“How the hell did you shoot lightning?” were the first words out of the man’s mouth, his tone angry and demanding rather than the curiosity Char expected.

  Char blinked, still catching her breath. “You’re welcome,” she said dryly. “Glad I could help.”

  “Shit—yeah, you did. Thank you. Really. I’m not sure we could have made it out of there if you hadn’t shown up. The name’s Carter Voss.” He swapped from making demands to reasonable and friendly like he'd flipped a switch. He held out a hand, and Char shook it on reflex. She noticed he didn’t hand back her crowbar. Stress and adrenaline could do strange things to emotions, so she could let Voss's initial reaction go, but something about the way he'd shifted gears set her on edge.

  “Charlotte Adair.” She nodded her head toward Lulu, who was in the process of making new friends, “And that’s Lulu. How did you all end up out there?”

  He snorted. “One minute, we were all waiting in line at the DMV, then we were all in this weird white space. When we came back, the whole building had been moved… someplace else.” He threw up an arm to indicate the tundra. “Then the snack machine food started running out. and when no one showed up to help, we had to try to run for it. We expected a long, cold walk. Not the rabid foxes, or the tall skinny fuckers, or… whatever the hell those things are.” He shook his head. His voice got softer, but it didn’t lose its steel. “There were closer to fifty of us when we started.”

  Char nodded. “Seems to be the new way of things. Everything’s harder.” She looked over the group of survivors. They were shivering, ragged, and exhausted. Some of them had the check-out look of people in shock. She wanted to help, but something about the man with her crowbar was… odd. She shook it off. She'd never been good with people, and her social instincts were probably way off kilter after the last few days of fear and fighting.

  “Is anyone badly hurt?” she asked. “There’s shelter. Food, too. It’s a couple of hours' walk. If we’re quick, we might beat sunset.” The old unease was back. She was glad to see people, and she had so many questions she wanted to ask, but the words died in her throat. Easier to stick to the necessities.

  The woman in scrubs spoke up, her voice flat and quiet, “Mostly cuts and bruises. The ones who couldn’t keep up already… well. You know.” Her eyes were sunken and underlined with dark bags. She looked haunted. They all looked tired, on the ragged edge.

  Char turned and started walking, but Voss didn’t follow. “Hold up. You showed up out of nowhere, flinging around lightning, and now we’re just supposed to follow you into the woods?”

  She shrugged. “If I wanted you dead, all I had to do was keep walking.” She clicked her tongue to call Lulu to her. 'You're being an asshole, Adair,' she chided herself. Softening her tone, she added, “You can do what you want. If you don’t want my help, I’ll go.”

  Voss hesitated, then said, “Look, I may have taken the wrong tone, but I have to keep these folks safe. It never hurts to be cautious. I guess you helping speaks to your character.” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “We’ll follow.”

  Char struggled not to roll her eyes. She turned without replying. There was something about the man that put her on edge, but she tried to let it go. Everything put her on edge these days.

  “Declan, Rodgers, take the rear and help any stragglers. Burke, Loman, watch the flanks.” Voss issued orders like a man who expected to be obeyed. When he was sure everyone was moving, he jogged a bit to walk beside Char. “You’re pretty good with that sword.”

  Char grunted. “Maybe.”

  “Those lightning bolts, how did you do that?”

  “Magic.” She looked at Voss out of the corner of her eye. His jaw tightened at her non-answer, but he was trying to keep a pleasant facade. “No one in your group has hit level twenty yet?”

  His eyes shot wide before he got control of his face again. “No. I’m level 19,” he lied with a straight face. Char didn’t call him on it, but her opinion of the man dropped another notch. “I had my rifle in my pickup, so I did most of the fighting until the ammo ran out.”

  He went quiet, and for a moment, he seemed to be staring at nothing, his eyes unfocused. Char wondered if that was what she looked like when she was looking at her screens. She took the opportunity to look back at the group.

  They were subdued, too focused on moving forward to chatter much. She was surprised to see that Lulu wasn’t ranging ahead. She was trotting along next to the teen that Char had saved with her first Arc spell. The girl had been one of the worst of the shock cases, but now she was petting Lulu’s head as they walked, looking a little less checked out than she had been. The corner of Char’s mouth quirked up in a half-grin. Dog therapy for the win.

  “So, level twenty. Is that what these Affinity things are about?” Voss’s words brought her attention back.

  She took a beat to answer, not sure how much information she wanted to share with the man. These people needed to know how things worked now if they were going to survive, but Voss rubbed her the wrong way. With an internal sigh, she relented. He may be an ass, but he was trying to keep people safe. She could give him something. “Yeah. You find a Domain Affinity Core and absorb it. Then, you get a spell related to that Domain.”

  “And how do you get one of those Cores?” He prodded.

  “Kill the right creature and loot it. Got mine from an area boss.” He didn’t need to know that she had two. He didn’t need to know about the dungeon, either.

  Voss went silent, his features turning thoughtful. Char was happy to let him be silent. She hoped he would fall back to walk with his people, but he stayed right next to her, almost like he couldn’t stand to have someone else in the lead.

  The trip back was slower. Everyone was exhausted and stumbling. By the time the cheerfully garish paint of the mercado came into view among the trees, the sun was on its way down, and the long shadows hid the ground and made footing treacherous. Spirits picked up, and so did the pace, once people saw the building.

  The front door was swinging open in the light breeze. Char had expected it, but Voss was immediately on guard. “I thought you said this place was safe?”

  Char shrugged. “Safe-ish. The latch is broken. I can check it out.” She started to pick up her pace, but Voss stopped her.

  “No. I’ll go. You stay with the others,” he ordered. His tone instantly put her hackles up, but she took a deep breath. She wasn’t going to stay with this group, so there was no point getting into a pissing contest. He called over his shoulder, “Loman, with me.”

  The scrawny twenty-something with too many tattoos peeled off from the group, following Voss like a puppy. He didn’t give Char a second glance as he trotted past her at a jog. Char stood in place and let the rest of the group catch up to her.

  “Is this place really safe?” the nurse asked, her tone softly skeptical.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  “Safe is relative,” Char said, no snark in her tone this time. “There’s a back fire door that locks, and there’s food in the drink cooler.” Char wasn’t sure why she felt the need to make sure the woman knew where the food was stored. She held out her hand, “I’m Char.”

  “Mira Patel.” The woman’s hands were rough, and her handshake was firm. “Thank you for coming to the rescue back there, and thank you for this.” She nodded to indicate the store.

  “Well, it served me well last night, but I’m moving on. No reason you can’t put it to good use.”

  “You aren’t staying with us?” Mira’s eyebrows rose in surprise.

  Char shook her head. “I’ve got people I want to find. I’ll stay the night and head out in the morning.”

  “Ah, family.” A flash of deep grief crossed Mira’s face as she nodded in understanding. The rest of the group caught up and started to pass them as they stood together. Mira called out to them and told them to wait outside the store until Voss gave the all clear.

  One of the young men at the back of the group, the lanky youth who’d stopped to throw a rock at the Bloodseeker, practically bounced over to stand near them. He grinned at Char. “You were so awesome back there; all pew-pew with the lightning and stuff. Can you teach me how to do that?”

  “Declan, let the woman breathe. Not all of us have your energy,” Mira chided him gently.

  “Oh. Um, sorry, Mira, Ms. Adair.” His smile turned sheepish. “It’s just, you were like a superhero or something.” He started to gush again, but caught himself and reeled in his enthusiasm a little. “Um… if you have the time, could you… maybe… teach me to use a sword like that. Or the lightning thing. I just… I want to help keep everyone safe.”

  Char couldn’t help but smile. He kind of reminded her of one of her younger cousins. “Call me Char,” she said. “I don’t think I can teach you how to throw lightning, but maybe, once everyone is settled, I can show you some of the sword basics before I leave. Maybe.” She reiterated that last word and made sure he heard it. She didn’t want to make a promise she couldn’t keep.

  He nodded with a grin splitting his face and rushed off to catch back up to the group. Char and Mira started walking again, following closely behind at a slower pace. Now that she was behind the group, she took the time to get a better look at them all. They were a diverse group, but Char guessed that was to be expected of the random selection waiting in a DMV line on any given day. She counted twenty-eight people, including Voss and Loman.

  They’d lost almost half their number. She couldn’t imagine what that must have been like. She used Assess on a few of them at random and found levels ranging from two to eleven. Voss’s rifle had been quite the boon to his leveling, it seemed. Her level seemed almost monstrous compared to this group. How much stronger was she, really? It wasn’t like she’d had a weight set handy to measure, or a stopwatch to time herself.

  She hadn’t held back when she’d been fighting the Bloodseekers, but she decided to be cautious about revealing her true strength any more than she already had. Mostly because she didn’t want to scare these people, but also because there was a little voice at the back of her mind telling her that Voss couldn’t be trusted. She hoped it was wrong, and she was just being paranoid, but she’d be careful, nonetheless.

  As she watched the group huddle up fifty feet or so away from the store, she noticed one woman who kept shooting glances her way. She was a tall brunette. Her eyeliner was smudged, and her clothes were ripped, but she still looked like she was trying to put some effort into her appearance. Her glances were fast ones, and something was calculating in them. Char recognized the type. She was being sized up as competition. She shook her head. Who had time for those sorts of petty games with the world ending around them? She resolved to just avoid the woman as much as possible while she was here, and put it out of her mind.

  A minute or so later, Voss leaned out the door and called, “It’s all clear. It’s safe. You can come in.” He stepped out and held the door as ragged, tired people streamed past him. “Move to the back and make room, folks. Don’t try to use the bathroom, it’s not hooked up to any plumbing. We’ll get a latrine sorted here shortly.”

  Char tried to hide her blush. She’d been half asleep and not thinking, but she still should have known better. It was like the key fob: a lifelong habit, ingrained as deeply as breathing. It would probably be years before the old world stopped sneaking up on her like that.

  Off balance and feeling chagrined, Char followed the group into the store. A couple of people were pulling bags of chips and sodas out of the cooler and handing them around, but most of the refugees were huddled together in groups, sitting on the floor, and, in a few cases, already stretched out and sleeping. Someone had relit the St. Michael candle, and a dark-haired woman was sitting next to it and praying with a rosary in her hand.

  As soon as everyone was inside, Voss started giving out jobs. “Patel, check everyone over for injuries. Baptiste, take Gina and inventory the food. Let’s get an idea of what we have. Rogers, take Declan and get us a latrine sorted. I know we don’t have shovels, but I’m sure you’ll figure something out.”

  He went on with a few more chores, but Char had stopped listening. She was leaning against the wall, watching the people. Leigh was huddled against the wall, and Lulu was beside her. She seemed to have developed a protective streak towards the shy teen, or maybe it was that odd empathetic sixth sense some animals had for knowing when a person needed the comfort of a friend.

  Mira was already checking everyone over, even before Voss had given the order, and Char realized that the older woman who’d already been handing out food was Baptiste. She’d given Voss an unamused flat look when he’d given her a job that she was already doing. There was some friction there, but Char didn’t plan to stick around and get involved, so she let it pass.

  Declan and a middle-aged man with a workman’s physique pushed past Char and out the door. She wasn’t sure how they were going to manage a proper waste pit without shovels, but she did see something she could do to help.

  “Hey, Voss? Mind if I get that crowbar back? I’ll go help with the latrine, and that’ll work for softening up the ground a little.” That wasn’t the only reason she wanted it back, but it was as good an excuse as any. Besides, he was trying hard to look like a good leader. It wouldn’t look right to say no to such a reasonable request. Especially since it was her damned crowbar in the first place.

  Voss tried to hide a flash of irritation, covering it quickly with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah, here you go. Thanks for helping.” He handed it over and walked away without another word. As Char turned for the door, she caught a glimpse of Loman’s face. He was staring daggers at her. Her brows drew together in confusion as she pushed through the doorway, wondering what she’d done to piss the skinny man off.

  Rodgers and Declan were standing off to the right of the store at the ragged edge of the asphalt. Rogers was scratching the back of his head and looking out into the woods. Declan was kicking at the dirt with the toe of one sneaker.

  “If we can find some strong branches, maybe,” Rodgers was saying as Char walked over. “We won’t be able to go very deep, but we can manage a series of catholes at least.”

  “What’s a cathole?” Declan asked.

  “It’s what you dig when you’re hiking and have to go in the woods. You use a trowel and dig down about six inches or so, then cover it when you're done.” Char explained, seeing an opening to insert herself, “But, I think we can do a little better.” She handed Declan the crowbar and pulled her survival pack out of her inventory. She knelt to rummage through it for a minute before she pulled out what she’d been looking for. “It’s not a full-sized spade, but if soldiers can dig foxholes with it, it should work for us.” She unfolded the e-tool and snapped the blade into place.

  “Hey, good deal,” Rodgers said, smiling. “We can break up the soil with the crowbar and take turns digging with that. Hey,” his face brightened as an idea struck him, “You don’t happen to have a saw in there, do you?”

  Char did a little more digging. She pulled out a tool that Ty had bought for her, but that she’d never used. It was a handle with three interchangeable heads: a hatchet, a trowel, and what Ty had called a Japanese saw. It had a blade that stuck straight out from the handle and looked sort of like a kitchen cleaver with teeth. She pulled that head out of the case and screwed it onto the handle. “Will this work?”

  “Huh. Never seen the like, but it oughta do the job. Tell you what, though. Let's start with that trowel head. I’ll help with the digging first, then I’ll worry about seats and privacy.” He smiled at Char, “You’re as prepared as any Boy Scout I ever met.”

  Char shook her head. “My husband was the Boy Scout and a bit of a prepper. He’s the one who put this pack together.” She ran her hands over the backpack, her face turned down to hide the shimmer of the tears gathering. “He was all about planning for the worst and hoping for the best.”

  “Oh… did he not make it?” Rodger’s voice was soft with concern. Declan shifted uncomfortably, his mouth opening, then closing again, as if he didn’t know what to say.

  “He, ah… he passed away about three years ago.” She blinked the tears away, “Well.” She pushed herself back to her feet. “Dwelling on old pain doesn’t get the job done.” She felt a flash of anger at herself for getting weepy, especially in front of strangers. She pushed it and the grief away and focused on the work that needed to be done. It would be dark soon. There wasn’t any time for tears.