The Fire Beneath Her Skin

It felt like a milennia had passed before The Awakening reshaped our world beyond recognition.

I was twenty-four when the chaos erupted— every system we trusted collapsed overnight. My family fled with the Renegades, abandoning the remnants of our old life for a hidden commune deep in what used to be the state of Pennsylvania.

If you weren't among the chosen— the Awakened that is— you were little more than refuse. Martial law swept across the nation as people tore each other apart in the streets. Those deemed "unfit" were forced from their homes; others vanished on their own terms, hoping anywhere was better than here. But that was the thing— this was the new normal almost everywhere in the world now. It truly didn't matter where you were anymore.

The Awakened manifested powers that varied wildly. Casters could summon magic through etched sigils and inked incantations. Others shaped reality with nothing but raw willpower.

Then there were the Shifters, whose bodies bent and warped into whatever living creature that they wanted. I watched my childhood best friend swell into the shape of a bear, his muscles ripping through fabric— it happened in the early days, before we understood what was happening. I still have the occasional nightmare about it, but I mainly keep it to myself.

Above them all were the Keepers. No one knew the true scope of their abilities—not unless you ranked high enough within the new government to witness it firsthand. These were special recruits— the ones who were taken whether they wanted to go or not. If you were different in any way, the government wanted you. Probably to use as some sort of weapon.

And then... there was me.

I never told a soul what I could do. Not my parents. Not my siblings. Not anyone in the commune. I was terrified of being taken from my family—terrified of being "recruited."

I only knew one thing: whatever lived inside me felt like breathing fire through my lungs, hunger curling at the edges of every feeling I had. My power fed on emotion. Once, in a moment of panic, I made a thunderstorm break out in the dead of winter. Another time, during a summer heat wave, snow flurried around me like confetti. I could change the temperature around me, if I wanted to. Stifle the flicker of a flame. I tried to explore my abilities when I could, but you didn't have much privacy here.

Life in the commune felt like stepping backward in time, as if rejecting the world would somehow keep it from noticing us. The women tended the gardens, gathered herbs, and scavenged the forests for anything useful. The men hunted whatever they could— squirrels, rabbits, deer, sometimes even bear, just to keep us fed.

Occasionally, someone would volunteer (or be chosen) to go into town for luxuries we couldn't make ourselves. Paints, fabrics, tools, small comforts that made life bearable. It was dangerous, but the rewards were worth it.

We'd only ever lost one person that way.

Rylie Stover. He never returned, and no one knows whether he ran... or was taken. He left behind a wife and two children. Before all this, he'd been a successful lawyer. He had even just celebrated his 50th birthday. In the ten years we've lived here, people have left by choice before— but no one's ever simply disappeared, or not come back.

Being a Renegade now means treason. Or so decrees the new regime— the Covenant States of America, or whatever grandiose name they've given themselves now. First came the return of electrocution. Then private gallows. And finally, public executions made their triumphant return, drawing crowds just like the old days.

Today marks exactly one year since Rylie vanished. Our community is holding a remembrance ceremony in the little church at the center of our home, honoring the man who risked everything for us.

Two years we've survived here— two years hidden from the eyes of the new world. Somehow, by luck or grace or something darker, we've remained invisible. For now.

It was my responsibility to make a cake for fifty people, so I decided to put all my focus on that this morning. I still lived with my parents in the small cabin built for us. It wasn't large by any means, but it had everything we needed.

The pride and joy of our home was the kitchen—our assigned duty in the commune was cooking and baking for the community, so naturally it became the biggest room in the house.

I poked and prodded at the kindling in the hearth, trying to chase away the December chill. For some reason, the fire didn't want to stay lit this morning. As I stood and walked away, I gave a small twist of my hand, focusing my emotions toward the stubborn flame.

A loud WOOSH answered me.

I spun around to see the hearth roaring with an enormous blaze. My heart lurched as I quickly turned my hand in the opposite direction, pushing my panic down as hard as I could. The flames shrank to a manageable level. I still couldn't get a handle on this, no matter how hard I tried.

With a frustrated huff, I returned to my recipe book, flipping until I found my favorite Texas Sheet Cake dessert. We'd been lucky to get a surplus of pecans from town this week, and they needed to be used.

I pulled my long, blonde hair up into a loose bun, and as I'd just started gathering ingredients, I heard footsteps shuffling down the hallway.

"Rebekah? You're up early. It's not even seven yet."

My dad stepped into the kitchen, his dark hair a jumbled mess, and headed straight for the pantry—probably checking to see if we had any coffee left.

"Yes, well," I said, "the celebration starts just before noon, and I figured I'd get the kitchen ready for breakfast. We offered to feed the Davids and the Hoffmans today, remember?"

He let out an annoyed sigh as he set a kettle of water over the fire.

"I used to be an architect, not a chef," he muttered. "We made good money. Had a good life. And now we're reduced to this." He stared into the flames like he could still see the old world in them.

"And I wanted to become an artist," I replied quietly. "Life didn't turn out the way either of us planned."

He smirked slightly before returning to the kitchen island, kettle and coffee in hand.

"One could argue that what you do is art."

"Oh sure," I scoffed. "And I suppose assembling cakes is humble architectural work for Sir Robert the Great," I retorted.

My dad shot me a side-eye as he moved toward the stove, which only made me laugh. We settled back into our tasks, and I did my best to juggle the two things at once.

A knock sounded on cue— neighbors picking up bread and eggs. I quickly wiped my hands on my apron as I made my way over to the door, seeing a familiar face shyly peeking through the glass pane at me.

His name was Brennan Matthews— he had to be around my age, maybe a little bit older. He was only a part of our community for the past few months, and he mainly kept to himself. He had his tactical bow strapped around his chest, and I saw a few squirrels dangling at his belt. Slim pickings today.

As he saw me open the door, his sharp features softened by a shy, half-formed smile and his tousled dark curls fell into his deep brown eyes. I ushered him inside quickly and out of the cold.

"Same as usual?" I said with a smile as I began to root around in our pantry.

His appearance was slender but strong, and he moved with the natural grace of a seasoned hunter, every step careful and deliberate. Though new to the camp, he carried the weight of someone who'd grown up too fast, speaking little but revealing warmth and a dry, unexpected humor whenever he did. Clever, quick, and a bit foxlike, Brennan always seemed both aware of everything around him and quietly unsure of where he truly fit in, giving him an air of mystery that was hard to pinpoint.

"Yes ma'am," he said politely as he glanced around the room. "Good morning, Mr. Avery."

"As to you, Matthews." He grunted, eyeing him up and down as he scratched at the eggs on the stove.

Something about Brennan tugged at me in a way I couldn't fully explain. A few weeks back, I'd seen him on his porch painting at a large easel, completely absorbed in whatever world he was creating. It felt like I'd glimpsed a secret part of him— not the hunter everyone saw, but someone more complex. But he kept to himself, so I tried to respect that and kept my distance.

I gathered a smaller loaf of brioche, with a half dozen eggs, cheese, and a blueberry muffin and placed them in a brown bag for him. Here we traded tangible goods instead of money— dollars no longer really held a value unless we had to go into town. He handed my dad the squirrels before I handed over his bag.

"How is little Nate?" I asked, trying to keep the conversation light. His younger brother was the only family that he still had.

"Not good..." he said to my surprise. "He's come down with something absolutely awful. I hope Doc can see him today."

The worry in his voice was very concerning. I'd never seen him look that way before.

"If you need anything... please, don't hesitate to ask." I responded gently. My dad didn't seem as welcome to the idea of offering more than what we could handle, but I ignored him.

"Thanks, Bekah... You two have yourselves a good morning," He said as he turned and left the house.

My dad seemed to keep his eyes on me while I went back to work, trying to get a read for what was going through my head. I quickly changed the subject.

"Where's Mom at this morning?" I asked as I finished up the cake batter and slid the pan into the oven.

"She's not feeling well, either." Dad said with a shrug. "She had a fever last night, I gave her some medicine and she was still sleeping when I got up this morning, so I figured I'd let her rest."

We had a few more neighbors stop by for their usuals, and then I handed my dad the wrapped meals to take to their respective houses.

"May your journey be swift," I said sarcastically as he bundled himself up.

"And to you, my lady," he replied with equal enthusiasm before stepping out into the freezing morning air.

Once the cake was finished, I headed back to my room with relief. I was already exhausted and dreamed about taking a quick nap before we headed to the celebration— but I desperately needed to change my clothes.

As I made my way to the wardrobe, I caught my reflection in the vanity mirror— my cheeks were still flushed from the hearth's heat, and a few wisps of pale blonde hair escaped the messy bun I'd twisted it into earlier. My skin looked even paler beside the faint pink in my face, and flour still dusted my forehead. My blue eyes stared back at me, tired but bright, carrying that restless energy I never managed to hide. I looked soft, gentle... but nothing like someone capable of nearly setting the house on fire.

I found a casual, long sleeved, dark teal dress and put it on. I fixed the turtleneck around the front and cleaned myself up in the bathroom to try to make myself look more presentable.

And then, I heard my mother's faint voice call for me from her bedroom.

"Bex? Are you there?"

Her voice sounded strained and weak.

"Coming mom!" I cried out as I swiftly made my way over to her room. I opened up the wooden door slowly as I peaked around in the dark room. The curtains were pulled shut, but a soft lamp lit some of her sickly face from her bedside table.

"You look dreadful," I said concerned as I stood at the foot of her bed.

"I... I think I need to see a doctor." She said before coughing profusely.

I walked over to her and gently placed the back of my hand on her head, and it felt like she was burning up.

"Dang, yeah. You know, Dad just went and delivered breakfast to Dr. David. I'll run over quick to see if he has any time to see you. Do you need anything before I go?"

She shook her head no and I hurried out of the door, snagging an overcoat before making my way over to the David's cabin.

It seemed unusually quiet this morning— usually our neighbors would be out and about either walking dogs or going for a morning stroll in the woods.

The Davids kept their spot meticulously clean and tidy. Their plants well kept, leaves well swept. As I walked up onto their porch I noticed that the door was slightly ajar. I took it upon myself to still knock politely.

"Mr. and Mrs. David? Is anyone home?"

I could hear clattering and commotion coming from inside. When they heard my voice, it quieted, and I quickly saw my dad and to my surprise, Brennan directly next to him. They seemed distressed.

"Is everything alright?" I asked as they quickly shut the door. My dad pulled on my shoulder, motioning for us to leave.

"It's Dr. David and their son. They're both severely ill," he said concerned.

"What? Is it—"

"The same exact thing that your mother has, so it may seem so, yes." He said as he pulled me to the end of their walkway.

"We have to go into town for medicine, and see if there are others before this outspreads too bad," he instructed. "Dr. David said that everyone who's ill needs to be quarantined as best as possible."

"I can go," I said.

The two of them looked at each other in shock. It kind of stung a little bit with them thinking that I couldn't handle a simple trip to the pharmacy. Having these powers would give me an advantage, anyways. I would blend right in and could use them if need be... or at least try to, anyways.

I stood firm and continued, "If Dr. David tells me what I need... I can go."

My dad looked at me like he didn't believe me.

"I'll go with her, Sir. If that's okay. I'll make sure that we both return safely. I remember the local pharmacy down on Kline Avenue." Brennan added to my surprise.

I wanted to make a smart comment, to tell him that I didn't need him, but my dad probably wouldn't buy it.

"The people here need you, Dad, and you need to start checking for who is and isn't sick. You can trust me— I can do it." I tried to say reassuringly.

My dad looked around and sighed before pulling a crumpled up piece of paper and balled up money out of his pocket.

"This is the list. Don't draw attention to yourself...and make sure you're back before sundown."

I nodded in agreement and took the note.

Doxycycline Antibiotic

Acetaminophen

NSAIDs

Cough Syrup

It didn't look too bad. The hard part would be getting the antibiotics, but I decided to just try to wing it when I got there. I had three crisp $100 bills and depending on what I could get my hands on, this wasn't going to take me far.

"Take the Jeep, and please be safe Bex," my dad said as he hugged me. "Don't let them get to you."

"Never," I replied as Brennan and I quickly ran to my house to prepare to leave.

My heart pounded inside my chest so hard it hurt. For the first time since we'd disappeared into the woods and tried to pretend the world couldn't touch us— I felt alive. Not safe, not calm... alive. It was terrifying and thrilling all at once, this sense that the next few hours could change everything.

I wasn't exactly thrilled about having Brennan along— this was supposed to be my mission, it was my first time volunteering. But even as irritation prickled at me, I couldn't deny the comfort of knowing I wouldn't be walking into danger alone. I hated needing anyone. Still... a small part of me was thankful he'd chosen to come.

"Want me to drive?" Brennan offered as I graciously handed him the keys.

"Say less," I replied, hopping into the passenger seat.

We both settled in and took off, hoping for the best as he began to zig zag his way through the forest and toward civilization.