Chapter 1

Scout

I'm sitting in the back of a battered old truck with screwed suspension. My dad is at the wheel, I'm blindfolded, and my two older brothers are sitting on either side of me.

This might make more sense if I explain that I was raised in a cult.

I know, I know. You're probably thinking polygamy. Praying to some creepy dude in a toga. Extreme yoga. It's not that kind of cult.

My family are preppers. We belong to a whole community known as The Emergency Preparedness Brotherhood, who are awaiting the Final Fiasco.

Fifty percent of my dad's conversation involves speculating over what the Final Fiasco might entail. Spoiler: some real bad, scary shit.

The other fifty percent is focused on how the heck we can protect ourselves from it.

I first figured out there was something "atypical" about my family when my bestie, Casey, and I were about eleven, and I took her down to my family's basement.

"Dude, this is unreal," she breathed, wandering among the rows of shelves stacked with every possible type of non-perishable item. Enough instant noodles to feed a small army; meticulously labeled bins of dried beans, rice, and grains; towering monoliths of canned ravioli, baked beans, tuna, Easy Mac. A fortress of energy drinks, and the pièce de resistance—a giant pyramid of toilet paper.

I shrugged. "It's just our stock."

She turned to me. "That's a lot of stock, Scout."

I planted my hands on my hips proudly. "We gotta be ready for the end of times."

"The what?" I saw something new in her eyes then—a flicker of alarm.

"What do you store in your basement?"

She frowned. "You've seen our basement. It's just a den. We have couches and a big TV."

"But where's your stock?"

"On a couple of shelves in the kitchen, I guess."

"And that's all you have?"

"Uh huh." Her gaze flickered to the door that led out of the basement.

My stomach turned over. My dad had warned me about The Unprepared. They were going to be some of our biggest enemies when the Final Fiasco came, because, having failed to protect themselves, they would try to steal all our stock.

I fixed her with a serious look. "Casey, it's real important you stock up?—"

She frowned. "Quit being weird, Scout."

She wasn't getting it. I had to make her see. She was my best friend and I loved her. I grabbed her by the shoulders. "You'll all starve to death, and it's not gonna be pretty. At all," I screamed, using one of my dad's favorite expressions.

Her eyes filled with fear and she yanked herself out of my grasp. "I've gotta go help my mom out with some chores," she said, fast-walking toward the exit. I watched her go, pulsating with pity and fear.

After that, things just got worse. At school, I volunteered to lead a fire drill, and instructed everyone to dive under their desks and "combat-crawl" to the nearest exit. Then I brought my hand-cranked emergency radio to show-and-tell. Everyone laughed their asses off when I accidentally picked up a truck driver's karaoke sing-along, complete with a falsetto version of I Will Survive. Then I set off the metal detectors at the entrance gates with the sheer number of safety pins in my emergency kit…

The list of humiliations goes on and on.

Honestly, it was a relief when my dad took my big brothers and me out of school and home schooled us instead.

But after a couple of years, prepping in an urban environment wasn't enough for him, and he dragged us all off to live in the middle of a forest in an underground bunker. Off-grid of course, and a million miles from civilization.

And I hate it. It's been eight long years of chopping firewood, wondering if those mushrooms I just foraged are gonna take us all out, and skinning and disemboweling small animals. I'm not cut out for wilderness life. At all.

See our name, Brotherhood. It's all about dudes. Being outdoorsy. Wrestling. Having burping contests after biting the heads off raw lizards. That kinda shit.

I like nice things: scented candles, manicures, lattes. A nice soft bed to lie down in after a day spent scrubbing clothes in a stream. I'm a typical girl; so sue me. And it's sure lonely. My mom is no support, either. Over the years, she's kinda faded. Trying to feed a family of five in the wilderness takes so much out of her, she's always exhausted, and she accepts my father's crazy ideas and directives without argument.

I try not to be mad at her. My dad is a real forceful personality. And when he gets that glint in his eye, it's best to just do whatever he wants.

Which bringsme to my current predicament. A week ago, I turned twenty-one, and dad decided there's no time like his daughter coming of age to foster closer relations with other members of the Brotherhood.

So, he offered me to the eldest son of a neighboring family.

Yes, you heard that right.

The day after my birthday, he told me to pick out my best outfit from the bunch of rags that pass for my clothes these days. He also said, "comb your hair, for christsakes."

Which was a bit rich, since he'd banned us from bringing anything to our forest home that wasn't a tool for weathering the Final Fiasco, and hairbrushes sure didn't make the cut.

Still, over the years, I've figured out which plants I can mash together to create some kind of shampoo and detangling conditioner, and I did my best to make my hair look presentable.

Then, with his typical dad habit of keeping everything on a "need to know basis," he disappeared for a while, and returned with the truck I thought he'd sold long ago.

He bundled me into the back of it and drove me to meet my suitor.

Every terrible moment of the episode is emblazoned on my brain forever.

The Gaskills are a different kind of family from ours. Not that I'm an expert on the subject, but they have less of dad's doomsday-obsessed intensity, and more of an anti-government militia vibe. To be honest, I think dad was hoping to benefit from their muscle.

But when dad dumped a flower garland on my head—probably made by my mom—and shoved me through their front door, their son laughed.

Yes, while dad explained what we were doing there, he tipped his stupid, arrogant head back and guffawed like it was the funniest thing he'd ever heard.

Then he looked me up and down and, curling his annoyingly attractive lip, said, "what the hell am I gonna do with her, huh?"

The shame.

He looked like a classic high-school jock, while I know I'm nothing special. Short, dumpy. A plain Jane. But still.

It hurt.

"She's just come of age," my dad wheedled.

My head snapped to him. "Dad, don't even!" I yelled, with the last scrap of dignity I had.

Was he really trying to use my virginity as a bargaining tool?

Maybe I imagined it, but I thought a flicker of interest lit in arrogant dickhead's eyes. "I have to marry her, right?"

Dad dipped his head sycophantically. "That's part of the deal."

"Not interested," he snarled, turning on his heel and leaving us standing there.

It was a long drive back home.

"Can't believe you embarrassed me like that, Scout," dad kept muttering. "That was your one chance, and you sure blew it."

"I blew it?" Finally, I snapped. "Dad, I might be living this weird stone-age life with you, out in the ass-end of nowhere, but that doesn't mean you can treat me like I'm your property!"

He slammed the brakes on so hard, my face almost hit the glovebox.

"What do you think's gonna happen when the Final Fiasco comes, Scout? You think it's all gonna be gender equality and feminist marches? Nope. Only the strong will survive. And that sure as hell won't be you. Won't be any women."

I stared at my dad as realization seeped into my poor brain. This is what it was all about. It was never about survival. It was about recreating a backward society where men ruled over women.

"Your mom sure did a number on you, didn't she?" I said quietly.

For as long as I can remember, I've been hearing about dad's screwed up childhood. How his mom favored his elder brother and treated dad like crap. Well, here's dad's revenge.

Except there's no way that I'm gonna be the target of it.

"Watch your mouth, young lady," he growled.

I shuffled down in my seat. I was done speaking anyway, because an idea was beginning to spark in my mind. And for the rest of the journey, I let it grow.

As the truck finally pulled up in front of the dump I've learned to call home, I told him:

"I want to compete in the succession trial too, dad."

* * *

Fast forward sixdays and here I am in the back of the truck again. Blindfolded, this time, with my older brothers on either side of me.

Prior to coming up with the idea of selling me off, dad had been muttering about choosing one of his sons as his successor, "should anything happen to him." His plan was to put them through a survivalist challenge. Whichever one made it home first would win the crown. And I've decided I want to be a part of it, too.

Once dad stopped laughing his ass off, he agreed readily.

Which makes me think he's actually keen to be rid of me, then he won't have to deal with the shame of me being a reject. He's probably hoping I'll get eaten by a bear.

Me, I reckon I've got a chance of winning. My brothers might be twice the size of me, and a whole lot better at chopping wood, but I'm the one who's done most of the foraging and trapping so far. I know how to use the sun"s position for direction, read the signs written in the undergrowth, and follow animal trails without leaving a trace.

And if I don't win?

Well, anything's got to be better than waiting around until dad decides to make me the target of his next stupid plan.

Of course, my brothers—who are assholes, by the way—are determined to make things as difficult for me as possible. They've been calling me names and pinching and jabbing me throughout the journey. Showing off about how tough and fearless they are.

Methinks my brothers doth protest too much, and I told them so, but like anything else that's come out of a book, it went right over their thick heads.

We've been driving for a real long time, but at last dad pulls over beside a nondescript clump of trees.

"Get out," he barks.

I yank off my blindfold in time to catch Owen with his blindfold a little raised. He's been cheating. Of course, he has.

My brothers jump out and immediately start peeing in the bushes.

"Scout?"

I turn to my dad.

He hands me a small white plastic device. "Keep that with you."

"What is it?"

"It's a GPS tracker. In case you don't make it."

I hesitate, then pocket it.

"I'll come find you. Just make sure you keep your—" He nods in the direction of my crotch. "Purity intact."

My mouth is still hanging open as he waves goodbye to my brothers. "I'll expect you back in a week, at the earliest," he calls.

And he's gone, in a cloud of dust and creaking suspension.

There's something different in my brothers' eyes as they turn back to me, zipping up in unison.

Fear.

They're both out of their depths, and they know it.

I grit my teeth, knowing they don't deserve what I'm about to say. "Need a couple of pointers?" I ask.

"From you?" Vinny lets out a bellow of laughter. Then he treats me to a long, disdainful look.

"See ya later, little sis," Owen says in that sneering way of his.

"If we see you at all," Vinny adds.

Cackling like hyenas, they start hiking down the blacktop the way we just came.

I pause and take in the afternoon sun, noting the shadows it casts from the nearby pines. Then, shouldering my backpack, I step into the forest and start walking in exactly the opposite direction.