Charlie remembered life in the settlement—how it felt like a fragile balance between survival and fleeting moments of normalcy. It wasn't perfect, but it was stable, and stability was everything. His mom was six months pregnant, and though he didn't completely understand what that meant, he noticed the way people treated her differently. She moved slower, resting her hands on her growing belly whenever she thought no one was looking. Her usual energy was replaced by careful, deliberate movements.
For Charlie, life was a cycle of work time, learning time, and the precious moments of free time he managed to carve out. But the world outside the settlement was changing rapidly. Animals were becoming more dangerous by the day, and hunters were coming back with stories of close calls and near-deadly encounters. One man hadn't returned at all—a grim reminder of how dangerous even a short hunt could be. Yet, the settlement pressed on.
The people were changing too. The food they ate—the meat from hunted animals, the strange fruits that grew faster than they should, even the glowing roots—seemed to fill them with something more than just sustenance. Hunters were faster, stronger, and sharper, recovering from wounds in days that would have taken weeks in the old world. Charlie felt it too, in small ways. He could run longer without getting tired, lift heavier tools, and his hands didn't blister like they used to.
Charlie's work had some flexibility. Most days, he chose to help the hunters clean game. He didn't mind the blood or the smell; it felt like he was doing something meaningful, something that mattered. He figured if he wanted to be a hunter one day, he needed to learn the basics now. On days when the hunters didn't need help, he took on regular chores—hauling water, sweeping, or helping Amber sort vegetables.
His dad, as the sheriff of the settlement, was responsible for security. Though he still hunted occasionally, most of his time was spent organizing patrols, enforcing rules, and maintaining order. Charlie admired him for it, though he couldn't fully grasp the weight of responsibility his dad carried.
Learning time, however, was a struggle. The lessons were basic—math, reading, and writing—and designed for a group of kids of varying ages. For Charlie, they were too easy. His mind wandered often, earning him more than one scolding from the teacher. But survival skills and combat training were a different story entirely.
The settlement had started teaching kids how to defend themselves and survive in the wild. Not everyone approved. Some parents kept their kids out, calling it unnecessary or too dangerous. Charlie's dad didn't hold back his opinion on the matter. "Dumbasses," he'd muttered once, shaking his head. Charlie had laughed at the time but secretly agreed.
Life wasn't perfect, but it wasn't bad either. Until one night.
The hut was quiet, the thick summer air making it feel almost stifling. Curtains divided the small space, giving each family member their own corner. Charlie's parents were in one section, his sisters in another, and he had his own small area. It wasn't much, but it felt private, and Charlie liked that.
He was deep in sleep when it happened. A noise pulled him from his dreams, faint and muffled, but enough to wake him. He opened his eyes, blinking groggily in the dim light, unsure of what he'd heard. For a moment, he thought it was his parents. The older boys had been all too happy to explain the strange noises parents made at night, and Charlie had been thoroughly horrified by their descriptions. But then he heard it again—a low, uneven shuffling sound—and realized it wasn't coming from his parents' corner. It was coming from outside.
His curiosity got the better of him. Quietly, he slipped out of bed and tiptoed to the door. The cool night air brushed against his face as he cracked it open just enough to peek out.
The settlement was still, bathed in pale moonlight. Shadows stretched long and thin across the ground, distorting familiar shapes into something almost eerie. Everything looked normal at first, but then Charlie caught a faint movement to his left, just out of view. He squinted, trying to make sense of it, but the angle wasn't right.
For a moment, he thought about stepping outside to investigate. His dad's voice echoed in his mind: "Don't go off alone if something doesn't feel right." Charlie hesitated, then closed the door quietly and turned back inside.
He made his way to his dad's corner, crouching beside him and gently poking his shoulder.
"Hmm?" his dad murmured, stirring slightly. Then, as if on instinct, he snapped awake, his hand already reaching for the knife he kept at his side.
Charlie froze, startled by the speed of his dad's reaction.
"Charlie?" his dad said softly, his voice calm but alert. He lowered the knife and blinked. "What is it?"
"I heard something," Charlie whispered, glancing toward his mom, who was still sleeping on her back. Her red hair fanned out on the pillow, and her belly rose and fell with each steady breath. "Outside. I think we should look."
His dad's expression shifted, his sharp blue eyes narrowing as he processed the information. He nodded once, then reached over to shake his wife awake.
Her eyes fluttered open, and she mumbled something unintelligible.
"I'm going out to scout," his dad said quietly. "Stand watch."
She didn't say anything, just nodded and sat up, already reaching for the bow she kept within arm's reach. Her movements were calm and practiced, even in the middle of the night.
Charlie watched as his dad stood, grabbing the machete he always carried. He strapped it to his side and placed a hand on Charlie's shoulder, squeezing gently—a silent reassurance.
"Stay here," he whispered.
Charlie nodded, his heart pounding as he watched his dad slip out the door and into the night.
Charlie woke his sisters, shaking their shoulders urgently. "Get up," he whispered, his voice low but insistent. "Grab your weapons."
Amber sat up groggily, rubbing her eyes. "What's going on?"
"I heard something," Charlie replied, handing her the metal bar she kept nearby. "Dad's outside checking it out."
Amber hesitated, clutching the bar tightly. Gretchin, on the other hand, was already alert. She reached for her compound bow, her movements quick and practiced, her face tense with worry. Charlie grabbed his crossbow from the corner where he always kept it, gripping it tightly. Though he had begged his dad countless times for a knife, the answer had always been the same: "Not yet. Crossbows keep you safe at a distance."
Their mom was already awake, standing near the door with her machete in one hand and her own crossbow slung over her shoulder. Her expression was calm but focused, her blue eyes sharp as she quickly assessed the situation. Charlie explained the strange noise he'd heard and how their dad had gone out to scout.
"We should go after him," Gretchin said firmly, her voice a whisper but edged with urgency.
Their mom immediately shook her head. "No. You know the protocol," she said, her tone leaving no room for argument. "If he doesn't come back in fifteen minutes, we raise the alarm. Until then, we defend the hut. No one leaves."
The hut was dimly lit, its walls made of thick, mud-packed timber, partially dug into the ground for insulation during the harsh winters. There were no windows, an intentional design to retain heat and provide better security. Charlie's corner was tucked behind a stack of storage crates filled with dried meat and supplies, the perfect place to hide in case of danger.
Amber stayed near the back, clutching her metal bar nervously, while Gretchin positioned herself near their mom, her bow at the ready. Their mom crouched by the door, her machete resting on her knee, her crossbow ready to fire at a moment's notice. Charlie slid into the shadows behind the crates, pressing his back against the rough wood. From his hiding spot, he could see through the narrow slats, giving him a clear view of the door without being seen.
Minutes passed in tense silence. Charlie's heart pounded in his chest, the cool wood against his back doing little to ease his rising anxiety. Then, at the ten-minute mark, a voice broke through the quiet.
"Attack! We're under attack!"
It was his dad's voice, booming and full of urgency.
Gretchin started to rise, but their mom reached out, gripping her arm. "No," she said firmly. "You know the drill. Stand and defend."
Charlie's grip on his crossbow tightened as the sounds of chaos grew louder outside. The bell was ringing, accompanied by shouting, the clash of weapons, and the occasional scream. The ground seemed to vibrate beneath them, the fight moving closer.
Then came the voices, loud and distinct.
"We need to go," a man said, his tone sharp. "Captain called the retreat."
"Not yet," another growled. "Not till I get my spoils—and something to warm my bed. I ain't leaving empty-handed. We've still got the gate."
"But—"
"Check this hut. Looks untouched."
Charlie froze as the sound of approaching footsteps grew louder. His dad's rule rang in his mind: "Never go into a hut that isn't yours during an attack. It's the law of survival." But clearly, these men weren't following any rules.
The door creaked as someone pushed it open. His mom and Gretchin didn't hesitate. They fired in unison, their bolts whistling through the air.
The first figure—a boy, no older than seventeen—staggered back with two arrows lodged in his chest. He collapsed outside the door, his body crumpling like a puppet with its strings cut.
Before anyone could react, a second man burst in, a large shield strapped to his arm. Amber froze in the corner, her eyes wide with terror as tears streamed down her face.
Their mom fired her crossbow, but the bolt deflected harmlessly off the man's shield. He lunged forward, swinging the shield with brutal force. The edge struck her across the forehead, Charlie's heard a sickening crunch as the man shield hit her, sending her stumbling back into the wall with a sickening thud.
Another man followed close behind, but Gretchin was ready. She loosed another arrow, striking him in the shoulder. He cried out and dropped to one knee, clutching at the wound. Gretchin dropped her bow and drew her dagger, gripping it in the way their dad had taught her—blade forward, stance steady.
The man with the shield sneered as he stepped toward her. "A fiery redhead, huh?" he said, his voice dripping with malice. "Think I'll take you home with me."
The way he looked at her made Charlie's stomach churn. His hands clenched tightly around the crossbow, his knuckles white. He pressed himself further into the shadows of the crates, the cool darkness enveloping him. His mom's words echoed in his mind: "Be smart. Wait for the right moment."
The hunters' advice came to him, sharp and clear: "Strike when they least expect it."
Charlie steadied his breathing, his small frame coiled like a spring, his eyes locked on the man with the shield. His heart pounded as he waited, the world narrowing to a single thought: Now or never.
The man looked to be in his thirties, his build powerful and solid, muscles straining under a torn leather vest. His face was weathered, his jaw lined with stubble, and his dark eyes gleamed with a dangerous mix of arrogance and malice. In one hand, he held a heavy metal club, its surface dented and stained, and in the other, a large shield with deep scratches across its surface.
Gretchin squared up, gripping her dagger tightly, her knuckles white. Though the small space of the hut restricted her movement, she had trained for this with their dad. Countless drills in tight circles, mimicking the size of the hut, had prepared her for close-quarters combat. Her stance was solid, her dagger held low and ready, just as their dad had taught her.
The man grinned as he stepped closer. "You've got fire, don't you?" he sneered. "I like that."
Gretchin didn't respond. Her eyes were locked on his, her body coiled like a spring, waiting for the right moment.
The man lunged, swinging the club in a feint, but Gretchin didn't bite. She darted back just enough to avoid his reach and sliced at his arm, the blade nicking his skin and drawing a thin line of blood.
"Damn it," the man growled, his grin widening as though he enjoyed the challenge. "You really are fiery. Can't wait to make you mine."
Charlie watched from his hiding spot behind the crates, his small frame pressed tightly against the rough wood. His mom had insisted he stay out of sight, hidden until it was time to act. He gripped his crossbow tightly, his breath slow and deliberate as he stared at the man.
The way the man leered at Gretchin made Charlie's stomach churn with anger. His fingers twitched on the crossbow's trigger, but he didn't fire. Not yet. He breathed in and out, steadying himself. From the shadows, his sharp gaze followed every move the man made. Anyone who saw him at that moment would have wondered how an eight-year-old could look so cold, so calculating.
The man advanced again, swinging his club in a low arc, aiming for Gretchin's legs. She jumped back, her movements quick and precise. He pressed forward, using his shield to try to pin her against the wall, but Gretchin sidestepped and slashed at his side. The blade grazed him, drawing another shallow cut.
"You're making this fun," the man said, his voice dripping with mockery. He swung the club in another feint, this time aiming high. Gretchin ducked under it and jabbed toward his chest, but he deflected the blow with his shield, shoving her back a step.
Gretchin kept her ground, her stance unwavering despite the cramped space. The two circled each other, exchanging strikes and dodges. Every time the man lunged, Gretchin evaded, her dagger flashing in quick, precise movements.
But the man was stronger, and he wasn't playing fair. Without warning, he hurled his shield at her. The heavy metal disk slammed into Gretchin's gut, knocking the wind out of her. She staggered back, gasping for air, and before she could recover, he was on her.
His hand shot out, wrapping around her neck. He pinned her against the wall, his grip tightening as she struggled. "Time to sleep," he sneered, his voice low and menacing.
With his other hand, he grabbed her wrist, forcing her to drop the dagger. Gretchin's feet kicked helplessly, her face turning red as she clawed at his arm.
Charlie's heart raced as he raised his crossbow, but before he could fire, Amber suddenly sprang into action.
With a loud cry, she swung her metal bar with all her strength, striking the man squarely in the back. He grunted in pain, releasing Gretchin as he staggered forward.
The man spun around, his face twisted with rage. Without hesitation, he punched Amber in the face, the sickening sound of breaking bone echoing through the hut. Amber cried out as she fell, blood streaming from her nose.
Charlie's grip tightened on the crossbow, his anger boiling over.
Gretchin, still gasping for air, scrambled to grab her dagger. With a surge of strength, she drove the blade upward, the point piercing the underside of the man's jaw. His eyes widened in shock as blood bubbled up, gurgling in his throat. He tried to speak, but only a wet rasp escaped before his body collapsed.
Gretchin stumbled back, her breathing ragged. She turned, her back to the door, checking on Amber, who lay cradling her face, tears and blood mixing.
Neither of them noticed the third man—the one Gretchin had shot in the shoulder—staggering to his feet. Blood dripped from his wound as he grabbed a knife and lunged toward her.
Charlie saw him.
From his position behind the crates, he raised the crossbow, his small hands steady despite the chaos. His dad had always taught him to aim for the center of mass, but Charlie adjusted his aim. The man was too close to Gretchin. There was no room for error.
He exhaled slowly and pulled the trigger.
The bolt flew true, striking the man directly in the right eye. He froze for a moment, the knife slipping from his hand, before collapsing lifelessly to the ground.
Gretchin spun around at the sound of the body hitting the floor. Her wide eyes flicked from the fallen man to Charlie, still crouched behind the crates with the crossbow in his hands.
For a moment, they just stared at each other, the weight of what had happened settling between them.