Twenty-seven Creatures. Eleven corpses. Zero humans.

Jane trudged onward, the afternoon sun baking her skin as she staggered down the dirt road.

Twenty-seven Creatures. Eleven corpses. Zero humans. The numbers, they kept her going.

Three days had passed since her expulsion from the laboratory. In those three days, she had walked much of a Georgian landscape she had never seen before. She was used to the hustle and the bustle of a big city rather than the quiet ease of the plains and fields. At least, she thought she was. She couldn't remember her life before, though she had a vague recollection of a corner cubicle overlooking a busy street. Still, even compared to the laboratory, the open horizons of western Georgia were worlds different than the cramped box she'd inhabited of late. She hadn't a clue where she was headed. She simply walked and thought and prayed to whatever deity would listen. The bread Arthur had given her was long gone, and she was down to the last vial of her treatment. She had to keep going.

She had no choice but to keep going.

Pausing for rest was a luxury she was too afraid to take. Whoever it was who had broken into the laboratory could still be on her heels. She would be foolish, reckless, to think otherwise. And she'd rather die than be taken in as a lab rat again. At night, she climbed a tree or found some overgrown bush for cover and slept for a few stolen hours. Then she was up and moving again, searching for other survivors who might take her in. Surely there had to be others…

Stopping to catch her breath, she tilted her face toward the sky. Her skin was hot with sunburn, and her stomach twisted in discomfort. If she didn't get something in her belly soon, she wouldn't be able to go much further.

She stepped off the road, and moisture seeped between her toes. Water must be nearby. Wading through the knee-high grass, she picked her way through the field until she located a wide river hidden behind a line of trees. Jane dropped to her knees on the riverbed. Her legs, exposed to the elements no thanks to the thin dress Dr. Henderson provided, all but cried in relief at the break in pace. Before anything else, she cupped her hands and lifted a handful of water to her mouth. She drank slow, though her instinct was to submerge her head beneath the current and swallow until she became sick. Her body resisted at first, the cool liquid a shock to her hot and dry insides, but after a few handfuls, her throat and gut relaxed. She soon fell back against the ground, sighing in pleasure. The sky was clear, not a cloud in sight. The sound of gurgling water and breeze in the branches overhead had never sounded so melodic. Temptation told her to close her eyes and sleep, to rest awhile in the sunshine. Reason told her to tend to her aching feet then move on.

She forced herself to listen to reason.

Inching to the riverbed, she lowered her feet into the cold water. A sharp stinging coursed through her legs. She hissed and crossed her ankle over her knee to inspect the damage. Three days of walking on bare feet had left the soles raw and tattered. Small pebbles littered the open cuts, and swollen blisters marked her heels. Gritting her teeth against the pain, she cleaned the wounds with water then ripped the cotton bag from Arthur into small strips. She wrapped her feet as best she could, but with no means of securing the bandages, she would have to walk carefully. After filling her water bottle and cursing herself for allowing one of her treatment vials to break and pierce the plastic with a miniscule hole, she rose to her feet. A thin stream of liquid escaped the bottle, wetting the tops of her toes. She would continue on for the night, following the bend of the river. Perhaps after nightfall she could catch a fish and cook it over a low flame. She snorted at the thought. Catching a fish in the dark in her condition? She doubted it. But she would try.

The mud lining the riverbed cushioned her tender feet as she soldiered on. She kept her eyes downcast, careful to pay attention to the jutting rocks and twigs in her path. Her ears she kept alert. Creatures were notoriously bad at stealth—yet even with her advantage of immunity, they were still a threat. She'd seen one too many people torn to pieces at the hands of one of those monsters. She had no desire of becoming like those who'd gone before her. If she kept her ears alert and her movements simple, any Creature who wandered beyond the trees covering her should be easy to spot. Taking them down, on the other hand, would prove her greatest battle.

The sun dipped lower in the sky as time passed. Aside from a few birds and rabbits, she came across no Creatures, no humans. She would end her fourth day as she began her first—alone.

By the time the moon replaced the sun, she knew going any further was out of the question. Exhausted, she drank the last of her water then pulled the remaining treatment from her pocket. The blue liquid, nearly congealed now due to heat exposure, oozed from the bottom to the top of the syringe as she prepared the needle. What would happen to her when she went without her next shot, she wasn't sure; she would cross that bridge when she came to it. Needle prepared, she drew in a deep breath and leveled the needle against the soft spot in the crook of her arm. On three, she imbedded the needle in her vein and shot the liquid into her blood. A small dot of red remained on her skin when she tossed the treatment vial and needle to the wayside.

Idling made her anxious, so she stepped in the river, searching in vain for the flicker of a tail illuminated by moonlight. She hunched her back, eyes squinting in the dark, kitchen knife at the ready. Something slimy curled around her ankle, and she twisted to reach for it. Her hands came away empty. Two more pounces in the water and frustration began to mount. She gritted her teeth against the painful rumbling in her stomach. She had to find something soon if she wanted to keep going come dawn.

A groan came from behind. Jane stilled, the river lapping at her legs.

Slowly, she turned on her heel, sure to keep her movements simple and small. A Creature stood on the bank of the river, his head cocked to the side. His left arm was gone, the ligaments and muscles hanging like wet noodles. His face was gray and distorted, pockets of flesh bloated and filled with dripping pus. She could smell him from here—she should have been able to pick up on his scent before she heard him. He smelled of death.

Her instinct was to run. It had been a long time since she faced a Creature, either alone or aided by someone else. She'd forgotten what it was like to stare death in the face.

Instead of running, she stepped back. Perhaps if she waded further in, she could swim to the other side without causing too much commotion. Another step back and her heel connected with a sharp rock. Muttering a curse, she fell to her hands and knees. The knife flew from her hand. Water splashed and curled around her body, soaking her hair and filling her mouth. She coughed and struggled to her regain her foothold, but her feet slipped on the slick rocks lining the river bottom. The monotonous groan of the Creature turned to an excited moan as she continued to struggle, the sound of her labor alerting him to her presence. His heavy footfalls entered the water, his legs dragging through the river. She found her footing and wiped the water from her eyes in time to catch the Creature's eye as he latched onto her shoulders.

Jane couldn't help the shriek that escaped her mouth. The Creature's breath was rank, spoiled rotten. He grasped her shoulders tight, his grip like stone. She pushed hard against his chest. Blood coated her fingers. He clamped his mouth open and shut, straining his neck to reach her.

The knife. She'd dropped it, but if she could hunker down and find it…

The Creature used her momentary distraction to its advantage. He shoved hard and she fell to her back. He tumbled with her, snapping at the air all the way. The current raced over her head and loosened her grip. With a gasp, she found her strength and pushed out of the water. She gulped in fresh air, water stinging her eyes. The Creature's tongue hung loose from its mouth, his black stare wild with hunger. Jane clenched her jaw and adjusted her hold on the Creature's thin shirt. The river continued to rush over her submerged shoulders and lick her throat. She could almost taste the stink of the Creature as its filth seeped into the water.

She wouldn't die, not like this—not at the hands of a Creature. She refused to die in such a manner.

Yet the Creature was stronger than she. He held her beneath the water with a vice-like grip. He was more intent on eating her than she was on surviving. Water filled her throat, and her head ached. She could give up, just let go, and it would all be over. How much easier would that be than fighting?

All at once the Creature froze and Jane was hauled from under the water. She sputtered, spewing liquid from her mouth like a spit-take from an old movie. There was a click and something whizzed past her head, grazing the side of her cheek.

"Hold still, for God's sake!"

She didn't need to be told twice.

The Creature gurgled once as blood and water met in his open mouth. An arrow stuck out from the center of his forehead. Her savior, a man wearing a biker's jacket and scowl, kept one hand curled around her upper arm while he retrieved the arrow with the other. It came away from the Creature's head with a wet squelch. He shook blood off the weapon then returned it to his quiver. Turning, he kept his hold on her arm tight.

"What the hell are you doin' out here?" His voice was low and gravely, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. When she failed to answer, her system surprised by the presence of another human, his fingers tightened. She could feel her skin bruise. "Answer me!"

Jane's voice fumbled, but she found it. After so many days of disuse, it sounded weak, breakable. "I was… fishing…"

"Fishin'? This river is shit for fishin'." The man wasn't convinced. His scowl deepened. "Tell me the truth."

"It's the truth."

With the flick of his wrist, he unsheathed a gun. The barrel seemed to yawn in front of her like a gaping tunnel. "The truth," he said again. His tone brooked no argument, no excuses.

"I swear I'm telling the truth."

"Where's your group? You scoutin' for them?"

"I—I have no group. It's just me. Just me."

He looked her over. Up and down, up and down. In another life, she might have thought he was going to make a pass. These days, she knew he was judging her, appraising her threat level. His appraisal seemed to drag on for ages, the tension between them thick with mistrust.

Finally, he huffed and dropped her arm with a shove. She stumbled backwards, slipping on the river floor. The icy liquid pulled her muscles taut in shock. For a moment, she sat in the stillness, reveling in the sight of another human not clad in white lab suits. The man hopped up to the riverbank. Bending, he pulled a line of dead squirrels from the grass and threw it over his shoulder.

Then he started walking away.

He had almost been swallowed by the darkness before Jane staggered to her feet, calling after him. He continued onwards, seemingly deaf to her calls. With aching feet and sore limbs, every step was painful. But he was a Godsend, a potential ally in a world full of enemies. She wouldn't let him slip through her fingers—not when she was still so close to the lab, not when Arthur had sold her out. What she needed to do what disappear, and this man offered a perfect opportunity.

"Hey!" She picked up her pace in order to fall in step beside him. "Hey—hold on." She grabbed his arm and he stopped short. He withdrew the gun again, holding the barrel inches from her forehead. Jane's mouth ran dry. Any speech formulating in her head on the potential benefit of taking her on flew away with the midnight breeze.

"What the hell do you want?"

She held up her hands in surrender. "Nothing! I just—"

"Then buzz off." He set off again, but Jane persisted.

"Are you alone? Are there others with you?" Her foot caught on an exposed root and she nearly fell, but at the last second, he reached out and steadied her. With an embarrassed laugh, she offered him a smile, one she hoped with ease the frown lines in his forehead. His face remained stolid. She thanked him anyway. Then she asked again, "Are you a part of a group?"

His jaw worked back and forth in frustration, his finger tapping on the side of the firearm still held in his grasp. "You shouldn't ask so many questions."

"I only thought that if you're alone too, we could… I don't know… team up." A rush of self-consciousness heated her cheeks. She felt like a middle-schooler, all nerves and uncertainty and hope bundled as one. "A team is better than going solo."

"I agree," he said, his stance shifting. "But I've already got my people. And I just saw you fight—ain't pretty."

Interest flared in Jane's spirit despite his attack on her defense abilities. A group of survivors? Her memories of life before Dr. Henderson were few and far between, but she had some inkling of a group she'd been with at one time or another—flashes of people she trusted, warm feelings of people she'd long forgotten.

"There's more of you? Where?"

His eyes narrowed. "You keep askin' questions I'm gonna have to do somethin' I may regret."

She got the picture. She wasn't needed, wasn't invited. She set her chin hard and shoved the disappointment rising in her chest to the side. She could nurse that later. For now, she needed to move on.

"Fine then," she said. "Thanks again."

He said nothing more. His heavy boots crunched on twigs and dead leaves as he walked on. Jane turned away, unable to watch a possible lifeline disappear.

Her stomach grumbled, and a feeling of deep emptiness spread throughout her body. She rubbed her empty stomach, wincing in discomfort. God, she was hungry. Fishing was out of the question now. Even if she wanted to, having her back turned to any side of the river made her nervous. She could find a squirrel or rabbit like the man had. So long as she kept her ears sharp, she could make do.

A sudden rush of footfalls resumed the alarm bells in her head. She lunged for her knife and held it tight. The blade gleamed in the moonlight. Slowly, she backed behind the nearest tree, head leaning to the side. She wanted to face her next foe head-on, not from behind like an idiot. When the man who'd saved her came into the moonlight, she held her knife all the tighter. She had pestered him too much, asked too many questions, and now he was back to make sure she never talked.

He stood between two trees, head swiveling as he looked around the grove. "I'm not gonna kill ya. Not yet anyways." To his credit, his gun was holstered and his bow was firm against his back. Any other weapons he carried—and she was sure there were more—were hidden.

Jane didn't move.

"You're really out here alone?" His voice was a question, a sincere one at that. However, silence was his only answer. With a grunt, he waved his hand at the darkness, shaking his head. "Forget it," he mumbled as he turned to leave.

Jane didn't allow any doubts to resurface. She jumped from behind the tree, hands raised in a show of good faith. "Wait!"

The man turned sharp on his heel, bow now drawn, an arrow tip leveled on her heart. As recognition dawned, he rolled his eyes and lowered the weapon. "Jesus," he said, "you can't sneak up on people like that."

She spoke before fear could stop her. "Why'd you come back?"

The man hesitated, seeming to consider both her question and his own actions. "Don't really matter. I've got my reasons." He took a step closer. "You swear you're tellin' the truth about bein' alone?"

She nodded. "If I were a Girl Scout, I would stake my honor on it."

Seconds ticked by, heavy with calculation and consideration. At last, he shouldered his weapon and cocked his head to the left. "I'll talk with my guys," he said. "See what I can do."

Hope exploded in Jane's chest, but she tampered it, not wanting to appear too eager. Instead, she nodded once and moved to follow him. With a snicker, he held his hand up.

"No—you stay here. We'll come to you."

He was gone before she could ask any more questions or express her thanks.

Stunned, Jane dropped to the ground in astonishment. Rough bark dug through the thin material of her gown as she leaned against a tree. Instinctively, her hand rose to her left shoulder, her fingers tracing the familiar scar near her collarbone. She could map the rise and fall of the circle with her eyes closed, could count the fourteen teeth marks. Her scar was like a tattoo—she often forgot about it, it was so ingrained with her being now. She couldn't risk forgetting it again. She was immune, yes, but she doubted this group would believe her. Hell, sometimes she didn't believe it herself. If she wanted safety, she would need to remain vigilant.

No one could know. No one.