Author's Note: Happy New Year! Starting off the new year with a fresh chapter for WTGNG. I do apologize for the lateness, but the end of the fall classes and the holiday schedule had kept me busy. But, I am ready to continue on with Asher and Max's adventure. The time is getting close to when we will uncover more of Asher's past - a significant part, actually. Should be interesting to see how Max responds...

I hope everyone is having a great new year, and thank you for the tremendous support you are giving this story! I could not have done this without all of you!

Disclaimer: I do not own the Mad Max franchise whatsoever. Any original characters or scenes not seen in the series are rightfully my creations, and they are the only elements I claim ownership to.

Chapter X:

Survive

"I'm a mad dog whose only concern is winning." –Charles Barkley

Asher was unsure whether she should wake up or not. A throb pounding against her skull and a deep, burning pain writhing across her lower back urged her to go back to sleep; her foggy memories, however, pushed through her headache and reminded her of the events prior to her unconsciousness—showed her pictures of a man with a crossbow and an X-shaped scar on his cheek and Buddy held at gunpoint. A part of her wondered whether she was still there, straddling one of the men, shiv poised to kill, crossbow aimed at the back of her head, and Buddy forced to his knees; but then she remembered submitting, barely lowering the shiv before everything went dark. No, she was somewhere else, and she had no idea where. She could not possibly resume her slumber with that thought bouncing around in her subconscious.

Therefore, she opened her eyes—wide initially, then squinted as an onslaught of orange light filled her vision. Her headache flared briefly, displeased with the sudden illumination, and she nearly let her eyelids fall shut again—perhaps permanently. Then voices began to funnel into her ears, varied and hushed, a few sneers and jeers thrown into the unintelligible speech. She pried her eyelids open again, cautious this time, peering through her lashes and slowly scanning her surroundings.

Through the blurriness, she saw a bright fire roaring on her right and a handful of figures sitting or standing around it, passing items amongst their members. Two vehicles were parked on either side of them, like sentries guarding the inferno, and a third car could be seen a little further off, left alone with its doors wide open. Though her vision was still hazy, she could have sworn that the car was Buddy's.

Where was Buddy, anyway?

Something nudged her foot, and she instinctively whipped her head toward the source, brushing aside the sharp pain that jabbed her brain. Instantly, she recognized Buddy sitting next to her, staring at her as intently as she was staring at him. He seemed alert, hinting that he had been awake for a while, and his grey orbs periodically switched from her to the group by the fire, dividing his attention between her and the others. Asher felt a twinge of jealousy: Buddy seemed ready for action while she felt as though she had been asleep for a week.

"What's—" Asher began to say, but she quickly silenced herself when Buddy gave her a pointed glare and subtly shook his head. No conversation permitted. They needed to keep quiet and act as though they were still unconscious. Asher did not like the plan, for she would have to remain inert for an unknown amount of time. However, the plan was smart, for it could keep the tribe's attention off of them—perhaps long enough for them to find a way out of their predicament.

Sighing softly, she studied Buddy for a moment. For the first time, she noticed that his hands were behind his back, secured by a rope—a frayed rope. He was working at the binding, sawing it against the edge of a jutting rock and making good progress.

A short, quick tug of her wrists revealed that she, too, was bound. She did not despair, though, for Buddy had found a way to free himself. She only needed to follow his example.

As she searched for a good surface to begin wearing down her rope, she felt another nudge to her foot. Her eyes flew to Buddy again. He looked her up and down and quirked an eyebrow, repeating the action when she did not initially understand.

You all right?

She nodded faintly, assuring him that she was fine—at least, as fine as she could be. Her whole body ached, most of her discomfort blossoming from her stab wound; however, she saw no benefit in complaining. Once they were out of this mess, then her pain could be dealt with. Right now, they had to find a way to elude their captors.

She returned his question, mimicking his actions; and, in turn, he mirrored her response, nodding. Then, sparing a final glance at the tribe, he looked forward, eyelids sliding close—though not completely, Asher noted. He left a tiny crack to observe his surroundings.

She copied him, shutting out the world except for a mere sliver, focusing her hearing on the chatter several feet to her right and grinding the rope binding her on a suitable rock. She heard insulting slang, strong but playful swearing, and celebratory words. Nothing important or helpful whatsoever.

Longing for something worthwhile, she angled her head slightly toward the bonfire and surveyed the group, searching for any oddities. She was immediately drawn to three figures next to one of the sentry vehicles. One was crouching, back to Asher and Buddy; another one was sitting, slouched against the car and legs splayed; and the third one was sprawled on the ground, the crook of his elbow covering his eyes. Asher noted that they all sported an injury. The crouched one seemed rather well, only his upper left arm swathed in makeshift bandages; the sitting one had an awkward arrangement of rags plastered to his left shoulder, the fabric splotched with dark crimson and his face drained of color; and the sprawled one had several layers of cloth wrapped around his left thigh, obvious blood stains drenching the crude bandage. Asher knew, without further inspection, that the third man was tottering on the brink of death. The blood loss seemed too great.

The crouched figure placed a hand on the sitting man's good shoulder before straightening and spinning on his heel to face the inferno. The firelight highlighted the X-shaped scar on his cheek, telling her that she was looking at the leader. He had been talking to his injured, and the disdain that darkened his features spoke of bad tidings. And when his gaze flitted toward her and Buddy, lips thinned and jaw set, she knew that those bad tidings would be brought upon them.

The leader strode toward them, shoulders hunched and fingers furling and unfurling. Asher studied his appearance, noting the armored shoulder pads and the thick leather hugging his torso. His chest was bare except for two crisscrossing straps that were keeping his shoulder pads in place. His blood-and-oil-stained cargoes were rather ill-fitting, but were strapped down with various sheaths: one for each thigh, both holding a total of six arrows; and one on his right calf, encasing a blade.

Asher tensed, eyes glancing to her own calf. The sheath for her dagger was gone. He had her weapon. That was her sheath and her dagger. And he was grasping the hilt, drawing the blade slowly and deliberately—as if he knew Asher was watching him and wanted to instill fear into her heart.

She would not deny the worm of dread that wriggled in her gut, but she would not proclaim that she was afraid of him. He may have beaten her once, but he only succeeded because he had Buddy at gunpoint. Even now, as he tramped toward her, blade in hand and eyes gleaming dangerously, she was not cowering. He was not brave enough to confront her without her hands bound or Buddy at risk. He was coward. She was not afraid of cowards.

She steeled herself when he drew near, and she dared not to flinch when she felt hands latch onto the lapels of her jacket and haul her to her feet. No longer able to continue her act, she opened her eyes and stared into the stormy grey irises that glared at her. She admittedly felt off-balance on her feet, a brief dizziness wrapping around her brain and increasing the thud of her headache, but she refused to show any sign of weakness. She was glad to have the rock behind her to keep her steady.

Then her dagger touched her throat.

"Welcome back, girly," the leader said, a forced jovialness in his tone. The chatter by the fire had subsided, and all eyes—even Buddy's—were focused intently on her and the leader. "Ya took a good hit to head. Can't say I'm sorry for it, but I'm hoping it cleared your mind. You were being very irrational, tryin' to kill my man."

"Maybe I should have killed him," Asher replied, flat and cold, displaying indifference.

The leader gave a humorless grin. "Yeah? Well, the offer's still up if you really want to kill him." There was a jolt from one member around the fire, and Asher supposed it was the one she had nearly ended. "But your friend would still have to pay for it. An eye for an eye type of thing. Don't you think that's fair?"

Asher scrutinized him, eyes narrowed. "Only if I get to kill you next," she hissed.

His lips stretched further, and he gave a low chuckle. "Oh, that's just rich," he said. He pulled her away from the wall, only to promptly shove her back forcefully. Asher could not hide the grimace and short grunt as a particular rock dug into her wound, as if trying to pry it open. Through her pain-filled haze, she heard the leader continue, growling, "You think you're really tough, don't ya, girly? You think I ain't got nothin' on you. You think you're better than everyone else here. But you want to know the truth? I have the advantage. I have you at my mercy, and I sure ain't feelin' kind."

He shifted to the side and pointed toward the two injured men with his weaponless hand. "See my fellas over there? See the blood? Yeah, that's your doin', and I'm not the least bit happy about it either." He faced her again, the dagger increasing its pressure. Asher found it difficult to breath. "And if even one of them dies, then you and your friend are going to compensate for their suffering. I'm going to kill you—slowly, painfully, until you're screaming for it to end. You won't feel so brave then, will you, girly? Won't feel so untouchable when your friend can't save you from the arrow I'm gonna put between your eyes when I'm done, huh?"

Asher listened to every word, never once dropping her gaze. Perhaps she should be afraid. Perhaps she should be praying for those men to survive in hopes that she and Buddy would be preserved from some terrible fate. But she was not. He was throwing words at her and making empty threats. He was holding them captive rather than killing them immediately. He was a coward.

"I've heard it all before," she remarked, tilting her chin up in an attempt to ease the pressure of the blade. "It never means anything. It's all big talk. You're bluffing—"

Knuckles met her cheek, snapping her head to the left and knocking her to the ground. She heard a garbled curse and a sharp inhale from the leader, and she squinted up at him. He cradled his injury, fingers burying into the cloth there. He was suffering from his wounds, too; and he had been stupid enough to let his anger overcome his common sense.

Asher was not faring much better, though, her head a ball of pain and her lower back burning intensely. Perhaps she had made a mistake, too, mocking the leader as she had.

"Oh, how I'm gonna make you pay for that," he rumbled.

Hands clawed at her jacket again, but she was not forced to her feet. Rather, the leader's grip suddenly vanished, followed by a blur of movement and a strangled shout and growl from aforementioned man. She craned her neck, eyes landing on the two figures tussling on the ground, one blocking and the other delivering a flurry of punches. It took Asher a moment to realize that the former was the leader, pinned and struggling, and that his assailant was Buddy, free of his bonds and succumbing to a bout of rage.

She stared at them—longer than she probably should have—and did not look away until she noticed the frantic movements of the other tribe members. They had undoubtedly realized that their leader was being attacked and were scrambling to come to his aid—and, judging by the weapons they were reaching for, they were prepared to kill Buddy.

Asher struggled to her knees, ignoring the searing pain that raced up and down her side. "Buddy! Come on!" she called to him. "We need to go!"

She had barely gotten one foot under her when she felt hands tugging on her arm, hauling her the rest of the way up. Asher did not bother to identify her assistant, merely assuming it was Buddy. At least he was not a complete madman. She has known a few people who would have remained hovering over that leader, delivering blow after blow until the man's head caved in.

Asher stumbled, and her mind resurfaced from her haunting memories. She cursed herself for retreating into those dark thoughts, especially when she and Buddy were being chased down by a blood-lusting, vengeful tribe. She was going to get them both killed if she lost herself so easily.

They charged deeper into the tunnels. Buddy kept a white-knuckled grip on her arm, forcing her to run at the same demanding pace he was maintaining. She did not complain—not that she the chance to—but she found it harder to brush aside the pain that wracked her body now, originating from her cauterized wound. She felt as if her back was covered in flames, eating away at her skin and sinking into her muscles and tissues and bones. Her brain screamed at her to stop and rest, but she denied each insistence, reminding herself that one mistake could end her life. She withdrew into instinct, allowing nothing else to penetrate her thoughts.

Just keep surviving.

See another dawn.

Do what is needed.

They rounded a bend, and suddenly they were submerged in darkness—a fathomless inkiness that completely blinded Asher. She noticed that Buddy was slowing, and in between his heavy pants, he was muttering to himself. They were lost and had no way of knowing which way to go. At any moment, they would crash into a wall or trigger a trap the tribe may have cunningly placed. Even worse, Asher could hear the nearing patter of feet, and she knew the aforementioned tribe would catch them soon. Their enemies lived in these tunnels and probably knew the general layout of the system; or, if not, then Asher expected to see some form of light emerge behind them. They were unprepared for this.

Buddy halted, spun her slightly, and grasped her wrists. Asher heard a tearing noise and felt cool metal brush her palms, then her arms fell limply at her sides. Buddy must have snatched a blade during their getaway. Probably the leader's—no, her dagger. They at least had a weapon, but it hardly compared to the guns or crossbows their enemies carried. Unless, by some slim chance, the tribe was foolish enough not to bring some form of light in their haste to catch them. Then ranged weapons would be absolutely pointless.

She was hoping. She needed to end those thoughts, too.

Once more, Buddy gripped her arm and pulled her alongside him, adopting a careful jog through the tunnels. Asher extended her free hand, searching for a solid surface in the darkness. Her fingertips touched nothing but cool air.

"What now?" she gasped, straining to keep her voice low to avoid any echoing.

Buddy did not respond at first; however, after a few suspenseful seconds, he replied, "I found a wall. We follow it."

Relief washed over Asher, and she eagerly mimicked Buddy's quickening gait, desperate to find an escape route.

What were they leaving behind, though? Buddy's muscle car was back by the campsite, as well as all of their supplies and weapons. How would they survive without those items? Simple: They could not. They would have to go back. But how? And when?

Asher shook her head. That was a concern for another time. First, they had to deal with the tribe.

Buddy suddenly tugged her sharply to the right—at least, she believed it was right—and seemingly backwards, toward the camp.

"What're you—"

Asher was silenced by a hand over her mouth—much to her displeasure. Buddy pulled her back to his chest and held still for a long while, keeping silent except for his heavy breathing. Asher heard the trampling feet draw closer and closer, until the thundering noise was right behind them. A faint flicker of light danced on the walls of the tunnel, briefly revealing their surroundings. Buddy seemed to have found a divide in the tunnel: A small section of rock left behind during the tunnel's formation, creating a wall and, consequently, two paths. The alternate path did not last very long, but it was sufficient enough to conceal her and Buddy.

Much to Asher's surprise, the footsteps did not slow and the light began to fade, traveling further into the tunnel's depths and leaving her and Buddy alone in the returning darkness.

Asher sighed heavily and released the tension in her muscles. Buddy, in turn, dropped his hand from her mouth and loosened his grip on her—although, he still kept a hand on her arm, ensuring that she was still present. Neither of them spoke, opting to listen for any other hint of danger.

When the silence continued, Asher whispered, "We need to go back, get our things, and get out. They're going to realize we ditched them sooner or later."

Buddy made a quiet noise—something akin to a grunt—and began trudging back the way they came, pulling her alongside him. They barely covered a few feet before Buddy suddenly stopped, tightening his grip on Asher's arm. She halted too, and dared not to ask why they were waiting. Instead, she focused on her hearing again, and caught the faint patter of feet, slow and cautious and approaching them from the camp. A dim, yellow glow bounced off the tunnel walls, and she and Buddy hurriedly ducked back behind their cover.

The illumination grew brighter, providing sight for Asher and Buddy once again. Buddy carefully peeked around the wall, squinting and searching. He seemed to focus on a particular point, then quickly withdrew. He looked to Asher, and she raised her eyebrows expectantly. With his index finger, he drew an X on his cheek.

It was the leader.

The soft steps ceased, and the light seemed too close to Asher and Buddy's hiding spot. Buddy placed on a hand her shoulder and urged her back, toward their original spot at the other end of the wall. She complied and slowly shuffled away, letting her gaze drift to her left, fearing that she would see the rest of the tribe come barreling back down the tunnel. There was nothing but darkness on that end, though, and Asher continued to inch toward it.

Then the footsteps resumed, and Buddy increased the pressure on her shoulder. Asher quickened her pace, not chancing a glance back the way they came. Buddy's urgency told her she should not tarry.

The wall finally disappeared, and Asher slipped around it, catching a glimpse of the leader as he strode down the alternate path. She and Buddy had dodged him perfectly. No time to celebrate, though—now they had to hope he did not turn around while they were sneaking by.

Buddy was right behind her, hand now resting between her shoulder blades, still encouraging her to go forward. As they crept onward, Asher kept one eye on the place the leader disappeared and the other eye on the route back to camp. They were close, and Asher could taste freedom—could hear the roar of the muscle car's engine and see the tunnel disappearing from sight. She wanted that, and she had to suppress the urge to start sprinting toward the exit. As much as she wanted to leave, she did not want to be caught, either. Right now, survival relied upon patience, caution, and wits. They could not take any risks.

They reached the end of the wall, and Asher paused to glance down the alternate path. She saw the leader, his back to her, gun in one hand and lighter in the other. She saw the bright splotch of crimson on his left arm, and she guessed that his wound was beginning to bleed again. Not enough to hinder him, apparently.

She turned back to Buddy and nodded her head, signaling that they could keep going. Buddy wasted no time, gliding swiftly down the path toward the camp, Asher beside him and gripping his shoulder. Briefly, they were plunged back into darkness; but, despite a few stumbles, they maintained a steady gait. Eventually, the blazing glow of the bonfire greeted them—as well as two figures sitting near the inferno.

Asher and Buddy halted, remaining in the shadows as they studied their last obstacle to freedom. Asher recognized the men to be the injured duo the leader had been speaking to earlier. The one with the leg wound was still lying on the ground, oblivious to his surroundings and impossibly paler than Asher remembered. The other man—the one with the shot shoulder—sat near him, facing Asher and Buddy's direction and holding a pistol tightly in his good hand. He was more alert than before, and Asher figured he was supposed to kill her and Buddy if they were to return. Asher found the tactic poor and cruel, leaving two unfit men to fend for themselves; but she supposed that the tribe had believed she and Buddy would be unable to find their way back. Reasonable, she supposed, but very underestimating.

Asher looked at Buddy and reached for his right hand, beckoning for her dagger. He stared at her, gaze hard and questioning. She simply flicked her fingers, urging him to hand over the blade. After a long moment, he did, his gaze still locked with hers, an unknown warning hidden in his grey orbs. Asher nodded to him gratefully, and held up a hand to tell him to stay. Then, sucking in a breath, she emerged from the shadows.

Instantly, the man with the gun saw her, and he raised his weapon threateningly. He did not pull the trigger though. He was either scared or under orders not to kill.

She edged closer, keeping the blade hidden behind her thigh.

He lifted the gun higher. "Don't," he croaked.

Asher hesitated briefly, watching him intently—studying him. He could fire the gun, and she had a good chance of being shot if she ran headlong at him. But, judging by his shaking hand and his darting glance from her to somewhere over her shoulder, he was anxious. He did not know what she would do, and that frightened him. That was her advantage.

Asher licked her lips and took a painfully slow step toward the man. "It's pointless, you know," she said, jerking her head toward his companion. "He's losing blood fast. Something major was probably damaged. Ain't no recovering from that without proper care."

His gaze briefly flickered from her to his companion, and Asher moved closer, gaining two more steps. When he looked back at her, his eyes were narrowed and his lips were pursed. "That's your fault. Your buddy shot 'im. Boss said if 'e dies, then your friend goes down with 'im."

Again, he was looking behind her, this time longer. Asher closed the distance even more before remarking, "Yeah, and I shot you. Does that mean when you die then I'm gonna go down with you, too?"

He snapped his attention to her, a strange glint in his eye. He adjusted his grip on the gun. "I ain't gonna die. I'm gonna be there when 'e cuts you up, and I'm gonna enjoy it." He waved the gun toward the tunnels. "And 'im too, wherever 'e's hiding. I'm sure the Boss will let you see that before he finishes you."

Asher nearly charged forward, but she decided the opening was not sufficient. She needed a better opportunity. "Yeah? You think I'm scared of him?" Asher challenged, a breathy laugh passing her lips. She tightened her grip on the hilt of her dagger, her entire body stiffening with anticipation. "I'm not. He's just a coward."

He huffed dryly. "You wouldn't be sayin' that if you saw the last person who crossed 'im."

Asher recalled the body that had been hauled out of that pickup truck. She had not seen any other captives besides her and Buddy, and part of wondered what the tribe had done with their first victim.

But as quickly as the thought had emerged, she banished it, focusing on her predicament. She refused to be frightened by some petty allusion. "Doesn't mean nothing to me," she returned flatly. "All he does is talk big—just like you, actually. I'm not scared of either of you."

Her next step was a long stride, and that struck the right nerve. He pointed the gun a bit to the right—an ironic bullet to the shoulder, she guessed he was aiming for. Revenge-driven or not, his decision was very poor, for his target gave her a generous opportunity to dodge.

She was moving at the same time he pulled the trigger; and as the bullet zipped by, she was surging forward, dagger drawn and winking in the firelight. Her free hand seized his gun and wrenched it to the side while she drove the dagger into his throat. It was easy and quick, and she felt his body go limp, a gurgle leaving his lips.

She stood there a moment, a coldness washing over her despite the heat that radiated from the fire. She remembered a time when she had to do this before—not once or twice, but on several occasions. It had become a normalcy, and it had been displeasing for all involved—just for different reasons. A dozen pleading voices, indistinct and jumbled into one, echoed in the distance, while another set, composed of jeers and shouts, roared all around her, wild and excited.

Then it dispersed, and she was back in the tunnels, holding a slumped man with his warm blood dripping onto her hand. She glanced down at her victim, lifeless and strangely at peace. She jerked her dagger free, allowing him to fold forward, crimson droplets leaking from punctured throat and sinking into the thin layer of sand beneath him.

Pursing her lips, she looked to the other man lying on the ground. She had been speaking the truth when she said he would die because she had seen such an injury before. It was a slow death, and rarely did someone survive such a devastating wound. He was suffering, and his companions were doing nothing to help him. Therefore, she went to him next, deciding to take matters into her own hands.

She knelt beside him and pressed her dagger to his throat. She hesitated at first, remembering how she had been prepared to do the same to Buddy not too long ago, then proceeded to draw the blade across his throat, creating a clean, red line.

It was done. She did him a favor. For some reason, though, her actions seemed just as pitiful as killing the other man.

Crunching footsteps came up behind her, and she peered over her shoulder to see Buddy approaching her, features neutral and eyes stony. She sighed and looked away, focusing her gaze on the muscle car.

"We need to go. The others are going to be back soon," she said, tone subdued. "You check your car; I'll gather some stuff."

Without waiting for acknowledgement, she set about searching the camp, scrounging whatever she found to be useful and either shoving the items in her pockets or tucking them in the crook of her arm. She was sure to snatch a couple of pistols—after ensuring they had ammunition—and to recover Buddy's shotgun, which the others had luckily forgotten. Food and water were strewn about, and she carried as much as possible, knowing those items would be essential for their journey ahead.

What shocked her the most was finding the satchel of poison. It had been discarded to the side, ignored and probably deemed useless. (For who would find a vial of clear liquid and a bundle of fragile pieces of metal meaningful? Only someone who knew what it did.) She immediately threw the strap over her shoulder and lugged it and the other supplies back to the muscle car.

After tossing everything into the backseat—she would straighten everything later—she turned to Buddy, who was examining the front tires. He noticed her stare and stood.

"I don't know how far we'll get. Whatever we hit out there damaged the wheels, and we don't have time to fix them."

"You mean we're not going to make it to Abrahamus' settlement?" Asher asked, throat tight and jaw set.

Buddy shrugged. "I don't know. But we can't stay here." He walked past her and to the driver's side door. "Now get in."

Asher strode to the passenger's door. Her hand barely brushed the door handle when a voice echoed from the tunnels. "You're not going to get far, girly."

Her head snapped in the direction of the taunt. The leader stood at the edge of the shadows, dangling a set of keys from his index finger. She cursed silently, releasing the door handle and facing the leader.

He grinned, but the expression was cheerless. "What? Did you think I would leave everything for you? Granted, I'm a bit surprised that you managed to dodge me and my men while in the dark, but I certainly didn't put it past you." His gaze drifted downward, toward the two dead men lying in their respective blood pools. His grin faltered. "Guess I should have stayed behind. But I knew there were some passages and little nooks. All it took was one lucky find and you both were free. So I went to cover those places, only to hear a gunshot shorty after. I knew something bad happened." He lifted his gaze again, a sneer playing on his lips. "My mistake, I guess. But don't worry: It won't happen again."

He raised his gun and began firing. Asher dove to the ground, scrambling across the rock and sand until she reached the next vehicle, using it as her shield. She sat up and leaned against the rear tire, glancing back to check on Buddy. She could not see him through the windshield, but after a couple of seconds, the passenger door popped open and produced the aforementioned man. She saw his shotgun in one hand and a pistol in the other. He met her gaze, waved the pistol, then tossed it to her. It landed a foot away, and she hastily snatched it up, cradling it to her chest.

The leader cackled. "What? You think you can hide from me forever? Think you can still escape? I have you pinned, and my boys will be back soon." More shots rang out, and Asher heard glass shatter above her. "You're out of time and out of options. But, please, amuse me! I would love to see what you try before I kill you."

Asher grimaced, breathing deeply before shuffling toward the front of the car. She clasped her dagger anxiously and adjusted her sweaty grip on the pistol. The rush of her blood echoed in her ears, interrupted rhythmically by her pounding heart. She had to end the leader as soon as possible. Otherwise, the rest of the tribe would arrive, and her and Buddy would never live to see another dawn—and if they did, it would be because of some drawn-out torture.

The leader had promised terrible consequence if his men died, and Asher now wholly believed he would carry out those plans. This was no game—this was life or death.

Once she reached the front tire, she poked her head over the hood—only to quickly duck back down as the leader sent another bullet her way.

"Oh, that was a close one!" he hooted. Sharp pings echoed behind Asher, and she looked back to Buddy. His back was pressed against his car, and he was keeping himself close to the ground as bullets bounced off the hood of his vehicle.

He's distracted.

Asher had not heard the little voice since her and Buddy's capture, but she was immensely glad it had decided to return at such a crucial moment.

She popped back up, catching a glimpse of the leader lingering near the bonfire. She fired a few shots of her own, growling in frustration when her poor aim failed to hit her target. The leader transitioned his attention back to her, and Asher was forced to sink back down, listening to bullets whiz by. More glass shattered, and Asher felt a few pieces sprinkle down on her back.

"Come on! Where's your bravery? You were so eager to kill me earlier!" he taunted. He sounded closer. "Are you afraid now? Afraid what I'm gonna do to you? To your friend?"

Asher leaned forward, toward the front bumper, and surveyed the area that way. She saw the leader advancing toward her position. Pulling back, she grinded her teeth in a mixture of anger and hopelessness. Why could she not finish him? Was she afraid? Was she terrified of what was going to happen if she failed?

Yes. Yes, she was. It was the first time in a long time, and it made her feel weak.

Movement from the corner of her eye had her turning back to Buddy—except, he was no longer pressed against his car. Actually, she could not see him whatsoever, and that only served to raise her apprehension.

Metal hit metal, close to her head. She cursed and scurried toward the rear tire, pistol aimed at the hood of the car and dagger raised defensively. The leader appeared not a second later, the barrel of his gun dragging across the hood before snapping up to meet her own pointed firearm.

A split-second passed. Then he fired.

Asher expected a bullet to tear through her, but instead, the sand sprayed up in front of her, making her jolt backwards. She half-tumbled to the ground, rapidly blinked her eyes and trying to scramble away. She blindly aimed the pistol and pulled the trigger, but none of her bullets found their target.

She heard the leader scoff. "Pathetic. I expected more." Click. "I wonder how many bullets—"

His words were cut short by a boom and a scream—his scream. Asher swiped at her eyes and squinted at the leader, watching him stagger and grope at his chest. Blood seeped between his fingers and unspoken pain twisted his features. Then he collapsed, sand pluming around him.

Buddy appeared in her peripheral vision, stalking forward with his smoking shotgun in hand. Asher would not realize until later that she owed him yet again. "Not gonna happen," he rumbled darkly, barely audible.

The leader tried to lift his gun, but Buddy, unfazed, merely knocked his shaking hand to the side and pressed a booted foot to his wrist. The leader heaved and coughed and cursed, too weak to do much else. Buddy snatched away the gun and tucked it into the waistband of his pants. From somewhere along the leader's side, he snagged the keys to his car. The two stared at each other for a long moment, as if challenging each other to lash out. After a few tense seconds, Buddy finally walked away, returning to Asher.

He extended a hand to her, and she took it, rising to her feet. "Thanks," she said softly, casting a harsh glance toward the leader. He merely stared back, eyes dimming and blood streaming from the corner of his mouth. He was a dead man clinging desperately to life, refusing to let go.

"Get in the car," Buddy said, tone even and gaze intent. When she did not respond, he added, "It's over."

It's never over. Someone always has to die. It's either you or him, Ash. Don't turn your back on him.

"I'll be right there. I want my sheath back, first," she replied, beginning to saunter toward the helpless man. Buddy caught her arm, though, and held her back.

"He's already dead," he stated.

She stopped, then—truly stopped—and mulled over that information. Her old instincts scuttled back into the recesses of her mind, as if embarrassed that they had shown themselves after so long. Her gut wrenched with guilt, and her shoulders sagged under an invisible heavy weight. Even her voice seemed suppressed, disappearing as suddenly as it had appeared.

What had overcome her?

She never received an opportunity to answer that question before the tunnels reverberated with shouts and trampling feet. It was time to leave.

Asher and Buddy fled to the car and clambered into their respective seats. Buddy ignited the engine and set the gearshift into reverse, retreating from the tunnel. Asher caught a distant light growing in the darkness beyond, but it was quickly snuffed as Buddy pulled away. The exit—or the entrance, since it was where she and Buddy had been before all this madness—was not far, and soon she and Buddy were surrounded by endless miles of ruddy sand. Buddy promptly spun the car around and sped away from the tunnels, leaving the horrid place in a wake of dust.

After several minutes of silence, Asher asked: "Do you think they'll try to follow us?"

Buddy sighed, but Asher could not discern whether he was relieved, disappointed, or exasperated. "No." He spared her a quick glance, brow furrowed and lips pursed. "You all right?"

Her mind flashed back to the men she had killed and the memories that had flooded her. She remembered the voice encouraging her to end the leader for all he had done. Oh, how she had been tempted to put a bullet in his brain or to sink her dagger into his heart. Then Buddy had told her it was pointless—had, unintentionally, reminded her that she was not that person anymore. But how long would it take before she finally snapped? And who would pay the ultimate price for her weakness?

She briefly recalled her urge to kill Buddy—how close she had come to doing it—and shook her head.

"No, Buddy. I don't think I'm all right," she murmured, staring out the window and watching the sun rise over the eastern horizon.

They had lived to see another dawn, after all.

To the Reviewers:

scarlettsoldier: Thank you, and here is the next update!

minstorai: Thank you very much! As for Asher: No, I have not made a face-claim for her; however, there was a particular look that inspired Asher's appearance. I won't say who it was yet because it is for later in the story. Like, Act 2 later. I shall reveal when the time comes! Anyway, I'm glad you like the story thus far, and I appreciate your reviews!

Ardensteele: Thanks, and I hope you enjoyed Chapter 10!

rachel101448: The end of 2015 has been rather hectic for me, too, so no worries! You are on the right track with Asher's inner voice. I can't go into details, but you will find answers soon, just like Max. Speaking of Max, Asher is taking steps to ensure that she does not endanger him. Seems the tentative friendship between them is steadily growing... That being said, thank you for reading and leaving a review! I hope you liked the newest installment!