Happy new year everyone, lets hope the next year is better then this one was.

Quick note, this chapter is a bit different then the rest. Rather then one (that is the norm) this one has two pov characters. This is nothing I'm planing of making a happit of, but who knows. Since I wanted to have this chapter out before new year I rushed some parts of this chapter. I hope you like it anyways.

With that done, on with the story.


Carver had always found the vibration of a car in motion soothing and easy to drift off to. For the last few days, however, it had been the opposite, despite his best attempts he had found it nearly impossible to get so much as a wink. His bloodshot eyes glared at the potholed covered road ahead of him. The pain in his shoulder had been bad enough to interfere with his sleep before that bearded bastard had etched one of his ribs with a bullet. Now every stone and little bump in the road the car hit sent a stab of pain through his wounds, and it was seriously pissing him off. Fortunately, they were less than fifteen minutes out from camp so he wouldn't have to endure this torture much longer.

Bonnie had tried to convince him to dull the pain with the medicine they took from Carlos, but he refused. The pain although infuriating was not as debilitating as the medicine would be. There were bigger and more severe problems on the horizon then his shoulder and he needed his wits about him to find a solution to them. During their last stop he made radio contact with Tavia back at camp, and she had some less than good news to share. Out of the bucket list, three stood out over the others.

The first – and least problematic in his view – was the fucking herd of lurkers one of their scouts had spotted two days ago. It was still unclear if it was going to hit the camp or pass them by, Tavia was worried it was the former. Carver doubted it though, they had had herds come close to the camp several times before and pass by. This would be no different than the others. Even if the herd hit, Carver was confident that Howe's defenses could hold them out and they had enough weapons and ammo to destroy a herd if they needed to.

The second problem was to keep his people in line. Emotions were running high now thanks to the herd as well as the return of the deserters. Some of his people were calling for blood and would if not stopped take revenge on their old comrades. The last thing Carver needed now was more dissention amongst the ranks. Tavia was already working on enforcing order, but if she failed, he would need to find another solution to calm them down.

The third and by far biggest problem was to keep his new laborer force from getting ideas of escaping again. A much harder challenge but one he was already working on finding a solution to. He did have a head start with Reggie on the inside to spy on the other laborers for him.

Carver snorted. "Some spy."

The one armed crippled wore his heart on his sleeve, you would have to be as gullible as Sarah not the see him for what he was. Carver knew he didn't have a snowball's chance in hell of stopping them from plotting. He could try to convert the other two workers in the camp to help Reggie spy for him, but he doubted that they would be any more useful even if they were willing to do so – which he strongly doubted. Besides, Carlos and the others would be distrustful of them from the moment they met and would not talk treason anywhere near them.

"We'll need to keep our eyes on them ourselves, but that will mean increasing the guards around the yard and their workstations." Something he would have to do anyways since there were so many of them now. It would stretch their defenses thin, might even leave a few holes, but it couldn't be helped. Besides, it wasn't as if the lurkers would be smart enough to find and exploit them.

He had started forming a list in his head of who he could allocate when the car hit a pothole and shook violently, sending a fiery stab through his shoulder and rib. He barely managed to suppress the grunt that tried to force its way up his throat. He would not show discomfort or weakness to those under his command nor anyone else.

Some of his discomfort must have shown through though for Bonnie said, "Sorry Bill," and threw him an apologetic look from the driver's seat.

Carver bit back the angry retort that was on the tip of his tongue and only nodded in response. Bonnie was a good follower, she was competent, a good shot and she followed orders. Her only flaw as far as Bill was concerned was that she was a bit to empathetic at times. It was a miner flaw that had so far not stopped her from doing her duty. For that he would hold back his anger, at least until she fucked up for real.

Bonnie turned the wheel and tried to avoid hitting the next few potholes, managing to avoid all but one. The same couldn't be said for the truck carrying the prisoners in front of them. Troy was hitting almost every fucking hole in the road. If Carver didn't know better, he would have said that he was aiming for them. The vehicle was not in good shape; hadn't been even before the outbreak. Troy knew this and still he was driving like a maniac. Carver gritted his teeth and glared at the dirty white truck, his temper rising to boiling. He was about to reach for the walkie talkie and berate the bonehead, but Bonnie grabbed it before he even moved his hand.

"Troy, slow down! Your gonna break an axel!" Bonnie chided into the walkie talkie.

There were a few seconds of silence before the walkie talkie crackled to life with Troy retort. "Shut up and focus on your own fucking driving woman!"

Carver tore the walkie talkie from Bonnie before she could say anything back. "Troy! If you break the truck, you'll walk the rest of the fucking way with whomever we can't fit into the car!" There was a short silence before the man gave a grudging affirmative then clicked off. "Fucking idiot," he growled and placed the walkie talkie back in its holder so forcefully that it made an audible crack, and a small chip of plastic flew lose.

There were days where Carver was sorely tempted to put a bullet through Troy's skull. If it wasn't for the fact that he was such a loyal attack dog, he probably would have done it already. The problem with Troy was that if the idiot wasn't given exact orders, he tended to solve everything that he encountered with his gun and fists instead of with his head.

What had happened with the group by the river in the forest was a prime example of that. If the moron had captured a few of them for interrogation then Rebecca and the others might have been captured a week ago, but no, the bloodthirsty dickhead had decided that he and Danny should go on a killing spree – blinded by his bloodlust, he wasted precious bullets in the process – and took what meager supplies they had instead.

"When you're a hammer everything looks like a fucking nail." Maybe the idiot actually was aiming for the potholes, to make the ride as uncomfortable as possible for those in the back. The man loved to make other feel miserable even if it was detriment to the group. "Short sighted moron."

The rest of the journey was thankfully short and without much more discomfort or stupidity. Carver let out a sigh of contentment when they broke through the tree line into the wide-open parking lot of Howe's Hardware. Carver's eyes roamed over his camp, taking in all the details, from the new batch of freshly killed lurkers strewn around the parking lot to the walls and the fortifications they had built to expand the camp. On the roof were several guards that were diligently watching for threats in all directions. The sight pleased him.

The one thing that soured the picture was that the expansion project didn't seem to have progressed much at all since he left. Carver's lips soured halfway into a scowl; they should have been almost done by now. There had been some grumbling about the project before he left, many in the group thought that they were overextending themself, that it was unnecessary and that they already had enough room. Excuses, the truth was that they were afraid of working outside where there was a chance they could be attacked by lurkers.

"Cowards. Ones they have a small taste of safety they lose all will to fight for more, content with one crowded building when they could have more. To short sighted to see that we needed to expand if they we're going to have any hope of surviving."

No matter, the expansion was going to happen whether they liked it or not. Bolstering his builders with his new workforce would easily put his plan back on schedule. A thought struck him then and he smiled, he would kill two birds with one stone. By letting the traitors take all the life-threatening work outside, he would calm down the more vengeful of his people and quell any further dissent about the project in one stroke. It would slow the project down enormously, but it was better than having to deal with his people rioting in protest.

Bonnie drove the car around the building and parked next to one of the loading doors at the back. Carver left the vehicle, taking care to use his wounded arm as little as possible and headed for the personnel door. It opened before he reached it and a heavy set African American woman with thick curly hair and armed with an assault rifle stepped out.

"Welcome back Bill," Tavia greeted and stepped aside so they could enter.

"It's good to be home," Carver said as he past her. Two more people were waiting for them inside, a blond man with a mustache and a woman with brown hair set up in a short ponytail. Both were armed with guns strapped to their hips. "Jed, Irma," he greeted.

Irma returned his greeting with a nod and a small smile whiles Jed replied, "good to have you back Boss."

Carver's brow creased; something was wrong. Jed's face and body had been impassive, but his tone had had a note of unease to it. Irma's smile was to brittle, and he noted that her left leg was shaking slightly. He glanced down and saw that she was trying not to tap her heel, a nervus tick. Carver felt his mood sour, was there nothing that could go right today?

"What's happened?" He asked, frustration slipping into his voice.

Jed and Irma shared a nervus glance before Jed spoke with the tone of someone who was trying to break bad news gently. "There's… ehm… been a development."

From outside came the repeated muffled beeping's from the truck, indicating that Troy had put it in reverse.

"Well?" They both hesitated and glanced at one another again, seemingly hoping that the other would be the one to step up and tell the obviously bad news. This hesitation only served to make Carver angrier. "Spit it ou-"

There was a loud metallic bang and the loading door dented inwards. Everyone jerked in surprise, Irma even unholstered her gun and raised it. Carver stared at the buckled door and his moment of surprise quickly turned to rage. He glared at the dents as if they were the most offensive things in existence.

"That ass licking ignoramus." Carver's fingers twitched and he felt a strong urge to wrap them around Troy's throat and strangle the thick-headed fuck.

He was still glaring at the damaged when the door open. Troy had barely set his foot inside before Carver was on him. Reason just barely managed to restrain him from acting on the impulse to dash the moron head against the doorframe. Killing one of his most loyal guards – even if he was a royal fuck up – in front of the others would cause fractions in the ranks. So, instead he grabbed him by the collar and pressed him up against the wall. The action sent fiery hot pain through Carver's wounds, but in that moment his anger was stronger than the pain.

"First you nearly break the truck with your reckless driving and now you dent MY FUCKING DOOR! IS THERE NOTHING YOU CAN DO RIGHT?" He shouted, spittle flying onto Troy's shocked face. He pulled him close and slammed him up against the wall a second time.

"I-it wasn't my fault, Bill. The brakes are shot to hell," Troy protested. "You said it yourself not too long ago, remember?" Carver glared Troy down; the thick-headed-fool couldn't see that he was digging himself deeper. Of course Carver knew the truck was in bad shape, it was why Troy had been told not to be so reckless with it. They stood like that in silence for nearly ten seconds – Carver's fingers itching the entire time to wrap themselves around the other man's throat – until Troy couldn't take it anymore and averted his eyes to the floor. "I'm sorry Bill. It won't happen again, promise."

"It better not," Carver said slowly, his voice smoldering. "Take the prisoners to the yard, you can do that without fucking something up, right?"

"Yeah, Bill," Troy answered, his tone subdued.

Carver stared at him for few more seconds before he released him, turned on his heel and stormed towards his office. Jed and Irma fell in behind him.

"Bill-" Irma started to say when he opened the doors from the storage area to the main store, but Carver cut her off with a raised hand. sensitive information – and this was clearly sensitive – was best discussed in private, besides, he was still furious. Carver swore that if Troy did another major fuck up like that again, he would have his head bashed in.

"And then we'll see if it's as empty as I suspect." The itching in his fingers returned and they involuntarily twitched in anticipation of violence.

In an attempt to distract himself from thinking of Troy's face beaten into a crushed and bloody mush, he let his eyes roam around the inside of Howe's hardware store. If the owners were still alive to see the store now, they would hardly recognize the place. Many of the store shelfs had been disassembled or just pushed into a storeroom, those that remained had been emptied of their wares and filled with food, water, tools, nails and other necessities. All was stacked according to type and size so as to be easy to find.

In several places where the shelves had been removed, shacks had been built to accommodate the growing population that could no longer fit in the sleeping areas. They were crude ugly thing, built of wooden planks, plywood and old pallets. Carver walked past one and looked inside, this was no problem since the dirty blue curtain the owners were using as a door was tied aside. The interior was dark, cramped and only held two dirty mattresses, a shelf with a few items on it and a box on the floor which most likely contained what few personal belongings the occupants owned. It reminded him of newsreels he had seen from a refugee camp.

His people welcomed him as he walked past, either with words or a wave. He returned their greetings with forced joviality. A few tried to strike up a conversation with him, babbling about some mundane problem they had, the oncoming herd, the expansion project or complaints about the way Tavia had run things. Carver was not in the mood to deal with this today, citing exhaustion from his journey he excused himself from them all and promised that they would talk about it tomorrow.

After excusing himself for what felt like the twentieth time, they finally reached the stairs that led up to his office. They turned left at the top and opened the first door on the left. Carver stopped just inside the door and scrutinized the room.

The room was rectangular and had an ugly green and yellow wallpaper that Carver wished he could have replaced. There were two large windows in waist height running along two of the walls, giving the room an overlooking view of the store below. In the corner of the room between the windows were a small shelf that held an old tv, a VHR player, a radio with a mic and a cd player as well as a box with cd's. Next to the shelf was a small bookshelf full of books, all of whom had been taken from a library in the next town.

In front of the shelf was an old-style work desk that held a reading lamp, several papers – reports probably – a pen holder and a bowl filled with fake apples. Two cheap computer chairs were placed in front of the desk and a chair behind it. The chair behind the desk was larger than the others, more ornate and well cushioned, a very comfortable seat. His seat.

There was a second empty desk with a chair in the corner directly to Carver's right. The chair was stained a mix of brown and dark red, as was the plastic sheet it was standing on. A pair of handcuffs were hanging from one of the arm rests.

Satisfied with what he saw, he walked over to the windows behind his desk, and he felt immense satisfaction as he overlooked the former hardware store that he had turned into a bastion of life in a land of darkness and death. If it wasn't for him this store would probably be nothing but another empty looted husk of a building and most of the people down below would be lurkers or dead.

"Close the door," Carver said as he moved to take his seat behind the desk and leaned back into the soft cushioning. Irma stood in front of the desk while Jed did as was told before taking his place next to Irma. He gestured for them to take a seat. "Now, what was it you wanted to tell me."

"Abbe and Kara are dead," Jed said, still sounding nervus. "Brett left Harrold behind, so I think it's safe to assume he's dead to."

Carver sat bolt upright at the news. "How did it happen?"

"Tavia sent them out to link up with John and Bobby who were keeping an eye on the herd, they were supposed to try and redirect it if they could. Before they reached the others they ran across an RV."

"We've had people out there many times before, it shouldn't have been there," Irma put in.

"They were investigating it when they were ambushed," Jed continued. "Brett said Abbe and Kara were killed before they even knew what was happening. With half the team gone, Harrold and Brett legged it, but Harrold didn't get far before he was shot in the knee. There was no way Brett could get him home without getting killed himself."

"So, he left him behind." Carver finished. "At least someone other than me are thinking sensibly around here."

"He just barely got out of there as it was," Irma said defensively, her body tense. "He got hit in the hip, he was lucky not to bleed out."

"It was a tough call, but he did the right thing. If he hadn't done it, we would never have known about this," Carver said calmly. Irma seemed to take reassurance from his words and she visibly relaxed. Carver turned to Jed. "Did he see how many attackers there were?"

Jed shrugged, "he said he thought he saw three maybe four muzzle flashes. So, three at the very least, there could be many more of them."

Carver leaned back in his chair, his face a mask of contemplation, but underneath it his blood was boiling, and he clenched his left hand into a fist. A bunch of fucking nomads trespassing on his land and killing his people, and thanks to the herd there wasn't a goddamn thing he could do about it. Fuck.

"Eh…Bill?" Irma said, gaining his attention. "Are you going to send out another patrol? To watch the herd or find these people?"

Carver thought about it for a second before he shook his head. "No, I'm not risking anymore people for this. Chances are these nomads are long gone by now or they've been eaten by the herd."

"What about John and Bobby?" Jed asked. "We haven't heard anything from them for days."

"They are either dead or on their way back here," Carver retorted. "Either way, I'm not risking anyone else. You said Brett was injured."

"Yeah," Irma answered. "We patched him up as best we could, but…"

"Go tell Tavia to send Carlos to have a look at him," Carver said. Irma nodded; relief written on her face. She stood up and almost ran out of the office. "Was there anything else?"

Jed shook his head and stood up to leave as well but Carver gestured for him to stay. He swerved his chair to face the window, stood up and walked to the shelf that held the mic and leaned his hands on it. After a minute of formulating the words in his head, he took a deep breath and clicked the PA system on. The doors to the storage area opened and the prisoners walked out with Troy and Bonnie in the lead and Tavia bringing up the rear. Perfect timing.

"We've got some familiar faces back with us tonight. Now, I understand some of you are confused as to why we'd bring these people back when they left us as they did."

Several people stopped what they were doing, either to listen to his speech or to watch the newcomers. Although he couldn't see their expressions from this distance, the body language of many of them indicated hostility.

"It might not come all at once, but time will heal these wounds, so be patient with them until it does and take solace in knowing that they're here to help us make our home a better place. All these feelings you have of anger, betrayal, hate, they're all valid."

The girl, Ellie, turned her head towards his office. Her face like the rest was unreadable to him from this distance, but he didn't need to see it to know she was glaring up at him, just as she had at their last piss stop when he had disciplined her. He could still see her in his mind's eye sitting on the ground where she had fallen, her cheek flaring red where he had struck her. Carver felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth; he had seen that look many times before. She wanted him dead, badly. If it weren't for the consequences that would befall the others, he had no doubt she would have tried to kill him, with her bare hands if she had to.

He had seen the strength in her the day they first met in the cabin. She was not like Carlos and the other in his group of sheep's. She was like him, a survivor, a killer, a good representation of what the next generation could be. A representation that was being despoiled. The thought of Luke and the other trying to fill her head with their old-world ideologies and make her as weak minded as them made Carver's stomach turn in disgust. They already had a hold on her, but he would make her see the truth. She was strong willed and stubborn. It would be a challenge, but he was confident he could do it given enough time… and information.

"No one needs to forget what they did, but we do have to find it in our hearts to forgive them. As many of you already know, a large herd of lurkers gathers just south of us. We've kept an eye on its movement, with any luck it will pass us by like the ones before it. But if it does turn our way it's nothing we can't handle. Our walls are strong, our stores of ammunition full, and we have the numbers to repel them. No matter what comes our way we will prevail against it."

It was a pity that he hadn't caught the other girl as well, she was a survivor to. Although unlike Ellie who did not try to hide her nature, that girl had deluded herself into thinking she was a sheep. A delusion that Carlos – the soft-hearted fool – no doubt had been eager to reinforce. If the man wasn't such a capable doctor and easy to control – thanks to his airhead of a daughter – Carver wouldn't have bothered to bring him back.

It was people like him that was the reason the world was in such a terrible state. If only half as many children had been raised to be as tough as those two girls, the world would be a hell of a lot different. But despite the fact that humanity stood at the edge of extinction there were still people who refused to see the truth and stubbornly cling to the old ways and poison the next generation with their weakness. There was still time. He was going to make sure the next generation were better than the one before it.

His eyes moved to Rebecca's swollen belly; it wouldn't be long now until she gave birth to their child. Carver had not been a father before the outbreak, but he had seen his coworkers, neighbors and other residence of his hometown raised their children. Most spoiled them with affection and pampered them with toys and video games rather than challenge them with physical labor and teach them to solve problems on their own. Sarah was a prime example of this, the girl had been sheltered all her life and wouldn't survive a day on her own – honestly, the girl's death would probably be a blessing to the gene pool. His child was not going to be like that, they were going to be raised right, like he had been, he'd make sure of it.

Rebecca was a strong woman and would undoubtedly have raised their child right, but she was surrounded by weak men and even the strong could be influenced with enough pressure. His gaze fell on Alvin who was walking next to her, and his hands tightened their grip on the shelf. Alvin was such a weak-minded man and had managed to nag his way into her head. It was he who had put the idea of leaving Howe's in her, Carver was sure of it.

He continued speaking for a few more minutes, emphasizing the importance of the expansion project as well as his new plans for it and taking great care not to let any of the anger he felt reach his voice. When he was finished, he shut off the PA system and sat down once again in his chair.

"Nice speech. If you had run for congress, you'd have my vote." Jed said with a smile.

"My father once said I had a gift with words." Carver gave him a half smile. Yes, his father had said that, right before he slapped him for his insolent behavior. "I have two things I want you to do for me Jed."

"Yeah? Name it."

"First, bring Alvin up here, I need to have a word with him. Second, there is a green backpack with a couple of pins on it in the trunk of the car outside. Go get it for me."

Jed nodded and hurried out of the office. Carver swerved his chair in the direction of the second desk and eyed the blood-stained chair. A broad smile spread across his face, and he flexed his finger in anticipation.


Harrold's mind was in a fog and his head felt like it weighed a ton. He groaned and blinked several times in order to clear his blurry vision. He was surrounded by darkness with only a strong flickering light to his left that gave off a lot of heat. He tried to move and instantly regretted it when the nerves in his leg lit on fire. He cried out, his mind and eyes clearing. Memories rushed him. Abbe and Kara dying, of running for his life, a sharp pain and then of fall, a shadow followed by darkness.

What had happened between then and him sitting on a very uncomfortable chair now, he did not know. He staired transfixed down at the bloody mess that was his left knee. It was ruined, completely and utterly ruined, he doubted that even surgery before the outbreak could have saved his leg. The cold horrible realization that he was never going to be able to walk with it again hit him like a thunderclap. Tears formed in his eyes. He had always liked walking, before the outbreak on his days off he used to take hour long walks in the forests.

A part of him wished that he had just bled out there in the forest, but someone had made a tourniquet of a dirty cloth and tied it around his thigh right above the mess. He tried to reach out to touch it but found that he couldn't move his arms. Something – ropes he assumed – cut into his wrists when he tried. He looked towards the light, hoping to find a tool or something to cut himself free with. The light source turned out to be a fireplace, he was in a cabin or house, he realized. His eyes roamed around but could find nothing to help him. The place looked to have been looted some time ago. From behind him came the creaking that sounded like a door opening.

"You're awake," said a male voice he did not recognize.

Harrold looked around for the source, but it was hard to see anything since it was so dark. Walking along the edge of the light was a figure of a man, average height and broad shouldered, any other of his features were impossible to discern.

The man stopped by a wooden chair and dragged it behind him as he approached Harrold. The noise of wood slowly being scraped against floor was unnerving to hear and sent a cold shiver down Harrold's spine.

"Calm down," he thought. "He's trying to get under my skin, softening me up for interrogation." It was the only reason he could think of for them to keep him alive. He tried to gather his courage and found that tapping into the anger he felt for the loss of his leg and friends helped a lot.

The man placed the chair right in front of him, sat down and leaned forwards. Now in the light, Harrold could see his captor clearly. His age was difficult to judge. He had wrinkles under his eyes and lines in his face. His hair and beard were mostly black, but grey was creeping along his temples and jaw. He had cold uncaring brown eyes, before the outbreak Harrold would have called them dead, but he knew better now.

"I have a few questions for you," the man said, his voice rough.

"And why the fuck should I tell you a fucking thing?" Harrold said, his voice smoldering. This man, this motherfucker had killed – or assisted in killing – Abbe and Kara and taken his leg from him. He jerked forwards, hoping to break his bonds and crush the man's eyeballs with his thumbs. The only thing that happened was that the rope dug deeper into his wrists and his leg flared up again. He gritted his teeth in frustration. "FUCK YOU! YOU KILLED MY FRIENDS YOU BASTARD!"

The man's hand shot forward and grabbed a hold of Harold's busted knee and squeezed. Fire raged up his leg, and despite clenching his teeth to hold it in, he let out a throat tearing scream of agony.

"Jesus… fuck." Harold gasps for breath.

"Focus right here. Right here." The man said and lightly slapped him on the cheek. "Now, where is your camp located."

"Fuck…fuck you."

The man gripped his leg a second time. Harrold roared in pain as the man twisted his kneecap, his instinctual attempt to pull away from the source of the pain only made it worse. His leg felt as if it was dipped in molten lead. Black spots clouded his vison and he felt on the verge of losing consciousness when the man let go of him. Harrold whimpered; his eyes filled with tears. He couldn't take more of this.

"Where is your camp," the man repeated more forcefully this time.

Panting for breath, Harrold tried to swallow his saliva to moist his raw throat in order to answer. The man, growing impatient at his lack of response reached for his leg a third time.

"NORTH! IT'S NORTH OF HERE!" Harrold screamed in panic, his voice hoarse.

The man's hand froze, then to Harrold's relief he withdrew it. He pulled out a piece of paper from his breast pocket and unfolded it. Blinking away tears, it took Harrold a few seconds to see that it was a map of the local area. The man then pulled out a pen and held it to Harrold's mouth.

"Show me."

Harrold took the proffered pen with his mouth. The man held up the map in front of him, his eyes boring into Harrold. It took a bit of maneuvering, but Harrold managed to mark out Howe's Hardware. The man turned the map and studied it intensely. Seemingly satisfied, the man took the pen back, folded the map and stuffed it back in his pocket.

"How many are there in the camp?"

Harrold hesitated, he didn't want to betray his comrades, but fuck, he already had. What harm would it do to Howe's anyway? There couldn't have been more than a hand full of people with this guy in the RV, it wasn't as if they could take on Howe's, they would be slaughtered. Yeah, that was it, they just wanted to know where Howe's was so they could steer clear of the place.

"If I tell you, will you let me go?" Harrold asked.

The man nodded. "So long as you tell truth."

Harrold felt a small spark of hope tingle in his chest. "More than a hundred. Places is well fortified and we're well armed."

The man didn't look impressed. "How many slaves."

"I… eh, what?" That question took Harrold aback and he fumbled the words. They weren't slaves exactly. Sure, they had to do the shittiest, dangerous and most backbreaking jobs, but they got food and protection in return. And if they worked hard enough, they could join the group. Indentured servants maybe, but slaves, no. He was about to say this when the man held the pen like a knife over his mangled knee. "There were three when I left," he said hurriedly.

"Describe them."

"Well, there is Reggie, a one-armed guy who tried to desert from our group. Then there is Michael, I think his name was. A tall Black guy, has a scar on his cheek and missing part of an ear. Last ones a woman, don't know her name. We found her sculking around camp all covered in old blood and guts."

The man seemed lost in contemplation for a few seconds before he nodded, rose and walked into the darkness on Harrold's right. It was only then as he followed him with his eyes that Harrold saw that there was a second person there in the darkness, though if it was a man or woman he couldn't tell.

"Hey, I told you what you wanted. Please let me go."

The man reached out and grabbed something that made a metallic noise. The man turned and the sound of metal on wood followed him as he walked back. As he got closer to the light, Harrold saw that he was dragging a pipe along the floor behind him. Harold's heart stopped in his chest and his inside went cold as realization of the man's intention dawned on him.

"NO! WAIT! I TOLD YOU WHAT YOU WANTED! I DIDN'T LIE! I SWEAR I DIDN'T LIE!"

"I believe you," the man said, his voice cold. He raised the rod from the floor and gripped it with both hands.

"WAIT! WAIT!"

Eyes full of tears, Harrold saw the pipe swing through the air in an arch towards his hea-