Chapter 1

1

Year Ten after Impact

I’m hiding out in a burned-out quick shop with Rachel when I hear crunching on the broken pavement outside.

It’s probably Cal. He left us here to scout out the last half mile to the border, but the footsteps sound louder than he ever walks. I meet Rachel’s eyes across collapsed shelves whose stock was looted years ago.

We pull our guns out of their holsters simultaneously and back into a more protected corner near the side door so we won’t get trapped in this building.

I met Rachel more than five years ago, and she’s become my best friend. She and Cal are married, but they haven’t had children like most of the other couples in my circle of friends. They’re still free to travel, helping people in need and exploring parts unknown. My friends with kids can’t pick up and leave home in the same way, and they’re less inclined to take unnecessary risks.

Understandably.

The world was broken ten years ago when a large asteroid crashed into Europe, decimating the entire continent, destabilizing infrastructure and governments around the globe, and sending the world into a descending spiral of chaos, violence, and deprivation. Only in the past few years have communities been able to do more than simply defend themselves and (barely) feed their people. Now that there exist safe places where food and shelter is available for those willing to work, it’s natural for couples to want to start families, have babies, and in that way participate in building this new world on the ashes of the old one.

I’m all for it. Sometimes I wish I could do the same. And only occasionally do I miss the freedom my friends used to have.

Only occasionally do I feel like I don’t quite fit anymore.

Cal and Rachel are still always the first to help in a crisis, so a few weeks ago it was them I asked for help in finding Mack. My friend. My former no-strings-attached lover.

My something .

That’s why we’re here—more than a hundred miles from the hard-won safety of our home region in what used to be Kentucky.

Right now we’re in the Ozarks where last year Mack traveled to trade with a nearby farming community for cattle. He did successfully get us some cows, but then he disappeared into a vast, deep, dangerous forest they call The Wild.

That was almost six months ago, and no one has seen him since.

Things are getting worse around here—on the loose border between the settled farming region and The Wild. It’s always been populated by gangs of criminals and ruffians, but they’ve gotten more organized recently.

Someone is controlling them. Someone has united them. Someone has given them a purpose beyond looting and pillaging. And that’s made it much more dangerous to pass through this region and get into The Wild to search for Mack.

When the crunching outside stops, I realign my pistol, keeping it aimed at the entrance. But when motion in the door reveals two rough-looking men—strangers—neither one of us shoots.

A lot of people look rough and grungy nowadays. Cal himself is big with an unkempt, intimidating appearance. You can’t shoot someone because they look scary, or you’ll be shooting almost everyone.

I learned that a long time ago .

The first lesson is that you must be willing to shoot to kill or you’ll never survive in this world.

The second lesson is you can’t shoot everyone simply because you’re scared.

I was scared for a long time. I still am, if you want to know the truth. But my hand is steady as I hold my gun level, and I don’t squeeze the trigger before I know it’s the right thing to do.

The guys who just entered are most likely part of the border gangs since those are the only people around, but they clearly aren’t looking for trouble at the moment. They’re distracted, talking about whether this is the place where supplies were left.

I don’t think they have the right spot. We haven’t run across any food or provisions. It doesn’t matter though. As soon as one of them turns his head in our direction, he stiffens and reaches for the shotgun strapped to his back.

The other looks over too, and his face transforms with an ugly expression I well recognize. “Well, lookie here. It’s our lucky d?—”

Rachel shoots the man in the head before he even finishes his sentence. I’ve been aiming at the second one and get him square in the chest before he’s leveled the shotgun.

Their bodies both drop to the dingy floor, one right next to the other.

I meet Rachel’s eyes again, and she gives me a little shrug .

We gave them a chance. They didn’t even pretend to be decent people, and giving violent assholes even a minute to find an advantage is the minute that’s likely to kill you.

I turn away from the man I killed without even a sliver of guilt or regret.

I used to be a twenty-three-year-old high school English teacher in a small mountain town in western Virginia. But somehow in the past ten years I’ve turned into this.

There’s more crunching on the pavement outside now. Fast and hard. Someone running.

We both whirl around, aiming at the entrance again, but it’s Cal who bursts through this time. His dark hair and beard are messy, and he’s breathing in loud pants. His expression is tense, and he’s got his assault rifle at the ready.

“We’re fine,” Rachel tells him matter-of-factly. “We took care of it.”

I see the relief wash over his face as his eyes urgently search her from head to toe. Then he scowls down at the dead bodies, striding over to nudge them with one of his boots, making sure they’re dead.

Cal is in his forties. He used to run with criminals and was in prison for a while before Impact. He’s gruff and taciturn and sometimes rude, and he’s not in the habit of smiling. But I consider him a friend, and he loves Rachel with a ferocity that still sometimes startles me .

“Nice work,” he mutters after verifying they’re dead. “Looks like we got a clear shot to an old tourist center on the edge of The Wild. It’s out of the way, and half of it is still standing, so if we can get there, I’m thinkin’ we can hold it.”

“Chloe mentioned that place,” I tell him. “It’s right where I can pick up the trail to her grandpa’s cabin.”

“That’s what I thought.” Cal glances down at Rachel. “Didn’t see no one, so we should be okay, but we better stay on guard. You ready, baby?”

She smiles up at him, her vivid green eyes glinting with laughter. “Of course I’m ready.” She gives his old gray T-shirt a little tug.

Cal shifts his gaze to me, and I nod in response to his silent question.

I’m ready too.

We’ve got to get through this last half mile of the border so I can get into The Wild at last and find Mack.

I don’t care if it’s dangerous.

I’ve waited for him long enough.

The trek to the tourist center is tense but mostly uneventful with the exception of a minute where we have to run and hide behind an abandoned SUV at the roar of approaching motorcycles.

It’s just a couple of guys driving by. They neither see us nor threaten us. When they’re out of range, we start moving again and eventually reach the old building Cal identified.

It’s single story and not large. A main room with a couple of offices in the back. The office side has caved in, but the main room is intact. It’s been looted, of course. Nearly everything in this region has. But the walls provide shelter and safety, which we currently need.

Cal drops the big pack he’s been carrying in a corner behind a wide built-in desk that must have originally been used to welcome and provide information for visitors who wanted to hike in this part of the Ozarks.

It’s a good position. The desk provides a barrier against anyone coming through the door. Rachel is already pulling out a blanket and their water bottles from Cal’s pack.

“This’ll work good,” Cal says, yanking his eyes away from Rachel so he can focus on me. “Me and Rachel can hold this place for twenty-four hours.”

He appears confident, with no qualms, but it makes me nervous just the same. This area is not safe—certainly not for decent people to stay for any length of time.

“Y’all can really just head back to the farms if you want,” I say, glancing between Cal and Rachel. “I appreciate you getting me this far. I really do. But I don’t want you to risk yourselves any more than necessary.”

Cal scowls, and Rachel shakes her head. “We’re fine,” she says. “It’ll be a lot safer for you if we wait here and travel back with you. You might not find Mack, you know. He might already be dead.”

Rachel is fond of Mack—like almost everyone who knows him—so I don’t take her blunt words defensively. “I know he could be dead, but I don’t think he is. I think he’s still hiding out.”

“I hope so.” She’s on her knees next to the pack, and she leans over toward Cal, who is standing beside her. She tilts her head against his denim-clad leg as if she’s seeking comfort. “But I’m not as confident as you are. Why would he stay away so long?”

I don’t have any answer for her.

Cal reaches down to stroke Rachel’s dark hair, which is pulled into one long braid. “If you’re so sure, why don’t you let us come with you all the way?”

“If he’s hiding out on purpose, he’s not going to want all of us to appear on his doorstep. And by all accounts, once I get past the border, I should be okay on my own. We had a plan, and I want to stick to it. So if y’all don’t mind holding our position here for twenty-four hours, I’ll be back if I can’t find him or if I can get him to come back with me. Then we can get out of here together.”

Cal nods, still frowning.

Rachel licks her lips. “Okay. We’ll stay here for twenty-four hours, and then we’ll head back to Ben and Greta’s farm. We can wait there for a week but no longer than that. You and hopefully Mack need to get back there within the week, or Cal and I are going to have to head home.”

“I know. If I can’t talk him into coming home in a week, then it’s probably a lost cause. I’ll be there before the week is out. And if I’m not, you need to promise me that you’ll leave. Don’t you dare risk yourselves on a doomed mission.”

“But, Anna, you’re risking yourself on a doomed mission,” Rachel says very softly. She’s still leaning against Cal’s leg. He’s cupping the back of her head with his big hand.

“I don’t think it’s doomed. And even if it is, I still have to do it.” I look from Rachel to Cal and then back, swallowing hard. “You know perfectly well he’d do it for me. For any of us.”

Rachel’s expression softens. Breaks slightly. There’s no argument she can make. So many times for so many years, Mack risked his life to help other people.

It’s only right that someone does it now for him.

I’m that person, and I don’t want to wait any longer.

I secure my small backpack on my back and pull out my pistol since I’m planning to keep it in my hand. Sometimes the few seconds it takes to draw it out of the holster is too long.

“Okay. I’m taking off, if y’all don’t mind covering me through the parking lot until I get to the trail.”

Rachel stands up and hugs me. Cal touches me lightly on the shoulder. I smile at both of them and silently pray it’s not the last time I’m going to see them.

Then I start off, walking quickly through the parking lot as Cal and Rachel keep watch near the door, their weapons at the ready.

I make it to the trees without incident. Find the old trailhead and then the partly overgrown trail. I wave back at the others across the distance, and then I start to hike.

I’m still nervous, but I’m also excited, strangely invigorated.

Because it’s Mack.

It’s Mack .

At last.

The hike is rough. Rougher than I anticipated.

Back before Impact, it was probably a well-kept walking trail through the forested hills of a scenic national park. But there have been ten years now of no upkeep at all. The old trail is overgrown, and the forest is so dense and dark that almost no one even dares to enter.

The folks in the farming community nearby we’ve gotten to know believed for a long time that no one lived in The Wild. The few travelers who dared to cross the border into it were never seen or heard from again. Most went far north to get around the forest in order to keep heading west to the larger, established communities that are reportedly better developed with power and infrastructure (and also heavy-headed militarized leadership) in the middle of the country.

Not as many people migrate there as they used to. Stories about lack of freedoms kept trickling back our way, and a lot of folks prefer the safe, slow-paced, rustic lifestyle we’ve established in our regions of Kentucky and West Virginia.

Neither form of development has touched The Wild yet. It fully lives up to its name. I make my way over thickly wooded hills, often having to cut back vines so I can pass through and sometimes having to climb over enormous tree roots.

I could really use a machete, but all I’ve got is a basic hunting knife.

There are a lot of bugs. More birds in the upper branches of the trees than I’m used to hearing. And a lot of small mammals—rabbits, squirrels, raccoons, possum—all scurrying away at my approach or watching me warily from a distance.

The woods in the Appalachian Mountains where I’m from in southwest Virginia were kind of like this six years ago. Not so dense and not as filled with life since so much of the wildlife died out after Impact along with at least eighty percent of the human population. But for a long time I’ve been living in a growing region with farms and homesteads and small, fortified towns.

This is not that .

I do the best I can, but it’s slow going until I finally get to a point where the trail widens. Maybe it’s natural. Or maybe it’s been more traveled than the stretch I just hiked. Either way, I’m relieved to have a little breathing room. I pick up my pace and slide my knife back in its holster so I can hold my pistol again.

Chloe gave me detailed directions on how to get to her grandfather’s cabin. They’re not complicated, so I can hold them easily in my head.

I stay on this trail for several miles. Then turn right at the fork at an old gas station and then take a dirt driveway after crossing a creek. It sounds straightforward. There’s no reason I won’t be able to get there.

Mack should be there. He’s got to be there. If he’s not, then I’ll have to assume he’s either dead or forever lost to us.

I’ll be forced to turn around and hurry back to Cal and Rachel. Go home and try to live my life without Mack in it.

He hasn’t really been in my life for the past two years, ever since I ended our sexual relationship. It worked for us for years. We did our own thing and occasionally got together for sex. But when I realized he wanted more from me—he wanted something I couldn’t give him—I had to call it quits no matter how much it wrenched my heart from my chest.

Since then, our paths have crossed occasionally but we’ve spent very little time together. But I always knew he was there. Not too far away. I heard updates from our friends and still felt emotionally connected to him.

But that will change if Mack isn’t at the cabin when I reach it.

Everything will change. And not just for me. There’s been a hole in our community for six months now without Mack’s warm, strong presence at its core.

The urgency keeps me going long after my leg muscles start to ache, my lungs rasp, and my skin burns with effort. I’ve got reddish-brown hair and fair skin and a light scattering of freckles. My cheeks get blazing red with too much emotion or too much exercise. Hours pass, and I keep going, only stopping long enough to go to the bathroom or take a swig of water or a few bites of one of the oat bars Greta gave me before I left this morning.

I can see hardly anything of the sky through the heavy canopy of trees, but I’ve been walking for hours. It’s got to be midafternoon by now. If I don’t make it to the cabin by nightfall, it’s going to get a lot more dangerous for me.

I haven’t even reached the fork yet.

It’s at least another hour before I do. It’s a relief to see the trail split up ahead. The left side is wider and looks easier to travel, but right is the direction I need to go. When I get closer, I gasp in surprise to see a ragged old man sitting on the trail with his back to a tree.

I know he’s old because his long, stringy hair and beard are steel gray. He’s got tattered clothes and a walking stick across his lap .

Have I somehow wandered into Middle Earth and encountered Gandalf taking a rest?

That’s seriously the first thought that crosses my mind.

He perks up when he sees me, smiling and hefting himself to his feet.

I keep my gun in my hand, but I don’t level it at him. He doesn’t appear to have a weapon. “Hello there,” I say, trying to pitch my voice into the matter-of-fact tone that Rachel uses so well. “Can I help you with anything?”

“Well, aren’t you a pretty little thing?” he says, sounding as old as he looks. “Whatcha doin’ in these parts on your own?”

I ignore the compliment. I don’t like it, but there’s a good chance he means well. I don’t consider myself a “pretty little thing.” I’m thirty-three, and I suppose I’m attractive enough, but I’m not nearly as pretty as some of my friends. Rachel. Olivia. Layne. They’re all genuinely beautiful.

There’s nothing in the world wrong with the way I look. I’m medium height with a fit, curvy figure. My eyes are a nice blue, and Mack used to say that my smile was like the sun coming out. My hair is long and curly, but at the moment it’s braided tightly and wound around my head to keep it out of the way. And I’m wearing jeans, a flannel shirt, and a slightly too-big jacket that hides any hint of my figure.

So his words don’t ring true to me. They raise the hair on the back of my neck. I give him a polite smile and keep my distance. “I’ve got somewhere to be, so if you’re all right, I’ll be on my way. Have a nice day.”

No use to be unnecessarily confrontational. Not everyone is mean and violent, although a much larger percentage of people are than I ever would have believed before Impact.

Back then, it was only my husband who might hit me.

Now anyone I encounter might lash out.

What happens then might as well be my private thoughts come to life. I’ve walked past Gandalf, heading toward the right side of the fork, when he moves in a flash, striking out hard with his walking stick down low on the back of my ankles.

It hurts. And it disrupts my balance. I fall forward, dropping my gun and barely catching myself with my hands before my face hits the dirt.

Then the old man is on top of me, the grizzled face that looked so harmless twisted into a predatory grin.

I kick out instinctively and push him off me, but he’s stronger than he looks. He grabs for me again, using his weight to hold down my legs and wrenching one of my arms so it’s trapped.

But I still have one hand free. My mind roaring fiercely with terror and outrage both, I fumble with my hand until I can feel the butt of my dropped gun.

I’ve been trained to fight. For years now. First by Mack. Then by Maria, who leads the group of women I used to travel with .

I’m no longer a trapped and trembling girl, and I’m not going to be her again. I grab the gun and swing it hard to slam into the man’s head.

He roars in pain and backs off slightly, giving me enough time to fit my fingers around the trigger and aim.

I shoot, blowing Gandalf’s head off.

It’s horrible. Revolting. Blood and brains and pieces of skull get all over me. His body collapses on top of me, and I push him off with a disgusted whimper, scrambling to my feet.

I take a few long strides away from the body and then fall to my knees, vomiting painfully into the underbrush.

After that, I feel a little better. I’m able to stand up and pull a hand towel out of my bag to wipe my face and neck and hands. It doesn’t take care of all the mess, but it’s the best I can do without water.

The whole incident only lasts a few minutes, and now I’m on my way again.

It’s two more hours before I reach the dirt driveway that leads up to the cabin.

I stopped for a short time at the creek so I could clean my face and hair and skin, but I didn’t want to take the time to do a full washing. There’s still light filtering through the treetops, but it’s darker now than it was when I entered .

It’s going to be pitch-black before I know it, and I don’t want to be caught in the woods by myself when that happens.

I haven’t seen anyone besides the old man the whole time, but that encounter didn’t lead me to feel optimistic about the folks inhabiting these woods. I need to get to Mack before nightfall and then hopefully head back with him to Cal and Rachel first thing in the morning.

The driveway is mostly mud since it must have been raining a lot recently, and it’s a fairly steep incline uphill. I slip and slide my way up, twice losing my footing, falling, and getting mud on my hands and all over the bottom half of my jean legs.

I’m frustrated and exhausted and anxious and dirty all over when I finally get up the hill and see a little cabin surrounded by a short stone wall. The gate is closed but not locked. It squeaks loudly when I open it.

“Mack?” I call out, wanting to give him warning of my presence so he doesn’t react defensively.

The cabin has a large outbuilding that looks like a garage and a garden along the side.

“Mack!” I’m louder this time as I walk through the gate and up the driveway toward the cabin.

There’s no answer, but I hear a muffled sound around the back. It’s not a voice. It’s a banging sound.

I learn what it is when I turn the corner and get a view of the backyard.

There’s a large woodpile, and someone is chopping more wood to add to it. I’ve been hearing the axe he’s bringing down on the chunk of cut tree.

He’s a big, black man with broad shoulders and a hard body. He’s wearing army pants and a white T-shirt that’s damp from perspiration despite the cool autumn air. He keeps his head shaved, but he’s clearly been letting his beard grow. It’s full and untrimmed.

He’s Mack.

My heart bursts into flutters even as I let out a long exhale of relief.

He’s alive. Thank God, he’s still alive and healthy enough to chop wood.

I don’t know if he heard me calling before, but he must hear me when I say, “Mack!”

He turns his head slightly in my direction, his eyes resting on my face for only a couple of seconds. Then he turns back to his wood chunk. Repositions it. Brings down the axe again, chopping it into two neat pieces.

He doesn’t say a word.

“Mack, what the hell?” I march closer to him, moving to stand in his eyeline. “So you’re just going to ignore me?”

“What the hell are you doing here?” he demands, curt but not loud or angry.

“What do you think I’m doing here? Everyone is really worried about you, so Cal, Rachel, and I drove out here to find you.”

This must catch his attention. He lowers the axe and glances past me in the direction I came .

“They’re not here. They’re waiting at the border for us. But it isn’t safe.”

“I know it’s not safe,” he replies gruffly, frowning at me. He looks different with the beard. Unkempt and more intimidating. Not the warm, friendly, kindhearted man I’ve always known. “You shouldn’t have come.”

“Yes, I should have come. What are you still doing here?”

“I’m living. What did you think I was doing?” He’s positioned another chunk of wood and brings the axe down on it with a sharp sound.

“I have no idea. None of us did. Why are you staying here instead of coming home?”

“I want to stay here. I’ll come home when I’m ready. You need to leave.”

“I’m not going to leave. Mack—!” I break off the words because he’s turned his back on me. My tone was getting slightly shrill anyway from upset and indignation and bewildered confusion.

He leans over to pick up the wood he’s chopped, adding it to the already large pile. Then he walks toward the house.

“Mack, are you serious?” I have to jog to catch up with him. “I’ve come all this way, and you’re treating me like this?”

He doesn’t turn around until he’s reached the front porch of the cabin. “Anna, I don’t want you here. Go home. ”

That’s what he says. Mack. To me .

After everything we’ve been through together.

Then he steps inside and closes the door in my face.

I stand, swaying slightly on my feet in anguished shock. He’s just hurt me. My heart. More than I realized I could be hurt anymore.

But after a minute, a force of anger pushes its way through everything else. Sucking in a sharp breath, I stride over to the door and pound on it with the side of my fist rather than my knuckles. I’m hitting it so hard my knuckles would have hurt. “Mack! Mack, let me in!”

“Go away, Anna. I told you I don’t want you here.” His voice is muffled by the door, but he must be standing close. Right in front of it.

“I don’t give a damn what you want. I’m here anyway! Let me in.”

“No.”

No . He’s telling me no.

“Damn it, Mack! Me, Rachel, and Cal risked our lives to get here! They used up a ton of the gas they have left because they were so worried for you. I’ve killed two men today alone when they attacked me. The least you can do is let me into the house!”

There’s a long pause. I’m briefly hopeful, wondering if he’s thinking, considering, backing down. Then, “No.”

“I’m not going to leave, Mack! I’ve come all this way, and I’m not going to turn around. I’m going to camp out here until you let me in! ”

“Have fun with that.”

I’m sputtering with outrage as his voice seems to move away. He’s not at the door anymore. I know it for sure even though I can’t see anything inside the cabin. There’s a window at the front, but the shutters are closed.

I really can’t believe this is happening.

I imagined so many different scenarios of what might happen when I get here, and in none of them—not a single one—did Mack refuse to even let me in.

But there’s nothing to do about it. Any attempt I make to enter would potentially damage the cabin, and that would be stupid and dangerous. But I’m not about to turn around and leave.

So I let out a long sigh and sit on the top step leading up to the porch. I pull out my water bottle and take a swig.

I’ve got food to eat this evening, thanks to what Greta gave us as we left the farm this morning. If it gets too dark, I’ll pull out my blanket and stretch out on the front porch to sleep.

It won’t be ideal, but I’ve slept in worse places.

Surely Mack will be willing to talk to me tomorrow.