Cato bristled. "What's your deal?"
The guy smirked, clearly enjoying our irritation. "The name's Nero. You're welcome, by the way."
"Nero," I repeated, the name rolling awkwardly off my tongue. "And where exactly are you taking us?"
He glanced at me again, his smirk fading into something slightly more serious. "Air Force Base Hope. Ever heard of it?"
I shook my head, but Cato's expression darkened.
"Hope's a real place?" Cato asked. "I thought it was just a rumor."
"Oh, it's real," Nero said. "Big military base, decent defenses, and a whole lot of supplies. You'll love it. Only catch is... it's nine days away."
"Nine days?" I echoed.
"Yeah," Nero said, his tone flat. "Nine days through hell. The Wasteland's not exactly a smooth ride, in case you haven't noticed."
The truck bounced along the uneven ground, the landscape shifting from jagged rock to open plains as Nero navigated through the Wasteland.
Daya leaned back in her seat, her face pale but her breathing steady. Cato stayed quiet, his jaw clenched as he kept a hand on the knife at his hip.
"So, what's your story?" I asked Nero after a while, breaking the tense silence.
"My story?" he said, glancing at me with a mockingly incredulous expression. "Why? You writing a book?"
"Just making conversation," I said, rolling my eyes.
"Well, here's the short version," he said. "I used to be stationed at Hope. Got sick of the rules, took a truck, and now I'm here. That's it. End of story."
"Sounds like you're a real team player," Cato muttered.
"Hey, don't knock it," Nero shot back. "If I hadn't been out here, you three would've been Dust food by now."
Cato looked like he wanted to argue, but I cut in before things could escalate. "What's waiting for us on the way to Hope?"
Nero's grin returned, sharp and cocky. "Oh, you know. The usual—bandits, rogue machines, maybe a few lovely creatures like your buddy Red. And, of course, the occasional Dust storm."
Daya groaned softly. "Great."
"Relax," Nero said. "As long as you stick with me, you'll be fine. Probably."
"Probably?" I asked, glaring at him.
He shrugged. "Hey, no guarantees in the Wasteland, sweetheart."
As the sun dipped below the horizon, Nero pulled the truck to a stop near an outcropping of rocks.
"We'll camp here for the night," he said, cutting the engine. "Get some rest. Tomorrow's gonna suck."
"You're really good at pep talks," I muttered, climbing out of the truck.
Nero chuckled. "You'll get used to me."
Somehow, I doubted that.
As we set up a makeshift camp, I couldn't shake the feeling that our luck was about to run out. Nine days was a long time, and Nero's arrogance didn't exactly inspire confidence.
The Wasteland was eerily quiet at night, the kind of silence that made you hyperaware of every creak, shuffle, or whisper. We had settled into uneasy sleep under the outcropping of rocks, the truck parked close by for a quick escape. Nero had insisted on taking the first watch, leaning lazily against the truck with a rifle slung over his shoulder.
I drifted in and out of sleep, my dreams filled with shadows and the hiss of the Dust. When the sound came, at first, I thought I was still dreaming—a low growl, deep and guttural, like the rumble of distant thunder.
Then a hand clamped over my mouth, and I jolted awake.
Nero was crouched beside me, his face inches from mine, his sharp eyes glinting in the faint moonlight. His hand was firm but not rough, a clear warning rather than an attack.
"Shh," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "Don't make a sound."
I nodded slowly, and he pulled his hand away.
"What's going on?" I mouthed.
"Bendoras," he said, his expression grim. "Half-dogs, half-hyenas. They hunt in packs and don't leave much behind. We've got a small window to not be dinner."
My stomach twisted at the name. I'd never seen a Bendora, but I'd heard stories—stories of their razor-sharp teeth, their relentless pursuit, and their eerie, almost human-like intelligence.
"What do we do?" I whispered.
"Wake the others," he said. "Quietly. Tell them to keep their mouths shut and stay low. If we're lucky, they'll move on."
He moved like a shadow, silent and swift, as he returned to the truck. I crawled over to Daya and gently shook her awake.
"Daya," I whispered, my heart pounding. "Get up. Don't make a sound."
Her eyes fluttered open, groggy and confused. "What's—"
I pressed a finger to my lips, and her expression shifted to fear. "What's going on?" she mouthed.
"Bendoras," I whispered back. "Stay quiet."
She nodded, her movements stiff as she sat up.
Cato was next. He woke instantly, his hand already on the hilt of his knife. "What is it?" he asked in the softest whisper he could manage.
I repeated Nero's warning, and he nodded, his expression hardening.
The growls grew louder, more distinct, punctuated by strange yipping sounds that sent chills down my spine. The pack was close.
Nero crouched near the truck, his rifle trained on the darkness. He didn't fire, though. Instead, he gestured for us to stay low and still.
A shadow darted across the edge of the camp—a creature with the lean, muscular body of a dog but the hunched shoulders and spotted fur of a hyena. Its eyes glowed faintly in the moonlight, and its teeth gleamed as it sniffed the air.
Another one appeared, then another, their movements jerky and predatory.
Daya clutched my arm, her nails digging into my skin. I didn't dare move.
The Bendoras circled the camp, their growls rising and falling like some twisted symphony. One of them approached the truck, its nose twitching as it sniffed the tires. Nero stayed perfectly still, his finger hovering over the trigger.
Minutes felt like hours as we waited, frozen in place. The pack seemed to lose interest, their growls fading as they moved on.
But just as I thought we were in the clear, one of them stopped. Its head snapped in our direction, its glowing eyes locking onto mine.
My breath caught in my throat.
Nero moved faster than I thought possible, raising his rifle and firing a single, silenced shot. The Bendora collapsed with a quiet thud, and the others scattered into the night, their growls fading into the distance.
We stayed frozen for a long moment, waiting to see if they would return. When it became clear they were gone, Nero lowered his rifle and let out a slow breath.
"You're welcome," he said, his voice low and dripping with sarcasm.
"What the hell was that?" Cato demanded, his voice shaking with anger.
"Bendoras," Nero said simply, slinging his rifle over his shoulder. "Like I said. Packs of nightmares. And now you've officially met them."
"We could've been killed," Daya said, her voice trembling.
"Yeah, well, you weren't," Nero replied, his smirk returning. "Guess that makes it a good night."
I glared at him. "You knew they were out there. Why didn't you warn us?"
"I did warn you," he said, turning to climb back into the truck. "The Wasteland's full of shit like this. Get used to it. Hope's still nine days away."