that means she has no idea what or who is on the other side. She doesn’t plan on sticking around long enough to find out, anyway. 

Grace visibly calms down once she is cut loose, still a bit shaky and teary but not as pale. 

“Are you in any pain?” Penelope asks quietly. Her shoulder is stiff and achy from where she landed on it, but otherwise she feels alright. Grace shakes her head. “Good.”

The back door is seemingly locked from the outside, so Penelope moves to the sliding glass window. The sun is now hidden behind the thick, dark clouds that she had seen creeping up on the farm that morning. Penelope peers out, watching the trees rush by them as the truck speeds along. One thing about no one being on the roads anymore is that speed limits no longer exist. She knows that jumping is logically their best bet, but the truck is going too fast, traveling right down the center of the road. Even if they did jump, the chances of them landing on the grass are slim, and if they shatter their knees on the pavement then they’re really fucked.

Trying to think of another option, Penelope shoves both gurneys in front of the door to the front of the truck. It’s not going to stop anyone from coming through if they really want to, but it’ll buy them a few seconds. She searches around the truck for something to give to Grace to use as a weapon, but it’s as spartan as it comes. Coming up empty, she turns to Grace.

“Do you know how to throw a punch?”

“What?” Grace squeaks. 

“A punch. Like with your first.”

“No– what– I can’t fight anyone–”

Penelope grabs her hand and shows her how to curl her fingers and tuck her thumb, ignoring her sputtering protests. “Swing as hard as you can but keep your balance. If you’re aiming for the face, try for the nose, eyes, or throat.”

“What? Don’t you have another knife or something? I don’t know how to–”

Her words are cut off when the truck shudders violently, sending both girls into the wall. An awful rattling noise sounds from the engine and the truck starts to rapidly lose speed. Penelope wastes no time and flings open the window. 

“We have to jump.”

“What?” Grace cries. “We can’t!”

“Do you want to stick around and see what they have in store for us? I don’t think they’re bringing us to afternoon tea.”

Grace shakes her head. The truck starts veering off to the side, heading for the shoulder of the road. “I can’t do it.”

“Try to tuck and roll, don’t let your ankles take the brunt of the fall.” Penelope grabs the girl’s arm and shoves her forward, toward the window. “And whatever you do, don’t stop running. I’ll be right behind you.”

Trembling, Grace climbs onto the little shelf in front of the window. She gulps, looking back at Penelope with fearful eyes. They can’t waste another second, and so Penelope gives her what she thinks is an encouraging push. Grace flies out of the window with a scream, landing pretty solidly and only stumbling a little bit. Penelope jumps right after, knife firmly in hand. Her ankles sting with the impact but she ignores them, starting to run immediately.

“Head towards the trees!” she yells to Grace. She hears the truck heave to a stop behind them, and then a door slam seconds later.

“Hey!” someone calls out at them. 

Then another voice: “Get back here!”

A third: “Don’t let her get away!”

She doesn’t know which “her” the voice is referring to, but Penelope now knows that it’s three against two. Or maybe one and a half, depending on how much of a fight Grace can put up. The voices were all masculine, but she doesn’t risk turning around to look at who they belong to. 

Grace, to her credit, is running as fast as she can, but Penelope overtakes her easily. She doesn’t want to leave the young girl behind, but she also doesn’t want to risk getting caught either. She risks a look back just as she makes it to the cover of the trees, her stomach sinking when she sees the first of the three men right on Grace’s tail. The other two are lagging behind, but this one is tall and athletic, gaining on them easily. Just a few more strides and she’ll be within his grasp. 

“Come on!” she urges Grace, but she knows it’ll do no good. The man surges forward and grabs a fistfull of Grace’s hair, and she falls back with a scream, her voice shrill with pain and panic. Two voices sound off in her head at once.

Leave her. She’s gone.

Help her. She needs you.

Hesitating for just a second, Penelope goes against her better judgement and runs forward. The man has his eyes cast downard, focusing on trying to drag Grace’s squirming form back by her hair. Knife firmly in her right hand, Penelope runs up along his side, extending her left arm across his chest to plant her hand down on his right shoulder. He realizes what is happening just as she launches herself up and onto his back, the weight of her body coming down on him just has her knife sinks into the space between his shoulder blades. Only instead of falling forwards, like she had anticipated, he falls backwards, pinning her beneath him. 

But her actions make him let go of Grace, and Penelope yells blindly to her as she struggles to free herself from under him. She’s sure the other men are just about on them, and she has a better chance of taking them on than Grace does.

“Go! Keep running!”

Penelope twists the knife and the man cries out, rolling to the side, giving her enough space to crawl out backwards. When he turns to her, she lands a kick to the side of his head that makes his neck crack. Cool droplets of rain start to drip down onto them, thunder booming in the distance. Letting out a cry of rage, the man lunges for Penelope, but she swipes her right hand through the air without so much as a blink. He gurlges, bringing a hand to the gash in his throat as he slumps over, and she hauls herself to her feet, ready to run or fight or–

The second man has Grace in front of him, pinning her arms tightly behind her back. The third man has the barrel of a shotgun pointed right between Penelope’s eyes. She sighs, the fight leaving her. The rain is coming down harder now, turning from a drizzle to a near downpour within seconds, making it hard to see. 

“What do you want with us?” she asks the man with the gun. He has copper hair and freckles, and Penelope realizes with a jolt that he has the same marking under his left eye as the bodies they had found outside the farm. Her throat tightens with fear, but she works to keep her face neutral.

“Drop the knife,” he snaps at her. He is probably only a year or two older than her, can’t be a day over twenty-one, but he has a hollowness to his eyes that make her think he might not even be alive at all. His gaze is cold, calculating, devoid of any emotion besides contempt. 

But still, she can’t quite manage to bite her tongue.

“If you’re going to kill me, just do it,” she says, attempting a disinterested tone. “But I don’t think you will.”

“And why’s that?” he taunts her. “You just killed my friend.”

“He might be able to pull through. See?” Penelope reaches out with her foot and nudges the man whose throat she slashed. He doesn’t respond. “Well, maybe not.”

“Stop fucking talking.”

“I don’t think you’re going to kill me,” Penelope continues, “because if you wanted us dead, you would have done it already. You need us for something, and you need us alive.”

“Alive, yes,” the man concedes. His lips curl into a menacing sneer. “But not necessarily in one piece. Drop the knife.”

Penelope glances over at Grace, who is openly crying, wordlessly pleading with her to do as the man says. She sighs and lets the knife fall to the ground.

“That’s a good girl.” 

Penelope grimaces, his vile praise making her feel sick. He motions with the gun for her to turn around, then plants the muzzle against the back of her neck.

“Start walking.”

The men march the two of them back towards the truck. The one holding Grace is older, with a potbelly and a bald spot, maybe in his mid-forties. He has the same marking under his eye, too. Whoever they are with, whoever they work for...they must have been watching them for days. Watching her for days. 

Penelope purses her lips to keep them from wobbling as they walk. Thankfully the rain is enough to mask the tear that slips down her cheek. This is bad. This is really, really bad. She wants it to be a dream, another one of her fucked up nightmares. Wants to wake up at home, back in her bed. Wants to tiptoe downstairs and creep into Haden’s room, slip under his sheets and curl against his side, wants him to pull her close and kiss her forehead and hold her until she falls back to sleep. She wonders how long it’s been since they took her, if Haden is looking for her yet.

Or if he’ll ever find her. 

The other man gruffly shoves Grace back into the truck and she immediately scurries back to sit on her gurney, curling her knees up to her chest and looking back at them fearfully. The nudge of the gun tells Penelope to follow suit, and she steps back inside as well. She takes a deep breath and blinks the tears from her eyes, schooling her face into a neutral expression before turning around to face them. The gun changes hands as the older man takes over and the younger one glares in at them, crossing his arms.

“If you try anything,” he says to Grace, “he’ll shoot her. And if she tries anything, he’ll shoot you. We’ll blow your limbs off one at a time until you’re nothing more than snivelling little stumps. Understand?”

“Yes,” Grace squeaks out, sitting deathly still. 

He looks to Penelope, arching an eyebrow.

“Roger that,” she says drily. “Have you considered a career in poetry?”

He rolls his eyes. “I’m gonna check the engine,” he tells the older man, and then disappears to the front of the truck. 

The older man climbs into the truck, standing awkwardly with the gun trained mostly on Penelope, sometimes turning it in Grace’s direction. Penelope closes her eyes and rests her head back against the wall, trying to think of what her options are. She has none, really. No weapon and no plan. Completely at the mercy of these sadistic strangers.

A low clicking noise gets her attention. She opens her eyes and looks over to Grace, who is shivering so violently that Penelope can hear her teeth chattering. The girl is only in shorts and a thin t-shirt, the rain soaking her through to the bone. Her wet hair is plastered to her face and her lips are on their way to turning blue. 

Penelope is wearing her running shorts and a tank top, but there had been a bit of a chill in the air that morning and so she had snagged one of Haden’s sweatshirts to wear on her run. It was a royal blue hoodie with a number nine on the back and a crown logo above the right breast. He found it on their first trip together and she’s been in the habit of snagging it whenever she felt like being extra cozy. There was a thick layer of fleece on the inside and it always smelled like him, never failing to make her feel warm and safe. 

She likes the way he looks at her when she wears it, too. His eyes darken a bit, linger on her for longer than he usually would, especially if they are around others. Some nights on the road she slips it on with just a pair of thin panties underneath, snuggling up to his side, almost no coaxing needed for him to slip his hand between her legs and work her up to a trembling, gasping mess.

Her fingers grip the hem as she looks at Grace, hesitating for just a second before starting to lift it up. The outside is damp from the rain, but the inside is still dry. 

“Don’t shoot,” she says to the man with the gun. “I’m just taking this off.” She takes one last inhale before the fabric is pulled over her head, savoring the last bit of Haden’s comforting scent. 

The man is staring at her apprehensively, finger poised on the trigger. 

“She’s freezing,” Penelope says. “Let me give this to her.”

“No movin’.”

“Please.” She extends her arm slowly, the hoodie gripped in her fist. “I’ll leave it on the ground. Just let her take it.”

His eyes narrow but he finally gives a curt nod. The hoodie falls to the floor and Penelope sits back. Grace inches forward hesitantly, creeping towards the pile of fabric and then quickly snatching it up and tugging it on.

Even though she knows it’s the right thing to do, relinquishing her hoodie makes something twist unpleasantly in Penelope’s stomach. She had taken her necklace off before bed and hadn’t put it on for her run, and now with giving away the hoodie and her knife lying abandoned on the forest floor, she has nothing left that Haden had given her. No tangible trace of him to hold onto. It makes her feel naked and unprepared, truly alone. 

“Thank you,” Grace whispers to Penelope, who nods in return. The girl isn’t crying anymore, just looks pale and fragile and scared.

“I’m sorry,” Penelope says softly. I’m sorry I couldn’t save us. I’m sorry you’re scared. She stares meaningfully into Grace’s eyes, hoping that she can convey the meaning of her words. I’m going to get us out of here. 

There is a slamming noise from the front of the truck, a frustrated slew of expletives, and then the other man comes storming back to them. He swipes his wet hair back off his forehead, glaring at the girls like the truck breaking down was their fault.

“We’re screwed,” he spits. “It’s not working.”

“Whaddya mean it’s not workin’?” the other man says, his voice a thick Southern drawl.

“I mean it’s not fucking working, Raymond.” He grabs the gun back and focuses it on Penelope. “Something blew or busted or broke. I don’t know what’s wrong with it.”

Penelope looks around innocently, as if there is someone else with them. “Don’t look at me, I didn’t break it.”

“No, but you killed the only one who knew how to fix it, you stupid bitch.”

She grimaces. “Oh. My bad.”

“ My bad ,” the man parrots back in a high-pitched, inaccurate imitation of her voice. He looks back to the older man, Raymond. “I radioed back and told them to expect a delay. The other truck is out with Greg and Kollar, so we’re going to have to walk it.”

Raymond scoffs incredulously. “That’ll take at least three days!”

“It’ll take longer if we wait for them. They’re out of range and won’t be back until the end of the week.”

“Can I ask a question?” Penelope pipes up. They ignore her. 

“We have to start moving now if we want to make any headway before nightfall.”

“Back out into the rain?” Grace squeaks.

The younger man smirks cruelly. “You have your friend to thank for that,” he snaps. “We’d be well on our way by now without her.”

“Okay, so about that,” Penelope says, crossing her legs and sitting up straight. “Where are we going exactly?”

“We’re not tellin’ you,” Raymond says, sucking on his teeth.

Penelope tilts her head, confused. “Aren’t we just going to find out anyway?”

The men are silent for a second.

“You have been chosen,” the younger man eventually says. “It is the highest honor, and you will be thankful.”

She blinks at him for a second. “Yeah, I’m gonna need a bit more than that.”

“Oz has great plans for you,” Raymond says. “Yous’ll both be treated like royalty.”

“Tell that to Shooty McShootums over here.” Penelope juts her chin towards the other guy. “Threatening to blow our limbs off and shit. Not exactly the queen’s treatment.”

She doesn’t quite know where her boldness is coming from, but she hopes it doesn’t go away. It makes her feel like she still has some semblance of control over the situation. 

“Enough talking,” the younger man snaps. He tugs some pieces of rope out of his pocket. “We need to get moving.”

The girls stay still, the shotgun trained on their stomachs, as their wrists are bound behind their backs. Penelope’s are tugged extra tight, the rope cutting into her wrists, making her grit her teeth. 

“Start walkin’,” Raymond instructs them, and they step out into the rain again. 

Penelope bites her lip nervously as they set out, her and Grace in front and the men behind them, the shotgun no doubt pointed at their backs. It’s dangerous to travel in the rain. Not as much as the dark, for sure, as there is still some light that can break through the clouds. But the thick, imposing storm clouds block out a decent portion of the day’s UV light, which means that some Remnants– usually the newer ones– can last a few minutes longer than usual. And that’s all the time they need. Penelope tells the men this as they walk, raising her voice to be heard over the howling winds. 

“How many bullets you got?” she yells. “Better hope you have more than whatever we run into out here. Also better hope you’re a good shot, or else we’re all dead.”

“Tell me, what do you want to lose first? An ear? A finger?”

“I’m just saying,” Penelope says, attempting a shrug, which is difficult with her arms pinned so tightly behind her. “Every bullet you waste on us is one less you have to protect yourself. The Remnants are bound to come try and pick us off, if not now then definitely at night.”

“She’s got a point, Nathan,” Raymond mumbles.

“Yeah, you hear that Nathan ?” Penelope has to clench her jaw to keep her teeth from chattering, the rain quickly soaking her to the bone. Her soaked toes squelch in her sneakers with each step. “I’ve got a point.”

“Yeah? Soon you’re gonna have a bullet, too.”

“No, the other one is,” Raymond corrects him. “Remember?”

“Oh, you’re right,” Nathan says cheerily. “How could I have forgotten.”

“Please stop talking,” Grace says nervously, eyes cutting towards Penelope. “I don’t wanna get shot.”

“Hear that?” Nathan taunts Penelope, knocking the muzzle of the gun into her lower back, making her stumble. “She doesn’t wanna get shot, so you better shut the fuck up.”

Penelope heeds their warnings. They continue on into the rain, down the barren stretch of highway, getting farther and farther away from anyone who might be able to help them.

“Got yourself a funny walk there, huh darlin’?” Raymond drawls after a bit of silence. Penelope can practically feel his eyes rake over her even though her back is turned. “You a gimp or something?”

She bites her lip to keep from saying something snarky, purely for Grace’s sake, even though the ableist comment makes her want to turn around and spit on his face. She’s walked with a bit of a limp for almost two years now, favoring her right side after an injury to her left ankle never quite healed the right way. She’s gotten used to it, doesn’t even notice it most days, except for the two or three days right before her period when it inexplicably starts to ache. Other than that, it doesn’t even hurt when she runs. The fact that Raymond picks up on it creeps her out– he must have really been staring. 

The rain slows to a drizzle after a while, but Penelope can no longer feel her fingers or toes. The wind stops, which helps cut her chill a bit, but she is still shaking as they walk. They don’t pass anything she recognizes, anything that will give her a clue about where they are or where they’re headed. The highway is lined on both sides by the forest, the only buildings popping up are the occasional gas station or bait and tackle shop. When the rain finally stops altogether, Penelope plants her feet and refuses to take another step forward.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” she announces.

“Tough,” Nathan says. “Keep going.”

“No, like, I have to go . Right now.” Penelope presses, and she shoots Grace a play along look.

“Uh, me too,” Grace pipes up.

“Too bad–”

“Uh,” Raymond says slowly. “I kinda have to go, too.”

“Jesus,” Nathan groans. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

“Sorry,” Penelope says petulantly. “Maybe if I had some advance notice for this kidnapping I would have tried to go before I left the house.”

Nathan grabs her by the shoulder and yanks her around so that they’re face to face. “Fine,” he says, waving the gun under her nose. “You have two minutes.”

“Are you going to untie us or do you want me to just piss myself?”

Nathan chews on the inside of his cheek, considering her for a moment. Then he nods to Raymond, who goes behind them to remove the bindings. Penelope sighs with relief as her wrists are freed and her shoulders loosen, immediately rolling them to break up the stiffness.

“Oh,” Nathan says, like he just remembered he left the stove on, “and just so you don’t try anything–” He turns the shotgun forward and shoots Grace in the leg. 

The girl falls with a scream and Penelope rushes forward, kneeling over her on the wet pavement. Blood drips down Grace’s leg and swirls with the rainwater, running off to the side of the road. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Penelope screams at Nathan. Even Raymond looks shocked, but he doesn’t say anything to his partner. 

“I had a feeling you might do something stupid. This is just a reminder of what’ll happen if you do.”

Tears of fury burning in her eyes, Penelope grits her teeth and turns back to Grace, who is crying again now and clutching her thigh. Blood stains the baggy sleeves of Haden’s hoodie as she curls around herself, a tiny hole blown right through the hem where it fell over her thigh.

“Let me see it,” Penelope says softly. “Grace, let me see.”

Sniffling, Grace lifts her hands so Penelope can raise the bottom of the sweatshirt and examine her wound. Penelope gently lifts her leg so that she can look at the front and back of her thigh, and after a few minutes she releases a breath of relief. 

“It hurts,” Grace whimpers.

“I know, honey,” Penelope says calmly. “But I think it just grazed you. A little deep, but thankfully–” she turns and shoots Nathan a glare, “–it’s not too bad. Here.”

She rocks back onto her knees and grabs the bottom of her shirt, tugging a bit until she gets a tear. Then she rips off the bottom few inches, all the way around until she has a thick strip of fabric. Her midriff is exposed, which has always made her feel uncomfortable, but right now Grace is more important. She would have preferred the fabric to be dry instead of wet, but she can’t help that now. Penelope ties the strip tightly around Grace’s wound and helps her to her feet.

“Now that we’ve wasted all that time,” she snarls at Nathan. “Can we go now?”

Nathan nods with that stupid, smug, sadisitc grin and Penelope helps Grace limp off the road and onto the treeline. They settle behind a tree as Nathan whistles a tune obnoxiously in the background.

“I’m gonna get us out of this,” Penelope says vehemently. “I’ll figure something out. Or maybe we can try to get them to turn back. There are people looking for me, I know there are–”

“Stop,” Grace says tiredly. “Just stop. You’re only going to get me hurt again.”

Penelope feels her throat tighten with shame. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean–”

Grace turns her head away, avoiding her gaze. “Just give it a rest, okay? Stop saying stuff to them, please . I’m tired and scared and I just want to get wherever we’re going already. Maybe they’re right and we will be treated like royalty. Maybe someone there can help us.”

Penelope’s heart deflates. “You can’t believe that.”

Grace shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“What about your family? Don’t you want to get back to them?”

“Who’s to say my family is even still alive?” Grace challenges. “They drugged us and kidnapped us. They obviously want us for a reason. Don’t you think they would’ve made sure that no one could find us, too?”

It’s something that Penelope hadn’t even considered. Would these people really have killed her family? Killed Haden? She shakes the thought out of her head. No. They couldn’t have. Not her people. They’ve all made it too far to be killed by these freaks. As Savannah always says, they’re too stubborn to die. 

“I can’t believe that,” Penelope says. “I won’t.”

Grace doesn’t answer, and Penelope starts to get a sick sense that if she sees an opportunity for escape, she might have to leave the young girl behind in order to save herself. She ignores the voice in her head that tells her that that’s exactly what she should have done in the first place.

They both go to the bathroom and dejectedly head back out to their captors. Raymond ties them back up and they start off again, a bit slower now due to Grace’s injury. She makes a pained noise every time she puts her foot down, limping along the road. Penelope steps closer to her, trying to offer her a shoulder to lean into, but Grace just ignores her.

“Hey,” Nathan laughs from behind them as they walk, “now you two match.”

They stop just before nightfall in an old 7-Eleven. The rain has just started up again and Penelope is eager to take shelter for a bit. They’re all wet, tired, and hungry, and the animosity between the four of them seems momentarily forgotten as they all heave a collective sigh of relief as soon as the door to the building is closed behind them.

“If you’re not going to help her, at least untie me so I can,” Penelope says to Nathan as she looks over at Grace, who is slumped over the front counter next to the register. She’s not doing well. Her face is pale and she’s been shivering for the better part of an hour. She eventually caved and leaned into Penelope’s weight, and they awkwardly shuffled along together down the barren highway until they reached their resting place. Though she isn’t bleeding anymore, Penelope imagines she’s still in a lot of pain.

“Come on,” Penelope says, rolling her eyes at the men’s dubious silence. “You think I’d be dumb enough to try anything at night, with nothing to defend myself?” 

Nathan shrugs. “You might just be full of surprises.”

She ignores him, pointedly turning around and wiggling her wrists. She hears Raymond sigh and come up behind her, standing closer than necessary as he frees her bindings again. Penelope immediately wraps her arm around Grace and helps her sit down. She unties the girl’s bindings as well and tosses the rope to the side.

“Tell me if I do anything that hurts, okay?” Penelope says. Grace nods, and she kneels at her side, gently lifting up the sweatshirt and getting a look at the wound. The makeshift bandage is saturated with blood, still damp. The skin around the bullet wound looks irritated and raw. Penelope tries to be as gentle as she can but her fingers are still a little numb from the cold.

“We’re going to have to make a fire,” Penelope calls back to the men, who are rummaging around the shelves for food. “We all need to dry off.”

She hears them pause, then Raymond whispers: “Do you know how to make a fire?”

“I thought you would.”

She rolls her eyes and looks back to Grace. The girl surprises her by reaching out and grazing her hand over the left side of Penelope’s ribcage. Her shirt had ridden up a bit as she was looking at Grace’s leg, and the touch startles Penelope. No one but Haden has ever touched her there.

“I have the same one,” Grace whispers tiredly, her eyes starting to droop shut. “On my hip.”

Penelope stares down at her curiously. The spot Grace had touched was the site of her scar–one of many, but this one was the most important. The jagged rips to her skin had puckered and healed into the shape of a crescent moon, still aching from time to time.

“You have the same–?”

Nathan interrupts them, stomping back over with a Slim Jim hanging out of his mouth. “Let him do that,” he says, chewing obnoxiously and nodding towards Raymond, who is holding a dusty package of gauze and bandages. “You’re gonna make a fire.”

Penelope looks back toward Grace, whose chest is steadily rising and falling, finally at rest. 

“Fine,” she says to Raymond, pulling herself to her feet. “Be careful with her.”

She gets a fire going with a gun trained on the back of her head. Once it’s roaring, she slides the still-sleeping Grace over to rest in front of it while she scopes out the aisles for any clothes to change into. Her search yields no results except for some more expired beef jerky and a box of Cheez-Its, and she coaxes Grace awake a while later so that they can eat their dinner. Grace quickly nods off again after eating, this time on Penelope’s shoulder. Penelope brushes the girl’s hair away from her face as she nibbles on a cracker, watching the men across from them with a calculating gaze.

Raymond is sitting on an upturned beer crate, flipping through a faded Sports Illustrated swimsuit magazine with an intense focus, his piece of jerky hanging limp between his fingers. Nathan has the shotgun resting across his lap, his head tilted back as he pours the crumbs from a bag of Hot Cheetos into his open mouth. He chokes a bit and wipes the dust off his lips with the back of his hand. Penelope doesn’t bother to mask her disgust. This Oz guy really sent the A-team for this one. 

The thought makes her perk up. “Who is Oz?” she asks.

Startled, Raymond looks up from the magazine and slams it shut. Nathan licks the Cheeto dust off his thumb.

“Earlier you said that we had been chosen by Oz,” Penelope continues. “Who is he? The man behind the curtain?”

Nathan frowns. “Oz was the city, not the wizard.”

“Yeah, I know, I was just–” Penelope sighs, shaking her head. “Never mind. Are you going to tell me who he is or not?”

“Oz is the greatest man on Earth,” Raymond says seriously. “He has risen from the ashes of the world and will lead us to salvation.”

Penelope pops another Cheez-It into her mouth, chewing extra slowly, waiting for Raymond to crack a smile and say that he’s kidding, that Oz is just some run of the mill creep with a thing for blondes who recruits idiots to do his bidding.

“Okay, I’ll bite,” she says drily, when he doesn’t. “What kind of salvation are we talking about?”

“He has created a safe haven amongst the chaos,” Nathan says reverently. “A community of people deemed worthy by the Lord who Oz has chosen to join him on his journey to begin this life anew. You have been chosen, and you should be grateful.”

“But like, why ,” Penelope presses. “What’s so special about me? About us?” She nods toward Grace. “How did you even find us?”

“Oz makes decisions that we are not privy to because he is wiser than we will ever be,” Nathan snaps at her. “We are all lucky enough to be a part of his plan as he leads this world on the path to restoration.”

Penelope stares at him for a second before a slow smirk spreads across her face. “Oh my God,” she whispers incredulously. “You have no idea why he wants us, do you?”

Nathan’s face turns red and she laughs.

“Holy shit, you don’t ! Dude! You’re doing all this work for this guy and you don’t even know why? What are you even getting out of this?”

“Shut up,” Nathan hisses.

“This is too good. How fucking pathetic.”

“I said shut up , you dumb bitch,” Nathan says, spittle flying from his mouth, a vein bulging in his forehead. “You don’t know anything .”

“Yeah, you don’t know what you’re talking about,” Raymond chimes in. “Oz will reward us for our service to him. We will be honored when we return.”

Penelope snorts, popping another Cheez-It into her mouth, chewing smugly. “Whatever you say.”

Chapter Text

June. One Year and Nine Months Before

“You see?” Penelope gloats. “This is much easier.”

“I hate you,” Haden pants. He’s dripping sweat, pushing the cart uphill with all his might as Penelope comfortably sits cross-legged on the platform frame. It’s one of those long flat carts used to transport furniture, which Penelope found when they were raiding a Home Depot the day before. 

“No you don’t.” 

They were running low on water bottles, which meant they had to start hauling more water buckets from the river. It took nearly all day to get enough water for the week, the two of them making multiple trips because Haden could carry two extra-large buckets at a time whereas Penelope could just barely manage a normal sized one. When she found the cart, she figured that it would be a much more effective transportation method. It also meant that she designated herself as the water monitor, situating herself in the middle of the cart under the guise of watching the buckets to make sure they didn’t spill. 

“You’re helping me push on the next trip.”

“But I’m–”

“No buts. Gotta get rid of those noodle arms somehow.”

Penelope turns around and glares at him. “I don’t have noodle arms.”

“Sure you don’t.”

“They’re delicate .”

Haden rolls his eyes. When they get closer to the house, Penelope eventually gets up and helps him lift the cart over the tripwire hidden in the grass. They had threaded it around the property after too many close calls over the winter. It wasn’t much, but it was connected to a system of bells and chimes that would alert them to anything getting too close to the fenceline. Haden also laid some old bear traps in various spots, which Penelope was scared Killer was going to get caught up in, so they did a demonstration with a log that ensured that he would never sniff too close. All in all, none of these measures would probably be enough to stop the Remnants, but they give them a few seconds’ warning, and that could be the difference between life and death. 

Killer starts barking as soon as they reach the west gate. It’s not his warning bark but his excited one, the one he uses when Penelope squeaks one of his tennis balls and he knows they’re about to play. He takes off running toward the house before they can stop him, and as Penelope watches him go, she can see the figures of two people appear from around the side of the house. One of them is unfamiliar, but once they get a bit closer, she recognizes the other immediately. 

“Mina!”

Penelope takes off running, blood pumping with pure exhilaration as she gets closer and sees that yes, it’s really Mina, she’s still alive, she came back . Penelope launches herself into the woman’s arms and hugs her tightly. 

“Well, hi,” Mina laughs, squeezing her back. “I’m glad to see you, too.”

“You came back!” Penelope says when they release each other. “How’s your arm?”

“Healed up pretty nicely.” Mina holds out her arm so Penelope can see the scar tissue that has formed over the stump. “Though it still hurts like hell sometimes.”

“Better than being dead,” says the third girl, standing by Mina’s side and scratching the top of Killer’s fluffy head. She’s younger than Mina, maybe about eighteen or so, with a birthmark on her left cheek and thick black hair woven into two shiny fishtail braids. She holds out her hand to Penelope with a smile.

“You must be Penelope,” she says. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Stacey?”

The girl nods. Penelope ignores her hand, stepping forward and hugging her, too. Stacey makes a surprised noise but doesn’t hesitate to hug her back. She smells like lavender, and Penelope is suddenly aware that it’s been almost two days since she bathed. She steps back just as Haden finally makes it over to them with the cart. He lifts the hem of his shirt to wipe his face before approaching them, and Penelope does not miss Stacey’s appreciative stare.

“Would you look at that,” Haden says with a fond smile. He hugs Mina as well before turning to Stacey. “I’m guessing you’re the sister we’ve heard so much about?”

“The very one,” Stacey says. Her eyes linger on arms, his defined muscles exposed by the gray tank top he’s wearing. Penelope steps closer to Haden, suddenly feeling a bit possessive.

“It’s good to see you again,” he says earnestly to Mina. “How long do you plan on staying?”

 “Well, that depends,” Mina says. “Does your offer still stand?”

“You want to stay?” Penelope lets out an excited squeak. “For good?”

“If you’ll have us.” Mina smiles at Haden hopefully. He nods.

“Of course,” he and Penelope say at the same time. She grabs both Stacey and Mina’s wrists and starts to drag them into the house. 

“Let me give you the tour,” she says excitedly, more for Stacey’s benefit. 

“Oh sure, I’ll bring these in,” Haden mumbles to himself good-naturedly as they rush away, going back to the cart full of water buckets. 

The girls run inside, stopping only to grab the overstuffed backpacks that Mina and Stacey had left by the front door. They leave the bags in the living room as Penelope shows Stacey around and proudly takes Mina into the basement to show her all of the supplies they had amassed since she left. They end the tour up in Penelope’s room, the sisters sitting on Mina’s old bed while Penelope sits on hers, listening intently as Mina fills her in on what had happened over the last three months. 

“We waited for as long as we could,” Stacey says, after Mina finishes explaining how it took her two weeks to locate the place that the survivors of their group had escaped to, only to find out that they had moved on just days before. “They wanted to leave after a few days, but I begged them to wait until the snow started to melt. A few other stragglers made it to us in that time, but not Mina. It was either I left with them or I got left behind.”

“And I was waiting here for the same reason,” Mina says. “But thankfully I found the house where they stayed and someone had so artfully decorated the walls with the directions they were going.”

Stacey shrugs. “With my luck, I’d write it on a piece of paper that would blow under the couch or something. If you were still out there, I had to make sure you’d see it.”

“And I did,” Mina laughs. “It took about a week, but I caught up with them.”

“The group I was with found this old bed and breakfast somewhere outside Toronto,” Stacey says. “Once Mina found me, we stayed for another month or so. It wasn’t a bad place, but there were too many different personalities in the group. No one wanted to go off on their own but no one wanted to acknowledge anyone else as a leader, either. It was getting dicey, and Mina convinced me to leave.”

“You didn’t want to?” Penelope asks. 

Stacey shrugs. “It had its issues, but it was a safe place. We had protection. If the two of us just kept to ourselves, the people would have sorted themselves out.”

“But we’re here now,” Mina finishes emphatically. “Which is a much better place to be.”

“Yeah,” Stacey agrees, but Penelope isn’t too convinced that her enthusiasm is all too genuine. “You guys have made a really cute place here.”

Haden comes up and knocks on the door after a little while. “Dinner’s on the table,” he says, hanging in the doorway. “I’m going to run down the road and pick up another bed before it gets dark.”

Penelope suddenly gets an idea. “You can take this room,” she tells the sisters. “It’s the bigger one and it’s already got two beds.”

“What about you?” Stacey asks.

“I’ll sleep with Haden,” Penelope says without thinking. It’s no different than any other night, really. But then she sees Haden stiffen in her periphery as Mina’s eyes grow wide, and she hurries to correct herself. “I mean, we can put the extra bed in his room for the night.”

“Just until we figure something else out in the morning,” Haden says pointedly, looking at Penelope. Her face flushes.

“Yeah, of course.”

After eating, the sisters seem to deflate, the exhaustion of their travels taking over them. They go to bed early, before it’s even fully dark out, and Penelope takes the opportunity to have a bath. She tries to take one at least two times a week, giving herself an elaborate wipe down with a washcloth and some soap on the other days. She used to be a shower twice-a-day kind of person, but since the bathtub is upstairs and taking a bath requires boiling the water herself and lugging it up the steps before it gets cold, she has learned to make some sacrifices. Haden has been on the lookout for basalt stones to use to keep the water hot, but so far their search has yielded no results. 

Penelope manages to settle in the tub while the water is still warm, sinking down until she’s nearly flat on her back, the water covering her ears. The candles flicker along the tub’s edge and the counter around the sink, casting the room in a warm amber light. For the first time in almost a year, things feel alright. Mina is the first person who has left her that has ever come back. The only thing that makes her take a pause is Stacey. The girl doesn’t exactly give Penelope a bad vibe, but there’s an uncertainty to her that she has yet to place. Haden is blunt and confident, Mina is forthright and warm. Penelope knows where she stands with them. She doesn’t want Stacey to add any confusion to the mix. 

Haden’s room is smaller than hers, and with the extra bed there’s barely any room to walk around. Penelope settles on his bed to brush out her wet hair, and once her eyelids start to feel heavy, she curls under his sheets and settles herself high on the pillows. When he comes in a little while later, he crosses his arms and stares down at her with a frown.

“Why did I lug this bed up here if you’re not going to sleep in it?”

Penelope shrugs innocently, pulling the blankets up to her chin. “I want to wash the sheets first. They smell all musty and stuff.” 

It’s a flimsy excuse, but Haden doesn’t fight it, simply sighing and climbing in beside her. He settles onto his left side, his back to her, and for a moment there is just the rustling of the blankets as Killer tries to find a place to settle in between their feet. 

“What do you think about Stacey?” Penelope asks quietly.

“Seems nice.”

“Nice?”

“Yeah.” Haden rolls onto his back. “Exactly like Mina described her.”

“Are you happy that they’re here?”

He thinks about it for a second. “I am, actually. Aren’t you?”

The rational part of her knows that he is probably happy for the same reasons she is– that Mina’s alive, that there are others out there, that now they have more people to talk to. But a small, selfish part of her wants him to be upset, wishes that he would want it to be just the two of them forever. 

“I’m happy, too,” she says, and she means it. “But it...it’s gonna be different now, right?”

Haden never lies to her. Omits a lot sometimes, sure. Keeps a bunch of things to himself. But when she asks him a direct question he’s always honest, never tells her anything that isn’t true.

“Yeah,” he says softly. Killer lets out a heavy snore, already fast asleep. “It’s gonna be different.”

In the morning, Penelope wakes with renewed enthusiasm. She races downstairs to find Mina and Haden sitting at the kitchen table, each with a cup of coffee in their hand. Haden offers her a mug when she approaches, and she takes the seat next to him. 

“You ready to put us to work today?” Mina says lightly, smiling as Penelope arches her back in a delicious stretch. “We’re ready to earn our keep.”

“Oh, I’m sure there’s a nice long list of annoying things to do,” Penelope answers, cutting her eyes toward Haden. He sips his coffee and shrugs.

“There’s always something that needs tending to.”

Mina leans back in her chair, holding her mug close to her chest. “Stacey should be up soon. It’ll be good for her to have something to do, something to focus on. This hasn’t been easy for her.”

“It hasn’t been easy for any of us,” Haden says. 

“True, but she’s not…” Mina trails off, considering her words. “She’s always been a little sensitive, a bit dramatic. Never really did well with change in any capacity. Sometimes she just rolls with the punches and sometimes the smallest things set her off. I know she’s happy to be here and glad to have a real place to stay, but the whole end of the world thing has made her a lot more fragile than usual.”

“She seemed alright yesterday,” Penelope says. 

Mina shrugs. “Like I said, sometimes she’s fine and sometimes she’ll lose it over something minor. I never understood it, but it’s who she is. I hope that being here will be good for her. Some stability, you know?” She looks pointedly at Penelope.  “I think you two will get along well.”

Penelope offers what she hopes is a convincing smile and sips her coffee. Mina drains the rest of her cup and places it on the table, leaning forward and lowering her voice.

“I did want to ask you two about something we saw on our way here,” she says softly, “before Stacey gets up.”

Penelope perks up, intrigued.

“We were about a day’s walk outside of town and I thought we could save some time by cutting through the woods– I know, I know ,” Mina says, catching Haden’s disapproving stare, “it wasn’t the smartest move. But we came out into this clearing where there was this old, rundown church.”

Haden tenses and Penelope sits up a bit straighter. Mina doesn’t miss their movements.

“You know the one I’m talking about?”

“...We’ve been there once before,” Haden says. 

“Oh, okay,” Mina says casually. “Were there also two naked men hanging from a cross in front of the building when you were there?”

Penelope chokes on her coffee. They hadn’t gone back to the church after their weird encounter with David Osmond. In fact, they had made it a point to steer clear of that area as a whole. Whatever creepy feeling Penelope had gotten by being there, Haden must have felt tenfold, because when she asked him about going back just to see if the group was still there, he shot her down immediately.

“I don’t like the way he looked at you,” he had said sharply, “and I don’t like how many people he had with him.”

“What’s wrong with the people?” she had asked.

“We’d be outnumbered. If anything happened, I wouldn’t be able to... Look, I just had a bad feeling, alright?”

“But what if–”

“We’re not going looking for them. Do you understand me?”

Penelope had enough sense not to ask about them again. “I understand.”

“Were they still alive?” Haden asks Mina now.

She shakes her head. “They might’ve been, if we had come across them sooner. But I don’t think they were there long. The dirt around the bottom of the cross was still fresh, like it had only been placed there a few days ago.”

“A few days?” Penelope gapes. 

Mina nods solemnly. “It was a big wooden thing, maybe about ten feet high, one of them on either side. But they weren’t nailed, they were tied. Not a single mark on them, and trust me, we saw everything .”

Penelope grimaces. “Then how do you think they died?”

“Starvation, most likely,” Haden muses. “The oldest punishment in the book.”

“So who the hell are these people?” Mina continues. “There was no one in the church, no sign that anyone had been there in days.” 

“The leader’s name is David Osmond,” Penelope says. “We never really saw any of the people he was with, just him. But he was...definitely weird.”

“Weird how?”

“Believed that survivors were chosen by God and that it was our duty to, like, replenish the Earth or something.”

Mina rolls her eyes. “Of course. God, how unoriginal.”

“What did the dead men look like?” Haden asks.

“Um, they were probably around our age. White, brown hair.” Mina shrugs. “Nothing really stood out.”

Penelope gnaws on her thumbnail. “I feel like that’s so...medieval,” she says. “Like, if you’re going to kill someone, just kill them, right?”

Haden pulls her thumb away from her mouth and she shoots him an irritated look. He’s been trying to get her to stop, says it’s an unsanitary habit. 

“I mean, if they’re some kind of cult, I’m not surprised,” Mina says. “Those types of people love theatrics. And setting an example for others.”

The stairs creak and Stacey comes down, rubbing her eyes. She’s in the pajamas that Penelope had left her, and they’re a little small, the hem of the pants sitting a few inches above her ankles. Mina immediately plasters on a smile, like they hadn’t been talking about murder just seconds before. Penelope figures that was the reason that Mina wanted to ask them about it while Stacey wasn’t around; it’s probably one of the things that set her off. 

“How’d you sleep?” Mina asks her sister. 

Stacey yawns. “Pretty good.” She smiles at Penelope. “Thanks for giving up your bed.”

“Oh, that reminds me,” Mina says brightly. “What if we cleared out the sunroom? That could be a nice spot for you, Penelope.”

“The sunroom?”

“Yes.” She looks pointedly at Haden. “Or maybe we could make some space in the basement. I love redecorating, and it’s not like you guys can share a room forever.”

“I’ll take the sunroom,” Haden says quickly. 

The sunroom is a small room located just off the living room, on the right side of the house. Her room used to be Haden’s uncle’s room, but when he got sick, he had made the sunroom his unofficial residence because he couldn’t go up the stairs as easily anymore. It was all glass windows on three sides, surprisingly well insulated. Haden doesn’t go in there much because it reminds him of his uncle, and Penelope doesn’t go in there either, simply because Haden doesn’t.

“I don’t mind,” she says. She doesn’t want him sleeping somewhere that will make him sad.

Haden looks at her sternly. “You can have my room. I don’t want you downstairs alone.”

Penelope shrugs. She can feel Mina’s eyes on them, watching the interaction. She knows that it’s the right move, even if she isn’t happy about it. “That’s fine, I guess.”

“Great.” Mina smiles. “I already have ideas.”

Haden finishes his coffee and looks between Mina and Stacey. “One of you can help me start moving furniture and the other can help Penelope outside.”

“I’ll help you,” Stacey says quickly. Penelope frowns. She can tell Mina wasn’t expecting that answer either, but she shrugs and looks to Penelope with an enthusiastic grin.

“Alright, boss. What are we doing today?”

It’s not that Penelope doesn’t enjoy hanging out with Mina. She had missed the woman more than she realized, and as they repair the loose door on the chicken coop, she laughs more than she has in weeks. What Penelope doesn’t enjoy, however, is knowing that Stacey is inside with Haden the whole time. She keeps finding herself glancing back towards the house, trying to get a glimpse of them through the window. Wondering what they’re talking about, what they’re doing. She hadn’t missed the way Stacey’s eyes kept lingering on Haden the night before– his arms, his chest, even his backside. She’s been eying him up ever since she arrived, and it makes a cold, ugly feeling twist in Penelope’s gut.

Haden’s room– her room now, she has to remind herself– is too quiet. Her first night in there alone, she stares up at the ceiling and wills herself to fall asleep, but it’s no use. She misses Haden’s presence next to her, his deep, steady breaths and Killer’s intermittent snores. She waits for hours, until she figures Mina and Stacey have to be asleep, before slipping out of bed and tiptoeing down the stairs. 

He’s awake when she nudges the door open, squinting at a book by candlelight. When the door creaks he looks up and sighs. Penelope stops in her tracks at the sight of his frown, one foot already through the door.

“Penny,” he says softly, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This has to stop.”

“No, it doesn’t,” she whispers. “I can’t sleep.”

“I mean it. We can’t do this anymore.”

“We’re not doing anything wrong–”

“We’re not doing anything right either,” Haden counters. 

“That’s not true.”

“Then why did you wait for everyone else to fall asleep before coming down here?” He shuts the book and places it on his nightstand. “It’s my fault. I never should have let you the first time.”

Hot, angry tears prick at her eyes and she blinks them back. “Well, you did, so you don’t get to play Mr. High and Mighty now.”

“I’m not playing any–” Haden cuts himself off with a frustrated grunt. He steps out of bed and crosses the room to her in two long strides, placing his hands on her trembling shoulders. “It’s for your own good.”

“No, it’s for your own good,” she spits, smacking his hands away. 

“Penelope, don’t–”

“Forget it.” The burning embarrassment of rejection sears through her chest and she storms back upstairs, throwing herself onto her bed and muffling a frustrated scream into her pillow. A cocktail of frustration and resentment swirls inside her, eventually lulling her into a fitful sleep. She wakes with a panicked gasp a short while later, the chilling grasp of a nightmare still gripping her mind. It’s been a few weeks since she had one, and a few months since one had rattled her this much.

Her door eases open and Penelope sits up, expecting Haden to slip through, to come hold her and apologize for sending her away, but her heart sinks with disappointment when it’s Stacey who pokes her head inside. 

“Hey,” the girl whispers, shutting the door behind her. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Penelope says sharply, quickly wiping the tears from her cheeks and turning away. 

Stacey hesitates for a second, then steps forward, tentatively sitting on the edge of Penelope’s bed. “I get nightmares, too,” she says softly. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Penelope curls onto her side, her back to the girl. Her head is pounding from her interrupted sleep, the last dregs of the nightmare still feeling all too real. She has half a mind to tell Stacey to go away, but the small, needy part of her that is comforted by another person’s presence makes her hesitate. 

“Yeah,” she finally whispers. She sits back up and sniffles. “I mean, I guess.”

Stacey gives her an encouraging smile, curling her feet under her thighs and waiting for Penelope to start.

“I was trapped,” Penelope says slowly. “Tied up in a dark room somewhere. It was cold and the floor was made of cement and something was dripping, like a leak, only the drops kept getting louder and louder until it sounded like someone was banging a drum right next to my head. I couldn’t cover my ears because my hands were tied behind my back, so tight that I could barely feel them.” She sniffles again. “I think I was in a basement or something? There was one of those little rectangular windows letting a bit of light in, and I crawled over to it on my knees and I–”

Penelope stops and inhales shakily. The next part of her dream was that she could see Haden standing outside. She started screaming for him, but when he looked down at her, he just made a face like she was an annoyance and walked away. 

“Um, and I was calling for help and nobody came,” she finishes. “The dripping kept getting louder and I knew that when it got to its loudest that something bad was going to happen, I just didn’t know what. I was so scared and so alone, and then I felt this freezing cold hand around the back of my neck and that’s when I woke up. But it was that feeling that scared me more than anything. It was like I knew that whatever was coming was awful and I couldn’t do anything to stop it.”

“Oh, that’s creepy as fuck,” Stacey whispers with a sympathetic frown. She reaches out and squeezes Penelope’s hand. “Do you have a lot of dreams like that?”

Penelope shrugs. “Not like that one, specifically,” she says, “but that kind of stuff, yeah.”

Stacey scoots closer. “My nightmares are always about the night we got attacked,” she says quietly. “The night Mina and I got separated. Did she ever tell you what happened?”

“Once, but not in detail. It didn’t feel right to ask.”

Stacey bites her lip. “I saw her get bitten, you know.”

Penelope’s eyes widen. Mina didn’t mention that.

“I never told her this. She’d be so upset if she knew. But she was right behind me, and we were running, and I looked back just as that… that thing grabbed her and bit down her arm. And I saw her face– it wasn’t even pain. I don’t know if it hurt, I just saw her look so scared, and I knew that she knew . The second it bit her, she knew it was over.”

Stacey blinks and a tear rolls down her cheek. 

“And I...I didn’t know what to do. I just stood there and watched it grab her, watched her struggle to free herself. I felt someone grab my arm and pull me back, told me to leave her, that she was already dead. And I didn’t fight them, I just...kept running.” Her voice cracks. “I didn’t help her. She lost her hand and tracked me down for weeks, and I just left her behind.”

Penelope doesn’t know what to say. She squeezes Stacey’s hand, her heart caught in her throat.

“And my dreams, they’re just that night, over and over. Except there’s no one to pull me away, and I can’t move my legs, so I’m just stuck there. Watching as it kills her.”

“Oh my God,” Penelope whispers. “That’s so terrible. I’m...I’m so sorry.” And she means it. She feels bad for judging Stacey so harshly before. If she had to watch Haden get attacked and leave him for dead, she’d probably be a little sensitive, too. 

“Yeah, well,” Stacey wipes her eyes, trying for a weak smile, “it’s not real, thankfully. Now I can wake up and see her there and know that she’s okay. Thanks to you.”

Penelope shakes her head. “I didn’t really do anything. Not about the bite. That was Haden.”

“But you both helped her get better, helped her adjust. She told me everything. Your kindness meant the world to her, and it means the world to me, too.”

Feeling a sudden rush of affection, Penelope scoots over and pats the space next to her. Stacey’s face lights up and she immediately curls under the covers. Her sock-clad feet brush against Penelope’s ankles.

“I’m really happy to be here,” Stacey says. “When we were talking last night… I didn’t mean to give off the impression that I’d rather be somewhere else. It’s just a lot.”

“I get it.” Penelope settles onto her side, digging her elbow into the mattress and propping her head up on her fist. “It took me a while to adjust too, at the beginning.”

“It’s been ages since I had a sleepover, you know,” Stacey says excitedly. “Or a new friend.”

“Sometimes I think I never really had any real friends at all,” Penelope admits. She doesn’t know why she says it, but there’s something about that late hour that always makes her feel a little more comfortable vulnerable. For a second she thinks Stacey will laugh at her, but the older girl just nods knowingly. 

“High school can be like that,” she says. “I felt the same way. I was so happy to graduate. At some point during my senior year I just realized that I didn’t really know anyone at all, and they didn’t know me. We all just sat next to each other for years. I was so excited to graduate and have the chance to go out and make real connections with people.” She sighs, looking forlorn. “But nothing is the same now.”

“No,” Penelope agrees, “but it can still be good, right?”

Stacey smiles at her. “Yeah, I guess it can be.”

July rolls around fast, and Penelope is struck by the fact that it’s been a full year since her life was turned upside down. It’s strange– it feels like it’s been a day and a decade at the same time. There are some moments when she can’t believe everything that has happened, that things really aren’t going to go back to normal. She's never going to go back to school or go college and will never find out what was going to happen on the final season of The 100 , a show that she binged over winter break her freshman year and was supposed to air its last season in the fall. There are still some days where, in the haze of waking, she forgets where she is and what her life is now. But then there are the nights when she wakes up to the chilling screech of a Remnant getting caught in one of their traps, or the bells jingling to signal their approach, and then Haden is shooting it dead with one of the rifles he found and reality comes crashing back. 

Mina and Stacey adjust seamlessly to life on the farm. Penelope’s initial hesitation about Stacey fades quickly after their little sleepover, and they soon find themselves thick as thieves. Mina and Haden also have an easy companionship, one that mostly consists of them rolling their eyes at whatever Penelope and Stacey end up getting into. Their most recent antics include trying to learn to rollerblade– Penelope had found a pair a few months ago and they had been collecting dust in her closet until Stacey spotted them and insisted they give it a shot. The result had been scraped knees and humbled egos, and in Penelope’s case, a wicked bruise on her tailbone. 

“Sweet Jesus,” Stacey murmurs one night. Her and Penelope are shucking corn for dinner on the back porch, and they have a perfect view of Haden lifting weights in the garage. Penelope looks up and follows Stacey’s gaze to Haden’s back, where the light blue tank top he’s wearing is stained with sweat and he has two gigantic dumbbells suspended above his head. “Mina picked the right house to stumble onto, that’s for sure.”

Penelope yanks at a husk with more force than necessary. “So what, do you like him or something?”

Stacey laughs. “I like looking at him,” she says. “But he’s not really my type. Too quiet, too serious. I prefer someone a bit more...fun.”

Penelope thinks of all the times he’s taken her into the woods to work on her knife throwing, the time he let her stand in the bed of the truck and drove over a hundred miles per hour down the highway so she could feel like she was flying, that night they played a game of Monopoly so intense that her voice was hoarse the whole next day from screaming. “He can be fun.”

Stacey shrugs. “Either way, he’s a little too old for me, don’t you think?”

Penelope’s cheeks grow hot and she looks down, grabbing another ear of corn. Her mind flashes to the nights she’s spent alone in her new bedroom with a pillow wedged between her legs, rocking back and forth in a futile attempt to distract herself from the feelings that arise when she catches him in a similar state. “Yeah. Yeah, for sure.”

A few days later, her and Stacey are kicking a soccer ball around the yard. She had played throughout high school as well, and the two of them had taken to passing the ball or playing some 1-v-1 games whenever they had a lull in the day. Their game is currently in the process of getting derailed as they try to keep the ball away from Killer, who is intent on swiping it out from under their feet whenever they let their guards down.

“Killer, no!” Penelope says sternly, kicking it towards Stacey just before his paws can swipe it away. He bounds after it, barking excitedly. “If you pop it, we’ll never be able to blow it up again.”

“This dog wakes up every day and chooses chaos,” Stacey laughs. “He’s so–”

She cuts off when the high-pitched staccato of a horn blares through the air. They both stare at each other in confusion, then race around the side of the house to look out down the driveway. Mina opens the front door and joins them, and they watch as a dark gray RV turns off the road and starts to creep up the drive. Killer trots after them, the abandoned ball proudly hanging from his mouth.

Haden, who was tending to Susan and Lucy, rushes over to stand in front of the girls. Penelope immediately looks down, soothed when she finds the outline of the pistol under his shirt, tucked into the waistband of his pants. The RV comes to a stop halfway up the driveway and the door opens, a young man climbing out and holding his hands up parallel to his head.

“Greetings, earthlings,” he calls to them. “I come in peace.”

“No way,” Haden says with a surprised laugh, and Penelope looks at him in shock as he breaks out into a smile and jogs down the driveway. She is even more shocked to see him embrace the strange man.

“Who is that?” the sisters ask Penelope unison. That’s a thing she’s noticed them do a lot; they either say the same thing at the exact same time, or she’ll tell them the same thing at two separate times and they’ll have an almost identical response. 

“I have no idea,” Penelope says, and because she doesn’t like being left out, she determinedly marches down the driveway to find out. 

The man is tall, almost as tall as Haden, but with a more toned, lithe figure. He has long black hair that is loose around his shoulders and he immediately fixes Penelope with a bright smile. Right away she is struck by the difference between him and David Osmond, how meeting a strange man can be so different. Whereas David’s gaze made her feel small and uncomfortable, this man’s smile is warm and friendly, his presence automatically making her feel calm. 

Haden’s demeanor also helps her relax. The smile stretched across his face is the biggest one Penelope’s ever seen on him, and she would even go as far as to say that he looks excited. 

“Penelope, this is Niko,” he says. “We grew up together.”

“Hi,” she says, staying close to Haden’s side. 

“Hi,” Niko says back. He looks at Haden with a smirk. “Color me surprised. The world ends and you adopt a kid?”

Penelope’s face heats up and Haden shifts uncomfortably. “It’s not like that,” he says, but Penelope realizes in that moment that yes, it kind of is like that, and she doesn’t quite know how to feel about it. 

“I’m just messing with you,” Niko chuckles. He holds a hand out to Penelope. “Niko Highpine. The pleasure’s all yours.”

“Penelope Rhys, and you’ve got it backwards,” she says as she shakes his hand, and he laughs. 

“Oh, I like you, Penelope Rhys,” Niko says. “How the hell did you end up with this one?”

“It’s a long–” Haden starts.

“He killed the men who were trying to kidnap me,” Penelope says matter-of-factly, talking over him. Niko’s eyes grow wide. 

“Well damn,” he says, letting out a low whistle. “Now that’s a story I want to hear.”

Mina and Stacey make their way down for introductions as well, and then they all move into the house. In learning about Niko’s life, Penelope also learns more about Haden, though she keeps her face impassive, pretending for Mina and Stacey’s sake that this is all information she had known already. It turns out that Haden used to spend his summers up here working on the farm, and since Niko grew up in the area, they got to know each other and started to hang out. Haden didn’t come back after graduating high school, but Niko eventually was hired by Haden’s uncle and worked on the farm part-time while going to the local community college. He left when he transferred to MIT to get his degree in mechanical engineering and didn’t come back until the uncle’s funeral, where he and Haden saw each other for the first time in years.

“And I was like, holy shit ,” Niko says in between bites of a tomato sandwich, “this dude is bigger, hotter, and way angrier than I remember.”

Haden rolls his eyes. “Not relevant.”

“I disagree,” Niko says, but he continues. “It adds depth to the story. Anyway, I had just started a new job down in D.C., but it made me want to drink bleach every morning, so I quit and decided to just fix up my dad’s old RV and live off the land.”

“Wait, so you were living in that thing before everything happened? Like, willingly?” Stacey asks.

“First of all, her name is Greta. Second of all, yes, for just about a month. Perfect timing, right?” Niko grins. “But because I was so off the grid it took a while to figure out what was going on, which was just a teensy bit awkward.”

“Just a teensy bit?” Penelope says. 

“A smidge.” Niko winks at her. She looks to Haden, whose lips are pursed in amusement. Out of all the people in the world she could have imagined him to be friends with, Niko is not at all what she expected. He continues the story of his months spent traveling around the country, trying to find a safe place to ride out the carnage. When it became clear that finding a safe place wasn’t going to be an option, he started looking for his family. He doesn’t mention if he ever found them, but the fact that he’s alone tells Penelope all that she needs to know. 

“This place was my last shot,” Niko says as his story comes to an end. “I was hoping you’d still be alive, but honestly, if you were dead I was planning on staying anyway and working the land myself. Figured you wouldn’t mind.”

“Is this your way of asking to stay here?” Penelope asks bluntly. 

Niko smirks. “Well, as long as you say it’s okay.” He cuts a knowing glance toward Haden then leans closer to her, dropping his voice conspiringly. “Something tells me that you’re really the one in charge here.”

Penelope grins. “I think we have room for one more.”

He stays in his RV, which he parks back behind the house, close to the fenceline. “I like my space,” he says when they offer to find a place for him in the house. “Plus, I snore. You don’t want me anywhere near you, trust me.”

Much like Mina and Stacey, it feels like Niko has been with them forever. He pulls his weight with enthusiasm, and it turns out he has more to offer than just his farm skills. He had rigged his RV to run off of solar power, and with the right supplies, he can do the same to Haden’s truck. Penelope can practically taste Haden’s relief. They had both noticed their fuel supply growing smaller and smaller, and they had no idea what they were going to do when there was nothing left. 

However, as much as Penelope enjoys Niko’s company, there is a sour note to his arrival. She quickly grows jealous of the camaraderie between him and Haden, the easy familiarity to their interactions that she had worked so hard to achieve for herself. It reinforces her lingering feelings of loneliness that remain despite their growing numbers. Niko has known Haden for over a decade, Stacey and Mina are siblings– and then there’s her. The interloper amongst them all, even though she was here first. The only one without a history with someone else. 

A warm hand covers her shoulder, gently shaking her awake. Penelope startles and looks around wildly before her eyes focus and settle on Haden’s face. She feels a momentary burst of panic before registering his soft smile, the feeling of his thumb rubbing soothing circles on her skin.

“Hey, birthday girl,” he murmurs. “You wanna go somewhere with me?”

Penelope bites her lip and nods, excitement zipping through her veins. They haven’t spent any time just the two of them since Mina and Stacey arrived, and even less since Niko came. Today is her sixteenth birthday, and she can’t think of a better way to spend it. 

The sun is just peeking through the treetops as they head out, a fully-stuffed backpack strapped to Haden’s back and Killer trotting happily between them. Haden leads her away from their usual path, in a direction they’ve never gone before.

“Where are we going?” she asks despite knowing he won’t give her a straight answer.

“You’ll see when we get there,” he says, and she rolls her eyes with a smile. 

Haden leads her up the mountains, a steeper hike than she’s used to that makes her breath catch in her chest and her thighs shake with the effort. At a particularly difficult point, Haden reaches back and grabs her hand, steadying her over a large incline. Penelope realizes with a jolt that it’s the first time he’s ever held her hand, and she revels in the way his envelops hers completely, his grip solid and warm. The calluses on his palms rub against her soft skin and he holds onto her for a few moments longer than he needs to, keeping her close to his side as they walk. 

“Not too far now,” Haden says after they’ve been walking for a little over an hour. “Just around his bend coming up.”

“You better have breakfast in that bag,” Penelope pants. Her stomach has been growling for the better part of the hike. “I’m not trying to starve to death on my birthday.”

“Damn. Knew I forgot something.”

“ Haden .”

He looks back at her over his shoulder, smirking. “Honest mistake.”

“I will kill you.”

“That’s fine,” he says breezily. “Just wait two more minutes.”

He leads her a little further through the woods, and then he brushes a low-hanging branch to the side and they’re stepping out onto an outcropping of rock and Penelope freezes. Her eyes trace slowly over the horizon, the lush treetops, the endless valley below. She hadn’t realized how high up they had gotten. The land stretches out before them for miles, the sun now shining high in the cloudless sky, reflecting off the shimmering water of the river rushing below.

“Still want to kill me?” Haden murmurs, nudging her side.

“That depends,” Penelope says back, not taking her eyes off of the gorgeous view in front of her. “Were you kidding about breakfast?”

Haden takes a blanket out of his bag and spreads it over the ground. Killer settles himself on one side, rolling onto his back so the sun can warm his belly. Penelope sits cross-legged next to him, scratching beneath his chin as Haden pulls out a container of fruit and some bread, setting it up between them.

“How did you find this place?” Penelope asks, popping a strawberry into her mouth.

“Uncle Walt took me up here at the end of my first summer,” Haden says. “It became a tradition. It was always the last thing we did before I went back home. I haven’t been up here in years.”

“Why now?”

He looks over at her. The summer sun has emphasized the freckles on his face, so many that Penelope can get lost trying to count them. “Figured you could use some time away.”

She pushes the container of food out of the way so that she can curl up against his side, resting her head on his arm. “Do you miss it being just us?”

“Sometimes.”

Her heart flutters. “I do, too.”

“Got something for you,” Haden says after a minute, sitting up straight and clearing his throat. He roots around in his backpack before pulling out thick paperback, the top corner of the front cover bent a little but otherwise in good shape. He hands it to Penelope without ceremony and she runs her thumb reverently over the raised white text of the title, a stark contrast to the vibrant red cover. The Subtle Knife .

“No way,” she breathes, an excited grin stretching over her face. “This is it. This is the sequel!”

Penelope had found an old copy of The Golden Compass at the beginning of the winter and had read it no less than ten times since. She knew there were two other novels in the series, but figured it would be a long shot for her to ever find them–

“Oh my God!” she squeals when Haden pulls out another book from the bag. The Amber Spyglass . “Both of them!”

“Figured I’d make up for missing last year,” Haden says, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s not much, but–”

Penelope throws herself onto his lap, burying her face in his neck and wrapping her arms around him. “Thank you,” she says shakily, her throat tight and eyes watery. She hadn’t expected something as simple as two books to have such an effect on her, but it’s more so the gesture that they represent. I knew you’d like these. I paid attention.

“Hey, no tears on your birthday,” Haden says, rubbing her back. “Come on, let me see a smile.”

Penelope pulls back and wipes her eyes. She smiles and Haden smiles back, cupping the side of her face.

“There you are.”

She’s had crushes before, on people from school and musicians and actors in her favorite movies. Penelope is no stranger to the butterflies in her stomach and the all-consuming feeling of what. But all of her crushes in the past have been fleeting, lasting no more than a few weeks at a time. The feeling that she gets when she looks at Haden, the way her heart squeezes when he smiles at her and the way his touch leaves goosebumps on her skin, that isn’t going away. It feels stronger than a crush, more insistent, like the unfailing pull of magnetism. It feels exciting and dangerous, and Penelope loves every second of it.

They stay up on the mountain for hours, until their food is gone and Penelope can feel the twinge of sunburn on her skin. Haden swears that he doesn’t doze off while Penelope digs into the first chapter of her new book, but she definitely hears a snore or two. When they finally pack up and head down the mountain, she makes it a little more than halfway before deciding to try and push her birthday luck.

“My legs hurt,” she says, purposefully falling behind.

“We’ll be home soon,” Haden says, continuing on. When he doesn’t hear her footsteps following, he stops and turns around with a sigh. “Penny…”

“Please?” she pouts. “It can be like an extra present.”

Haden gnaws on the inside of his cheek, and Penelope can’t tell if he’s doing it out of annoyance or trying not to smile. He finally relents, sliding off his backpack to hold by the straps and presenting his back to her. She lets out an excited squeak and jumps up, wrapping her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck. Then, before she loses her nerve, leans forward and presses a kiss to his cheek. The scratch of his beard makes her lips tingle and he lets out a surprised grunt.

“S’that for?”

“A thank you,” Penelope says sweetly, resting her chin on top of his head. “For the best day.”

“Oh,” Haden says. His hands grip her thighs and adjust her weight, pulling her up higher on his back. “You’re, uh, you’re welcome.”

He takes the long way home. 

Chapter Text

June. One Year and Three Months After.

A shuffling noise startles Penelope awake. She hadn’t meant to fall asleep. Stupid. Realistically, Penelope knew that she was going to have to get some rest if she wanted to think clearly, but she hadn’t wanted to let her guard down. Raymond and Nathan had decided to alternate sleeping in order to keep an eye on them. Raymond had taken the first watch, and so she assumes that it’s him who is shuffling around. She is curled up on her left side, her back to them, facing Grace. The girl is still fast asleep, curled into a modified fetal position with her injured leg stretched straight out beneath her. She is still snuggled up in Haden’s hoodie and Penelope momentarily regrets giving it to her; she could really use that bit of comfort right now. 

She keeps her back turned as the shuffling noise grows closer, not wanting to let Raymond know she’s awake. When she feels him move to stand behind her she quickly shuts her eyes and peers out from just under her lashes, the room barely illuminated by the dull glow of the fire. A hand settles on her waist, rolling her onto her back and smoothing over her stomach. Nausea and alarm rises in her but she keeps herself still, trying to think about what to do. Through her lashes she can see his hand disappear beneath her shirt, feel it slither up her body and squeeze her left breast.

“I’ll get my own reward,” he mumbles to himself, and when she hears his voice Penelope realizes that it’s not Raymond, it’s Nathan. “See for myself why Oz wants you so bad.”

He moves his hand back down and his fingers curl around the waistline of her shorts,  starting to tug. Penelope’s open and he freezes, caught in the act, looking momentarily startled.

His first mistake was not tying them up again.

His second is hesitating. 

Penelope’s right hand flies up and her fist meets his trachea, sending him reeling back and gasping. She rolls over and pins him down, knees digging into his gut while her left forearm presses down over his throat, keeping him quiet. She lands another punch to his face, relishing in the satisfying crunch of his nose. She can hear a sputtering snore and looks to her left, where Raymond is slumped over, still sleeping. The shotgun is on the floor halfway between them, where Nathan must have left it. 

Penelope switches arms so that her right is digging into Nathan’s throat and reaches with her left, fingers outstretched, but the gun is just out of her reach. Nathan capitalizes on her distraction and uses his body weight to roll them over again. He grabs her by the shoulders and lifts her torso up a few inches before slamming it back to the ground, her head cracking on the linoleum floor. Stars shine behind her eyelids and he squeezes both hands around her throat. Penelope blindly paws at his wrists, digging her nails into his skin as she gasps for air, battling against the searing pain in her skull. He leans forward, taking his weight off her torso so he can press down harder on her throat. She just manages to plant her left foot on the ground and drive her right knee up, ramming it between his legs.

Nathan yelps, which startles Grace awake. She squeaks in surprise when she sees them and scoots backwards, dragging her leg behind her. Raymond is still snoring. Nathan’s grip loosens on Penelope’s throat and she shoves him off, lunging for the gun–

But Nathan’s arms are longer and he grabs it, smashing the butt into her face. She cries out in pain and rolls onto her side, protectively covering her face as she anticipates his next blow, which comes to her ribs. Pain explodes through her abdomen and she cries out again, curling in on herself. She peeks through her fingers just as he is raising the gun again, and instinctively kicks her right foot out. Her heel makes contact with his hands and the gun flies out of his grip, clattering to the ground and sliding towards Grace.

“Grab it!” Penelope yells, and the girl does, picking it up with shaking hands. Raymond finally snorts himself awake. 

“The hell’s going on?” he says as he jolts to his feet. 

“Shoot him!” Penelope yells as Nathan lunges for Grace. She wraps her arms around his torso and throws her weight at him, trying to hold him back. “Shoot them both!”

“I–I–” Grace stammers, holding the gun awkwardly and pointing it wildly between both men. 

“Do it!” Penelope yells, and Grace closes her eyes and fires at Nathan. But Penelope is still on top of him, and so she flings herself back at the last second to avoid the shot. Raymond turns away and covers his head. The shot rings through the air, followed by the sound of shattered glass and this time, Penelope doesn’t hesitate. She hauls herself to her feet and runs towards the door. There is now a gaping hole right above the handle and the grass crunches under her feet as she shoves it open and takes off into the night. She hears Nathan curse and then Grace’s pained cry behind her, knows she should turn around and help the girl, but this time she doesn’t stop.

It’s storming again, coming down just as heavy as before. Her face is numb from Nathan’s punch and she cannot even feel the cold of the rain as it pelts her face. There is no moonlight to guide her as she flies outside, running blindly by memory across the road and into the cover of the trees on the other side, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the infinite darkness. A shot rings out into the night, and then another. A third rings out and a burning pain blooms from Penelope’s left shoulder. She stumbles to the ground, feeling the warmth of blood start to seep out of her and drip down her body. 

Keep going.

It’s not her own voice that she hears in her head, but Haden’s. The stern, no-nonsense tone that she’s heard countless times before. The voice that has barked orders at her during training and directed her through countless fights, the voice that has pushed her through every moment where she felt like quitting and forced her to see things through to the end.

Keep going. 

Penelope drags herself back to her feet and stumbles forward, further into the woods. She strains to listen over the rain, doesn’t hear anyone following her– doubts that they even will. Raymond and Nathan are too cowardly to face the night, especially now that they’re down four more bullets. Who knows how many they have left? She knows it’s dangerous, that a Remnant can fly out of the shadows at any second and rip her to pieces, but she doesn’t care. But she’d rather die this way than by the hands of those stupid men. 

She keeps running, holding her injured arm close to her body, twisting around trees and trying to duck beneath the low-hanging branches that scratch at her face. Each gasping breath feels like a knife digging into her ribcage. She turns a corner and the ground suddenly gives out from beneath her and Penelope finds herself rolling down a sharp decline of a hillside, sliding through mud and rocks. Her fingers dig into the slippery dirt, trying to stop, but she only slows down when her right knee slams into the side of a large boulder and the sudden momentum loss jolts her body into stillness. She cries out as the sharp pain radiates up her leg, her shout lost to the sudden boom of thunder rolling through the sky. 

Get up.

“I can’t,” Penelope sniffles, trying and failing to put weight on her right leg as she attempts to rise to her feet. 

You have to move.

“I can’t !” she yells back to no one. It strains her throat, aching from Nathan’s choking grip. Everything hurts. Her leg, her arm, her head. The pain in her ribs makes it hard to breathe. It feels as if every cell in her body is screaming for her to stop, to rest, to give up. She’s taken some heavy blows before, not as many as this. Her limbs are trembling, her head spinning, soaked to the bone as she lays freezing in the mud.

Come on, Penny. Get. Up.

Penelope grits her teeth and tries one more time, shakily dragging herself into a standing position. The pain is so bad that she has to curl over and vomit, but once she straightens up again she wipes her mouth and takes a deep, steadying breath. Haden’s voice is right. She has to keep going. 

One foot in front of the other, a slow, numb, mindless walk. She keeps moving forward not even sure of where she’s going. Her thoughts are a scrambled mess. She left Grace alone. How could she do that? What is going to happen to the girl without Penelope there to protect her? Has she even done that good of a job protecting her at all? She already got her shot. Why haven’t any Remnants lept out of the night and finished her off? She’s so tired, she wouldn’t even mind.

The squishy mud beneath her feet starts to stiffen, turning to grass, and then turning to pavement as she emerges out of the other side of the forest and onto a road. Not a highway, but a residential street, the road barely wide enough for two cars to pass each other. She looks left, down the stretch of darkness, and then right, where it looks the same. But wait–

There, in the distance, a flicker of light.

Keep going.

Penelope starts limping in that direction, dragging herself down the road. The flickering light starts to get stronger. The brightness takes on an almost whitish hue, not like the golden flickers of a fire, but more like the beams of headlights. Her breath catches in her chest. 

Haden. He found her.

She lifts her good arm and waves it in the air. “I’m here!” she croaks, her voice a raspy squeak. “Haden, I’m here!”

The light gets closer and Penelope tries to run towards it, but she stumbles and falls to the ground. She makes no effort to get up, just waits for him to come to her.

“Haden,” she calls weakly. “It’s me, I’m here–”

The light is directly in front of her, so bright she has to close her eyes and turn her head. She can feel the vibrations through the ground of heavy footsteps rushing over to her, then a hand touches the side of her face.

“You found me,” she sighs, sinking into the touch. She waits for his arms to come around her, but they don’t. That’s strange. Why isn’t he picking her up? 

“Can you hear me?” he asks.

“Yes.” Penelope frowns up at the light, trying to squint through it to make out his face. “Haden, please. I want to go home.”

“I’m going to help you.”

Why is he saying that? She knows he’ll help her. And why does his voice sound different, lighter? 

“I’m cold. I want to go home.”

“What’s your name, sweetheart?”

No, that’s not right. Haden has never called her that before. The voice is clearer now, softer and higher-pitched. Penelope’s head is spinning again. The light shifts, and Penelope can finally see that the face looming over her is not Haden’s, but a woman’s. She is covered by a massive yellow raincoat, the hood hanging over her face, raindrops running down the side of the slick fabric. Penelope watches the swirling rivulets of water intently, the only thing her eyes can focus on. 

“Who…?” Penelope starts to say. Her mouth keeps moving but she never hears the rest of the sentence come out. She’s tired. She’s cold and she’s so, so tired.

“It’s okay,” the woman says confidently, her hand still on the side of Penelope’s face. “You’re going to be alright.”

The quilt is soft and weighted, fitted snugly over her body. Penelope curls into it with her eyes still shut, inhaling deeply. It smells like cinnamon with just the faintest hint of smoke, like it had recently been warmed over a fire. Through her eyelids she can make out the flickering, orange glow of candlelight. When she peels them open, she is met with a view of a  bare wall, forest green curtains pulled over the window in the center. There is just an inch of space between the curtains through which Penelope can see the darkness of the night outside. She is lying flat on her back, her head tilted toward the right, and she slowly rolls it back to center. She glances down, follows the line of her body down the bed, wiggles her toes and watches the quilt shift with her movements. 

The soreness creeps into her bones as she grows more and more awake. She can feel something slightly damp on her knee, a cool towel that has since dried. There’s something scratchy around her torso and left shoulder– gauze or bandages, most likely. Penelope tries to raise herself up onto her elbows, but her left arm is still sensitive and she hisses in pain. Something creaks next to her and her head snaps to the left, where a woman slumped in a chair is shifting and rubbing her eyes.

“Oh, hi there,” she says gently when she catches Penelope staring. “Don’t move too fast, hon. Here, let me help.”

The woman leans forward and helps Penelope sit up, adjusting the pillows behind her neck and back. There’s a pitcher and a glass resting on the nightstand next to the bed, and the woman pours Penelope a glass of water and holds it to her lips. Penelope opens her mouth and gulps it down greedily, not realizing how parched she is until the first drop touches her tongue.

“There you go, hon. Nice and easy.”

“Thank you,” Penelope croaks once she’s drained the glass. Her throat feels tender, her voice raspy. She immediately starts coughing, the contractions of her diaphragm sending pain shooting out from her ribs, and the woman quickly pours her another glass. Once Penelope is settled again, the woman dips a cloth into the pitcher and starts to blot at her face. The cool water feels nice, soothing the tenderness of her face that she hadn’t registered yet.

“How are you feeling?” the woman asks softly. She has a kind face, hazel eyes accented with crows feet and smile lines along the side of her mouth. Her frizzy hair is twisted into a loose bun at the nape of her neck, some gray strands escaping and curling over her shoulders. There is a calming presence about her, something that makes Penelope immediately feel at ease.

“I’m okay,” she says quietly. “Um, who are you?”

“My name is Linda. What’s yours?”

“Penelope.” She studies Linda carefully. “There was someone in the rain, another woman…”

“That’s my wife, Wanda,” Linda says softly. “She was the one who found you. She’s asleep now, but I could get her if you’d like.”

“No, no, it’s fine.” Penelope closes her eyes and leans back against the pillows. She’s trying to figure out her next question when her stomach rumbles loudly and her eyes pop open, her face coloring. 

“I’d be surprised if you weren’t hungry, sweetheart,” Linda laughs. “You’ve been out for two days.”

Penelope’s heart lurches. “ Two days ?” She scrambles to sit up. “I have to go. I have to find–”

“No, no you don’t have to do anything,” Linda chastises her, easing her back down. “You’re going to stay right here, at least until the morning.”

“But I–”

“No buts,” Linda says. “Listen, I don’t know what you’re running from or who you’re running to, but it’s obvious that you’ve been in some kind of trouble. Now I’m going to heat you up some soup, you’re going to eat it, then you’re going to go back to sleep and tell us about it all in the morning, alright hon? We’re going to help you however we can.”

Penelope can tell there’s no use fighting her, and her limbs are stiff and achy, so she just sinks back into the pillows and listens as Linda leaves the room and starts puttering in the kitchen down the hall. Penelope stares up at the ceiling, mind racing. She’s been out for two days, which means she’s been missing for three. Where is she now? What is happening to Grace? Two days alone with those awful men? Shame and worry twist in her stomach. She should never have left her behind. How stupid, how selfish . Penelope feels even more awful when she thinks about Haden and the rest of her family, how worried they all must be. 

Linda comes back with a small bowl of soup, steam swirling in the air above it. The broth scalds her mouth but Penelope doesn’t care– it’s rich and savory and full of the nutrients that she’s sorely lacked for the last few days. Her headache starts to fade as she eats, barely even stopping to breathe until she’s scraping at the bottom of the bowl. Once she’s done, Linda takes it back with a smile.

“Get some more rest now,” she says. “If you need anything, we’re just down the hall, okay? All you have to do is holler.”

“Okay,” Penelope says, the warmth of the broth and her full belly already making her feel sleepy again. She carefully shimmies down the bed and tucks herself back under the quilt. Linda tucks in it along her side.

“I’ll make eggs and pancakes for breakfast. That sound good to you?”

Penelope’s eyes well up. Why is this stranger being so nice to her? Sharing her food, her bed, tending to her injuries? “That sounds good,” she agrees, trying not to cry. “Thank you.”

Linda nods, smooths her hand over the top of Penelope’s head, and leaves. The door closes behind her with a soft click and Penelope is asleep within seconds. 

A few hours later, Penelope shuffles out of bed and down the hallway, following the smell of pancakes into the kitchen. Linda is flipping them into a towering stack on a plate while another woman sits at the table with a cup of tea. Wanda. She fixes Penelope with a bright smile and stands, taking her by the arm and helping her slide into a seat.

“Well, good morning,” she says warmly. “Glad to see you with us.”

“Thank you,” Penelope says, looking back and forth between them. “Both of you. For helping me, for being so nice.”

Wanda waves her hand dismissively. “Don’t even think about it.” She looks to be about the same age as Linda and is wearing an oatmeal colored sweater despite the warmth in the morning air. Her hair is twisted into beautiful spiraled knots on top of her head, a style that Penelope had seen Mina do once before. Linda places the plate of pancakes on the table and hands Penelope a cup of tea that smells like berries.

“Drink up. It works wonders.”

 Penelope takes a tentative sip. Her eyes widen appreciatively as the pain in her throat seems to instantly dissipate. “Wow.”

Wanda spears a few pancakes on her fork and slides them onto Penelope’s plate as Linda goes back to the stove. “How are you feeling, sweetheart?”

“Um, sore,” Penelope answers honestly. “But better. A lot better.”

“Good.”

“Scrambled or fried, hon?” Linda asks, holding up two eggs. 

“Scrambled, please.”

“Good choice,” Wanda whispers theatrically. “She burns the fried ones every time.”

“You still eat them,” Linda retorts, not turning around.

“Because I love you, dearest,” Wanda says back in a singsong voice, winking at Penelope, who smiles as she cuts into her pancakes. They’re perfectly golden, thick and fluffy, and when she puts the first piece in her mouth she lets out an audible moan.

“What the hell did you put in these?” she says, her voice a bit muffled as she chews. “Oh my God .”

Linda shoots a proud smile over her shoulder. Her hair is loose this morning, spilling down her back in shiny waves. “Just some buttermilk and love.”

Penelope scarfs down half of her plate before Linda comes back over with the eggs. She digs into those with vigor as well, and her plate is almost clear before she realizes that now is the time for her to be asking questions, getting some answers. She reluctantly puts her fork down and clears her throat. 

“So, um. Where am I?”

“Mansfield,” Wanda answers. “Or, what used to be. Northern Pennsylvania. Are you from around here?”

Penelope shakes her head. She has no idea how long they were driving before she woke up in the truck. “I’m from the Catskills, up in the mountains. Near Delhi, if you know where that is.”

“That’s awfully far.”

“I know.” She takes another sip of tea. “How did you find me?” 

Linda and Wanda share a look, and this time it’s Linda who answers. 

“I heard gunshots,” she says. “Woke me up out of a dead sleep. Thought it was part of the storm at first, but something in me knew it was something different.” She gesticulates with her fork as she talks, a piece of speared egg wiggling in the air. “Sound travels out here, so I wasn’t sure how close it was, but it gave me a bad feeling.”

“She woke me up,” Wanda says, picking up as Linda sticks the forkful of eggs into her mouth. She sits back in her chair and holds her cup of tea close to her chest. “I’ve been with this woman for going on twenty-six years now, and I trust her gut more than my own. If she thinks something is wrong, I believe her. So I got dressed and went out to see if I could find anything unusual.”

Penelope stares at her in shock. “What about Remnants? You could’ve gotten yourself killed.”

Wanda grins, leaning forward to pat Penelope’s hand. “I can handle myself just fine,” she says. “Besides, sometimes things are worth putting yourself in danger for. I was nearly ready to give up and head home when I found you, and just in time. Nearly broke my heart, seeing you lying there on the road. You looked half dead.”

“Covered in mud, a bullet in your shoulder, a cracked rib, a swollen knee, bruises all over your throat,” Linda says, ticking each item off on her fingertips. “Do you think you’re up to telling us what happened?”

Penelope sighs heavily and takes another sip of tea, biding her time. She doesn’t even know where to begin. Finally, she settles on the part that confuses her the most. “Do either of you know anything about a man named Oz?”

The women look at each other in confusion. “No.”

By the time Penelope finishes recounting her story, from her morning run to her escape into the night, her tea is cold and the leftover maple syrup has congealed on her plate. Linda and Wanda listen with rapt attention, punctuating her story only with soft gasps or empathetic hums. Once Penelope is done, she sinks back in her chair, feeling drained. Linda reaches across the table and squeezes her arm, thumb rubbing soothingly over her skin.

“You’re really something, aren’t you?”

Penelope scoffs and shakes her head. “Hardly. I left Grace behind. She’s just a kid.” She furiously blinks back tears. “Who knows what they’re going to do to her.”

“You’re just a kid, too,” Wanda says. “You did the best you could.”

Penelope stiffens at her words. She has been working for far too long not to be seen as a child, to be taken seriously. At just two months shy of her nineteenth birthday, she already has more blood on her hands than most adults could ever dream of. She can’t afford to be just a kid, not anymore. 

“I should have done better.”

Wanda purses her lips and looks like she wants to argue further, but instead thinks better of it and sits back in her chair, folding her arms over her chest. 

“We’ve never heard about a man named Oz,” Linda says slowly, deep in thought. “But we have heard rumors about a settlement nearby that’s a bit...strange.”

“Strange how?”

“The type of strange that means we’ve kept our distance,” Wanda says. “It’s a little more than a day’s walk from here. Less if you ride.”

“Ride?”

“On horseback,” Wanda clarifies. 

Penelope perks up. “You have horses?”

Linda grins. “We do. Would you like to meet them?”

Growing up, Penelope was terrified of horses. She has always been on the short side– even now, she’s just a few measly inches over five feet tall– and as a little kid she was especially tiny. Back when her parents were still together, they took her into Manhattan for the day. They ate lunch in Central Park, where they saw multiple carriages being pulled by horses around the park. Her mother had thought it would be fun to ride in one, but as they approached it, Penelope began to freak out. Screaming and crying and tugging at her parents’ hands, desperate to get away from such a large, imposing creature. Her fear stayed with her, morphing into a strong apprehension as she got older, until just a few years ago when her attitude changed. 

The Hollanders, a large family who live on a dairy farm a few hours north of home, have some horses of their own. They started trading with them a few years ago, and Penelope loves to tag along on the trips and visit their animals. Last time she was there, they had twelve cows and eight horses, plus a border collie that Killer loves to play with. Penelope isn’t quite bold enough to get up the courage to learn how to ride, but she enjoys hanging out in the stables and letting them nibble treats out of her palm. 

Linda helps her to her feet and steadies her as they walk outside. Penelope’s knee is still swollen and bruised, making it difficult to put weight on her right leg. She can manage just fine without the woman’s assistance, but she will admit that it’s nice to have it. Linda guides her outside and into the backyard, helping her settle into an Adirondack chair while Wanda disappears through an ivy-covered gate. The yard is lush and green, bushes and plants sprouting up everywhere. To the far left of the yard is a large greenhouse, seemingly filled to the brim with even more greenery. 

“We’ve always grown almost all of our food,” Linda says, catching her stare. “Even before all of this.”

“Do you ever miss anything?” Penelope asks. “From before?”

Linda thinks about it for a minute. “McDonald’s french fries,” she finally says. “Those greasy, salty, piping hot ones that are fresh out of the fryer. If I had to pick one thing to get back, that’s it.”

The latch of the gate clinks and Penelope watches Wanda reappear, two stunning dappled gray horses trotting through behind her. Their tails swish behind them as they approach, and one of them whinnies excitedly when it sees Linda. Penelope keeps a hand on each of their long noses, petting them both in tandem as Wanda continues their conversation from earlier. 

“We’ve never had any contact with this group ourselves,” she says, “but our son, Phillip, had a run-in with them a while back. He said that a preacher and his congregation took over this old military compound and are claiming it’s some kind of paradise. ‘Salvation for the worthy,’ he said. They’ve made it their mission to do something grandiose and bizarre, like repopulate the world.”

“Gave him a real Waco vibe,” Linda says. “But that was before your time, wasn’t it, hon?”

Penelope shrugs, not catching the reference. “Either way, it sounds like the same people.”

“If they are, then maybe they’re a bigger problem that we thought.” Wanda says with a frown. “I don’t like it.”

“We should head to Phillip’s early,” Linda offers. “We need to find out if he knows anything more about them.”

“That’s a good idea. The sooner we know what we’re up against, the better.”

“Hold on,” Penelope says, shaking her head. “You two don’t need to get involved in this. I just need to get home.”

“Like hell we don’t,” Wanda counters. “A group of sycophants running around, kidnapping young girls? Not on our watch.”

“And you can’t go anywhere in your condition,” Linda says to Penelope. “You’ve been through a major ordeal. Your knee is still the size of a grapefruit and your arm isn’t healed yet. The only thing you need right now is more rest.”

“I’m fine,” Penelope insists. She stands up to prove her point, gritting her teeth as her knee screams in protest. One of the horses huffs indignantly when she stops her pets. It reminds her of Killer, and her urgency to return home increases. “I can rest at home.”

“Do you even know which way to go?”

“I’ll figure it out.”

“No doubt that you can,” Wanda agrees. “But there’s no need to make any hasty decisions.”

“This isn’t hasty . I’ve been trying to get home ever since some cult freaks drugged me and I woke up in the back of a fucking ice cream truck.”

“Now, you– wait, an ice cream truck?” Linda says, brow furrowed. Penelope must have left that part out earlier. 

“Look, we understand that you’re a long way from home. I’m sure whoever is looking for you is very worried,” Wanda says, “but they’d be more worried if they knew you were out wandering on your own rather than staying safe in one place, right?”

Penelope grits her teeth. The chances of anyone being able to track her down this far– after she was driven for so long, and after all that rain– are awfully slim. The reality of the situation is that Haden probably doesn’t have the slightest idea where she is and is nowhere close to finding her. Which means that it’s up to her to get home, and every second she stays here is a second wasted.

“Give us two days,” Linda says, sensing Penelope’s agitation. “Rest up, let the swelling go down, and then we’ll give you whatever you need to get home. Is that fair?”

“We’re not keeping you here,” Wanda emphasizes. “We just want to help.”

“But why?” Penelope blurts out. “You don’t even know me.”

Linda tilts her head in confusion, like the answer should be obvious. “Because you need it.”

The afternoon finds Penelope with a fresh comfrey poultice wrapped around her ribs and a cool cloth draped around her knee. She is reclining in one of the plush armchairs in the living room, the sun streaming in through the wide windows, bathing the room in light. A bright ray falls directly over her chair and she feels like a cat, closing her eyes and letting it warm her face. The cottage is incredibly quaint, each room feeling cozy and inviting. Pictures compete with potted plants and other knick knacks for space on the walls and shelves. It’s incredibly calming to be in a place that feels so lived in– a stark contrast to the desolate places Penelope usually visits.

“Tell us about your family,” Linda says, re-entering the room and settling on the sofa across from her. Wanda follows her and hands Penelope a fresh cup of tea. “Do you have any siblings?”

Penelope smiles fondly. “Sort of,” she says. “They’re not– I mean, they are my family. The only real family I’ve ever had. But we’re not related. We all just...found each other.”

“Well, that’s the best kind of family there is,” Linda says. 

“I guess you’re right.” Penelope says with a fond smile. “Savannah is the newest one. She’s really intense and private. I think she’s been through a lot that she doesn’t want to share, and I wish I knew how to let her know that it’s okay to let us in. And then there’s Mina, who’s like the big sister I never had. She’s got the biggest heart and she’s always looked out for me. Stacey is her real sister, and she was with us for a long time but she…” Penelope trails off as a lump suddenly rises in her throat, a mix of sadness and anger that she still hasn’t processed. “Uh, she left a few months back. We don’t know where she is.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Wanda says sympathetically, but Penelope barrels on, not wanting to get caught up in her emotions.

“And Niko, he’s just the best. He’s warm and kind and smart, and he can make anyone laugh. I mean anyone . And Haden is–”

Penelope bites her lip. It’s something that has always troubled her, a relationship she has always struggled to place. Everyone else has fallen into their category with ease, but not Haden. What can she say about this man who has been so many things to her? What word could she possibly use to describe him that would accurately reflect the enormity of his place in her life? Nothing she has landed on has ever felt right. There has only been one word floating around her head recently, something that she has always been too scared to say, only managed once as a joke and has been too embarrassed to bring up again.

“Oh, I see.” Wanda smirks. “He was the one you were calling out for the night I found you.”

Penelope flushes. “He’s kept me safe,” she settles on. “Always taken care of me. I don’t know what I’d do without him. He’s the most important person in my life.” It still doesn’t feel right, but it’s all that she can come up with on the spot.

“Mhm,” Linda hums. “Sounds like he’s really special.”

Penelope takes a long  sip of her tea. “He is.”

The women eventually escape to the greenhouse to pick some vegetables for dinner, and to no doubt talk about her without her listening in. Penelope doesn’t mind– she’d do the same if she were in their position. She remains in her armchair, enjoying the last rays of light from the sun that is slowly starting to sink behind the trees. After a while she starts to hear a distant rumbling, like a motor of some sort. She perks up immediately, but as it grows closer she realizes that it doesn’t sound like Haden’s truck. It’s heavier, more cacophonous. A... motorcycle ? She hasn’t heard one of those in years.

The grumbling cuts off and Penelope gingerly rises to her feet. She crosses the room to the window and peers out into the front yard, trying to see past the lush bushes and trees and into the street. There is nothing but stillness, the occasional bird flitting from one tree branch to another, and Penelope is about to turn away when someone suddenly walks into view.

It’s a young woman, a shock of bright red hair curling over her shoulders. She leisurely ambles up the cobblestone path through the front yard, curiously looking around the property. When she turns to look over her shoulder, Penelope can see a sword sheathed across her back. Her hands suddenly itch for the weight of her own blade, the security of having something to defend herself with. The girl looks back up at the house, and as she steps closer Penelope is suddenly filled with dread. She has the same marking under her eye as Nathan and Raymond, as the bodies they found near the farm. She’s working for Oz, too. 

Penelope steps away from the glass, pressing herself into the drapes just as the girl’s gaze cuts toward the window. She glances toward the front door, where the deadbolt sits unlocked. To get to it, she’d have to move in front of the window and expose herself to this girl. Penelope wastes too much time deliberating, and suddenly there’s a knock at the door.

“Hello? Anyone home?” The girl’s voice is nasally, falsely cheerful. “I can see the smoke from the chimney, so I know someone’s there.”

The door handle turns and Penelope lunges to the side, throwing herself between the wall and the back of the couch, clamping a hand over her mouth to muffle her pained groan as her knee protests the sudden movement. The door opens and the girl flounces inside, footsteps light and bouncy. 

“Hellooooo?”

She unsheathes her sword, the metallic hiss ringing through the air, and drags it along the hardwood floor as she paces around the room. Penelope holds her breath, doing a mental inventory of the room, thinking about what she could use as a weapon if this girl gets too close. The lamp on the end table next to the couch is probably her best bet. It looks heavy enough. The girl whistles as she flits about the house, the same eerie tune that Nathan had whistled when they were on the road. 

“Cute place,” the girl murmurs to herself. “Now where are–”

The static of a radio crackles loudly and Penelope jumps.

“Lydia? Come in.”

The girl– Lydia?– groans and stomps over to the couch, flopping back against it, the springs squeaking in Penelope’s ear. She clicks a button to answer back. “What?”

“Have you found her yet?”

“If I found her I would’ve called you already,” Lydia snaps.

Her? Penelope squeezes her eyes shut. What are the odds that she’s talking about her? Maybe there’s some other girl that Oz has people out looking for.

“She’s probably dead,” the voice on the other end of the radio says, sounding annoyed. “She ran into the woods at night, wounded, with no protection. I told you this was a waste of time.”

Fuck .

“She killed Brian,” Lydia hisses. “If she’s still alive, I’ll find her, and if she’s dead, I’m bringing back her body. We might still be able to use her.”

“Listen, Lydia–”

 “I’m in a house right now. Looks pretty lived in but I don’t see anyone around. I still have to check out back.”

Penelope’s blood turns to ice in her veins. If this girl heads for the backyard, she’ll have to make a move, try to stop her before she gets to Linda and Wanda. She inches toward the end table, eyeing the lamp. If Penelope can just stun Lydia enough to get the sword out of her grip, then she can gain some control over the situation. 

“Well, I hate to interrupt your little revenge mission, but Oz knows you’re gone and he’s not happy.”                                                                                                                                                                     

“You were supposed to cover for me.”

“Yeah, for a few hours, not all day. You need to get back before dark.”

“I still have some time,” Lydia says petulantly. 

“Oz was...very adamant about your immediate return.”

“Ugh.” Lydia stands up and resheaths her sword. “You can tell my father to stop worrying, that I’m the one who’s going to be able to do what his dumb lackeys couldn’t.”

Penelope has to stifle her gasp. This is Oz’s daughter ?

“Yeah, I’m not passing along any messages–”

“Whatever.” Lydia stomps toward the door. “I’m turning my radio off. I’ll be home by dark.” She slams the door behind her, the frames on the wall trembling with the force of the swing. Penelope stays frozen behind the couch until she hears the motorcycle roar to life once more, and then she slowly creeps out of her hiding spot as the rumbling of the motor fades into the distance. Collapsing into the same spot on the couch that Lydia had just vacated, she lets out a shaky breath as she massages her knee, staring up at the ceiling. 

There are more people after her. Strange, deluded, dangerous people. And Linda and Wanda are caught right in the middle. 

The road is quiet, save for the few early morning birds chirping in the trees. Penelope moves slowly, mindful of her tender knee, following the path of slowly increasing sunlight. She snuck out of the house before the sun had even properly risen, ready for the pit in her stomach to loosen as she finally started her journey home, but surprisingly, her unease lingers. 

“ And if you don’t love me now, then you’ll never love me again ,” she sings to herself as she walks, trying to keep her nerves at bay, voice still a bit hoarse. She wishes she had some more of that delicious tea. “ I can still hear you saying you would never break the chain .” It’s a song Stacey used to sing all the time. She loved Fleetwood Mac. Her voice was strong and melodic, and she could carry any tune with ease. Penelope had always been jealous of that. 

A canvas tote bag is hanging from her right shoulder, weighed down by some food and bandages, plus the tattered road atlas that Penelope had stolen from the bookshelf in Linda and Wanda’s living room. The copyright page has been ripped out and left under a mug on the kitchen table, her hasty words scrawled across the front.

Dear Linda and Wanda,

Thank you so much for your kindness and generosity. Without you, I’d definitely be dead. I know you are looking out for my best interests by wanting me to stay, but I have to keep moving. There are people looking for me and I couldn’t live with myself if you two got caught in the middle. Please don’t come after me. Once I have found my family, I will come back and repay you for everything. 

Thank you,

Penelope :)

Each step away from the cottage makes her feel increasingly anxious, like there’s something she’s forgetting, and Penelope makes it all of ten minutes before stopping. She turns around in a slow circle, taking in her surroundings: the narrow road leading back to the safety of the cottage, the thicket of woods surrounding it that she had stumbled through a few nights before, scared and injured and running for her life. Her thoughts fade back to Grace again, to the last time she saw the girl’s face, pale and tear-stained, eyes wide with fear. 

“Aw, fuck,” Penelope groans, throwing her head back. She abandons the road and starts into the woods. “I’m gonna regret this.”

 She already left Grace once. She won’t do it again.

The bodies have been burning for a while. Penelope stares dejectedly at the smoldering pile, the neckline of her shirt pulled up around her nose and mouth in an attempt to filter out the awful smell. They’re too far burned to make out any distinguishing features, but she can still tell that the bodies belong to two men and a small girl. The chances of it being anyone but Grace are too small to even consider. Penelope blinks back the burning tears of shame and remorse. She’s too late. 

She regretted her decision to go after Grace and the men about two minutes after she started, when the heroic adrenalin wore off and she remembered that they had a three day’s head start and had probably made it to the settlement by now. How else would Lydia know about her escape if they hadn’t told her? Every rational part of her knew that she should turn around and head home, but there was something in her that told her to keep going. A sneaking suspicion nestled deep in her gut that even if she didn’t find Grace, she would find something else. So she kept going. 

Penelope made it back to the 7-Eleven and found nothing but the ashes of the long-dead fire and blood stains on the floor. From there she followed the direction they were headed originally, operating on the blind hope that the men had kept to their plan. After a while she started to doubt that she was on the right track, but then she came across the dead body of a man slumped on the side of a tree. He must have been dead for about a day already, and it looked like his throat had been slashed. That part caught her attention. As far as Penelope knew, the only weapon that Nathan and Raymond had between them was the gun. Could this have been Lydia? Or someone else?

Penelope snooped around the dead man’s property and found a slightly rusted axe sitting by a pile of half-chopped wood. She grabbed it, immediately feeling a bit better now that she had some sort of protection. An axe wasn’t her weapon of choice, but she had picked up enough tricks from Haden to feel confident swinging it around. After stopping for a quick lunch break a little after midday, Penelope had continued her journey only to be sidetracked by a plume of smoke rising off in the distance, and the immediate, overwhelming feeling that she needed to see where it was coming from. 

Now, Penelope turns away from the burning bodies and sinks to the ground, burying her head in her hands, the sharp bite of regret eating away at her. She shouldn’t have left Grace behind. She was just a kid, a scared little kid who needed someone to look out for her, not abandon her. Now she’s dead, and she probably died in pain and even more scared than she was before. Penelope has wasted a whole day tracking them down for nothing, and–

Wait.

Penelope lifts her head and wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. Someone must have been around recently to burn the bodies. She whips her head around, looking for a sign, anything to tell her who it could have been. There aren’t any footsteps, but there are just fresh tire tracks in the road, skidmarks like someone had slammed on the brakes. Too large to be motorcycle tires. Was it others from the cult who had come looking for their missing members? Did she dare hope that it was Haden?

Penelope stands up and brushes the dirt off her pants. She’s sweaty and aching, feeling foolish and so, so tired. Her cracked rib still makes it difficult to take a deep breath, but if she really pushes it she can make it back to the cottage before nightfall, apologize to Linda and Wanda for leaving and hope they let her stay another night. They were right. She should have let her body heal a bit more. This whole thing was a dumb, impulsive decision.

Dejected, Penelope pulls the road atlas out of her back and runs her finger along the map, trying to figure out where she is, and if there is a quicker way to get back to the cottage. As she’s studying the route, her ears start to ring as a faint, familiar sound reaches them. She looks up, turning her head toward the trees, listening intently as the sound grows closer. It sounds...like a dog barking?

Penelope’s heart skips a beat. The barking grows louder, closer, and she realizes with a jolt– it’s not just any dog.

It’s her dog. 

Chapter Text

Haden reads Penelope’s note for the tenth time, taking in every syllable, the curve of her Gs and the dots over her Is that look more like dashes. Penelope’s handwriting is a messy scribble, it’s always been– like she’s trying to get every letter out as fast as possible, annoyed by the inconvenience of expression. The ache in his chest that appeared the moment he realized she was missing grows stronger as he stands there, strengthened by the knowledge that she was standing in this very spot just hours ago, and now she’s gone again. 

Wanda offers him a steaming mug of tea, but he shakes his head.

“It helps,” she insists. “With everything.”

How? he wants to snap at her. How could some bitter leaves and water help when it feels like his guts have been torn out and stomped on, like he’s been drowning with every waking moment spent without knowing where she is, without knowing if she’s safe? But he bites his tongue and relents at the sight of her kind, encouraging smile, taking a sip, the surprisingly fruity taste making him hum in surprise. He’s never cared much for tea, but this brew is different. The calming effect is slight but immediate.

“I figure she must have left just before sunrise,” Linda says. “I woke up a few minutes later and she was gone. With any luck, your friend has caught up with her by now.”

Haden grunts dismissively, looking back to the note. Back when they first met on the road, when the women told them that Penelope had already left, Niko had taken the truck and started for home, hoping to intercept her on the way. Haden had stayed behind, following the women to their quaint, rustic cottage, hoping the feeling in his gut doesn’t prove him wrong. 

“Did she tell you about who she was traveling with?” he asked them impatiently. “Who took her?”

Wanda had nodded solemnly. “Two men, working for someone named Oz.”

Oz. The name sparked something in Haden’s mind, and he suddenly saw the faces of bodies they hunters had found by the farm, the ones he and Niko had found earlier. The markings under their eyes. It wasn’t a zigzag line cutting through a circle, it was letters. O. Z. Oz.

“Did she say if another girl was with them?”

“Yes, a younger one. Grace.”

“Look, we can ask her ourselves,” Niko said, eager to get moving. “If she’s headed home, we can catch her on the way.”

Haden dragged a hand over his face. He’s had a headache for days, an unrelenting pounding just behind his eyes. “...I don’t know.”

Niko gaped at him. “What do you mean you don’t know? Didn’t you hear these lovely ladies? They said she’s heading home.”

“I just–” Haden sighed. “I have this feeling. I don’t think she’s going home.”

“Where’s she going then?”

“I think she’s going after the people who took her.”

Niko scoffed. “With no weapons? Without backup? She wouldn’t.”

“She would if she knew they had a kid with them,” Haden challenged him. “A kid who she was probably trying to protect.”

Niko ran a hand through his hair, not looking convinced. “I don’t know, man.”

“I do.”

So Haden had sent Niko back home in the truck, just in case his gut feeling was wrong. If Niko finds her, he’ll bring her home and come back for him. If she’s not there, then he’ll return to the cottage in the morning, where hopefully Haden will have her. None of them mention what it will mean if they both find each other empty handed. 

“What’s your plan?” Linda asks him.

“Retrace my steps, hope she followed the same path we did,” Haden says. “Hope I can catch up.”

“Well, you’ve made it this far,” Wanda says warmly. “I’m sure you’ll get to her.”

“She won’t be moving too fast on that knee, anyway,” Linda adds.

Haden frowns. “What happened to her knee?”

“Busted it up on some rocks,” Wanda explains. “But that’s the least of her injuries. We tended to her as best we could, but she’s still not fit for travel.”

Haden’s stomach twists. What did these fuckers do to her? He whistles for Killer, who is sniffing around the couch in the living room, and the dog obediently returns to his side. “I need to get moving. Shouldn’t waste anymore time.”

“Listen, we were on our way to visit our son,” Linda says. “He might know more about these people, this... Oz . We have to get back on the road too, if we want to make it there by dark. When you find her, bring her back here. Help yourself to whatever you need.”

Haden looks at the women curiously. “You’re serious?”

“Of course.”

“Why?”

“Oh, sweetheart.” Wanda smiles sadly. “You strike me as someone who hasn’t known enough kindness.”

Haden stares at her, brow furrowed, unsure of what to say. “I…”

“No matter,” Linda says brusquely. “Do this for Penelope’s sake, if anything. She’ll need a comfortable place to rest. I think she liked it here.”

He nods sharply. The cottage is warm, inviting, cozy. Penelope would have loved it. 

They part ways in front of the house, the women heading one way on horseback and Haden and Killer heading the other on foot. They are hypervigilant, following the road back to where they had found the bodies that morning. He keeps a fast pace, carefully watching the afternoon sun as it moves west in the sky. He has his sword and other weapons, but it’s risky to be out too late without the protection of the truck, unwilling to tempt fate. He’ll be no good to Penelope if he’s dead. But still, the thought of giving up his search for yet another night makes him uneasy. Each moment spent without knowing if Penelope is okay feels like a hot branding iron on his soul.

A part of him hopes that he’s wrong, that Niko had found her and she’s back home already, curled up in bed and safe with the rest of their group. Mina fretting over her and Savannah making her laugh. He wants to come home to her in the morning, to wrap her up in his arms and feel her heartbeat under his palm, feel her pulse in her throat. Smell the sunshine on her skin and taste the sweetness of her mouth. 

Regret twists painfully in Haden’s gut for all the times he had denied her, all the times he had held himself back, clinging to the tattered shreds of morality and propriety that hold no weight anymore. He will give her anything she wants if he can hold her again, if he can hear her laugh one more time. He will ignore the fact that he is unworthy of her affection, that the adoration he sees in her eyes cannot negate the sins that hang heavy on his soul. Bad men do not deserve the love of beautiful girls, and she will soon come to her senses and realize that she deserves better than him, that her infatuation is just a product of proximity and circumstance. The heartbreak that will come with losing her will be bearable if it is of her own volition, if she gets to make the choice herself. He will not let someone else take her from him. But until that time comes, he will be selfish. He will not deny her again. 

If she asks, he will give her everything.

They walk for hours, Killer a few paces ahead of him, nose to the ground. Haden wonders if the dog can sense his desperation, can hear his thoughts starting to spiral as they continue on with no sign of her. Suddenly, Killer freezes, ears pulled back and his nose up in the air. He turns his head sharply, staring off into the woods bordering the road. Haden watches him curiously, hand reaching back for his sword. His ears are turned for movements in the trees, for the rasping breaths of Remnants bold enough to take advantage of the setting sun and growing shadows. Killer’s nose twitches and then he takes off into the trees, barking loudly. 

Haden watches him go, stunned into stillness for a moment. It’s not Killer’s warning bark, the one that sounds when Remnants are close, but his excited one. Like he smells something interesting.

Or someone he knows. 

Chapter Text

June. One Year and Three Months After 

The barking grows louder and ignoring the pain in her knee and the tightness in her ribs, Penelope takes off running towards it.

“Killer!” she shouts. “Killer, come here!”

She moves as fast as she can through the trees, heart racing, and she lets out an excited laugh when she finally sees the flurry of fur come barreling towards her. His ears are flapping behind him and dirt is kicking up around his paws with each bound, and Penelope crouches down just as he reaches her. Killer flies into her arms, knocking her onto her back as her licks her face, whining anxiously, his tail wagging furiously behind him. 

“Hi,” Penelope laughs, rubbing his face and his belly as best she can, trying to sit back up. “Hi, buddy. It’s me.”

Then, over the sound of Killer’s excited yips, she hears it. Unmistakable, inimitable. Strong, deep, commanding. Haden’s voice.

“Penelope!”

Killer takes off into the trees, his excited bark echoing through the air, sending birds flying off into the sky. Haden watches him curiously. He would only run off like that if he recognized a scent. Haden’s heart lurches.

“Penelope!”

“Haden!” Penelope yells back, starting to run again, heading in the direction Killer came from. “Haden, I’m here!” 

“I’m here!”

Haden takes off at a full sprint, heart pounding in his ears. It’s her. She’s here. She’s alive.

“Penelope!”

“Haden!” 

Penelope keeps moving until she finally sees him, letting out a heavy sob. He’s barreling through the trees and she’s running as fast as she can and then he’s there–

She keeps yelling his name and he wishes he could yell back, but his throat is too tight and his heart is beating too fast and then she’s there, and she’s in his arms–

–and he’s picking her up and clutching her to his chest, her legs secured around his waist as he wraps one arm around her waist and presses the other to the back of her neck. Her head is buried between his neck and shoulder–

–and he can feel her tears on his skin, but he’s crying, too. Gasping, broken cries of relief as he feels her in his arms again, small and delicate and his–

–and he pulls her head back so that he can look at her, his eyes frantically roaming over her face to make sure she real, and she can’t help but lean in and grab his face and kiss him, and he kisses her back hungrily, desperately–

–and when she pulls back to gasp in a shaky breath he keeps their foreheads pressed together. Killer is circling them excitedly, and Haden is positive that he’s never going to put her down again, that he’s going to keep her safe in his arms forever. And when she finally speaks her voice is a soft, reverent whisper.

“I knew you’d find me,” she says.

There are no further words exchanged after she leaps into his arms. Haden simply adjusts her in his sturdy grip, cradling her bridal style as he starts to walk. Her injured shoulder is tucked against his chest and her free hand latches onto the neckline of his shirt, holding on as she listens to the steady, familiar thumping of his heart. Penelope starts to nod off almost immediately, exhaustion and relief taking over, lulled by the security of his arms and the comfort of his scent. She doesn’t fully fall asleep, just lands in the blissful spot where her mind is turned off and all she is aware of is Haden’s arms around her and the gentle breeze on her cheeks. She doesn’t even know where they’re going, just trusts him to take him somewhere safe.

But she perks up when she hears the low whine of a wooden door opening, blinks her tired eyes open and lifts her head to see the interior of Linda and Wanda’s cottage. It’s just about dusk, and the living room is cast in shadow, but there are still a few glowing embers in the fireplace. 

“This is where I…” she trails off, looking up at Haden in surprise. “How did you know?”

“It’s a long story,” he says. He gently slides her into the armchair, mindful of her knee, then goes to stoke the coals. “But I want to hear yours first.”

Killer practically crawls into Penelope’s lap and she buries her face in his fur, petting him all over and letting him lick her cheeks and arms. Once the flames have been brought back to life, Haden stands and turns back to her. He holds out his hand.

“You want to get cleaned up?” he asks.

Penelope nods. She still can’t quite believe that he’s here, that he’s found her, that she’s safe. He helps her to her feet, keeps her hand in his as she leads him into the bedroom that she had slept in, and when she reaches the foot of the bed she kicks off her shoes and goes to sit down, but Haden stops her, spinning her around to face him. 

“Let me look at you,” he murmurs. He tilts her chin up with his thumb and sweeps her hair back off her face, dusting his fingers over her cheeks. Dancing them down the sides of her neck, his jaw tightening when he grazes the finger-shaped bruises, starting to fade to a sickly yellow-green.

“I’m okay,” Penelope says softly, grabbing both of his wrists and squeezing reassuringly. 

“What else did they do to you?” Haden asks, his voice strained.

“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” she answers.

Haden grunts and continues his exploration. He twists the hem of her shirt and she raises her right arm, letting him slip it out of the sleeve and lift the neckline over her head, smooth the rest of the fabric carefully over her left arm. The shirt falls to the floor with a soft whoosh. Linda and Wanda had changed her into dry clothes when they found her, tossed her ruined shirt but washed the rest. She had put her sports bra back on when she got dressed this morning. The blood stains didn’t come out. Haden freezes when he sees it, his eyes darting between her bandaged shoulder and the gauze wrapped tightly around her ribs.

“Got shot,” Penelope admits, “and my rib might be cracked.”

Haden makes a pained sound. “Fucking Christ, Penny.”

“You should see the other guy,” she jokes.

“I did.” Haden doesn’t smile, but fits his hands in the curve of her waist and steps closer. She has to tilt her head back to look up at him. “Saw the body, found your knife. I’d know your handiwork anywhere.”

“Yeah?” Penelope smirks.

“You always go for the throat.”

“You taught me well.”

Haden’s lips twitch, the faintest hint of the smile, before turning serious again. “Realizing you were gone… I’ve never been so scared in my entire life,” he admits, shocking her with his candor. 

“I was scared, too,” she whispers. “But it’s okay now. You’re here.”

He leans down and presses a hard kiss to her forehead. “I’m so proud of you,” he whispers against her skin. 

Penelope feels like she might burst. It’s all too much– that he’s here, that he’s proud of her, that he hasn’t stopped touching her for more than a few seconds ever since she leapt into his arms. Instead of saying anything, she places her hands on his shoulders and uses them as leverage to pull herself up, stretching onto her tiptoes. He lets her capture his lips and they kiss softly for a moment, just the barest brushing of their lips together. It reminds Penelope of the first kiss they shared, where he had been so deathly still, the first time he had ever been at her mercy. But this time his stillness is not due to his reticence– this time, it feels savory. 

But that feeling disappears quickly. Their lips part and Penelope manages a quick exhale before he captures her mouth again, hands sliding up her sides to cup her face as he kisses her fiercely, so deep and so strong that she’s knocked back on her heels. But she gives it back just as good, her hands twisting in the neckline of his shirt to tug him closer. The kiss is hard and tender and filthy, all-consuming, and she would do anything to keep him kissing her like that. 

Penelope lifts up onto her tiptoes again and Haden gets the hint, hoisting her up with ease. She locks her ankles around his back and threads her fingers through his hair, running her blunt nails over his scalp and relishing the feeling of his shiver. He bites her lip and settles both hands on her ass, a firm grip guiding her as she rocks against the hard planes of his abdomen. She wishes that he held her a bit lower, wishes she could feel if he was hard– she felt it before, once. He hasn’t let her feel it again, even though she knows that he is every time he makes her come. 

When Penelope pulls back to gasp in a breath Haden doesn’t relent, simply grabbing a fistful of her hair and tilting her head back so that he can kiss along her neck. He is gentle, mindful of her bruises, mouth soft against her skin but his teeth scraping along each mark. The sensation is unexpectedly overwhelming, making Penelope release a breathy moan and rock against him again, desperate for friction. Her toes curl as his beard scrapes against her tender skin. He bites down on a spot just beneath her jaw, sucks on her skin hard enough that she knows she’ll have new bruises in the morning, these ones much preferred. He could mark every inch of her skin and she would be happy just to know that the marks came from him.

Haden finally lifts his head, his eyes dark and blazing, looking like he wants to eat her alive, and she knows that she would let him without hesitation. 

“You should get cleaned up,” he says again, gruffly, like the words pain him.

“I’m fine,” Penelope says, breathless, but she knows he’s right. She’s sweaty from trekking through the woods all day, her hair grimy from days of not being washed. She’s due to change her bandages, too. 

“Come on,” Haden says stiffly. He puts her down but gives her one more quick kiss. “You need food, too. I’ll start a bath while you eat.”

Penelope trails behind him into the kitchen, sticking close to his side while he rummages through the cabinets and prepares her a light meal. She sits at the table with Killer’s head resting on her thighs, nibbling at her food while Haden goes about preparing her bath. There is a well in the backyard, a delightful convenience, with a few tubs of water already filled by the back door. Haden fills the tub and comes out of the bathroom with a smile, holding a couple of dark, round rocks in his palm. Basalt stones. Penelope smiles, too– it’ll be nice to have an actual hot bath. 

Once the stones have been warmed by the fire, he drops them into the water and tells Killer to go lie down. Penelope feeds him the crust of her bread and kisses his nose before standing, following Haden into the bathroom where the steam is rising from the tub. The air is warm and thick, the mirror over the sink already damp with condensation. She never put her shirt back on after Haden took it off, so she stands before him in just her ruined bra and a pair of Linda’s loose-fitting jeans. 

It strikes Penelope in that moment that Haden has never seen her naked before, not all at once. He’s seen everything in bits and pieces– her breasts when they’ve bathed in the river, her cunt when he’s had his fingers deep inside it– but she has never stood before him, completely bare. It should make her nervous, make her want to cover herself and turn away, but she does not feel uncomfortable under his gaze. His eyes don’t stray from hers as she pops the button of her pants and lets them fall down her legs, her underwear soon to follow. She steps out of the pile of fabric and kicks it off to the side. Haden steps forward then, helping her slip out of her bra so that she doesn’t have to strain her shoulder. 

His thumbs graze her collarbones, and even though she does not feel uncomfortable, her face heats up with self-awareness as she realizes how deeply unsexy she must look. Banged up and bruised and dirty, and no doubt a bit stinky, too. Not exactly how she pictured presenting herself to him for the first time to be. 

But contrary to their heated kiss before, Haden isn’t looking at her with arousal or expectation, but tenderness. He carefully unwraps the bandages from her ribs, her shoulder, his eyes flashing with anger as he takes in the wounds. 

“They look worse than they feel,” Penelope offers, trying to soothe the clenching of his jaw. Haden grunts, unconvinced. 

“Come on,” he murmurs, holding out his hand to her. He helps her step into the tub and she lets out a low moan as the water– nearly scalding hot, just as she likes it– washes over her tender skin. Once she is settled, she expects him to leave her to it, but Haden surprises her by stripping off his own shirt and kneeling by the side of the tub. He takes a small washcloth and dips it into the water, lathering it with some soap.

“What are you–”

“Shh. Lean forward,” he says softly. Penelope does as he says, resting into the cradle of his right arm as his left smooths the cloth along her back, her shoulders, over her chest. She closes her eyes and relaxes into his tender touch, the grit and grime of the last few days peeling off her body and out of her mind, letting him cleanse her wholly. Her fingers toy with the hairs on his arm as she tells him what happened, the words coming easier with each gentle brush of his hand over her skin. 

Haden does not speak as Penelope recounts her last few days, the only indication that he even hears her being the occasional angry grunt, the clenching of his fist against the edge of the tub. She pulls each finger loose from his vice-like grip without pause, curling them around her own hand. He runs the cloth over her stomach, her legs, between her thighs, even tilting her head back, covering her eyes with one hand while the other pours water over her hair. His fingers comb through the snarls as the water turns lukewarm around her, and when she finishes her tale she tilts her head back to look at him for the first time since she started.

“You think I should have kept going,” she says, “when we first ran from them. I should have left Grace behind from the start. It’s what you would have done, isn’t it?”

Haden is silent for a moment, then he speaks. “Yes.”

Penelope closes her eyes. “I know,” she whispers shamefully. “I probably did her more harm by staying. Nathan shot her because of me.”

Haden cups her cheek. “It’s what I would have done,” he agrees, “but that doesn’t make it the right thing.”

She opens her eyes. “What do you mean?”

“Nathan shot her because of him. That was his choice,” Haden says sternly. “You have a big heart. You could have left her the first time, but you stayed, not because it was the smart thing, but because it was the right thing. You’ll never know what would have happened if you had made different choices, but I’d bet she was happy that you didn’t leave her behind. That she knew she had someone looking out for her.”

“I guess.” Penelope shrugs. Even though it was the Remnants who killed Grace in the end, she still feels like it is one more death added to her conscience. She wonders if she could find Grace’s family, to let them know what happened to her.

“Come on, before you get cold,” Haden says, rising to his feet. He helps her up and out of the tub, bundles her up in a soft purple towel and leans down to unstopper the drain. Once dry, Penelope wraps the towel under her arms and sits on the edge of the tub so Haden can place a fresh bandage over her shoulder. 

“How do you feel?” he asks when he’s finished.

“Tired,” she admits. If she had stayed in the tub for another moment longer, she might have fallen asleep. She tilts her head up for a kiss, which he gives her.

“Let’s get you to bed, then.”

Penelope stands up and drops the towel. This time, Haden’s eyes travel down her body, unabashedly lingering the curve of her waist, the hard lines of her hip bones, the softness of her stomach. She keeps her head high and brushes past him, slowly bending at the waist to pick up the shirt he had discarded, slipping it over her head. It smells like him, his heavy, musky scent– like sweat and the forest and cedarwood. Penelope inhales deeply. It smells like home. 

The shirt falls to mid-thigh, and she doesn’t bother with underwear. She leaves the bathroom and enters the bedroom across the hall, sitting on the edge of the bed and combing her fingers through her damp hair, mostly free of snarls thanks to Haden’s nimble fingers. She can hear him shuffling around in the bathroom for a moment, no doubt cleaning up– he’s never been known to leave a mess– and then he appears in the doorway, leaning against the frame, arms crossed. Watching her. 

Penelope stretches out her arms, reaching for him. “Lay with me.”

“Do you need anything? Water, some more food–”

“ Lay with me ,” Penelope says again, pouting, making grabby hands.

Haden bites back a smile and nods, toeing off his shoes and shucking his jeans on the way. He is wearing dark gray boxer briefs, stretched tight over his thick thighs, the impressive bulge in between them. Penelope only manages a glance at it before he’s flipping back the covers and slipping under them, making space for her to lie next to him. She curls up against his side immediately, her head pillowed in the crook of his arm. He peppers her face with soft kisses, on her cheeks, her eyelids, the top of her nose, before finally landing on her lips. In an effort to keep her wits about her and not melt into a puddle on the bed, she busies herself with running her hands up and down his massive arms, over the broad expanse of his chest, and lower– raking her nails over his stomach, feeling the muscles twitch under her touch, following the wispy hairs beneath his navel as they lead down–

“You need to sleep,” he warns her, grabbing her hand just as it reaches the top of his underwear. “I’m serious.”

She boldly reaches down and runs her fingers over his bulge, making him hiss. “You don’t feel that serious.”

“You need rest.”

“I need you .”

“You have me,” he says strongly. “You have all of me.”

“Do I?”

“I swear it,” Haden breathes, his lips faintly brushing over hers. “I swear it on my life.”

What changed? Penelope wants to ask. Why now?

Reluctantly, she pulls her hand back, resting it in a slightly safer spot, curled around his bicep. “Tell me what happened,” she says instead. “How did you find me?”

Haden sighs and shifts onto his back. Penelope stays tucked against his side, her head on his arm and her right hand splayed across his sternum. His hand plays with her damp hair, twirling strands around his fingers as he talks. 

“We looked for hours, tore the woods apart once we realized you were gone. It was Savannah’s idea to go after Jax and Cara, to bring them back and see if they could help us track you down. But the rain started a little while after she left, and it was still coming down heavy by the time they got back. We were out until after dark, but any tracks you would have left were washed away.”

She can hear the tremble in his voice, feel the erratic beating of his heart under her palm.

“Niko and I left before sunrise. We were just...God, just fucking driving around. Any road we could take, looking for you, looking for anyone who might have seen anything. Two days we spent driving, losing our goddamn minds, and then we saw this truck on the side of the road. Back door hanging open, some makeshift beds with restraints inside. I knew it couldn’t have been a coincidence. We found the body in the woods next, your knife on the ground next to him. It was bittersweet– we were still too far behind, but at least we were finally on the right track.

“We camped there for the night and set off in the morning. If it wasn’t for Niko, I would’ve… he kept me centered, calm, as best he could. But I could tell he was freaking out, too. We kept down the road the truck was on and eventually we passed a house set back far off the highway. There was a man out front, hanging clothes from a line. He was the first person we’d seen in days so we stopped to ask him if he saw anything.”

Haden’s arm tightens around her, as if to remind himself that she’s there.

“I hadn’t even said anything to him yet when I saw your sweatshirt hanging from the line. My sweatshirt, the one you took. Niko said that you were wearing it that morning.” He swallows thickly. “It had blood on it.”

“The man on the side of the road,” Penelope says, filling in the gaps. “I saw him this morning. It was you who killed him.”

Haden shrugs. “He helped the men who took you. I don’t feel bad about it.”

“I don’t either.”

He continues. “We confronted him– or I did. He said that two men and a girl had come through the day before, stayed the night. The girl was young and blonde, wearing that sweatshirt– in bad shape. The men were taking her to a settlement deep in the Allegheny forest, and they had used his radio to call back and talk to their people. In return for his hospitality, they promised to come back for him, to take him to settlement as payment. I got the directions from him and killed him. We followed the way he said, then we found the bodies–”

“–and you thought Grace was me,” Penelope finishes for him. His hand flexes over her back.

“When I realized it wasn’t, I was so relieved, and then I was angry all over again. If it was you, if you had been… at least I would have known . Now I was back where I started. Clueless, and we had wasted time following the wrong path. We decided to go back to where we found the truck, see if there was anything we missed. That’s when we saw Linda and Wanda, stopped to talk to them on the chance they might have seen something.” Haden lets out a mirthless laugh. “And Wanda knew my name . And she told us you were headed home but I... I just had this feeling that if you knew that girl we found, if you had been traveling with her, had given her the sweatshirt… Linda said you were torn up about leaving her. I just had a feeling that you wouldn’t let it go. That you’d try to find her. ”

Penelope’s eyelids are heavy. The story would almost be poetic, if it didn’t involve so much pain on both of their parts. “And now you found me,” she says through a yawn. “Or rather, Killer did. My sweet good boy.”

The dog, who had migrated into the bedroom and curled up at the foot of the bed, punctuates her statement with a snore. 

Haden tucks her closer. “Sleep now,” he says, kissing her temple. “I’m right here. We can talk more in the morning.”

As if his words have some kind of magical effect, she feels herself slip into sleep almost immediately. Just before she drifts off, she hears him murmur something else, but can’t quite make out the words. 

The bed creaks and a paw digs into the meat of her calf. Penelope groans, rolling over and burying her face in the pillows. Eyes still closed, she listens as Killer jumps from the bed and onto the floor, the pitter patter of his paws leading out into the hall. The bed shifts as Haden’s warmth disappears from beside her, his heavy footsteps following Killer. Rustling from the living room, embers crackling to life. Haden’s footsteps return and he places something on the nightstand with a soft clink .

Penelope rolls over and blinks up at him. He lit a candle, the flickering shadows dancing over his face, making his tanned skin glow. He slides back into bed and rests on his elbow, looking down at her. Even though it is the middle of the night, she suddenly feels wide awake, consumed by need. She can tell by the hungry look in his eyes that he feels the same.

She arches up and he moves down to meet her, shifting his body to hover over her as they kiss. Deep and insistent, his tongue licking at the seam of her lips and then slipping between them. All-consuming, like nothing else exists except for her sweet, gasping breaths and his hands burning across her skin. Her legs part and he settles between them, and she can feel him, his cock hard and separated from her only by his underwear and the thin fabric of his shirt that has fallen between her legs. He rocks against her once, slowly, and she gasps at the feel of him. She had only felt his cock once before, a fleeting touch before he had directed her attention elsewhere, and she did not remember it feeling this... big . 

“Haden, I–” Penelope whispers, suddenly nervous. She has never had sex before– how could she, when all she ever wanted was him? Never had anything else inside her save for her own fingers and his, stretching her open. She wants this, has wanted it long before she realized, but is still plagued by her own doubts. Will it hurt? Will she be any good?

“Whatever you want,” Haden whispers back, “and nothing you don’t.”

Everything , she thinks. Nerves be damned. I want everything.  

Her hands are resting around his neck, keeping him close as he kisses her, but they slowly start to move down his body. Trailing down his throat, over his broad chest, down the muscled planes of his stomach. When she comes to the waistband of his briefs again, she loops her index fingers into the elastic and gives it a tug. 

“I want to see it.”

Haden hums his approval, ducking his head and kissing along her throat. “Go ahead.”

She hesitates, then slips one hand under the waistband, fingers tentatively running along the side of his cock. It’s hotter than she expected and it throbs when she touches it. She bites her lip and boldly wraps her hand around his length, making Haden grunt. She uses her other hand to pull his underwear down his thighs so that she can see him for the first time. 

“ Oh .”

Penelope looks up with wide eyes. She can’t wrap her hand all the way around him– her fingers don’t even touch. A jolt of fear zips through her. If two of his fingers make her feel like she’s splitting open, his cock just might kill her.

They both stare down at the space between them, watching her tiny hand struggle to wrap around his girth. It feels different than she expected, impossibly hard yet soft to the touch. Penelope starts to stroke it slowly, getting used to the feel of it in her hand, excited to learn another part of him.

“It’s...it’s big,” she says timidly, unsure of what else to say. It’s the only thought running through her mind. Haden smirks down at her, kissing her forehead.

“You still want it?”

She might die, but what a way to go. Penelope nods. 

“Tell me.”

“I– I want it.”

Haden nods approvingly. “You’re gonna take it.” 

A burst of excitement rips up her spine. Before she can do anything else, Haden sits back on his heels and grabs her around the waist, adjusting the pillows beneath her head and hips. When he puts her down again, she grabs the hem of her– his – shirt to pull it over her head, but he stops her. 

“Leave it on.”

She smirks. “You like me in your clothes?”

“Isn’t that why you always take them?” he says, voice low, looming over her again. “Part of your endless attack on my self-control?”

“Has it been working?”

Haden growls and leans back on his heels again. Penelope tries to sit up but he stops her with a hand over her chest, pressing her down into the pillows again.

“Let me look at you,” he murmurs.

His shirt is thin and white, her hardened nipples tiny little peaks in the fabric. The hem has been pushed up and rests around her hips, exposing her cunt to his gaze. He makes a deep noise when he sees it, reaches his hand down and rubs his thumb over her clit. Penelope’s face flushes at the sight of him– naked, his cock hard between his legs, hard because of her . Looking down at her like he has half a mind to chain her to the bed and never let her leave. It’s not a bad idea. She could get used to that.

Her heart is thumping erratically, so loud in her own ears that she wonders if he can hear it, too. “Are you going to fuck me now?” she asks, nerves and excitement and impatience swirling inside of her. 

Haden looks up at her, eyes flashing. He grabs a pillow and puts it under her right leg so that her knee is elevated, throws her left leg over his shoulder and settles down in front of her cunt. “Be patient.”

She pouts and wiggles her hips, trying to poke his back with the heel of her foot. “But I want–”

Haden lands a slap to the inside of her thigh– not a mean slap, but enough to sting a little bit, enough to shock her into silence and make her cunt throb. “Be patient,” he repeats sternly. “Let me take care of you first. Get you ready for me.”

“Fine,” she says back sassily, cutting herself off before another can word can slip through her lips. The word she calls him in her head, the word she didn’t have the courage to say when Linda and Wanda asked. The only word that could ever truly describe what he really is to her.

Haden presses a kiss to each hip bone, moving slowly down. His nose drags through the soft curls on her mound and he inhales deeply, letting out a low groan as he smells her. He spreads her open with his thumbs, kisses her clit and then licks a long, slow line up her slit, moaning as he savors her taste. 

“Fuck,” he growls. “I’ve wanted to do this for so long. Used to smell you on my fucking fingers, driving me crazy. Knew if I had more I’d never be able to stop.” He licks her again, tongue flat against her cunt and curling to catch on her clit. “Christ, Penny. So goddamn sweet.”

Both her hands find their way to his hair, gripping him so tight that she is scared she might pull his hair out at the root, but he doesn’t seem to mind. The sensation of his mouth on her is so new– she had grown used to the feeling of her own fingers, of his– that it’s difficult to respond to at first, but she soon settles into the feeling. His hot, insistent tongue, the scrape of his beard against her inner thighs, the way she can feel the vibration of his groans all the way through her clit. The filthy wet, smacking sounds he’s making as he works her up that should be embarrassing but instead make her feel even hotter, like he’s trying to lick every last drop–

“Oh my God,” Penelope whimpers when he slips a finger inside of her, curling it up and sucking on her clit at the same time. How, how is she going to take his cock when just a finger makes her feel like she’s breaking open?

Haden finally lifts his mouth from her– lips red and shining– replacing his tongue with his thumb and using his free hand to push her shirt up so that her breasts are exposed. He kisses up her stomach, mindful of the bruising of her ribs. She can feel the slick of her arousal on his lips when his mouth covers her nipple– another new sensation. She never thought her breasts to be all that sensitive– or much to look at, if she’s being honest– so she is surprised when the feeling of his warm mouth over the little pink bud makes her squeak and hold his head close. He keeps his finger in her cunt, rocking it slowly in tandem with the light flicks of his tongue, the teasing bite of his teeth.

“Another,” Penelope whispers. Haden lifts his head and arches an eyebrow. 

“Another what?” he prompts her, slowing down his finger to a maddening, teasing pace.

“Haden, please .”

He takes a second finger and teases it over her opening. “You want another finger in your sweet little cunt?” he asks. “So tight for me. You want me to stretch you open, get you ready to take my cock?”

She could cry with how much she’s feeling, and God , she would do anything for him to just keep talking to her like that. “Yes,” she gasps. “Yes, give me another, please .”

The second finger is what does it, the stretch of it plus his tongue back on her clit again. Penelope arches off the bed as she comes with a strangled cry and Haden keeps going, licking her until she’s twitching and gasping, pulling at his hair until he finally lets up. Through the haze of her orgasm she registers the faintest hint of surprise for how easy and natural this feels, like they’ve been doing it forever. 

“C’mere,” he says, moving back up her body, his mouth just a breath away from hers. “See how sweet you taste.”

Sharp, tangy, a hint of underlying sweetness. It’s a peculiar taste but not unpleasant, and she curiously licks the taste of herself off his tongue. Then, as she’s kissing him, an idea sparks in her head. She runs her fingers over her cunt– her clit swollen and throbbing from Haden’s ministrations– and slicks her hand with her cum. 

Haden makes a sharp noise when she takes his cock in her hand, a pained groan low in his throat as she strokes him, gets him all wet and ready to split her open. He covers her hand with his, showing her how to stroke him, how to tighten her grip and twist her wrist over the head. 

“Perfect, Penny,” he whispers, biting her lower lip. “How’d you get so fucking perfect, hm?”

She’s never heard him swear this much. It’s another thing she could get used to.

Haden climbs up and holds himself above her, adjusting the pillow under her hips so that they tilt up towards him, his thick thighs spreading hers open. His cock sits heavy over her slit, the head resting just above her throbbing clit, aching to be touched again. 

“You sure?” he asks in a low voice, and she almost wants to roll her eyes because of course she is, but it’s so Haden of him to ask. 

Her breathless yes is all he needs to grip his cock, one hand firmly around the base and the other at her waist holding her still, slowly easing the tip inside of her. Her breath catches in her throat and he lets go of it, dropping down onto his elbows, bringing them face to face. Her nails dig into his shoulders as he eases inside, barely moving but she can still feel how big he is, can feel the white hot burn of her walls stretching to accommodate him. Tears slip down her cheeks and she feels like she’s being ripped apart, doesn’t know how he’s going to fit all the way inside, and it suddenly all feels like so much, too much, and she doesn’t even realize when she cries out–

“Daddy!”

Time freezes around them. Penelope’s mouth falls open in shock as she stares up at Haden’s wide eyes– wild, burning. She’s never felt more vulnerable than she does in that moment, like they’re standing on the edge of something wonderful and dangerous, this inevitable acknowledgement of what they are to each other. For a brief moment she feels nothing but sheer panic, scared that he’ll pull away, disgusted. But instead his pupils widen, eyes so dark she can barely see the slate gray of his irises, and he surges forward to kiss her, his cock slipping a bit further inside her as he does so. He swallows her squeak of pain and pulls back, his voice a low growl as he whispers over her lips.

“ Say it again .”

Penelope swallows and blinks back the tears still welled up in her eyes. “Daddy,” she whispers, tentatively, the sound of it leaving her lips making her shiver.

Haden groans, a deep rumble in his chest. “That’s right,” he says. “Daddy’s gonna take care of you. Is that what you want?”

She nods. “It hurts,” she whispers, and offers her a sympathetic pout, kissing the tip of her nose.

“I know,” he says. “I’m gonna make it better.”

Biting her lip, Penelope shifts her hips encouragingly. He pushes in again, a bit deeper, and she can’t help the whine that escapes her. She feels so full she might die, yet when she glances down she sees that he’s still barely halfway in. 

“Just do it,” she says, fingers in a vice-like grip around his biceps. She relaxes as best she can, preparing herself for the sting of pain and the promise of pleasure. “Just do– oh !”

“ Fuck , baby,” Haden hisses when their hips touch, and that catches her attention. Penelope knows in that moment that yes , that’s it, that’s her word just like daddy is his. That baby is the only way to describe what she is to him, the only world that will ever fully encapsulate what it means to be small and precious and protected, everything that she loves, everything that she feels when she’s with him. Everything that she feels right now.

“Say it again,” she whispers. 

Haden nuzzles under her jaw, biting down on her pulse point. “Baby,” he says, and he starts to move his hips again. Her nails dig into his arms and her teeth bite into her lower lip so hard she tastes blood, the stretch of him inside her all-consuming and painful and making her feel more alive than she ever has before. He kisses her and licks the blood from her lips, uses his thumb to wipe the tears she didn’t know were streaming down her cheeks again. God , it hurts so much and yet it’s so good, feeling better and better the more he moves, a pain that she never wants to end. Soon she is arching up into him, trying to take him deeper, trying to feel more, more, more–

“More,” she gasps out, arching her back, her nipples brushing against the wiry hair on his chest. “Please. I want you to fuck me.”

He’s being too gentle with her. He’s always treated her with care, but he’s never been gentle. Always pushed her, always knew what she could handle before she did. He’s holding back, she knows he is. She doesn’t care about her injuries– she just wants him to fuck her the way she’s read about, the way she’s seen in porn and in movies that she was too young to see, the way she’s heard him fuck before. 

“I am fucking you,” he says back, slipping his hand down to rub his thumb over her clit. She keens at the touch but no, that’s not what she meant.

“No, I want you to fuck me , Daddy,” she whines, kicking her heels against his back. “Like you really want to.”

Haden growls and pulls her closer. He fucks into her a bit harder, but it’s still not what she’s looking for. “Always so greedy,” he murmurs. “When you’re not hurt, baby, I’ll fuck you how you need. But I’m gonna make you feel good like this now, yeah?”

Penelope pouts, but he kisses it away. He slips his hand under her left knee, bringing her leg up and over his shoulder, slipping deeper inside of her than she thought was possible. A shocked gasp catches in her throat.

“There you go. Tell me how it feels.”

“It’s a lot,” she whispers. Fuck , it’s so deep, almost like she can feel his cock in her throat . Briefly wonders what it’ll be like to actually feel it there–

“Yeah? Do you want me to stop?”

“No, no...Keep going. I want you to– oh .”

“To what, baby? Tell me what you want.”

“I–I want you to make me come. I want to feel it this way.”

“This way?”

“With your…”

Haden’s hips thrust sharply and she cries out. “Say it.”

“I want to come with your cock inside me,” she whimpers, turning her head to the side, hiding her face in the side of his arm. “I want to know how it feels.”

He breaks her apart with each thrust, swallowing every high-pitched moan and sharp gasp that tears out of her throat with his hungry, devastating kisses. She’s never felt a pleasure so deep before, can feel it burning in her core and lighting her every nerve on fire. She can hear her arousal with every move he makes, can hear the wet smack of her cunt and feel the hot leak of it spreading over her thighs, her ass. It’s intense and overwhelming and everything she has wanted for so long– and maybe it’s because of the intensity of it all that it feels like she’s stuck, strung out and overstimulated. Teetering on the edge of a cliff, so close yet unable to fall.

Haden must sense it, because he pulls back, slowing his thrusts to more of a gentle rocking. Two fingers rubbing hard circles over her clit the way he knows she likes, and yes – now she feels it, the tightening of her spine and the tensing of her muscles, only this time it feels stronger than anything she’s ever felt before because his cock is hitting something deeper, some spot inside her cunt that makes her vision spotty and her legs shake. 

“Haden– Daddy –Please, I’m–I’m–” and then her voice is cracking into a broken scream, fire scorching through her veins, tearing her apart.

“There you go,” Haden says as she desperately clings to him, burying her face in his neck as she comes. “Come for me, come on Daddy’s cock like a good girl. That’s it, baby. Just like that.”

His cock pulses inside her and she instinctively clenches down, keeping him close as she shakes and shudders through her climax, riding out the unrelenting waves of pleasure. His thumb stays on her clit, not rubbing anymore, just providing the slightest bit of pressure, just enough to help her through the aftershocks. But then Haden pulls away– and Penelope whines, trying to drag him back, bring him closer– and he pulls his cock out, strokes himself once, twice, and then his cum is splashing onto her skin, his groan so deep she can feel it reverberating in her bones. His cum is hot and sticky, falling on top of her mound, just below the soft swell of her stomach. 

Her index finger dips into it, curiously swirling it around, mind blissfully empty. Fucked stupid and happy, Penelope keeps her eyes closed, a sweet, sated smile on her lips. She can feel Haden breathing heavy over her, can feel the sweat on his skin where her thigh is still pressed to his chest. He presses a soft kiss to the underside of her knee and slips it off his shoulder and back onto the bed.

“How do you feel?” he asks.

Penelope doesn’t open her eyes, just hums appreciatively. There is an emptiness to her now, an ache that was not satiated by their actions but instead intensified. She needs to do this again, and again, and again– and yet as many times as she can imagine it, she still doesn’t think it will be enough.

Haden slips out of the bed and comes back a few moments later. His hands slip a damp cloth between her thighs, wiping her off before rolling her onto her side, tucking her loose, still-trembling limbs under the blanket. He slides in behind her, pulling her back against his chest and kissing the hollow behind her ear. Penelope blindly clutches the arms that wrap around her torso, wanting him as close as possible.

“It’s okay,” he says, voice soft and soothing. “Daddy’s got you.”

The morning brings with it a renewed energy. The pain in her knee is gone, her ribs still tender but feeling much better than they had the day before. Even her bullet wound barely gives her more than a twinge when she rolls her shoulder experimentally.

Incredible. The supernatural healing powers of good dick. He’s a medical miracle.

“You don’t have to– fucking Christ , Penny,” Haden grows, throwing his head back as Penelope makes a futile attempt to swallow him down her throat. Sunlight streams through the window, the early light of dawn forming a soft halo around her head as she looks up at him, head on his lap and mouth full of his cock. 

“Is this good?” she asks with a gasping breath when she pulls her mouth off him. Her lips are read and swollen, eyes watery but determined.  Haden has one hand fisted in the sheets below him, knuckles white, and the other resting along her jawline. His thumb had reverently traced along the bulge in her cheek just moments before.

“ Good ,” Haden scoffs as she dips her head down again, licking the vein that runs along the underside of his cock. “You’re perfect, baby.”

“Show me how to make you come,” she says. Her hand rests at the base of his cock, fingers stretching as much as she can around the width of him, milky white against his rich russet brown. He is beautiful, every inch of him. The cocks she had seen in porn had not looked like this– not as thick, not as long, not as perfect. Not hers . She wants to know every inch of his body, wants to know exactly how to bring him pleasure just as he does for her. 

When he comes on her tongue, it feels just as hot as it did on her skin hours earlier, the taste a bit salty and not exactly pleasant, but not gross either. Though she swallows whatever she can, it spills out from her lips and down her chin, her fingers covered with the rest. Haden pulls her onto his lap before she can clean him up, licking his own cum off her chin and out of her mouth as he kisses her. He’s still half-hard in her hand, and though she feels deliciously sore– similar to when she pulls a muscle on a run or after a fight, the type of soreness that is a result of something , proof of action– she thinks she can still take him. She gives his cock a teasing stroke, grinding her wet cunt on his thigh– but he just squeezes her waist and pulls her back. 

“We should get dressed,” Haden says reluctantly, like the words are distressing. “Eat something. Niko should be here any minute.”

Penelope frowns, but cannot argue his logic. She is excited to go home, to see everyone again. To start thinking about what happens next, to figure out how these people found her and what they’re going to do about this new threat. Haden might have fucked the pain away but her anger is still burning strong. It’s unfair that it was the Remnants who got Nathan and Raymond in the end. Their deaths were rightfully hers, and now all her rage is just simmering inside her, without a proper target.

The rumbling motor of the truck approaches just as she’s finishing up her eggs. Penelope races to the window, looking out and seeing it idling just outside the gate, Niko in the front seat, gripping the steering wheel. Even from a distance she can make out his stricken face, can see the heave of his shoulders as he sighs and steps out. Penelope bites back a smile, and goes to the front door. She swings it open just as Niko is walking around the front of the truck, and when he sees her he stops in his tracks. He stares at her for a moment, mouth a thin line, and then hangs his head, hands on his knees. When he straightens up, his eyes are bright and he lets out a loud woop and smacks his hand on the hood of the truck.

“Where the fuck have you been, Pineapples?” he yells, racing forward with a beaming smile. She laughs and heads down the stairs and over the cobblestone path, but he meets her halfway and scoops her up around the waist, spinning her around. “Can’t stop getting into trouble for one second, can you?”

“You know me,” Penelope laughs, still suspended in Niko’s arms, her feet swinging a few inches off the ground. “Had to keep you guys on your toes somehow.”

Niko puts her down and holds her at arm’s length, hands on her upper arms. He looks her over, frowning at the fading bruises on her throat, quirking an eyebrow at the new ones left behind by Haden’s mouth. Then he pulls her in for a hug again, pressing a hard kiss to the top of her head.

“Hope you don’t value your privacy too much,” he whispers, and she can hear the tears in his voice. “We’re never letting you out of our sight again.” He pulls back and wipes at his eyes, looking over her shoulder at Haden, who is leaning with his arms crossed in the doorframe, watching them with a grin. “You’re not even going to be able to take a piss without this one sitting outside the door.”

“Fuck you,” Haden says, rolling his eyes.

Niko gives her a pointed look. “He didn’t deny it.”

Penelope writes another note for Linda and Wanda as Haden looks through the supplies they keep in the truck, gathering some things to leave for the couple in order to express their gratitude. Then three of them, plus Killer, pile into the truck. Niko behind the wheel, Killer in the middle of the bench seat, Haden in the passenger seat. Penelope is settled on his lap, leaning back against his chest with her eyes closed, letting the wind rush in through the open window and over her face as they race toward home.

“So, can I hear this story on the ride or am I going to need a drink first?” Niko asks as they drive. “The suspense is killing me.”

Penelope snorts. “It’s like, not even nine a.m.”

“My question still stands.”

“I could use a drink myself,” Haden says. 

“That’s the spirit,” Niko says cheerily. “It’s five o’clock somewhere, right?”

If he notices their closeness– and he must, because he notices everything– Niko does not comment on it. Penelope is not worried about his opinion anyway– he’s always been one to mind his business, and it’s Mina who she’s concerned about. Haden keeps an arm wrapped around Penelope’s torso as they drive, her own personal seatbelt, his fingers dancing over her left side. He traces the scar on her ribs absent-mindedly, the one that only he knows about, the one that Grace had recognized.

Penelope gasps. Oh . 

Niko slams on the brakes, all of them jolting forward into the dashboard. 

“Are you okay?” Haden asks, righting her on his lap.

“What is it?” Niko says. “Did you forget something?”

“No, no, it’s not that.” Penelope looks back at Haden, eyes wide, stricken. “I know why they took me.”

Chapter Text

March. One Year Before

“The first thaw,” Haden muses, leaning over the railing of the back porch and watching the icicles drip into puddles on the patchy ground, bits of green starting to poke up between the snow. He’s only wearing a sweatshirt and jeans, a navy blue beanie pulled down over his ears, meanwhile Penelope is wearing both a turtleneck and a sweater underneath his bulky Carhartt jacket, the one with a permanent mud stain on the left pocket and the collar that carries his scent. She keeps her coffee pressed close to her chest, inhaling the steam that swirls up over the brim. 

“Two winters,” Penelope says, taking a hearty sip. She doesn’t mind it black anymore. “Who would’ve thought?”

Haden huffs out a laugh, his breath fogging up in front of his face. Everyone else is still asleep. It’s been great having them all around– the days feel more lively, the companionship warming even the coldest of nights– but a small part of Penelope still misses the days when it was just her and Haden. It seems like the early mornings are the only times they have to themselves anymore. She’s forced herself to become an early riser just to enjoy the time alone with him. 

Maybe he senses her nostalgia, or perhaps he feels a bit of it himself, because Haden lifts his arm and tucks her into his side. Penelope bites back her excited grin, resting her cheek against his chest. She fits her left hand into the front pocket of his hoodie, where she can feel the warmth of his skin through the fabric. She pokes at his navel and he tugs on the edge of her ponytail in retaliation. 

“We’re going to need more supplies,” he says after a moment. Penelope glances up at him, but his gaze stays fixed on the yard. 

“Where should we go?” All of their usual spots have been growing sparse, and she doesn’t know how much left this area has to offer them. 

They had amassed a fairly decent stockpile of supplies, but their storage calculations had only included the two of them, plus Killer. With three additional mouths to feed, their rations had been depleted quicker than they had expected over the winter. They weren’t at risk of starving, but if they weren’t careful, they would be in trouble come the next few months. Haden had high hopes for this season’s crops, especially with more hands to help around the farm, but he had warned Penelope about relying too heavily on them. A fire, a drought, toxins in the soil– there are too many factors out of their control that could ruin them.  

Despite the depletion of their stores, the winter had been better than expected. They had fortified their land as best they could, even held a little makeshift celebration for the holidays where Niko caught a turkey, showed them all how to dress and prepare it, and Stacey passed out at the sight of its innards. Even though she seems to have adjusted pretty well most days, sometimes things still seem to hit her pretty hard. There will be days at a time where she doesn’t leave her bed, and if she does, she never makes it farther than the living room couch. Penelope tries to cajole her out of those moods as best she can, but Mina told her that the only thing that ever truly helps is time. 

A chipmunk scurries across the yard, leaving little footprints in the melting snow, and comes to sit atop the white-dusted woodpile. Penelope smiles. Truly the first sign of spring. But her smile slips off her face when she realizes Haden still hasn’t answered her. She tugs on his pocket.

“Haden? Where are we going?”

He sighs, and she knows before he even opens his mouth that she’s not going to like the answer. 

“I talked to Niko last night. He and I are going to make a trip in a few days, so long as the weather holds.”

Penelope pulls back from under his arm, turning to face him head on. “A trip?” He finally looks down at her, his eyes guarded. “Where?”

“South, towards Manhattan. High time we started seeing what was left out there.”

“I want to go.”

“No.”

“Why not?” she says with a petulant pout.

Haden gnaws on the inside of his cheek. “We’re out of bullets.”

Penelope’s eyes widen. It was no secret that they’d been running low for a while, the few months leading up to the winter a constant cycle of nearly running out before finding a handful more, but the finite knowledge is unsettling. They had laid waste to sixteen Remnants that winter– and by they she means Haden and Niko, and Mina that one time– and now they were defenseless. 

“What about your gun?” she asks. The pistol that he always has on him, the one he had used to kill in her defense a lifetime ago, the one that– last time she checked– still had two bullets left.

“Still have it,” he says dismissively, “but that’s not– We still need to go.”

“Of course,” Penelope nods, “but I’m coming, too.”

“No, you’re not,” Haden says sternly. “It’s too dangerous.”

“I’ve been in danger before.”

“I’m not putting you at risk for no reason.”

“Either I’m defenseless here, or I’m defenseless with you. I’d rather be with you.”

Haden closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Penny…”

“I’m not staying behind,” Penelope says emphatically, panic starting to swell in her chest. “We don’t– we can’t split up. What if something happens to you?”

“Nothing’s going to happen to me. And if it does, I’ll be happy knowing you’re here. Safe, and not with me. Mina’ll look after you and Stacey and–”

“I don’t need a babysitter,” Penelope spits, shoving at his chest. “I’m not a little kid. And what, you planned this all without even talking to me?”

“I wanted us to talk by ourselves,” Haden snaps back, “and it’s not up for debate, Penelope. You’re not going.”

“This is bullshit ,” she says venomously, her heart pounding in her ears.

“It’ll be a short trip, just three days. I’m not taking Killer, either. I want him here with you.”

“I don’t care. I can’t– You can’t just leave me like everyone else.”

Haden’s face softens at her admission and he reaches for her, but she yanks her arm out of his grip and storms past him. She stomps through the house, inconsiderate of Mina and Stacey who are probably still asleep, slamming her bedroom door behind her. 

She grabs the first thing within reach, a Rubik’s cube on her nightstand that she had been fiddling with for days, and throws it at the wall. Only she’s never had the best arm, and instead of hitting the wall it flies through the window, the glass shattering and sprinkling down onto the snow-covered ground below. Great . Now her room is going to be cold. Throwing herself onto her bed, frustrated tears spilling down her cheeks, Penelope buries her face into her pillow and screams. 

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Penelope grumbles when Niko hands the Rubik’s cube to her, every side a uniform block of color. “You solved it?”

“Please, hold your applause, it makes me uncomfortable,” he says, sitting down next to her on her bedroom floor. She is huddled in her comforter, her back resting against the side of her bed in an attempt to hide from the freezing wind that’s been rushing in from her broken window. She offers one side of the blanket to Niko and he wraps it around himself, cocooning the two of them in its warmth.

“Look, Pineapples,” he says, “I’m not trying to get in the middle of anything, but if you’re going to be mad at Haden, be mad at me, too. I don’t think you should go either.”

Penelope’s frown deepens. “I can take care of myself. I– I’ve killed someone, you know.”

Niko’s looks at her in surprise. “...I did not know. But that doesn’t really change anything, other than the fact that I’ll think twice before finishing the coffee from now on.”

Rolling her eyes, Penelope knocks her knee into his. “Don’t patronize me.”

“I’m not, I swear I’m not. Look, this isn’t some macho, sexist decision we’re making, like ‘ Big, strong men go hunt, weak ladies stay home ,’” he says, and Penelope has to laugh at his attempt at a caveman voice. “Even if you were a fucking Avenger, we’d want you to stay behind because we’re trying to risk as little as possible. Mina has Stacey to worry about, she’s never letting her out of her sight again, and you’re Haden’s...well, you’re his number one priority. You know that. He’s not going to risk your safety when we have no idea what’s waiting for us out there.”

Penelope wraps her arms around her knees and rests her chin atop them. “I know,” she mumbles. The reassurance that she’s Haden’s number one priority gives her a tiny thrill. She had calmed down a bit after throwing her little fit, knows rationally that Haden didn’t make this decision to hurt her. But still, he made it anyway, knowing that it would . 

Later, she finds him in the basement, checking over their stocks, jotting stuff down on a notepad as he goes over each shelf. Penelope crosses her arms, playing with a loose thread in the right elbow of her sweater. 

“My window’s broken,” she says in lieu of a greeting. Haden doesn’t look up from his notepad. “Can you, uh, can you fix it before you go?”

It’s not exactly an apology, but then again, she doesn’t feel like offering one. Not if he isn’t going to offer one, too. 

“There’s supplies in the garage.”

“Yeah, but I don’t know how to–”

“Figure it out.” Haden snaps the notepad shut and turns to look at her. “You want me to stop thinking you’re a kid? Start by cleaning up your messes and not throwing a temper tantrum whenever something doesn’t go your way.”

Penelope’s face heats with embarrassment at his cold tone. He hasn’t snapped at her like that in a long time. She doesn’t trust herself to say anything without crying or yelling, and doesn’t want to add any fuel to the fire of his contempt, so she just storms away once more. 

She fits a spare blanket over her window for the night in an attempt to block the chill, and in the morning she lugs the supplies from the garage up into her room. 

“God, I miss Google,” she sighs to herself as she stares at the shattered window, not a clue where to start.

There’s a soft knock on her door before it swings open. Stacey pokes her head inside.

“Hey,” she says lightly. “Do you want some help?”

“You know how to fix a broken window?”

Stacey shrugs. “My dad was big into DIY projects and stuff. My help was often enlisted. I’ve picked up a few things.”

It takes the better part of the morning, but Penelope and Stacey manage to fit a new pane in the window. After, the girls decide to stay inside for the rest of the day, finding random organizational tasks to complete that keep them far away from everyone else. Stacey doesn’t comment on Penelope’s unease– Haden and Niko will be leaving in the morning, and Penelope hasn’t spoken to Haden since he snapped at her the night before. The stubborn part of her doesn’t plan to speak to him at all, not until he gets back, unless he wants to break and talk to her first. The girls entertain themselves for the rest of the day, eat their dinner upstairs away from everyone else. Before going to bed, Penelope sneaks downstairs to give Niko an encouraging hug as he double checks the supplies in the truck, then she retreats to her now-warm room without seeking Haden out.

But she lies awake that night, her anxiety preventing her from falling asleep. What if something happens to him? What if he doesn’t come back? What will happen to her without him? Penelope tosses and turns for a few hours, mind running wild, before flipping the covers off and stepping out of bed. She’s not going to apologize, but she can at least see him before he goes, even if he doesn’t want to see her. She flings open her door and goes to step out–

Haden is poised mid-step in the hallway outside of her room, his hand outstretched and reaching for her doorknob. She gasps in surprise when she sees him, taking a step back. Haden purses his lips, stares at her for a beat, then steps inside and shuts the door behind him. 

They stand awkwardly before each other for a minute before he looks past her, to her newly finished window, and goes to inspect her handiwork. He runs his finger over the seams, presses his palm to the glass, opens it and closes it, testing how smoothly it moves.

“Looks good,” he finally grunts, turning back to her. 

“Stacey helped,” Penelope says softly. Haden hums and crosses his arms, but doesn’t say anything.

All her anger and stubbornness suddenly melts away, leaving nothing but exhaustion and resignation. Penelope sighs and climbs back into bed. She curls onto her side, pulling the covers back and leaving space for him to join. 

“Penelope–”

“Please?” she says softly. “Before you go?”

Haden hesitates but quickly relents, climbing in beside her. She resists her urge to curl into his side like usual, waiting and hoping that he’ll come to her. He does, throwing an arm around her waist and pulling her back against his chest. How quickly he has acquiesced her is shocking, and she realizes in that moment that he might be nervous about leaving, too.

“Are you scared?” she asks.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I stopped being afraid for myself a long time ago.”

Penelope frowns into her pillow. They don’t speak again, and she feels herself nearing sleep when she finally musters up the courage to whisper, “Please don’t go.”

Haden doesn’t say anything. He just pulls her closer and presses his lips to her temple. A hot tear burns a path down the bridge of Penelope’s nose. When she wakes in the morning, he’s gone.

“When is this supposed to start helping?” Penelope grumbles, staring up at the ceiling. She is bordered on either side by Mina and Stacey, the three of them squished onto Mina’s bed, lying horizontally across the mattress with their legs flattened up against the wall.

“Give it a few minutes,” Mina says.

“I swear, it’s the only thing that works for me,” Stacey assures her. Penelope’s cramps had started mere minutes after waking, the sting of Haden leaving worsened by the onset of her period. 

“I read once that you’re supposed to stretch out, even though you just want to curl up in a ball,” Mina tells her. “It lessens the pain.”

“Midol lessens the pain,” Penelope says drily. 

“So, do you think we’re all going to sync up?” Stacey asks, ignoring Penelope’s sour attitude. She, on the other hand, is having one of her good days. Finding out that they were out of bullets had frightened her, but knowing that the boys were out searching for more seems to have lifted her spirits.

“I feel like that’s a myth, but I don’t know enough about periods to dispute it,” Mina says. “We never synced up, did we?”

“I’ve always been irregular, but who knows. Maybe Penelope has the Alpha Period that’ll whip us into shape.”

That brings a smile to Penelope’s face, and a chuckle escapes her. Stacey nudges her. 

“What’s your worst period story?”

“My worst?”

“Yeah, like– I’ll go first. I bled through my pants in gym class my junior year. It was the volleyball unit and I swear to God I felt my tampon move when I knelt down to bump the ball, but my teacher was a facist–”

“–Mr. Napolitano?” Mina interjects.

“Yeah, that dickwad,” Stacey snorts. 

“Ugh, he was the worst .”

“I know . Anyway, I asked to go to the bathroom and he was all like, ‘You just came from the locker rooms, you should have went then,’ and so I was just awkwardly shuffling around the court because I could feel it and–”

“Oh my God,” Mina gasps, clasping her hands over her mouth. “The gym shorts.”

“What about the gym shorts?” Penelope asks, looking between them.

Stacey presses her lips together and pauses dramatically. “They were white.”

Penelope winces, the nightmare of the moment clear in her mind. “Oh no.”

“I literally wanted to die. I missed my pre-calc class because I spent the entire time crying in the bathroom.”

“Nothing like the joys of having a uterus, huh?” Mina says, patting Penelope’s arm. “I swear, hysterectomies should be voluntary procedures. Like laser hair removal or liposuction.”

The days fly by. Stacey spends the better part of the following afternoon teaching Penelope how to braid her hair, a frustrating process that results in a lot of snarls, a few knots that require forcible removal, and the most uneven fishtail braid the world has ever seen, but Penelope finally gets the basics down. She manages a mangled French braid on Stacey’s hair and resolves to keep trying until her work is as sleek as her friend’s. 

After dinner that night, the sisters treat Penelope to a performance where they show off all of the dances they had memorized from years of playing Just Dance on their Wii. “Rasputin” is a hysterical sight that makes Penelope wheeze with laughter, and when they move into “Satisfaction” she feels her heart lurch, struck by a sudden longing for the companionship of siblings, of growing up with someone to have fun with. However, she is unable to linger in her nostalgia because the girls drag her to her feet and teach her the dances, too. They stay up until nearly two in the morning before collapsing into a fit of giggles, sleeping in a pile of blankets and pillows in front of the fireplace in the living room, Killer tucked into Penelope’s side and snoring loud enough that they all keep shushing him throughout the night. 

On the morning of the day that Haden and Niko are due to arrive home, Penelope wakes with a startled gasp. A low moan is caught in her throat, the phantom feeling of warm, calloused hands still lingering on her skin. Her lips still tingle with the scratch of a beard and there is a pillow wedged firmly between her legs. She rolls onto her stomach and grinds down on it, trying desperately to chase the feeling from her dream, the steady peak she had been climbing, but it fades fast and she slumps over with a frustrated huff.

These dreams have been happening more often, usually with the same dissatisfying result. She could use her fingers, sure, but it takes too long and her hand always cramps up before she can finish. Penelope longs for the days where she could settle herself in the bathroom  and go to town with the detachable showerhead, spending nearly hours curled up in the bathtub after school, letting the water beat down between her thighs while she waited for her mom to get home from work. She is going to need to figure out a new solution and fast, because if she has to suffer through one more ruined orgasm she is certain she’ll have a mental breakdown. 

The boys arrive home just after sunset. Killer runs to the door, barking excitedly, and Penelope lets him out but restrains herself from running after him. Haden jumps out of the truck and looks up to the door, meeting Penelope’s eye as he bends down to pet his dog. She keeps her expression impassive, remembering the sinking feeling in her gut when she woke up to an empty bed on the morning he left. 

“Did you find any bullets?” Stacey calls eagerly from Penelope’s side. 

Niko shakes his head. Killer runs over to him and rolls onto his back so that Niko can scratch his belly. “No, but we found something better.”

Stacey frowns. “Better be like, an RPG or something,” she mumbles as she sulks back into the house. Niko hauls two gigantic black duffel bags out of the bed of the truck and brings them inside, face lit up with excitement. Penelope turns to follow him inside but is caught by a hand on her arm, tugging her back.

“I don’t care if you’re still mad at me,” Haden says when she turns to look up at him. “It was the right call.”

So much for a greeting. Penelope rolls her eyes and turns to follow everyone else into the kitchen, but Haden pulls her back again. 

“Here.”

He reaches into his pocket and holds out his closed fist to her. Penelope eyes him dubiously before holding her hand out, letting him drop something into her palm. It’s light, whatever it is, and kind of sharp– she tugs her hand back and peers down at the pair of earrings, two little studs, an amber-honey stone nestled in each one, the same color as her eyes.

“Oh,” Penelope breathes, looking back up at Haden in shock. 

“You used to wear ‘em,” he says, crossing his arms, as if gearing himself for her to throw them back in his face. 

It’s true– she used to wear a pair of sapphire studs from her mother that had been a gift for her thirteenth birthday, and rotated those out with a pair of gold hoops that she loved but her mother never let her wear because she said they looked trashy. The hoops were cheap and broke over a year ago, and Penelope tried to tell herself that they weren’t really practical for the farm anyway. Then the one of the sapphire studs disappeared after a day by the river and she decided to just abandon earrings altogether, even though she always felt a bit naked without them. 

“These are really pretty,” Penelope says. Are they an olive branch? An apology? She offers Haden a soft smile. “I love them.”

He winces when she pops them into her ears, having to push a little bit to break through the skin that had started to heal over, and it makes Penelope giggle– the man who had snapped someone’s neck with his bare hands, skeeved out by her having to re-pierce her own ears. 

“Pineapples, do you want to be here for the grand reveal or what?” Niko calls impatiently from the kitchen.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Penelope yells back as she slides the back of her earrings into place. She dramatically flips her hair over her shoulders and turns her head each way so Haden can get a good look. “Well? Do they suit me?”

“Yeah,” Haden says, lips twitching into a hint of a smile. “They suit you just fine.”

They join everyone else in the kitchen, where Niko has both duffel bags on the table, his hand poised on the zippers.

“Everyone,” he says dramatically, eyes flitting back and forth between each of their faces, “I give you...our salvation.”

He opens the bags with a flourish and pulls the fabric back to reveal…

“ Swords ?” Mina’s voice is the first to cut through the silence. She sounds equal parts concerned and amused. 

Niko sits back on his heels, satisfaction oozing out of his proud expression. “ Swords .”

Penelope looks over her shoulder at Haden and arches her eyebrow. He gives her a look as if to say Hear him out .

“Did you somehow forget the part where none of us know how to use a sword?” Stacey scoffs. Mina reaches into the bag and lifts one out, testing the weight experimentally.

“None of you do,” Niko corrects her. “I, however, consider myself to be somewhat of an expert.”

Mina steps back a few paces and holds the sword out in front of her, slowly swirling it through the air. It’s single-edged with a slight curve, a bit thinner than any swords Penelope had seen in movies, with a brown and gold hilt. Mina’s movements are awkward and stilted, but she still smiles brightly. “I like it.”

Stacey isn’t as impressed. “So now we have to let the Remnants get close in order to kill them? Putting us in more danger? Great.”

“Relax, Negative Nancy,” Niko says. “I refuse to let you rain on my parade. We’ll keep looking for bullets, but this is better than no protection at all, right?”

Stacey doesn’t answer, just crosses her arms and pouts. Penelope steps forward and gets a better look into the bags. “Where did you find these?”

“Some fancy mansion near Westchester,” Niko says. “They had a big, wrought iron gate surrounding the property and a pool the shape of a guitar. It was wild. Right through the front door– in the foyer – there was this gigantic medieval suit of armor. Which reminds me!” He fishes into one of the bags and pulls out a metal gauntlet, holding it out to Mina. “I think I can play around with this and remove the fingers so you can just attach it to your arm. What do you think?”

Mina’s face takes on a strange expression, her eyes suddenly a bit glassy. “Niko, that’s… Thank you.”

“Hold on,” Penelope says. “Are we all just going to brush over the fact that Niko knows how to use a sword?”

“Ask him why.” Haden prompts her, a spark of mischief in his eyes. “Go on.”

Penelope looks at Niko expectantly. “Well?”

A sudden blush rises to his cheeks, much to Penelope’s delight. “Well, I may or not have been involved with a... lpinggrp … in college–”

“I’m sorry, a what?” Penelope says, not catching his mumble.

Niko clears his throat. “A, uh, a LARPing group–”

A shocked laugh escapes Mina before she can control it. 

“Tell them what you did,” Haden coaxes, enjoying this too much. 

Niko sighs. “We re-enacted lightsaber battles from Star Wars and sword fights from Pirates of the Caribbean ,” he says quickly. Now it’s Penelope’s turn to cackle. “Look, it was cool.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt it,” Mina says, trying to bite back her smile. “The coolest.”

“You laugh now, but you’ll thank me when these things save your life,” Niko says. He pulls out a thick blade that’s curved towards the point, reminding Penelope of a pirate sword. “This beauty is mine, but you guys can decide which ones you want.”

There are three blades left– one is gigantic, the other small, about the length of a forearm, and the last one is a nice blend between the two. Penelope picks that one up. It has a curved, slender blade, and a hilt big enough for her to hold with two hands. It’s heavy, but not so much so that it’ll be too difficult to wield.

“A katana,” Niko says approvingly. “I had a feeling you’d like that one.”

Stacey reluctantly grabs the small blade, leaving Haden with the biggest one, a massive double-edged blade with a hilt shaped like a V. He backs away from them and swings it easily through the air. Penelope is certain that you could put any weapon in his hands and he’d be able to master it in no time. 

“It’s been a while, but I’ve still got it,” Niko says. “We can start practicing in the morning. I’ll have you all whipped into shape before you know it.”

Everything hurts. 

After nearly a week of sword training, Penelope feels a bit more confident with the blade, but every muscle in her body hates her. By the end of the day, she can barely lift her arms above her head. She quickly learned that it’s one thing to hold the weight of a sword in her hand, and it’s entirely another to actually wield it, to swing it around and learn how to use her body weight to her advantage. 

They practice on trees first, trying to hit certain parts that Niko has carved out, and once they can do that well enough he plans to let them start practicing on him. Despite her exhaustion, Penelope loves it. She likes the accomplishment of learning something new, the power that comes with feeling in control and being able to defend herself. Mina is into it, too, no doubt excited by a weapon that she doesn’t need two hands to use. Stacey seems to be going through the motions, putting just enough effort in so that Niko is satisfied, but she is always the first one to call it quits for the day. 

Penelope loves her, but sometimes she just doesn’t understand her.

It’s nearly time for dinner– tonight is a rice and vegetable stir-fry– and Penelope is walking back towards the house. Niko and Mina had already gone inside, but she had wanted to get in a few extra practice swings and had stayed out by the trees until the sun started to set. She stops off in the garage to use one of the foam rollers to stretch out and then starts inside, dragging her feet. All she wants is to take a nice long soak in a hot bath, but she doesn’t have the strength to lug the water upstairs to the tub.

A pair of hands grab her and yank her behind the garage, pinning her arms to her side with a hand clamped firmly over her mouth and nose. Penelope feels a small burst of panic before relaxing once she registers that it’s Haden, letting him drag her back a few paces. But when he doesn’t let her go and she starts to struggle to breathe, she tries to twist in his grip

“Fight me,” he tells her, his voice low in her ear, making her shiver. She twists in his arms again, trying to bend her arm to slap at him, but there’s no heat behind it. Her exhaustion is too heavy and plus, she feels no true urgency in the situation. She has no idea what he’s doing, but she knows that Haden would never hurt her. 

“Come on, I know you can put up more of a fight than this.”

He takes a bit of pity on her, shifting his arm to free her mouth and nose but then locking it around her throat in a headlock. 

“This is useless,” Penelope says once she gasps in a breath. “If you were a Remnant, I’d already be dead.”

“Remnants aren’t the only threat out there. Or have you forgotten that already?”

His comment miffs her and she struggles in his grip again. How could she have forgotten? She’s always been the one in danger, not him. 

“Come on, let me go.”

“I told you, make me. You’re not always going to have a sword on you.”

“I’ve handled myself without one before.”

“You killed a teenage girl. What if it was someone like me, huh? Someone bigger than you? Stronger?”

“I’m tired .”

“Jesus, Penelope, you’re not always going to be full of energy.” Haden sighs. “Fine. I didn’t want it to have to come to this, but…”

The arm that is wrapped around her torso shifts, his hand splaying over her ribs. Penelope freezes.

“What are you doing?”

His hand moves higher.

“Haden, I swear to God.”

“Stop me.”

Higher.

Oh no .

Penelope lets out an ungodly screech when Haden shoves his hand under her armpit and starts to tickle her, writhing and twisting violently in his grip. He slaps his hand back over her mouth to silence her as he tickles down her side, her stomach, back up to her armpit again. He is relentless and she can’t take it– she’s always been ticklish, too much so for her own good. Billy Jensen tortured her through the fourth grade, one time tickling her so hard at recess that she peed her pants. 

Adrenaline shoots through her body, the exhaustion leaving her bones and in its place blooms a ragged desperation. Penelope bites down hard on the flesh of Haden’s palm, making him hiss and yank it back. Then she flings her head back, her skull smashing into his chin. She lets all her body weight fall so that he has to adjust his hold to keep her upright, and with that she is able to free one arm from his grip. She balls her fist and slams it backwards. It crunches into his nose and he curses, and Penelope is finally able to rip herself free and fall onto the grass. Panting and crawling forward, she turns to look at him over her shoulder.

Haden is holding his nose, blood trickling over his beard and lips, looking down at her with approval. 

“That’s a start,” he says.

Penelope drags herself to her feet, heart beating rapidly. “That’s fucked up, is what it was.”

“Not everyone is going to fight fair. You need to be prepared for everything if you ever want to come with us.”

A spark of hope blooms in her chest. “Wait, you mean it? I can go with you?”

He nods. “Once you learn to defend yourself.”

“But Niko’s already teaching us how to fight.”

Haden wipes the blood off his upper lip with the back of his hand. “Niko can teach you how to fight,” he says. “I’ll teach you how to win.”

Chapter Text

It startles her, the dark ink that swirls high on her cheek. When Stacey looks in the mirror and sees the letters beneath her eye, the skin around them still swollen and tender, she jumps back in surprise before she remembers. The bite of the needle, the thumping of her heart, the words that sat heavy on her tongue. 

I swear to you my faith and my service. By Oz, my Pastor and my shepherd, I will be saved.

Her bedroom door opens and Stacey quickly turns on the tap, splashing cold water over her face and hurriedly brushing her teeth. The Pastor– Oz, she can call him now, and she wonders if that’s his first name or his last– waits for permission from no one. There is no need for him to knock in his own domain. 

After making sure the crusts of sleep are gone from the corners of her eyes and that her hair is presentable, Stacey steps out of the bathroom and back into her room. Oz has his back to her, standing by the window, looking out onto the courtyard below. Stacey smooths out her pajamas, a silky blue camisole and matching shorts, the nicest things she has owned in a while. Oz doesn’t turn around.

Stacey waits for a moment, unsure of what to say, then she clears her throat. “Um, good morning–”

“Sing,” Oz says sharply. His arms are folded behind his back, crossed at the wrist. Stacey’s heart drops. When Oz is in a good mood, he’ll sometimes chat with her a bit. It’s mindless small talk, polite and formal, but it always calms her nerves. His presence never fails to be unsettling, like when the principal would observe your class in elementary school and you had to be on your best behavior. Whenever Oz is tense or irritated, however, all he ever wants is a song. He claims that her voice helps him clear his head, to free him of distractions so that his visions can more easily come through.

Stacey thinks on her feet, starting the first verse of Wayfaring Stranger with only a slight hesitation. It’s one of Oz’s favorites, the one she has probably sung the most for him since becoming one of the Honored– one of his . He doesn’t turn around until she’s finished, and when he does, her blood runs cold to see his mouth in a tight line and his eyes narrowed. He stares at her, unblinking, and Stacey is struck by the hollowness of his gaze. He used to look at her warmly, like a pet, and now it’s as if she’s muck at the bottom of his alligator skin shoe. 

“That was nice,” Oz finally says, his voice cool and distant. He steps toward her. “I’m going to miss your voice, songbird.”

Stacey steps back, stomach twisting. “W-what do you mean?”

“It’s unfortunate. Just as I find a nice thing, I find out that it’s really rotten.”

“Pastor– Oz– did I do something to upset you?”

Oz moves forward and Stacey shrinks back, plastering herself against the wall, but he doesn’t move to strike her. He simply walks past her and opens the door, where two men are waiting outside. The men step in immediately, each of them grabbing one of Stacey’s arms and starting to tug her away.

“Wait– ow, stop it!– Oz, what is this?” Stacey cries out as she struggles, digging her heels into the carpet, trying to twist out of their painfully tight grip. “I don’t understand! I didn’t do anything!”

“I told you when you arrived, my child,” Oz says as she is dragged away, “We shall have no lies between us.”

Stacey puts up as much of a fight as she can, writhing and yelling as the men haul her down the corridor, but it is no use. Doors open as the rest of the Honored peer out of their rooms to see what the cause of the commotion is, and Stacey calls out for each of them by name, but not a single person moves to help her. They all just watch with pitiful expressions as the men carry her away, down the stairwell, her voice echoing up through the floors as she screams. They take her outside, through the courtyard, where the Chosen are starting in on their chores for the day. None of them raise their gazes to look at her, either. None but one–

Stacey notices him because unlike the rest of the Chosen, who are trying to look busy instead of paying any attention to her spectacle, he is standing still and staring her down, arms crossed and a look of smug satisfaction on his face. Stacey is so shocked to see him that she stops struggling, letting the men continue to drag her limply along. 

“Isaac?” she calls to him, voice pitched high with disbelief. “Isaac! Isaac, help me!”

But her boyfriend– though ex- boyfriend is probably a more accurate term now– just watches as they take her. Doesn’t even move a muscle. Just before they turn a corner, Stacey sees Isaac turn away and smile at someone, and she is just able to make out the back of Oz as he reaches out to shake Isaac’s hand. 

She ends up tossed into a damp, dimly lit room in the basement of one of the utility buildings bordering the compound. The men who carried her there never say a word to her, barely even looking her in the eye. They lock the door behind them and she pounds at it, peering out at them through the tiny round window as they walk away. The room has a cold, concrete floor and a stained mattress in the corner, no sheets or blankets or even a pillow. A rusty basin-like feature affixed to the wall could either be a sink or a toilet, Stacey isn’t sure which. The warmth of June has yet to reach the room and she shivers in her thin, functionless pajamas. 

Issac. Isaac is here, she thinks, her mind racing as she takes in her new situation. Isaac, the man she was in love with. The one she ran away with. The one she left to die.

The decision to leave the farm wasn’t an easy one to make, but Isaac had convinced her, with his honeyed words and promises of a life together, one that was safe and normal, like how things used to be. The Pastor would offer them protection, security, creature comforts that no longer existed. They could eat rich, delicious foods and take scalding hot showers and watch television again, just like how they used to before the world went to shit. The two of them could live in a utopia, where they wouldn’t have to worry about anything ever again. 

And so Stacey fled with him, leaving behind all her possessions save for her journal, a hastily written note placed on her pillow. She couldn’t say goodbye, not to Mina or Penelope or anyone else, couldn’t risk letting her emotions make her second-guess her decision. She’d see them all again someday, she told herself. She’d find them again and convince them to come back with her, show them how good they could all have it. 

The journey was rough, the brutal cold of January making traveling torturous, and there was, of course, the threat of Remnants at every turn. Stacey had originally wanted to wait, to make the trip in the spring or summer, but Isaac had insisted that they had to leave immediately. The man he had spoken to, someone named Paul or Peter or Pat, an emissary of the Pastor whose job it was to bring them to the compound, insisted that this was the only time. They joined him, along with four others looking to join the Pastor’s community, on the three-week long trek through the snowy wilderness, each one of them desperate for a new place to call home.

By the time they were just a few day’s away, the group had shrunk from seven to four, just Stacey, Isaac, the emissary, and a woman named Callie. Two of the group had been lost to Remnants, the third to an illness that Stacey assumes was pneumonia. It had been a long, arduous journey, the memory of which would haunt Stacey for years, and she was desperate to finally bring it to an end. 

Isaac falls right when they enter the Allegheny National Forest. They were nearly done with the day’s leg of the journey when the snow began to fall, hard and fast and freezing. The group was rushing to find shelter, moving too fast through the rugged trails, and Isaac had lost his footing on a patch of ice and tumbled down a steep hillside. The snow was already three inches thick but seemed to provide little cushioning as Stacey watched him slip and slide away, frozen in horror as he struggled to catch his balance and cast her one last terrified look before falling over the edge of an outcropping of snow-covered rocks. 

“Leave him, he’s gone,” Callie had said, grabbing Stacey’s arm and trying to hurry her along. The snow was falling thicker by the second, making it harder to see, but Stacey still fought her way down the slippery hillside and over to where Isaac had fallen.

His body was twisted, twenty feet below and face-down in the snow with his right leg bent at an unnatural angle. Stacey had called for him, screamed until her voice was hoarse, shouting over the whipping wind until Callie grabbed her again and forced her back up the trail. She didn’t stop crying for the rest of the journey, Isaac’s broken body flashing behind her eyelids every time she blinked. Her sobs only subsided when they arrived at the compound and she saw the massive stone walls surrounding it, soothed by the sight of the impenetrable fortress, sure that it must be the safest place in the world.

Stacey and Callie were shepherded into a sparse, brightly-lit room with just a bench seat jutting out from against the wall. They sat there for hours, exhausted and thirsty and starving, still shivering from the cold, until the door finally opened and the Pastor walked in. He wore a crisp, deep purple three-piece suit and his cologne had strong notes of sage.

“We keep no secrets here,” he had said. “Secrets will destroy us. Divide us. If I am to Chose you– if the Lord is to decide you are worthy for salvation– then we must become one.”

Desperate for shelter, for food, for a bed, the girls had told him everything. Stacey spilled every secret she ever had, everything she kept buried within herself, everything except for the one secret that wasn’t hers to tell. 

As she sits in her cell now, piecing together the events of the morning, Stacey starts to realize what Oz was talking about before he cast her out. She never told him about that last secret, the one Penelope had confessed to her months ago. But she had told Isaac.

She recalls Isaac’s satisfied smirk, the vengeance in his eyes as he watched Stacey get dragged away. Suddenly she feels sick, and she collapses onto the dirty mattress, barely noticing when a roach bursts out from underneath it and scuttles across the floor. Stacey holds her head in her hands, panic overtaking her.

If she’s right about what’s going on, Penelope is in danger, and it’s all her fault.

Chapter Text

April. Eleven Months Before

Penelope hits the ground hard, momentarily stunned into breathlessness. She blinks up at the sky as she wheezes, and then Haden is there, looming over her with his arms crossed.

“Again.”

She rolls over, pushing herself up onto her knees, then her feet. Her lower lip is swollen and the knuckles on her right hand are cracked and bleeding, but aside from her struggle to catch her breath, she feels strong enough to grit her teeth and straighten her spine. 

“Try a kick this time,” Haden says, raising his arms in a defensive position. 

Penelope grimaces. Her kicks never land properly, her balance always a little off.

“Just do it,” he urges her, noting her expression. Penelope sighs and moves on the offensive, attempting a roundhouse kick that Haden blocks easily. He catches her ankle in the air, holding her in place.

“See? It never works,” Penelope says moodily.

“You never let it,” Haden counters. “Your legs are strong, you could do a lot of damage with them. Way more than with your fists.” 

“It feels like I’m going to fall every time.” Penelope huffs.

He lets her leg fall. “You’re hesitating because you’re scared of failing. Try it again.”

Penelope takes a deep breath, trying to tamp down her annoyance. She wants to eat lunch and take a break, but she knows Haden won’t relent until he’s satisfied with her progress. She bounces on the balls of her feet for a moment before planting her left foot and swinging her right around, gaining more momentum this time. Haden flinches back, her foot missing his face by less than an inch.

“See, that was much–”

Penelope doesn’t let him finish, coming at him with a swinging punch next. He blocks it with a surprised grunt but she expects that, and grabs onto his wrist as it moves through the air. Using him as leverage, she swings herself up and around to jump on his back. One hand gripping his shoulder, the other slides across his throat.

She makes a dramatic squelching sound. “You’re dead.”

“Not quite,” Haden says, amused. “Where’s your knife?”

“In my pocket.”

“Why isn’t it at my throat?”

“...Do you actually want me to kill you?”

Haden reaches up and grabs her under her arms, flipping her over his head until she’s on her feet, her back to him. She reaches for the knife as she spins around, but she stops short before she can even raise it because Haden’s own blade is at her throat, a sleek black hunting knife with a serrated edge.

“You should have grabbed it while you were jumping onto my back,” he says.

“Well, I was trying to focus on not falling.”

“You need to be able to focus on more than one thing during a fight.”

Penelope pouts. “Can’t you let me win just once?”

Haden flips the knife around, tapping her nose with the blunt handle. “What will you learn from that?”

She sticks her tongue out and he rolls his eyes, turning away and heading back towards the house. “Come on. Let’s eat lu–”

Penelope runs up behind him, sliding along the grass in a slide tackle and swiping his feet out from under him. He falls hard onto his back and she takes advantage of it, jumping onto his torso, her knife ready this time. The curved blade rests just under his chin and Haden blinks up at her, his eyes alight with surprise and pride and– something else that she can’t place.

But Penelope doesn’t have time to place it because he grabs her wrist and flips them over, pinning her beneath his weight and turning her own knife back on her. The blade hovers directly over her heart, brushing against her skin as her chest heaves with each panting breath. Her thighs are splayed open and pinned down by the weight of his, the broad span of Haden’s chest and shoulders all she can see above her. Her eyes fall to his own throat, where she can see his pulse jump when she shifts beneath him, arching up so that the blade just barely scratches her skin.

“That was better,” Haden says, his voice a pitch deeper than usual.

Penelope licks her lips. He’s close enough that she can feel his breath on her cheeks when he exhales.

“Even though I cheated?”

“There’s no such thing as cheating, only winning and losing. Sometimes you have to fight dirty to win.”

He still hasn’t let go of her.

“Is that what you did?” Penelope asks softly. Before? When you did things that got you sent to prison, things you still haven’t told me about?

Haden finally sits back on his heels. He hands the knife back to her.  “I did whatever was necessary.”

Penelope sits up, crossing her legs. “What else did you do?”

Haden’s face shutters and he stands up. “Nothing you need to worry about. Come on, let’s go eat.”

Training with Haden is equal parts helpful and torturous. Niko is responsible for sword training, which means everything she does with Haden is hand-to-hand combat. Getting to feel his hands on her all the time is intoxicating. Lately, Penelope feels like a bow strung taut, a tightness inside her at all times, a pressure building that she doesn’t know how to release.

Granted, sometimes they’re not the gentlest touches– he’s been able to land a few stinging hits, though she knows he’s holding back for her sake, and she doesn’t want to imagine being on the receiving end of his full strength– but at other times it’s a hand resting on her waist as he shows her how to escape a certain hold, or his fingers tilting her chin up to examine her face if he manages to land a hit. 

Haden is relentless in his instruction, and Penelope sometimes worries that he is holding her to too high a standard. But just when she feels like she’s about to rip her hair out in frustration, when she feels like nothing she’s going to do will be good enough, she manages something that makes him smile, that earns her a squeeze on the shoulder or the coveted “That was good, Penny,” that makes her pulse race, and everything feels worth it.

“Don’t die,” Mina says, tugging her into a tight hug.

Penelope squeezes her back. “I’ll try.”

Stacey hugs her next, eyes a bit glassy. “It’s not too late to change your mind.”

“Don’t be silly,” Niko says, slinging an arm over Stacey’s shoulder. “She’ll be just fine.”

It’s a few minutes after sunrise. Penelope had barely slept a wink the night before, her stomach churning with excitement. As if the prospect of three whole days alone with Haden wasn’t enough to set her nerves on fire, she couldn’t stop thinking about what they might encounter on the road. It’s been so long since she’s seen anything outside of the farm, outside of the tiny mountain town that she has made her home, and she’s curious about what else is out there. 

“Love you,” Mina calls as Penelope follows Haden out the front door, Killer trotting excitedly at their heels.

Penelope throws a smile over her shoulder. “Love you back!” she says with a wave. The door swings shut behind them.

That’s another thing about the sisters that Penelope has had to get used to: the way they freely use “I love you.” The first few times it had shocked her– the way Stacey had stretched and yawned and said “I’m going to bed. Love you guys,” as she stood up from the couch and trudged up the stairs. When Penelope had presented Mina with a birthday gift last month, a green and gold patterned silk scarf for her hair, and Mina had kissed her cheek and said “This is the best, I love you!”

It was not a term that was thrown around often when Penelope was growing up. Her mother was not big on I love yous , or much affection at all. Penelope has vague memories from a long time ago of her mother’s arms around her, her long fingers wiping away tears on her cheeks, but they feel far away and fuzzy, like a dream. After her father left, her mother seemed to shrink in on herself, keeping Penelope at a distance, treating her more like a work colleague than a daughter. Birthday cards were signed “Best, Mom” and often had no other other message on them, Hallmark doing most of the talking. 

For her whole life, Penelope had just assumed that her parents must have loved her, because that was what parents were supposed to do. She told herself that it didn’t matter if her mother never told her– saying it too much could dull its meaning, she thought– or if she couldn’t remember what it felt like to have a hand on her head checking her fever or a kiss on her cheek when she came home from school. But if her dad had truly loved her, why did he leave her behind? If her mother had loved her, why didn’t she do anything to show it? When Penelope needed her most, why didn’t she come?

Penelope had always thought that love was something distant, intangible. Unspoken. A piece of fine china behind a glass case, never to be touched out of fear that it would be ruined. But she has come to realize that an acknowledgement of love does not lessen it, it only makes it stronger. Loving someone is laughing with them. It’s holding them when they’re sad or sick and making their favorite foods because you want to see them smile. It’s keeping them safe and cutting your own hand off just so that you can find them and bring them back home. 

Penelope’s knee hasn’t stopped bouncing since Haden put the truck in drive. His gaze cuts over to her and he smiles slightly.

“You excited?”

“No, I changed my mind. Let’s turn back,” she teases.

Haden reaches over and grabs her thigh, stopping the bouncing of her knee as he squeezes twice. It tickles the sensitive muscle of her inner thigh and she swats his hand away with a laugh. As they drive, she realizes that loving someone is also missing the warmth of their hand when it leaves your skin.

They head down south, towards Manhattan, where Haden and Niko had gone on their first trip. The area is so vast that there was still a lot left to explore, and Haden didn’t want to take her somewhere completely unfamiliar on her first time out. The plan is to get to Yonkers and start there. Haden had said he didn’t plan on venturing into the actual city anytime soon– not until the height of the summer, when there was the most sunlight and least risk– but Penelope is so curious about what’s left of it that she plans to try to convince him to at least drive through. 

Their arrival is a bit anticlimactic. After training hard for the last two months, Penelope half-expects Remnants to descend on the truck the moment they stop. But when they come to park in a seemingly normal, residential neighborhood, she is almost disappointed when nothing happens. It actually doesn’t feel too different from the neighborhoods back home around the farm– wealthier, that’s for sure, but the same emptiness linger in the air.

They cover two whole blocks on their first day. The scavenging part isn’t hard– they’ve done it before, and her definition of useful items has changed drastically over the last few years. Penelope ignores things like cash and credit cards and fancy jewelry, barely even looks at the expensive tvs or computers. (She does, however, convince Haden to let her take a hoverboard that they find in one house to see if Niko can get it working again.) Her focus now is canned food and linens, medicine and first aid supplies. Menstrual products and durable clothes. Hair ties and toothpaste, cleaning products and books, pens and looseleaf paper. 

The first day is easy, comfortable. Her and Haden don’t even talk that much, sinking into the smooth familiarity of the tasks they have done before. He lets Penelope choose which house she wants to stay in for the night, and she picks a cozy-looking Cape house with pink shutters. Haden secures the house while Penelope warms a can of garden vegetable soup over the fire, slicing pieces of the bread that Stacey had made the day before. When it’s time for bed, Penelope follows him up the stairs. There are two bedrooms next to each other on one side of the hall, a bathroom on the other. Haden enters the first one and Penelope doesn’t hesitate to step in behind him. She drops her bag on the floor on the left side of the bed and sits down to kick off her shoes.

Haden purses his lips and watches her make herself comfortable– shoes kicked into the corner, sweatshirt following them– and Penelope determinedly ignores him, scared that if she makes eye contact with him he’ll tell her that she has to take the other room. But instead he just turns his back as she changes into her pajamas, busying himself with lining her shoes up next to his boots and folding her sweatshirt over the chair at the vanity table. Killer jumps onto the bed and circles twice before settling into a ball at the bottom with a huff. 

When she’s done changing, she looks over at Haden as he strips off his shirt and folds it neatly before placing it back in his bag. His pistol is still fitted in the waistband of his jeans.

“Why do you still carry that?” Penelope asks as she slips under the covers. Haden pulls the gun out from his waistband and places it on the nightstand next to the bed. The mattress dips under his weight as he sits down, rummaging through his bag and pulls out the soft green t-shirt, the one he always sleeps in.

“In case we need it.”

Penelope’s eyes trace the broad expanse of his shoulders, cutting to the jagged scar that runs across his side that she still doesn’t know the story behind, catching the movement of every muscle in his back before the shirt covers him. “But we have our swords now.”

He quickly switches his jeans for his flannel pajama pants, too quickly for Penelope to catch anything other than the flash of the dark fabric of his underwear, and throws back the covers. “It’s a last resort. Not for Remnants.”

Penelope rolls onto her left side, facing him, propping her head up on her arm. She’s confused for a second before she understands his meaning– the gun isn’t for killing Remnants, it’s for killing one of them . She thinks back to the conversation they had ages ago, back when they first met. What happens if I get bitten?

“If...if you got bitten, you’d want me to kill you?”

“You’d have to,” Haden says. He yawns, looking unconcerned, as if they were discussing the weather.  “Not every bite can be taken care of like Mina’s.”

“You’d kill me, too?”

“We can’t afford to be sentimental,” he says. “It’s the right thing to do.”

“So that’s why you haven’t used the last two bullets?”

“One for you, one for me. Just in case.”

They don’t say anything else. Haden settles down on the pillows, his left arm bent behind his head, his right opened up so that Penelope can squeeze up against his side. It doesn’t matter how many blankets she’s buried under, sleeping next to him is always the warmest. 

The next day, they leave the neighborhood and travel about fifteen minutes away, where they find an abandoned urgent care facility. Disappointingly, there isn’t much left, the building having been ransacked already. However, Penelope finds a door marked “Storage” at the back of the building, the door curiously locked and boarded up from the outside. Killer follows her over to it, sniffs at the crack beneath the door, and growls. Goosebumps break out over Penelope’s arms.

“Haden!”

He is double-checking an exam room down the hall and comes over to them, takes in the door and Killer’s defensive posture, the dog standing in front of Penelope with the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. Penelope can almost hear the calculations in his head, weighing their options. They have precious little medical supplies left, but there is most definitely at least on Remnant behind that door. 

Their decision is made for them when the door suddenly shudders as a weight is thrown into it from the inside, and Penelope hears that same shrill, tortured shriek that she had heard when the Remnant got into the barn. Nails scrape against the floor and something slams against the door again, this time with enough force that one of the hinges actually breaks. Penelope’s spine is tight and her mouth feels dry. She figures it’ll only take one more good shove for that door to come clean off. 

The Remnant screams again.

“Stay back,” Haden says, drawing his sword. Penelope has unsheathed her own, but she struggles to grip it, her hands suddenly sweaty. The door shudders again. “If it goes bad, run.”

Penelope sputters. “ What ?” 

Haden tosses her the keys to the truck. “Don’t try to help me. Take the truck, take Killer, and go.”

The door breaks before Penelope can respond, and a Remnant flies at them from the shadows. Haden’s sword slices through its neck with one clean swing, and the head bounces along the floor, hitting Penelope’s foot. She jumps back with a squeak and looks back up just as two more Remnants spill out of the darkness. 

Haden swings at one but it’s faster than the first, leaping past him towards Penelope. Its clothes have nearly rotted off, hanging in tatters off its skeletal frame, and there are patches on its arms where the skin seems to have bitten off. The hallway isn’t bright by any means, but the Remnant is no longer in the total darkness of the storage room, and its remaining skin starts to sizzle as the light eats away at it. But it keeps coming. 

Penelope stumbles back as it leaps for her, and she swings her sword with less finesse than she intended, the fear of the moment overcoming her training. She misses its neck and instead slices its abdomen as they both fall backward, its guts splattering onto Penelope as she lands on her back. It burns her skin and she sits up quickly, spinning to see that her cut had been deeper than she thought, and the Remnant now lay in two pieces beside her. Its legs were continuing to melt in the light but its torso was still moving, its jagged teeth chomping at her as it tried to drag itself closer. 

Stumbling to her feet, Penelope brings the blade down again, this time through its neck, and the Remnant finally stills. She turns to find Haden watching her, the body of the other Remnants at his feet, his expression unreadable. 

The awful, rancid smell of the Remnant’s guts– splattered on her torso and neck, a few drops dangerous close to her lips– finally registers, and Penelope bolts into the nearest exam room to throw up in the sink. Haden follows her, pulling the loose strands of hair away from her face as she retches, rubbing her back until she’s done. After, he finds some antiseptic wipes and dabs at the grime on her cheeks and neck. She wants to bathe in a pool of bleach.  

“So,” she finally says, her voice a bit raspy. “How’d I do?”

“Not bad,” he says. “A little messy, but effective.”

Penelope makes a face, still grossed out. Her shirt is ruined, and she has no hope of salvaging her pants, either. Thankfully, her shoes are okay. She goes to the truck and changes into a fresh pair of clothes while Haden drags the corpses outside and starts a fire. She tosses her ruined clothes into the blaze, and then they get to work on the storage room.

It seems to be worth their trouble, the shelves piled high with bandages, iodine, rubbing alcohol. Tubes of burn cream and medicines she can’t pronounce. But as they take what they need, and as the pride of Penelope’s first kill– first Remnant kill– fades, she finds she is left with a lingering feeling of unease. 

“Is that really how you’d want us to say goodbye?” she finally asks as they bring the last boxes of supplies out to the truck. “Throwing me your keys and telling me to run?”

It wasn’t like she was expecting some eloquent speech or grand gesture, but his callousness makes her feel slighted, and she is surprised to find her vision blurring with tears. She turns away from him and blinks furiously. 

“It’s just, after everything...you could have said something nicer.”

Haden sighs. “What would you have wanted me to say?”

“I don’t know!” Penelope slams the last box down and drags the back of her hand over her eyes, still not looking at him. “I guess if that’s all you felt you need to say, that says it all.”

“Penelope–”

“No, it’s fine. I understand.”

“Don’t–”

“I get it–”

Haden groans and stomps over to her. She keeps her head down but he cups her face in both hands, forcing her to look up at him.

“You are the most important thing in my life,” he says, and solemnity of his voice shocks her into total stillness. “All I want is for you to be safe. So if I only have time to tell you to run, it’s because all I’m thinking about is making sure you’re okay. You understand?”

Penelope nods once, her face still in his grip. His sharp gray eyes are intense, holding hers in a burning gaze. 

“Penny, you have to listen to me. You have to promise that when we’re out here, you’ll do as I say. I need to know that if I tell you to go, that you’ll get away and be safe.”

She licks her lips, heart pounding in her ears. “I promise,” Penelope lies, her voice barely above a whisper. She could never leave him behind. What would her life be without him in it?

Satisfied, Haden pulls her against his chest. Penelope nuzzles up against him, arms straining to wrap around his torso. You’re the most important thing in my life. It’s not quite “I love you,” but Penelope doesn’t mind. Sometimes different words mean the same thing.

“Oh,” she says when they pull apart, suddenly realizing a flaw in his plan. “I can’t drive.”

Haden blinks down at her, surprise coloring his face. “You can’t?”

Penelope shakes her head. “I mean, I managed okay when I got you that medicine, but it was more dumb luck than anything. I didn’t really know what I was doing.”

“Huh.” Haden considers her for a moment. “Okay, then.”

“Stop yelling at me!”

“I’m not yelling at you!”

“You are literally yelling right now!”
“I’m trying to instruct you–”

“You’re making me nervous–”

“You’re going to be more nervous if you never figure out how to shift gears–”

“I said stop yelling at me !”

“ I’m not yelling !”

“Oh my God.”

“Penelope– no. Hey. Get back in the truck.”

“No.”

“Penelope.”

“I don’t want to learn anymore.”

“You have to.”

“Niko can teach me when we get back. He’ll be nice about it.”

“I’m not being mean.”

“You’re not being nice either.”

“Jesus Christ.”

By the end of the third day, Penelope feels like an entire semester of driver’s ed has been crammed into a few hours. But she can start the truck, shift gears, and execute a semi-clean turn without hitting everything around her. Haden is satisfied with her progress, tells her that next time she’ll learn how to parallel park. Penelope doesn’t see the need for this, but he seems excited to teach her, so she humors him. They eat an early dinner and start the drive home, expecting to make it back just after dark. 

“Where are we gonna go next time?” Penelope asks as they drive. She’s flipping through a Cosmopolitan magazine from three years ago, eyes straining to read the faded print against the setting sun.

“Wanted to ask you about that,” Haden says. “You wanna go home?”

“Home?” Penelope looks up at him curiously. It takes her a second to realize that by home he means Roslyn, the place where she grew up, and not the farm. “Oh. I...I don’t know.”

“We don’t have to,” he says. “Just figured you might want to go back, get some of your things. See what’s left.”

Penelope suddenly realizes that she hasn’t thought of her home in a while. In fact, she doesn’t even consider it home at all anymore. She shrugs. 

“Maybe at some point.”

Haden looks over at her, eyebrows raised in amusement. “Whenever you want.”

She finds the books in a house in New Jersey. It’s the beginning of August, and the heat and humidity of the day is so thick she feels like she’s breathing in through a wet towel. The books are piled into a cardboard box in the bedroom closet, full of worn paperbacks with titles Penelope doesn’t recognize. The covers bear pictures of tanned, muscular men and scantily clad women, all provocative poses. Lover’s Lane. The Taste of Desire. Daddy’s Girl. After years of reading YA novels, Penelope is intrigued. She starts reading the back covers, so absorbed in the premise of each erotic tale that she doesn’t hear Haden enter the room. When he clears his throat, she jumps, dropping the book she was looking at back into the box.

“Reading anything good?”

Her face flushes. “Um, I– I don’t know yet.”

“Well, take what you want and let’s get going. We should leave before dark.”

There had been a higher number of Remnants in the area than they expected. Haden killed six that weekend alone and Penelope killed two, cleaner kills than her first. When she wasn’t doing her chores around the farm, she was training, and her hard work has had proven results. Her arms are stronger, leaner, the skin tight around the slightest bulge of muscle. Her legs are thicker– her thighs split the seam of her last pair of jean shorts, though thankfully she was able to find some new, larger pairs on this trip– and she finds herself able to run longer, faster. The change in her body brings with it a sense of confidence, of power. 

Penelope thinks back to the scared, sniveling girl who was tied to a chair and at the mercy of two strangers, the girl who kept needing rescuing,  and she vows to never be that girl again.

They are barely on the outskirts of town when the truck shudders beneath them. Haden curses under his breath and stops in the middle of the road. Under the pink sky of twilight, he crouches down next to the rear right tire, and Penelope hangs her torso out the window, her eyes flitting back and forth between him and the forest surrounding the road, waiting for a monster to pop out of the shadows. 

“Is it flat?” she calls out to Haden.

He yanks something out of the tire– a nail, maybe?– and nods. “We have a spare. It’ll just take a few minutes.”

“Do you want me to help?”

“No, stay in the truck.”

Penelope pouts and rests her chin on top of the window trim, but the light fades fast and she soon finds herself standing at Haden’s side, her sword in one hand and a flashlight in the other. Killer has hopped out of the truck, too, sniffing around as Haden switches out the tires. He seems at ease, nose to the ground and tail wagging whenever he catches an interesting scent, so Penelope drops her guard a bit.

But then Haden stands, moving to put the ruined tire in the bed of the truck, and Killer’s head pops up and he turns toward the treeline. Penelope notices his attention– he doesn’t growl, but his head tilts to the side, like he’s not sure what’s out there yet.

“Now!”

An unfamiliar voice rings through the air right before something lands at Penelope’s feet. It’s a round canister that hits the ground with a metallic clang, and plumes of dark smoke begin to billow out of the opening immediately. 

Her vision is quickly clouded and her eyes begin to water, nose burning as the dense smoke fills the air. Something collides with Penelope’s back and she falls to the ground, her sword flying from her grip as the side of her face scrapes against the pavement. She thinks it’s over, that the Remnant is going to rip out her throat, but–

“Johnny, I’ve got her!” someone says from above her, and Penelope realizes with a start that it’s a person, not a Remnant, that is pinning her to the ground. 

“ Penelope !” Haden yells, followed by a grunt and the sound of a bone cracking. 

“Haden!” Penelope tries to squint through the fog of smoke, but she can’t see anything. She wriggles against the body above her, trying to spin around, but they just press her down harder.

“Look, I don’t want to hurt you. Just stay down.” Their voice is distorted, muffled, like they’re speaking through a radio. 

Penelope wriggles her right arm free from where it was pinned beneath her, and reaches back until she finds the hand pressing into her left shoulder. She grabs a finger and yanks it back until it pops, and the weight falls off her as the person cries out in pain. 

“Haden!” she cries out again as she drags herself out from beneath the person, stumbling blindly to her feet. The smell of sulfur is overwhelming and she starts to cough, spinning around blindly, sliding her foot along the ground and hoping it hits into her sword. She can barely manage to see her hands in front of her face.

Another pained grunt, and then Haden’s voice– “Where are you?”

“I’m–” 

Penelope feels the heavy footstep behind her– it’s not Haden, his voice is farther away than that– and she spins around just in time to see a fist flying at her through the smoke. She ducks underneath it and throws herself forward, tackling the person around the middle. When they hit the ground she can see that they’re wearing some kind of gas mask, and she rips it off. Once their face is exposed, she lands two quick punches. Her knuckles are wet with their blood when she pulls back, and the person whimpers in pain beneath her. Squinting, she can just barely make out a boy around her age, with greasy hair and stubble around his chin. 

“What the hell are you doing?” Penelope asks him in between coughs. “What is this?”

The boy only moans in response. 

Leaving him, Penelope climbs to her feet again. A nudge to her thigh tells her that Killer is there, and she threads her fingers through his fur. He guides her forward until she can feel the side of the truck, and keeping her hand on it, Penelope follows it until she reaches the back of the truck, where she had last seen Haden. 

She can hear signs of a struggle and she calls for him again. Something hits the side of the truck just inches from her hand and Penelope jumps. A body slumps at her feet and then Haden is there, grabbing her around the waist and lifting her off her feet. She clings to him and he moves them through the smoke and practically tosses her into the truck. Killer jumps in after her and then Haden is slamming the door and speeding off. The smoke is still thick around them so they’re driving blind for a few seconds, but once it finally starts to clear and the last hazy minutes of sunset lighten the sky, Penelope turns around to look behind them. There’s nothing but a cloud of darkness.

“Are you alright?” Haden asks, coughing between each word. His eyes are red and watery, the collar of his shirt torn and exposing his clavicle and a bit of the dark curls on his chest. 

“I’m fine,” Penelope says, even though her cheek is stinging and it’s still hard to catch a full breath. “What the fuck was that?”

“An ambush,” Haden says, his grip tightening on the steering wheel. “They wanted the truck.”

“Well, they were awfully rude about it.”

“I saw someone try to jump into the front seat just before the smoke hit me, and then there was someone else on my back. I took care of him and then the other one must have realized that I didn’t leave the keys in the ignition, because he came after me next.”

“Did you kill them?”

Haden shrugs. “Not sure. Maybe. You kill yours?”

“Just punched him a few times.” Penelope leans down and kisses Killer’s nose. The dog is panting, still agitated, but looks otherwise unharmed. “My poor baby. It’s okay, you’re okay.”

“Hope you got everything you wanted from this place,” Haden says, scratching underneath Killer’s chin, “because we’re not coming through here again.” 

Penelope keeps the cardboard box of erotica shoved under her bed. She flies through them quicker than she has ever read anything before, finishing some of them in just a few hours. She had no idea that this was even a genre of literature, and is amazed by how much better than porn it is, how it makes her feel as if she is right there living within the pages instead of existing as a voyeur. 

CEO and secretary. High school sweethearts reunited after a decade. Mafia boss and the daughter of his sworn enemy. Penelope thinks she has read every pairing imaginable, until she picks up Daddy’s Girl . 

 Over the course of a week, she reads it three times. The first time she is appalled, the second time intrigued, and the third time, enraptured– totally captivated by the story of fifteen year old Olivia as she falls in love with Nick, the man who becomes her stepfather, and schemes to get pregnant with his baby. 

“You’ve been neglected, kitten. Someone should have told you how beautiful you are.”

The relationship between Nick and Olivia is erratic, volatile. Wrong and cruel and yet, as she reads, Penelope feels like her heart is beating out of her chest whenever the two of them share the page. Her heart aches for Olivia, the poor girl who does not feel loved or wanted by either of her parents, desperate to understand herself and feel important to someone. And she is fascinated by Nick, an obvious scoundrel, callously pragmatic but yet the only person who seems to consider Olivia at all.

The sensation his movements were producing in her genitals grew stronger. In a way it was a pleasurable sort of prickle. In another way it was a deep and terrible craving, like being sick for something, homesick, lovesick. 

The writing isn’t particularly sexy, not like the other books, but in a way that makes Penelope like it even more. It’s not draped in some shimmery illusion, where every moment is an explosion of passionate, orgasmic bliss– it’s real and raw and ugly and beautiful all at the same time. 

He had her naked by now. He was stroking her all over, but mostly her breasts and clitoris. It made her legs go weak when he touched her there. She didn’t argue anymore. 

Penelope is fascinated by Olivia’s internal struggle, how she seems not to be driven by her need for sex, but by her desire for affection, and how she is forced to use her body as the only currency Nick recognizes. Whereas Nick is full of lust for Olivia’s body, Olivia is just desperate for the only form of love she thinks she can receive. He takes advantage of her and exploits her and never seems to feel one ounce of remorse, yet Olivia still cannot stay away from him. 

She knelt down and put the tip of her tongue into the hollow of his navel, just above his belt buckle. She began to undo the buckle. She wanted to touch  him everywhere, to eat him up. Her craving for him swept aside her shyness and shame. 

It’s the most fucked up love story she has ever read, and Penelope wonders if something that flawed can even be considered love at all. 

Something else that strikes her, that she lays awake and thinks about at night, is that Penelope was about the same age as Olivia when she and Haden met. What if he had been more like Nick? What if he had fucked her then, when she was fifteen and dumb and alone in the world? Penelope knows that it’s silly to even think such things, but she can’t help it. 

What would their lives have been like if Haden had been a different person? Or if she was prettier? If she didn’t have acne on her cheeks and hair that she could never seem to get under control and breasts that were more than just a meager handful? 

There’s another part of the book that sticks in Penelope’s mind, something that plays over and over in her head, dominating her consciousness. A dynamic that she had never considered, something that made her shiver when her eyes first scanned the page.

In one scene, when Nick is fucking Olivia, he tells her to call him daddy. 

“Oooh, someone is fifty shades of green,” Stacey teases in a singsong voice, coming up alongside Penelope. “Do I detect a bit of jealousy?”

“No,” Penelope snaps, but the force she uses to slap the paintbrush on the fencepost– white flecks splattering back onto her cheeks– tells a different story. Her eyes are narrowed, her gaze fixed across the yard to where the gorgeous, leggy redhead is sitting on the back deck, smiling as she watches Haden sharpen his sword. It reminds Penelope that she needs to oil hers, the new one she got after leaving her old one behind after their attack in New Jersey. This new one is nearly identical to Haden’s, only a bit smaller in size. It had taken some getting used to, but Penelope finds that she likes it better. It makes her feel stronger, more powerful. 

“Mm-hmm,” Stacey says, unconvinced. She picks up a spare paintbrush and dips it in the bucket. “What are the odds, though? Of all the people you guys could run into, you find Jules-freaking-Hollander.” 

Penelope’s answer is more or less a grunt, her jaw tight as the woman– Julianna Hollander, but more commonly known by her fans as Jules– tips her head back and laughs. They found the teen pop star-turned-CW actress two days ago, collapsed on the side of the road. Penelope and Haden had been on their way home from another scavenging trip up north when they saw her, banged up and unconscious. Neither of them recognized her at first, too concerned with hauling her into the back of the truck and getting her back to the farm before dark.

It was Niko who finally recognized her, as he was gently wiping the dried blood off her face. 

“Am I hallucinating?” he had said, pausing with the wet cloth over her cheek, “or is this the girl who played the werewolf hunter on that Teen Wolf spinoff?”

Mina had peered over his shoulder, taking in the girl’s face before gasping and slapping Niko’s arm. “Oh my God, you’re right! It’s Jules!”

Stacey came running into the room. “ Jules Jules? She was the first concert I ever went to!”

As it turns out, Jules had been living with her aunt’s family on their dairy farm, having fled there when things started to go south two years ago. She was out with one of her cousins, on a scavenging mission of their own, when they had been ambushed by a group who stole all of their findings. Jules was able to flee after suffering a heavy beating, but she had no idea what had become of her cousin, Isaac. They hadn’t seen any sign of anyone else on the road. 

Haden is going to bring her home tomorrow, now that she’s had time to rest and tend to her injuries. Personally, Penelope can’t wait to see her go. Jules is nice enough, sure, but there’s something about her presence that just keeps Penelope on edge, her stomach constantly churning, her fists always clenched tight. Maybe it’s her porcelain skin, free of any acne, no scars or blemishes besides the injuries she had recently sustained. Or perhaps it’s Jules’s full lips and sparkling cerulean eyes, with little flecks of gold around her irises. Or the way that she has glued herself to Haden’s side, chatting with him nonstop since she regained consciousness, so thankful that he saved her and has helped her heal, even though it was Penelope who spotted her body and Niko who bandaged her up.

It might also be the way Haden has so gallantly offered Jules his bed, choosing to sleep on the couch so that she has a comfortable place to regain her strength.

Yeah, maybe that’s it.

“My family will be more than happy to trade with you all,” Jules says that night over dinner. “Milk, butter, supplies, whatever you need. Constance, my aunt, she even makes her own vinegar. She can show you everything.”

Penelope stabs a piece of broccoli, her fork clinking sharply against her plate, her lips turned down in a permanent scowl. Mina kicks her under the table.

“I used to wash my hair with vinegar,” Stacey muses. “Every two weeks I’d do a rinse. It was always so shiny and soft after.”

Jules’s eyes light up. “I’ll have to try that!”

Penelope keeps her gaze on her plate as she rolls her eyes. As if Jules’s hair, glossy and bright red, cropped just below her chin and never out of place, isn’t already perfect. That morning, Penelope had broken her hairbrush trying to tug it through a snarl at the nape of her neck.

“We appreciate that,” Haden says warmly, and Jules fixes him with a dazzling smile. Her teeth are perfectly straight and the purest white Penelope had ever seen. 

“It’s the least I can do,” Jules says, placing a hand on his forearm.

“I’m full,” Penelope says, standing up and grabbing her plate. Her chair scrapes along the floor as she stomps over to the sink, tossing her plate into the basin and stomping upstairs. No one follows her, and she sits alone on her bed, fuming by herself until the sky grows dark and her room is cast into shadows. 

Sleep doesn’t come easy, her irritation refusing to abate and keeping her mind wide awake. Eventually embarrassment makes its way into the mix, the shame of her actions making her bury her face into the pillows and groan. No one came after her, not even Stacey, which means they all must have thought she was really being ridiculous. And Penelope knows she was, to some extent. Jules isn’t a bad person. She’s just hot and talented and sweet and gorgeous, and she’s currently sleeping in Haden’s bed.

Penelope slips out of bed and creeps down the stairs. It’s late, but Haden might still be awake. She can talk to him, apologize for being rude and promise to be nice to Jules before she leaves in the morning, and maybe, if she’s lucky, she can convince Haden to come sleep up with her. The couch is too small for him, anyway. His legs hang over the side and he always wakes up with a stiff neck and–

Penelope freezes.

A single line of moonlight, streaming in from the living room windows, illuminates a strip of the couch– the empty couch.

And then she hears it.

The soft gasp, followed by a low, breathy moan. The kind of moan that Penelope hasn’t heard since she had internet access. 

“ Yes, yes, oh my God– ”

Penelope rushes over to Haden’s door, pressing herself up against it. Her pulse is pounding, her hands shaking as they rest against the wood. 

“ Fuck, Haden, just like that...Yes, fuck .”

And then an answering groan, so deep it almost sounds like a growl. 

I’m going to pass out, Penelope thinks. I’m going to pass out and I’m going to die.

But her legs are clenched tight, and her shortness of breath has more to do with the throbbing between them than the scene she’s listening to. 

She hates them. She hates them both, and yet she wishes more than anything that she was on the other side of that door, watching them instead of pressing her ear against the wood and slipping her hand into her underwear. She wishes she could see them, could see Jules’s swollen lips and the way her hair is splayed out on the pillows beneath her, wishes she could see Haden’s face as he fucks into her and Jules’s gasps fill the air.  She wonders if he’d make the same face if it was her beneath him instead.

Jules comes with a sharp cry and Haden follows seconds later, a grunt followed by a heavy exhale, the same one he makes when he puts his weights down after lifting for a long set. Penelope sinks down to the floor, biting down on her fist to keep from making any noise as she comes, too, slick fingers on her clit and her cunt clenching down on nothing. Emptiness washes over her instead of the sweet release of pleasure, and she can barely stagger to her feet and race back up the stairs before her sobs overtake her. 

Chapter Text

October. Five Months Before

“Tugging on it isn’t going to make it grow back faster.”

Penelope lets go of her hair and turns away from the mirror. Mina leans against the doorway to the bathroom, arms folded, lips twisted in a sympathetic smile. 

“I hate it,” Penelope says, frowning, repeating the same phrase she has said every day since making the disastrous mistake. “I look like I’m twelve.”

Her blonde hair, which had fallen halfway down her back two weeks ago, was now sheared short, the wispy ends now in line with her chin. The morning after listening to Haden and Jules, Penelope had locked herself in the bathroom with a pair of craft scissors and hacked away at her hair until it resembled Jules’s chic bob– but she instead found herself looking less like the gorgeous woman and more like a prepubescent boy. 

Stacey had found her that day, curled up in a ball next to the toilet, cheeks streaked with tears and the remains of her blonde locks scattered on the cold tile floor. Stacey took one look at Penelope and locked the door, then picked up the scissors and snipped her braids off without a moment of hesitation.

“What are you doing ?” Penelope gasped in shock, momentarily forgetting her woes at the sight of Stacey so freely destroying her own mane.

“It’ll grow back,” she had said with a shrug, unconcerned. “Now we can match.”

And match they do, only Penelope can not help but notice that Stacey’s hair looks mature and elegant, where she just looks like an off-brand version of Shaggy Rogers.

“You could always go shorter,” Mina offers. “Try out the Charlize Theron look. You have the neck for it.”

Penelope scoffs. “And look more like a boy? I don’t think so.”

“Hey,” Mina says, moving forward to rub Penelope’s back soothingly. “You’d make a very cute boy.”

Penelope rolls her eyes. The days have just rolled into October, a slight chill now in the air, and she can get away with wearing a hat all day– and possibly for the foreseeable future.

“Come on,” Mina says, looping their arms together. “Stop moping. It’s time to go.”

“Great,” Penelope grumbles, but follows Mina as the girl leads her out of the bathroom and down the stairs. 

Everyone else is ready to go, waiting in Niko’s RV, which is jam-packed with baskets of fruits and vegetables from this season’s harvest. The five of them– plus Killer, of course– are making the trip to the Hollanders’ dairy farm, the place where Jules lives, to meet the rest of her family and trade their supplies. It’s not only the prospect of seeing Jules again– while looking like an overgrown Draco Malfoy, no less– that turns Penelope’s stomach, but the fact that this weekend was the time her and Haden were supposed to take another trip.

The two of them have barely spoken over the last two weeks. Penelope had given him the silent treatment for three days, unable to even look at him without blushing or feeling like she was going to burst into tears. He had tried to talk to her a bit at first, but she had just snapped at him, and he eventually got tired of her attitude and started ignoring her right back. Penelope’s harsh feelings have mostly faded by now, with just a lingering feeling of jilted jealousy, but she has maintained her silent stance out of stubbornness and spite. Waiting for him to be the one to break, to offer the olive branch, to try to smooth things over. Like he always does.

The drive to the Hollanders’ dairy farm takes about an hour, the entirety of which Penelope spends with her nose buried in a book. This week is The Girl Before by J.P. Delaney, a psychological thriller about two different tenants of a technologically advanced apartment with a mysterious landlord. At first, it hadn’t looked like the kind of book that she would enjoy, but Penelope found herself hooked after the first few pages. She’s a little over halfway done by the time they arrive at the dairy farm, and she wishes she could just stay back in the RV and finish reading while everyone else has their fun.

The property is twice the size of their farm, with a long, winding driveway leading up to the main house that is bordered with lush, towering sycamore trees. When the RV stops, two kids spill out of the front door of the house and race towards it. They don’t look much older than eight or nine, with a matching constellation or freckles across each of their noses, and Penelope soon learns that their names are Grayson and Allie. Jules emerges from the house, followed by a couple in their mid-forties who Penelope assumes to be Constance and Paul, Jules’s aunt and uncle. The last to approach the RV is a young man who looks to be about twenty or so, with wavy blonde hair and deep blue eyes, who immediately fixes Stacey with a bright smile.

“Oh, hello,” Stacey murmurs under her breath when she sees him. She nudges Penelope with her elbow. “I call dibs.”

Penelope doesn’t mind. He’s not her type anyway.

It feels almost intoxicating, being in such a large group of people again. Constance and Paul lead them on a tour of the farm, which basically means they introduce them to the cows and horses and no one wants to go anywhere else until it’s time to eat lunch. There is a long table set up behind the main house with a checkered tablecloth and lined with place settings. Stacey claims a spot next to the young man with the cute smile, Isaac, and Penelope sits on her other side.

Grayson and Allie dominate most of the attention at the table, seemingly glad to finally have an audience that isn’t their parents. They tell long-winded stories about life on the farm mixed in with things they remember from before, like how to order a pizza and what it was like to ride in an airplane “ way up in the sky .”

“You’re a very lucky group,” Mina says warmly, turning to Constance, who sits on her left, “to have survived everything with your family intact. This is a beautiful life you have here.”

Constance’s smile wavers a bit. “Well, nearly intact.”

Isaac looks up from whispering to Stacey. “Mom, don’t.”

Mina looks between them, confused. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bring up any bad memories.”

“Oh, it’s fine, honey,” Constance assures her, patting her hand. “You couldn’t have known. We lost our daughter about a year and a half ago. Her name was Caitlin.”

Penelope freezes, her sandwich halfway to her mouth.

“Isaac was sick, real sick,” Paul continues for his wife. His fists are clenched tight atop the table. “I went to go find medicine, and she wanted to come with me. To help. We split up to cover more ground and…” He looks down, clenching his jaw. “We shouldn’t have split up.”

If you hadn’t fucking hit me, I would have shared.

Niko offers his condolences on behalf of the group, but Paul waves him off with a sniffle and changes the subject.

Penelope’s vision is spinning. She grips her sandwich so hard that the insides ooze out onto her plate. Stacey looks over at her. “Are you okay?”

Penelope drops the sandwich and reaches a trembling hand for her water, taking a small sip. Her voice is tight. “Uh-huh.”

“You look pale.”

And if you hadn’t tried to shoot me, I would have shared, too.

“I’m fine,” she squeaks. When she looks up, her eyes find Haden’s across the table, and he’s looking at her with concern. He turns to Constance.

“May I use the bathroom?”

Jules starts to stand up. “I’ll show you–”

“It’s fine,” Haden says a bit sharply, and it’s a testament to Penelope’s own state that she doesn’t relish in Jules’s shocked expression. “Finish your lunch, I’ll just be a second.”

“Oh, okay,” Jules says, sitting back down. “It’s, uh, inside and to the right.”

Haden gets up and heads towards the house. Penelope quickly stands up. “Um, I have to go, too.”

They manage to walk inside calmly, but the second the door shuts behind them, Penelope falls into Haden’s arms.

“Breathe. Breathe . It’s alright.”

She doesn’t know why he keeps saying that until she hears herself, panting, struggling to catch a breath, her entire body shaking like a leaf. 

“I killed her,” she gasps, looking at him, stricken. “That’s the girl I– Oh my God – I killed their daughter – They’re gonna hate me–”

“Penny, stop. Hey. Stop. Breathe with me, okay?”

She inhales in sync with him, holding her breath and then slowly letting it out. They repeat the process until she’s no longer trembling.

“They’re not going to find out,” Haden says, his hands on her shoulders, holding her steady.

“What?”

“You don’t have to tell them anything.”

Penelope frowns. “But they’ve been so nice. They should know what happened.”

“Do you want to tell them?”

“No…”

“Then don’t.”

His logic is solid, but it doesn’t do anything to ease her guilty conscience. “Isn’t that wrong?”

“Absolutely.”

Despite herself, Penelope barks out a laugh. “You’re a bad influence.”

“Never claimed to be a good one.” Haden smirks and runs his thumb over her cheek, catching a stray tear. “Look, you do what feels right, okay?”

“What if I tell them and they run us out of here with torches and pitchforks?”

“Then I’ll help you fight them off.” Haden pulls her against his chest. “I’m on your side no matter what you decide to do.”

Penelope squeezes him. “Thank you.” He tries to pull away, but she doesn’t let go. “And I’m sorry...for how I’ve been acting.”

“You gonna tell me what I did to make you so mad at me?”

She shakes her head, still pressed against his chest. The vibrations of his laughter rumble against her cheek. “Well, I’m sorry, too. For whatever it was.”

Penelope doesn’t tell the Hollanders about how she killed their daughter, how she slit her throat for medicine and left her body to rot in the pharmacy without hesitation. It’s not until she’s back home, and her and Stacey are standing side by side in the bathroom as they brush their teeth, does she dare voice the truth.

“You can’t tell them,” Stacey says, the foamy ring of toothpaste still around her mouth. “Please, Penelope. I really like Isaac, and I think he likes me. If you tell them, it could ruin everything.”

Penelope swishes some water in her mouth and spits into the sink. “Don’t you think they deserve to know? She was Isaac’s sister . Wouldn’t you want to know what happened if it was Mina?”

Stacey pouts, as if the morality of the situation was an inconvenience to her. “I mean, yeah ...but not now. Can you just wait until I’m sure he’s into me? Or better yet, let me tell him when the time is right.”

“Is there ever a right time to find out your girlfriend is living with the person who murdered your sister?”

“Girlfriend. I like the sound of that,” Stacey sighs dreamily. “It almost makes things feel normal, you know?”

Penelope rolls her eyes. “Whatever. Fine. Tell him whenever you want. But when he gets mad at you for keeping such a giant fucking secret from him, don’t come crying to me.”

“Deal.”

December. Three Months Before

There’s a hole in the roof of the garage. Snow had fallen the night before as the hole had grown wider, and now all of the gym equipment and extra supply bins are covered in slush. Penelope is the first to discover it when she goes to feed the chickens in the morning. She looks up from the inside of the garage where they keep the feed, the light morning flurries dancing down from the sky and landing on her cheeks. The roof is still covered in a few inches of snow from last week’s storm, so repairing it is out of the question for now, but she thinks she can manage a quick fix.

Mina finds her as she is settling the ladder against the side of the barn, the blue plastic tarp bundled under her arm. A hammer and some nails hang heavy in the pocket of her sweatshirt. The cold bites at her exposed skin and Penelope thinks about going inside and grabbing a warmer jacket, but she figures that this will only take a few minutes. 

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” Mina calls up to her as she climbs. “You should wait for one of the boys to–”

“I don’t need one of the boys,” Penelope says when she reaches the roof, carefully climbing onto it and bracing her hands in the thick layer of snow. “I can do this on my own.”

“Okay, Girl Boss,” Mina says drily, “I’m just saying, if you fall, they’d have a better shot at catching you.”

The roof is icy, but not excessively so, and Penelope manages to scoot over to the hole with relative ease. “I’m not going to fall.”

Mina snorts and mumbles something that Penelope can’t hear. She starts to spread the tarp over the hole, trying to keep the edges pinned down against the wind. She has to lean on her side and the snow starts to seep into her jeans, chilling her to the bone. Penelope’s teeth start to chatter and her fingertips quickly go numb. The hammer slips as she’s working on the third nail and hits her thumb, making her hiss.

“How’s it going, Bob the Builder?”

“Fantastic, thanks so much,” Penelope calls down to Mina, finishing the job quickly despite the throbbing in her thumb. She stands up cautiously to admire her work. It’s a bit lopsided, but snow is already starting to catch on the plastic, so Penelope considers it a success. A small swell of pride grows in her chest. 

“Great, now get your ass down here before you hurt yourself.”

Rolling her eyes, Penelope inches over to the ladder. She turns to lower herself onto the first rung–

“Wait, no–”

But she hears Mina too late and her foot slips off the edge of the roof, landing on nothing, and then gravity takes her. The fall is quick, too quick for her to think, to try to twist her body, and she lands awkwardly, feet first in the hard-packed snow. The rest of her body falls but her left leg stays upright, and the shock of the cold snow in her face is quickly overpowered by the blinding pain that shoots up from her ankle.

Penelope opens her mouth to cry out but no sound escapes her, just ragged, wheezing breaths. Mina is hovering over her immediately.

“Oh, fuck,” she whispers, and if the pain wasn’t enough to tip her off, now Penelope knows that it’s bad.

Mina yells something, but her voice sounds far away. Other voices join the mix and then arms are coming up underneath her, lifting her out of the snow. Haden pulls her against his chest and that’s when she cries out, the movement making her leg feel like it’s on fire.

“You’re okay, you’re okay,” Haden murmurs in her ear, smoothing her snow-dampened hair away from her face.

“It hurts ,” is all she can say, turning to bury her face against his neck, whimpering when he adjusts his grip on her to stand up.

“I know, Penny, but you’re gonna be fine. You hear me? You’re gonna be fine.”

It hurts with every step he takes, it hurts when he climbs into the truck and settles her on his lap, it hurts when Niko jumps behind the steering wheel and they start to drive. Penelope doesn’t know where they’re going and she doesn’t care, the only thing she can focus on is white-hot agony ripping through her.

“How bad is it?” she hisses, face still firmly pressed into Haden’s chest. She can’t look at it– there was a crack when she landed. 

“Just a scratch,” Niko says, but she can hear the roar of the engine, can feel how fast they’re going. 

Penelope must pass out from the pain at some point, because the next time she opens her eyes she’s on her back on something hard, and the first face she sees is Paul’s.

Her brain feels foggy, her thoughts muddled, and the first thing she registers is panic. If Paul has her, then he must know about Caitlin, and he must want his revenge.

“I’m sorry,” she spits out, voice shaking. “Please, don’t hurt me, I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I didn’t know.”

Paul frowns and looks at something to his right, and then she hears Haden’s voice at her ear, his hand on her shoulder.

“Shh,” he says, his voice low, “you’re alright. He’s going to help you. I’m right here.”

Through her haze, she remembers Paul telling them weeks ago that he used to be a veterinarian. Penelope calms down slightly, but her heart is still racing. She has to bite down on a towel to keep from screaming, Haden keeping one of her hands clasped in his and Niko holding the other, as Paul sets and binds her leg. When it’s over, Niko tips something into her mouth that she swallows greedily. It starts to take effect almost immediately, and she feels herself growing drowsy again.

“What do you think?” she hears Haden ask as she starts to slip under.

“This is the best I can do with what I have. Compound fractures are tricky. Without X-rays, proper plaster...the most important thing right now is not letting it get infected.”

“Will she be able to walk again?”

Penelope is asleep before she can hear Paul’s answer.

“I saw Isaac yesterday,” Stacey says as she combs through Penelope’s greasy hair. “Mina and I went with Niko to trade at their farm. He took me for a walk down to the pond behind their house. It was all frozen over, but still so beautiful.”

Penelope doesn’t say anything.

“He told me that they had some travelers pass through the farm last week. Apparently there’s some sort of settlement nearby, run by a priest, I think? I’m not sure. But Isaac said that the travelers talked about it like it was El Dorado or something. You know, the mythical city of gold?”

Stacey gets no response.

“Remember that movie? You had to have seen it, right? Hold on, how did that song go... It’s tough to be a god …”

Stacey hums the rest of the song as she finishes brushing out Penelope’s matted hair. She has already changed Penelope’s clothes, wiped her body clean with a warm cloth, and put fresh sheets on her bed. Penelope does not speak through any of it. She hasn’t said a word in days.

“I get it, you know,” Stacey says when she’s finished. Penelope’s eyes are closed, but she’s still awake. “I know how you’re feeling. The way it creeps up on you, how hard it is to pull yourself out. But you have to pull yourself out, Penelope. It’s always worth it.”

The first few days after her injury had been a blur. Penelope remembers sweating and shivering, coming in and out of consciousness, woken by the pain and put to sleep by a mysterious liquid, thick and sweet on her tongue. The searing pain had faded into a dull throbbing by now, but the fog in her head had yet to recede. She doesn’t quite know how long it’s been– Days? Weeks?– and she can’t quite bring herself to care.

There is a constant rotation of company at her bedside. Stacey and Mina recount entire seasons of The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills to fill the silence, and Niko tells her stories from his childhood, growing up with five older siblings. Haden reads aloud to her, steadily making his way through the TBR pile next to her bed. It’s not that she doesn’t appreciate what they’re doing for her, but it’s like all of her emotions are locked behind a door deep inside her, inaccessible, making her numb. The only thing she can feel is an ache in her chest, an invisible force pressing down on her and keeping her in bed. 

It’s Haden who eventually forces her up, drags her into a sitting position at the foot of the bed. He rewraps the makeshift splint around her ankle before hauling her to her feet. She’s unsteady, her right leg weakened almost as much as her left by her prolonged stay in bed, and she nearly crumples to the ground. His arms keep her upright, one wrapped around her waist and the other holding her hand, and together they make the slow, painful journey downstairs.

“Eat,” Haden tells her once she’s seated at the kitchen table. There’s a steaming bowl of broth in front of her, a slice of buttered bread sitting next to it. Penelope picks up the spoon and stirs the broth listlessly. She doesn’t remember eating much– she figures that she must have, in order to still be alive, but she can’t think of any specific food that may have passed her lips– and she feels no hunger pains now. When she tentatively lifts the spoon to her mouth, the broth holds no flavor.

“I’m not hungry,” she says, her voice weak and raspy. 

“You have to eat,” Haden insists, “or else you’ll never get better.”

Penelope shrugs. Her overgrown fingernails pick at the crust of the bread. What does it matter? They’re all just biding their time, cheating death by hiding out on the farm, tempting fate every time they leave. She understands Stacey a lot better now. How long can their “safety” last? How long before there are more Remnants than they can deal with, how long until someone gets too sick for any expired drugstore medicine to help? It’s all going to end at some point. Might as well speed up the process.

When Haden brings her back upstairs, Penelope studies her reflection in the mirror on the wall opposite her bed– her dull, limp hair, the gaunt lines of her face. She’s sure that if she were to lift up her shirt she would be able to count her ribs, and when she slips her hand beneath the fabric she can feel the hard lines of her hip bones, the concave space of her stomach where a little pouch of fat used to be. 

You have to keep an eye on that , her mother would say, poking Penelope’s stomach. It’s only going to get worse as you get older.

In spite of herself, Penelope smiles. She looks more like her mother now than she ever has. 

Haden is at his wit’s end. Penelope knows that he’s mad, mad at her . She can see it in the tense line of his shoulders and his bloodshot eyes. The way his knee keeps bouncing when he sits beside her bed and the way his fists are clenched so tight she worries that the bones of his knuckles might burst through the skin. 

It’s been just over a month since her accident. Her ankle is still weak, too weak to put pressure on, but her other leg isn’t much better. All of her muscles have atrophied from disuse, her once strong limbs now rail-thin and weak. She still has no desire to eat.

Penelope can hear the voices talking outside her door sometimes. 

“She’s going to die if she keeps this up.”

“You don’t think I know that?”

“This isn’t her.”

“She’s sick– of course it isn’t her.”

“If she’s going to listen to any of us, it’s going to be you. You have to try something else.”

“I don’t know what else to do. We’ve tried everything short of shoving a tube down her throat.”

“I don’t know either. I just know it has to be you.”

She doesn’t pay them much attention. They won’t have to deal with her much longer anyway.

One morning, she wakes to a hand on her back, smoothing up and down along her spine. The sensation surprises her. It’s warm, nice, the best feeling she’s had in a while. No one has rubbed her back since she was a little kid. It nearly lulls her back to sleep, the solid, steady motion, but it disappears after a few moments.

Penelope opens her eyes and rolls onto her back, searching.

“Why’d you stop?” she croaks.

Haden reaches onto her nightstand and lifts up a plate. On it is an apple, neatly diced into eight slices. “Take one and I’ll keep going,” he says.

Penelope weighs her options. The back rubbing had felt good, really good. And an apple wasn’t much of anything. Just some sugar and water, right? She begrudgingly takes a piece. Haden waits for her to bite down, to let the tart flavor explode on her tongue, the first thing she’s really tasted in weeks, to roll her back onto her side and start rubbing her back again. 

He stops every time she finishes a slice, and the more he touches her the more she wants it, the warmth of his hand bleeding through the thin fabric of her shirt grounding her to her body, piercing through the fog of her brain. She ends up eating the entire apple, too desperate to keep his touch. 

Dinner follows a similar pattern. Penelope sits upright and slurps down a small bowl of soup as he runs his fingers through her hair, dragging his nails over her scalp, making her shiver. She feels high, intoxicated by his attention. He doesn’t normally touch her at home, not like this. Their time on the road together is when they’re freer with each other, when he lets her cuddle up against his side to sleep and she jumps up on his back when her legs are too tired to keep walking. 

They fall into a routine. Haden brings her a plate of food, and as long as he’s touching her, she eats. He rubs her back, her legs, plays with her hair, massages her neck when she sleeps on it the wrong way. Soon the touching turns into talking, and Penelope realizes that she has him in a unique position.

Haden is scared. Scared of losing her, scared of her slipping too far into herself for him to coax back out. He’s breaking his own unspoken rules by spending more time in her bed than his. He’s not going to deny her anything, and so she does the thing she has wanted to do since they first met.

She gets him talking.

Each meal is spent chipping away at the walls guarding Haden’s life. Penelope asks about his family, and learns that even though he has his last name, Haden never met his father. 

“He died when my mom was six months pregnant with me. An accident at the construction site he was working at.”

She learns that his mom remarried a man named Mike when Haden was six, and when he was eight she had twins, a boy and a girl.

“Mike wasn’t around a whole lot, so it was mostly just me and her taking care of them. He didn’t really like babies much. Or me.”

She learns that Haden was nine when he started noticing things, how his mom didn’t smile as much, how she flinched whenever Mike would raise his voice. 

“They sent me here for the summer when I was thirteen. Mike’s mom was coming to stay with us– with them – for the summer. She wanted to spend time with her grandchildren. I didn’t fit into that equation. But I didn’t know my mom’s family, either. She stopped talking to them before I was born and only reconnected with them because she didn’t know what to do with me. I cried myself to sleep every night for the first week, but by the end of the summer, I didn’t want to go home.”

She learns that he spent every summer at the farm with his uncle Walt until he was seventeen, that when he came home from his last summer there was no one at the bus station to pick him up. He walked all the way home and found his siblings hiding in their rooms, his mom with a swollen face and a busted lip. There were still shards of glass on the floor from the vase that Mike had thrown at her head. 

“I didn’t say anything. I just left. Walked all the way across town to the bar where Mike was always at, grabbed him right off the bar stool and just started swinging. It took three people to pull me off him and he needed surgery to reconstruct his nose and jaw.”

She learns that Mike dies two days after he is discharged from the hospital, stabbed to death in the driveway of his home. He owed a lot of people money, and that was how one of them chose to collect on his debts. Another one found a different option.

“His name was Joey Provenzano. He was one of the guys who pulled me off Mike at the bar. Said that Mike owed him over a hundred grand, and that he could either take it up with my mother or take it up with me. I didn’t like the way he smiled when he talked about my mother, so I said I’d do whatever he needed, as long as he kept them out of it.”

She learns that Joey did keep Haden’s mother and siblings out of it. He paid for them to move into a nice townhouse on the opposite side of Philadelphia, got his mother a well-paying job as a secretary and enrolled his siblings in private school. All Haden had to do was break a few bones.

“That’s how it started. He said he knew I had potential when he saw me beating the shit out of Mike. I thought underground fighting was just a thing in movies, but it’s real. And I was good at it. Joey won a lot of money off of me, and I didn’t even care. I loved the fight. I was so angry all the time, and it was the only way I knew how to do anything about it. But then Joey wanted me to do more.”

She learns that Joey had other people who owed him money, too. Other people that needed reminders in order to make those payments. Haden was their reminder.

“At first it was just a couple punches. Maybe a broken finger or two. Then it was their arms. Kneecaps. Teeth. I told myself that they deserved it. That those people were lowlifes, losers. They all had a rap sheet a mile long– assault, theft, even rape. It didn’t matter what I was doing to them, because they had already done worse to someone else.”

She learns that it eventually became too much. Haden was twenty-one when he told Joey that he wanted out. He’d made more than enough fighting to cover Mike’s debts, and he already had three deaths on his hands.

“The first was an accident. He fought back, more than I expected. I didn’t know he had a knife. Ripped me open across my side before I could get it and stick it in his gut. The second one was my fault. Joey loaned him money for a lawyer and it was on my way to his house that I found out he needed the lawyer because he had been caught touching his niece. I was supposed to break his wrist. Instead I shot him three times in the dick and watched him bleed out on his couch. I don’t regret it.

“But the third one...I still see his face. He was barely any older than me. Needed the money to pay for his mother’s chemo. He missed his last three payments, and I was supposed to rough him up enough that he would piss blood for a day or two, but nothing worse than that. But I think he knew I was coming. He pulled the gun on me, but the bullet only grazed my arm. I got the gun from him and shot him where he stood.”

She learns that Joey had agreed, and told Haden that all he needed to do was one more job, and that he’d be out. Haden believed him. Then the cops showed up and the crowbar was in his hand and Haden had cuffs on his wrist before he could blink.

“I knew that I was set up the moment I saw the red and blue lights. They offered me a deal, could’ve gotten off with parole if I named names, but I knew what would happen if I did. Once you’re in an organization like that, there’s no getting out. It was either be a snitch and die on the outside or keep my head down and do my time. 

“My mom married Joey a month after I was sentenced. They moved out of the city, but I don’t know where. All my letters were returned, no forwarding address. I didn’t have her new phone number. To this day, I still don’t know where they ended up. When I got out, all I had were the clothes I was arrested in three years before. My plan was to walk back to the city, find a shelter to stay at until I could find a place to work, but when the gates opened Uncle Walt was standing there. He drove me up here. Took me home. I never went back.”

The game continues for weeks. Penelope slowly regains her strength with each meal, and Haden rewards her by allowing her to ask him one thing in exchange for complete honesty. Once her curiosity about his childhood is satiated, she moves on to more interesting topics.

“When did you lose your virginity?”

“Sixteen.”

“Why did you have sex with Jules?”

If Haden is surprised that she knows this, he doesn’t show it. “Because she wanted to.”

“Are you going to fuck her again?”

“Maybe.”

The answer burns her, but she persists. “What’s your body count?”

“Including Remnants?”

“Wha– No. Like, how many people have you had sex with?”

“Are all of your questions going to be about sex?”

“You said I could ask anything. I didn’t think you were a prude .”

He sighs. “I’m not. And I honestly don’t know. More than ten.”

How much is more than ten? Fifteen? Twenty? Fifty? Penelope can’t even imagine having sex with that many people. 

“Do you think I’m pretty?”

“You know you’re pretty.”

“But do you think I am.”

“Yes.”

“Who was your celebrity crush growing up?”

“Denise Richards in Wild Things .”

“I never saw that.”

“Thank God.”

February. One Month Before

“No.”

Penelope is not deterred. She gingerly limps over where Haden stands by her window, arms crossed and pointedly not looking at her. Paul had come by the farm last week to check on her progress. The fact that she can put weight on her leg again is a good sign, but he’s no physical therapist. Her limp may never go away.

“Come on. You said if I ate two helpings of dinner then I could get whatever I want.”

“Not that.”

“Why not?”

“You know why not.”

She pouts, petulant. “But I want it.”

“Penelope…” His voice is a warning, one she does not heed. 

“I’ve never kissed a guy before.”

Haden arches an eyebrow. “Another reason why I’m not going to let you. Your first kiss should be spec–”

“I said I’ve never kissed a guy before,” Penelope corrects him. She thinks about Hannah, how they played spin the bottle in eighth grade and landed on each other, how they snuck off during the party to keep kissing because they liked how it felt. How they kept finding excuses to do it, practicing on each other until Hannah’s dad got a job in Connecticut and they had to move the summer before high school. She wonders if Hannah is still alive. “I didn’t say it would be my first kiss.”

Haden looks surprised for a moment and then masks his expression. “Well, it’s pretty much the same. A kiss is a kiss.”

Penelope thinks about his words for a second. “Have you ever kissed a guy before?”

“Yes.”

“ Who ?”

“If I tell you, will you drop this whole thing?”

“Nope.” Penelope pops the p and smiles. In addition to the weight she had gained back since they started this game, her usual attitude has returned in full force. “You said whatever I want. And if you go back on your word, I’ll go back on mine.”

Haden glares at her, and she can see the wheels turning in his head, calculating if he should call her bluff or not. Her appetite is back to normal, and each morning she wakes up to her stomach growling. It takes all of her self control not to sneak down to the kitchen in the middle of the night and make herself a snack, or to refrain from making double servings of every meal. She wants to keep this game going for as long as she can, and if playing a bit of pretend is what she needs to do to keep Haden’s attention, then so be it. 

He pushes off the wall and takes a step towards her. “If I let you do this,” he starts, his voice low and stern, “then it’s the end of this game, alright? You keep eating. No more rewards. Got it?”

Fuck.

Penelope thinks about it. It’s a tough trade off, but it might just be worth it. Some experiments have to fail in order for the next one to succeed. She nods. 

“Got it.”

Haden runs a hand through his curls and sighs. “Alright then. Sit down.”

Penelope takes a seat on the edge of her bed and he sits beside her. She waits for him to do something, to lean in, and it’s only when he doesn’t that she remembers the specifics of her request. 

Let me kiss you .

Damn. He’s going to make her do all the heavy lifting. 

Haden watches her impassively, his eyes guarded as she tentatively leans in. She braces her hands on his shoulders and her eyes flutter closed, inhaling his musky, familiar scent as her lips softly brush against his. The scratch of his beard tickles her cheek. His lips are chapped and a bit dry. He does not move, doesn’t even breathe as she kisses him, but Penelope can hear something pounding and doesn’t know if it’s her own heart or his.

There are no fireworks. No tingly sensation in her body or angels singing overhead. It feels plain and awkward and pretty much the same as kissing Hannah did. Actually, kissing Hannah was nicer, because Hannah actually kissed her back.

Penelope pulls away and blinks up at him. “Come on,” she whispers. “Please? Just once?”

Haden’s gaze softens, and that’s when she knows that their game isn’t over, not really. This is just the beginning.  

His hands cup her face and Haden leans in, bringing their lips together in a gentle, chaste kiss. It’s over within a second, just the most fleeting touch, and then Haden is gone from the room, the only evidence of his presence being the warmth on Penelope’s lips and the blush on her cheeks.

March. One Week Before. 

Penelope raises up out of the squat, a ten pound weight in each hand, extending her arms over her head once her legs straighten out.

“That makes twenty,” Niko says from where he’s been holding himself up one-handed on the pull-up bar for over a minute. “Look at you, Pineapples, back from the dead.”

“I feel good,” Penelope says proudly, putting the weights back on the floor and wiping her sweaty hands on the back of her pants. Her legs feel shaky in the best way, newly reformed muscles trembling from exertion. “I think I’m ready.”

“I think you are, too.” Niko drops down from the bar and picks up their swords. He tosses hers over to her. “There’s only one more person you have to convince.”

Mina watches the two of them from the kitchen window. Haden is seated at the kitchen table, combing a knot out of Killer’s fur.

“Are you going to take her with you next week?” Mina asks.

Haden doesn’t need to follow her gaze to know who she’s talking about. “If she wants to come.”

Mina snorts. “Of course she’ll want to.”

“Then I will.”

“You think she’s strong enough?”

“She’s adjusted to the limp just fine. I don’t think it’ll hold her back.”

Mina hums, not taking her eyes off of Niko and Penelope, dueling in grass, jumping between patches of melted snow. 

“Say what you want to say,” Haden tells her, still working on Killer’s stubborn snarl. The dog sits patiently, knowing that the carrot sitting on the table will be his reward for staying still.

Mina finally turns around. “How much longer are you going to let this go on?”

“It’s not–”

“It is, and you know it.” Mina comes to sit across from him at the table. “Look, I know you two care about each other a lot. I get it. I don’t think you’re some creep with ulterior motives or anything, but you need to recognize the situation you’re in. She’s seventeen, Haden. She’s seventeen and she’s beautiful and all she wants is you.”

Haden’s eyes flash. “It’s just a dumb crush. She’ll grow out of it. I’m not going to embarrass her over something that isn’t even going to last.”

“I’m not saying you have to embarrass her. Just maybe work on boundaries. A little discomfort now to prevent a big hurt later.”

Haden scrubs a hand over his face, letting out a heavy sigh. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.”

Mina smiles sympathetically, reaching over to squeeze his hand. “I know you’ll do the right thing.”

Six Hours Before

“I’m not waiting in the car,” Penelope says before Haden can open his mouth. He cuts her a look that tells her that’s exactly what he was about to say, and she smirks. “I didn’t come along to sit behind and twiddle my thumbs.”

Haden puts the truck in park and looks ahead through the windshield, at the seedy, run-down motel that probably looked worse before the end of the world. The curtains are drawn, but the windows are so dirty that even if they were open, they wouldn’t be able to see if anyone was inside.

“Paul said these guys are shady.”

“So what, you’d leave me out here alone while you go in?” Penelope opens her door and jumps out. “Without my big, strong protector? Whatever will I do?”

“Shut up,” Haden grumbles, getting out and his pace quickly overtaking hers as he moves toward the door. She stands behind him, still smirking, while he knocks. They can hear hushed voices, some clattering, then the door opens a crack. Smoke filters out– a mix of weed and something else that makes Penelope crinkle her nose– and someone puts their head in the crack, just enough for them to see their eyes. The metal chain lock hangs across their face. 

“What?” the person croaks, coughing a bit. He looks between Haden and Penelope curiously, his eyes lingering on her. She stares back and doesn’t blink, even though she wants to look away.

“We’re friends of Paul Hollander,” Haden says. “He said you might be interested in a trade.”

The man licks his lips. They’re cracked and dry, and his upper lip is a bit sweaty. “Depends on what you got.”

“Food. Some clothes.”

“Any weapons?” 

Haden’s shoulders tighten. “Maybe.”

“And what do you want in return?”

“Heard you have some moonshine.”

The man smiles. “Maybe.”

Haden doesn’t say anything, waiting. Finally the guy sniffs and turns his head back into the room. He has a weird tattoo on the side of his neck, half-obscured by a scraggly mullet. 

“Got some traders, Lee.”

Whoever Lee is, they must nod or agree, because the man closes the door and unlatches the chain and then opens the door all the way. The stench hits Penelope full force and she tries not to recoil. The man opens his arms for them to enter.

Lee is in an armchair in the corner, blonde hair piled in a messy bun on top of their head, the sides shaved. They have a joint hanging from their fingertips and they blow three perfect O’s of smoke in greeting. Penelope’s never smoked weed before. She wonders what it’s like.

Lee smiles at them. “Hello, friends of Paul Hollander. You’ve met my associate, Keith.”

“I’m Haden, this is Penelope.” Haden nods back to her. “I hope we can come to an arrangement.”

Lee takes a hit of the joint again. “I hope so, too,” they say without exhaling.

Penelope jumps when she feels Keith reach for her, running his fingers over the hilt of her sword, strapped to her back. 

“That’s a lot of sword for so little of a thing,” he says when she turns around to glare at him. “S’nearly as big as you.”

“Nearly as big as you, too,” Penelope snaps back, for Keith isn’t that much taller than her. His smirk evaporates and Lee coughs out a laugh. 

“She’s right,” Lee says through a plume of smoke. “Maybe if you’re lucky, they’ll have one more your size.”

“We have fruit and vegetable preserves, a couple loaves of bread,” Haden says. “A bar of chocolate and a bottle of whisky. Some shoes and a winter coat.”

“And the weapons?”

“Two machetes and a double-bladed axe.”

Lee whistles. “And it’s not even my birthday.”

“So you’ll trade with us?” Penelope asks. Lee smiles.

“I think we can make a deal. How many jugs do you want for all that?”

“Ten.”

Penelope looks to Haden, wide-eyed. On the drive, he said he’d be happy if they could get three. 

Lee shakes their head. “Not unless those machetes are made of gold. Five.”

“Seven.”

“Six, and you won’t insult my hospitality by asking again.”

Haden pretends to think about it for a minute. “Fine. Six’ll do.”

Lee grins. “We have a deal, then.”

Haden shoots Penelope a look. That’s how you negotiate. She’s a bit impressed.

“Keith, go inspect our new friends’ offering, make sure they’re being honest with us. Penelope can help me bring the crates.”

Haden goes to protest, but Lee waves him off. “Don’t worry, she’ll be fine. Unless those arms aren’t as strong as they look.”

Penelope is wearing a black V-neck t-shirt, which had fit fine last year but now seems like it is painted on, as she has spent the last month diligently gaining back both weight and muscle. The heat had been on in the truck so she left her jacket in the car, but now she wishes she had it on. 

But she gives Haden an encouraging look and, after instructing Killer to stay behind, he goes with Keith to show him items they had prepared to trade. The dog stays at Penelope’s heels as she follows Lee through an adjoining room and into the hallway. They follow the stained carpet– maroon with mustard yellow polka dots– until the end of the hall, where Lee opens up a door marked “Basement.”

Penelope hesitates to go down first, and Lee smirks knowingly. They take the first step down the dingy staircase, whistling as they go. Located in the basement is a makeshift distillery, and Lee hands Penelope a wooden crate.

“So, I have to ask,” they say as the two of them each fill a crate with three jugs of the clear, precious liquid. “That beefcake you’re traveling with, who is he? Your father? Brother? Boyfriend?” Lee turns around as they start towards the stairs again, waggling their eyebrows suggestively. “All three?”

Penelope flushes and nearly trips on the first step, the crate almost slipping from her grip. “Uh, what? Neither. I mean, none . I mean–”

Lee laughs. “You should see your face. Red as a tomato. I think I know which one you want it to be.”

“You don’t know–”

“Oh, I know more than you think.” The two of them reach the landing and Lee kicks the door shut behind them. “You’ll understand when you’re older.”

Penelope stiffens. She has always hated it when people said that to her, especially about her own feelings. She stews over a response as they walk back into the room, but she doesn’t get a chance to say it because Haden and Keith walk in at the same time with the supplies from the truck. Lee inspects the offerings before nodding, and Haden switches the cardboard box in his hands for the crate in Lee’s. 

“It was a pleasure doing business with y’all,” Lee says, watching from the doorway of the motel room as Haden and Penelope load the crates of moonshine into the back of the truck. They wink at Penelope as she climbs into the passenger seat, a move that Haden notices.

“What was that about?” he asks as they pull away from the motel.

Penelope picks at a loose thread hanging from her jeans. “I don’t know.”

“Did they say something to you?”

“No,” she lies, turning to look out the window. It looks like it’s going to rain. It’s just after one p.m., and if they find somewhere promising to stop soon, they can get some scavenging done before hunkering down for the night. “Are we going to trade with them again?”

“Probably, unless we figure out how to make our own moonshine. You don’t want to?”

“No, we can. Just wondering. They were kind of weird.”

Haden laughs. “Yeah. Guess you have to be, to survive all this.”

She looks over at him. “So, does that make us weird?”

“Absolutely. You most of all.”

Penelope smacks his arm. 

Twenty Minutes Before

The house is an old Victorian that Penelope picks because it looks “witchy.” There’s even a wrought iron spiral staircase leading from the second floor up to a lofty attic. They had spent the afternoon scavenging through an Applebees in an abandoned strip mall, and now Penelope is exploring the rustic attic, ripping dusty cloths off of pieces of furniture and art, sneezing every two minutes because of the dander in the air. It’s starting to rain, a soft drizzle that makes the twilight sky hazy and ominous, the soothing pitter patter of raindrops landing on the roof just above Penelope’s head.

Ten Minutes Before

Haden clomps up the attic stairs and pokes his head into the room. 

“I’m making grilled cheese and tomato soup for dinner.”

“Tomato soup?”

“Found a few cans in the pantry. Everything else was spoiled.”

Penelope nods. It’s the perfect rainy night meal. “Do you want me to help with anything?” she asks, crossing her fingers behind her back and hoping he says no.

Haden shakes his head. “Keep exploring. I’ll call you when it’s ready.”

Penelope grins and turns back to her current task, trying to pry open an ornate chest that looks like it rusted shut decades ago, eager to see what kind of old treasures lie inside. She keeps chipping at it with the curved knife she keeps strapped to her side, but it won’t budge. After a few minutes, she sinks to the floor with a frustrated huff.

Then she remembers the hammer in the toolkit they keep in the truck and jumps back to her feet. 

Two Minutes Before

Penelope grabs her sword from the bedroom they had claimed, slinging the sheath over her shoulder as she bounds down the steps. It’s just gone dark, and she’ll only be a few seconds, but she’s learned by now to never be too careful.

“I’m going to grab a hammer,” she calls to Haden as she heads to the front door. He is crouched in front of the fireplace in the living room, stoking the embers, and he doesn’t turn around as he calls back to her.

“Why do you need–”

The door slams shut, cutting off his words, and Penelope skips down the driveway, excited to find out what is locked away in the mystery chest. The rain is icy, the cold drops making goosebumps rise over her exposed skin. She jumps up onto the running boards of the truck to reach into the bed, patting around until she feels the toolbox and pulling it over.

A noise from behind her makes Penelope jump and she spins around, one hand gripping the hilt of her sword as she looks out into the darkened street. A black cat with a single white paw scurries across the lawn, slipping under a red sedan that had been abandoned on the side of the road, it’s front half run up onto the curb.

Penelope relaxes and creeps toward the car, crouching down to peer underneath it. 

“Hi there,” she coos softly, extending her left hand and rubbing her fingers together, trying to coax the cat out. Yellow eyes stare back at her, unblinking. “Come on, it’s okay–”

The yowl is guttural, haunting, and goosebumps break out over Penelope’s skin. Her first thought is that it’s the cat, even though she has her eyes on it and doesn’t see it open its mouth. Logic catches up with her quickly, and the cat darts away as Penelope whirls around to see the Remnant racing towards her, launching from an all-fours position, its ragged teeth bared.

Penelope reaches for her sword as she stands, but as she moves time seems to slow down, and she knows what’s going to happen before it does. The Remnant collides with her just as her hand wraps around the hilt of the sword, and it knocks her to the ground hard, her back hitting the pavement just as its teeth rip into her side.

March. One Second After

The pain is immediate. Hot, burning, not at all like the throbbing pain of her broken ankle. It stings in her veins, pulsing through her and splintering through every nerve ending in her body. Its teeth pierce so deep that she can feel them hit her ribs.

It hurts too much to scream.

Five Seconds After

Nearly blinded by the pain, Penelope grabs the Remnant by the jaw and summons every bit of strength she can. She peels its jaw open and uses her body weight to roll them over, dislodging its mouth and pinning it beneath her, one knee on its chest and the other on its throat. She narrowly avoids its claws, its arms flailing wildly, as she frees her sword and drives it down through its right eye. 

One Minute After

Penelope finds herself on her feet, but she doesn’t remember standing up. She has a dull awareness of the throbbing in her side– can feel the blood trickling from her wound and down her leg– but her whole body is numb. Tingling. She drops her sword to the ground next to the Remnant’s body and turns to look up at the witchy house. Her vision spins as she slowly walks up the driveway again.

Haden still has his back to her when she opens the front door. He’s coaxed the embers into a tentative flame now. Penelope doesn’t say anything as she ascends the stairs and closes the bedroom door behind her.

 Killer perks up from where he was sleeping on the bed. Blood oozes from the wound in her side, staining the cream colored carpet as the rainwater drips from her hair. Haden’s backpack is resting against the wall, right next to the nightstand. His gun sits on top of it.

With a shaking hand, Penelope reaches for it. She checks to see if it’s loaded, the way she’s seen Haden do a dozen times before. Two bullets left. 

One for you, one for me. Just in case.

Penelope sits on the edge of the bed. Killer whines and nuzzles into her side, frantically licking her cheek, her neck. How long does she have now? A few hours? The higher the bite is on your body, the less time you have before the spidery black veins creep up and infect your brain, and then you’re gone forever. 

She gingerly lifts up her shirt and examines her wound. The skin around her ribs is shredded and she can see the dark veins starting to spread out from the puncture holes, moving across her abdomen. Penelope waits for the wave of panic to overtake her, but it doesn’t come.

The gun feels like a brick in her head, weighing her down, grounding her to the moment. The barrel is cool against her temple, and she remembers the last time she had felt it there, after waking up in the strange house that is now her home and trying to steal the truck she now has so many wonderful memories in.

Her hand shakes. This wasn’t how it was all supposed to end.

Penelope tosses the gun aside and buries her face in Killer’s fur, clinging tight to his neck. What is he going to think when she’s no longer there? Who will sneak him a treat after dinner or chase him around the house when he steals a sock or pull out his ears until they’re flat and pretend he’s an airplane?

She starts crying then, wretched sobs tearing through her, muffled by Killer’s thick fur. Writing a goodbye letter is out of the question. Her hand shakes too hard to even hold the pen and her tears stain the paper. There are no words that will accurately capture the enormity of how she feels, of how much she still wants to do and see and say. Nothing that feels right to put down on paper and leave for Niko and Mina and Stacey to read after Haden finds her dead.

Haden.

Penelope’s sobs grow stronger, nearly choking her. What is she supposed to tell him, this man who has done everything in his power to keep her alive? How is she supposed to tell him that now he needs to kill her?

Ten Minutes After

The last step creaks as she reaches the landing. Haden flips a grilled cheese in the skillet with one hand and pours a can of soup into a pot with the other. “It’ll be ready in a few minutes,” he says over his shoulder. “Did you find–”

The empty soup can clatters to the ground when Haden turns around fully and sees Penelope standing there with tear stained cheeks, pastel green jeans darkened into brown from the blood that drips from her side and seeps into the fabric. The gun hangs from her shaking hand.

Haden watches, frozen in place, as she uses her free hand to raise the hem of her shirt. He lets out an odd sound when he sees her bite, a strangled noise that gets stuck in his throat, his face losing all its color. 

“No.”

Penelope sniffles and holds the gun out to him. It trembles in her grip. “Please. You have to.”

Haden shakes his head furiously, clenching and unclenching his fists. “No, you were just…”

Killer whines, nosing at Penelope’s side. “It was outside,” she says weakly. “Please. I can’t do it.”

“No, no,” he keeps saying, blowing past her to open the front door. When he sees the Remnant’s body in the street, he slumps against the doorframe.

“Haden,” Penelope whispers, and that seems to snap him out of his trance. He rushes back over to her, cupping her face in his hands, his thumbs doing the futile work of wiping the constant stream of tears from her cheeks. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. You’re gonna be okay.”

She shakes her head. “No I’m not.”

“Yes you are.” Desperation seeps heavily into his voice. “We’ll figure this out. You hear me? I just got you back. You’re not going– not going to–”

But his voice stutters when he looks down again, lifts up her shirt to see the veins crawling along her stomach and up towards her sternum. It’s his sharp inhale that does it, the hitch of his breath that matches his broken expression, that tells Penelope that he finally caught up. It’s over.

She’s going to die tonight.

“ Penny .”

The gun hits the floor and Penelope’s legs give out. She collapses into Haden’s arms, wailing, her broken, anguished sobs tearing their way out of her chest. He holds her tighter than he ever has before, one hand firmly on the back of her head, keeping her pressed close to his chest as he rocks her back and forth.

“I don’t wanna die,” she moans. Snot bubbles up from her nose and mixes in with her tears, a slimy concoction dripping off her chin as she hiccups out her pleas. “P-please, please , I d-don’t, I don’t wa-wanna di-i-ie .”

Haden doesn’t say anything, but she can feel the tremors in his chest, his shaky breath from where his lips are pressed against the top of her head. He’s crying, too. The knowledge makes her sob harder. 

Thirty Minutes After

The smell of burnt grilled cheese lingers in the air. Killer laps up the lukewarm and forgotten tomato soup from the pot. Penelope winces as Haden smooths the final bandage over her side.

“You have to do it,” she murmurs, letting her ruined shirt fall and cover her torso once more. The veins are creeping around her back now. “I’m sorry. I tried, but I couldn’t. It has to be you.”

“I know,” Haden responds. The gun remains where it had fallen from Penelope’s grip. Neither of them move to retrieve it. “We still have time.”

Penelope snorts. “Not much.”

“Better than none.” Haden blinks a few times, but it does nothing to hide the red around his eyes. “I’m not ready to be rid of you yet. You were just starting to grow on me.”

She manages a watery laugh. “Like a wart?”

“More like a fungus. You can be useful sometimes.”

“Asshole.”

Haden stands up and rummages through their pack of rations. He produces two expired protein bars, offers one to her. “Sorry about dinner.”

“Sorry I distracted you.”

They eat the bars in silence on the living room couch. Penelope can’t even taste hers. She doesn’t say anything, but she is starting to feel an ache deep in her bones, like the life is slowly starting to seep out of her. 

“You have to do it soon,” she says when they’re finished. She belatedly realizes, as she crumples the wrapper in her fist, that it was her last meal.

Haden stiffens, not meeting her gaze. “Not yet, okay? Can we...can we just have the rest of the night?”

Penelope reaches over and takes his hand. He grips it so hard that her knuckles pop. “Will you do it when I fall asleep?”

He nods once, stiffly. “Yeah. When you fall asleep.”

Three Hours After

Her notebook is still open on the bed from when she had attempted to pen her goodbyes. Penelope looks at the blank page for a moment and then snaps the book closed. 

“Will you tell them?” she asks Haden as he turns down the bed. “I tried to write something, but I just...didn’t know what to say.”

“Don’t worry,” he says. “They’ll know.”

She nods and climbs into bed. They had spent the rest of the evening on the couch, Penelope listening to the rapid beating of Haden’s heart as she sat curled up in his lap, ear pressed to his chest as he read aloud to her. They finished the book that they had been working through together, Water for Elephants . It had a happy ending, and Penelope was glad that it was the last story she was going to hear.