Ready
The fire had burned down to glowing embers by the time morning light filtered weakly through the high barred windows of the cell block.
I stirred slowly cocooned in warmth between Lincoln and Mason their bodies heavy and solid around mine. Lincoln’s shirt still draped over me like a dress soft and carrying his scent while the blankets kept the lingering chill of the prison at bay. My body ached in the best way deliciously used, a little sore between my legs and in my ass, but nothing sharp or worrying. Just the satisfied throb of having been thoroughly claimed.
A large calloused hand stroked down my side gentle but insistent.
“Time to wake up, malyshka,” Lincoln murmured against my temple his voice rough with sleep but already steady. He pressed a slow kiss there then another to my cheek.
Mason’s arm tightened around my waist from behind his nose brushing the nape of my neck.
“Mmm. Our pretty girl’s still glowing from last night. But we’ve got work to do today. Armory push starts proper if the test run holds.”
I made a soft protesting sound and burrowed deeper into the blankets not quite ready to leave the cocoon. “Five more minutes...”
Mason chuckled darkly the sound vibrating through my back. “None of that. Up you get.” He nipped lightly at my shoulder then rolled away with a groan the cool air rushing in where his heat had been.
Lincoln sat up next stretching his broad shoulders with a quiet pop. The firelight had long faded but the weak daylight caught on the lines of muscle and old scars across his chest. He looked over at me with those calm assessing eyes a small smile tugging at his mouth. “You did good last night. Real good. Knee feels okay this morning?”
I flexed my leg experimentally under the blankets. A faint deep ache lingered from the previous day’s movement and the... more vigorous activity, but nothing that wouldn’t loosen up. “It’s fine. Solid.”
“Good.” He leaned down and kissed me properly slow, deep, claiming before pulling back. “Stay put for a minute. We’ve got a surprise for you before we head out.”
Mason was already moving around the small cell with quiet efficiency pulling on a clean thermal shirt and his boots. He glanced back at me with that smug predatory smirk. “Don’t get too comfortable, красивый. You’re coming with us today, remember? But first... breakfast upgrade.”
Lincoln grabbed one of the empty cups from the cafeteria and headed toward the barred door. Mason followed and I heard them murmuring low in Russian as they stepped out into the cleared hallway, leaving the door unbolted but propped open. I sat up slowly wincing just a little at the pleasant stretch in my muscles and tugged Lincoln’s shirt down over my thighs. My skin still felt incredibly soft and smooth from the shower and shaving the night before hypersensitive in places that made me blush just thinking about it.
A few minutes later they returned Mason carrying a small pot of steaming water he’d obviously boiled over a quick fire in the fire bucket outside in the hallway and Lincoln holding a couple of the precious packets of cocoa powder they’d scavenged from the cafeteria stores along with a small bag of sugar. The smell hit me immediately rich, chocolatey, and warm. My stomach fluttered with unexpected delight.
“Hot cocoa?” I asked unable to keep the smile out of my voice as I pushed myself up to sit cross-legged on the pallet.
“Da,” He said yes in Russian simply setting the cups down. Mason poured the boiled water carefully into each then Lincoln tore open the cocoa packets and stirred in generous spoonfuls of sugar with a scavenged plastic spoon. The steam curled up sweet and comforting cutting through the cold concrete air like a small luxury in the middle of the apocalypse.
They handed me the first cup, both of them watching as I wrapped my hands around it and took a cautious sip. It was hot, sweet, and chocolatey far better than the instant coffee or plain warmed beans we’d been living on. The warmth spread through my chest instantly chasing away the last traces of sleep.
“Oh my god,” I sighed happily closing my eyes for a moment. “This is perfect. Thank you.”
Mason settled beside me on the pallet his thigh pressing against mine as he took his own cup. “You earned it, malyshka. Kept up with us yesterday without complaint. Moved smooth. Quiet when you needed to be.” His free hand rested on my knee his thumb stroking lightly over the bare skin where Lincoln’s shirt had ridden up. “And you took us so fucking well last night. Figured our good girl deserved something sweet before we push deeper today.”
Lincoln sat on my other side his larger frame boxing me in comfortably. He sipped his cocoa then leaned over to press a kiss to my shoulder. “Drink up. We’ll eat some of the peaches and crackers too we need the energy. Then we gear up. Same rules as yesterday you stay between us or right behind. Speak up if the knee twinges. No hero shit. And if we say fall back...”
“I turn and move without argument,” I finished for him meeting his eyes steadily. The submissive flutter from last night was still there warm and low in my belly but so was the determination. “I remember. I won’t let you down.”
Mason’s smirk softened into something fonder. “We know you won’t, красивый.”
{beautiful}
We drank the hot cocoa slowly savoring every sip in the quiet cell. The sweetness lingered on my tongue and the warmth settled deep making the upcoming push toward the armory feel a little less daunting.
Lincoln fed me a couple of peach slices from the can the syrup sticky and sweet while Mason broke a few crackers and passed them over between each of us. It felt almost domestic three people sharing a simple upgraded breakfast in the middle of a nightmare world bodies still humming from this new world.
When the cups were empty and the last of the peaches gone they helped me dress layers against the chill my gun tucked across my back the quiet bat tucked into my belt loop, knife sheathed safely. Lincoln checked my knee one last time his hands firm and careful while Mason double-checked the magazines in our weapons.
“Ready?” Lincoln asked cupping my chin again so I had to look up at him.
I nodded my heart racing with a mix of nerves and excitement. The bars no longer felt like a cage. “Ready.”
Mason leaned in from behind pressing a quick, possessive kiss to the side of my neck. “Then let’s go get that armory, malyshka. Stay close. We’ve got you.”
As we stepped out into the cleared hallway together the three of us moving as a unit for the first time. I felt the restless itch from yesterday transform into something sharper purpose. My knee held strong beneath me my body still soft and marked from their touch but my mind clear and focused. The generator’s hum was silent now power conserved but the memory of hot water and hot cocoa lingered like a promise.
Whatever waited deeper in the prison more zombies, armored guards, or unknown threats we’d face it together. And tonight, if we made it back safe, I had a feeling they’d reward their good girl all over again.
The cleared hallways felt different with three of us moving as a unitwy different than the cell they had locked me in. Dim emergency lights flickered overhead from the generator casting long stuttering shadows that danced across cracked concrete walls streaked with old blood and rust. The air hung heavy and stale thick with the cloying sweetness of decay mixed with the sharper bite of mildew and dried sweat.
Lincoln took point his rifle held low and ready but angled carefully to stay quiet his broad shoulders cutting through the gloom like a blade.
Mason flanked right behind me his knife glinting faintly in the weak light the police bat gripped loose in his other hand as he moved with that easy predatory grace every step silent on the debris-littered floor. I stayed tight between them exactly as instructed my bat gripped firmly in both hands its cool metal surface reflective ever so slightly with the overhead lights. My knife was sheathed at my hip and my gun tucked at my back as a very loud last resort.
Gunshots this deep in the prison would echo like a dinner bell through the empty cellblocks we all knew better.
I didn’t rush ahead or try to take every kill. I waited watching bat ready but still. They knew I’d survived alone for months before they found me scarred, wary, and careful, my body marked by faint white lines of old claw marks across my forearms from tress as I ran away. I’d learned when to move and when to hold position and they respected that hard earned knowledge.
The first real threat came in the admin wing’s outer offices. Lincoln eased open a heavy metal door its hinges groaning softly like a dying breath. Two zombies in torn guard uniforms shambled out from between overturned filing cabinets. Their graying skin mottled with dark bruises and dried black blood and eyes cloudy and vacant. Mason stepped in smoothly his knife flashing once under the first one’s jaw with a wet muffled crunch then again into the second’s temple. Both dropped without a sound their bodies hitting the floor with dull meaty thuds. I stayed exactly where I was covering their backs eyes scanning the deeper shadows where papers lay scattered like fallen leaves and dust motes swirled in the faint light beams. Nothing else stirred.
We dragged the bodies into a side room their limbs floppy and unnaturally heavy, the fabric of their uniforms stiff with old gore and closed the door softly behind us, the click echoing faintly before silence swallowed it again. We kept moving.
Deeper in the corridor narrowed the walls closing in like the ribs of some long-dead beast. The stench thickened old blood turned syrupy and sweet layered with the sour rot of decay and the faint metallic bite of fear-sweat long dried into the concrete. Three more infected rounded the corner ahead drawn by the faint scrape of our boots on the gritty floor. Their movements were jerky their heads twitching unnaturally as torn clothing hung in rags from emaciated frames.
Mason took the outer one with a silent knife thrust the blade sliding home with a soft sucking sound. Lincoln crushed the middle one’s head against the wall with a brutal efficient elbow strike bone cracking wetly against cinderblock. The third lurched toward Lincoln’s exposed side while he was still committed to the swing jaws snapping with a wet click.
I moved without hesitation but only as much as needed.
One quick controlled step forward bat already swinging in a tight controlled arc. The aluminum connected solidly with the side of the infected’s skull, the impact vibrating up my arms with a dull wet crack that echoed sharply in the narrow space. It staggered sideways dark fluid spraying in a thin arc. I followed through with a second precise strike to the back of its head before it could regain balance the bat sinking in with a sickening crunch. It dropped heavily at Lincoln’s feet it’s limbs twitching once before going still.
Lincoln straightened breathing steady and glanced at me. His dark eyes held quiet steady approval amid the flickering shadows. “Thank you, malyshka.”
I gave a small nod already stepping back into position between them the bat’s end now smeared with dark matter. “You had the other two. Just didn’t like the angle on that one.”
Mason wiped his knife on a pant leg and shot me a quick look over his shoulder respect clear in his expression. “Still got those sharp instincts from your solo days. Smart.”
We dragged the bodies aside leaving faint, wet drag marks on the concrete and continued without pause.
The tension rose in the old training rooms just before the armory wing.
The double doors stood slightly ajar revealing a wider space where faded blue mats lay stained on the floor heavy punching bags hanging from chains that creaked softly with every faint draft. Weight racks had tipped over, dumbbells and broken bars scattered like bones across the room. At least eight infected moved through the space some still wearing tactical vests one in full riot gear that would make short work of our current ammunition. Their low guttural moans mingled with the distant drip of water somewhere in the walls.
Lincoln signaled us to hold at the doorway while we observed their slow shuffling patterns the weak overhead lights painting their rotting forms in sickly yellow hues.
“Too many for a single rush,” he murmured, voice barely above a breath. “We pull them in small groups. Stay tight.”
I nodded. I knew how sound carried in tight spaces how one mistake could snowball into a swarm. Patience had kept me alive alone...I wasn’t about to forget it now.
The first pair came easy. Mason lured them closer with a soft scrape of his boot on the concrete. Lincoln and Mason handled both with coordinated efficient strikes their bat and knife working in quiet tandem the impacts landing with muffled thuds and wet cracks. I stayed back covering the doorway and making sure nothing else was drawn in by the faint noises.
The second group of three proved trickier. They moved with an almost coordinated urgency their clouded eyes catching the light like dirty glass. Mason dropped one cleanly. Lincoln took another. The third broke past them and charged straight at Lincoln while he was mid-swing his arms fully committed its jaws unhinging with a grotesque stretch.
I stepped in exactly when needed one measured step bat already in motion. I caught the infected low across the knees the sound ringing with a hollow clang as the creature dropped forward onto the stained mat with a heavy slap. Before it could push itself up on rotting arms I drove the bat’s end down into the base of its skull with a clean practiced crunch. It stopped moving instantly dark fluid pooling slowly beneath its head.
Lincoln finished his own target and turned his chest rising a little faster. He looked at the dead thing at his feet then at me. “That would’ve had me if you weren’t there.”
“You’ve pulled me out of worse spots,” I said simply breathing even already back in formation wiping the bat on a torn piece of mat. “We’re even now.”
Mason dragged the last body aside in full tactical gear after Mason pinned it and Lincoln shoved his knife at the bottom of its jaw and gave me a brief genuine nod pride mixed with that familiar protective edge. “Our girl remembers how to survive on her own. Good instincts. But next time, call the angle if you see it first. We don’t want you stepping out more than necessary.”
“I know,” I replied quietly bat already reset in my hands its surface now streaked darker. “I only moved because it was needed. I’m not here to play hero.”
Lincoln cupped the back of my neck for a brief second his thumb brushing my skin in silent thanks his calloused palm warm against the cool sweat on my nape. “We know. That’s why you’re out here with us.”
We cleared the rest of the training room in careful, patient bursts mostly Lincoln and Mason taking the lead while I covered flanks and only stepped in when a threat slipped through or the angle favored a quiet intervention from me. Each time I dropped one cleanly and immediately returned to my spot between them, I caught their glances steady trust and quiet respect gleaming in their eyes under the flickering lights.
By the time we reached the heavy reinforced door marked ARMORY the three of us moved in near perfect sync. Sweat had cooled on my skin beneath the layers leaving salty trails down my spine my knee holding strong with only the occasional deep familiar ache. No limping. No complaints.
Lincoln tested the door. It was locked tight, but the frame looked undamaged and there were no fresh scratches suggesting anything had forced its way in or out recently. The metal felt cool and solid under his palm.
Mason rolled his shoulders scanning the hallway behind us his muscles shifting visibly beneath his shirt. “We made it this far without drawing a horde. Solid work.”
I leaned the bat against the wall for a moment and flexed my fingers. “Told you I could pull my weight when it counted.”
Lincoln stepped close cupping my chin so I had to look up at him. His voice was low and rough with approval. “You did. Saved my ass back there twice. We both saw it.” He pressed a firm grounding kiss to my forehead his lips warm against my cool sweat-damp skin. “Tonight, when we’re back behind the bars, you’re getting properly taken care of for every smart move you made today.”
Mason pressed in from behind one big hand resting on my shoulder his breath warm against my ear. “And for remembering you only move when it’s needed. Good girl.”
I nodded the mix of adrenaline and quiet pride warming my chest like a small steady flame. “Yes.”
Lincoln straightened already turning back to the door with the tools they’d brought the faint metallic clink of picks and tension wrenches sounding unnaturally loud in the quiet. “Alright. Let’s see what’s waiting inside.”
Mason and I took up watch positions me between them again bat ready and my eyes sharp on the corridor where shadows pooled deep and threatening. I wasn’t the girl locked behind bars anymore. I was out here with them contributing exactly when it mattered surviving the way I always had only now with two dangerous, protective men at my sides who trusted my instincts and my restraint.
Whatever waited behind that armory door we’d face it together.
Lincoln worked the lock with focused precision the faint metallic clicks of the tension wrench and picks echoing softly in the narrow hallway. Sweat beaded on his brow catching the sickly yellow glow of a dying emergency light overhead. The reinforced door was a beast heavy steel scarred by years of neglect, its surface cold and unyielding under his gloved palm. Mason stood watch on the opposite side bat resting lightly against his shoulder his eyes scanning the shadows where the corridor stretched back into darkness thick as tar. I held position between them, bat gripped tight its smeared surface still tacky with dried matter and my pulse steady but thrumming with leftover adrenaline.
After what felt like an eternity of tiny careful movements a soft thunk sounded. Lincoln exhaled turning the handle. The door swung inward with a low protesting groan of hinges long unused revealing a pitch-black interior that exhaled a rush of stale dust-choked air laced with the faint oily scent of gun grease and old gunpowder.
“Clear so far,” Lincoln murmured sweeping his rifle light into the void. The beam cut through floating motes glinting off metal racks and locked cages inside. “Stay tight. Mason, rear. Malyshka, middle.”
We slipped inside one by one boots whispering over the gritty concrete floor. The armory was larger than expected rows of heavy mesh cages lining the walls, some still padlocked, others pried open and emptied by whoever had been here before the world fell.
Shelves sagged under scattered boxes of ammo a few shotguns and a rifle racked neatly like forgotten soldiers, and crates of riot gear piled in one corner their straps dangling like limp vines. The air felt thicker here cooler and drier but still carried that underlying prison rot seeping in from the halls.
We moved methodically clearing each section in silence. Mason swept left his knife flashing as he checked blind spots behind a toppled filing cabinet. I stayed centered my eyes darting to every shadow bat ready.
Lincoln took the far endhis light revealing a jackpot more clearly boxes of 5.56 and 9mm rounds, 12 gauge shot fun rounds even a few tactical vests hanging untouched. Relief flickered across his face in the harsh beam subtle but there in the slight easing of his jaw. Something he didn’t show often at all.
“Jackpot,” he said quietly his voice rough with satisfaction. “Enough to last us months if we’re smart. Load what we can carry. No noise.”
We worked fast but careful the clink of magazines and the soft rustle of fabric the only sounds breaking the heavy quiet. My backpack grew heavier with boxes of ammo the weight a comforting anchor against my spine. Mason slung a shotgun over his shoulder. Lincoln pocketed loose rounds his movements efficient his muscles shifting under his shirt in the dim light.
But as we secured the last usable crate, a faint metallic glint caught my eye through the armory’s rear doorway another corridor branching off shorter and lined with solid doors marked in faded stenciled letters. One word evidence in blocky peeling paint
My steps slowed. The evidence room. In a place like this it could hold anything contraband personal effects maybe even something useful beyond guns and bullets. A strange pull tugged at me memories of my solo days flashing scavenging every corner never leaving potential behind.
“Wait,” I whispered nodding toward the door. “Evidence room. Could be worth a quick check. Meds, tools... who knows what they locked away.”
Lincoln paused rifle lowering slightly his eyes meeting mine in the flashlight’s glow. Dust danced in the beam between us. Mason straightened from a shelf wiping his hands on his pants, leaving faint gray streaks of dust.
“Risky,” Lincoln said his voice low and even. “We’ve got what we came for. Armory’s clear, but the longer we’re here the more chance something hears us.”
“I know,” I replied gripping my bat tighter the metal grounding me. “But we’re already inside the secure wing. One quick sweep. In and out. I’ll take point if you want.”
Mason’s jaw tightened but there was that familiar glint of respect in his gaze. “She’s got a point. Could be knives, flashlights... shit that doesn’t make noise.”
Lincoln exhaled through his nose the sound sharp in the quiet. “Fine. Fast. Ten minutes max. We move as a unit. No splitting up.”
The evidence room’s dusty silence pressed in the flashlight beams slicing through floating motes and glinting off rows of clear plastic bags stacked haphazardly on metal shelves. The air was dry and chemical-sharp laced with the faint musty scent of old cardboard and sealed containers that hadn’t been touched in months. We moved carefully down the narrow aisles boots crunching softly over scattered papers and forgotten evidence tags.
Instead, we found useful things and one small discovery that actually made me pause. Lincoln pulled a heavy evidence box from a middle shelf the cardboard stiff and faded. Inside were several sturdy tactical flashlights still sealed in their original packaging, batteries included and a handful of multi-tools with knife blades, pliers, and screwdrivers that looked barely used. “These are solid,” he murmured his voice low and satisfied as he tucked two flashlights into his pack.
The beams from our current lights caught on the matte black finish promising reliable backup when ours inevitably died.Mason swept the far aisle and came back with a small cache of zip ties thick, heavy-duty ones in sealed packs and a couple of pairs of heavy leather gloves, reinforced at the palms, perfect for rough work or extra protection during clears.
“Better than what we’ve been using,” he said stuffing them into his bag with a soft rustle. “Quiet, reusable, and no noise when we need to bind something quick.”
I moved deeper into the aisle flashlight sweeping across a lower shelf labeled PERSONAL EFFECTS – CONTRABAND. Most of it was junk cracked phones, empty wallets, rusted jewelry but one small, clear evidence bag caught my eye. Inside was a sleek, matte-black folding knife with a tanto blade the handle wrapped in textured paracord. It looked well-made, balanced, and sharp even through the plastic.
The tag read “SWITCHBLADE – ILLEGAL MODIFIED – CELL 47.” Not huge but genuinely cool the kind of quiet, reliable tool that felt personal. Something I could keep close maybe even train with later in the yard. I picked up the bag, turning it slowly in the light so the blade caught a sharp glint.
“This one’s actually nice,” I said quietly holding it up for them to see. The plastic crinkled softly between my fingers.
Lincoln glanced over nodding once with quiet approval. “Good find. Keep it if you want. Could come in handy.”
Mason gave a low grunt of agreement from the next aisle. “Stash it. We’ll test the edge back at the cell.”
I slipped the bagged knife into my backpack, the small weight a tiny bright spot. It wasn’t what I’d secretly been hoping for, but it was something interesting something practical that felt like mine.
We finished sweeping the last row without finding anything else worth taking then headed out.
The walk back through the armory and corridors was quiet but smooth. We moved as a unit Lincoln on point, Mason flanking, me tight between them the earlier sync restored now that the detour had paid off in small useful ways. My knee gave only the occasional deep ache nothing that slowed me. I stayed alert bat ready scanning the shadows as we retraced our path.
After shutting off the generator again so the emergency lights shut off and conserve gasoline.
We made it back to our reinforced cell without drawing any hordes the heavy bars clanging shut behind us with finality. The space was dim and familiar, lit by a single battery lantern that cast warm flickering gold across the space.
The cell felt warmer now the battery lantern casting a soft flickering gold across the stacked mattresses and the new supplies piled neatly on the makeshift shelves out of the cots. The matte-black folding knife sat on top of my pack its paracord handle catching the light every time I glanced at it a small satisfying find that still brought a quiet smile to my lips.
Lincoln’s hand lingered on my chin his thumb brushing gently while Mason’s solid warmth pressed against my back, his fingers tracing slow circles on my shoulder.
“You did good today, malyshka,” Lincoln murmured his voice low and rough with approval. “Real good.”
Before the moment could deepen further, Mason shifted his breath warm against my ear. “There’s something else we’ve been thinking about. The fields right outside the front gate been watching them for days. A decent-sized herd has been drifting in, drawn by the open space and whatever’s left growing there. Too many to ignore if we want to keep the perimeter clear long-term.”
Lincoln nodded releasing my chin but staying close his eyes steady on mine. “We’ve got the fence on our side chain-link reinforced in places tall enough they can’t climb easy. Plan and simple we draw them up to the fence from inside then take them out safely from this side. No going out into the open. You help by calling them over make some noise with your bat on the fence lure a few at a time. We’ll hold position and finish them. Knife or bat through the links when they press up. Clean, quiet, and low risk.”
Mason’s hand squeezed my shoulder. “You’ve got steady instincts. We trust you on the lure. Once they’re thinned there’s a stream just beyond the far edge of the fields easy access to fresh water if we ever need it. Could be useful for the long haul.”
I considered it for a moment, the idea of contributing again safely from behind the fence settling comfortably. No rushing into open ground, just smart work. “I can do that. When?”
“Today,” Lincoln said without hesitation. “Light’s still good. We gear up light head out now and knock it out before it gets dark. Then we come back, lock the bars, and you get that proper unwind we promised.”
We moved efficiently gathering what we needed bats, knives, the new tactical flashlights as backup, and a couple of the heavy-duty zip ties just in case. The prison corridors felt quieter on the way to the front gate our footsteps echoing softly off concrete as the three of us stayed in tight formation. Outside the afternoon sun hung warm and golden over the overgrown fields tall grass swaying in a light breeze that carried the faint distant groans of the infected.
The chain-link fence rose tall and solid ahead, separating us from the open expanse where maybe twenty or thirty infected shuffled slowly among the wildflowers and weeds. Their movements were jerky heads twitching at every rustle.
We took position along a sturdy section of fence Lincoln and Mason on either side of me their weapons ready. I gripped my bat the cool metal familiar and slightly slick from the day’s earlier work and gave the fence a few solid rhythmic whacks. The impacts rang out with sharp metallic clangs that echoed across the field like a dinner bell.
The infected responded almost immediately. Heads snapped up their cloudy eyes turning toward the sound. A small cluster started shambling our way their feet dragging through the grass with wet rustling sounds. As they drew closer and pressed their rotting bodies against the chain-link the fence rattled under their weight as their fingers clawed through the diamond gaps and their jaws snapped with grotesque wet clicks.
Lincoln and Mason moved in perfect tandem efficient and brutal. Lincoln drove his knife straight through the links into one’s temple with a soft crunch. Mason stabbed his knife with precise strikes to their head as they slumped against the fence. I kept the rhythm going calling more over in small controlled groups never letting too many pile up at once. My bat rang against the metal again and again the vibration traveling up my arms while I stayed safely back from the reach of grasping hands.
We worked like that for nearly an hour sweat cooling on my skin under the layers as the sun dipped a little lower. By the time the last visible walker lay still in a heap on the other side, the field looked noticeably “empty” the faint glint of the stream visible in the distance beyond a line of trees. My arms ached pleasantly from the repeated swings but my knee held strong no limping.
Lincoln wiped his blade on a rag breathing steady, and scanned the treeline. “Solid work. That stream’s right there fresh water, easy reach. Makes this whole area more viable.”
Mason rolled his shoulders then turned to me with that familiar protective pride in his eyes. “You handled the lure perfectly. No risks. We’ve been talking about the sanctuary the old camp we told you about. Solid walls, good defensible spot closer to the water and alot of supplies. Now that your knee’s better and you’re moving strong again, if you still want to go check it out soon we can start planning the run. Could be a nice change of scenery once we’re ready.”
I looked out toward the distant stream and the faint outline of the denseness beyond the trees. The idea had appeal more open space running water but after yesterday’s long clear through the prison and today’s back-to-back work clearing the fields and my body was finally starting to feel steady again. The deep ache in my knee had eased into something manageable for the first time in weeks and the thought of pushing out farther right now made me hesitate. I just wanted a little more time to settle to let my body catch up without new strain.
“Can we wait a little bit longer?” I asked quietly glancing between them. “Just because I’m only now starting to feel better. I don’t want to push it too soon and set myself back.”
Lincoln exchanged a quick glance with Mason then both nodded easily no tension in their expressions. Lincoln stepped closer cupping the back of my neck with a warm, calloused palm, his thumb stroking gently. “Of course, malyshka. We don’t mind waiting at all. Your knee comes first. You’ve been healing strong take the time you need.”
Mason’s arm looped around my waist pulling me lightly against his solid side his voice low and reassuring. “Prison’s secure enough for now. We’ve got the fields starting to clear, supplies stocked, and that stream close by when we need quick water runs. We can set up a set up a blanket out here if you want later nothing big, just a spot to sit, breathe, and look at the stars. Maybe have a picnic. No rush on the old camp. Whenever you’re ready, we’ll go together.”
The late afternoon light bathed the cleared field in soft gold as we stood together at the fence the distant groans gone replaced by the gentle rustle of wind through the grass. No pressure, no disappointment in their voices just steady acceptance and the quiet heat of their bodies bracketing mine.
Lincoln pressed a slow kiss to my temple his lips warm against my skin. “Let’s head back inside, lock the bars, and get you taken care of the way we promised. Slow and thorough. You’ve pulled your weight twice over today.”
Mason’s hand gave my hip a gentle squeeze promise clear in the touch. “Good girl. Tonight’s yours, you tell us what you want
We turned together moving back toward the prison entrance in easy sync. But instead of heading straight inside Lincoln paused near the main gate area scanning the fence line with a critical eye.As though his gut was speaking before his mind.
“Uhh...Before we lock down for the night, let’s reinforce a couple weak spots on the outer perimeter,” he said. “Chain off that gap near the old visitor parking lot so nothing drifts in overnight. Won’t take long.”
I nodded still riding the quiet satisfaction of the day’s work. We grabbed heavy chains and padlocks from the supply shed near the gate cold metal links clinking softly as we carried them and walked the short distance along the inside of the fence. The afternoon sun hung lower now painting everything in warm amber and long shadows. The air outside smelled cleaner than inside the prison fresh grass, distant pine from the treeline, and the faint mineral tang of the nearby stream.
Lincoln and Mason worked efficiently threading thick chains through the fence links and securing them with heavy padlocks that clicked shut with solid finality. I helped where I could holding chains steady, and passing tools staying alert but relaxed.
The three of us moved in that comfortable rhythm we’d built no rush just the satisfying clink of metal and the occasional low murmur of coordination.
When the last section was secured we stepped back to admire the work. The fence now felt even more impenetrable, a solid barrier between us and the cleared fields. For a moment we just stood there outside the main gate area breathing in the open air.
The sun warmed my face a gentle breeze lifting strands of hair from my neck. It felt good almost peaceful after so many days of concrete corridors and dim emergency lights. Lincoln leaned against a reinforced post his arms crossed while Mason stood close beside me one big hand resting lightly on my lower back. None of us spoke much we simply soaked in the quiet the fading daylight and the small victory of another safe day.
Then the sound cut through the stillness.
A low, mechanical whine in the distance familiar, high-pitched engines revving and sputtering. Snowmobiles. Not the deep rumble of trucks or the growl of motorcycles but the sharp, buzzing snarl of lighter machines slicing over rough ground. The sound grew louder coming from the direction of the treeline near the stream moving fast.
Lincoln straightened instantly rifle coming up. Mason’s hand tightened on my back pulling me closer between them as his crossbow was quickly drawn. My own bat rose instinctively my heart kicking up a notch.
“Snowmobiles,” Mason muttered his voice low and tense. “Same sound as the ones at Haven reach.”
Lincoln’s jaw flexed his eyes narrowing toward the noise. “Maybe they ran from there Abraham was fucking Gracie. Those machines were their escape ride fast and quiet enough on snow or grass perfect for dodging hordes or escaping just like us. If they’re out here now...”
The engines grew louder two distinct machines weaving through the far trees kicking up faint plumes of dust and grass. They weren’t heading straight for the prison yet but they were close enough that the riders would spot the fence and the cleared field soon. Sunlight glinted off metal and helmets as the snowmobiles crested a small rise their engines snarling louder in the open air.
We stayed tight against our side of the reinforced fence our bodies pressed close in a protective wall around me. Lincoln signaled us to hold position no shouting no sudden movement that might draw them directly over. The snowmobiles slowed as they approached the edge of the cleared field engines idling with that same sharp. The riders wore dark gear their faces obscured by visors and scarves scanning the area.
Mason’s voice was barely a breath. “They’re scouting. Looking for somewhere new after whatever went down at the haven I bet. We stay quiet, stay behind the fence. If they come closer, we decide then talk or turn them away. But we protect what’s ours always.”
Lincoln’s hand found my shoulder steady and grounding even as his eyes stayed locked on the approaching machines. The sun continued its slow descent casting long shadows across the grass while the distant engine noise hung in the air like an unanswered question.
Whatever came next whether the riders from the fallen safe haven kept moving or turned toward our prison we faced it together, chained fences at our backs, the open air suddenly feeling a lot less peaceful.
Lincoln’s hand stayed firm on my shoulder grounding and protective while Mason’s body pressed close on my other side, His predatory grace turned even sharper his eyes narrowed toward the two snowmobiles now slowing at the far edge of the field.
One rider gestured toward the stream the other revved his engine once clearly debating whether to push closer or circle around.
Mason’s voice came low and steady, barely above a breath, his crossbow trained on the lead rider. “I think we should just take them out. They’re gonna end up taking people here and it’s not gonna be safe. Word spreads fast in this world especially from runners who just bailed on a safe haven or whatever they were here for. Next thing you know, we’ve got a whole crew showing up at our gate thinking this prison’s open for takeover or scavenging. We’ve worked too hard to secure this place. One loose end today could bring a horde of the living tomorrow.”
Lincoln didn’t lower his rifle but his jaw tightened as he weighed the words his eyes flicking between the riders and Mason. The tension crackled in the air between us thick as the fading sunlight. My own grip tightened on the aluminum bat useless here as my heart beats faster against my ribs. The riders were still a good distance away too far for easy conversation without shouting but close enough that any sudden movement from us could draw their full attention.
“They are away from the haven for a reason,”
Lincoln murmured in a rough and measured voice. “Could be they’re just looking for a new spot, same as anyone. But you’re right about the risk. If they spot us here, really spot us, and decide to come back with friends... we lose the quiet we’ve built.”
The snowmobiles crept a little closer engines growling softly as the riders navigated the uneven ground littered with the bodies we’d dropped earlier. One rider lifted a hand to shade his eyes peering toward the fence line where we stood partially shadowed by the reinforced posts. The smell of exhaust mixed with the fresh grass and distant pine turning the once-peaceful afternoon air sharp and threatening.
Mason kept the crossbow steady his finger resting alongside the trigger guard his big frame coiled like a spring. “Decision’s yours, Lincoln. But I say we drop them clean and quiet from this side of the fence. Crossbow for the first, rifle suppressed for the second. No screams and no chase. Then we drag the machines behind the treeline and strip what’s useful. Safer for her. Safer for all of us.”
I stayed silent between them. The three of us formed a tight unbreakable unit against the fence Lincoln’s rifle angled low and quiet, Mason’s crossbow locked on target. The chained links pressed cool and solid against my back a reminder of the security we’d just reinforced.
The lead snowmobile revved again the rider starting to angle toward a clearer path along the fence. Time was running short. Lincoln’s thumb brushed once over my shoulder in silent reassurance his voice dropping even lower.
“Hold steady, malyshka. We protect what’s ours.”
The engines whined louder as the riders committed to moving parallel to the fence closing the distance.
Mason’s breathing stayed even his crossbow never wavering waiting for Lincoln’s final call on whether the runners from the fallen safe haven would live or die on this quiet, sunlit afternoon.
The engines whined down as the two snowmobiles rolled to a stop about thirty yards from the fence idling roughly in the tall grass. The riders killed the motors one after the other the sudden quiet ringing loud in the golden afternoon air. Exhaust fumes drifted on the breeze, sharp and acrid against the clean scent of crushed grass and distant pine. Gross almost to the nose.
The lead rider now easily see was the one who had always made my skin crawl flipped up his visor and leaned toward the second man. His voice carried clearly across the open field in the stillness, casual and ugly.
“You know she only has those two guys with her right. If we can take out the men we can have her. I mean they stole our snowmobile after all. Maybe we can take her back to our new camp. Safe Haven’ll take her in feed her the works our doctor fixed her up once. So she owes us. Let all the guys have their way with her for all the free medical care she got. She’s still got that fight in her you can see it in her eyes it makes it better.”
The second rider broad-shouldered and rough-voiced let out a low chuckle that turned my stomach. “Yeah. Abraham here agrees. Bitch caused enough trouble running off. We find her, we finish those two assholes quick, then she’s ours again. Doctor patched her knee last time if we hurt her dragging her back the doctor can do it again while the rest of us take turns. Fair trade for the machine she stole.”
Mason’s jaw clenched so hard I heard the faint grind of teeth. His crossbow never wavered now locked dead-center on the uncomfortable one’s chest. A cold quiet smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he breathed the words for only us to hear.
“I’ll enjoy this.”
Lincoln’s free hand shifted subtly on his suppressed rifle his eyes flat and murderous in the slanting sunlight. The protective rage rolling off both men was palpable solid unyielding and wrapping around me like armor. They had noticed him the instant the visor came up. No words needed. The recognition had been instant and mutual.
The two men kept talking in low tones gesturing toward the prison buildings and the stream completely unaware of the three of us standing motionless in the shadows of the reinforced fence line. I didn’t speak. I simply stayed in formation trusting the two dangerous men bracketing me to handle what came next.
The uncomfortable rider reached for something in his jacket still laughing under his breath about “breaking her in if the two men I’m traveling with hadn’t already.” the man nodded already scanning the fence for a weak spot.
Lincoln’s thumb brushed once slow and deliberate over my shoulder blade, a silent reassurance. His voice was barely a whisper meant only for Mason and me.
“On my mark. Crossbow first. Make it clean.”
The late afternoon light painted everything in harsh gold and deep shadow. The snowmobiles sat quiet. The field stretched empty except for the bodies we’d already dropped earlier. And the two men who had just casually discussed taking me, assaulting me, and “having their way” stood exposed, laughing, only yards from the chained barrier that now felt like the thin line between their plans and their end.
Mason’s finger rested lightly on the trigger guard that dark satisfaction still curving his lips.
“Ready when you are.”
The air hung thick with tension the sun sinking lower turning the grass blood-orange as the decision crystallized in the heavy silence.
